The Hockey Prince's Secret Ice Queen

On our third wedding anniversary, I was on my knees scrubbing a wine stain out of a hotel carpet for my in-laws. That same night, my husband, NHL star Armani Tillman, won the MVP trophy on live TV, thanked his fake PR girlfriend, and called me to demand a divorce. He sent a lawyer the next morning with an agreement leaving me with absolutely nothing but a strict gag order. Worse, when I checked our home security cameras, I saw him tangled in our bedsheets. The woman wasn't his public girlfriend, but my best friend, Ima. When the betrayal triggered a severe allergic reaction that landed me in the ER, Armani and Ima stood by my hospital bed, looking at me with pure disgust. "Faking a suicide attempt just to stop a divorce? Pathetic." I had given up my dreams to be his hidden, unpaid maid for three years, only to be thrown away like trash by the two people I trusted most. Ima even smiled and told me to just sign the papers and go away quietly. But they didn't know I wasn't just a useless, unemployed housewife. I am Westwind, the legendary anonymous graphic novelist that Armani's biggest sponsor is currently desperate to collaborate with to save his crumbling image. I calmly tore his insulting divorce agreement into pieces and called the most ruthless lawyer in Chicago. This time, I'm taking everything.

I woke up from a nightmare only to find myself in a real-life hell. Stripped of my modern life, I was now just a nameless slave in the brutal dungeons of Blackstone Keep. But my true nightmare began when I realized who the master of this fortress was. Archon Etienne Callahan was the terrifying, inhumanly strong man who had attacked me in a drug-fueled frenzy during the Moonwise Festival. Now, he was hunting for me. He was searching every corner of the keep for the mysterious girl whose scent had somehow calmed the poison in his veins. To survive, I had to become completely invisible. I purposely injured my own knee to avoid his attention, and at the final slave selection, I played the clumsy, crippled fool. I desperately hoped to be tossed into the lowest, filthiest place-the kitchens-where he would never look. My plan seemed to work perfectly as the stewards passed me over in disgust. But just as I thought I was safe, a frantic cook rushed into the courtyard and pointed straight at me. "I'll take her." She dragged me away to the chaotic kitchens, and once we were alone, her friendly smile turned chillingly knowing. "I saw what you did in the garden," she whispered. My blood ran cold. My perfect cover was blown, the Archon's invisible net was closing in, and my desperate fight for freedom just became a deadly game of hide-and-seek right under the monster's nose.

Chloe went to her boyfriend's apartment with a homemade cake and a luxury watch she'd saved months to buy, eager to surprise him for their two-year anniversary. Instead, she found the door unlocked and heard familiar moans coming from the bedroom. He was sleeping with her sister, Jacey. When Chloe's adoptive family rushed over, they didn't comfort her. Her mother hugged the weeping Jacey, while her father and brother told Chloe to step aside for the sake of the family's reputation. Her mother sneered that since they saved her from a fire twenty years ago, she owed them this. Then, to squeeze the last drop of value out of her, they took a fifty-thousand-dollar bribe and tried to force Chloe to marry a balding, predatory older man just to buy her brother a new car. Twenty years of devotion meant absolutely nothing. She was just a disposable tool. Cornered in a public restaurant by the repulsive old man and her hypocritical ex-boyfriend, Chloe felt completely suffocated by the humiliation and despair. There was nowhere left to run. Just as the old man grabbed her, a towering, impossibly handsome stranger stepped out of nowhere and effortlessly shattered his wrist. He looked down at her with cold, steady eyes. "You need a way to get away from your family. Marry me." Without hesitation, she took his hand, completely unaware that her new husband of convenience was actually a top-tier billionaire who had been searching for her for years.

When I was seven months pregnant, my mother-in-law sent a rogue into my bedroom. In my past life, the violent struggle cost me my baby. Then, my so-called best friend stood before the pack council and testified against me, branding me a cheating whore. Stripped of my rank and exiled to freeze to death, I could only watch in despair as my mate threw his life away in a suicidal rage, trying to avenge a truth he never knew. Why? Because I was weak. Because I was obedient. When I opened my eyes to the sickening stench of the rogue's sweat, the paralyzing terror of my past life evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, murderous rage. "Your mother-in-law said you were lonely," the filthy man sneered, reaching his grimy hands toward my swollen belly. I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the nightstand and smashed it mercilessly into his face, shattering his teeth. But merely surviving the night wasn't enough. Covered in his blood, I dragged his broken body straight into the Pack Hall. Looking at my fake, sobbing mother-in-law, I didn't defend myself-I initiated a ruthless trial that would cost her everything. As for my backstabbing best friend, currently parading around in my stolen clothes? She's next. They thought they could frame me and destroy me all over again. But they are about to learn a terrifying truth... This time, the real monster in the pack isn't the rogue. It's me.

For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big. On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe." Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero." Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends. "She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy." Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder. I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number. "Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."

I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me. But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest. The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me. They didn't. Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her. They let me burn to keep her warm. When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages. That was the moment Elena Vitiello died. I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York. By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring. "You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them. "Burn for it."