Xia Luowei

10 Published Stories

Xia Luowei's Books and Stories

Too Late: The Don Begs Forgiveness

Too Late: The Don Begs Forgiveness

5.0

I placed the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, ending five years of being the perfect, silent wife to the most ruthless Don in Chicago. He didn't sign them. Instead, Kaden Barnes looked at me with cold, reptilian eyes and named his price for my freedom. "Thirty lashes," he said. "The discipline of a traitor." I accepted. I let his enforcer shred my back until I was dragging myself across the gravel driveway in a pool of my own crimson. But as I crawled toward the exit, I heard him laughing with his mistress, Brittaney. "Harlow isn't my wife," he sneered. "The certificate is a forgery. She owns nothing." My loyalty had been a lie. And when Brittaney faked an injury to frame me, Kaden didn't check on my bleeding wounds. He tied my wrists and ankles to the tow hitch of his SUV. He drove forward until my hip popped and my shoulder dislocated, leaving me broken in the dirt while his mistress smiled. He thought he had destroyed me. He didn't know his mother would smuggle me onto a private jet to London that very night. Three years later, the Barnes empire collapsed. Kaden was rotting in a Supermax prison, betrayed by the very mistress he had tortured me to protect. Now, a letter sits on my desk in Kensington. The monster is dying of cancer, and he has left me his entire fortune. I packed my bag for one last trip. It was time to see if the King had finally learned that he threw away a diamond to chase after cheap glass.

The Barren Wife's Cold Hearted Revenge

The Barren Wife's Cold Hearted Revenge

5.0

For eight years, I endured seven miscarriages, clinging to the hope of starting a family with my husband, Joshua. Then I overheard the truth. He and my adoptive sister, Harlow, had orchestrated every loss. They needed the unique stem cells from my miscarriages to cure their own secret child. My body was just an incubator for their twisted plan. After the eighth miscarriage, they left me barren, my womb removed to save my life. They stole my children, my future, and my ability to ever be a mother. They thought I was a broken, naive princess. They had no idea they had just created a queen bent on revenge. Now, I'm back. And I will burn their empire to the ground, leaving them with nothing but the ashes of their betrayal.

His Stolen Luna, His Ultimate Regret

His Stolen Luna, His Ultimate Regret

5.0

For five years, I was the fated mate of Alpha Alan, the Luna of the Bloodmoon Pack. But for all five of those years, his heart belonged to another woman—Fiona. On our shared birthday, the final thread of my hope snapped. I watched as she descended the grand staircase in a magnificent silver gown, a dress he had promised was a surprise for me. In front of the entire pack, she walked to him and kissed his cheek. He always claimed Fiona was a fragile, broken wolf who needed his protection. For years, I believed his lies. I endured his indifference while he gave my dreams to her, celebrating her birthday in secret while leaving me with the hollow title of Luna. When I confronted him, he dismissed my pain. "She just doesn't get it," he complained to Fiona, his voice seeping into my mind through our broken bond. "Thinking a mate title can chain me. It's suffocating." He thought he was suffocating? I was the one drowning in his neglect. He wasn't my mate; he was a coward, and I was just a cage he was forced into by the Goddess. So I walked out of the hall, and later, out of his life. I formally rejected him. As the bond shattered between us, he finally panicked, begging me to reconsider. But it was too late. I was done being his cage.

The Ex's Ruthless Revenge

The Ex's Ruthless Revenge

5.0

My company, Innovate, was my life' s work, built from the ground up with my boyfriend, Caleb, over ten years. We were college sweethearts, a golden couple, and our biggest deal, a $50 million contract with Apex Ventures, was finally closing. Then, a sudden wave of nausea hit me, and I fainted, only to wake up in a hospital. When I returned to the office, my keycard was denied, my access revoked, and my photo, defaced with an "X," was in the trash. Krystal Schroeder, a young intern Caleb had hired, was sitting at my desk, acting like the new Chief of Operations. She announced loudly that "non-essential personnel" were to stay clear, looking directly at me. Caleb, the man who had promised me the world, stood by, his face cold and indifferent. He dismissed my pregnancy, calling it a distraction, and put me on mandatory leave. I saw a tube of Krystal' s bright red lipstick on Caleb' s desk, the same shade I' d seen on his collar. The pieces clicked: the late nights, the "business dinners," his sudden obsession with his phone-it was all a lie. They had been planning this for months. The man I loved was gone, replaced by a stranger. But I wouldn' t let them take everything. I told Caleb I was leaving, but not without my full share of the company, valued at the post-Apex funding price. I also reminded him that the core algorithm, the one Apex was investing in, was patented in my name alone. I walked out, pulling out my phone to call the one person I never thought I would: Easton Jensen, my fiercest rival.

My Twin, His Obsession

My Twin, His Obsession

5.0

The air in Demian Oliver' s apartment was thick and hot, our bodies slick with sweat. This was it, the secret celebration of our graduation, the moment I had waited for. Then, in the peak of his passion, he whispered a name: "Finley." Not my name. My name is Finley Brooks. Finley is my younger twin sister. My whole body went cold. I found his phone, and a group chat called "The Conquest" revealed a picture of me sleeping in his bed, my back exposed. Messages confirmed my worst fears: "Consider this a warm-up. Gotta get familiar with the family before I go for the main prize." Two years of secret dates, stolen kisses, and whispered promises were all a lie. I was just a conquest, an appetizer for my own sister. The humiliation continued at the graduation party. My sister, Finley, publicly exposed the hickeys Demian had left on my neck, mocking me. Demian, the man I thought loved me, stood by and watched, his expression unreadable. Later, during a game of Truth or Dare, he publicly disowned me, forcing me to drink an entire bottle of vodka. I didn't understand. Why was I always the target? Why did my own family, and the man I loved, choose to humiliate me so cruelly? That night, I received an email: early admission to Crestwood Institute for Advanced Research, a secluded university thousands of miles away. It was my chance to escape, to become a ghost.

Winter's Betrayal: A Groom Left Behind

Winter's Betrayal: A Groom Left Behind

5.0

For seven years, I, Liam Davies, built a life loving pop star Serena Vance, accepting her "Winter" persona as a quirky brand, a harmless aesthetic. Then, on our wedding day, a mysterious gift arrived, shattering her public smile and revealing a name: Donovan Thorne. Her face drained, her hands trembled, and as she lifted the lid, a single preserved white rose under glass mocked our seven years with its presence, proving her "Winter" was not a season, but a person-a dead person. She whispered, "I can't do this," and ran, leaving me at the altar, realizing I was just a placeholder for a ghost, a humiliating truth that twisted my stomach. When she tried to buy my silence and cooperation by threatening my sister Chloe' s life-saving medical treatment, a cold, hard resolve set in: she wouldn' t just lose a fiancé, she' d lose everything.

Her Betrayal, My Cancer, Our End

Her Betrayal, My Cancer, Our End

5.0

The opening bell rang, deafeningly loud. Confetti rained down on the NASDAQ trading floor as our company, Innovatech, went public. My arm was around my wife, Sarah, smiling for the cameras. Millions of dollars, years of coding in my garage, all of it had paid off. I was on top of the world. Just two hours later, an antiseptic smell filled Dr. Chen' s sterile office. The smile was gone. "It's pancreatic cancer, Ethan," he said softly. "Stage four. It's...aggressive." The words hung heavy. IPO day. The best day of my life. And now this. The irony was a physical blow. I drove home in a daze, the city lights blurring. I needed to tell Sarah. We' d face this together. She was waiting when I walked into our large, empty house. Not smiling. Dressed in a sharp business suit, a leather briefcase on the coffee table. "Sarah," I started, my voice cracking, "I just came from the doctor's office. It's bad news." She held up a hand. "I know." Her voice was cold, completely devoid of emotion. "You know?" "I called Dr. Chen's office. The receptionist said he had an urgent appointment with you. I figured it was serious." She slid a thick stack of papers across the table. "These are divorce papers, Ethan." I stared at the documents, then back at her face. "Divorce? Now? Sarah, I have cancer." A small, ugly smirk played on her lips. "Exactly. My lawyer has already transferred the liquid assets. The IPO provided a lot of liquidity. It's better this way." "Better this way? I'm sick, Sarah! I'm dying!" "Don't be so dramatic," she scoffed, standing up. "Treatment would be a waste of money. Money that is now mine. You should just take whatever is left and enjoy your last few days. Don't waste it on doctors." She walked to the door. Her heels clicked loudly. She didn't look back once. The door closed, a soft, final click. I was alone. The divorce papers sat on the table, a testament to a decade. The confetti felt like a distant, faded memory. When Chloe, my childhood friend, inexplicably appeared at my doorstep, worry etched on her face, everything changed. She dropped her lucrative career for me. As I looked at her, then at the divorce papers, a dangerous plan began to solidify in my mind.

From Midland Wife to Port City Queen

From Midland Wife to Port City Queen

5.0

The tiny plus sign on my pregnancy test was supposed to be the culmination of six years of IVF, a symbol of hope. But then, a notification flashed across my phone screen: Chloe Bishop, my husband Mark' s executive assistant. Her Instagram story showed Mark, my husband of almost six years, tenderly cutting steak for her. Her caption: "My boss is the sweetest... I'd do anything for him! 😉 #BestBoss" The date stamp? Last night, celebrating "3 Years!" Three years. We'd been married for almost six. The nausea intensified, but it wasn't just morning sickness; it was pure disgust. Mark' s call, dismissive, praising Chloe and her "lifesaving" efficiency, sealed it. He called me "dramatic." He was praising his mistress to his wife, who just found out she was pregnant with his child after years of heartbreaking treatments. The baby I' d fought so hard for, his baby, was conceived in a life built on his lie. His betrayal was blatant, then aggressive. Chloe slid into my apartment with a key during a blizzard, cozying up to him. She sent me a suggestive photo, then faked a frantic call about a "boyfriend" and a "private suite." On our sixth wedding anniversary, Mark abandoned me in my black dress for Chloe' s manufactured crisis, her fake pregnancy and suicide threat. How could he be so blind? So utterly, completely heartless? My quiet life had become a very loud, very ugly lie. It wasn't surprising anymore; it was just… final. But I wasn't just Ellie anymore. I was Eleanor Hayes. I signed the divorce papers, got the abortion, and left him a note with a rejected diamond ring. Then, I boarded a flight back to Port City, ready to unleash the true power he never knew I possessed.

The Impostor Husband

The Impostor Husband

5.0

My husband Julian Hawthorne was supposed to be dead, a casualty of the corporate wars. But as the victory news echoed, a chilling memory resurfaced: he wasn't dead. He was a liar, a manipulator, and he' d returned, impersonating his twin, Damian. Just as I remembered his brutal betrayal-how he' d orchestrated my ruin while publicly adoring my stepsister Cassie-his mother, Isabelle, announced my fate: five years of deep mourning, social seclusion, and no remarriage. This was the same trap from my first life. When I defied her, Julian, playing the grieving brother, and Cassie, the picture of tearful devastation, tried to paint me as unhinged. Then, 'Damian' fastened a diamond pendant around Cassie' s neck-a design I' d created, a cruel symbol of their shared deception. The true horror wasn't just Julian's monstrous fraud, but Cassie's chilling confession: she knew. My own stepsister, complicit in plunging me into this gilded cage of despair. Stripped of everything, publicly shamed, I was adrift in a sea of their lies. But I refused to be a victim again. When facing utter disgrace, I demanded: "Is there any man here willing to marry me today?" Silence met my plea. Then, from the shadows, a calm voice cut through: "I am willing." Noah Kincaid. My unexpected salvation, or simply another pawn in the Hawthorne game? This time, I' d reclaim my destiny.

Trade For Love: Stick With Bossy Billionaire

Trade For Love: Stick With Bossy Billionaire

4.8

A phone number got Laura into the romantic trap of that devil, Harrison, who enjoyed pushing people from the peak of happiness to the depths of hell. Since she used that number, she had to face the consequences. She thought she could win all of his gentlenesses, but what greeted her was unbearable devastation. Running away to in a panic, his cold voice sent a chill down her spine. “You have no way to escape, my girl. Come back to me now, or you will regret it.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Dorine Koestler

4.5

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.

Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle

Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle

4.2

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?

Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair

Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair

5.0

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.

The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen

The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen

5.0

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.

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

Jilted Pet Becomes The Mafia Queen

Jilted Pet Becomes The Mafia Queen

3.5

When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god. Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires. He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family. In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet. Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it. That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed. I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property. After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash. So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good. A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy.

He Chose The Mistress, Losing His True Queen

He Chose The Mistress, Losing His True Queen

4.5

I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York. To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen. But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table. It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test. "Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture." I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking. He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago. He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy. He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go. He was wrong. I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don. And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy. I wanted to erase him. I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built. Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa." It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul. On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial. When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth. He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife. Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.

Spring Beneath the Grave

Spring Beneath the Grave

5.0

Elora Griffiths was on her way to drop her daughter off at school when her husband's enemies opened fire in the street. The bodyguard her husband had personally assigned to protect them abandoned the car the instant the shots rang out. Mother and daughter were hit multiple times, teetering on the brink of death. Elora frantically called her husband, Rodger Griffiths, but he didn't answer. Her brother, Hugh Dale, arrived just in time and saved them both. "How could this happen? Didn't Rodger assign someone to protect you?" Hugh asked. Elora sobbed uncontrollably, "The bodyguard ran away!" On the way to the hospital, Elora kept trying Rodger's number, desperate. One call after another... Finally, on the ninety-ninth attempt, the line connected. On the other end was the female bodyguard, trembling, her voice barely holding back tears. "Rodger, it's really not my fault! There were so many assassins. I would've died if I tried to stop them! I was so scared..." Elora held her breath, waiting for her husband's wrath to thunder down. But Rodger just sighed. "Forget it. The important thing is you're safe," he said. Meanwhile, Elora's daughter took her last breath in her arms. The pain was suffocating. She held her daughter close as her body went cold and stiff, teeth gritted in fury, "Hugh, I'm divorcing him! I'll cut off every single arms shipment to the Griffiths family from the largest arms company in Crownport!"

The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir

The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir

5.0

I stood alone at the center of my art gallery opening, clutching a glass of warm champagne, while the guests whispered behind their hands. My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, wasn't there. A breaking news alert on my phone explained why. It was a high-definition photo of Dante shielding his mistress, Isabella, from the rain. He was touching her with a protective possessiveness he had never once shown me. Then came his text: "Isabella needed me. Go home." That was the moment the cage door unlocked. I didn't go home to cry. I went to his office the next morning with a stack of papers disguised as "gallery insurance forms." While Isabella sat on his desk, mocking me for being a boring housewife, Dante was too annoyed to read the fine print. He just wanted me gone so he could get back to her. He signed the divorce decree. He signed the asset dissolution. Most importantly, without looking, he signed the irrevocable relinquishment of parental rights. I walked out with my freedom, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. That night, I stared at a positive pregnancy test. I was carrying the Sovrano heir he had always demanded. And he had just legally signed away his right to ever know his child. I fled to the Swiss Alps, vanishing into the snow to raise my baby away from his world of blood and bullets. I thought I was safe, until six months later. Dante hadn't just sent men to look for me. He had burned his own shipping empire to the ground, destroying his status as King, just to prove he would trade it all for the wife he threw away.

Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don

Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don

5.0

For nine years, I was the perfect mafia wife. I laundered Marcus Thorne’s money through my design firm, smiled at his dinners, and ignored the lipstick stains on his collars. I believed in the Omertà of our marriage. I thought my loyalty was my armor. I was wrong. On the night of our anniversary gala, a car lost control and barreled straight toward us in the parking lot. Marcus didn't look at me. Not once. He lunged for his mistress, Izzy, tackling her to safety behind a concrete pillar. I was left standing in the open. The impact threw me like a ragdoll. I lay bleeding on the cold asphalt, my body broken, watching through the haze as my husband frantically checked his mistress for scratches. "My ankle," she whimpered. Without a backward glance, he picked her up and carried her to his limousine, leaving me to bleed out on the pavement. He didn't leave me because he panicked. He left me because I was just a shield he used to protect what he actually loved. As darkness crept in, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Marcus. It was Julian Croft, his sworn rival. I looked at the empty spot where my husband should have been and made a choice. "Get me to the hospital," I rasped, staring into the eyes of the enemy. "And then help me burn his empire to the ground."