The Husband Who Broke Me

Escaping The Mafia Don's Golden Cage

I stood over the fresh dirt of my four-year-old son's grave. My husband, the Don of the Stark family, didn't hold my hand for comfort. He only adjusted his cuffs and checked that the diamond necklace he forced on me looked good for the cameras. "Stop crying," he whispered into my hair. "You're making a scene." Two days later, I woke up to the sound of shattering glass in the nursery. A strange boy stood there, smiling over the broken remains of my son's favorite snow globe. "This is Cody," my mother-in-law said coldly. "He's family. He stays." When I demanded he leave, Eli looked at me with dead eyes. "Material things can be replaced, Harper. The boy stays." Suspicion led me to the library door, where I heard the impossible truth. Cody wasn't a distant cousin. He was Eli's illegitimate son. And worse—while my son was drowning alone in the pool, Eli hadn't been at a business meeting. He had been in bed with his mistress. I realized then that the silver bracelet he had gifted me wasn't jewelry. I pried it open and found the blinking red light of a tracker. I was a prisoner in a cage of gold. So, I decided to die. I staged my suicide at the bridge, vanished into the night, and paid a shadow doctor to wipe my memories clean. I became Avery. I was happy. I was free. Until six months later, when a man in a black suit walked into my small-town cafe and looked at me with the eyes of a wolf. "Harper," he growled. "Come home."

Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge

I lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end. The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds. She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck—my mother’s necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers. My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy—it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay. But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother’s voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I’m the one who holds the shears.

Ashton's Betrayal, Her Unyielding Vengeance

I spent a decade as Ashton Maxwell' s shadow, building his empire and warming his bed, only for him to announce his engagement to a senator's daughter right in front of me. When assassins struck that night, he didn't just choose her; he used my body as a human shield against a grenade and then shot me himself to prove his loyalty to her family. I survived, reinvented myself as Grecia Munoz, and returned to burn his world to the ground, eventually forcing him to hand over his entire empire in a desperate plea for forgiveness. He promised to disappear so I could find peace with a kind doctor named Garrick. But Ashton' s definition of love was a sickness. To "protect" me from what he called a weakness, he secretly destroyed Garrick' s career and reputation, driving the only innocent man I ever loved to jump off a bridge. He thought this would drive me back into his arms, into the safety of the monster he created. Instead, I drove to the Hamptons, to the pristine dream home he had built for our future. He knelt before me, begging for understanding, claiming he did it all for us. I didn't offer forgiveness. I raised the pistol he had once given me, aimed at the heart I had already broken, and ended the nightmare once and for all.

The Syndicate's Ghost: Don's Forgotten Queen

For four years, I was the grieving wife of a mafia Don, drowning in the memory of our dead son. My husband, Eli, held me through it all. But a trip to the records office on the anniversary of our son's death revealed a devastating truth. He had another son. A secret family. Worse, I discovered he was with his mistress the day our son died, having dismissed the security that could have saved him. He let me believe it was my fault. When I tried to leave, he brought his mistress and their son into our home, framing me as a madwoman. His mother accused me of hurting the boy, and Eli punished me by locking me in a dark, flooding room—a cruel echo of our son's drowning. To “cure” his new heir of my son’s “ghost,” they had my baby’s grave dug up. On a yacht, Eli held me down as his mistress emptied the ashes into the ocean. Then they left me to die in the water. When I washed ashore, his mistress was waiting to deliver the final, soul-crushing blow. She hadn't scattered the ashes. She’d flushed them down a toilet. I didn't want to escape him. I wanted to erase him. I found a neuroscientist with an experimental procedure and made my request: wipe the last ten years. I didn't want to leave my husband; I wanted to make it so he never existed at all.

The Prank That Shattered Love

The world came back in a rush of white. White ceiling, white sheets, the sterile smell of antiseptic. My head throbbed. I was in a hospital. My fiancé, Cameron, rushed to my bedside, his face creased with worry. I decided to play a prank, pretending I had amnesia. "Who... who are you?" I whispered. His relief evaporated, replaced by a calculating look. He showed me a picture of another woman, Hannah Nichols, an intern at his family's company. "She's the woman I love," he said, his voice flat. "But you and I are getting married. Our families have an agreement. A business merger. It's too important to fail." My mind reeled. The man I loved was telling me our entire relationship was a lie. I felt a surge of fury. "Then call it off," I snapped. He grabbed my wrist, panic in his eyes. "If this merger falls through, my family is ruined. Hannah... she's very fragile. The stress would destroy her." My life, my love, my future-it was all just collateral damage in his pathetic, selfish drama. I was nothing more than a business deal. The witty, proud Alicia England, heiress to a tech empire, reduced to a bargaining chip. Later, I heard him on the phone, his voice soft and tender. "Don't worry, Hannah. It's all under control. She has amnesia. She doesn't remember a thing. Love me? Of course, she loves me. She's been obsessed with me since we were kids. It' s almost pathetic." My heart shattered. He thought I was a broken, forgetful fool he could manipulate. He was about to find out how wrong he was.

Reclaiming My Stolen Life

I woke up after five years in a coma, a miracle, the doctors said. The last thing I remembered was pushing my husband, Derek, out of the way of an oncoming truck. I saved him. But a week later, at the county clerk's office, I discovered a death certificate filed two years ago. My parents' names were on it. And then, Derek's signature. My husband, the man I saved, had declared me dead. Shock turned to a hollow numbness. I returned to our home, only to find Anjelica Hardin, the woman who caused the crash, living there. She kissed Derek, casually, familiarly. My son, Errol, called her "Mommy." My parents, Alva and Glyn, defended her, saying she was "one of the family now." They wanted me to forgive, to forget, to understand. They wanted me to share my husband, my son, my life, with the woman who had stolen it all. My own son, the child I had carried and loved, screamed, "I want her to go away! Go away! That's my mommy!" pointing at Anjelica. I was an outsider, a ghost haunting their happy new life. My awakening wasn't a miracle; it was an inconvenience. I had lost everything: my husband, my child, my parents, my very identity. But then, a call from Zurich. A new identity. A new life. Catherine Anderson was dead. And I would live only for myself.

HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION(An Erotic Billionaire Romance)

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

The Jilted Heiress' Return To The High Life

Corinne devoted three years of her life to her boyfriend, only for it to all go to waste. He saw her as nothing more than a country bumpkin and left her at the altar to be with his true love. After getting jilted, Corinne reclaimed her identity as the granddaughter of the town's richest man, inherited a billion-dollar fortune, and ultimately rose to the top. But her success attracted the envy of others, and people constantly tried to bring her down. As she dealt with these troublemakers one by one, Mr. Hopkins, notorious for his ruthlessness, stood by and cheered her on. "Way to go, honey!"

Passion Unleashed: Carrying The President's Child

After a one-night stand with a stranger, Roselyn woke up to find only a bank card without a PIN number. Still in a daze, she was detained on charges of theft. Just as the handcuffs were about to close, the mysterious man reappeared, holding her pregnancy report. "You're pregnant with my child," he said coldly. Shocked, Roselyn was whisked away in a helicopter to the presidential palace, where she learned the truth: the man from that night was none other than the country's most powerful and influential leader!

Get Back The Abandoned Luna

The night I discovered my husband's whore was carrying his heir, I smiled for the cameras-and plotted his ruin. Scarlett was born a queen-heir to a powerful legacy, Luna of the Dark Moon Pack by blood and by sacrifice. She gave everything to Alexander: her love, her loyalty, her life. In return, he paraded his mistress before their pack... and dared to call it duty. But Scarlett won't be another broken woman weeping in the shadows. She'll wear her crown of thorns with pride, tear down every lie built around her, and when she strikes, it will be glorious. The Alpha forgot that the woman he betrayed is far more dangerous than the girl who once loved him.

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

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.

The Luna He Lost: Alpha's Endless Regret

Omega Lyra, once betrothed to Alpha Kyle, is forced to sew his new Luna's wedding dress. On the wedding eve, an out-of-control Kyle violates her; the chaos that follows kills the bride, and Lyra is falsely branded a murderer. Kyle binds Lyra as his nominal Luna to torment her-for three years, she endures mockery and isolation, finding solace only in late-night piano playing. His coldness and closeness to the late Luna's sister Rhea shatter her hope. Humiliated at Kyle's birthday banquet, Lyra demands to end their bond. Fleeing, she awakens hidden Alpha powers but is attacked by rogues-Beta Darren, who secretly cares for her, saves her. Now, Lyra must evade Kyle's family, find her lost sister, and fight for a place in the wolf world, turning her painful escape into a journey of redemption.