Cun Li

My husband looked at the toxicology report proving the daughter of the Chicago Capo had poisoned my mother. Then, without missing a beat, he looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted to discuss the dinner menu for the gala. That was the moment I realized Dante Vitiello wasn't my savior; he was the devil in a bespoke suit. To protect his precious alliance with Chicago, he buried the truth. When my mother died from the arsenic, he didn't offer comfort. Instead, he forced me to sign annulment papers, claiming I was mentally unstable. He stripped me of my title, my home, and my dignity to marry Sofia Moretti—the very woman who killed my mother—all because she claimed to be pregnant with his heir. I stood in the freezing rain, watching a giant screen in Times Square as he proposed to her. He told the press that Sofia was his hero, the one who saved his life during the ambush in Chicago. He lied. Under my soaked hoodie, the jagged scar on my arm throbbed. I was the one who took that bullet for him. I was the one who stitched myself up in silence so he wouldn't feel indebted to me. He erased my sacrifice to build a throne for his mistress. He thought he had broken me. He thought Elena Vitiello would fade away in a crumbling apartment in Queens. But he forgot one thing: I was the one who built his encrypted laundering network. I held the keys to his entire empire. I threw my wedding ring into the trash can and lit a match. Elena Vitiello died that night. And the woman who rose from the ashes didn't want his love anymore. She wanted his ruin.

I was pregnant with the Alpha’s heir, yet Michael refused to Mark me, calling my concerns "hormonal" while he paraded another woman, Serena, as his future Luna. The betrayal cut deep, but the breaking point came at the pack celebration. Serena slapped me across the face in front of everyone, and instead of defending his pregnant mate, Michael looked bored and ordered me to stop making a scene. That night, I didn't just leave; I ripped the mate bond out of my own mind. The pain was blinding, but necessary. With my mother's help, I faked my death—and the death of our unborn child—to escape his toxic hold. For four years, I raised my son, Finn, on a hidden island, safe from the politics that nearly destroyed me. I thought I was free, until a ragged, broken man washed up on my shore. It was Michael. He wasn't the arrogant King anymore; he was a beggar who had spent years mourning a ghost. When he saw Finn, he fell to his knees, weeping at the sight of the boy who had his golden eyes. "Is he mine?" he begged. "He is mine," I told him coldly. "You lost him the day you chose her." I prepared to send him away, but then the alarms rang. Serena had found us, leading a rogue army to slaughter my son for dark magic. Michael looked at me, his eyes clearing for the first time in years. "I will be your shield," he vowed. He ran straight into the silver blades, taking the death blow meant for our child. As he died in my arms, I finally forgave him. Now, I stand over his grave not as a victim, but as the Alpha Luna who will rule the world he left behind.

After seven years of devotion, I finally became pregnant with my fiancé Coleton's twins. But he secretly terminated the pregnancy, claiming it was for my health. The real reason? His ex-girlfriend, Annis, suggested it. He came to the hospital late, a fresh hickey on his neck, and instead of comforting me, he forced me to post a public apology to Annis for causing her "drama." He even used my phone to flirt with her, planning their dinner date right in front of me while I was still bleeding from the procedure he ordered. When I refused to play along, he abandoned me at the hospital exit, causing me to fall and get a concussion. Later, I found them in our bed, and he had the audacity to invite me to their "celebratory" dinner. "You're doing this for me, right?" he asked, a hopeful smile on his face. "So I can finally be happy with Annis?" I looked at the man I had given my life to, the man who had just stolen our children from me, and saw a stranger. This time, there would be no tears, no second chances. I took the pre-nup he signed years ago-the one that gave me a huge chunk of his company if he ever betrayed me-and walked away for good.

I gave up my art scholarship to put my boyfriend, Armand, through law school. I worked three jobs and even took a knife for him, believing his promise that we would build an empire together. But the day he became a star lawyer, I found him kissing his client, Cassandra, in the snow. The shock caused a miscarriage. When I tried to end my life, he brought his mistress to my hospital bed to call me a lunatic. He then used my family to blackmail me, forcing me to play the perfect wife while he flaunted his affair. For years, I was his broken trophy, a testament to his power. He had the career I funded, the woman he chose, and complete control over my life. But on the night his mistress held me at knifepoint on a skyscraper rooftop, she didn't kill me. She turned and plunged the knife into Armand's chest instead. And as his legal wife, I inherited everything.

My marriage ended the way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk. I was a prosecutor who had moved back to San Francisco to save my political marriage to tech billionaire Hilton Austin. When I confronted him at the hotel, I found my husband on one knee, not proposing, but tenderly tying his influencer mistress' s shoe. That night, he abandoned me on a dark highway to rush to her side, causing me to miscarry the child I was secretly carrying. At the hospital, he publicly accused me of faking the pregnancy, slapped me, and then cut my arm with a piece of broken glass. "Now you have a reason to be in the hospital," he said coldly. The love I' d held for him since I was sixteen didn't just fade; it was murdered. He thought he had broken me, but he only created a monster. I used my family's power to have him thrown in jail. When he begged for a second chance, I brought in my childhood friend, Adrien, and delivered the final, killing blow. "The baby wasn't yours," I said, my voice like ice. "It was his."

My life was a perfectly crafted blueprint of happiness. I was an architect, and my daughter, Lily, was my beautiful design. Then Sophia came along, filling spaces I hadn't known were empty, and her angelic son, Lucas, instantly became Lily' s "best brother." But on our first family camping trip, I found a horrifying collection: a dozen broken dolls, hair snipped, limbs twisted, eyes gouged out. "Lucas said it's his collection," Lily whispered. He smiled his innocent smile, claiming he "just found them and gave them a home," and Sophia rushed to his defense, completely blind. Then Lily fell sick, a strange, spiderweb-like rash spreading across her body. Lucas, the doting brother, sat by her hospital bed, winding a beautiful antique music box-his father' s, he said-filling the room with gentle melodies. But when no one was watching, his sweet expression would vanish, replaced by a cold, detached curiosity as he stared at Lily' s fading form. The day Lily died, that infernal music box was still playing. Her death wasn't an accident; I saw the cold, unnerving stillness in Lucas' s eyes. He had poisoned my daughter, enjoying every slow, agonizing moment. My world was annihilated, consumed by grief and the chilling melody of that music box, until everything went black. Then I gasped, eyes flying open, the scent of grilled burgers and fresh-cut grass in the air. I was holding a velvet ring box, and Sophia was smiling, her voice full of love. "Yes, Ethan, I' ll marry you." It was the day of our engagement party. The day before the nightmare began. And standing next to Sophia, holding her hand and beaming up at me, was Lucas, the monster hiding behind an angel' s face. I was back. I had been given a second chance, and I would not waste it.

The smell of smoke and burning wood woke me, my heart pounding. It was the same fire, the one that had consumed everything in my first life. But this time, Kaelen was alive, his silver eyes narrowed, not in concern for me, but in a frantic search for Lyra. He accused me of setting the blaze, demanding I save her with my own lifeblood, forcing the agonizing transfusion while she smirked, thriving on my pain and his blind devotion. How could he believe her lies, even as I sacrificed everything, again and again, for the very life he now blamed me for saving? Then, the memory hit me: Kaelen, dying in my past life, his last breath a bitter regret not for Lyra, but for me. This second chance wasn't just about saving him from fire, but from himself, from the painful, world-shattering regret that had haunted his dying eyes.

My experimental cure for a degenerative neurological disease had a bizarre requirement: "positive emotional resonance." Love was a luxury my family never afforded me. My twin Jessica, my parents David and Linda, and even my husband Mark, bled me dry, taking credit for my genius. The Phoenix Foundation announced my therapy was failing: seven days until my death. Still, they demanded more. Parents needed me to fix Jessica's buggy app for a funding round. Mark required elaborate legal strategies for his career. My talent, always theirs. My head throbbed, my body failing, but they saw only annoyance, demanding I work. Jessica feigned illness, then brazenly demanded IP rights to my groundbreaking app. Mark, dismissing my imminent death as "dramatics," framed me for Jessica' s hit-and-run, securing my forced committal-a painful death sentence. He even injected me with a lethal dose. My ultimate betrayal came when Jessica brutally attacked me with shears, and Mark, seeing my bleeding face, still prioritized her comfort. Lying there, bleeding and abandoned, a cold clarity dawned: they would never change. My life, a relentless sacrifice, was ending in torment. Why did they always break me, only to demand more? But then, a whisper from the Foundation: "Protocol transition." "Karmic Retribution Resonance." Not death, but a second chance. Not for love, but for their regret. I would become Anna Hayes, an architect of their downfall, finally taking back what was mine.

I was the rock of InnovateATX, Bella's husband, the tech visionary who' d put his own startup on hold to support her dream. Our Austin home, a life I helped design, was where I genuinely believed our future lay, despite the secret pact I' d made years ago with venture capitalist Olivia Hayes to neutralize Victor Cole, the man connected to my family' s ruin. Then, Bella handed me divorce papers, declaring, "It was always him," nodding towards Victor, her resurrected college sweetheart. Weeks blurred into public accusations – Bella siding with Victor, dismissing me as "moping" after a staged office "accident"- and private indignities, as she signed my resignation without a glance, calling my efforts a "drag." She watched me clear out our home, deeming our shared memories "sentimental junk," and, as I stumbled through the wreckage of my life, coldly stated, "I don' t love you anymore." Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, a truck swerved into my car, leaving me mangled and bleeding on a Hill Country highway. Through my blurring vision, all I could see was Bella, rushing past my wreck to Victor' s less damaged Tesla, cradling him, utterly oblivious to me. In that moment, the final, agonizing truth slammed into me: she truly felt nothing for me, the man she married, the man who had loved her. The raw realization was more painful than any shattered bone. Desperate, I fumbled for my phone and choked out Olivia' s name. Her voice cut through the chaos, calm and cutting: "They can make you disappear, Ethan. Officially. A clean slate. A new life. If you want it." Watching Bella's betrayal unfold, I whispered, "Yes. Do it." As darkness consumed me, my old life ended, and a new one, colder, sharper, was born from the ashes.

For five years, I was the devoted rock for Mark, pouring my love, money, and unwavering support into his struggling tech startup, dreaming of our shared future. Then, on April Fool's Day, a wedding invitation flashed on Instagram: Mark and Chloe. His college crush. Her smug caption, "#NotAJokeAnymore?", felt like a direct stab. He'd hidden it. That night, a drunken Mark called me Chloe, regretting he was "too broke" to pursue her. His friend confirmed I was a convenient rebound. Days later, I found Chloe in our apartment, wearing his shirt, who then gloatingly showed me their engagement photos – taken a month ago. I blacked out. Waking in the hospital, Mark brazenly offered a "solution": he' d keep me, his "wife," while managing Chloe. Five years of devotion, reduced to a reliable appliance, while my prematurely white hair screamed the truth of his deceit. But a notification for my expedited transfer to Europe was my lifeline. I ripped out my IV, walked out, and never looked back. Two years later, a frantic Chloe called: Mark was gravely ill, delirious, calling only for me, for my comforting remedies. He missed the services, not the woman. I calmly hung up; my new life was finally my own.

The drone of Mr. Davies' voice, the familiar hum of my junior year English class, felt strangely distant. Once, my life was a clear path: top student, Yale-bound, my future set. My mother, Dr. Emily Miller, a respected psychometrician for the College Board, a source of pride. But that perfect future shattered. Tiff Reynolds, the school' s queen bee, twisted my academic talents and my mother' s connection into a weapon. Jealous of my success, she spread a monstrous lie: I was the mastermind of a cheating ring, funneling actual test questions from my mom. The investigation hit like a Category 5 hurricane. My Yale admission, rescinded. My mother, suspended, her brilliant career in ruins. And Dad… Dad, hounded by shame and stress, passed away. The weight of their blame, the utter desolation, crushed me. I tried to end it all, escaping into a cold abyss. Why? Why did Tiff' s greed and lies destroy everything I loved, everything I was? The injustice was a searing, raw wound. There was no relief, no way out of that suffocating despair, only the consuming question of how my innocent actions could lead to such a catastrophic fall. Then, the world snapped back. Heart hammering, I was sitting in class again, the date September 14th. It was real. A second chance. My hands clenched under the desk. This time, I wouldn' t just survive. This time, they would pay.

For five years, Ava Miller navigated a passionate, secret relationship with Ethan Hayes, her best friend's younger brother. High above the New York skyline, she lived in their bubble, cherishing his touch and believing his fervent promises that their hidden love would "soon" be revealed to the world. She devoted herself, feeling vibrant and truly loved. One devastating night, her carefully constructed world shattered. Hiding just outside a half-open door, Ava overheard Ethan tell his closest friends she was nothing more than "great practice"—a mere "walking manual" for him to hone his boyfriend skills for his true, long-held obsession, Chloe Vance. Five years of her life, dismissed as a calculated "training program." The revelation was a gut punch. Ethan, the man who pursued her so ardently, abandoned her at her sickest to fuss over Chloe’s minor scrape. He allowed Chloe to publicly gloat, calling Ava a "warm-up act" and "convenient." Every tender word, every intimate gesture, now felt like a meticulously rehearsed lie. The man she loved saw her as a disposable tool. How could someone be so callous? Was her entire five-year relationship a horrifying, humiliating charade? The sheer audacity, the betrayal, left her reeling, disgraced and utterly heartbroken. What was she if not a placeholder, a learning experience for someone else? Refusing to be a discarded practice doll any longer, Ava made a stark choice. She severed all ties, sold her life in New York, and fled to Charleston, determined to build a new, honest life—one where she was truly valued. But would her past, and Ethan’s eventual realization, allow her to move on untouched?

Queenie had been engaged to Ivan since childhood. However, she had only seen her future husband once—at their engagement party—and when he made a quick appearance, she could only look at him from afar. Their parents had arranged their marriage, yet Queenie believed that she could be an excellent wife no matter what kind of man she married. Much to her surprise, her new husband had a tryst on their wedding day. Ivan even wanted to annoy her and make her angry, but the moment he landed a kiss on her lips, he found himself inadvertently addicted to her sweetness.

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.

Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts. The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage. I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter. But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous. Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared. He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground. With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes. "Take me with you."

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.

My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent. But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress. Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you." To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife. When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala. He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent. He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters. He thought he had broken me. He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage. But he made a fatal error. He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign. They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me. And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck. I didn't jump to die. I jumped to be reborn. And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin.

MAFIA RUTHLESS: BOOK ONE ************* ************ *********** The devil's captive became his heart's keeper. *************** *********** *********** Revenge! The only thing the strong ,powerful and ruthless mafia don Alessandro Moretti has harboured for years. When he discovers the identity of his mother's killer,he doesn't go after the man alone. He wants everything belonging to Giovanni Conti burnt to the ground,including his most valuable possession-his daughter. Auctioned off by her uncle to the highest bidder,Isabelle Conti's fate is sealed. Not until masked gunmen crash her wedding,and she wakes up in the don's den. She becomes his captive. His obsession...His willing prey. His weapon of vengeance. Isabelle Conti turns out to be different from the others,this time around she doesn't want his affection...she needs his downfall. And when she finally has him where she wants him and she's torn between her feelings and surrendering to the ruthless don. One question threatens to destroy everything, Have you ever loved me?

Penelope's life takes a brutal turn when her arranged marriage to Max Castillo is shattered. The night before their wedding, her step sister attacks her and kills her mother. Penelope survives the attack, but her face is left severely damaged. After undergoing surgery to restore her appearance, she vows revenge on everyone who wronged her, especially her stepsister, who not only killed her mother but also married Max, the man Penelope was meant to marry. Training under a dangerous crime boss, Penelope prepares to take down the Castillo family. She's given one task: kill the Castillo's Don in exchange for her revenge. To do that, she'll have to seduce Silvio Castillo, the ruthless Mafia Don, and use him to destroy the family from the inside. But as she gets closer to Silvio, she starts to feel something she never expected: real attraction. Now, as she faces the consequences of her plan, Penelope must decide what's more important, revenge, or the man she's falling for. Will he forgive her for trying to kill him? Will a quest for revenge destroy their love?

TRIGGER WARNING: This book contains physical harm, torture, explicit contents including- Dark themes, erotic sex scenes, non consensual situations. And mature topics including trauma, loss. While this is a romance story, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. - - - - - - - - - - - - "You're mine now," he breathed those words on my neck, his hands trailing down my body and stopping only to linger on my thighs. "I'm Axel Salvatore Rossi. And whatever I want- I get." * * * * * Bound to a man she barely knew, Olivia is confined to a world of games and organized crime. After her sister steals a priceless item, she's left to pay- with her existence being tied with the mafia lord, Axel. What starts as an unexpected encounter turns out to be something more. Passion ignites, past secrets are revealed, and an ex lover knocks at the door to interrupt a new beginning. Olivia must make a choice- play the game, or fight the players who play dirty...

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.

My fiancé of seven years, the heir to a mafia dynasty, claimed amnesia three weeks before our wedding, forgetting only me. Then I overheard him laughing on a video call, calling it the perfect "hall pass" to sleep with an influencer before he was tied down. He flaunted his affair, abandoned me with a broken arm after a staged car crash to save her from a scratch, and planned to leave me homeless. He called me his "property," a doll he could play with and put back on the shelf when he was done. He thought I’d be waiting for his "miraculous recovery." Instead, I disappeared, leaving behind his ring and a simple note: "I remember everything. Me too."

My fiancé left me standing alone at the podium during our rehearsal dinner to rush to the side of a woman whose only illness was a desperate need for attention. He humiliated me in front of the heads of the Five Families, abandoning our alliance to scoop his "dying" mistress off the floor. I didn't cry. I didn't run. I walked straight to the head table, to the most terrifying man in the city—his older brother, the Don. "The Woodward family owes me a husband," I declared calmly. An hour later, I was married to the Capo dei Capi. But my ex-fiancé didn't accept his demotion. He kidnapped me, strapping me to a chair in a soundproof basement. For three days, he drained my blood pint by pint to "save" his mistress, Jaidyn, who watched me fade while she casually ate an apple. "Take another bag," she ordered, smiling at my agony. "She still has too much fight in her." As the cold crept up my chest and my vision blurred, I realized I was going to die for a lie, drained dry by a madman. Then, the steel door detonated. Through the smoke and debris walked my husband, not with a ransom, but with a serrated knife and a promise to burn them alive.