The Edge
10 Published Stories
The Edge's Books and Stories
The Mute Bride's Secret Billionaire Contract
Billionaires I woke up with a throbbing pressure behind my eyes and the taste of metallic champagne in my throat. Instead of my cramped apartment, I was draped in expensive silk under a ceiling the color of a storm cloud.
A pear-shaped black diamond sat heavy on my finger, and a document on the nightstand confirmed my worst fear. I was married to Arnulfo Bond, the shipping magnate whose previous eight fiancées had all vanished or died in "accidents."
My sister, Verity, had drugged me at the Met Gala and sold me to cover our father’s fifty-million-dollar debt.
"You do this, or I pull the plug on Aunt Meredith," she warned me over a burner phone.
Arnulfo didn’t look at me with lust; he looked at me like an auditor checking a spreadsheet for defects. He sealed the estate with titanium shutters, turning the mansion into a high-tech fortress. When a doctor saw the whip scars and cigarette burns on my back—reminders of the childhood abuse Verity never faced—Arnulfo realized I wasn't the pampered socialite he’d bought.
I was a line item, a transaction, a mute girl trapped between a husband who treated me like property and a family that wanted me dead. I didn't understand how my own sister could be so heartless, or why Arnulfo was suddenly looking at my broken skin with a terrifying, possessive interest.
But they all made a fatal mistake. They thought I was just a helpless victim. They didn't know I was "The Ghost," a forensic accountant for the SEC who lived on the dark web.
As Arnulfo walked away, I opened a hidden terminal on my phone. I wasn't running anymore; I was infiltrating. I was going to find every cent of his blood money and use it to buy my freedom. Regret Cheaper Than Dust
Modern Everyone in Seavelt knew that Dr. Ethan Caldwell, the city's top gynecologist, never got close to women.
No matter how many youthful figures stood before him, he never so much as glanced their way.
I always thought I was different, even after ten years together, when he wouldn't let me touch him.
If my fingertips accidentally brushed his sleeve, he'd snap, "Don't touch me."
After another failed attempt to climb into his bed, he sent ten men to sleep with me.
Afterward, when I cried and lashed out at him, he said flatly, "I can't let you live like a nun forever."
The eleventh time he arranged for someone to pin me to the bed, I lost it and swallowed two hundred sleeping pills.
When I woke up, Ethan, for the first time ever, allowed me to touch him.
I thought I could slowly win him over. But the next day, at his private villa, I caught him holding another woman in his arms.
He kissed the top of her head, his eyes burning with a passion I'd never seen.
When I confronted him, Ethan looked at me coldly. "Clara's not like you. She doesn't have those filthy thoughts or try to seduce men."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. "Fine, Ethan. Let's break up." The Master Of Deception's Richest Game
Modern I spent three years playing the perfect "placeholder" boyfriend for a billionaire’s rebellious daughter. I was the safety net, the companion, and the professional distraction paid to keep her out of trouble until she reached her "real" future.
But the moment she turned twenty-one, her father slid a fifty-thousand-dollar check across a polished mahogany desk and told me I was a defective appliance being disposed of. He demanded I sign a non-disclosure agreement and disappear forever, treating my years of service like a common trash pickup.
I walked out of the estate with a face full of tragic longing, making sure the security cameras caught my wet eyes. But the second the iron gates slammed shut, I wiped my face and opened "Proxy," a high-end app for the 1% who need hired bodies for their dirty emotional work. I didn't have the luxury of a broken heart; I had a foster home to roof and dialysis bills to pay.
My next gig was a "hazard pay" nightmare with Antoinette Lowe, a cold-blooded professor who used me as a vessel for her grief. One hour I was wearing a five-thousand-dollar tuxedo while she hurled porcelain vases at my head, screaming about the man who left her at the altar. The next, she had me in a French maid outfit, scrubbing her kitchen floors on my hands and knees while she mocked my dignity.
I became her ghost, her servant, and her scripted lover, whispering "you are breathtaking" for a five-hundred-dollar bonus while a silent timer vibrated on my wrist. I lived my life in fragments: a silent audience for a violent cellist by night, and a commanding voice on a headset for a girl who couldn't sleep. I was everyone’s everything, yet I was becoming a man with no face of my own.
I realized then that these people didn't want a human; they wanted a mirror that didn't bleed. Antoinette started believing the lies I sold her, convinced she was my muse instead of my paycheck. She didn't see the calculation in my eyes or the way I analyzed her every weakness just to stay in character.
"I am whatever you need me to be, Ms. Lowe," I told her, my voice a perfect mask of devotion.
The obsession is growing, the roles are bleeding together, and the danger is peaking. But as long as the deposit clears, I’ll keep playing the game until there’s nothing left of me to sell. A Mother's Strength, A Wife's Fall
Romance The first thing I noticed was the ultrasound picture on my kitchen island, a grainy image signaling a future I never saw coming.
My husband, David, looked pale, and beside him, his intern, Lily, barely legal and with a hand protectively over her flat stomach, smiled triumphantly.
"I' m pregnant," Lily announced, "It' s David' s." The words shattered 15 years of my life.
David, the man I' d sacrificed everything for, couldn' t meet my eyes. He mumbled about it "just happening."
Then my fifteen-year-old adopted son, Alex, walked past me and handed Lily a glass of water, telling her, "You should sit down."
He looked at me, his young face hard. "Mom, just listen. Dad made a mistake. Lily is scared. We need to be adults about this."
The shock was a physical blow. Not just my husband, but my son, my Alex, was against me.
Lily, seeing her advantage, spoke with false sincerity. "Sarah, I don' t want to break up your family. We can make this work. I can live here. You can help me with the baby."
The audacity left me breathless. She wanted me to raise my husband' s illegitimate child in my home.
My perfectly curated world dissolved into chaos. David, Lily, and Alex stood there, a new family, and I was the inconvenient, old piece.
A profound cold dread spread through me. This wasn' t a crack; it was a demolition.
Seven years ago, I had taken the fall for David' s career-ending mistake, losing my architectural license and, due to the stress, an ectopic pregnancy that left me unable to have children naturally. David had promised, "You are all the family I will ever need."
Now, he fawned over Lily. My sacrifices, my body, my love-none of it was enough.
Alex admitted he' d been covering for David and Lily for months, helping them meet.
"Maybe if you were a better wife, none of this would have happened," Alex declared, his eyes full of contempt. "Maybe if you paid more attention to Dad instead of your work, he wouldn't have needed someone else."
That was the final blow. I looked at their united faces. My heart didn' t just break, it turned to dust.
"Get out of my house," I said, my voice dead. "All of you. I want nothing to do with you, or with it."
David was speechless. I calmly opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a manila envelope.
"I want a divorce," I stated, placing the papers on the coffee table. The words were final.
Alex scoffed, "You have nothing without him. Where would you even go?"
David tried to placate me, then offered me the house, asking me not to fight for the rest of the assets-for the baby' s sake. Then came the ultimate insult.
"I think it would be best if you found somewhere else to stay," he said. "Lily' s pregnancy… all this stress isn' t good for her. Or the baby."
He was kicking me out of my own home, the sanctuary I had built, to make room for his mistress.
A bone-deep sadness settled over me. It wasn' t my home anymore; it was a house full of strangers.
"Fine," I whispered. "I' ll be gone by the end of the week." My choice was made. Revenge Wears a Wedding Ring
Modern The sterile scent of antiseptic always brought me back.
It was the smell of my last death – broken and bleeding in a dark alley.
But this time, I wasn\'t dying; I was walking into Senator Maxwell' s garden party, my husband, Professor Ethan Thorne, adjusting his tie beside me.
To the world, he was a rising academic star.
To me, he was my future murderer.
Just hours ago, in a lifetime I' d miraculously escaped, his accomplices left me for dead after his brilliant scheme to have his lover, Holly Summers, "save" the Senator' s granddaughter backfired, permanently disfiguring little Lily Maxwell.
His last words echoed in my mind, "Make sure she doesn' t talk."
I\'d loved him, trusted him with my life, and he' d thrown it all away for power and wealth.
Now, he asked, his smile perfectly crafted but his eyes calculating, "Liv, are you ready? Holly is already in the garden."
He saw his naive wife, the talented musician.
He couldn\'t see the ghost in my eyes, the cold resolve that now fueled me.
He had no idea he was looking at the woman who would orchestrate his ruin.
I had been given a second chance.
Not for love, not for happiness, but for justice.
The game had just been reset, but this time, I was writing the rules. A Wife's Cold Smile of Revenge
Billionaires My life was a monument, built brick by brick on my mother' s legacy, dedicated to a name that meant integrity, quality, and family.
Then, in a sterile hospital room, it all ended.
The man I married, Mark, took everything: my company, my home, my inheritance, and the future of my unborn child.
I had saved him from ruin, pulling him from the wreckage of his own failed ventures, using my funds and company resources to clear his name.
In return, he promised me the world, and like a fool, I believed him.
I invested my expertise, my connections, my family' s capital into him, helping him climb the corporate ladder, all while he climbed on my back.
At my most vulnerable, six months pregnant, he stole my designs and sold them to our biggest rival.
When I confronted him, he stood with Emily, the woman from that rival firm, sneering, "Even if Emily is ruthless, she loves me and would never betray me!"
He twisted the knife, "You\'re just a pawn, Sarah. Bound by our family\'s contract. A tool. If it weren\'t for avenging what your family did to Emily\'s years ago, I wouldn\'t have even bothered with you!"
He unraveled everything, funding Emily\'s projects with my firm\'s assets, selling off my child' s future.
The hatred consumed me, a fire that burned away every last ounce of love.
Then, the world went dark.
I woke up, not in that hospital, but in my own bed, two years earlier.
My stomach was flat, no baby, no pain.
The digital clock showed the exact day Mark first brought Emily home.
I heard his voice downstairs, her laugh.
He knew.
He had come back too.
A cold smile spread across my face.
"Grandfather," I said, my voice clear and steady as I joined them. "Since Mark likes this woman so much, let\'s welcome her into the family."
He had expected tears, not this.
My hatred, reborn, was a razor\'s edge.
He had just welcomed a viper into his home, a corporate raider I knew would drain him dry in less than ten days. The Price of Trust
Romance Ava Reed was at the pinnacle of her career, overseeing the groundbreaking Nexus Tower, a testament to her vision and her late father' s legacy.
Then, the blueprint for her dream project, her future-and her trust-shattered into a million pieces.
Her live-in assistant, Liam Stone, the man who shared her home and her dreams, the man she loved, had betrayed her. He leaked her confidential designs to the cutthroat Sterling Group, their biggest rival.
The city, once her canvas, now twisted into a landscape of public humiliation. Sterling Group retaliated, suing Ava for intellectual property theft, painting her as the villain, and her board members-once her staunchest supporters-began to question her leadership, her judgment, and her very sanity.
How could the man she trusted with everything orchestrate such a devastating attack? Was it all a lie? Every shared laugh, every quiet moment? The betrayal was a physical ache, a wound that ripped not just through her company, but through her soul.
Just when all hope seemed lost, a cryptic call from Liam offered a tantalizing, dangerous possibility: a deeper conspiracy, a mole within her own company, and a chance for her to fight back. Too Late For Their Love: The North Star Shines Bright
Billionaires My biological parents were tech billionaires, yet for me, Sarah Miller, every penny was a battleground. They preached "character" and "tough love," while lavishing everything on Ashley, their "perfect" adopted daughter, who got whatever she wanted.
On SAT day, a torrential storm hit. I desperately needed $50 for an Uber to reach the crucial exam on time. My father, flaunting his self-made fortune, snatched my emergency cash – saved from months of skipping lunch – and sneered, "Spoiled brat! Build character."
I arrived soaking wet and an hour late, my SATs a blur of cold and despair. Then, on a classmate' s phone, I saw it: A live social media feed of my parents hosting a multi-million dollar bash for Ashley. The reason? She'd won a minor school debate.
My mother' s caption gloated, "So proud of our Ashley! #ProudParents #HarrisonLegacy." Millions for Ashley' s 'tests' were fine, but $50 for my future was an exorbitant luxury. Every hope, every scraped-together crumb of affection I'd ever craved, evaporated. Why did they despise their own daughter so much? What had I, their flesh and blood, ever done to earn such icy disdain?
In that moment, something inside me snapped. The desperate girl who clung to their approval died. My local college applications lay torn. My illusions, finally, shattered. And I knew: I was done. Her Crown, Her Vengeance
Billionaires My entire life revolved around Ashworth Creatives, the agency I poured my soul into building, and my fiancé, Ethan.
Tonight was meant to be my crowning achievement, sealing a colossal client deal and my future within the powerful Ashworth family who' d adopted me.
Then, I saw Ethan' s phone.
A text from my manipulative adoptive sister, Chloe: "Heard you' re taking Ava to the gala tonight. Don' t forget our little after-party, just us. ;)"
Beneath it, a damning video: Ethan and Chloe, laughing, intertwined in my private guesthouse.
Chloe was draped in my deceased mother' s diamond necklace, a "gift" from Ethan, according to his text.
My blood ran cold.
They weren't just having an affair; they were plotting to use my marriage to secure my assets, then throw me aside, giving my agency to her.
The Ashworths had groomed me, controlled me, and now, they planned to discard me like trash.
I was a means to their end, and Ethan, their willing, despicable pawn.
The gala-my moment of triumph-threatened to become my public humiliation.
But a cold, unyielding rage ignited inside me, far stronger than any despair.
I wouldn't be their victim; I would dismantle them all, piece by agonizing piece.
My fingers flew across my own phone, dialing a number I' d heard whispered about, for "companions."
"I need an escort," I stated, my voice flat, holding back a torrent of fury.
"Tonight. For the industry gala. For a performance. You need to act like my devoted boyfriend."
My revenge would be calculated, public, and absolute. You might like
Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." Burned by Poison, Saved by the Devil
Gale Kaaya My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
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. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit
Elisha Plasket I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra.
But the man beside me—Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York—had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right.
She wasn't his fiancée. I was.
The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up."
He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush.
To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture—a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting.
So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home.
I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet.
On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war."
By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life. 
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