Bei Ke

After five years in a federal prison, framed by my stepmother and fiancé, I was finally released. Instead of a welcome home, my stepmother tossed me a one-way ticket to Geneva and a threat: renounce the family name and disappear, or end up in the Hudson River. When our limo was suddenly ambushed by military-grade SUVs on the highway, their cowardice almost got us killed. I took the wheel, crashed the attackers, and saved their lives. But the moment the danger passed, my stepmother tried to slap me, called me a psycho, and abandoned me on the desolate roadside. My ex-fiancé later cornered me in public, trying to assert his dominance by grabbing my arm. They still thought I was the broken girl they sent to a cage just so they could steal my dead mother's biochemical research. I didn't feel heartbreak, only a cold, absolute certainty. They threw me to the wolves, not realizing the federal penitentiary had burned away my capacity for mercy. I hacked into the dark web and found out Dante Meltoni, the most dangerous Mafia Don in New York, was tearing the city apart to find a legendary underground doctor. I am that doctor. I walked straight into his heavily guarded fortress, pulled out a syringe, and saved his dying grandfather. Then I looked the terrifying Don right in the eye. "Marry me. And let me use your empire to wipe my family off the map."

I shattered my knee jumping in front of a silver bullet meant for him. The poison seeped into my marrow, putting my wolf into a coma and leaving me crippled. I thought my sacrifice would secure his love forever. Instead, five years later, Brennan stood in a warehouse while a Rogue held a silver-laced dagger to my throat. Beside me sat Debbi, his mistress—a spy who had staged the whole kidnapping. "You can only save one," the kidnapper sneered. Brennan didn't even hesitate. He looked me in the eye, his gaze cold and devoid of the bond we once shared. "I choose Debbi," he said. He walked out with her in his arms, leaving his Fated Mate to bleed out on the concrete floor. As the blade dug into my skin, I felt the mate bond snap. He thought I died in the explosion that followed. He spent weeks howling in grief when he finally realized Debbi was a traitor and he had killed the only woman who truly loved him. But he was wrong. I didn't die. A federal agent pulled me from the fire, and the trauma didn't kill my wolf—it woke her up. A year later, Brennan walked into a small bistro in Italy, looking for redemption. He fell to his knees when he saw me standing there, healed and glowing with the aura of a White Wolf. "Alyssa," he wept, reaching for me. "I'm so sorry. I'll do anything." I looked him dead in the eye, my gaze icy blue. "Get out," I said. "We don't serve traitors here."

On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family. I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown. But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic. He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event. "She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity. "You will give her whatever she needs." I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm. As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing. "Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted. Dominick didn't even turn around. He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table. I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic. He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins. He was wrong. I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match. I let the room burn. By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London. I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty. He wanted a war? I would give him one.

On our fifth anniversary, instead of a ring, I gave Elena a death sentence. I believed her father killed mine. So, I spent five years making her fall in love with me just to break her. I replaced her with Sofia, the woman I thought donated her kidney to save me. I stripped Elena of her dignity, forced her to crawl over hot coals, and locked her in a freezing cellar until her artificial heart gave out. She died alone in the mud, pulling the plug on her own life to escape me. It was only when I saw her body on the autopsy table that I found the truth. Sofia’s skin was flawless. It was Elena who had the scar. Elena gave me her kidney. Elena saved me while I destroyed her. Broken by the truth, I drove a knife into my own chest to join her in hell. But I didn't die. I woke up ten years in the past, back in high school. I thought God gave me a second chance to fix it. I saved her father. I cleared the path for our love. I walked toward her in the school courtyard, ready to be the hero she deserved. But she didn't look at me with love. She looked at me with absolute, freezing terror. I wasn't the only one who remembered the previous life.

For five years, I was the loving Mrs. Clayton, enduring painful fertility treatments to give my husband, Bronson, the heir he deserved. He was my rock, my protector since a college hazing incident left me barren. Then I overheard the truth from behind his study door. Our marriage was a sham, never legally filed. He' d had a vasectomy before our wedding. It was all an elaborate lie to protect Bridgett-his childhood love and the very woman who orchestrated the assault that destroyed my future. He wasn't my savior. He was her accomplice, and I was just his compensation. Every gentle touch, every reassuring word, was a performance. He thought I' d never find out. He thought I' d always be his devoted, clueless wife. But when his precious Bridgett harmed my sick brother, my grief turned to ice. I smiled sweetly, played the part of the forgiving wife, and began gathering the evidence that would burn their entire world to the ground.

I was the "Ice Queen," the perfect Mafia wife who managed the De Luca empire's millions while my husband, Alessandro, played the part of the feared Underboss. I thought my silence and competence earned me respect. That was until I woke up in the estate's medical bay with a shattered leg. My saddle had snapped mid-jump. It wasn't wear and tear; it was sabotage. Lying in the dark, feigning sleep, I heard Alessandro whispering outside my door with his enforcer. "The buckle was filed down," the enforcer said urgently. "Aria tampered with it. She could have broken her neck." I waited for Alessandro’s rage. I waited for him to execute the mistress who tried to kill his wife. Instead, his voice was cold and dismissive. "Bury it," Alessandro ordered. "It’s just a broken leg. Aria was upset about the credit cards. She just wanted to teach Katarina a lesson." A lesson. My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting the woman who tried to cripple me. Three days later, at the Family Charity Gala, he humiliated me publicly. He outbid me for my grandmother's heirloom necklace and clasped it around Aria's neck while I watched from my wheelchair. He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a piece of furniture to be rearranged. He didn't know I had bugged the entire villa while I was recovering. He didn't know I had the recordings of what Aria was really doing when he wasn't looking. I gripped the USB drive in my pocket and signaled the tech team to lock the doors. The statue was broken, but he was about to learn that shattered ice is sharp enough to slit a throat.

My fifth wedding anniversary gift was a call from my husband's publicist. He told me to come down to the 5th Precinct because there was a "situation." With my billionaire husband, Elijah, there was always a situation. When I got there, I saw a young influencer accusing him of kidnapping. But the real shock wasn't the accusation. It was her face-she looked exactly like me, five years younger. Elijah arrived, but instead of being angry, he showered her with affection, calling her "Kiley" and gifting her a diamond necklace. He treated the kidnapping claim like a lover's quarrel. When his eyes finally met mine, the warmth vanished, replaced by ice. He looked at me like I was a piece of furniture. A cop muttered to his partner, "That's Mrs. Peters. The real one. Or, well, the first one." He hates me. He blames me for his sister's death five years ago, believing I ran away and left her to die. He doesn't know I collapsed while running for help. He doesn't know about my terminal heart condition. So he tortures me with my living replica, slowly killing the woman he vowed to love "till death do us part." The irony is, he doesn't have to try so hard. My doctor just told me I only have a few weeks left to live.

I flew back from London, eager to surprise Sarah, my childhood sweetheart and the woman I was set to marry. I drove straight to her house, imagining her joyful expression. But then I saw her through the window, cradling a baby, with my best friend, Mark Stevens, his arm possessively around her. My world stopped. Their voices drifted out: "He's just an immature nuisance," Mark agreed, "We don't need him disrupting our perfect family." "God, he can be such a child. Can you imagine if he came back and saw this?" Sarah laughed bitterly. They were talking about me-the man who was counting the days until he could come home to them. They hadn't just moved on; they had conspired against me, hiding their marriage, their child, for over a year. I felt like a fool, a punchline to a joke I was the last to hear. The love I believed was waiting for me was a phantom. The friendship I cherished was a lie. I showed up to her house, hoping for an explanation, only to be met with feigned innocence and gaslighting. I realized she was wearing her wedding ring, hidden in plain sight on a necklace she' d worn in every video call. The cruelty was breathtaking. I couldn't endure the lies. The person I loved didn't exist. She was a cruel, manipulative stranger. There was nothing left but the cold, hard truth. So, I walked away from the house, from the yard, from twenty years of memories that now felt like they belonged to someone else.

The antiseptic smell of the hospital clung to me as I watched my brother, Leo, fight for every shallow breath-his life fading, his only hope an experimental surgery with an impossible price tag. My art, once my passion, gathered dust, while my father' s legacy, his architectural masterpiece, was brazenly stolen. Julian Vance, my father' s apprentice, stood before the towering Skyline Spire, a perfect replica of my dad' s unpatented dream, "Helios." He smiled, sharp and confident, taking all the credit at its grand unveiling. Rage, hot and sharp, coursed through me. He had stolen my dying father's masterpiece, building an empire while Leo lay dying. I confronted him, shouting the truth amidst flashing cameras. He dismissed me as distraught, a hysterical girl consumed by grief, his hand on my shoulder a public brand of instability. The crowd believed him, the powerful mogul, not the desperate girl in frayed denim. His eyes, though, flickered with a fleeting, inner turmoil that I inexplicably heard, a frantic whisper of guilt and terror. Humiliated, abandoned by my own family who valued Julian' s influence over my truth, I stumbled into the cold night. A sharp pain seized my chest, and blood stained my palm. It wasn't just Leo who was sick; I was too, and time was running out. He bought my silence, evicted me, and forced me into his gilded cage. I was now his servant, subjected to endless degradation by his cruel lover, Isabella, and Julian himself, whose every action, though outwardly cold, seemed driven by a terrifying internal war. I found myself trapped, desperately trying to survive, with a new life unexpectedly growing inside me, a secret I couldn't keep.

The social worker cleared her throat, her voice tight with forced professionalism. "Jocelyn, Stella, we have some incredible news." I looked at my sister, Stella, and a cold dread crept up my spine. This was the beginning of the end; I had lived this moment before. In my last life, this was the day our biological families found us, only to tear us apart and send us to separate hells. I remembered the Clarks, my so-called family who let my "sister" Nicole frame me, break my leg, and destroy my track career, then threw me away into a life of abuse. Stella remembered the Lawrences; her jealous cousin Debra drugged her, stole her recipes, and had her locked away to rot in a mental institution. We both died, in our own ways. And now we were back, high school seniors, with the full, horrific memories of that future burned into our souls. "Your biological families have been located," the social worker chirped, her smile not reaching her eyes. "They' re waiting downstairs to take you home." My stomach churned, but Stella' s hand found mine under the table, her grip an iron promise. This time, no one was separating us. This time, we would fight back.

My son Leo, valedictorian, MIT-bound. On his graduation day, my heart swelled with pride as I ironed his gown. He was my entire world, the only light left in it. Then, my ex-wife Victoria called, her voice flat: "Problem at the old industrial freezer. Go now." Dread seized me. I ran. The massive door creaked open to darkness and a metallic scent. My phone's light revealed the horror: Leo, grotesque, hundreds of construction spikes pinning him. "Dad?" he whispered. Then he was gone. Trapped with his body, I called Victoria. She scoffed, dismissing his death as a "prank." My own father only wanted money. At the hospital, Victoria' s security blocked Leo' s ambulance while she discussed a new family with Chad. He then tricked me into a "miracle procedure" to save Leo – actually, to dissolve his body and destroy evidence. I burst into the OR: hazmat suits, acrid chemicals, Leo' s desecrated remains. They were dissolving my son. My grief transformed into pure, black rage. Victoria then called this unspeakable horror a "prank that got carried away." The profound betrayal and boundless cruelty were incomprehensible. Something inside me snapped. As Victoria's men dragged me away to a forced psychiatric committal, her mocking words echoed. I looked at her, at Chad, at the vile scene. My voice, flat and emotionless, was a vow: "You will pay. Both of you. You will pay for this." This was no longer just sorrow; it was a chilling promise.

My sister Tiffany, an aspiring Instagram model, stood before me, her eyes glittering with ambition. News of tech billionaire Elijah Vance's wife, Anna Reid, first missing, then found dead in what was called an accident, had shaken our small town. "Chloe," she whispered, her voice low and urgent, "you're a forensic reconstruction artist, right? I need you to make me look exactly like Anna Reid." Then came the chilling confession: "I arranged her little 'accident,' sis. It was easy." My refusal was met with a terrifying snarl as she lunged, brutally assaulting me until darkness swallowed everything. I gasped, jolting upright, back in the exact moment before her deadly attack, the horrifying memory of my own murder by my sister still searingly fresh. The naive, kind-hearted Chloe was gone, burned away by betrayal and the cold reality of my family's capacity for evil. I realized my own parents, in that brief glimpse of a future, had covered up my death, protecting their precious Tiffany. A bone-deep chill settled in me, replacing the disbelief with a hardened, calculated fury. How could my own sister, my own flesh and blood, be so utterly monstrous, willing to commit murder and then attempt to extinguish me for her twisted ambition? The profound injustice of it all fueled a chilling resolve I'd never known. Meeting her impatient gaze, I managed a neutral expression. "Yes," I said, the single word a quiet promise of a future Tiffany couldn't possibly imagine. She wanted to walk into the fire, and I, reborn from the ashes of her betrayal, would be the one to light the match. I would become the architect of her destruction, using my very skills to set the stage for her downfall, turning the fearsome Elijah Vance into a weapon against her.

My roasted turkey usually brings me joy, but this Thanksgiving, it turned my stomach. My stepsister, Brittany, had cornered my husband, Richard, and was practically living at our house. Knowing my daughter Sophie' s severe nut allergy, I carefully asked Brittany if her son, Leo, had any, before serving my pecan pie. "None at all, Amy. He loves nuts," she lied, smiling sweetly. Minutes later, Leo was gasping, turning blue. Richard rounded on me, his face a mask of fury. "You did this! You knew he couldn' t have nuts!" he roared, shoving pie into my mouth as the guests stared. The public humiliation was just the beginning. My home became a battleground, my husband a stranger. He dismissed my concerns about another nut-laced cookie, leading to our precious Sophie' s near-fatal allergic reaction. But instead of remorse, he jetted off to Aspen with Brittany and Leo, flaunting their "healing trip" on social media while Sophie lay in a hospital bed. Every tag, every beaming photo was a fresh stab, painting me as the villain, the negligent mother, the crazy ex-wife. I endured the whispers, the stares, the viral video portraying me as a monster. My world crumbled, and I felt utterly alone, trapped in a nightmare created by the very people who were supposed to love me. The injustice was unbearable. How could I have been so blind? How could they destroy me so easily? Then, when I was at my lowest, a miracle. My lawyer uncovered a massive, hidden trust fund – fifty million dollars my stepmother had stolen from me. That was when something inside me snapped. Tonight, at Richard' s award gala, they expect me to apologize, to publicly grovel. But I will not break. Tonight, I claim my freedom and burn their perfect lies to the ground. This isn' t an apology; it' s my reclamation.

My brother, Michael, and my fiancé, Ethan Hayes, were my whole world after Mom died. I was finalizing designs for a prestigious architecture fellowship, honoring her legacy. Then Chloe Jenkins appeared, a shadow whispering poison into their ears. At a high-society gala, Ethan publicly humiliated me, ending our engagement and shaming me, while Michael watched silently. They soon gave Chloe our mother’s cherished summer home and her invaluable architectural blueprints, which Chloe used to steal my fellowship and destroy my career. On Mom’s anniversary, they chose a puppy party over her grave, and when I confronted them, Ethan violently assaulted me, Michael defending Chloe. My entire life, my family, my identity, everything was systematically stripped away, bought by a manipulative stranger and enabled by the men who swore to protect me. How could the two men I trusted most turn so utterly against me, for her? The agony of such absolute betrayal consumed me, leaving only a chilling clarity. So, on a stormy night, I meticulously staged my own death in a fire that consumed my past, emerging from the ashes as Anna Reed, ready to forge a new future, free from their toxic world.

The scent of lilies hung heavy, a grim reminder of my father's sudden death. My world was already shattered by his passing, leaving me deep in grief and the chaotic planning of his funeral, with my fiancé Ethan Vance supposedly offering comfort. But then, during that very funeral, I discovered Ethan's cruel betrayal: he'd been extensively unfaithful with his assistant Tiffany, who had just given birth to his child three days prior, and he had the audacity to call me proposing a "modern arrangement" for our future. He scoffed at my pain, publicly flaunted his "perfect family" online, and later, when I went to collect my belongings, he and Tiffany attacked me, smashing my father’s cherished watch and violently shoving me against a wall, leaving me bruised and terrified. How could the man I was meant to marry be so monstrous, so utterly dismissive of my pain, confident I'd return because our families' business interests were intertwined? Bruised and broken, alone on a park bench, I made the only desperate call I could imagine: "Marry me, David," I whispered to an old acquaintance, "Help me protect my father's legacy, and I'll be the partner your family always hoped for."

I was just a diligent sales associate, trying to make ends meet in a luxury boutique on Rodeo Drive. After refusing a notoriously cruel socialite's outrageous demands, I was unexpectedly offered a breathtaking new life by charming billionaire Ethan Vanderbilt. No more retail hell, just endless luxury. I accepted, clinging to it as a desperate chance for my family to escape East LA's struggles. But then, a chilling message flashed on his unlocked phone: "How’s our little Cinderella project coming along, E? Is she suitably dazzled yet? Can’t wait for the one-year mark. Payback’s a bitch. ;)" My heart seized. The "fairy tale" wasn't a rescue; it was a cruel, elaborate game orchestrated by the very socialite I’d defied. I was the unwitting star of their 'Cinderella project,' a pawn meant to be adorned, built up, then publicly crushed. Every lavish gift, every forced laugh at their condescending jokes, every demeaning glance from their elite circle felt like a tightening chain. I was just their entertainment, watched by snickering socialites on a private 'countdown' account, cheering for my inevitable downfall. They thought I was easily manipulated, a poor girl blinded by glitz and glamor. How could they be so callously cruel, playing with someone’s entire future? But beneath the shock, a fierce defiance ignited. This wasn't just their bet; it was my fight for survival. A cold, determined smile touched my lips. Okay, Vanderbilts and Van der Woodsens. Let's play. I would use their money, their arrogance, their connections against them. By the time they realized what was happening, I wouldn't just survive their game; I'd build an empire on its ashes. My empire. My rules.

Belle never thought that after her mother?s life time efforts, her father would only end up marrying someone else. The last gift that she would ever want was a malicious step-mother. Blindly drowning in her sorrows and anger, she ends up spending a wild and careless night with Harris, the son of her family?s sworn enemy. They both thought that they would never see each other again, but one month later, Bella found out that she was pregnant. Without any other choice, they got married. But their story is only beginning.

I didn't mean to call my boss. I definitely didn't mean to leave a seven-minute voicemail of dirty secrets about him. Working for Ruslan Oryolov is the job from hell. The man is impossible-demanding, arrogant, and way too gorgeous for his own good. After eighteen months of fetching his coffee and swallowing my pride, all I wanted was one night of stress relief. But the billionaire CEO of Bane Corporation isn't just a boss from hell. He's the head of the Oryolov Bratva-and now that he's heard every secret I never meant to share, he's decided to claim me. His contract. His rules. His protection for my three orphaned nieces and nephews-the only reason I'm signing my life away to a man I should fear. He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now he wants my soul.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

"You've been in denial for so long, Addison." His voice was husky and heavy with lust. "Do you really want me to stop?" I could not bring myself to say no. My best friend's stepdad was like the devil, making me find so much pleasure in sin. "You can't even say no," he chuckled, letting go of my hand finally. They moved to my face and he stared into my eyes, while his other hand still worked wonders between my legs. "Don't make me do this," I finally said, moaning the words out. "Please." "Tell me to stop one more time and I will," he mumbled. "Please, st-" I didn't complete my words because he captured my lips with his. *+*+*+*+*+*+* Addison Rodriguez never expected to feel any sexual tension or fall in love with her best friend's stepdad. As she surrenders to the sexual tension, her loyalty to her best friend wavers, especially when she finds out that he is secretly a Mafia Lord trying to hide in plain sight and that her best friend's life is in danger, her loyalty is tested even further. Would she reveal his secret to protect her best friend, or keep it to protect her love?

I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair. They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves. Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment. But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger. In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all.

"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly. Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!" "You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now." "Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him. Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly. "I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly. She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud. "Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!" "You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine." "I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!" Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked. Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly. Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..." "I can't," he whispered. And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her. *************** Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark. But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den. The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows. Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive. Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?

I made my living playing background piano in underground speakeasies to pay off my fugitive father’s blood debt. Tonight, I had exactly ten seconds to make sure my floor-length velvet gown completely concealed the fact that I no longer had legs. The VIP doors swung open, and the most ruthless mafia Don in the city walked in—Killian Vitiello, the boy I loved a decade ago. He didn't know my legs were crushed by rival soldiers on the very night he took his blood oath. Instead of a reunion, he pulled a beautiful woman in a red silk dress to his side and coldly introduced her as his fiancée. "The rumors of you being a desperate opportunist at least explain why you vanished without a word," he sneered, looking at my threadbare clothes. He publicly disavowed my existence to the entire underworld, leaving me to be hunted by rival factions. While he built his empire, I was crawling in the freezing rain to reattach my heavy metal prosthetic, watching my mother descend into fatal madness from our crushing poverty. I swallowed the bitter ash of my ruined life and let him believe I was a traitorous gold digger. I would rather he hate me forever than let my mutilated body become a fatal weakness to his throne. So, after my mother died, I packed a single bag and fled the country to disappear for good. But I didn't know that on the very day I left, Killian kicked down the door of an illicit underground clinic and finally opened my ten-year-old medical file.

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.

I spent the night with a stranger... Who got me pregnant... And turned out to be my boss... Whoops, sorry, did I say "boss"? I meant a MOB boss. To be fair, I didn't know he was my boss when I slept with him. I thought he was just the kind stranger offering me a place to stay. But one night in Misha Orlov's hotel room got me way more than I bargained for. It got me champagne that tasted like starlight. Satin sheets as soft as a dream. And a man with silver eyes who showed me how it felt to come undone. And then, in the morning... He was gone. That's I needed to get my life together anyway. After all, my ex-not-quite-husband (it's a long story) just emptied all our bank accounts and disappeared, taking my home and my money and my job with him. So I'm starting from a blank slate. I find myself a new apartment. A new job. And I put both Misha and my husband behind me. At least, I thought I did. Until Day 1 of orientation. When I learn that Misha Orlov is my new boss. That's bad enough. What's worse is what came next. A car crash. A doctor's appointment. And two pieces of unsettling news. Congratulations, the doctor says. You're pregnant. Congratulations, Misha says. You and I are getting married.

Camille Laurent was stolen at birth. Swapped by a greedy nanny, abandoned without a second thought, and erased from her rightful place in one of the most powerful families in the country. While the real heiress struggled to survive, the nanny's daughter, Talia, was raised in luxury as the beloved jewel of the Laurent family, pampered by Camille's parents, adored by her three brothers, and even promised to the prestigious Matteo Devereux through a childhood engagement arranged by their grandparents. Then the truth came out. Six months ago, Camille was finally brought back to the Laurent family. To protect the family reputation and prove their devotion to their bloodline, the Laurent patriarch transferred 35% of his personal shares into Camille's name overnight, instantly making her one of the wealthiest heiresses in the country. It brought anxiety to all the Laurent family. But what they don't know.is that Camille never needed them. Behind her elegant smile lies a woman filled with secrets powerful enough to shake the whole family. She's a miraculous healer capable of curing the incurable poisons. Yet despite everything, her family still chooses Talia. Every accusation against Talia is forgiven. Every scheme against Camille is brushed aside. Even Matteo, the man who was supposed to be Camille's fiancé-cannot let go of the woman he always believed belonged by his side. But while the Laurent family underestimates Camille, another man begins to see exactly who she is. Dante Moretti. The ruthless heir of an old-money dynasty. A billionaire CEO worshipped by the public.and the merciless king of a criminal empire hidden beneath the city's glittering surface. When Dante is poisoned by a rival syndicate with a deadly toxin no doctor can cure, he offers a fortune for anyone who can save him. Only Camille can. Their deal is simple: she becomes his personal physician, and he gives her anything she wants.

My sister abandoned her newborn baby at a hospital and fled the country. The father was Dante, the absolute sovereign of the city's underworld. My mother frantically ordered me to hide the child to save our skins. But I refused to cower. I took the baby straight to the Mafia Don's fortress and demanded he take responsibility. For the first critical days of the baby's life, I was the only one there. I paced my rundown apartment with a sick infant, spending my last savings, while my sister was living it up in Vancouver with her offshore money. But months later, when Dante officially claimed the boy and placed us under his ultimate protection, my sister and mother suddenly came back. They put on a pathetic weeping act in Dante's office. "I just want my son back. I was just so scared," my sister sobbed, demanding custody of the Mafia heir. My own mother had actually helped her pack, advising her to dump the baby on me so she could escape. Now, seeing Dante's limitless wealth, they wanted to reap the rewards. They treated me like a disposable pawn, expecting me to quietly hand over the child I had saved. How could my own blood be so shamelessly greedy? But they underestimated me, and they underestimated the Don. Looking at the ruthless Mafia boss, I calmly exposed their treason, forcing his final judgment. This time, I was claiming my place.