Star Cruiser
18 Published Stories
Star Cruiser's Books and Stories
The Mafia King's Doll Is Now Untouchable
Mafia I spent five years building a multi-million-dollar legitimate fashion empire for my mafia boss boyfriend.
But to the world, I was just a ghost forced to wear shapeless black rags while he bought his female enforcer diamond gowns.
Everything shattered when that same enforcer framed me for fraud and threatened to leak hidden camera footage of me changing clothes to steal my company.
I thought the man who once slaughtered a rival with his bare hands to protect me would tear her apart.
Instead, he snatched my phone away and coldly told me to hand over my business to her.
"Give her a percentage. Keep the peace."
He said exposing his enforcer's treason to the Syndicate would make him look weak.
He had watched her poison my drinks, steal my designs, and mock my life, yet he always defended her.
Looking at his indifferent face, I finally understood the sickening truth.
He wasn't oblivious to her abuse; he was complicit.
My independence terrified him, so he used her cruelty to break my spirit and keep me entirely dependent on him.
His so-called protection was just a twisted cage meant to dim my light.
I looked at the ruthless Don who thought he owned me, and my heart turned to ice.
I didn't cry or beg for his mercy.
Instead, I bypassed his heavy firewalls, started a live broadcast to millions, and calmly dialed the Federal authorities. The Unwanted Wife's Spectacular Genius Comeback
Romance I gave up my MIT physics fellowship to marry Emery, the ruthless CEO of the Kirkland family, thinking three years of devotion could warm his cold heart.
Then I discovered he was desperately, secretly in love with Catalina—his younger brother's new fiancée.
To protect his secret and keep her close, Emery used me as a pathetic shield. He watched coldly as his family publicly humiliated my background. He forced me to drink freezing champagne on an empty stomach just to appease Catalina's fake victim act. When I finally tried to leave, he blackmailed me with my father's corporate bailout contract, forcing me to move back into the main estate just so he could live under the same roof as the woman he truly wanted.
The breaking point came when Catalina's unleashed Doberman lunged at me in the gardens. To save my right arm—the arm I needed for my research—I kicked the vicious beast in self-defense, twisting my ankle in the process.
Emery rushed out. He didn't ask if I was bitten. He didn't look at my swollen leg or my pale face. He only saw Catalina sobbing over her whimpering dog, and he stared down at me with pure, absolute disgust.
"Why did you do that?"
Looking up at the man I had loved for three years, the last chain holding me to this miserable marriage shattered.
I didn't bother to explain. I just pulled out my phone, contacted the most ruthless divorce attorney in Boston, and headed back to my lab. Married a Billionaire, My True Heiress Identity Revealed
Romance Alexandrea woke up with a splitting headache in a strange hotel bed, terrified to find a brutally handsome, half-naked stranger beside her.
Before she could even scream, the door burst open. Her adoptive mother, Ivette, stormed in with a swarm of reporters and flashing cameras.
"How could you disgrace our family name like this?"
Ivette sobbed, putting on a theatrical performance of a heartbroken mother. It was a setup to completely ruin Alexandrea's reputation in front of New York's elite.
For ten years, Alexandrea had lived in a house of horrors. Her back and arms were covered in silvery scars and puckered cigarette burns left by Ivette's vicious abuse.
Yet to the public, Ivette had carefully crafted Alexandrea's image as a wild, ungrateful, and manipulative liar.
Trapped under the duvet, Alexandrea was drowning in shame, her voice lost in the storm of accusations.
She didn't understand why her adoptive family hated her so much, treating her worse than a stray dog while using her brother's future to keep her chained.
But what she understood even less was the stranger beside her.
Instead of panicking, the man slowly sat up, his presence alone silencing the frantic room. He was Ace Griffith, the billionaire heir who owned half of Manhattan.
He wrapped his suit jacket around her trembling shoulders, looked Ivette dead in the eye, and dropped a bomb.
"I will be marrying her."
Then, he carried Alexandrea away from her ten-year prison, ordering his men to dig up the Terry family's darkest secrets and her true identity. Bound To The Disabled Apocalyptic Tycoon
Modern Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie-an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse. Reborn: The Unwanted Bride's Daring Comeback
Modern I was lying in a sterile hospital room, dying of cancer, with only a fake infertility report to keep me company.
Right before my heart monitor flatlined, a stranger walked in and handed me a medical file.
He told me that my fiancé, Garret, had zero sperm viability. The baby my adoptive sister, Beryl, was carrying wasn't his.
When Beryl got pregnant years ago, my adoptive parents forced me to break my engagement and take the blame for being barren.
I was discarded by Garret, mocked by Beryl's triumphant smiles, and kicked out of the house.
I was left to rot alone in a hospital bed while they lived the perfect life stolen from me.
My entire existence had been a cage built on a single, disgusting lie.
The anger burned away my despair. Why was I the only one who didn't know?
Why did I let them use me as a maid and a shield for their filthy secrets?
As the darkness swallowed me, I prayed for just one more chance.
I opened my eyes to the sound of my adoptive mother yelling my name.
The calendar on the wall read March 15, 2019—the exact day they forced me to give up Garret.
This time, I didn't cry or beg.
"You want Beryl to have Garret? Fine," I told my shocked adoptive parents. "But I want a cash buyout, and we are legally severing this adoption."
Then, I set my sights on Douglass Ward—the stranger from the hospital room. Betrayed Wife's Secret Heir: Billionaire's Unexpected Claim
Romance Ayleen Ramirez sat in the sterile Hope Hill Fertility Clinic, her heart shattering as Dr. Finch delivered the crushing news: her third IVF cycle had failed.
Eavesdropping outside a supply closet, she overheard her husband Don on the phone, laughing cruelly. "She's a defective incubator," he sneered to his mistress Alessandra. "I never used my sperm—just cheap bank donation. No trailer trash carries a Bradley heir."
Betrayed, Ayleen confronted him, but her adoptive family ambushed her at home. Her parents and brother sided with Alessandra, now pregnant by Don, demanding Ayleen sign divorce papers to secure family investments. "You're an embarrassment," her mother snapped, threatening to cut her trust fund. Ayleen tossed back their heirloom necklace and walked out.
She stormed the Bradley mansion, slapped divorce papers on Don, packed her bags amid his aunt's insults, and fled into the night.
Drunk in a trendy bar, she stumbled into a powerful stranger—Burdette Guerrero—spilling whiskey on his crotch, then accidentally grabbed a napkin to his trousers. He shoved her away in rage.
Worse, she mistook his penthouse suite for her hotel room, bursting in on his shower, smashing a mirror in panic. He pinned her to the wall, snarling accusations.
How did this arrogant man know her name? Why demand she sign a mysterious contract at 9 a.m.? Devastated and clueless she's actually pregnant—with his stolen heir—Ayleen sobbed alone, the world crumbling.
The next morning, she straightened her spine in the Grand Guerrero lobby, ready to face him and demand answers—no matter the cost. Bound By His Obsession, Trapped Forever
Werewolf My mate, Theron, was a powerful Alpha, and I, a scentless Omega, was his greatest prize. But beneath his adoring facade was a terrifying, possessive monster, revealed when he dragged me home and forced me into our bed after I was late to his challenge match. His golden eyes burned with chilling control, and he whispered a threat that turned my blood to ice.
I'd been stuck on a forest road, my truck dead, racing to reach his challenge match. His mate bond panic had already frayed my nerves, but nothing prepared me for his rage. He'd publicly broken his opponent's shoulder, then stalked directly to me, ignoring the crowd. He marked my lateness with chilling precision, before dragging me away to our rooms for "punishment."
Later, as he tried to force a ceremonial marking pendant on me, he promised, "If you will not accept my mark willingly, then I will wait for your Heat. I will fuck you until your body begs for it, and my wolf will hold you down while I bite." My gaze fell on his open journal, filled with frantic, scrawled words: "SHE IS MINE. PUNISH. CLAIM. MARK HER. BREED HER. MAKE HER UNDERSTAND SHE IS MINE. MINE. MINE."
The man I loved, my only protection, was a captor in disguise, his devotion a gilded cage. Every gentle touch, every soft word, now felt like a brand of ownership, a tightening leash. The terrifying truth of his pathological obsession finally hit me.
A fragile plan formed in the space between heartbeats: I would de-escalate, redefine, and survive, no matter the cost, before his possessive madness consumed me entirely. When Love Turned To A Grave
Modern When I was pregnant, my husband, Christian, abandoned me.
Because he chose my sister, Annabelle.
Five years after my tragic death, Annabelle fell critically ill and desperately needed a kidney. That was when they remembered me.
He called, demanding that I drag myself back, but I was no longer capable of answering.
My five-year-old daughter answered instead. "My mommy passed away a long time ago."
He refused to believe the child was his.
Until a DNA report proved their paternity.
As he dug up my grave, the truth finally broke him. Meanwhile, my soul was tethered to his side, forced to witness his entire world crumble to dust. The Claw's Penalty: She Survived to Rule Them All
Werewolf "I want an annulment."
To escape my five-year hell of a marriage to Alpha Kaden, I agreed to the "Claw's Penalty"—thirty lashes.
That was preferable to watching my husband coddle his mistress, Brittaney, while I slowly died of neglect.
But Kaden wouldn't let me leave with dignity.
When Brittaney's gene-mod hound bit me, Kaden used his Alpha Command to force me into the gravel to apologize to the dog.
When Brittaney poisoned herself with wolfsbane to frame me, Kaden pistol-whipped me and let a torturer jam silver needles under my fingernails.
He called me a "guilt-trip" left by his father, a slave with a title.
The final straw came when Brittaney faked a fall from a horse.
Kaden didn't ask questions. He kicked in my ribs and ordered "The Quartering"—execution by silver chains.
As my joints popped and the silver burned my skin, he roared, "I protect this family!"
He didn't know I was the family's only hope.
His mother intervened just in time, cutting me down and handing me the signed annulment papers.
I left that night, and the mate bond didn't just break; it vanished into silence.
Kaden thought he had broken a weak Omega.
He didn't realize that by shattering the bond, he had unlocked my true form.
Six months later, I returned not as his wife, but as the legendary White Wolf.
And Kaden was waiting in a cage to beg for a forgiveness I no longer possessed. Love's Betrayal: A Forged Marriage
Romance "I want a divorce." The words, quiet but firm, cut through the tense air. For five years, I, Harlow Love, had been Kaden Barnes's wife in name only, a transaction to salvage his family's image after my father died saving his life. I endured his cruelty, his humiliation, and watched him openly love another woman.
When I finally gathered the courage to ask for freedom, his mother, the matriarch, coldly informed me I'd have to endure the family's "disciplinary measures"—thirty lashes—to prove I wasn't being cast out. But then, a shocking truth shattered my world: "A forgery," Kaden casually revealed. "That marriage isn't even legal." My five years of suffering, the beatings, the public shame, all for a lie.
The relief was short-lived. Brittaney, Kaden's mistress, framed me for hurting her dog, then for trying to kill her during a horseback ride. Kaden, blinded by his devotion to her, believed every lie. He brutally punished me, breaking my leg and dislocating my arm, leaving me for dead.
I was just a prop, a placeholder, less than a spoiled dog in his eyes. My pain, my dignity, meant nothing. Why did he believe her every word, every tear, over my bleeding body?
But in the depths of despair, a lifeline appeared. His mother, horrified by his cruelty, secretly sent me to London, granting me the freedom I had so desperately craved. I was finally free, and I vowed never to see Kaden Barnes again. The Family's Secret: A Love Consumed
Modern My sister, Honora, told me I killed our family in a car crash. Our parents and my adopted brother, Aloysius, were dead. She said it was all my fault.
She told me I had a debt of blood and ruin to repay.
For eight years, I worked three jobs, my body aching from sixteen-hour days. I lived in a tiny, damp room, ate the cheapest bread, and sent every single penny I earned to her.
The money was for one thing: to buy back our family's lake house. It was the symbol of the life I had destroyed, the one place I thought I could find forgiveness.
After eight years of sacrificing my health and my youth, I finally saved enough.
I went to the house, ready to atone. But when I peered through the window, my world stopped. My parents were there, alive, holding champagne glasses. And sitting between them, smiling, was Aloysius—the boy who was supposed to be dead.
They were celebrating his birthday. Then I heard my mother speak.
"It's also Jesse's birthday today," she said casually. "We've punished him for five years. Don't you think it's time we bring him back?"
Honora's smile vanished. "No. We agreed on seven years. Not one day less."
Hidden in the shadows, I clutched the medical report in my hand. Their cruel game was about to be cut short. I was already dying. Rebuilding A Life, Not A Home
Romance For twenty years, Liam Davis was my world.
From juice boxes in kindergarten to our first kiss under the bleachers, he was my constant.
I put my architecture career on hold, working a quiet desk job so his tech startup could thrive, believing his dream was our dream.
Then, one warm evening, as I sorted our old college textbooks, he walked in, a wide, charming smile on his face.
"I need the spare set of apartment keys," he said casually.
My heart sank when he clarified: "Not for us, Ava. For me. For Chloe. To decorate our wedding home."
Chloe. The social media influencer whose perfect life filled the internet.
My mind went blank. Wedding home? My fiancé? He was getting married next month.
He scoffed at my devastation. "It was convenient. You were always there. It was easy. Like marrying your right hand. You don' t put a ring on it."
His words, meant to shatter, ignited a cold fury. My sacrifices, my career, my love - reduced to a crude, dismissive metaphor.
I handed him the keys to our apartment, and watched him change the door' s passcode to my birthday-only to instantly change it again.
"Password successfully changed," a female voice announced from the smart lock, sounding the death knell of my life as I knew it.
He walked out, leaving me alone in what was no longer our home.
The tears came then, hot paths through the dust on my cheeks.
At my parents' house, still reeling, the doorbell rang. It was Liam, snow melting in his hair.
He sneered, "What the hell did you tell your parents? Did you send them to beg for a wedding? My mother's furious your low-class family tried to trap me."
He called me pathetic, unclean. He gloated about changing the apartment code, implying I' d trash the place out of spite.
Something snapped inside me.
"Get out," I said, my voice rising to a raw scream. "GET OUT!"
He snatched a cherished architectural sketch, my childhood dream of a treehouse. "It was our dream house, wasn' t it, Ava? But it was never exciting. Like left hand holding right hand. Familiar, but ultimately, you' re just holding yourself."
He cooed into his phone, "Hey, baby... just wrapping up an old loose end. She's nothing. I love you too, Chloe."
My mother raged, detailing all I' d given up, how I built his company. "A spoiled kid with a half-baked idea! This is how you repay her?"
He countered, "If you' re going to come begging, at least bring a respectable dowry, not just the sob story of a plumber."
He tore a hand-carved necklace, his ten-year anniversary gift, from my neck. "Chloe would like it."
In that moment, the love I' d felt for twenty years curdled into pure void.
I raised my right hand, the one he' d mocked, and slapped him across the face.
"My right hand is my own, Liam," I said, my voice steady and cold. "And from now on, it will be busy building my own life. A life you are no longer a part of."
I turned my back, walking towards the kitchen, leaving him stunned. There would be no regret. His Threat, Her Silent Strength
Modern The order confirmation email glowed on my phone, a beacon of pride for Emily, my sister and the first in our family to graduate college. This custom gown wasn't just fabric; it was a symbol of her extraordinary achievement, bought with my hard-earned money.
An hour later, a message from "Mark\'s Master Gowns" shattered that peace: "Your address is flagged as a high-risk area. We require an additional $50 insurance fee." Then, a venomous follow-up: "So you admit it. You\'re trying to scam me. I know your type. You order expensive stuff, then claim it never arrived to get it for free."
My attempts to de-escalate, to explain I was a social worker, were met with relentless, ugly insults. He canceled my order, kept my money, and then called, his voice a snarl.
"Is this the scammer, Sarah Miller?"
My heart hammered. "You have my money. You haven\'t sent my product. That makes you a thief."
His threat hung heavy in the air: "You don\'t know who you\'re messing with. I have your address. I know where you live. Maybe I should pay you a little visit and we can sort this out in person."
He actually hung up. I stood there, stunned, believing it was over. I was wrong. The next morning, my face, labeled "WARNING: SCAM ARTIST AT WORK," was plastered all over local social media. My boss gave me 24 hours to make it disappear or lose my job. He didn' t care about the truth.
Then, Mark brought his harassment right to my doorstep, organizing a public shaming spectacle on my quiet street. His megaphone blared, "She lives right here! The woman who steals from hardworking veterans!" As my neighbors watched, judging, he spoke chillingly to a confederate, "This is how you get them to pay. A little public pressure and they\'ll give you anything."
Humiliated, desperate, and feeling utterly defeated, I capitulated, wiring him a substantial payment. I had paid the monster. He had won. But as I watched him drive away, a cold, unyielding resolve settled deep within me. This wasn\'t surrender. This was just the beginning. I picked up my phone and dialed 9-1-1. Her Borrowed Life
Romance The first thing I registered was the cold, then a throbbing migraine as a flood of memories that weren' t mine overwhelmed me. I was Anya, the new, unwelcome wife of ruthless Julian Vance, trapped in a mansion that felt more like a museum. This wasn't my life; my own had ended in a stupid, unremarkable accident.
The previous Anya had been desperate, marrying for money, set to become just another one of Julian's possessions, heading for a very bad end. But a disembodied voice inside me had given a clear directive: survive. Change the script.
My immediate challenge: Leo, Julian' s nephew, who stood at the top of the grand staircase, his face resentful. The memories told me the original Anya had been cruel to him, turning him into a rival, destined to make my future miserable. I was supposed to be his wicked stepmother.
A cold dread settled in. No, I wouldn' t be. The original Anya's path led to ruin, her abuse of the boy ultimately causing her downfall.
This wasn't my life, but it was my problem now. My new job wasn't just to survive; it was to get paid, and step one involved flipping the script entirely. I wasn't just going to survive; I was going to explode this whole narrative. My first strategic move: win over the angry kid who stared daggers at me from the stairs. The Price of a Mother's Pain
Billionaires Sarah Winchester, the silent matriarch of Texas's vast Winchester empire, lived reclusively, her custom silver-tipped cane a constant reminder of the bullet she took for her son, David.
David, who worshipped his mother, now headed the dynasty. But his fiancée, Brittany, a superficial socialite, dismissed Sarah as an inconvenient "crazy old ranch hand' s widow," a relic to be removed before her grand announcement.
High on champagne and arrogance, Brittany and her posse stormed Sarah' s guesthouse.
When Sarah calmly revealed her identity as David' s mother, Brittany laughed, sneering at her simple appearance. After brutally knocking out Sarah' s loyal housekeeper, Brittany turned a chilling fury on Sarah herself.
She ordered her goons to assault the matriarch: breaking her remaining good leg, wrenching her arm, hacking off her hair with garden shears. Sarah, gagged and bound, was then stuffed into a coarse feed sack.
In a horrifying act of calculated deception, Brittany presented the sack to David, lying that it contained a "trespasser" who was viciously badmouthing his mother.
Blinded by rage and believing he was defending Sarah' s honor, David grabbed a brutal branding iron and savagely struck the sack multiple times, ordering his own mother' s broken body to be thrown to the coyotes in the remote "back forty."
Imagine the unspeakable horror: Sarah, battered and discarded, listening as her beloved son delivers the final, soul-crushing blows. How could the man she shielded from death inflict such a monstrous fate?
Why was his devotion so easily twisted into deadly rage? Left for dead, she miraculously clung to life, the wild coyotes circling, eerily silent, almost protective, as dawn approached.
This unimaginable betrayal forged a steel resolve in Sarah.
While David, consumed by guilt, wreaked meticulous, terrifying revenge on Brittany before meeting his own tragic end, the powerful Winchester throne stood empty. Sarah, the wounded matriarch, would rise. Her silver-tipped cane, once a crutch, would become a formidable scepter, as she steps forward to rule her empire with an unyielding iron will, a legend born from pain and unbreakable resolve. Playing the Pawn, Winning the Game
Billionaires For seven long years, I've lived in this gilded cage, the King family mansion, playing the role of the quiet, mousy charity case, pathetically infatuated with Ethan Prescott – Victoria King' s dazzling fiancé. Everyone, especially Victoria, thought I was a fool, a harmless fixture always mooning over her prize.
Then, hidden in the library shadows, I overheard their wicked plan. Victoria' s voice, sharp with disdain, saying I was 'still mooning over him.' And Ethan, smooth as silk, calling it 'useful,' for 'keeps her docile.' The chilling part? Their scheme to ensure I was 'out of sight for good,' and horrifyingly, Ethan's suggestion: 'Or better yet, pregnant. That would certainly tie things up neatly, wouldn't it?'
My breath caught, but inside, a cold fire ignited. Pregnant. So that was their game: ruin me completely, tie me down, then discard me. And I played my part beautifully. I let them see my 'blush,' feigned shyness, even made sure they 'overheard' my morning sickness. They exchanged triumphant glances, utterly convinced their cruel masterpiece was unfolding perfectly.
They believed I was a mere pawn, eating out of their hands, destined for a pauper's grave like my mother, Sarah Vance. They took everything from her – her life, her dignity – and then from me. Every sneer, every whispered insult, every moment of humiliation I endured was a necessary sacrifice, a foundation built on their scorn.
But they were fools, hopelessly blinded by their arrogance. They had no idea who they were truly dealing with. Ethan, their precious golden boy, was just a finely crafted key, and I was learning every single one of its grooves. Let them think they were in control. The game, this grand, devastating game of revenge, had been mine all along. The Senator's Secret Son
Romance I' m Sarah Jenkins, an independent graphic designer who only longed for a child, not a husband. Five years ago, after a traumatic past, I built a quiet, safe life in Northern California with my son, Leo. I was finally marrying Mark, a kind, stable man, promising us the uncomplicated future we deserved.
But peace was fleeting. A week before my wedding, Jax, security chief for Alexander Sterling-the powerful man I' d fled-appeared. He knew. They found me. Then, Alexander himself stepped from a black SUV, confirming my greatest fear: my meticulously faked death and new identity were exposed.
The once-amnesiac man, now a formidable Senator, was intent on reclaiming what he believed was his. He publicly crashed my wedding, declaring Leo his son and me his wife. He tore apart the quiet world I' d painstakingly built, leaving me utterly exposed before our stunned community.
My heart pounded with terror. Six years hiding, fearing discovery, only to be dragged back into his dangerous orbit? The abandonment, the cold payoff, years of fear-all surged back. What did Senator Sterling, a man of immense influence, truly want from the woman he' d discarded and the child he' d presumed dead?
Then he knelt, not accusingly, but with a profound plea. He presented a stunning prenuptial agreement securing my independence and Leo' s future. He hadn' t come to control, but to confess, commit, and offer a path I never dreamed possible. Was this a genuine chance, or a trap disguised as freedom? The Secret I Heard in the Operating Room Changed Everything
Modern I'd had a hopeless crush on Rhett Beaumont since I was practically a kid.
He was my dad's business partner – older, suave, the kind of Southern gentleman who could charm anyone.
For years, I'd built up these elaborate daydreams about him.
Then, at the annual Historical Society Gala, he finally seemed to see me.
His smile, just for me, made my heart do that stupid little flip.
He leaned in, promising a private chat later, and my head was spinning. This was it.
But "it" turned into a horrifying trap.
A week later, after a staged mugging where he played the hero, we ended up in a passionate encounter.
That single night led to his childhood sweetheart, Caroline, crashing her car.
Then came our cold, guilt-driven marriage, years of painful, invasive IVF treatments, and him controlling every aspect of my life.
The final blow? Hearing him coldly tell the doctors, "Just let her go if it comes to that," as I bled out on an operating table.
He never loved me. Not for a second.
I was just a pawn, a convenient distraction in his twisted games.
He blamed me for Caroline's accident, resented my very existence.
My body became a failed experiment, my spirit crushed under his icy indifference.
All those years of adoration, wasted on a man who saw me as less than nothing.
The injustice of it all was a physical ache.
How could I have been so stupidly blind to his manipulation?
He'd used my innocent crush to utterly destroy me.
The man I'd put on a pedestal despised me enough to watch me die.
Then, blackness. My last thought: what a complete fool I'd been.
But in the next instant, I gasped, my eyes snapping open.
The scent of lilies and champagne filled the air.
I was standing by that same floral arrangement at the Gala, the night it all began.
Rhett Beaumont was walking towards me, that familiar, predatory smile on his face.
I was dead. I knew I was.
Yet, here I was.
A second chance? This time, things would be different. You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Diversion Three days before the wedding.
I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman.
Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress.
The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem.
It didn't spell Elena.
It read Sofia.
He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name.
Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife.
He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance.
I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared.
"The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?"
"Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport."
"Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys."
I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday.
He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. No Tears For My Cold Mafia Husband
Amigo On our first wedding anniversary, my husband walked out the door.
Not for business. For her.
I left the divorce papers on the table, my wedding ring next to his untouched champagne, and I disappeared into the night.
For a year, I watched Dominic Rossi—the ruthless Underboss of the New York syndicate—drop everything the moment his phone buzzed with another crisis from Sophia. A panic attack. A sleepless night. A lie. I was his wife, the woman he’d promised to cherish, but I was never his priority.
So I chose myself.
Now he’s tearing the city apart trying to find me. But I’m already gone—building a new life with a job that’s mine, an apartment that’s mine, and a name that doesn’t belong to him. The girl who waited in that penthouse is dead. The woman who walked out isn’t looking back.
When Dominic finally corners me, I see the cracks in his armor. He says he’s sorry. He says he loves me. He says he finally understands.
But some words are too late, and some promises can’t be fixed.
He made me guess for a year. Now it’s his turn to wonder if I’ll ever come back.
A heart-wrenching, standalone mafia romance about a woman who refused to be second choice, and the man who learned too late what he’d lost. The Mafia Boss's Estranged Bride
Megan McQueen Bring my wife to me." The words echoed through the hallway.
Five years ago, Isabella Romano died.
Or... so the world believes. She had been forced into a cold, loveless marriage with the ruthless mafia king, Lorenzo De Luca where Isabella was nothing more than a pawn in a dangerous game of power. But on the night she uncovered a secret that could destroy his empire, she became a target.
So she did the only thing she could to survive. Disappearing.
Now living under a new identity as Elena Rossi, Isabella has built a quiet life far away from blood, betrayal... and the man she once called husband. But when a high-profile art restoration job leads her straight into Lorenzo's world again, everything she once buried comes crashing back because Lorenzo never forgets and he never forgives.
The moment he sees her, one truth becomes clear, his estranged bride was still alive and this time, he was never letting her go. Now dragged back into a world she barely escaped, Isabella must hide the one secret that could destroy everything; she didn't leave alone, she had left with his son.
But as enemies close in and buried truths begin to surface, one question threatens to tear them apart:
Did Isabella run to betray him... Or to save his life?
Because in a world ruled by power and blood, love is dangerous and secrets are deadly.
The Underboss's Wife, Now His Queen
Hydro Therapy I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Mafia Wife's Revenge: Unleashing My Fury
Alfred For five years, I lived a beautiful lie. I was Aliana Hughes, the cherished wife of the city's most feared Mafia Capo and the beloved daughter of the Don. I believed my arranged marriage had blossomed into love.
On my birthday, my husband promised me the amusement park. Instead, I found him there with his other family, celebrating the fifth birthday of the son I never knew he had.
I overheard their plan. My husband called me a "naive fool," a placeholder to legitimize his secret son. The ultimate betrayal wasn't his affair, but the sight of my own father's car parked across the street. My family wasn't just aware; they were the architects of my ruin.
Back home, I found the proof: a secret photo album of my husband's other family posing with my parents, and records showing my father had bankrolled the entire deception. They had even drugged me on weekends so he could play happy family.
The grief didn't break me. It turned into something cold and sharp. I was a ghost in a life that was never mine, and a ghost has nothing to lose.
I copied every damning file onto a USB drive. As they celebrated their perfect day, I sent a courier with my parting gift: a recording of their treachery. While their world burned, I walked toward the airport, ready to erase myself and start over. 
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