Ying Suhua
16 Published Stories
Ying Suhua's Books and Stories
The Unwanted Wife's Fiery Rebirth
Modern My husband of five years, a ruthless New York mogul, paraded his affairs while refusing to touch me. My existence was a public humiliation, a constant, quiet ache in a gilded cage.
To finally get a reaction, I staged a fake affair of my own. His response wasn't jealousy. It was violence. He stabbed me with a letter opener and threatened to destroy the one thing I had left: my late mother's memorial garden.
At his mistress's birthday party-held on the anniversary of my mother's death-he forced me to my knees. I had to publicly apologize to the woman he was cheating on me with, my own half-sister, Aubrey.
But the ultimate betrayal came when I discovered a secret video from a decade ago. It proved Aubrey hadn't just been there when my mother fell from a balcony. She had pushed her.
And my husband-the man who swore he'd find her killer-had helped cover it all up.
As I knelt on that cold floor, broken and defeated, he made his final choice. He pressed a button on a remote, and my mother's garden exploded into dust and ash. In that moment, the woman he thought he knew died, and someone new was born from the wreckage. His Wives, Their Treachery, His Redemption
Billionaires As the sole heir to the Pittman dynasty, I was presented with three marriage proposals. They were from the daughters of Boston's most powerful families-Kortney, Danielle, and Jinnie, my childhood friends whom I had loved my entire life.
But my life became a series of tragedies. I married them one by one, and one by one, they died protecting the same man: Jeb Clayton, the son of our estate manager.
On her deathbed, my third wife, Jinnie, confessed the devastating truth.
"We only ever loved Jeb."
She told me they married me for my power, using the Pittman name as a shield to keep their low-status lover safe and in their lives.
My marriages, their deaths-it was all a lie. I wasn't a husband; I was a bodyguard, a cuckolded fool in their tragic romance.
I spent a lifetime as a supporting character and died an old man, alone, with only the city's pity for company. My entire life had been a cruel joke, and I was the punchline.
Until I opened my eyes again.
I was twenty-four, standing before my parents, with the same three velvet boxes on the table. Ninety-Nine Chances Gone
Romance For three years, I was James Cole's wife, a title he forced on me. But his relentless, obsessive love started to win me over. I was even pregnant with our child, finally daring to hope for a future together.
But the day I got the positive pregnancy test, the man who had been obsessed with me was gone. He began publicly chasing a young intern, Janay Rodgers, showering her with the same grand romantic gestures he once used to win my heart.
To win her over, he leaked a twisted story about my mother abandoning me, turning the public against me. He accused me of poisoning Janay and sided with his father to force me into a risky paternity test that threatened our baby's life.
He orchestrated a live TV interview where my own mother was paid to call me a gold-digger, all to make Janay look like a triumphant hero.
When I collapsed in pain on stage from the shock, he ignored my pleas for help. He was too busy comforting Janay, who had a "broken wrist."
I lost our child that day.
Lying alone in the hospital, I heard his father demand he divorce me. His brother brought me the papers. I signed them without a second thought.
I didn't want his money or his apologies. I just wanted to disappear from his life forever. Her Miscarriages, Their Dark Secret
Romance For three years, I endured four miscarriages, each a crushing reminder of my failure, while my husband, Axel, played the part of the grieving spouse, whispering comforting words and promising a different outcome next time.
This time, it was different. Axel's concern morphed into control, isolating me in our gilded cage, claiming it was for my safety and the baby's, due to the stress of being married to the protégé of Senator Dennis Clarke-my biological father.
My trust shattered when I overheard Axel and my adopted sister, Adeline, in the garden. She was holding a baby, and Axel's soft smile, a smile I hadn't seen in months, was directed at them. Adeline's feigned sadness about my "miscarriages" revealed a horrifying truth: my losses were part of their plan to secure Axel's political future and ensure their son, not mine, inherited the Clarke dynasty.
The betrayal deepened when my parents, Senator Clarke and Barbara, joined them, embracing Adeline and the baby, confirming their complicity. My entire life, my marriage, my grief-it was all a monstrous, carefully constructed lie. Every comforting touch from Axel, every worried look, was a performance.
I was just a vessel, a placeholder. Adeline, the cuckoo in my nest, had stolen everything: my parents, my husband, my future, and now, my children. The realization hit me like a physical blow: my four lost babies weren't accidents; they were sacrifices on the altar of Axel and Adeline's ambition.
My mind reeled. How could they? How could my own family, the people who were supposed to protect me, conspire against me so cruelly? The injustice burned, leaving a hollow, aching void.
There were no more tears to cry. Only action. I called the hospital and scheduled an abortion. Then, I called my old dance academy, applying for the international choreography program in Paris. I was leaving. No Longer His Wife, But Her Own Architect
Romance The email I' d been waiting for all morning finally pinged.
It was about the Civic Innovators Fellowship, my chance to design something truly meaningful for the city.
My husband, Mark, a city planner, was on the selection committee and had promised his full support.
But my name wasn' t on the list.
Instead, it was Jessica Evans, Mark' s young protégé, a name I' d heard too much recently.
Confusion turned to ice as Mark, without a hint of remorse, confirmed the news and dismissed my own groundbreaking work.
Suspicion crept in.
That night, I found him with Jessica, far too intimate for mere colleagues.
Then I discovered my ultimate betrayal: he' d pawned my deceased mother' s locket-my most cherished keepsake-to fund Jessica' s career, and given it to her as a "gift."
When I confronted them, Jessica played the innocent victim, and Mark, unbelievably, blamed me for being "hysterical."
The humiliation deepened when Jessica orchestrated a street attack on me, then spread vile rumors, twisting me into the aggressor.
Mark, ever concerned with appearances, sided with her, demanding I stay silent to protect his reputation.
Trapped and seething, my home felt like a cage, my marriage a cruel charade.
How could the man I loved betray me so completely, then watch as my life fell apart, accusing me of madness?
But despair began to harden into a fierce resolve: I would not let them win.
My old mentor' s offer of a small community project in Oakhaven became my escape: a chance to prove them wrong, to rebuild my life, and finally find the strength to fight back for everything I' d lost. His Illness Was A Weapon
Modern For six years, my marriage was a clinical trial. I was the doctor for my husband Jackson' s severe contamination OCD, enduring endless cleaning rituals just for a touch.
Then I found a used condom wrapper in his car. I soon learned he was breaking every single one of his pathological rules for his mistress-kissing her feet, sharing greasy pizza. His "illness" was a lie, a weapon used only against me.
When I confronted him, he chose her. To protect his reputation, he threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving cancer treatment.
The price for her life? I had to publicly announce I was barren and welcome his mistress and their child into our home.
My six years of sacrifice, my entire life, had been a lie designed to control and humiliate me. I was nothing more than a disposable tool.
The next day, in front of a room full of reporters, he handed me the script for my public humiliation. I tore it to pieces.
Then I stepped up to the microphone and said, "I am here today to announce that my marriage to Jackson York is over." The Defective Omega Is The White Wolf Queen
Werewolf After five years of being sneered at as the "defective" Omega, I finally held the plastic stick with two pink lines. I thought this pup would finally make my mate, Alpha David, love me.
But when I rushed to his office to surprise him, I heard him laughing with his Beta.
"Sarah is just a pet," David's voice rumbled. "I'm micro-dosing her with Wolfsbane to ensure she stays barren. Rebecca is the only Luna I need."
My world shattered. I tried to run to protect my baby, but they hunted me down. Rebecca, his cruel mistress, framed me for attacking her, and David looked at me with pure disgust.
He dragged me to an underground fight ring. Rebecca whispered in his ear, claiming my unborn child was a rogue's bastard.
David didn't even hesitate. Blinded by arrogance, he kicked me brutally in the stomach, determined to kill the "abomination."
"David, please! It's your son!" I screamed, blood soaking my thighs.
He didn't listen. He crushed our child—his own heir—under his boot.
Only after I severed our mate bond and vanished did the DNA test reveal the truth: The baby wasn't a rogue. He was a rare Alpha Prime.
David went mad with grief, but I was already gone.
Three years later, the doors to the Grand Summit opened. I walked in, not as the weak Omega he discarded, but as the legendary White Wolf Queen.
David fell to his knees, weeping and begging for a second chance.
I looked down at the broken man.
"You killed your son," I whispered, my aura crushing him into the floor. "Now, live with the ghost." More Than Worthless
Romance I married into the Sterling family, only to find myself alone on my wedding night, my husband, Mark Sterling, nowhere to be found. When he finally returned, he looked at me with disdain, sneering that I was "all ambition and no class," and admitted he was forced to marry me. My empire, built from nothing, suddenly felt worthless in his eyes.
Days later, I overheard his cruel laughter and words: "Ava? She' s utterly bland. Tasteless, really." My company, the "goldmine" he coveted, was just a means to an end. The last illusion shattered, and I signed the divorce papers I had discreetly prepared, leaving them on his desk as I fled the city.
Five years passed. I returned, a successful CEO of a global tech empire, and found him at a high-profile auction. Mark, arrogant as ever, tried to humiliate me by outbidding me on a car, convinced I was still the penniless woman he had discarded. He dragged me into the dirt, mocked me, and had me beaten for merely existing. The crowd, a chorus of old money and false smiles, reveled in my public humiliation, showering me with insults and even physical abuse.
Why did they believe all his lies? Why was my success met with such venom? Why did they choose to dehumanize a woman they knew nothing about, based solely on his word? I had built an empire, yet in his eyes and the eyes of this city, I was still just "worthless trash" without him.
But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know the power I now wielded, nor the influential man who stood silently by my side. As I lay there, bleeding and bruised, I knew this was just the beginning of my reckoning. His Betrayal, Her Unyielding Revenge
Modern My ten-year marriage to a tech mogul ended with his affair. But the real betrayal wasn't his cheating with my protégé. It was the words of my five-year-old son.
"I want Aunt Bethany to be my mommy!"
His cry shattered me. My own son chose the woman who destroyed our family. I was a ghost in my own home, my identity as a wife and mother erased.
So I walked away from it all-the money, the mansion, and the son who no longer wanted me. I built a new life, adopted a daughter, Eva, who truly needed me, and found a peace I never knew.
Two years later, my ex-husband reappeared. To prove his "love" and force our family back together, he kidnapped my daughter. He thought he could control me. He was about to learn that the woman he broke is gone, and the woman who stands in her place will burn his empire to the ground. His Wife, Her Intern, And The Watch
Modern My phone buzzed, pulling me from millions in quarterly reports. It was Instagram.
I found a picture of my wife' s intern, Ethan, smirking, wearing my grandfather' s prized Rolex – a priceless family heirloom.
His caption: "A huge thank you to the most generous boss and mentor, Sabrina Anderson, for this incredible gift."
Rage, cold and sharp, washed over me. I messaged her, "Where is my watch?"
Her reply: "I loaned it to Ethan. Relax, Nate. Don't be so dramatic. It's just a watch."
"Just a watch." Her words shattered everything. All the sacrifices, the empire I built for her.
My anger turned to icy resolve. She didn't just disrespect the watch; she disrespected my family, my history, and me.
I made a call. Her custom Porsche, impounded. Her designer wardrobe, shredded.
There was no turning back. This wasn't just about a watch; it was about reclaiming my life. The Ghost Of Her Past
Fantasy The last thing I remembered was a crushing weight in my chest, and the impossibly cruel words about my son not being mine.
Then, everything went black.
I thought I was dead, a broken man on my own lawn, betrayed by the wife I' d mourned for a decade.
But I opened my eyes to the scent of lilies and the familiar wooden pews of St. Michael's church. It was Nicole' s funeral, ten years ago, the very day she supposedly died.
My mother-in-law, Maria, was there, whispering an insane proposition: marry her younger daughter, Gabby, just on paper, for my baby son, A.J.
In my first life, I' d been horrified by the thought, clinging to Nicole' s memory.
But that Andrew was dead. This Andrew was back, alive and seething with a cold, hard resolve. I knew what was coming in ten years. I knew she' d return to destroy me.
Not this time.
I stared at Gabby, then turned to Maria, my voice steady, my decision made. "Okay," I said. "I' ll do it."
The game had changed. I was given a second chance, and this time, I would build a fortress. My Second Death, Her Sweet Revenge
Romance I was living a dream, finally back in the warm embrace of Sera, the woman I lost.
But a director' s enraged shout shattered the illusion, revealing harsh studio lights, cameras, and a cold, hard floor.
The script called for force, not love, and my confusion on set marked me-not as a lover, but as a stalker, publicly rejected by Sera herself.
Her icy contempt, the humiliating laughter of the crew, and her eventual orchestration of my lonely death from an aggressive cancer left me broken, convinced she was a stranger.
Yet, after dying in despair, I inexplicably woke up in a new, wealthy body, finally experiencing the warmth of a loving family, unaware that the very heart beating in my chest was the beacon drawing her, and a new, even more terrifying battle for my soul, back into my life. When His Grief Was a Lie
Fantasy My parents, the last Lifeweavers, left me with a heavy legacy: marry a Hamilton for protection.
My wedding day came, but my fiancé, Ethan, chose another, leaving me to his charming half-brother, Liam.
He wrapped me in a web of supposed care, until the miscarriages began.
Five times, I held fleeting hope, only for it to shatter, leaving me broken, a cursed vessel of death.
Liam was always there, seemingly heartbroken, holding me close.
I thought I was paying a terrible price for saving his life, a secret burden of my hidden power.
My world shattered when I overheard Liam plotting: my babies were sacrifices, their essence stolen to sustain the sickly Chloe Vance.
Liam' s grief, his protection-all a monstrous lie, meticulously designed to ensure I would conceive again, and again.
I was nothing more than a breeding tool for his depraved scheme.
But during my sixth miscarriage, as I lay bleeding, my parents' old locket pulsed with an ethereal light, revealing my true Lifeweaver power.
Liam, finally seeing my nature, then demanded a ritual-a brutal exchange of my very lifeforce to save Chloe.
I agreed, but this time, the ritual would be my weapon.
With the forgotten strength of my lineage and the spectral embrace of my six lost children, I would turn his twisted game against him.
I would fight for my freedom, and for their peace. The Monster By My Bedside
Romance My life was a picture of perfection: happily married, a successful graphic designer, and four months pregnant, envisioning a bright future in my chic Chicago apartment.
Then, the nightmare began, shattering everything.
Masked men burst into my home, assaulting me, and the last thing I remembered before blacking out was my husband Mark's key in the lock.
I woke up in a hospital bed, only to learn I'd lost our baby, and the attack had left me infertile.
But the true horror came from behind a curtain: my 'grieving' husband Mark admitting his 'relief' to his best friend, David, revealing the assault was orchestrated by his mistress, Jessica, merely a 'warning' for me to miscarry.
My own husband, complicit in the murder of our child and the destruction of my future, was relieved it happened.
The betrayal was an icy blade, a thousand times worse than any physical pain, leaving me reeling in a cold, absolute rage.
How could the man who held my hand moments earlier be such a monster?
Lying there, playing the incapacitated victim, I knew I couldn't simply 'move on' with this charade.
I had to vanish.
With the help of David, I decided to stage my own death.
I shed 'Sarah Miller,' leaving her tragic story behind, becoming 'Emily Hayes,' ready to forge a new life-and make them pay. You might like
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. 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. 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.
His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny 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. 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?
Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
JENNIFER JARVIS My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." 
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