Lucy Cartwright

For two years, I endured hell in an underground brothel, bleeding to earn the bribe money to save my Mafia Don husband from the electric chair. But when Cassio finally returned, he didn't come to rescue me. He marched in with thirty armed enforcers, threw annulment papers on my chest, and announced his new mistress was pregnant with his heir. The mistress was Camilla, a low-level associate who stole the credit for my sacrifice. Cassio believed every lie she told, looking at my degrading uniform with pure disgust. "Sign the papers. You have disgraced the Moretti name enough." He ignored the whip marks and burn scars covering my ruined body, tossing a stack of cash at my feet like I was trash. When I tried to buy my freedom with the ten million dollars I had agonizingly earned, he ruthlessly blocked my bid. He demanded I kneel and pledge loyalty to Camilla, trapping me as their property. I couldn't understand how the man who once promised to burn the world down for me could be so blind. I had destroyed my body and my ability to ever carry a child just to secure his freedom. Yet he was standing here, publicly humiliating me for the woman who secretly orchestrated my torture. Staring into his cold, unforgiving eyes, my dead heart finally turned to ash. I calmly invoked the ancient, fatal 'Angel's Drop' trial. I wrapped the sheer red silk around my wrists and ascended into the dark sky, choosing a shattered death in the freezing harbor over a life with him.

I thought I had found my savior in Alpha Camron after my adoptive family was brutally slaughtered. But as I lay chained to the damp dungeon wall, my inner wolf silenced by silver poison, he sneered and rejected me. "Did you really think I loved you? You were just a dumb, loyal dog." He confessed that he had orchestrated my family's murder to frame Lycan King Asher. Blinded by his lies, I had plunged a silver blade into Asher's heart—the only man standing in Camron's way to the throne. My step-sister Erica then arrived to deliver the final, crushing blows. "He was your true fated mate, Ella," she whispered with sadistic glee. "He loved you so much he retracted his aura, leaving himself defenseless so you wouldn't get hurt killing him." Worse, she laughed at my swollen belly, revealing the baby I carried wasn't Camron's. He had paid a filthy Rogue to defile me in the dark. The man I murdered was the other half of my soul, and the monster I trusted had destroyed everything I loved. My heart simply gave out, drowning in an abyss of pure agony and hatred. Opening my eyes again, the stench of burning flesh was gone. I was back in my attic bedroom on my fifteenth birthday. Today was the day my evil stepmother would start her deadly plot. This time, I would tear them all apart.

Brooke was supposed to marry her fiancé, Gaven, in less than twenty-four hours to secure her sick mother's corporate legacy. But the night before the wedding, she followed a mysterious text to a hotel suite, only to find Gaven pressing her half-sister against a sofa. Through the crack in the door, she recorded their sickening moans and their cold conspiracy to drain her mother's company the moment the marriage papers were signed. At the altar the next day, Brooke didn't say "I do." Instead, she hijacked the church's projector, broadcasting their sex tape and offshore fraud documents to hundreds of wealthy guests. But instead of supporting her, her own father stormed the altar and slapped her across the face with brutal force. He cared more about the corporate merger than his daughter, threatening to blacklist her from the industry, while Gaven vowed to completely destroy her. Bleeding and stripped of her family ties, Brooke walked out into a freezing downpour, completely isolated against a powerful family ready to ruin her sick mother's life's work. She had no money, no allies, and nowhere to go. Just as a furious Gaven chased her into the street, a massive black Maybach sliced through the rain and pulled up in front of her. Inside sat Foster Pruitt, the ruthless, terrifying billionaire whose life she had accidentally saved from a car wreck the night before. Knowing he desperately needed a wife to secure his own empire, Brooke climbed into his car and looked at the most dangerous man in the city. "Marry me."

I lay paralyzed in a luxury Swiss clinic, my body a heavy sack of meat I no longer controlled. The heart monitor’s rhythmic beep was the only thing louder than the silence, a mocking countdown to my inevitable end. My fiancé, Jordan, walked in looking impeccable in the custom suit I had bought him for his birthday. He wasn't alone; my best friend, Chloe, followed him into the room, wearing the vintage Givenchy dress I had saved for our anniversary gala. Jordan didn't look like a grieving man; he looked bored as he held up a blue folder confirming that my family's offshore trust had finally cleared. Chloe giggled, leaning over me to ask if I finally realized it was the engagement wine she had spiked seven days ago. Jordan brushed a cold hand over my forehead, calling me a "perfect little asset" before pulling Chloe into a hungry kiss right over my dying body. To ensure there was no turning back, he pulled out a silver lighter and set my living will on fire, watching the only document that could have saved me turn to ash. I tried to scream, to curse them both to hell for stealing my life and my legacy, but all that came out was a wet, rattling wheeze. My own father, I would later learn, had known about the takeover and chose the profit over his own daughter's life. As the darkness swallowed me whole, I made a silent, desperate promise: if there was anything after this, I would come back and destroy every single one of them. I gasped, my body jerking upright as air rushed into my lungs like liquid fire. I wasn't in Switzerland, and there was no poison in my veins. I was back in my Manhattan bedroom, staring at a phone that read June 12—the morning of the wedding, the day I was supposed to die, and the day I decided to burn their world to the ground.

My ex-boyfriend, Gabriel, the man who once promised me forever, looked at me as if I were a stain on his expensive suit. He was here to finish the job of destroying my life. To save my brother from jail, he demanded an impossible six-figure settlement and a humiliating, live-streamed public apology. Three years ago, his now-fiancée, my rival Aspen Watkins, framed me for cyberbullying. Gabriel believed her lies, publicly denounced me, and shattered my world. The scandal led to my expulsion, my parents' fatal car crash, and the loss of our family fortune. He was ready to humiliate me all over again for a crime I never committed, his eyes cold and unyielding. The punishment wasn't just for my brother; it was for me. But as I prepared for my public execution, a mysterious billionaire made me an offer. He knew the truth and gave me the means to fight back. Aspen wanted a spectacle. I decided to give her one.

I grew up with Asher from a young age. He once saved my life by taking a hit meant for me from an enemy, and I was kidnapped and brutally mistreated because of him. Everyone in the circle knew that I, the daughter of the Dixon family, was the center of Asher's world. But when he returned from building a branch in the Golden Triangle after two years, he brought back a young woman dressed in immaculate white. She looked pure, but she was provocative in her gaze. "Nicola, it was just an accident between Asher and me, but he insists on taking responsibility for me. Please stop him." I looked at her hand resting on her belly with Asher's ring around her finger. My fingers trembled slightly. The next moment, the bodyguard behind me pressed a cold gun barrel against that young woman's temple. I turned to Asher, who was clenching his fists tightly. I said coldly, "If you insist on marrying her, then leave the Dixon family for good."

For seven years, I lived as "Chloe' s boyfriend," a quiet coder whose entire self-worth was built around her "saving" me from social anxiety. Our Austin apartment was loud, packed for the Super Bowl party, until the music died and everyone stared as Chloe walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, carried by her ex-boyfriend, Blake. His smirk was a dare, a familiar test of my manufactured jealousy, but this time, something inside me was just... quiet. My unexpected calm ignited a terrifying rage in Chloe, shattering her control and escalating her manipulations from fake tears and public flirtations to a staged car crash and a chilling threat to jump from our 15th-floor balcony. I calmly moved on, started a new life, and was building my own success, finally free of her endless drama. Then, just weeks later, at my promotion celebration, she appeared in a white wedding gown, asked for one last photo, and plunged a knife into her own stomach, collapsing into my arms. Her final, horrifying act left me tragically, undeniably free.

My wife, Vicky, said she had a business trip. "It's important, Ethan," she' d said, not looking at me. That was her excuse for missing the music festival, the one I' d bought tickets for months ago. So I went alone. Then, on the main stage screen, there she was, smiling next to Dylan Hayes, her college ex. The interviewer asked about inspiration. "Sometimes you wish you could go back to a simpler time," Vicky cooed, her eyes on Dylan. "Like, three years ago, before I made certain life choices." Three years ago. That's when we got married. My stomach dropped. The beer tasted like poison. My own public declaration of divorce at an open mic that night spiraled into a media frenzy. Vicky, terrified of public backlash, hit back. Not at me, but at my sick younger brother, Liam. She threatened to cut off funding for his life-saving leukemia treatments unless I went along with her sanitized PR narrative: we'd "amicably separated," and she was simply "reconnecting" with her new business partner-Dylan. The injustice burned. To leverage my brother's health for her image? To see her ex-lover ensconced in her company, a reminder of her betrayal? I was trapped, but I wouldn't be broken. She wanted a new chapter without me? Fine. I would write one for me and Liam. That night, while she celebrated her carefully crafted facade, I packed our bags. I typed up a divorce petition, signed it, and left it on her pristine kitchen island. I found a new, fully-funded clinical trial for Liam across the country. My brother' s treatment, my escape. We were gone, leaving her to face the consequences of her choices.

My life was perfect: a star quarterback, engaged to my high school sweetheart, Chloe, and surrounded by a loving adoptive family who always put me first. Then Liam appeared, claiming to be my long-lost biological half-brother, weaving tragic tales that instantly captivated everyone around me. One by one, my adoptive mother, my three stepsisters, and even Chloe, chose him, abandoning me completely when a flash flood swept me away, leading to my brutal kidnapping and torture, which they dismissed as my own fault. Liam stole my dreams, my scholarship, and then my last chance to play football, while my family celebrated him as their new hero, claiming I was "not up to it." The ultimate betrayal came when he brazenly wore my jacket and used a precious, deeply personal memento, meant for the child Chloe had lied about losing, as a dog toy. How could everyone I loved turn their backs so easily, believing every lie from a stranger while my entire life shattered around me? With nothing left but the raw ache of their indifference, I walked out of that house and that town forever, determined to find a new life, far from the shadows of my past and the people who destroyed me.

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."

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.

She's sin wrapped in a nun habit. He is the devil who makes her want to confess. Luciano Moretti, the mafia's most feared enforcer, kills without hesitation, prays to no god, and bleeds for the Cosa Nostra. Sister Elizabeth has spent her life behind church walls, burying her desires under layers of penance and prayer. She is supposed to be untouchable-a quiet, secluded nun devoted to faith. But when she finds him bleeding on the altar one night, their worlds collide in a sin neither heaven nor hell can cleanse. He's meant to marry her sister to seal a deal between two mafia empires. She's meant to keep her vows and distance. But temptation has a cruel sense of humour... Because he's the last man she should want. She's the only woman he can't have. But one touch, one look, and everything sacred begins to crumble. Luciano does not seek salvation. Instead, he lures her into a dangerous path, one that includes everything she is meant to avoid, and everytime she whispers "forgive me, Father," her soul sinks deeper into him. As bloodlines clash and loyalty turns to betrayal, Elizabeth learns that the war outside the chapel isn't the only one she must survive. Because Luciano's world is built on violence and secrets, one of which binds her fate to his in ways neither of them saw coming. Desire clashes with devotion. Duty turns to betrayal. And when they're both drowning in a love so forbidden, not even God can save them.

On my birthday, my husband Dante asked for a divorce over a plate of cold lasagna. He held my hand, tears in his eyes, and told me his mistress was pregnant. "It’s a miracle, Elena," he wept. "God has finally given me a son." He looked at me with pity, calling me "broken" because I hadn't given him an heir in eight years. He moved his pregnant mistress into the penthouse I paid for, and his mother mocked me as a "dry vine" while cooking tonic soups for the new woman. They didn't know the truth I had buried three years ago. I remembered the day the doctor slid the file across the desk: *Azoospermia. Zero sperm count.* Dante was the sterile one. I had burned the results to protect his fragile ego as a Mafia Don. I took the blame. I drank his mother's vile herbal poisons every morning until I vomited, just to keep his secret. Now, he was discarding me for a "miracle" that was biologically impossible. I signed the divorce papers without a tear. Then I bought the debt of his company, put on a blood-red dress, and walked into his heir's Christening. I didn't come to object. I came to plug a USB drive into the projector and show the entire underworld exactly whose "miracle" that baby really was.

I took a bullet to the chest to save Julian, the ruthless Don of the New York Syndicate. For five years, I laundered his millions, intercepted his enemies, and was meant to be his wife. But seven days before our wedding, he allowed his young ward, Isabella, to steal my matriarchal betrothal ring and flaunt it on the dark web. When I demanded he postpone the wedding until it was returned, he called me theatrical and took her to his private coastal safehouse. To punish my defiance, he ordered my emergency heart medication removed from my safe. "I merely wanted to test if you were feigning your little illness for attention." That was the text Isabella sent me. But I wasn't feigning. My chest seized, and I collapsed on the hardwood floor. I flatlined twice in an off-the-grid clinic. While doctors used defibrillators to violently restart my failing heart, Julian was in an underground arena, publicly sliding a massive diamond onto Isabella's finger. I had spent every drop of my blood to build his dominion, yet he left me to die just to humor a spoiled girl's games. I finally understood that my lifelong devotion was nothing but a cheap convenience to him. When I woke up, I didn't shed a single tear. I printed a meticulous ledger of my blood debts, marked the balance as zero, and vanished to Europe. This time, I would build a mafia empire of my own.

I hid my identity as the heiress of a top-tier wealthy family just to build a normal, quiet life with my fiancé, Jefferey. We had just picked out our dream villa, but a sudden bank notification shattered my illusion. The entire $7.8 million from our joint trust fund had been wired to a woman named Jessie Barr. When I hacked into his synced tablet, the truth hit me like a truck. Jessie wasn't just a stranger; she was his secret lover. They even had a four-year-old son who shared Jefferey's exact eyes. "The money is in your account. Our future is secure now. I'll leave her soon." Reading his messages to her, I realized my three years of devotion were nothing but a long con. I was just the final "project" he needed to fund his real family. He used my resources, my connections, and my money to build a life in the shadows with his true love, treating me like a naive piggy bank he could discard at any moment. I had given up my absolute power for a man who fed me nothing but lies. But Jefferey forgot one crucial detail. I wasn't just some helpless woman he could ruin. I calmly closed my laptop and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years. "Mom, I was wrong. I'm ready to accept the Romero family's marriage alliance." It was time to gut his company and take everything he owned.

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 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.

"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?