Little Red Riding Hood

For seven years, I was his eyes. But the moment he regained his sight, he decided to marry someone else. Seven years of devotion couldn't buy his heart. I gave him back his dignity. Now that he was restored as the Godfather of the New York Mafia, he laughed with others, degrading me to the status of a mere "mistress." He thought I didn't understand Italian, but I heard him loud and clear: he was going to marry his first love. He arrogantly believed I would always love him, willing to stay in his penthouse like a caged bird. But he was wrong. I boarded a one-way flight to Australia. Dante, I don't want you anymore. By the time he returned home, he would have lost me forever. But a sore loser refuses to concede. Even if he had to burn the world to the ground, he would search for me and beg for my forgiveness.

Haven was escorted out of her office by security like a common criminal. Her corrupt boss had just fired her without cause, denying her severance and threatening to permanently blacklist her. Desperate, she turned to her ex-husband Clayton, a ruthless top-tier corporate lawyer, begging him to represent her. But instead of helping, he stared at her with absolute ice. "You thought you could pay for my billable hours by opening your legs? Find a public defender." Left destitute and facing eviction, her life spiraled further into hell. A prestigious newspaper offered her a dream job, only to instantly rescind it. Her vicious stepsister, Bettye, had maliciously tipped them off about a ten-year-old grand larceny conviction—a crime Bettye had actually committed but framed Haven for. To make matters worse, Haven discovered Clayton's law firm was actively defending the very boss who had just ruined her life. The injustice and betrayal suffocated her. She couldn't understand how the boy she once loved had become such a soulless monster, perfectly willing to protect her abusers while watching her drown. While packing her meager belongings in despair, she stumbled upon Clayton's old high school diary from exactly ten years ago. Out of petty rage, she grabbed a pen and scribbled an insult on the yellowed paper. To her horror, the ink vanished. Seconds later, sharp, aggressive handwriting bled through the blank page. "Who are you? How are you writing in my book?" Staring at the impossible text from a 17-year-old Clayton, a manic spark of hope ignited in her eyes. She was going to rewrite her destiny.

Catalina had just won the Best Actress Golden Globe. It was supposed to be the absolute pinnacle of her acting career. But a broken heel on her way backstage sent her crashing right into the arms of Brogan Cohen. He was Hollywood's most untouchable A-lister, and the man she despised most. A hidden paparazzo snapped a perfectly timed photo of him kneeling to untangle her dress, making it look like a deeply intimate, secret romance. The internet instantly exploded. Brogan's rabid fanbase tore Catalina apart, branding her a shameless clout-chaser. To make matters worse, a rival actress weaponized the scandal, accusing Catalina of sleeping her way to the top to steal roles. Within days, Catalina's world collapsed. Her upcoming lead role in a major indie film was suspended. Two luxury fashion houses unilaterally terminated her contracts. Meanwhile, Brogan simply hopped on his private jet and fled to the South of France, leaving her trapped in her apartment as a mob of screaming paparazzi battered her front door. She had spent years proving her talent, only to be blacklisted and labeled a manipulative homewrecker over a stupid accident. The sheer injustice of it suffocated her. She hated Brogan with a fiery, visceral passion for destroying her reputation and running away like a coward. With her career bleeding out, her manager slammed a contract on the desk: an unedited, live-streamed survival dating show on a private Caribbean island. "You need to prove you are entirely repulsed by Brogan Cohen." Catalina grabbed the pen and signed her name with aggressive, sharp strokes. She was going to flirt with every model on that island, burn this false narrative to the ground, and make Brogan choke when he turned on his TV.

I was seven years into a perfect relationship, engaged to the man who helped me overcome my fear of commitment. I was even secretly pregnant with our first child. A pet-sitting gig led me straight into the heart of his betrayal-a luxury apartment he shared with his mistress of a year. She had hired me personally to discover it all. She then framed me for stealing the family ring he had promised me. At the police station, my fiancé rushed in not to defend me, but to shield her. When I confronted him, he shoved me. Hard. I hit the floor and lost our baby. In the hospital, he had the audacity to beg for forgiveness, promising we could just "try again." I saw the guilt in his eyes and used it. I made him sign over every asset we owned as penance. The moment the money was mine, I vanished. He thought he was buying my forgiveness. He was funding my revenge.

For three years, Elodie gave her heart and soul to her startup founder boyfriend, Fletcher. Despite being a wealthy heiress, she never cared about the massive financial gap between them. But everything shattered the night her father violently kicked her out into the freezing rain. His illegitimate daughter had just framed her by stealing her late mother's sapphire necklace. And that illegitimate daughter was Dani, the new front-end developer at Fletcher's company. Penniless, soaked, and sporting a bruised cheek from her father's slap, Elodie sought refuge at Fletcher's rundown apartment. She begged him to fire the girl who had just ruined her life. Instead, Fletcher looked at her with absolute disgust. He accused her of being an arrogant princess trying to destroy a poor girl's livelihood. Even when Dani answered his phone late at night and flaunted her victory, Fletcher physically defended the intern. "If you can't handle the reality of the real world, pack your bags and go back to your mansion." He chose his startup, and he chose Dani. Elodie couldn't understand why her three years of devotion were worthless against a manipulative liar's cheap tricks. She didn't understand why he always looked at her wealth with such venomous resentment, treating her love like a toxic leash. She didn't shed a single tear as she walked out of his door forever. It wasn't until she sat in an exclusive underground club that her best friend revealed the chilling truth. Fletcher didn't just hate the rich. He was deeply, dangerously obsessed with a girl from his past. And now, he was about to realize what happens when the heiress he threw away truly disappears.

I was dying from a terminal illness, but my husband, Broderick, thought it was just another one of my games to get his attention. He hated me, convinced I had betrayed him years ago for money. As I collapsed in agony, begging him to take me to the hospital, he grabbed my chin and whispered the words that shattered my world. "I will never forgive you. I hope you just… die." He then left me on the cold floor and rushed to the hospital to be with his true love, Kacey-my best friend. She was the one he worried about, the one whose own heart was failing. He never knew that the "betrayal" he despised was actually my sacrifice to save his family from ruin. He never knew the depth of my love, a love so absolute that even his cruelty couldn't extinguish it. So, when the doctors told me I was a perfect match, I made my final choice. I would grant his wish and give my heart to the woman he loved.

I was reviewing the laundering accounts when my husband asked for a hundred thousand dollars for the nanny. It took three seconds for me to realize the woman he was trying to pay off was wearing my missing vintage Chanel earrings. Damian looked me in the eye, using his best doctor's voice. "She is struggling, Ainsley. She has five boys to feed." When Casey walked in, she wasn't wearing a uniform. She was wearing my jewelry and looking at my husband with intimate familiarity. Instead of apologizing when I confronted them, Damian protected her. He looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. "She is a good mother," he sneered. "Something you wouldn't understand." He used the infertility I had spent millions trying to cure as a weapon against me. He didn't know that I had just received the investigator's file. The file that proved those five boys were his. The file that proved he had gotten a secret vasectomy six months before we started trying for a baby. He had let me endure years of painful procedures, hormones, and shame, all while funding his secret family with my father's money. I looked at the man I had shielded from the violence of my world so he could play god in a white coat. I didn't scream. I am a Pierce. We execute. I picked up my phone and dialed my enforcer. "I want him ruined. I want him to have nothing. I want him to wish he was dead."

For three years, I was Keagan Steele's passionate secret, the "Wild Rose of Beverly Hills" who finally tamed the city's coldest billionaire. I thought our love was real, a quiet world built away from the glitz. Then I overheard him call me a "placeholder," a three-year experiment until his true love returned. That true love? My vicious stepsister, Alba. He abandoned me after a car crash, choosing to save her while I bled in the wreckage. He watched as my stepmother beat me with a horsewhip, even suggesting she use it to break my spirit. He even broke my wrist to give Alba a locket that belonged to my dead mother. When a falling light fixture threatened Alba, he dove to save her, taking the hit himself. His body, shielding hers, was the final, brutal proof: I was nothing. But as I lay broken, a chilling thought took root. If I was going to be the villain of their story, I might as well play the part. And this time, I would burn their world to the ground.

For ten years, I gave up everything for my boyfriend, Damien. After a family scandal left him ostracized and broken, I worked two jobs to send him to a prestigious university, believing in the genius everyone else had abandoned. But the moment he became the tech innovator I always knew he could be, he fell for someone else—a wealthy, brilliant colleague named Carson Wall. Suddenly, I was an embarrassment. His new friends whispered about the "waitress" dragging him down. He started forgetting me, too. He forgot my birthday. He forgot my favorite food. During a fire alarm at a restaurant, he ran right past me to save her, leaving me to fall in the panicked crowd. I was the one who pulled him off a rooftop when he wanted to die. I sacrificed my own dreams so he could have his. I thought he loved me, but I was just a debt he felt obligated to repay. After he left me in that fire, I finally gave up. I booked a one-way ticket home, ready to disappear from his life. Then, I received a video from Carson—her tearful love confession to him. I took a deep breath, sent him one last message telling him we were over, and blocked his number forever.

The call from the police station was a splash of ice water in the face: an accident, they said. My daughter, Lily, was gone. The words "We did everything we could" shattered my world, made worse by the cold, clinical police report: the other driver, Olivia Hayes, my ex-husband Ethan's new girlfriend, was intoxicated. Ethan Vance, perfect as always in his tailored suit, smooth and controlled, called it a "terrible tragedy." Days later, his lawyers offered a settlement with too many zeros. When I refused, Ethan himself came, effortlessly opening my door with his old key. He threatened my frail grandmother, Rose, the only family I had left, with a "little fall," forcing me to sign the papers. He was erasing all trace of me from his life. Just two hours after I signed, the phone rang again: Grandma Rose had fallen, critically injured. At the hospital, the same one where I'd lost Lily, she pressed a key into my hand, her last act of protection. My grandmother was gone. I stood over her grave, her words, "Live," echoing in my head. Then Olivia Hayes, pristine in white, walked in, dripping false sympathy. "You must be cursed," she sneered. Rage, raw and pure, surged through me. Ethan, who had once been my knight, pulled me back, commanding me to apologize to the woman who had already stolen everything. His face, once filled with love, was now cold, cruel, and unforgiving.

Thanksgiving at my fiancé Ryan' s family home should have been a celebration. Instead, I watched him dote on his widowed sister, Nicole, ignoring me completely. The final straw wasn't the pecan pie Ryan, my own fiancé, gave to her, claiming it was her favorite, even though it was my late mother' s recipe and "our thing." It was the quiet conversation I overheard: Ryan telling his dad he was signing the deed to our shared home – the one I poured my entire inheritance into – over to Nicole next week. When confronted, he showed no remorse, dismissing my feelings and arguing Nicole "needed" it. He and his mother then brazenly called me selfish for daring to react. His family' s audacity reached its peak when Nicole, uninvited, ambushed me at my office, staging a dramatic scene where she publicly branded me a cruel monster attempting to evict a grieving widow and her child. Then Ryan stormed in, pointing a finger, threatening my boss with financial ruin for supposedly enabling my cruelty, and daringly declaring I had "no heart." He had no idea who he was talking to. The smug look on his face vanished when my boss introduced me: not just Stella Anderson, but Stella Chadwick Anderson, heiress to one of the country's largest fortunes. That's when I cut him off, professionally and financially. It was time for him to understand the true cost of underestimating me.

"I\'m sorry, Ms. Fuller, but this marriage certificate is a forgery." The county clerk's words crushed me, revealing the flimsy paper from our Las Vegas wedding five years ago was a lie. Then came the second blow: Ethan Lester, the man I' d spent seven years with and was raising a son with, was already legally married. To Maria Roberts. The name Maria, who Ethan claimed was a distant memory from his amnesia days, now haunted me, along with the chilling truth that Leo, our sweet five-year-old, wasn't mine at all. He was Maria' s biological son. My world shattered completely when I overheard Ethan confessing his ultimate betrayal: he had deliberately caused my miscarriage years ago by switching my prenatal vitamins, all so I would be unable to have children and would agree to adopt Leo. The man I loved orchestrated my deepest pain and greatest joy through a web of calculated, monstrous lies, turning my very life into a weapon against me. Lying bleeding after being betrayed and abandoned at a gala, I whispered for a "Protocol Zero" exit. Jocelyn Fuller was dying – but a soldier was about to be reborn.

Their story began with a little dangerous game. The rules were simple. If she won, he would do one thing for her; if he did, then she would have to stay with him forever no matter what happens. All she wanted on was to win and then take the life of the man who had betrayed her. Read on to see if she gets her desire for revenge on the man who cheated on her with her sister.

I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire. On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own. "Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy." My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry. He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance. I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever. Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network. The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun.

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.

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."

"My world is a mess; you want nothing to do with this" "You don't have the right to decide that for me." Her chest was heaving, harsh breaths scraping the walls of her nose. "I am your wife, and I am choosing to be in your mess." He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer. "This is your last chance. Once you step in, I can never let go." "I'm not planning on it." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jade Saint, who was switched at birth, is coerced into an arranged marriage after returning to the Sterling home. That is, until Roman Volkov – the richest and most dangerous man in the city – claims her as his bride. Desperate to save her dying adoptive mother, she willingly enters into a contract marriage with the devil himself. But marriage to Roman is not what she thinks it is – not the enemies lurking in the shadows. Not the dangerous world he refuses to explain, and certainly not the way his cold touch begins to feel like a promise instead of a warning. Because the more she tries to understand him, the more she realises he didn't choose her by accident. And the truth behind it all may destroy her.

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.

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.

" You were born to be mine , you are mine and you are going to be ...... only mine " He spoke in his Hoarse , deep voice sending shivers down her spine. Her petite body trembled as he gaze at her with his Hawk eyes. His hand slowly caressed her cheek , lovingly as he took a careful view of her face. " Stay away ! " She screamed as she tried to push him away but he was not gonna let her push him away. He looked dead mad hearing her words. His blood shot red eyes dug holes into her brown orbs and her back sank into the wall behind her as he slammed his both fists onto the wall. " you belong to me " He made it clear to her but she was not gonna let him play with her like that. " I-I'm- getting engaged- " She looked up to him in the eyes and she witnessed his darkened eyes. He licked up his dried up lips and all of a sudden , stood up straight , letting her breath in relief but that did not last long when he grabbed her frail arm in his tight grip and dragged her all the way towards his bed , pushing her onto the bed as her body bounced twice. " do you really think you can get enagged to him ? Let me show you tonight and after that you will know ......... Whose sinful obsession you are "

For six years, I played the perfect, compliant Mafia wife to the ruthless Boss of the New York underworld. Until I discovered he had secretly gifted my fifth-anniversary present—a custom armored car—to Isabella, a Capo's beautiful widow. He drained our personal escape funds of millions to buy her a heavily fortified luxury safehouse. He even publicly humiliated me, demanding I lend her the Vitiello family's heirloom diamond necklace so she could play the boss lady in front of his men. The final blow came when I needed life-threatening surgery to remove an old piece of shrapnel from a bullet meant for him. The underground doctor needed Dante's verbal authorization and the vault code to proceed. "Stop being so dramatic, I can't leave Isabella right now, she's having a panic attack," he snapped and hung up the phone. I had to force the terrified doctor at gunpoint to operate on me. I flatlined twice on that filthy operating table, bleeding out in agony while the man I loved held another woman's hand. Lying there, I finally understood that my absolute devotion and silent sacrifices meant absolutely nothing to him. So, I survived, left my blood-oath ring on his mahogany desk, and walked out of the penthouse forever. I dialed a secure line to his greatest rivals, the Chicago Outfit. "I'm breaking my ties to the Vitiello Family, and I have your East Coast port strategies."

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

My husband froze my cards in front of Chicago's most ruthless mobsters. Then he let his mistress smash a bottle of wine at my feet-and ordered his men to strip me if I couldn't pay. The room laughed. They called me a useless trophy wife. They had no idea what I had done for him in the shadows. No idea that I wasn't begging for mercy-I was buying time. I borrowed a burner phone and made one call. They thought they were humiliating me. They had thirty minutes to learn just how wrong they were.