• Мой Очаровательный Доктор, Автор: Elara Greene

    Мой Очаровательный Доктор, Автор: Elara Greene

    👉 ЧИТАЙТЕ СЕЙЧАС

    Неловкий урологический осмотр привёл Кристину, блестящего врача, к тому, что она наткнулась на самую тщательно скрываемую слабость Адриана – унизительный секрет богатого наследника.

    На публике он был безжалостным магнатом, для которого отношения были лишь в тягость. В частной жизни он был её пациентом, борющимся со скрытым заболеванием, и она была единственным человеком, который мог ему помочь.

    Брачный контракт связал их жизни воедино, и перед свадьбой он провел чёткую черту: «Доктор, помните о границах, – но после он взмолился: – Детка… ты действительно ничего не чувствуешь?»

    Кристина моргнула: «Это ведь контракт. Почему ты ведёшь себя так, будто это по-настоящему?»

    👉 ЧИТАЙТЕ СЕЙЧАС

    Книга Мой Очаровательный Доктор Глава 1

    В отделении андрологии на третьем этаже медицинского центра «Апекс» в Озёрске Кристина только успела опуститься на стул, как дверь распахнулась.

    В кабинет вошёл широкоплечий мужчина. Свет из коридора за спиной очертил его силуэт.

    На Адриане Воронове был идеально скроенный костюм угольного цвета, подчёркивавший его клиновидный торс. В каждом его выверенном, широком шаге чувствовалась неоспоримая властность.

    Когда он полностью вошёл в кабинет и его лицо оказалось на свету, даже Кристина, за годы практики повидавшая самых разных мужчин, невольно им впечатлилась.

    Какой красавец!

    Её взгляд на мгновение задержался на его лице, затем скользнул вниз, к строгим линиям сшитых на заказ брюк, и в конце концов остановился на одном определённом месте.

    Какая жалость!

    Бесспорно, красив, но, возможно, не так уж внушителен там, где это действительно имеет значение.

    Кристина отвела взгляд, тихонько кашлянула и ровным голосом указала на смотровую кушетку рядом с собой. «Ложитесь и снимайте брюки».

    Адриан лишился дара речи.

    Атмосфера в кабинете мгновенно застыла.

    Выражение его лица похолодело, а взгляд, которым он уставился на поразительно молодую женщину, стал острым и ледяным, полным оценки и нескрываемого подозрения.

    На ней был белый халат, волосы собраны в гладкий высокий хвост, открывавший её свежее лицо без макияжа.

    На вид ей было едва за двадцать, и она больше походила на стажёрку после мединститута, чем на лечащего врача.

    «Где доктор Ефим Рыбаков?» – тихо, с явным неудовольствием в голосе, спросил Адриан.

    «Доктора Рыбакова вызвали на срочную операцию», – ровным тоном ответила Кристина, выдерживая его взгляд и как бы невзначай поворачивая к нему свой бейдж.

    На нём жирным чёрным шрифтом была указана её должность: «Лечащий врач: Кристина Софронова».

    Она кивнула в сторону кушетки и сказала: «Я доктор Софронова. Сегодня я заменяю доктора Рыбакова. Господин Воронов, у меня плотный график, поэтому, пожалуйста, ложитесь и сотрудничайте».

    Адриан нахмурился.

    Он пришёл сюда только потому, что его дед, Игнат, неумолимо на этом настаивал.

    Игнат был убеждён, что полное безразличие его почти тридцатилетнего внука к женщинам скрывает какой-то тайный недуг, и потому настоял на комплексном обследовании.

    Игнат снова и снова уверял его, что Ефим – его надёжный старый друг, который непременно сохранит всё в тайне, так что беспокоиться не о чем.

    И вот теперь, вместо давнего друга, его будет осматривать какая-то молодая женщина?

    Терпение Адриана лопнуло. Не говоря ни слова, он развернулся и направился к выходу.

    Вся эта затея с приёмом казалась ему абсурдной.

    «Господин Воронов! – у самого выхода его ассистент, Анатолий Филиппов, поспешно шагнул вперёд и преградил ему путь. – Ваш дедушка только что снова звонил. Он сказал, что сегодня… вы должны уйти отсюда с результатами обследования, иначе…»

    Анатолий сглотнул, и в его голосе послышалась явная нервозность, когда он закончил: «Иначе… он лично приедет проконтролировать обследование…».

    Лично проконтролировать?

    Красивые черты лица Адриана потемнели, как небо перед грозой.

    Он стоял неподвижно, в висках резко пульсировало.

    Он живо представил себе эту картину: Игнат в окружении охраны сидит рядом и с умильным интересом наблюдает, как проходит обследование, пока он, Адриан, лежит обнажённым ниже пояса.

    Двадцативосьмилетний Адриан, безжалостный в зале заседаний, вдруг оказался загнан в угол, что с ним случалось крайне редко.

    Он глубоко вздохнул. Дыхание было тяжёлым, словно под рёбрами застрял камень.

    В конце концов, логика взяла верх над гордостью.

    Деревянной походкой он подошёл к кушетке, и каждый его шаг, казалось, стирал в порошок остатки его достоинства.

    «Ложитесь», – снова раздался голос Кристины, ровный и непреклонный.

    Адриан молча опустился на кушетку.

    Мышцы под костюмом напряглись от отчаянного самообладания.

    Кристина надела медицинские перчатки и подошла ближе, глядя на него с отстранённым вниманием, с каким смотрят на учебный манекен. «Снимайте брюки. Или мне повторить?»

    Его желваки заметно напряглись. Он закрыл глаза, медленно вздохнул и резким движением расстегнул ремень.

    Затем последовала молния.

    Всё это время он не поворачивал головы, уставившись на анатомический плакат на стене так, словно пытался прожечь в нём дыру взглядом.

    В тот миг, когда он почувствовал на себе взгляд Кристины, его тело окаменело.

    «Расслабьтесь, – ровным тоном сказала она. – Напряжение может повлиять на результаты».

    Расслабиться?

    У Адриана от такого предложения чуть не перехватило дыхание.

    Он чувствовал себя так, словно висит на волоске, а эта женщина спокойно велит ему расслабиться?

    Не обращая внимания на его внутреннее смятение, Кристина приступила к осмотру.

    Её действия были быстрыми и профессиональными, без малейших колебаний.

    Её пальцы в перчатках с точно выверенным нажимом тщательно его осматривали.

    Для неё это был лишь очередной пациент в длинном рабочем дне.

    Для него же каждая секунда тянулась, как пытка.

    И самая неприятная часть ещё даже не началась.

    Во время осмотра она начала задавать стандартные вопросы: «Вы соблюдаете режим дня?»

    «Да», – процедил он сквозь зубы.

    «Утренняя эрекция бывает?»

    У Адриана резко запульсировало в виске.

    От этого вопроса румянец залил его точёный профиль, но он всё же выдавил из себя ответ: «Да».

    Кристина невозмутимо кивнула и продолжила: «Когда у вас был последний половой контакт?»

    Книга Мой Очаровательный Доктор Глава 2

    В кабинете воцарилась удушающая тишина.

    Адриан резко обернулся, его глаза пылали яростью, и он впился в Кристину тяжёлым взглядом.

    Кристина встретила его взгляд со спокойной выдержкой. Её взор был холодным и бесстрастным, словно она молча поторапливала его с ответом.

    После мучительной паузы Адриан с трудом выдавил из себя: «У меня не было».

    «Правда?» – в голосе Кристины, прозвучавшем на тон выше, промелькнуло любопытство.

    Делая пометки в карте, она продолжила: «Длительные периоды воздержания или сильное психологическое давление иногда могут вызывать функциональные осложнения. Тем не менее, господин Воронов, судя по сегодняшнему осмотру, ваше физическое состояние превосходно, так что нет причин для излишнего беспокойства».

    Адриан лишился дара речи.

    Превосходное… физическое… состояние?

    Эта женщина вообще понимала, что говорит?

    Наконец Кристина убрала руку, сняла перчатки и аккуратно выбросила их в контейнер для утилизации.

    «Хорошо, господин Воронов, осмотр окончен. Можете одеваться». Она развернулась к своему столу, взяла ручку и с деловитой точностью начала заполнять карту.

    Этот холодный профессионализм ранил Адриана куда сильнее, чем любое прямое оскорбление.

    Он спрыгнул со смотровой кушетки и оделся с неслыханной скоростью.

    Одевшись, Адриан вновь напустил на себя привычный отстранённый вид, хотя плотно сжатая челюсть и мрак в глазах выдавали, как ему паршиво.

    Он сказал себе, что это нелепое испытание наконец-то подошло к концу.

    Ему всего лишь нужен был этот проклятый отчёт, чтобы успокоить Игната, и тогда он сможет вычеркнуть из памяти весь этот день и само существование доктора по фамилии Софронова.

    Но следующие слова Кристины вновь повергли его в уныние.

    «Господин Воронов, ваш предварительный физический осмотр завершён, – Она сделала паузу и добавила: – Однако, основываясь на результатах пальпации и ваших едва заметных физиологических реакциях, я предлагаю проверить уровень тестостерона в сыворотке крови и провести исследование нервной проводимости».

    Брови Адриана сошлись на переносице, в нём вспыхнуло нетерпение: «На что именно вы намекаете?»

    «Говоря проще, – ровным тоном ответила Кристина, – возможны функциональные нарушения».

    «Не может быть», – почти рефлекторно выпалил Адриан.

    Он всегда был непоколебимо уверен в себе, будь то в зале заседаний или… где-то ещё.

    Отсутствие интереса к женщинам не означало неспособности к половому акту.

    Кристина, казалось, ожидала такой реакции и решила не спорить.

    Вместо этого она пододвинула ему через стол пустой бланк направления на анализы: «В конечном счёте, результаты говорят громче, чем догадки. Господин Воронов, вы доверяете интуиции или эмпирическим данным?»

    Адриан впился взглядом в её пугающе спокойное лицо, ища малейшую трещину в её уверенности.

    Её не было.

    Выражение её лица оставалось твёрдым, беспристрастным и врачебным.

    Адриан вдруг вспомнил о периодических болях в спине и постоянной усталости, которые он списывал на переутомление…

    Неужели с ним и вправду что-то не так?

    После короткой внутренней борьбы он схватил бланк и молча вышел из кабинета.

    Снаружи Анатолий, один раз взглянув на мрачное выражение лица своего начальника, почувствовал, как по спине пробежал холодок, но всё же шагнул вперёд: «Господин Воронов, как всё прошло? Всё в порядке?»

    Адриан метнул в него ледяной взгляд, ничего не ответил и зашагал прямо к лаборатории.

    Анатолий смотрел, как его напряжённая, целеустремлённая фигура исчезает в коридоре, а его собственное сердце колотилось.

    Не похоже, что новости были хорошими.

    Следующий час тянулся дольше, чем любой другой в жизни Адриана.

    У него взяли кровь, время в приёмной тянулось мучительно медленно, и наконец ему вручили заключение.

    Когда он вернулся в кабинет Кристины с результатами, всё его существо излучало ледяную сдержанность.

    В кабинете не было других пациентов.

    Кристина, казалось, ждала его; на её безупречно чистом столе лежала только его карта.

    Адриан швырнул заключение на стол, и в этом движении сквозила едва сдерживаемая ярость.

    Кристина подняла его и принялась изучать с дотошным вниманием.

    Проходили секунды.

    Адриан неотступно следил за ней, ловя малейшее изменение в выражении её лица.

    Наконец Кристина отложила заключение в сторону и встретилась с ним взглядом: «Как и ожидалось, господин Воронов, результаты указывают на лёгкую степень нейрогенной эректильной дисфункции».

    Нейрогенная… эректильная дисфункция?

    Хотя он и готовил себя к плохим новостям, официальный диагноз вызвал в голове Адриана звенящую пустоту.

    «Причины многогранны – скорее всего, длительный стресс и чрезмерная рабочая нагрузка нарушили нервные пути, отвечающие за эректильную функцию. Хорошая новость в том, что это выявлено на ранней стадии и в лёгкой форме, а значит, полностью излечимо с помощью систематического приёма лекарств и физиотерапии».

    С мрачным видом Адриан хрипло спросил: «Какой план лечения?»

    «Я подготовлю подробное диагностическое заключение вместе с индивидуальным планом лечения, – говорила Кристина, печатая на клавиатуре, и вскоре зажужжал принтер. – Доктор Барнс лично проконтролирует ваше дальнейшее лечение. Он ведущий специалист в этой области, так что можете быть уверены в результате».

    Книга Мой Очаровательный Доктор Глава 3

    Ефим?

    Брови Адриана тут же сошлись на переносице.

    Он слишком хорошо понимал, каким влиянием обладал Ефим, но проблема была в том, что он не хотел, чтобы об этой ситуации узнал кто-либо – вообще кто-либо, – кроме женщины, стоявшей перед ним.

    Огромный деловой мир семьи Вороновых был запутанной сетью тайных союзов и скрытого соперничества, и, поскольку Адриан был назначенным преемником, за каждым его шагом следили, его анализировали и осуждали.

    Эту тайну – тайну, что била прямо по его мужскому самолюбию, – могли подхватить недоброжелатели и использовать, чтобы пошатнуть его положение в «Воронов Групп», если просочится хотя бы малейший намёк.

    Ни при каких обстоятельствах это не должно было дойти до ушей личного медицинского персонала семьи Вороновых.

    Эти врачи подчинялись всей семье, и невозможно было узнать, кому они на самом деле верны. О конфиденциальности с ними не могло быть и речи.

    Именно поэтому Игнат и договорился, чтобы Адриан в первую очередь обратился к его доверенному лицу.

    И всё же его самую унизительную и сокровенную тайну уже раскрыла эта женщина по имени Кристина.

    Привлечение Ефима сейчас лишь усугубило бы опасность.

    Что ещё важнее, полное обследование – от первоначальных проверок до окончательного вердикта – провела она одна.

    Начинать всё сначала с другим врачом, который ничего не знает, и снова проходить это унизительное испытание?

    От одной этой мысли гнев Адриана подступил опасно близко к точке кипения.

    «Это вам». Кристина собрала несколько страниц вместе с медицинской картой и результатами анализов, вложила их в картонную папку и протянула ему. «Господин Воронов, здесь всё. Можете завтра отнести это доктору Барнсу».

    После этого она взглянула на часы, поднялась со своего места и скинула белый халат.

    «На сегодня я закончила». Она взяла сумку, явно намереваясь уйти.

    Адриан не потянулся за папкой на столе. Вместо этого он поднял глаза и впился в неё взглядом. «Вы никуда не пойдёте».

    Кристина остановилась и обернулась с явным недоумением на лице. «Господин Воронов, мой рабочий день окончен».

    «Я сказал, вы никуда не пойдёте». Адриан встал, и его высокая фигура, источавшая гнетущую силу, двинулась к ней.

    Дверь кабинета за его спиной захлопнулась, и он даже повернул замок.

    И без того тесный кабинет мгновенно наполнился напряжением и враждебностью.

    Кристина нахмурилась. Ей доводилось иметь дело с трудными пациентами, но ни один из них не сочетал в себе столь подавляющее властолюбие с таким непредсказуемым поведением.

    Скрестив руки на груди, она посмотрела на него, и в её голосе проскользнуло нетерпение. «Господин Воронов, что именно вы делаете? Незаконно удерживаете врача – вы понимаете, что это значит?»

    Адриан лишь холодно рассмеялся. Он остановился прямо перед ней и посмотрел на неё сверху вниз с нескрываемым превосходством. «Вы поставили мне диагноз».

    «И что?» – Кристина выдержала его взгляд, не дрогнув.

    Адриан понизил голос, говоря медленно и решительно, словно вынося окончательный вердикт: «И довести дело до конца должны тоже вы. Моим лечением будете заниматься вы».

    Кристина усмехнулась откровенной абсурдности его слов.

    За все годы своей врачебной практики она ещё не сталкивалась с таким властным и неразумным требованием.

    «Господин Воронов, давайте проясним: это больница, а не ваша корпорация, и я на вас не работаю, – безразлично продолжила она. – Моя обязанность заключалась в том, чтобы поставить диагноз и составить отчёт, и эта задача выполнена. Ваше дальнейшее лечение будет курировать доктор Барнс, специалист, полностью подходящий для этого случая, что является наилучшим решением. А теперь, пожалуйста, отойдите. Я ухожу».

    «Я сказал, отвечать будете вы», – упрямо повторил Адриан, полностью проигнорировав её объяснения.

    Он не позволял другим решать за него, и уж тем более не собирался открывать свою слабость ещё одному человеку.

    Какой бы раздражающей ни была эта женщина, по крайней мере, тайна пока что оставалась известна только ей.

    «Доктор Софронов, – голос Адриана стал ледяным, в нём послышалась тихая угроза. – Советую вам передумать. Так уж вышло, что “Воронов Групп” – крупнейший акционер медицинского центра “Апекс”. Назначить вас куратором моего лечения или сделать так, чтобы к завтрашнему дню вы остались без работы – и то, и другое решается одним моим звонком».

    Недвусмысленная угроза.

    У большинства молодых врачей, дорожащих своим местом, эти слова вызвали бы панику.

    Но Кристина лишь молча посмотрела на него, а затем спокойно поставила сумку обратно на стол и снова прислонилась к нему.

    Скрестив руки, она посмотрела на мужчину, который верил, что власть подчиняет всё его воле.

    «Адриан Воронов», – ровно произнесла она его полное имя. – Во-первых, использовать влияние, чтобы давить на других, – это по-детски. Во-вторых, я не только врач, но и специально приглашённый сюда профессор. Если я уйду, потеря будет не моя, а больницы».

    Она сделала паузу, её взгляд на мгновение скользнул по строгим, красивым чертам его лица.

    Затем она без обиняков добавила: «И в данный момент это вы нуждаетесь во мне, а не наоборот. Если хотите помощи, научитесь просить как следует».

    Адриан ошеломлённо замолчал.

    Профессор?

    Он уставился на её поразительно юные черты, на мгновение не в силах сопоставить их с этим званием.

    Кроме того, её замечание о манерах прозвучало как резкая пощёчина.

    Он никогда никого не умолял.

    И всё же ему нечего было возразить.

    Она была права.

    Это он был болен, и это ему требовался врач, способный на абсолютную конфиденциальность и обладающий должной компетенцией.

    В настоящий момент эта женщина была его единственным вариантом и, без сомнения, лучшим.

    👉 ПРОДОЛЖИТЬ ЧТЕНИЕ

  • He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel by Xiu Luo

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel by Xiu Luo

    👉 READ NOW

    Just a few weeks before my wedding to Hudson, his ex-girlfriend moved in next door to us.

    She constantly made a huge deal out of the fact that her father had sacrificed his life to save Hudson, and even destroyed my wedding dress, yet Hudson just stood by and comforted her.

    Just as I secretly found out I was pregnant, he publicly announced that he was going to hold a “fake wedding” with her, claiming it was for her psychological therapy.

    This news quickly went viral online, sparking the fury of netizens who even ganged up to attack me, causing me to fall to the ground and bleed heavily.

    I lost our child, and the doctor told me that my hopes of ever becoming a mother again were almost completely destroyed.

    As I lay in the hospital bed, my heart completely dead inside, Hudson appeared in the ward.

    “Please understand why I have to hold this fake wedding for her.”

    He begged me to support his fake wedding, and my heart was thoroughly shattered.

    After he left, I immediately packed my bags, contacted the wedding venue, and changed the groom’s name to the man who had always stood by me through thick and thin.

    When he found out about this, he actually went crazy trying to win me back at all costs!

    👉 READ NOW

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel Chapter 1

    Caitlin’s POV
    Just a few weeks left until my wedding, but a wave of icy dread gripped me tightly. It all started the day Bella Peterson moved into our apartment building.
    Of course, I knew her name. My fiancé, Hudson Rice, had always harbored a deep sense of guilt toward her—her firefighter father had sacrificed his life to save Hudson years ago.
    That afternoon, I was walking my golden retriever in the apartment building’s private garden. Suddenly, it excitedly broke free from the leash, ran over to the rose bushes, and nudged out a shivering white stray cat with its nose.
    As I gently stroked its fur, I noticed a small silver tag on its collar. Engraved on the silver tag was the word, “Snowflake.”
    I flipped the tag over, and sure enough, there was a number engraved on the back, along with a brief message: “This is my kitty. If found, please contact me, thank you so much. —Bella.”
    My breath hitched. Bella? The name echoed in my mind, and I had a very bad premonition.
    “Snowflake!” A soft voice broke the tranquility of the garden.
    I looked up. A few yards away stood a woman with long, jet-black hair. She was younger than I had imagined, possessing an almost fragile quality.
    “Oh, Snowflake, my little baby!” She gathered the cat into her arms, hugging it tightly. The cat let out a loud purr, clearly enjoying the feeling of being back in its owner’s embrace.
    “Thank you, thank you! I was so worried. I just moved in here, and she ran out. I didn’t even know what to do.”
    “It’s nothing. She is a beautiful cat.”
    “I’m Bella Peterson.”
    “Caitlin Norris.” I wore an increasingly stiff smile, my mind in utter chaos.
    Bella Peterson. This couldn’t be a coincidence. This was Hudson’s ex-girlfriend, whose father had died saving him.
    “It’s nice to meet you, Caitlin,” Bella said, her eyes still fixed on the cat in her arms. “You are so kind.” She looked up, her gaze meeting mine. “Norris… that last name sounds a bit familiar. Do you live nearby?”
    “Yes, I live here.”
    We walked toward the apartment building entrance together, but the unease in my heart grew heavier.
    “I just moved back from abroad and rented a unit in this building.”
    “Rented an apartment in this building?” I asked, unable to stop myself from taking a sharp breath. This building was one of the most luxurious apartments in the whole city, and the rent was terrifyingly high.
    Bella smiled, a fragile smile that seemed to hide an unspeakable sorrow. “Yes. This building is beautiful. And… it’s close to my past.” She paused, her eyes dimming.
    “You wouldn’t happen to know Hudson, would you?” I tried to make my voice sound casual, but my curiosity was intense.
    Bella just offered a small, meaningful smile. “Yes, and Hudson has actually mentioned you to me, saying you are very understanding.”
    “Oh, really?” I forced a very strained smile.
    The elevator doors opened, and we both simultaneously pressed “15.”
    “Well, I’m here.” She walked toward the door of 1503, but just as she reached it, the door of 1502 opened.
    Hudson stood there, dressed in casual clothes, his hair slightly messy. He held a bag of groceries in his hand, a small smile on his face.
    He looked at me, and then his gaze landed on Bella.
    His smile vanished, and he was so surprised that the grocery bag almost slipped from his hand.
    Seeing Hudson, Bella froze in place. Snowflake, still in her arms, let out a soft meow.
    Bella’s eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip began to tremble.
    Time seemed to stretch out. I stood between them, feeling like a redundant outsider. The silence was suffocating.
    “Hudson,” I said, my voice flat. “You know Bella, right?”
    Hudson blinked, as if waking from a dream. He looked at me, then at Bella, a complex and conflicted expression surfacing on his face. “Bella, what are you doing here?”
    Bella nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes, Hudson.”
    “I need to lie down for a bit,” I said, my hands trembling as I unlocked my apartment door. Shaking, I closed the door behind me, shutting out that oppressive scene.
    Through the thick door, I heard Bella go from soft sobbing to heart-wrenching, agonizing wailing.
    “Bella, shh, it’s okay now.” I heard Hudson’s voice, deep and gentle.
    The crying gradually subsided, turning into soft whispers. The hallway finally fell silent.
    I don’t know how much time passed before I gently cracked the door open. The hallway was empty, and the door to 1503 was shut tight. Hudson and Bella were inside, a lone man and a lone woman.
    The future I had so carefully planned completely collapsed in this very moment.

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel Chapter 2

    Caitlin’s POV
    Despite the world outside turning upside down, I desperately tried to maintain a pathetic sense of dignity inside the apartment. The wedding was fast approaching, and my wedding dress was still waiting for my final fitting.
    I clung desperately to these anchors of the future, constantly brainwashing myself: Hudson is just acting out of survivor’s guilt. He won’t abandon me. As long as he helps Bella stabilize her emotions, we can get back on track.
    Late that night, Hudson finally returned to the apartment. I pretended to be asleep, listening to him tiptoe into bed, my body stiff and my breathing heavy.
    The next morning at the breakfast table, I decided to break the ice. “So, Bella moved in next door to us.”
    Hudson’s hand trembled, and he nearly spilled his coffee. He didn’t dare look at me, his face full of guilt. “Yeah, it’s… it’s complicated, Caitlin.”
    “Indeed. She cried terribly yesterday, and you were busy comforting her next door.” My tone was sharp.
    Hudson ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “She had an emotional breakdown yesterday, it was really serious! Her therapist suggested she move somewhere she feels safe. She had no idea we lived here.”
    “Her therapist suggested she move next door to the ex-boyfriend whose life her father saved?” I raised an eyebrow, the skepticism in my tone barely concealed.
    Hudson finally looked at me, his eyes full of pleading. “Caitlin, please. She’s not doing well, her mental state is very fragile. We can’t just abandon her. Her father… he sacrificed himself to save me. I owe her.”
    “You do owe her.” I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to maintain that “understanding” facade he had praised. “But what about our wedding? The final fitting for the wedding dress is next Tuesday. Are you still going?”
    He hesitated for a long second, a second so long it made my skin crawl. “Of course,” he finally promised. “Everything goes according to plan. Bella will get better, we just need to take care of her feelings a little bit.”
    I nodded, but my heart shattered piece by piece. That night, Hudson tossed and turned in his sleep, muttering a name under his breath. I couldn’t hear it clearly, but I knew for a fact it wasn’t “Caitlin.”
    Next Tuesday, I arrived at the bridal boutique with anxious anticipation. It was an ivory silk wedding dress designed specifically for me, with hand-sewn pearls and lace perfectly matched.
    The moment I put it on, I felt as if I saw the reflection of happiness once again.
    The boutique owner, Mrs. Albright, looked at me with absolute awe. “It’s too beautiful, Caitlin! Hudson is going to be head over heels for you.”
    Just as I was handing the dress back, my phone buzzed. A text from Hudson came in: “Going to be late. Bella had another episode, I have to rush over to her now.”
    My heart plunged into an ice cellar. Bella again. Always Bella.
    Then, Bella stood in the middle of the store. Her eyes were bloodshot, her gaze frantic, and in her hand, she tightly gripped a pair of sharp, heavy tailor’s scissors. Mannequins around her were knocked over, and high-end fabrics were scattered all over the floor.
    “She wants to destroy everything!” Bella screamed, her eyes locked onto the wedding dress hanging on the rack.
    The next second, her eyes ignited with the mad fire of jealousy. “What right do you have to have him! What right do you have to steal our life!”
    Before I could react, she lunged forward like a lunatic. The owner screamed and dodged out of the way, while I froze in place.
    The cold steel of the scissors flashed.
    Riiip—
    The silk was slashed, the lace was torn, and pearls bounced all over the floor. Bella frantically wielded the scissors, shredding the wedding dress of my dreams into pieces, cut by cut.
    “Stop!” I finally screamed at the top of my lungs, but it was too late.
    After the destruction was complete, the scissors clattered to the floor. She fell to her knees amidst the shredded fabric, trembling all over as she began to sob delicately.
    Bang! The door burst open, and Hudson rushed in, looking panicked. He surveyed the chaotic store, me standing with the shredded dress, and Bella kneeling on the floor.
    His gaze briefly met mine, revealing a fleeting trace of helpless apology.
    But that look vanished in an instant. His eyes immediately darted to Bella. “Bella! Are you okay?” He knelt beside her, pulled her into his arms, and comforted her.
    “We have to call the police,” the owner said, trembling.
    “No need.” I was surprisingly calm, my cold gaze locked on Hudson and Bella. He was still holding her, and Bella had buried her face in his shoulder, crying pitifully. He was heartbroken, but his heartbreak existed only for her.
    Customers around us gathered and whispered, and some even took out their phones to record. I had become the most pathetic clown in this farce.
    “Caitlin, I can rush to make you a new dress, or try my best to repair this one…” the owner suggested cautiously.
    “No need.” I cut her off decisively. What was destroyed wasn’t the dress, it was this damn marriage. “I will pay for all the damages, settle the bill for me.”
    Without any lingering attachment, I turned and walked out of the bridal boutique. The cold wind hit my face, and not only did it fail to blow away the pain in my chest, but it also made me completely sober.
    I didn’t return to that so-called home. I didn’t want to hear any of Hudson’s hypocritical apologies and excuses.
    I took a taxi straight to an unfamiliar private hospital.
    A nameless fear haunted my heart, making me instinctively place my hand over my still-flat lower abdomen.
    I had to confirm whether my child was still safe and sound.

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel Chapter 3

    Caitlin’s POV
    The cold white fluorescent lights of the clinic buzzed overhead. I lay on the examination table, my heart pounding with anxiety. Dr. Evans finally straightened up, a gentle smile appearing on her face.
    “Caitlin, although it’s still very early, everything is completely normal.” She pointed to the blurry image on the screen. “Here is the heartbeat. It’s strong and steady.”
    A sense of profound relief brought tears to my eyes instantly. My child, this fragile little life, was still stubbornly surviving after experiencing the chaos, the betrayal, and the shredded wedding dress.
    “Thank you, Doctor,” I choked out. “Thank you so much.”
    Dr. Evans handed me a tissue. “Congratulations, this is wonderful news. Have you told the child’s father?”
    The smile on my face froze. Tell Hudson? Share this sacred joy with him? It felt like an absolute fantasy. All of his attention, sympathy, and his entire being had already been completely swallowed up by Bella.
    How could I dare entrust this precious secret to a man who couldn’t even protect my wedding dress or my dignity?
    “Not yet,” I said, my voice dropping. “Too much has happened, I’m not ready yet.”
    Dr. Evans nodded, her eyes showing understanding, but she also became more serious. “Take your time. But given your past medical history, you must avoid any stress or physical exertion. We will monitor your condition closely.”
    Her reminder awakened my deepest fears. Two heartbreaking miscarriage experiences. When I lost the first one, Hudson held me and cried for days; but the second, late-term miscarriage a few years later almost drained all of our energy.
    Since then, a layer of cautious distance had grown between us. I was afraid to embrace hope again, and perhaps he was afraid of facing loss again.
    Her reminder awakened my deepest fears, two heartbreaking miscarriage experiences. When I lost the first one, Hudson held me and cried for days; but the second, late-term miscarriage a few years later almost drained all of our energy. Since then, a layer of cautious distance had grown between us. I was afraid to embrace hope again, and perhaps he was afraid of facing loss again.
    And now, with a new life awakening inside me, I couldn’t bear another blow.
    Especially right now, with Hudson deeply entangled in Bella’s drama and completely ignoring me, it was highly likely he would treat this child as an unmanageable burden.
    Leaving the clinic and returning to the apartment building, I didn’t go upstairs. Instead, I hid in the lounge area. I needed time to digest all of this.
    My phone buzzed. It was a news push notification. Glancing at the screen, I started shaking with anger.
    My face—that face covered in tear stains and shock inside the bridal boutique—was glaringly displayed on the cover of a viral video.
    The video clearly captured the footage of Bella frantically shredding my wedding dress, and the most piercing scene of all: Hudson holding Bella tightly to comfort her, while I was left hanging to the side like a pathetic joke.
    The title was highly inflammatory: “Homewrecker Caitlin Finally Gets Her Just Desserts! Bella Fights Back to Reclaim True Love Hudson!”
    With stiff fingers, I scrolled through the comment section. The internet had thoroughly nailed me to the pillar of shame.
    “Oh my god, poor Bella! She’s been through so much. Caitlin is obviously a gold digger trying to steal Hudson away.”
    “Hudson and Bella are a match made in heaven. Caitlin should step aside.”
    “Look at Caitlin’s expression, she’s so damn cold. Bella is clearly heartbroken. This woman is simply a monster.”
    “Her father sacrificed himself to save Hudson! How can Caitlin be so cold-blooded?”
    The direction of public opinion was ruthless and twisted.
    Netizens quickly dug up Bella’s tragic background: the daughter of a hero firefighter, a genius artist deeply traumatized by her father’s sacrifice. Rumor had it she had received psychological treatment abroad and had now returned covered in scars, only to face the vicious woman who had stolen her high school sweetheart.
    Bella, the tragic hometown goddess. Hudson, the hero tortured by conflict, forced to bear a debt of gratitude he could never repay. And me, Caitlin Norris, the vicious homewrecker.
    The comments grew increasingly malicious, demanding that I leave, slapping all sorts of labels on me, and even starting to send threatening messages. An online campaign to support Bella had already begun.
    Late that night, Hudson finally came back. He saw me sitting alone in the unlit living room, the cold light of my laptop screen reflecting those vicious insults.
    Looking utterly exhausted, he sat down next to me. His hand hovered in mid-air, but ultimately, he didn’t touch me. “Caitlin, I’m sorry about today. Bella completely broke down. Her therapist just finished checking her into the hospital.”
    “So you were with her the whole time,” I stated coldly.
    He sighed. “She kept crying and calling my name, refusing to let go. This building is too triggering for her, and seeing you made her break down even more. She misunderstood everything, thinking you wanted to steal me away from her.”
    “Misunderstood?” I laughed out of pure anger. “She shredded the wedding dress we were going to use for our marriage! And you held her in your arms, leaving me alone to watch my future turn into a pile of rags!”
    Hudson rubbed his face in agony. “I know how bad this looks! But she’s sick, and she only feels safe when she’s by my side! I know this is unfair to you, but I’m begging you, can you please just endure this for a little longer? Once she stabilizes, I promise everything will go back to normal. We will get married, I swear.”
    Looking at this face full of guilt, my heart hardened bit by bit.
    “Alright, Hudson,” I said in a low voice, a cold tear quietly slipping down. “I will endure it.”
    He let out a long sigh of relief, hugged me tightly, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Thank you, Caitlin, you are the most understanding woman I have ever met.”
    I closed my eyes in his embrace, letting my tears soak his shirt.
    He was so immersed in his “great responsibility” that he didn’t notice my despair at all. As long as Bella remained his first choice, I would always be the dispensable one!

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Reborn As The Cold Alpha’s Secret Mate novel by Liz Nozic

    Reborn As The Cold Alpha's Secret Mate novel by Liz Nozic

    👉 READ NOW

    My fiancé, Caleb Tucker, told me it was the last thing I could do for him.

    Then, he sold me to a cruel, greedy old man just to curry favor for his own political ambitions.

    I was branded like livestock, treated as nothing more than a vessel and a broodmare for a man I despised.

    When I desperately tried to resist this horrifying fate, I was beaten and left to bleed out in the biting cold.

    “Seraphina, it’s the last thing you can do for me.”

    His words were colder than the winter air as my life drained into the pristine white snow, his handsome face twisted with false regret.

    I died a miserable, invisible Omega servant, my blood staining the freezing ice while he secured his future.

    Until my last breath, I couldn’t understand how the man I loved could trade my life for a little bit of status, leaving me to die like a discarded piece of trash.

    Opening my eyes again, the searing pain of the branding iron was just a ghost on my unbroken skin.

    I was back in my cramped servant’s cell in Silvermoon Keep, right on the morning the Matriarch was choosing a breeder for the Alpha heir.

    This time, I wouldn’t run. I would willingly offer myself to Gideon Carlisle, the most powerful and cold-hearted Alpha of them all, and use him to secure my survival.

    👉 READ NOW

    Reborn As The Cold Alpha’s Secret Mate novel Chapter 1

    SERAPHINA’S POV:
    “Take off your dress.”
    My fingertips trembled slightly, and a flush crept up my neck. Obeying the Matriarch’s command, I untied the rough sash at my waist. The coarse linen pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a thin, white undergarment that barely covered my body.
    As I shifted my weight, the fabric rode up, exposing the pale curve of my waist. In the dim morning light, my skin looked like fine porcelain.
    Yet, Isadora Carlisle, the Pack’s Matriarch, and her stern lady-in-waiting, Agatha, didn’t even glance at my waist. Their sharp eyes were fixed entirely on my hips, which were noticeably fuller than those of the other Omega servants. Suddenly, their eyes lit up.
    “Matriarch, I believe Seraphina is a fine choice,” Agatha said, a calculating smile on her lips. “She has the wide hips of a strong breeder, perfect for bearing pups. Moreover, she’s been trained in your quarters for years. She knows her place and won’t try to bewitch the Alpha heir.”
    “Indeed, your eyes are as sharp as ever, Agatha,” Isadora said, a satisfied smile appearing on her well-preserved face. “Seraphina, prepare yourself. You will serve the Alpha heir tonight.”
    I was one of her personal servant girls, and the more she looked at me, the more satisfied she seemed. She had made her decision.
    I knelt obediently on the cold stone floor, but as I heard her words, a wave of dizziness washed over me.
    In my past life, I had knelt in this exact spot. Except then, I was fully dressed. When the Matriarch ordered me to undress for the breeding inspection, I had refused without hesitation. “I already have a mate chosen, Caleb Tucker. I beg for your mercy, Matriarch.”
    The Pack usually treated their servants decently. Though displeased, Isadora had granted my release and handed me my freedom papers. I thought I could take my saved coins, return to Caleb, and live a simple life. But instead, Caleb and my family broke my leg and sold me to Jedediah Hicks, a cruel, eighty-year-old merchant, just to curry favor.
    And then… the biting snow, the blood, the agonizing death. Just thinking about it made my chest tight with suffocating pain.
    My eyelashes fluttered. I quickly pressed my forehead to the floor, forcing my voice to tremble with overwhelming gratitude. “Thank you, Matriarch, for this immense honor!”
    Seeing that I didn’t show the desperate, ambitious greed of other foolish Omegas, Isadora’s approval deepened.
    “Seraphina, the Alpha heir has been mated for three years but remains childless,” Isadora said, her voice dropping. “If you can give birth to a strong Alpha male pup, he will be the next heir of Silvermoon Keep.”
    She paused, watching me. I made sure to widen my eyes just a fraction, projecting the perfect blend of reverence and naive yearning. She nodded, completely satisfied. This was what she wanted: an Omega who would dedicate her life to serving the heir and continuing the Carlisle bloodline.
    “You are a maid from my own courtyard. Even the Luna will not dare to look down on you,” Isadora continued, sliding a heavy silver moonstone bracelet from her wrist and placing it onto my arm.
    I looked at her with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you for your grace, Matriarch. I swear to serve the Alpha heir with my life and ease your burdens.”
    After I bowed one last time, she dismissed me.
    Once I stepped out of her quarters, the feigned reverence vanished from my eyes, replaced by a bone-chilling coldness. I caught the envious glares of the other Omega servants in the corridor, and a mocking smile touched my lips.
    If I had a choice, I would gladly trade places with them. I had absolutely no desire to be a lowly breeder. I just wanted to survive until I was old enough to leave the Keep and live in peace.
    Gideon had been mated for three years. Neither his Luna nor his two chosen females had produced a pup. Either there was something wrong with the Alpha himself, or there was a deadly game of sabotage being played among his mates. Having a pup in that environment would be practically impossible.
    Even if I did miraculously get pregnant, given Isadora’s ruthless nature, it was highly likely she would take the pup and dispose of the mother. I could lose my life anyway. If I wasn’t driven into a corner by my past, I would never willingly become a breeder.
    But right now, I needed to use Gideon Carlisle’s formidable power as a shield to destroy Caleb and those greedy bastards from my past. To do that, I had to play the long game. And the first hurdle was surviving tonight.
    Gideon was a man of strict discipline. If he refused to touch me tonight, I would become the laughingstock of the Keep by morning, and Isadora might just throw me out. Remembering Caleb and the old merchant waiting outside these walls, I took a deep breath. No matter what methods I had to use, I had to make the Alpha heir claim me tonight.
    Late into the night, I was led to the Heir’s Quarters. Bathed and dressed in a sheer, whisper-thin silk nightgown, I knelt quietly by the edge of the massive bed.

    Reborn As The Cold Alpha’s Secret Mate novel Chapter 2

    SERAPHINA’S POV:
    The gossamer fabric clung to my curves, and my pale skin glowed faintly in the candlelight. With my naturally cold and timid demeanor, I looked like a fallen moon spirit—a sight meant to entice.
    The guards had said the Alpha Heir was still working in his study. I waited for a full two hours before heavy footsteps echoed outside.
    The doors swung open. Gideon Carlisle stepped into the room. Earlier today, his mother, Matriarch Isadora, had mentioned sending a servant to his bed, but he clearly hadn’t expected to find me already waiting in his private chambers. His dark brows furrowed slightly.
    I looked up at exactly the right moment. My violet eyes were shimmering, carrying a perfect balance of shyness and submission, meeting his gaze directly.
    But Gideon just stood there. He looked at me with the same calm indifference one might use to appraise a piece of furniture. There was no lust, no surprise in his eyes—only a cold, almost detached scrutiny.
    His oppressive Alpha aura made my chest tighten. Biting my lip, I forced myself to stand. “Alpha Heir… please allow me to help you out of your clothes.”
    As I approached him, a flush warming my cheeks, Gideon actually took a step back.
    Everyone in the Pack knew he was a man who lived by rules. He visited his Luna, Eleanor, during the full moon, and his other females on strictly scheduled days. I knew that if he accepted me, a breeder Omega, it would mean adding another exhausting obligation to his routine.
    Rutting without purpose drained energy, and Gideon was clearly unwilling. Just as he opened his mouth, undoubtedly to dismiss me, a knock came at the door.
    Agatha’s voice filtered through. “Alpha Heir, the Matriarch ordered me to bring you the Elk-Blood and Moon-Herb elixir.”
    It was a potent Alpha stamina brew. It was Isadora’s way of forcing his hand.
    Gideon let out a quiet sigh. It was no secret how obsessed his mother was with getting a grandson, especially since his younger half-brother already had two pups, parading them around the Keep daily to flaunt in front of the Matriarch.
    “Leave the elixir, Agatha. Tell my mother I understand,” Gideon replied, his voice deep and resigned.
    Agatha’s receding footsteps sounded almost cheerful; she clearly knew her master would never outright defy his mother’s wishes regarding the Pack’s lineage.
    Once she was gone, Gideon turned his cold gaze back to me. “Let’s get to bed, then.”
    He raised his arms, waiting for me to undress him.
    Having served in the Matriarch’s quarters, I was used to this. I stepped forward, my hands moving deftly to remove his heavy outer coat, secretly studying him as I did.
    In my past life, I had never dared to look at him. The other maids always whispered about his god-like beauty. Seeing him up close now, the rumors were true. Sharp jawline, eyes like midnight, a physique carved from granite. If I had to endure this to change my fate, at least the man I was serving was breathtaking.
    After removing his shirt, I gently untied my own sheer outer robe. It slipped to the floor, leaving me in nothing but a crimson silk camisole embroidered with delicate lace.
    The vibrant red contrasted sharply with my milky skin. My chest heaved slightly, the delicate curves of my body fully exposed—a living, breathing painting of temptation.
    Any other male in the Pack would have lost their minds and tackled me to the rugs. But Gideon wasn’t a normal man. He barely spared my body a glance, his eyes quickly returning to their icy calm.
    Just as I was frantically wondering what my next move should be, he reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me under the heavy furs of the bed.
    Under the heavy velvet canopy, I threw my arms around Gideon, pulling him close.
    I was actually quite pleased at this moment. Secretly, I slipped a small, specially treated piece of white cloth under the pillows—my proof of the night. Even though, as a designated breeder Omega, I wasn’t strictly required to present proof of consummation to the Matriarch or his official mate, my past life had taught me to always leave a backup plan. Even when serving the Alpha Heir, I couldn’t afford to leave any loopholes for my enemies.

    Reborn As The Cold Alpha’s Secret Mate novel Chapter 3

    SERAPHINA’S POV:
    Gideon didn’t say anything as he positioned himself over me. My smile was still plastered on my face, but a second later, it completely vanished.
    His posture was rigid, almost more textbook than a medical manual. Those glacial blue eyes held absolutely zero lust or emotion. It made my entire body stiffen.
    Wait… do his mates not require any tenderness at all?
    I’ve been given a second chance at life. Is it too much to ask to enjoy this at least a little bit?
    With that thought in mind, I put on my most affectionate gaze and reached out to grasp Gideon’s large hands.
    This was clearly the first time the Alpha Heir had ever been interrupted during his “duty.” He stopped immediately, looking down at me with a mixture of confusion and growing impatience.
    “Alpha Heir,” I forced my voice into a syrupy, sweet register—so high and cloying my throat practically burned. “You work so hard for the Pack all day. Let your servant take care of you tonight. I want to… do it myself. Please, indulge me just this once?”
    He stared at me without a word, his dark, stormy eyes making it impossible to guess what he was thinking.
    Did I piss him off?
    Not daring to delay any further, I gave him a seductive smile of thanks and boldly looped my arms around his neck.
    He had clearly never seen such aggressive initiative from an Omega before. He froze for a split second, allowing me to slip into his guard. I could almost hear him thinking: What kind of unruly Omega did the Matriarch send me?
    He reached out, pinning my shoulders down to stop my movements, his face darkening as he growled softly, “Insolent!”
    A flicker of Alpha satisfaction crossed his face as he saw the mist of tears welling up in my eyes.
    I let out a tiny, exaggerated shudder at his bark, stopping my movements instantly and staring up at him like a frightened little deer. But a second later, I brazenly grabbed his hand again.
    “What are you doing?” he snapped.
    I looked up at him innocently, laughing inwardly. Sure enough, a man’s fingers are always sensitive, and this Alpha Heir is no exception.
    I immediately swapped my expression to one of absolute, starry-eyed worship, cooing in my most delicate, breathy voice, “Alpha Heir, the outsiders always say you rely on the Matriarch’s power for your status. But feeling the thick calluses on your knuckles and fingertips… I know you earned all your glory through your own blood, sweat, and battles!”
    Being looked at with such sheer adoration clearly stroked his ego. I could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—he felt validated, yet he kept his face stern and scolded, “Speak properly. Do not try to curry favor.”
    “Yes~” I purred, dragging the word out with enough twists and turns to make an Alpha’s bones itch.
    Looking into my wide, innocent eyes, Gideon seemed to know damn well I was doing it on purpose. Annoyed, but undeniably aroused, he crashed his lips down to silence my mouth.
    Seeing that my tactic worked, I immediately took the initiative. I have to admit, the experience turned out much better than I had initially expected.
    When it was over, I lay on the massive bed with a hidden look of disgust. If I sleep on this overly ornate, stiff bed all night, I’ll wake up with a sore back. I’m just here to do a job, not to play true love with the Alpha Heir. Whoever wants to suffer this bed can have it.
    Thinking of this, I dutifully crawled out from under the covers, dressed myself quickly, and grabbed my proof of the night. I gave Gideon a flawless, respectful bow. “Alpha Heir, I will not disturb your rest any longer. I shall take my leave.”
    Without waiting for his response, I turned and walked out.
    My swift departure seemed to catch Gideon completely off guard. As I walked away, I knew I had likely shattered whatever preconceived notions he had about me. He probably thought I was just another well-trained Omega sent by his mother, expecting me to be like those ambitious females who always begged to stay the night after the act, or worse, ignored his exhaustion to demand a second round just to secure favor. By leaving gracefully, I had spared him that annoyance, perhaps even earning his silent forgiveness for my earlier “unruly” behavior.
    Honestly, I didn’t care at all about Gideon’s attitude toward me. The mission was accomplished, and I just wanted a good night’s sleep.
    I hurried back to the modest servant’s quarters assigned to me, scrubbed myself clean with warm water, and collapsed onto my own bed, limbs spread wide like a starfish.
    I calculated in my head: With this, I won’t have to worry about failing the Matriarch’s inspection tomorrow. My position in the Pack is secure for now.
    I let out a long sigh, my tense nerves finally relaxing, and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
    That was, until the early hours of the morning, when a maid named Daisy frantically shook me awake.
    “Seraphina, wake up! It’s time to go to the main estate and pay your respects to the Luna!”

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  • The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel by NovaBlaq

    The Ex Wife's Revenge novel by NovaBlaq

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    My ex-husband’s mother never hid her contempt for me.
    She thought money could erase my existence and paid me five million to walk away from her son.
    “You’re beneath my son. Take the money and leave him.”
    She had no idea I was already sick of her cruelty. And even sicker of her spineless son.
    I accepted the money. Utterly devastated, of course.
    ~~~
    A month later, she was furious because I was dating her brother.
    “Ten million. Leave my brother alone.”
    I refused, intentionally trying to provoke her.
    She offered me twenty million this time and I accepted her offer.
    But she had no idea what I had in store for her. She had no idea what she started.

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    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 1

    Nadia’s POV:
    Today was my husband, Dorian’s twenty-third birthday.
    It should have been a happy day. But it wasn’t. Happy days didn’t really exist inside the Hargrove mansion… at least not for me, anyway.
    I woke up early. The morning sun came through the curtains and landed on my face, and for one single second, before I was fully awake, I thought: today might be different. Then I heard the voices outside my bedroom door and I remembered where I was and who I was married to and nothing was different at all.
    It was barely past seven when the stylists arrived.
    Vivienne had sent them. She always sent them before any Hargrove event, because she didn’t trust me to dress myself. I’m not sure she trusted me to do anything, if I’m honest. Except breathe, maybe. And even then she was probably watching to make sure I did it correctly.
    I was sitting at my vanity in my robe when the bedroom door opened without a knock. Three women walked in, carrying bags and cases. Vivienne walked in behind them. She was already dressed. She stopped in the center of the room and looked at me. She didn’t say good morning.
    She just looked at my hair.
    “Careful with her hair,” she said, to the stylist. “It’s a bit thin, isn’t it?” She tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying a problem that needed solving. “Add extensions. Lots of them. I won’t have her walking around today looking like a peasant. My son is turning twenty-three. This party matters. I won’t have guests thinking I let him marry a woman who can’t even grow a decent head of hair.”
    The stylist nodded. She didn’t argue. She just agreed, which was what everyone did around Vivienne.
    “Yes, Mrs. Hargrove. I see exactly what you mean. We’ll fix it.”
    I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and said nothing.
    What was there to say? I had learned, a long time ago, that saying anything only made it worse. Silence was my armor.
    I sat in that chair for four hours.
    My neck ached from holding still. My head felt heavy from all the pins and clips they were pressing into my scalp. Every time I opened my mouth to say anything… even something harmless, like asking for a glass of water… Vivienne found a way to cut me off.
    “Don’t move your mouth, Nadia,” she said at one point. “The lipstick needs to be set perfectly. If you keep moving, we’ll have to start over. And we don’t have time to start over.”
    Then she looked at my waist in the mirror. She pressed her lips together.
    “That dress,” she said. “Well. It’s the best we could do, given your figure. It’s a shame you haven’t managed to lose that extra weight I mentioned to you in August. The silk is pulling at the waist. It makes you look…” She paused, as if searching for a word that was just polite enough to say out loud. “…fat and desperate. But then, I suppose that’s always been your problem. You’ve always tried a little too hard to belong in spaces that weren’t built for you.”
    I stared at my reflection. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my figure.
    The woman looking back at me looked expensive. Her hair was thick and glossy, her makeup was flawless, her dress was simple but elegant. She looked like she belonged at an event like this.
    But her eyes were empty. She looked like a doll that had been dressed by someone else.
    I didn’t recognize her at all. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
    ~~~
    The party began at noon.
    The Hargrove garden had been decorated beautifully. The tables were covered in white linen and flowers that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Servers in white jackets moved between the guests, offering champagne and tiny food arranged on silver trays.
    It was beautiful. Everything about the Hargrove world was beautiful. That was the worst part of it.
    I moved through the crowd slowly, holding a small box wrapped in gold paper. Inside was a watch, a vintage one I had spent three weeks searching for. I heard Dorian mentioning it once, almost a year ago. I remembered because I always paid attention to him more than he ever paid attention to me. I had thought it would mean something to him. I had thought that maybe, on his birthday, he might actually pay attention to me a little bit.
    I found him near the fountain.
    He looked good. He always looked good. His tuxedo was perfectly fitted. I walked up to him and touched his arm.
    “Dorian,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended. “Happy birthday, honey. I got you something. I spent a long time finding it. I thought maybe we could find a quiet corner for a minute so you could open it?”
    He didn’t look at the box. He didn’t look at me. His eyes were scanning the crowd over my shoulder, searching for someone or something more important.
    “Not now, Nadia.” He said. “Don’t try making today all about you please.”
    “But it’s your birthday. I just…”
    “I said not now.” His voice was firm. “My mother is standing in the sun. She might get a headache. I need to bring her a drink before she asks me twice. Just put the gift on the table with the other ones.”
    I looked at him, and tried to keep my voice even.
    “Dorian, there are over fifteen people here in white jackets whose entire job tonight is to carry drinks. Can’t you stay here for one minute? It’s your birthday. I just want to give you your gift.”
    His face tightened.
    “Don’t be selfish,” he said. He lowered his voice, not because he was worried about hurting my feelings, but because he didn’t want to create a scene. “She’s my mother, Nadia. Now stop making this about yourself and move out of the way. You’re blocking the path.”
    He walked right past me.
    He didn’t even brush my shoulder. He just stepped around me like I was a potted plant.
    I stood there with the gold box in my hands, and I breathed. In, out. In, out. I had gotten very good at breathing through moments like this. It was either that or cry, and I refused to give this garden the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
    I turned around to go find somewhere to sit, and that’s when I saw her.
    Lena was standing about ten feet away, right where Dorian was heading. She was tall, with cheekbones. She had been introduced to Dorian by Vivienne a few months ago… a model from a good family, Vivienne had said, as if she were presenting a business proposal. I smiled at that introduction. Because I knew exactly what she was trying to do.
    Lena was laughing at something now, her head thrown back, her hand reaching out to touch Dorian’s arm. He was laughing back. He looked alive in a way I hadn’t seen in three years of being married to him.
    Something moved through my chest. And I walked over to them.
    I wasn’t going to stand in the shadows and watch my husband laugh with another woman at his birthday party. I wrapped my arm through Dorian’s and stepped in close. I made sure my wedding ring was visible.
    “There you are, honey,” I said. My voice was softer than I expected. “I was starting to wonder where you disappeared to.” I turned to look at Lena, still smiling. “Oh, hello, Lena right? I didn’t see you standing there. You look very… shiny today.”
    Lena looked at me like I was a bug on her shoe. Then she smiled and tilted her head.
    “Nadia. How sweet. I was just telling Dorian how great he looks.” She glanced at me from head to toe. “Some people just keep improving, don’t they? And others just… stay the same.”
    Before I could respond, a woman I didn’t know appeared at my elbow. She was older, elegantly dressed, and she was looking at my dress with a genuine smile.
    “Oh, my dear,” she said to me. “What a stunning color. That shade of blue is absolutely beautiful on you. Is it a designer piece?”
    I opened my mouth. But suddenly, Vivienne materialized from the left.
    I didn’t see her coming. She looked at my dress and then looked at the guest with a fake smile.
    “This old thing?” Vivienne said, touching the fabric of my sleeve with one finger, as though checking it for stains. “It’s a sweet little dress, isn’t it? We had it pulled together quickly. Nadia doesn’t really have a strong eye for fashion. She tends to gravitate toward things that look expensive but aren’t, if you know what I mean.” She laughed softly. “It’s difficult to teach taste to someone who didn’t grow up surrounded by it. Some women are just born with the instinct, and others have to try much harder and still don’t quite get there. Don’t you think, Lena?”
    Lena covered her mouth with her manicured hand. She made a sound that was supposed to be a polite laugh.
    “Absolutely,” Lena said. “Fashion is practically a language. You’re either fluent or you’re not.”
    The woman who had complimented me looked slightly uncomfortable. She glanced between me and Vivienne and said nothing else.
    I felt heat rise in my face, then I looked at Dorian.
    I waited for him to say something. To tell his mother to stop. To defend me, even once. To say: that’s my wife you’re talking about.
    Instead , he looked at the ground. Like he had nothing to say.
    I took a sip of my wine. “Actually, Vivienne,” I said. My voice was calm. I kept my smile exactly where it was. “Dorian chose this dress for me. He picked it himself. He told me it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in years.” I looked at her steadily. “So if you think the dress has no taste, perhaps the conversation you need to have is with your son. He might be the one with the fashion problem.”
    The silence that followed was deafening.
    The guest looked down at her champagne. Lena’s mouth fell open. Vivienne’s expression didn’t change exactly, but something in her eyes shifted. She went very still.
    Then I felt a hand on my arm.
    Dorian.
    He grabbed me just above the elbow, his fingers pressing hard into my arm. He didn’t pull me away properly because that would have been too visible. He just gripped me and leaned in, his face still arranged into a pleasant expression for anyone watching from a distance.
    “What is wrong with you?” he said against my ear. His voice was low and firm. “Do not talk to my mother like that. Do you understand me? This is her event. These are her guests. You do not embarrass her in front of them. Not tonight. Not ever.”
    I kept my eyes forward. I kept my smile in place.
    “She basically called me a peasant this morning, Dorian,” I said, very quietly. “In front of the stylists. She said the dress makes me look fat and desperate. I have been sitting and smiling through this all day.”
    “She’s trying to help you.”
    “That’s not helping.” My voice was still quiet but my jaw was tight. “She is cruel. And you stand next to her every time and say nothing. You have never once…”
    “Because she’s right!” he snapped. The words were out before he could take them back. He pressed his lips together. “She knows how this world works. You don’t. And instead of being grateful that she tries to show you, you stand here and make scenes and make me look like I can’t control my own household. Now you will smile, you will say nothing else, and at the end of the night you will apologize to her. Are we clear?”
    He let go of my arm.
    I looked down. There were red marks where his fingers had been.
    I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust my voice.
    From across the garden, I heard my father in law, Richard’s voice cut through the music and the crowd noise.
    He was standing near the oak trees, at the head of a large table surrounded by men in dark suits. Richard himself was tall and broad, he was the kind of man who had never once in his life needed to raise his voice to be heard.
    He raised his glass.
    “A toast,” he said. “To my son, Dorian. Twenty-three years ago he arrived in this world, and I’m pleased to know that he’s become such a fine young man.” He smiled. “He has a great deal still to learn, about business and about life. But he is a Hargrove. And that means he will always have the best of everything.”
    The garden erupted.
    “To Dorian!”
    Everyone cheered. Everyone raised their glasses. I raised mine too, because I was very good at doing what was expected of me.
    Richard didn’t join the cheering, he didn’t immediately sit back down also. He stood for a moment, the glass still in his hand, and his eyes moved across the garden like he was searching for something.
    They moved past Past the fountain and the people who had come to celebrate his son.
    They landed on me.
    It lasted less than two seconds. He didn’t look at me with hate, or with contempt like the others did. His eyes were warm. It was the only warmth I had felt all day. Then, just as quickly as it happened, he moved his gaze away and went back to his business partners, raising his glass again to the men at his table.
    I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
    ~~~
    I walked to the gift table.
    I set the gold box down at the end of the row. It landed among the huge, perfectly wrapped gifts from jewelers and designers and the kinds of people who bought presents as statements. My box looked small and lonely. Just like me.
    Nobody would know that it was from me. Nobody would care.
    “I’m sick of this,” I said quietly, to nobody. My voice was barely a whisper. “I am so sick of all of you.”
    I turned around and looked at the party. I looked at Vivienne, who was standing with Lena’s mother now, deep in a conversation, probably planning a wedding that didn’t include me. I looked at Lena, who was at Dorian’s side again, her hand on his arm, her laugh rising above the music.
    Then I looked at Dorian.
    He was laughing. He was having, by all appearances, a wonderful birthday.
    I had given him three years. Three years of my life. I had given up the one thing I loved doing because his mother said it was beneath the family name. I had given up the friends who made me feel like myself because they didn’t fit the Hargrove social calendar. I had given up the person I was before I walked into this garden for the first time, on Dorian’s arm, believing that love was enough to make a life.
    It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. It wasn’t even love anymore, if I was honest. I had no idea what we were doing anymore.
    I took a fresh glass of wine from a passing server.
    I didn’t care if Vivienne saw me drinking. I didn’t care if Dorian decided to grip my arm again. I stood in the middle of the beautiful, glittering Hargrove garden and I drank my wine and I watched the trees.
    They were beautiful. Everything here was beautiful. But it was so easy to mistake beautiful for good. It was so easy to look at marble and crystal and think: this must be a place where people are happy.
    I looked at Richard one more time. He was deep in conversation with one of his business partners, gesturing with his champagne glass. He didn’t look my way again.
    But he was the only one who had looked at me like I was a person.
    “Happy birthday, Dorian,” I said, under my breath.
    The party was supposed to run until 4pm. It was barely three o’clock.
    I had one more hour of standing up straight and holding my glass correctly and laughing at the right moments.
    I could do it for one hour.
    I had done it for three years. What’s one hour compared to that?

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 2

    Nadia’s POV:
    The party ended around 4pm. The last of the expensive cars drifted down the long driveway and disappeared through the gates. The garden was suddenly quiet… just the sound of the catering staff collecting glasses and folding linens. I watched it all from the edge of the terrace, my heels in my hand because my feet ached too much to keep them on.
    My head was heavy. The extensions Vivienne had forced on me that morning were still pinned into my scalp, and the weight of them had been pressing down on me all day. I wanted nothing more than to reach my bedroom, pull every single pin out, and cry into a pillow until there was nothing left.
    I was already on my way there. I had made it to the end of the hallway, when I noticed the library door was open.
    I should have kept walking. But something made me stop and look.
    Vivienne was sitting behind the desk.
    She wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting there, very still, with her hands folded in front of her. She looked directly at the door. And sat up when she saw me, like she had been waiting for me.
    “Nadia,” she said. “Come in. Close the door behind you. We are long overdue for a real conversation.”
    I walked in. The heavy wood door clicked shut behind me. The library smelled like old books and cigar smoke left behind by the men who had occupied it earlier. I stood in front of the desk, my heels still in my hand, my feet sore on the cold floor.
    Vivienne stood up. She walked around the desk slowly and stopped a few feet in front of me.
    “I have had enough,” she began. Her voice was still controlled. “I have been tolerant with you, Nadia. More tolerant than most women in my position would have been. But tonight at the party, you crossed a line that I cannot overlook. You spoke back to me in front of our guests. You implied that my son has no taste.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you have any idea how much work goes into maintaining the reputation of this family? And in thirty seconds, you open your mouth and ruin it with your low-class attitude.”
    Something shifted in my chest. I felt my heart beating fast. Usually, I would just look at the floor and say sorry, but today something was different. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe I was just broken.
    “With all due respect, Vivienne,” I said, and I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded, “I am not the one who started that conversation tonight. You are the one who walked up to a guest complimenting my dress and told her I have no taste. You called me cheap. This morning, in front of three strangers you hired, you told me my hair was thin and called me desperate. You have been doing things like this since the day I moved into this house, and I have never once said anything back to you.” I paused. I made myself hold her gaze. “Today I said one thing. One sentence. And now I am standing in this library being told I have crossed a line. I have lived in this house for three years. And in those years, you have told me I am fat, or I am ugly, or I am poor, and I have no family. You treat me like I am a dog you found on the street. No, you treat your dogs better than me. but you make me feel like I shouldn’t even breathe the same air as you. I am the one who has been putting up with the disrespect, not the other way around. I am your son’s wife, but you treat me like a maid who isn’t even good at cleaning.”
    Vivienne looked at me for a long moment. There was no emotion on her face. “You have lived in this house for three years,” she said. “In those three years, I have housed you, clothed you, given you access to a life that a girl from your background could never have reached on her own. And you stand here and tell me that I have been disrespecting you?” She let out a short, clipped sound… not quite a laugh. “You are not his wife in any way that matters to this family, Nadia. You were a phase. A little experiment my son tried because he wanted to rebel against me. But even children eventually outgrow their toys.”
    I opened my mouth to respond but no words came out.
    The library door opened and Dorian walked in. His tie was undone and his jacket was gone. He stopped when he saw us, his eyes moving from me to his mother and back again.
    “What is going on?” he said. “I could hear voices from the hallway.”
    “Dorian…” I started.
    “What did you do now, Nadia?” He cut me off, and the ease with which he did it… the automatic assumption that I was the problem, before he had heard a word of it… was like a slap. “After what I told you at the fountain? I thought I told you clearly to watch your mouth around my mother. And now you are still in here trying to pick a fight with her? You are just… you are being impossible tonight.”
    “She is not fighting,” Vivienne said, calmly, from behind me. “She is speaking. Apparently she has quite a lot she has been holding inside.”
    “She has been saying horrible things to me all day, Dorian,” I said, turning to face him fully. “She has been mean to me for the last three years. I know you know that. I know you have heard it. And I am asking you, right now, in front of her, Don’t you care? Don’t you love me enough to tell her to stop? Even tonight?”
    Dorian looked at me. Then he looked at his mother, and looked at the floor.
    The clock on the wall ticked very loudly in the silence.
    “She is only telling the truth, Nadia,” he said. “You don’t fit in here. You never have. And instead of trying to adapt, you just push back and make everything harder.”
    “You are unbelievable!” I yelled.
    “Keep your voice down.”
    “You are standing right here listening to your mother call me a toy and all you can tell me is to keep my voice down?”
    “Because you love making a scene and this is not the time…”
    “Dorian.” Vivienne’s voice cut across both of us like a blade. She had moved back behind the desk, then she opened the top drawer and removed something I couldn’t yet see. She uncapped a pen and wrote. Then she slid a piece of paper across the surface of the desk and left it there, facing me.
    I looked down.
    A check. The numbers were printed in clean, precise figures. I counted the zeros once. Then again, because the first count didn’t seem possible.
    Five million dollars.
    “Take it,” Vivienne said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, and her expression was the expression of a woman who had just laid down the winning card and was waiting for the other player to accept it. “Take the check, Nadia. You’re beneath my son. Take it and get out of my son’s life right now. Before Richard comes home, I want you packed and gone before the sun comes up. Five million dollars is more money than your whole family will ever see in ten lifetimes. It is a very generous offer for a girl who brought nothing to this marriage but a few suitcases of cheap clothes. And it is the only one I am making.”
    I could not breathe. I stood there looking at the check and I could not breathe.
    I looked at Dorian.
    “Dorian,” I said. My voice came out barely above a whisper. “Look at what she is doing. She is trying to buy me out of your life. Tell her no. Tell her that our marriage means something. Tell her…”
    “Nad.” He said my name like he was tired of saying it. “Maybe… maybe it’s for the best.”
    I heard the words. But it still took several seconds for their meaning to arrive.
    “What?” I said.
    “I said maybe it’s for the best.” He shifted his weight. He still wasn’t looking at me properly. “Look at us, Nadia. Look at what we are. We argue constantly. My mother is always stressed because of the tension in this house. It’s not working. It hasn’t been working for a long time, and I think somewhere you know that too.”
    “I know that we have problems,” I said. “Every marriage has problems. That is not a reason to…”
    “It’s more than a problem,” he said.
    The certainty in his voice was a different kind of blow. 
    “Then tell me what it is,” I said. “The real reason. Not the version your mother rehearsed with you. Tell me yourself.”
    He was quiet.
    “Tell me, Dorian.”
    He looked up. His jaw tightened.
    “I don’t love you anymore,” he said. “I haven’t for a while. And I have met someone else. Someone who actually belongs in this world. Someone who makes me feel like myself instead of making me feel like I’m always doing something wrong.”
    There it was. All of it. Laid out clean and simple in the library of his father’s house.
    “It’s Lena,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
    Dorian said nothing. He just looked at the wall.

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 3

    Nadia’s POV:
    His silence was the only answer I needed.
    “You are leaving me,” I said, slowly, “for a woman your mother selected for you. You are ending our marriage because Vivienne decided she wants someone different in this house, and you don’t have the backbone to tell her no.” I looked at him. “Three years, Dorian. Three years I was your wife. And this is what I get in return.”
    “It’s not like that…”
    “Then tell me what it’s like,” I said. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”
    Vivienne picked up the check and held it toward me again. 
    “Does it matter what it’s like?” she said. “He doesn’t want you. That is the only thing that matters. And if you stay and choose to fight this, I want you to understand very clearly what that will look like. If you fight us, I will make sure the story that comes out is not kind to you. I can tell the press you were unfaithful. I can tell them you were stealing. I can tell them anything I like, and I can make people believe it, and when it is all over you will walk away with nothing except a reputation that will follow you for the rest of your life.” She held the check a little higher. “Or you can take this money. Take it and go quietly, and I will say nothing about you to anyone.”
    I looked at Dorian one last time.
    “You are going to let her threaten me,” I said. “After everything. You are just going to stand there.”
    He put his hands in his pockets.
    “Take the money, Nadia,” he said. “Please. It’s a lot of money. You can start over somewhere. Find a nice place, find someone new. Just…” He exhaled. He sounded genuinely exhausted. “Just go. I don’t want tonight to get any uglier than it already is. It’s been a long day.”
    I looked at the check in Vivienne’s outstretched hand, and I took the check from her hand.
    Vivienne’s expression didn’t change. But I saw it… just for a fraction of a second, there was a flicker of surprise. She must have expected resistance. She must have been ready for tears, and begging.
    But I gave her none of that.
    “Good,” she said, recovering. She opened the drawer again and produced a document already prepared. A divorce agreement. “Sign this before anything else. I want everything settled before Richard comes home. He doesn’t need to be involved in this.”
    I looked at the papers, then at Dorian, who was staring at the window.
    I picked up the pen. Before I put it to the paper I looked up at Vivienne one last time.
    “The money first,” I said. “Not a check. A transfer. I want it confirmed in my account before I sign anything.”
    Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. Just slightly.
    “You are in no position…”
    “I am in exactly the position I need to be in,” I said. “You want me to go quietly. I want a confirmed transfer. Those are my terms. I’m sure a woman with your resources can arrange it in a few minutes.”
    The silence stretched between us.
    Then Vivienne reached for her phone.
    It took eleven minutes. When the notification arrived on my phone, I put the pen to the signature line without another word. I signed cleanly. Then I placed the pen back on the desk.
    Vivienne picked up the document and checked the signature thoroughly. Then she set it down, and a very satisfied smile moved across her face.
    I did not give her a reaction. I turned and walked out of the library.
    ~~~
    The staircase felt longer than usual.
    I went up the big stairs to our… no, his… bedroom. I found my suitcase under the bed. I started throwing my jeans and my t-shirts into it. I changed into a hoodie and sweatpants and left the silk dresses on the hangers. I left the expensive shoes in the closet. 
    I took off my wedding ring.
    I held it for a moment. It was beautiful. He had good taste in rings, at least. I set it on the nightstand next to the lamp and I did not look at it again.
    I zipped the suitcase and picked it up.
    I took one last look at the room. The expensive curtains and the artwork I had never been allowed to change and the bed where I had laid awake more nights than I could count, listening to a marriage slowly come apart.
    “Goodbye,” I said. I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
    I walked downstairs.
    They were waiting in the hallway. Of course they were. Vivienne stood with her hands clasped, watching the bottom of the stairs. Dorian stood a step behind her, his jacket still off, his expression somewhere between guilt and relief. 
    I crossed the hallway toward the front door.
    At the door I stopped.
    I looked at Dorian.
    “I hope she makes you happy,” I said. My voice was even. “But if she isn’t… and she won’t, because no one is happy in a cage your mother built for them… I want you to remember standing here and letting her do this to us because I really did love you, Dorian. But you don’t deserve my love.”
    Dorian opened his mouth.
    Vivienne put her hand on his arm. She shook her head once and he closed his mouth.
    That was, in the end, the most honest image I would carry of my marriage. Dorian, with something to say, chooses his mother’s happiness instead.
    I opened the front door.
    The air was cool and clean, I breathed it in for a moment at the top of the steps. Then I walked down.
    There was a car waiting at the bottom of the drive. I loaded my suitcase and got in. The driver asked where I was going, and I told him the hotel near the park, and he nodded and pulled out through the gates without another word.
    I watched the mansion through the rear window as we drove away. 
    I put my hand in my hoodie pocket and felt the check.
    Vivienne thought she was paying me to disappear. She was proud of herself. I could see it in the set of her shoulders and the small satisfaction behind her eyes when I walked out. 
    She was wrong about what the money was.
    It was three years of silence and humiliation. 
    This was less than what they owed me. She could have written me a check ten times this size and still owed me something.
    But it was only the beginning.
    I had expected to be devastated. I had braced myself for it. But what was actually sitting in my chest as we drove through the dark was not grief. It was anger… the kind that didn’t make you cry or scream. The quiet kind. 
    “Enjoy it, Vivienne,” I thought, watching the city through the window. “Enjoy thinking you have won. Because this is not the end. This is not even close to the end.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Sold to the Devil’s Empire novel by Judith C-Tagoe

    Sold to the Devil's Empire novel by Judith C-Tagoe

    👉 READ NOW

    Born minutes apart, raised in the same house, yet Delphina Moore was always the outsider. The unwanted twin.

    So when she tries to leave, her family makes sure she never gets the chance.

    They sell her to Evander Thorne.

    A man whispered about in fear. A man no one escapes.

    Delphina is supposed to disappear like the others.

    But she doesn’t.

    Instead, she survives… and forms a bond that was never meant to exist.

    A bond that ties her to Evander in ways neither of them can control.

    And worse, it awakens a secret buried long before she was born.

    A secret powerful enough to destroy everything or remake it entirely.

    👉 READ NOW

    Sold to the Devil’s Empire novel Chapter 1

    Delphina’s POV
    In our house, innocence meant nothing, only who cried first. And Ceilia always cried first.
    “Mummy!”
    Ceilia’s scream tore through the house.
    I froze.
    She stood in the centre of the bedroom, clutching her finger as blood welled from a neat crescent bite. Her bite. She had bitten her finger right in front of me.
    “I’m bleeding!” she wailed.
    My feet would not move. There was nowhere to hide anyway. The wardrobe door had no lock. The bathroom lock never worked. The window had iron bars.
    I heard footsteps approaching, and my heart raced in my chest.
    “What happened?”
    Mum appeared at the doorway, holding a spatula still in her hand from the kitchen. Oil glistened on its surface. Her eyes moved from Ceilia’s tears to the blood, then slowly to me.
    “Delphina hurt my finger,” Ceilia sobbed.
    I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
    Mum took Ceilia’s hand gently, inspecting it as if she were examining a crystal in her shop. She cooed softly. Wiped the blood with the edge of her apron.
    Then her arm swung. The spatula struck my shoulder before I could brace myself.
    “How dare you hurt her?” she shouted.
    “Mummy, I didn’t…”
    The second blow landed across my arm. The third on my back.
    The spatula made a flat, cracking sound each time it connected with my skin. She was holding my hand and repeatedly hitting me with the spatula.
    Ceilia’s crying softened.
    “Mummy, please,” I begged, while my attempt to free myself proved futile. “I didn’t do it.”
    Like always, my voice did not exist.
    She beat me until her breathing grew heavy and satisfied. When she finally stopped, I was shaking. My skin marked with red patches, and injuries resulting from the beating, but she didn’t care.
    She had never cared.
    “As your punishment, you will stay locked in the basement,” she said, seizing my wrist.
    I was only six years old.
    I stumbled as she dragged me down the narrow staircase. The basement door creaked open. Damp air rose to meet us.
    While she shoved me inside, I turned.
    Ceilia stood at the top of the stairs.
    She stuck her tongue out teasingly.
    The door slammed, and the lock clicked before I could get to it.
    I pressed my back against the wood and slid down slowly. My arms burned. My legs stung. My skin would become redder by nightfall.
    This was how it had always been.
    Ceilia is my twin.
    We shared a birthday, not a face. She had black hair and warm brown eyes that made people smile. I had brunette hair and green eyes that made people whisper.
    From the day we were born, she had been the miracle, and I, the mistake.
    I learned very early that one word was forbidden in Ceilia’s world. No.
    I had a storybook. Kevin from next door had given it to me. He said it was his favourite and that I was clever enough to understand it.
    Ceilia wanted it.
    “No,” I said.
    And that was it. She bit her own finger.
    And here I was, beaten and locked up in a basement.
    Father never questioned anything. He worked, ate, and slept. Mum owned a boutique where rich women shopped for imported silk and perfume.
    We were not poor. Yet I delivered newspapers before dawn.
    Ceilia went to school in polished shoes and pleated skirts. I scrubbed floors that were already clean. In the afternoons, I cooked, washed, ironed, and dusted until every surface shone like glass.
    Yes, I started cooking for the family at the age of six.
    The only good thing they did for me was buy the groceries and provide me with cooking books. That started when they discovered I had learned to read and write on my own.
    “If there is dust, you do not eat,” Mum would say.
    We shared a room once. Ceilia slept on the queen-sized bed. I slept on the floor.
    “It will be easier when Ceilia needs something,” Mum had explained.
    By the time I was thirteen years old, even that small space was taken from me. The servants who cleaned the compound were dismissed one by one. I replaced them all.
    “You are old enough to earn your keep.”
    I moved into the kitchen storage room. It smelled of flour and detergent.
    “It will help you wake early,” Mum said.
    It helped me understand what I was.
    Staff.
    Kevin was the only soft thing in my world.
    Over weekends, he would teach me what he learned at school. Algebra frightened me. History fascinated me. He said I asked questions like someone meant for more.
    When I turned fifteen, he told me his father had now taken over from his grandfather to manage the Wilson’s Group. They were moving.
    “Delphina, take this.” He pressed a cheap plastic ring into my palm. Blue stone. Too large for my finger.
    “I’ll come back for you when I’m older,” he said with a grin he believed in.
    I hugged him tightly.
    That was the last time I saw him.
    I slid a thread through the ring and wore it around my neck for years. I wore high-neck tops, so it was easy to hide it from my family.
    Hope is a stubborn thing, but it was the only thing that kept me going.
    One day, I will be free.
    I always encouraged myself with those words.
    It will not be like this forever.
    By twenty, hope had turned into something sharper.
    Enough.
    I had counted the days quietly. Planned silently. I kept my thoughts in a diary hidden under the kitchen shelf behind the sacks of rice.
    I did not know where I would go, but I knew I would leave.
    That morning, I woke at four as usual.
    “After today, I’ll be free,” I whispered as I folded my thin blanket.
    I cleaned with a lightness I had never felt before. Washed dishes carefully. Polished the bannister. Prepared breakfast.
    At seven, they would leave.
    Father to work, mum to her shop, and Ceilia to her friends, who never visited our house because she did not like them seeing me.
    I would pack my small bag, walk out that door, never to return.
    I cleared the breakfast table, humming under my breath.
    “Delphina.”
    My stomach tightened.
    I hurried to the sitting room.
    If she called twice, I would be struck.
    “Mummy, you called?” I bowed slightly.
    Father sat stiffly on the sofa. Ceilia lounged beside him, scrolling through her phone.
    “Delphina, you are twenty,” Father said.
    I blinked. They remembered.
    “We have decided it is time you settle down.”
    The room tilted slightly.
    “Settle down?” I repeated.
    “Do not interrupt,” Mum snapped.
    “Sorry.”
    “Mr Evander Thorne has made us an offer,” Father continued. “In return, he requires something to seal the arrangement.”
    Understanding crawled over me slowly.
    “You offered me,” I said quietly.
    “I said be silent!” Mum’s hand struck my cheek.
    The sting blossomed.
    “No,” I said, and the word surprised even me. “I will not be silent. What have I done to deserve this? Am I even your child?”
    Another slap.
    “You should be grateful,” Mum hissed. “A man of his stature is willing to take you.”
    “Then let Ceilia marry him,” I said. “If he is so wealthy, surely that suits her.”
    The third slap sent me sideways.
    “How dare you compare yourself to Ceilia?” Mum barked. “Our angel already has a proposal from someone far superior.”
    Ceilia smirked.
    Evander Thorne.
    Everyone knew the rumours. Ruthless. Cold. Untouchable. Hates women. A man whose name alone could make businessmen tremble.
    And I was to be the price of some bargain.
    I swallowed.
    Fine.
    They would not find me here when they returned tonight.
    A knock sounded at the door.
    “See who it is,” Mum ordered.
    I stepped out of the balcony corridor and descended to the front entrance.
    Two men in black suits stood outside. Their expressions were blank, professional.
    “Yes?”
    “Is Mr Moore home?” one asked.
    “Yes.”
    Heavy footsteps approached behind me.
    “She is ready,” Father said.
    My blood turned to ice.
    “She?”
    Before I could move, the men seized my arms.
    “No!” I struggled, but their grip tightened.
    “Mummy, Daddy, please!” The words tore out of me, though I knew better than to expect mercy.
    Ceilia watched from the staircase, behind mum and dad.
    Holding a book.
    She deliberately held it up so I could see.
    My diary.
    The ribbon I used as a bookmark dangled from her fingers. And on her pinkie was the plastic ring Kevin gave me. My hand flew to my neck. It was gone.
    She knew of my plans. And she planned her own.
    She smiled, looking pleased.
    They dragged me outside. A sleek black car waited at the gate. One of the men opened the back door and shoved me inside.
    I clawed at the handle.
    Something cold pressed against my nose.
    A sharp chemical scent filled my lungs, and the world blurred.
    My last thought before darkness swallowed me was simple and devastating.
    I had tried to run.
    But freedom had never been mine to claim.

    Sold to the Devil’s Empire novel Chapter 2

    Evander’s POV
    “Sir, it is the final day. Mr Moore has still not paid what he owes.”
    Marcus’s voice carried across the balcony, steady as ever.
    I did not turn immediately. Below me, Draevik City pulsed in disciplined silence. Glass towers reflected the late afternoon sun. Traffic moved like blood through veins I owned.
    I tightened my grip on the railing until the cold metal bit into my palm.
    “Where is he?” I asked.
    “In the basement.”
    “Good.”
    I walked past Marcus without another word. He fell into step behind me.
    The lift descended smoothly. Stainless steel. No mirrors. I disliked reflections.
    The basement air was colder. Thicker. Concrete and iron. A single overhead light cast sharp shadows against the walls.
    A chair was placed at the centre of the room. I sat. My face mask in place.
    Seth Moore knelt between two guards. Sweat clung to his thinning hair. His expensive suit was wrinkled now, stained at the collar.
    “Seth Moore,” I said quietly, “I despise promise breakers.”
    “Mr Thorne, have mercy,” he begged, voice cracking.
    “Why should I?”
    “Dead men are useless to you,” he stammered.
    I leaned forward slightly. “What makes you think I care whether you are dead or alive?”
    He swallowed hard. “I will pay. I just need time.”
    “You are out of time.”
    He began rambling about former positions, future appointments, and companies that might still hire him as CEO. Words spilling like coins from a torn purse.
    “That ship has sailed,” I said.
    His breathing quickened. Panic sharpened his eyes.
    Then he said it.
    “I will give you my daughter. She will serve you. Do with her as you please.”
    The guards shifted slightly. Marcus did not move.
    “Human trafficking,” I said evenly.
    “No, no. Not trafficking. Service. She will work for you without pay while I raise the money. When I settle my debt, I will take her back.”
    I looked at him for a long moment.
    “Cut his finger,” I instructed.
    One of my men stepped forward.
    “Wait! Please!” Seth cried, fumbling inside his jacket. “Look at her first. Please. Look.”
    He held up a photograph with trembling fingers.
    I was not interested at first, but something about the image caught my attention.
    I raised my hand, and the guard paused.
    The image was slightly creased. Taken in poor light. A young woman stood stiffly in what looked like a kitchen doorway.
    Her hair was brunette, falling past her shoulders, down to her waist. Her eyes, green, sharp even in print, did not carry the softness of someone loved.
    Something was unsettling about the picture. I stared longer than necessary.
    She was not smiling, but she was not afraid either.
    She looked… resigned.
    And that disturbed me more than fear would have, but I still wanted to see this girl. This strange girl with green eyes.
    I lowered my hand slowly.
    “I accept your offer,” I said.
    Relief flooded Seth’s face so quickly it disgusted me.
    “Three days,” he pleaded. “Allow me to prepare her.”
    “Three days,” I agreed, and stood.
    As I walked towards the door, I gave Marcus a brief glance, and he understood.
    The first crack of the whip split the air just as I exited. Seth’s scream followed, muffled once the steel door shut behind me.
    I believe pain, when properly administered, is educational.
    “Sir,” Marcus said once we reached my home office level, “please tell me you are not truly considering this arrangement.”
    I removed my cufflinks slowly.
    “Are you questioning my judgement?”
    “No, my Lord. But she will be the only woman within these walls. Curiosity breeds speculation.”
    Women did not enter my space. They never had, and I had my reasons.
    “Are you saying security will fail?” I asked.
    “No.”
    “Then there is no problem.”
    He hesitated, which meant he was thinking beyond logistics.
    Only Marcus would dare.
    “She could expose…” He paused carefully. “Certain truths.”
    My gaze sharpened.
    “Are you incompetent, Marcus?”
    His jaw tightened. “Never.”
    “Then ensure she does not become a liability.”
    “Yes, my Lord.”
    As he turned to leave, I added, “I want everything about her. Every detail. And I want to know why her father offered her so easily.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    When the door closed, silence settled.
    My phone vibrated against the desk.
    “Father.”
    “The meeting is this weekend,” he said without greeting. “No excuses.”
    “Very well.”
    The line went dead.
    The Wilson alliance.
    A strategic merger disguised as marriage, to save their empire, which was bleeding quietly. Ours was not.
    Marissa Wilson.
    A woman I had seen from a distance once and only met once. She was well polished, educated, and impeccable.
    She had tried to get close upon meeting me for the first time. I quickly stepped back, keeping a distance between us, while keeping my father in the middle.
    Her perfume had been too sweet.
    Women unsettled me.
    Aside from my personal reason, at five years old, I learned that affection could be performance. My mother’s smile was reserved for rooms where my father stood watching. In private, her gaze was colder than any basement I owned.
    At six, I learned worse watching the woman I called my mother.
    That memory remained locked.
    Marcus was the only living person aware of my reaction towards women.
    I did not allow women close to me. I did not touch or entertain them. The idea of physical intimacy did not stir hunger in me.
    It stirred caution.
    In this world, control had been my solution.
    Marcus returned within the hour and placed a file on my desk.
    “Preliminary report on Delphina Moore. Also, the President has requested an audience.”
    So, that is her name. I thought.
    “I am not receiving him today.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He left.
    I opened the file.
    Delphina Moore.
    Twenty years old.
    No formal education.
    Paper delivery.
    Domestic labour within her own household.
    No criminal record.
    No social footprint.
    Invisible.
    Her photograph, paper clipped to the front, was clearer than the one her father had shown me.
    In this image, she was younger. Perhaps eighteen. Standing slightly behind another girl, identical in age but not in physical appearance.
    Twin.
    The resemblance was biological, not emotional.
    One shone.
    One endured.
    “Interesting,” I murmured.
    Seth Moore had not offered his daughter.
    He had offered the spare.
    That detail lodged somewhere uncomfortable.
    In the Republic of Vaelorin, power had layers.
    Averelle City held the politicians. Marble buildings. Press conferences. Diplomacy rehearsed for cameras.
    The President signed documents.
    I decided which ones reached his desk.
    Draevik City held the money. Stock exchanges. Corporate towers. Conglomerates stitched together by invisible agreements.
    They all answered to someone.
    Me.
    Velmire Port City held what was never spoken aloud. Private docks. Restricted zones. Shipping manifests that changed before customs officers saw them.
    Officially, I was a businessman.
    Unofficially, I was the spine.
    Very few had seen my face.
    But they knew my name.
    And they feared it.
    I closed the file slowly.
    Why did her image unsettle me?
    It was not an attraction.
    I did not experience desire the way other men described it. I had listened to enough conversations in boardrooms and private clubs to understand that.
    Men spoke of women like acquisitions.
    I did not understand the impulse.
    But when I looked at Delphina Moore’s photograph, something shifted.
    Not hunger.
    Recognition.
    She looked like someone who had been managed. Contained. Silenced.
    I understood containment.
    Three days later, I sent my men.
    Marcus stood by my desk that afternoon.
    “Sir, are you certain?”
    “Is the second floor prepared?”
    “Yes.”
    The second floor of my private residence was a self-contained apartment. Two bedrooms. Kitchen. Security access limited.
    No woman had ever occupied that space.
    “She will remain there,” I instructed. “She may access the third floor only under supervision. Cleaning. Cooking. Nothing more.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And Marcus?”
    He paused.
    “She does not wander.”
    “Understood.”
    By mid-afternoon, I had completed two virtual negotiations and rejected a government proposal.
    “Sir,” Marcus announced, “she has arrived. She is sedated.”
    I looked up.
    A strange tension settled beneath my ribs.
    Good, I told myself.
    I stood.
    Marcus hesitated, as though considering speaking. He did not.
    We walked down the corridor.
    The second-floor door unlocked with a soft electronic click.
    The apartment was quiet.
    I stepped into the bedroom.
    She lay on the bed, unconscious. Brunette hair spread across the pillow like silk brushed with warm earth tones. Her hands rested loosely at her sides.
    She looked smaller than in the photograph.
    Less resigned.
    More fragile.
    The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air from the sedative.
    I stood at the foot of the bed.
    For a fraction of a second, warmth flickered beneath my skin, but gone before I could identify it.
    This was new.
    I had stood in rooms where governments negotiated their survival. I had ordered sanctions, dismantled companies, broken men.
    My heart had never altered its rhythm.
    Now it did.
    I moved closer despite myself.
    Her eyelashes trembled slightly in sleep. There was a faint bruise near her cheekbone.
    My jaw tightened.
    I wanted to reach out.
    The thought alone startled me.
    I do not touch.
    I do not reach.
    Experience had taught me that proximity often came with consequences.
    My hand lifted a fraction before I forced it back to my side.
    This is illogical, I told myself.
    She is leverage. Nothing more.
    Yet something about her stillness made the room feel unfamiliar.
    Uncontrolled.
    “Sir?” Marcus’s voice came from behind me, careful.
    I stepped back immediately.
    “Let’s go,” I said.
    I left the room as though it were the source of heat and I had stood too close to the flame.
    Once the door shut, I exhaled slowly.
    For the first time in years, I felt something dangerously close to fear.
    Not of her.
    Of myself.
    I had faced nations without flinching.
    Yet a sleeping girl had unsettled the architecture of my control.

    Sold to the Devil’s Empire novel Chapter 3

    Delphina’s POV
    I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was a ceiling I did not recognise.
    For a moment, I did not move. I simply stared. Pale. Smooth. No crack. Nothing like the storage room I spent countless nights in. The fruit fragrance of the room hit me next. My heart jolted, and I pushed myself upright too quickly.
    My body quickly recognised the softness of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath me. My balance faltered, and I scrambled backwards, tangling in unfamiliar sheets before tumbling off the bed entirely, and ending up on the floor.
    The floor was smooth hardwood, cool against my palms.
    I looked up.
    The room was clean.
    Very clean.
    Cream walls. White sheets pulled tight and unwrinkled. My nose picked up the fruit scent, lemon and coconut, it lingered in the air, subtle but deliberate. Nothing like the damp storage room I had slept in for years, where mildew clung to the corners, and the only scent was dust and old wood.
    My breathing grew shallow.
    Is this Evander Thorne’s house? Or did someone rescue me?
    I stood to my feet and took a good look at the room. The bed stood neatly at the centre, dressed in white sheets, so crisp it almost glowed in the filtered daylight. A wardrobe stood against the far wall. Closed. Polished.
    There were no bars on the windows, only a beautiful white and grey drape decorated them.
    No visible restraints.
    This did not look like a prison.
    If it was, this was one hell of a comfortable prison.
    The door opened before I could steady myself.
    I froze.
    An average-height man stepped inside. Dark hair, precisely groomed. Suit pressed without a crease. He carried himself with quiet authority, not hurried, not uncertain.
    Is that him?
    I stayed half-crouched beside the bed, painfully aware of the state of my clothes. Faded. Worn. I looked like dirt that had been dropped into a showroom.
    “Delphina Moore,” he said evenly. “Good. You are awake.”
    His voice was controlled, measured.
    “Please,” I blurted, scrambling to my feet. “I can’t stay here. Please let me go.”
    “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He placed a file neatly on the bed. “I am here to assign your duties.”
    Duties. He can’t be Evander Thorne.
    “For your sake, I hope you can read,” he added calmly. “Ensure you understand everything on the paper. Your work begins at six a.m. tomorrow.”
    “My work?” I echoed.
    But he was already turning away.
    The door shut with a soft mechanical click.
    Locked.
    The quiet that followed was heavier than the words.
    The rumours about Evander Thorne echoed in my mind.
    Ruthless. Untouchable. Dangerous. Hates women. A man who could erase a life without consequence.
    I approached the bed slowly and picked up the file.
    Household duties.
    Every task listed with military precision. Start time. Finish time. Allocated minutes for each task, and each room meant to be cleaned.
    Six a.m. to six p.m each day.
    “I was brought here to be a housekeeper?” I whispered.
    The word felt too simple for the transaction that had delivered me here.
    I moved to the wardrobe and opened it.
    Uniforms.
    Black dresses with white collars. Crisp aprons. Identical. Lined up in silent expectation.
    On the other side were five sets of pyjamas.
    All my size.
    My fingers tightened around the paper.
    He knew.
    My father had not spoken blindly. This had been arranged.
    I shut the wardrobe and pushed open the inner door.
    A bathroom.
    My own.
    White tiles. A glass shower. Clean towels folded with symmetry.
    At home, I bathed outside behind the kitchen window, beneath the standing pipe. My parents had their bedroom with a bathroom. Ceilia had hers.
    I was not permitted in the bathrooms designated for families.
    And yet here, in the house of the most feared man in the country, I had a private one.
    Mr Thorne might be a terrible man, but he provided well for his servants.
    Servant.
    The word settled in my chest.
    I returned to the bedroom just as the door unlocked again.
    The same man stepped inside.
    “I require your thumbprint on several documents,” he said, approaching.
    I instinctively stepped back.
    “Delphina,” he said quietly, and there was warning beneath the calm. “Do not make this difficult.”
    He took my right hand firmly but not roughly, pressed my thumb onto an ink pad, then opened the file.
    Oath of Secrecy.
    The bold heading burned into my vision before he flipped to the final page.
    He reached for my hand again. I pulled it back.
    “Delphina.”
    My name in his mouth felt less like a call and more like a command. He took my thumb and pressed it onto the signature line.
    “There,” he said.
    “What is this?” I asked, my voice thinner than I intended.
    “It is an Oath of Secrecy,” he replied. “This is Lord Evander Thorne’s empire. Nothing you see or hear leaves this building.”
    He held my gaze.
    “If information becomes public, the agreed punishment will be carried out.”
    He paused.
    “Death.”
    The word did not rise in volume. It did not need to. Cold spread through my limbs. My breath shortened.
    “I, I don’t know how to clean properly,” I managed, looking at how clean the environment was and recalling how my mum constantly tells me I suck at cleaning. “There must be someone better suited.”
    “Your father has already collected payment for your service.”
    Payment.
    He left before I could speak again.
    The door locked.
    My knees gave way.
    Payment.
    Was I sold? Or I am working, and they are collecting the payment?
    I pressed my hand against my mouth to stop the sound that threatened to escape.
    My diary.
    Ceilia was holding it. She told them about my plan to leave.
    My father would rather sell me to the country’s most feared man than allow me freedom.
    I forced myself upright.
    “No. I will get out of here,” I whispered.
    I just needed time. Study the environment, and I can plan my escape.
    But then another thought struck.
    If I leave, he will find me. If he cannot find me, he will find them.
    I lowered my lashes in defeat. They may have treated me like an inconvenience, but they were still my family.
    I exhaled slowly, steadying myself.
    Fine.
    I will work. I will learn the terms. I will complete whatever period is required.
    And then I will leave properly.
    My father has said that this was to seal a deal. The man who just left said I was here to render service. It must be temporary.
    The door unlocked again.
    Another man entered with a tray and placed it silently on a desk near the window. Only then did I notice the subtle extension of the room, a small dining nook tucked behind heavy curtains.
    He was dressed differently. Nothing like the man who had come in earlier.
    “Thank you,” I said instinctively.
    He did not respond.
    The bowl revealed a chicken Caesar salad. Fresh. Crisp. Real food.
    I ate without hesitation.
    Afterwards, I showered. The hot water stunned my skin. I stood beneath it longer than necessary, letting it wash years of cold baths from memory.
    I changed into one of the pyjamas and slid into the bed.
    The sheets were impossibly soft and comfortable.
    I closed my eyes, and sleep took over.
    When the shock of cold water hit my face, I gasped and shot upright. The same man stood over me, holding an empty glass.
    “You were to be ready at five fifty,” he said. “It is now six.”
    My heart pounded.
    “You have five minutes.”
    He left.
    I wiped water from my face, breathing unevenly.
    Comfort had made me careless.
    I dressed quickly, pulling on the uniform. The black dress fit perfectly. The white collar lay sharp against my throat. I tied my hair into a tight ponytail and approached the door.
    Locked.
    The moment I stepped back, it clicked open.
    He was waiting.
    “Follow me,” he said.
    We walked through a corridor lined with neutral walls. We entered a lift and ascended.
    The third floor opened into something that felt less like a home and more like a luxury hotel lobby. Polished floors. Controlled lighting. Everything arranged with intention.
    He knocked on the door before opening it.
    “Wait.”
    He disappeared briefly and returned with cleaning supplies.
    Broom. Mop. Cloths. Dusters. Bucket.
    “I expect every room to be immaculate. You have thirty minutes.”
    He turned to leave, then paused.
    “Do not go to the top floor.”
    He did not explain, but I nodded.
    I began cleaning.
    The rooms were expansive, far larger than necessary. Bedrooms with private sitting areas. Bathrooms bigger than entire sections of my former home. I was able to enter all rooms except one. It was locked.
    Half an hour was not enough. I worked quickly, pulse steadying as routine replaced panic.
    Then I saw the staircase.
    It curved upwards discreetly, almost hidden.
    The top floor.
    He had said not to go there.
    I hesitated only a second before climbing out of curiosity.
    The air felt cooler.
    I reached the landing and stopped.
    Through a glass partition, I saw a man.
    Shirtless.
    The waistband of dark training trousers rested low against his narrow waist. His skin was pale but defined, lean muscle etched with quiet precision.
    He held a weighted bar attached to a chain, pulling it down towards his waist in controlled repetition.
    The muscles in his back tightened and released with each measured pull.
    There was nothing frantic in the movement.
    No aggression.
    No display.
    He did not look like a man who needed to prove his strength.
    He looked like one who measured it.
    My breath caught, not from attraction, but from awareness.
    Was that him?
    I continued to stare.
    This was a man of discipline.
    Of calculation.
    He paused mid-repetition, head tilting slightly.
    As though he sensed something.
    “Breaking rules on your first day?”
    The voice came from behind me.
    I jolted, spinning so quickly my shoulder struck the wall. My hand flew to my chest.
    The man from earlier stood on the staircase, watching me.
    “Marcus,” he said evenly, as though offering a courtesy. “I suggest you remember that name.”
    I swallowed.
    “I, I’m sorry.”
    When I glanced back through the glass, the room was empty.
    He was gone.
    And somehow that was worse.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Bride by Chance novel by Delight Write

    Bride by Chance novel by Delight Write

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    On the day of her arranged wedding, Isabella Torres flees the altar, desperate to escape a loveless union her influential family is forcing upon her. Rumors say her groom, the powerful CEO of a multinational empire is a cruel, arrogant man with no capacity for love.

    Running through the streets in her bridal gown, Isabella throws herself into the car of a man she believes is a simple driver. In truth, he is Sebastián Alvarez, the very CEO she is running from abandoned at his own wedding only hours earlier. Hiding behind his second name, Sebastián listens as Isabella curses the man she believes destroyed her life. Instead of revealing the truth, he makes her a startling offer.

    Their scandalous union ignites outrage among both families. Enemies whisper, plots unfold, and secrets deepen. Isabella struggles to reconcile the tender, protective man she is falling for with the arrogant CEO she swore she would never love. Sebastián, torn between pride and passion, must prove his heart before his hidden identity destroys their fragile bond.

    In a world of betrayal, deception, and burning desire, their marriage of convenience becomes a dangerous game of love and destiny. What began as an accident may turn into the greatest love story of their lives.

    👉 READ NOW

    Bride by Chance novel Chapter 1

    It was her wedding day.

    The Torres house was filled with noise and frenzy. The smell of stew drifted from the kitchen, neighbors spilled into the compound, and borrowed plastic chairs clattered against one another as boys arranged them under the tent. From the outside, it looked like a celebration. From the inside, it felt like a prison.

    Isabella stood in her tiny bedroom, pressed against the wall as if the plaster itself might open and swallow her whole. Her chest rose and fell with frantic breaths, and the wedding gown which was a stiff lace and heavy satin felt more like a shroud than a dress. Her fingers itched to tear it off, but there was no time.

    Her father’s voice thundered from the living room.

    “Where is she? Bring her out! The priest has been waiting for hours!”

    Her mother’s sharp reply followed. “Isabella! Enough foolishness. Do you know what this marriage means for us?”

    Yes, she knew. It meant money. It meant her father’s debts would be wiped clean, her brothers would return to school, her mother would finally have respect in the neighborhood. It meant her freedom, her dreams, her life traded like goods in the market.

    For a man she had never seen.

    Sebastián Álvarez. His name carried weight like a curse. The CEO of Velasco Holdings, rumored to be older, proud, untouchable. Some said he had ruined men with a flick of his wrist. Others said he was cold as steel, incapable of kindness. To Isabella, it didn’t matter what the rumors said. He could be kind or cruel, young or old. The truth was the same: he wasn’t her choice.

    The doorknob rattled, her mother’s hand beating against the wood. “Isabella, open this door!”

    Her heart slammed against her ribs. If she didn’t move now, they would drag her out and force her to the altar like a goat tied for sacrifice.

    Her decision was made.

    She grabbed her small backpack, already hidden beneath the bed stuffed with nothing more than a water bottle, an old sweater, and a little money she had managed to save. With shaking hands, she shoved the window open. The wooden frame groaned in protest. The lace veil snagged on a nail and ripped, but she didn’t care.

    The cold morning air slapped her face as she pushed herself through. Her bare feet hit the earth.

    “Isabella!” her mother screamed as the door burst open behind her.

    But Isabella was already running.

    The gown tangled around her legs, her veil caught on a branch, her knees burned as she stumbled over stones. Still, she didn’t stop. She ran past children pointing and laughing, past neighbors gasping at the sight of a bride fleeing through the street. The sound of voices rose behind her-shouts, calls, curses.

    “Catch her!”

    “Don’t let her go!”

    But Isabella’s fear was stronger than their reach. She tore through alleys, her lungs aching, her throat raw, her vision blurred with tears.

    She didn’t know how long she ran, only that her legs screamed in protest and her body felt close to collapsing. She turned onto a wide avenue, and cars roared past, horns blaring as she darted across recklessly.

    Then she saw a sleek black car, parked at the corner with the engine humming softly.

    Without thinking, she yanked the back door open and flung herself inside. The smell of leather and cologne filled her nose. She slammed the door shut behind her, heart hammering.

    “Please!” she gasped, clutching the seat. “Drive. Just-just drive!”

    The man in the front seat turned his head.

    For a moment, Isabella froze. He wasn’t what she expected. Not scruffy, not ordinary. His suit was immaculate despite the loosened tie, his watch gleamed, and his eyes-dark, unreadable-stared at her in stunned silence. Too polished, too perfect to be just a driver.

    But desperation drowned her suspicion.

    “I’ll pay you,” she blurted, her voice trembling. “Any amount. Just take me far away from here. Please.”

    He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept over her-her wild eyes, the torn veil, the trembling hands clutching the gown. Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone before she could name it.

    “I…” he started to speak but stopped almost immediately.

    At last, without a word, he shifted the gear and pulled the car away from the curb.

    Relief flooded her body, and she sagged against the seat. The dress pooled around her like stormclouds, heavy and suffocating. For the first time that morning, she felt a breath of freedom.

    But his voice cut through the silence. Low, calm, steady. “Who are you running from?”

    Her laugh came out bitter, and broken.

    “My family. They want to marry me off. Today-right now-I was supposed to be Sebastián Álvarez’s bride.” She spat the name like poison. “They say he’s arrogant, merciless. I’d rather die than marry him.”

    His fingers tightened slightly around the wheel. Still, he said nothing.

    Isabella turned her face toward the window, tears streaking her cheeks.

    “Men like him think they can buy everything. Wives. Loyalty. Even love. But no money in this world can buy me.”

    The car was silent except for the hum of the engine. She wiped her eyes and glanced at him again, uneasy with his quietness.

    Bride by Chance novel Chapter 2

    The hum of the car was the only sound for a long while. Isabella sat stiff in the backseat, her fingers twisting the veil that had torn during her escape. At first, relief had washed over her. She had gotten away. She was free. But now, staring out at the streets flashing past, the truth dawned on her.

    She had nowhere to go.

    No relative she could run to, no friend bold enough to hide her. If her parents caught her, they would drag her back, bind her wrists if they had to, and throw her before the priest.

    Her throat tightened. Slowly, she leaned forward. “Gabriel?”

    His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. Calm, unreadable.

    “Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    The question made her blood run cold. She hadn’t thought this through. She had jumped into a stranger’s car without a plan. Now her hands shook with the weight of that mistake.

    “Anywhere you want, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

    Her voice broke as she begged, “Please… take me to the cheapest hotel. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere they won’t think to look for me.”

    He gave a small nod, not asking further questions. Relief loosened her chest, though it was short-lived.

    As the car turned, Isabella studied him again. The way his suit sat perfectly on broad shoulders, the way his hands gripped the wheel with quiet control. He didn’t look like any Bolt driver she’d ever seen.

    “You know,” she said softly, “you look too good to be a driver.”

    For the first time since she met him, his lips curved. Not a full smile, but close.

    “Thank you for the compliment.”

    She blinked, surprised at his answer. Most men she knew would have laughed or boasted. But before she could say more, he added, almost casually, “My bride abandoned me this morning. Left me standing at the altar.”

    Her jaw dropped. “What?”

    The corner of his mouth twitched again. “Hard to believe, I know.”

    Isabella let out an incredulous laugh. “Impossible. What kind of foolish girl would abandon a hardworking, decent man like you?”

    He didn’t reply, but his eyes flicked toward her briefly, as if weighing her words.

    “I mean it,” she went on, indignant. “That girl is blind, ungrateful. She deserves… she deserves someone like that arrogant CEO they wanted to force me on. Sebastián Álvarez. That kind of man should marry selfish, brainless girls like her.”

    The silence in the car thickened, but Isabella didn’t notice. She shook her head with fire in her eyes. “If I had a man like you, kind enough to help a stranger, responsible enough to keep his word, I would never run. Never.”

    He said nothing, though his grip tightened on the wheel.

    Minutes later, he slowed the car and pulled over in front of a run-down hotel, its neon sign flickering weakly in the dusk. Isabella sighed in relief.

    “How much?” she asked, fumbling with her backpack.

    His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Ten thousand dollars.”

    Her mouth fell open. “What?!”

    His face was unreadable. “That’s the fare.”

    “That’s outrageous!” she burst out. “Even if I saved for five years, I wouldn’t have that kind of money! I was planning to look for a job, not rob a bank.”

    He didn’t flinch. “That’s the price.”

    She threw her hands up, frustration spilling over. “What kind of driver are you? You think because I’m in a wedding dress I have money hidden somewhere?”

    This time he turned to face her fully. And in that moment, Isabella froze.

    She saw him clearly for the first time-tall, strikingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a mouth curved in a way that could almost be called charming. His eyes held hers with a calm intensity that made her heartbeat stutter.

    And then he said it.

    “Marry me.”

    Her breath caught. She almost choked on the air. “What?”

    “Marry me,” he repeated, his voice even, steady.

    She blinked, stunned. Then anger flared hot. “Are you sick, Gabriel? Did you hit your head this morning? You can’t just-just-”

    He didn’t interrupt. He only waited, as if her outburst meant nothing.

    “You told me your bride left you, and I’m not that bride,” she said.

    “And you ran away from your husband. So marry me instead,” Gabriel replied.

    Her laugh was sharp, disbelieving. “Never. Do you hear me? Never!”

    The click of the locks echoed around the car. Isabella’s stomach dropped as she realized he had closed all the doors. Her pulse skyrocketed.

    “What are you doing?” she whispered, panic lacing her voice.

    He turned the key, the engine growling to life again. “If you won’t marry me, I’ll return you to your family.”

    “No!” she cried, leaning forward, grabbing at his arm. “Please don’t take me back there. Please!”

    “Then marry me.” His tone was calm, almost casual, but his eyes burned with something she couldn’t name.

    Tears welled in her eyes. “Gabriel, this is insane. We don’t even know each other!”

    His jaw set. The car rolled forward, turning back toward the main road.

    “Stop!” she sobbed. “Stop, I’ll do it! I’ll marry you-but on one condition.”

    His eyes flicked to her, curious.

    She swallowed hard. “It will be a contract marriage. Nothing real. Just an agreement between us.”

    The car slowed again, his expression unreadable.

    “Contract marriage,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words.

    She nodded, tears streaking down her face. “Yes. That’s the only way.”

    He watched her in silence for a long moment. Then his lips curved into that faint, disarming smile again.

    “Deal.”

    Bride by Chance novel Chapter 3

    Gabriel started the car and drive for what seems like hours. Finally, the car rolled to a stop on the quiet road, the hum of the engine fading into silence. Isabella glanced up, confusion tightening her chest. They were nowhere near the hotel now.

    “Why are we stopping?” she asked, wary.

    Gabriel’s eyes flicked to her, calm and steady. “We’re going to a church.”

    Her throat tightened. “A church? Why?”

    “Because we’re getting married today…you accepted to be my wife, right?” His voice was firm, no hesitation.

    Her mouth fell open. “So fast? You can’t be serious!”

    He turned slightly in his seat, his expression unreadable. “I want this done before my family ties me to another woman. Another arrangement I have no intention of honoring. You want freedom, Isabella. So do I. This is how we get it.”

    Her heart pounded. Everything about this was wrong, reckless, insane-but she was cornered. Slowly, she drew in a breath, gathering what little courage she had.

    “Fine. But if we’re doing this, then I have rules.”

    His brow arched, amused. “Rules?”

    “Yes.” Her chin lifted, though her voice shook. “No sex. We won’t stay together. We live our lives separately. Do you understand?”

    For the first time, he laughed-low, deep, almost mocking. “I never planned to have sex with you anyway.”

    The ease of his answer stunned her. He didn’t look embarrassed or offended, just amused, as though her declaration had been childish. Isabella’s cheeks burned, but she crossed her arms, determined not to show weakness.

    Before she could retort, he reached for his phone. She watched as he dialed a number, his tone shifting into something sharp and commanding.

    “Prepare the chapel,” he said. “I am getting married and I want the papers ready. We’ll be there within the hour. And no one is to know. Not a soul.”

    The voice on the other end seemed to protest, but his response cut like a blade. “Do as I say.” And with that, he ended the call abruptly.

    Isabella blinked, startled. The authority in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Too sharp. Too arrogant.

    “Too arrogant for a poor man,” she muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.

    His head turned sharply. “What did you say?”

    Her heart leapt into her throat. “I-I said you sound… too caring for a stranger. That’s all.” She forced a weak smile.

    He didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he returned his eyes to the road, the car gliding smoothly forward. Isabella exhaled, pressing her hands together to keep them from trembling.

    Minutes later, the car pulled into the courtyard of a small, dimly lit church. The building was old, its white paint peeling, its bell tower leaning slightly as though burdened by secrets. Isabella’s stomach knotted.

    “This is insane,” she whispered.

    Gabriel didn’t reply. He opened the door and stepped out with the quiet assurance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. She hesitated, but when he held the door open for her, she found her legs moving.

    Inside, the church smelled faintly of candle wax and dust. A priest stood waiting near the altar, his eyes flickering nervously between the tall man in the suit and the trembling bride in her torn gown.

    “Mr…” the priest started speaking, but Gabriel cut him off.”

    “No pleasantries, her name is Isabella Torres..go straight with the marriage.

    Isabella paused, staring at him.
    “How did you..?” she asked but he ignored her, as he held her hand and pulled her towards the altar.

    Two weary-looking witnesses, a young woman from the parish choir and an old man sweeping the floor were called to stand in.

    Isabella’s hands shook as the priest began.

    “In the name of God and this holy church, we are gathered here today…”

    Her ears rang. She barely heard the words as her mind screamed at her to run. But her feet wouldn’t move, and her heart wouldn’t obey.

    The priest’s voice droned on, the words both surreal and terrifying.

    “Do you, Gabriel Álvarez, take this woman-”

    Her head snapped up.

    Álvarez.

    The name sliced through her like a knife.

    Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Álvarez. Where had she heard it before? It clawed at the back of her mind, tugging at every whispered rumor, every late-night conversation she had overheard.

    “I do,” Gabriel said firmly.

    The priest turned to her. “Do you, Isabella Torres, take this man-”

    Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear herself whisper, “I do.”

    “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may sign here.”

    Her hand shook so badly the pen almost slipped. She scrawled her name across the page, her signature jagged and messy.

    Gabriel took the pen next, his movements calm, deliberate. She leaned closer, eyes darting to the paper.

    There it was.

    Gabriel Álvarez.

    The name rang a louder bell now. Her blood ran cold.

    She turned to look at him, her lips parting, but the words caught in her throat.

    Álvarez.

    Could it be-?

    Her knees felt weak, the ground shifting beneath her as the priest murmured a final blessing. Gabriel’s hand brushed lightly against hers as he closed the book, his eyes flicking to her face.

    “You’re trembling,” he said softly, almost like a taunt.

    “No, I’m,” she replied, adjusting her dress.

    “Yes, you’re,” he said coldly.

    And Isabella knew. Deep down, though she couldn’t yet piece it all together, something was terribly, terrifyingly wrong.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel by Superstition

    The Defective Mate's Hidden Royal Bloodline novel by Superstition

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    For years, I endured the mockery of being a “wolfless” outcast, acting as the perfectly devoted mate to Alpha Julian.

    But just weeks before his Mating ceremony with the noble Isabella, I overheard him call me a mere “placeholder” and a temporary “bed warmer.”

    He didn’t just break my heart; he crushed my dignity. He forced me to iron Isabella’s wedding gowns. When Isabella faked an allergic reaction to a cake I baked, Julian didn’t even investigate.

    “Something made with such vile intentions belongs in the garbage, just like you!”

    He roared, throwing my cake into the trash and demanding I apologize to the woman who was parading around with my stolen family heirloom.

    Looking at his cold, judgmental eyes, the lingering illusion of our bond evaporated into a vast, silent wasteland. How could I have been so foolish to love a man so utterly blind?

    I didn’t shed a single tear.

    “Consider this my apology.”

    I smiled, picking up a glass of ice water and throwing it directly into Isabella’s perfectly made-up face.

    Locked away in the Ancestral Hall as punishment, I didn’t panic. Instead, I calmly began plotting with his rival cousin, setting a trap for Isabella’s powerful family. I no longer wanted his love; I wanted my absolute freedom.

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    The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel Chapter 1

    Nora POV:

    “Part your thighs for me, Nora. I’m going to take you hard tonight, mark you deep, and make you truly mine.”

    Julian’s husky, lust-filled voice vibrated against the sensitive skin of my neck, his hot, sour, alcohol-laced breath making my stomach churn violently.

    He had me pinned against the cold, unyielding wall of my small, dimly lit room, his heavy, muscular body pressing aggressively into mine. His hands, rough and demanding, gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me tighter into his stifling, inescapable embrace. The overwhelming scent of his Alpha pheromones, which used to make my knees weak with desire, now felt like a toxic cloud suffocating my very soul.

    Instead of melting into my mate’s touch like an obedient Omega, my entire body went rigid. I felt nothing but a suffocating wave of disgust and intense, clawing resistance. I used to be a proud aristocratic lady, the cherished daughter of the prestigious Hayes Pack, before my family tragically fell from grace. I was raised to be a noble Luna, not a secret, shameful plaything.

    Mark me? Make me his?

    “Isabella’s position is completely untouchable. She has the backing of the powerful Sinclair Pack. As for Nora, she’s just a fallen aristocrat. A criminal’s daughter. A convenient hole to warm your bed.”

    His cruel words from the other night echoed in my mind, perfectly overlapping with the heavy, animalistic pants of the man currently grinding his hips against me. A violent shudder of pure revulsion rolled through my spine, freezing my blood.

    “You smell so incredibly sweet,” he mumbled, his wet, eager lips trailing down my collarbone, biting and sucking at my skin, completely oblivious to my freezing demeanor. “Don’t be shy, Nora. You know how much I crave this body.”

    Shy? My heart was bleeding out on the floor, yet he was completely blind to it. The affectionate touch I had craved for years now felt like crawling, venomous insects on my skin. I squeezed my eyes shut as my agonizing heartbreak over the man who once loved me rapidly rotted into a chilling, horrifying unfamiliarity. This man pressing against me was no longer my devoted lover. He was a ruthless, calculating heir who would do absolutely anything for power and status. I had to protect my remaining pride. I had to escape this golden cage.

    We had been engaged since childhood, a match made in heaven. But when I was eight, my family was framed for treason, and all the men in my clan were exiled to the barren wastelands. My mother died of severe depression shortly after. I only survived the purge because of my grandfather’s desperate, last-minute interventions.

    I thought our engagement would be immediately canceled, but Julian fought everyone to keep me. Yet, right after our private mating ceremony, his mother declared my family guilty and my status utterly unworthy. I was strictly forbidden to be his Luna. I was stripped of my dignity and became his hidden, shameful mistress.

    “You know I have to marry Isabella for the sake of the Pack’s future,” he had promised back then, stroking my tear-stained cheek with false tenderness. “An Alpha of my high status will naturally have many women, but don’t be jealous, my sweet Nora. You are the only one who truly has my heart. Just be a good girl, stay in my bed, and I will always take care of you.”

    I had been foolish enough to believe him. I had stayed by his side in the shadows for four long years, nameless, hidden, and utterly devoted.

    And now, knowing he was officially going to marry Isabella Sinclair next month, his eager, wandering hands on my body felt like the ultimate insult. He didn’t want a true, equal mate; he just wanted an obedient, pathetic bed warmer who would never say no.

    “No!” I gasped, finding a sudden, desperate surge of strength to shove his heavy chest away. My hands shook violently as I wrapped my arms around myself, creating a physical barrier between us. “Please, Julian. You are drunk. You should go back to your own room and get some proper rest.”

    Julian stumbled back a step, his dark eyes flashing with a dark, impatient anger. He wasn’t used to me rejecting him. “What are you afraid of? We are going to be husband and wife in every way that matters sooner or later. Stop acting like such a prude!” he grumbled, his Alpha aura flaring in a pathetic, domineering attempt to submit me to his will.

    But my inner wolf wasn’t there to cower anymore, and my human heart was already entirely dead to him.

    Husband and wife? He had never fulfilled a single sweet promise he made to me.

    “I’m not feeling well,” I lied, keeping my head down so he wouldn’t see the intense hatred brewing in my stormy gray eyes. “My stomach hurts terribly. If you force me now, you’ll only end up cleaning sick off your expensive Italian leather shoes.”

    He stared at me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. The rejection clearly bruised his fragile, inflated Alpha ego. He scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his messy brown hair, completely turned off by my uncooperative words.

    “Fine. Suit yourself, you ungrateful bitch,” he spat coldly, turning his broad back toward the door. But before he stepped out into the hallway, he paused and looked back at me over his shoulder, his gaze completely devoid of the warmth he once showed me.

    “Come to my study tomorrow morning. There is something important I need to tell you about your new arrangements.”

    The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving me completely alone in the deafening, oppressive silence of the room.

    I stood frozen for a long moment, listening to his heavy, fading footsteps echoing down the hall. Slowly, I lowered my trembling arms and walked over to the vintage dressing table.

    I looked at the pathetic, broken girl in the mirror. My dress was wrinkled, my hair a messy tangle, but my gray eyes were completely dry and hard.

    I thought I would cry a river for my lost love, but I didn’t. The hollow, agonizing ache in my chest was rapidly being replaced by a hardening, impenetrable ice.

    Eleonora Hayes, you are a complete and utter fool, I told my reflection.

    Hope was dead. Love was dead. He had made his cruel choice, and now, I would make mine.

    I wiped away a single, stray tear that had managed to escape my iron control. From this night on, I would not shed another tear for Julian Montgomery. I would live only for myself. But just as I made this silent, unbreakable vow, a sharp, urgent knock on my door shattered the silence, bringing a visitor I completely did not expect at this late hour.

    The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel Chapter 2

    Nora POV:

    The next morning, I walked into Julian’s study just as he had ordered the night before.

    He was standing behind his heavy mahogany desk, as handsome as ever. His short brown hair was perfectly styled, and the powerful scent of his Alpha pheromones rolled off him in waves. The scent that once made me weak now only made me feel suffocated.

    He stepped around the desk and closed the distance between us, his gaze sweeping over my pale face with chilling indifference.

    “You look terrible,” he stated, his voice completely devoid of concern. He spoke as if inspecting a tarnished piece of property, not even bothering to ask why I was exhausted. “But your feelings don’t matter right now. Just listen. There are some new arrangements regarding your placement that I need to make clear.”

    I stood silently, my hands folded in front of me. It was the submissive posture I had perfected over the years. Today, for the first time, I was consciously performing it.

    Julian reached out, his strong fingers gripping my chin, tilting my head side to side as if evaluating an object. His thumb rubbed my lower lip in a possessive, degrading manner. “At the full moon next month, I will be holding the Mating ceremony with Isabella Sinclair.”

    He said it bluntly, with no preamble, entirely absorbed in his own monologue.

    Even though I already knew, hearing the words from his own mouth made my chest tighten painfully. I lowered my eyes, letting him think I was too devastated to meet his gaze.

    “It’s important for the Pack,” he continued, his tone like he was explaining a business merger. “Our union will bring powerful allies and a stable future.”

    He leaned closer, his hot breath brushing my ear. “But do not worry, Nora. I need you to understand your place. After the ceremony, you can still remain here. As my companion. My private bed warmer. I have already prepared a secluded room for you in the east wing. You will stay out of sight.”

    He chose the words carefully to remind me of the massive gap between us. He was a noble Alpha with pristine blood, and I was merely the descendant of exiled sinners. To him, I wasn’t a partner; I was a convenient asset to be tucked away in a dark corner.

    A wave of bitter irony washed over me. I had never wanted to provoke him in the first place. I could have chosen a different path, found a quiet life far away from this Pack. But he was the one who had made those sweet promises. He was the affectionate lover who swore to protect me. Now, he had finally evolved into a ruthless heir, willing to sacrifice everything for power, turning my trust into a foolish, unrequited fantasy.

    “I will protect you, Nora,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip my waist tightly. “You just need to be obedient. Do not harbor any delusions about a status that does not belong to you. And most importantly, do not cause any trouble for Isabella. She has a bit of a temper.”

    He not only betrayed me but now expected me to behave like a well-trained pet for his new mate.

    But I didn’t lash out. I didn’t scream or cry like he clearly expected me to. I simply wanted to get rid of him as fast as possible.

    I let a single tear fall perfectly on cue, nodded meekly, and whispered, “I understand, Alpha.”

    The formal title made Julian pause. He frowned slightly, his fingers tightening on my waist as if testing my reaction. He searched my face for any sign of jealousy, anger, or desperate begging—the reactions he was used to.

    But he found only a hollow, polite submission. My eyes were like dead water.

    The silence stretched. The complete lack of emotional response seemed to unnerve him. I wasn’t acting like the devoted lover he owned; I was acting like a lifeless doll. The realization didn’t please him; it irritated his fragile Alpha ego.

    His grip slowly loosened, the charming mask slipping to reveal a cold, annoyed expression. “Get out,” he said, his voice flat and dismissive, though his jaw was clenched. “Go back to your room and reflect on your duties.”

    I gave a slight bow and left the study without a backward glance. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, the fragile expression on my face vanished, leaving my eyes as cold as ice.

    When I returned to my room, Ruby Walsh, the head Omega servant, was already there with my breakfast. She saw my swollen eyes and her face filled with sympathy.

    She set down the tray, hesitated, and then spoke in a low voice. “Miss, you have heard the news?”

    I nodded.

    Ruby sighed, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Miss, you must be careful. Especially… do not get pregnant right now.”

    A chill went through me. I looked at her, my full attention captured.

    “There are unwritten rules in the Pack,” Ruby said, her eyes wide with fear. “A child born from an unmarked union is seen as a stain on the Alpha and Luna’s bloodline. They usually do not survive.”

    The blood drained from my face. My world turned cold. I had never considered this, because I had always believed I would be Julian’s true, marked mate.

    My hand instinctively went to my flat stomach. There was no life there, but the possibility of it filled me with absolute dread.

    This was no longer about my dignity or my broken heart. This was about a potential, innocent life.

    Seeing my ashen face, Ruby did not dare say more. She gave a quick bow and hurried out.

    I stood frozen in the middle of the room. The cruelty of Julian and the coldness of the Pack were an unbearable weight crushing my spirit.

    I couldn’t stay here.

    I had to escape.

    At any cost.

    A thought began to grow in my mind, a desperate, wild plan. It was full of risks, but it was the only way out.

    The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel Chapter 3

    Nora POV:

    Before I could even begin to form the details of my escape plan, an unexpected, ominous summons threw me completely off balance.

    The Luna, Genevieve Montgomery, Julian’s formidable mother, wanted to see me immediately.

    I followed the silent, judging maid who brought the message through the vast estate. Unlike the modern, minimalist west wing where Julian resided in luxury, the main residence was filled with old-world, suffocating luxury and an oppressive atmosphere. The dark oak walls were lined with massive, intimidating portraits of past Montgomery Alphas and Lunas, their painted, lifeless eyes seeming to judge me, the disgraced outsider, with every step I took.

    I was led into Genevieve’s private sitting room. The air inside was thick and heavy with the scent of expensive white lilies, a sweet fragrance that couldn’t quite mask the cloying, underlying sense of moral decay.

    Genevieve sat rigidly on a plush velvet sofa, dressed in an impeccably tailored, deep purple suit that screamed power and wealth. Her sharp, calculating dark eyes locked onto me the moment I entered. She had always looked down on my fallen status, viewing my family’s exile as a personal insult to her Pack’s purity. But because Julian was so stubbornly obsessed with me, she had no choice but to tolerate my existence in the shadows. Now that Julian was finally taking a proper, high-born wife, the rules of the game had drastically changed.

    “Sit,” she commanded. Her voice was flat and devoid of emotion, but it carried a heavy, Alpha-blood authority that permitted absolutely no argument.

    I perched carefully on the very edge of the antique chair opposite her, keeping my posture humble and my eyes lowered.

    Genevieve didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She gestured sharply to a senior maid standing beside her, who immediately brought forward a silver tray. On it sat a delicate, intricately carved silver cup filled with a dark, bubbling brown liquid that gave off a strong, pungent herbal scent.

    “Our Montgomery family prides itself on excellent breeding, pure bloodlines, and strict discipline,” Genevieve said, her sharp eyes locking onto me like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “We absolutely do not allow the Alpha to leave illegitimate seeds scattered around like a common rogue. Much less allow a disgraced mistress to potentially bear an heir before the true Luna. This is a highly potent sterilization potion. It will ensure you never conceive, without harming your overall physical health. Drink it now. Then you can quietly stay by Julian’s side and live a peaceful, comfortable life as his obedient pet.”

    My gaze fell on the silver cup. The bitter smell confirmed her cruel words. My insides turned to solid ice, Chloe’s earlier warning ringing loudly in my ears. They all thought of me as nothing but a breeding risk, a threat to be neutralized.

    I looked at the bubbling potion, then slowly, deliberately lifted my head to meet Genevieve’s cold gaze. “My Luna, I did not share a bed with the Alpha last night. Nothing happened between us. There is no need for this.”

    Genevieve’s expression turned instantly hostile, her refined mask slipping to reveal pure malice. She thought I was being restless, desperately trying to get pregnant to steal the Luna position using Julian’s blind love.

    “You ungrateful, scheming little wretch,” she spat, her voice dripping with absolute disgust. “Do you really think a pathetic descendant of sinners, with your filthy, tainted blood, could ever be worthy of standing beside my glorious son? You are nothing but a dirty stain on his perfect record!”

    A profound wave of sorrow and exhaustion washed over me. I finally understood that my very existence was seen as a dirty mark on Julian’s perfect life. I was a disease they wanted to manage. I did not reach for the cup.

    “No, my Luna, I am not trying to threaten you or your noble family,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I slid from the chair and knelt submissively on the expensive Persian rug. “I know my presence here is a mistake. I am begging you to let me go.”

    I looked up, my face wet with genuine tears, my voice broken and self-deprecating. “I don’t want to be a stain on Julian’s and Miss Sinclair’s beautiful union. I don’t want to be a joke in everyone’s eyes anymore. Please, allow me to leave the Pack peacefully. Let me go live as an un-mated, low-ranking lone wolf, to fend for myself in the wild.”

    This was my only chance. I had to make her believe I was so utterly broken that I was seeking a form of suicide. Only then would she consider the one official way to sever my ties to Julian completely: The Rejection. I couldn’t mention the sacred ritual myself; that would reveal my cold determination, not my despair. To leave a Pack without being formally rejected by a mate was a deep shame, marking you as a rogue outcast hunted by all.

    Genevieve stared at me, genuinely shocked, as if seeing me for the very first time. The blazing anger in her eyes was slowly replaced by a complex, calculating, political look.

    She had fully expected me to fight for my position, to cry and beg to stay. She never imagined I would be begging for my own demise. For a wolfless female to leave the protection of a powerful Pack was a guaranteed death sentence.

    She had tried to solve her problem with a simple potion. I had just handed her a much bigger one: a suicidal ex-mate-to-be who could cause a massive public scandal. Letting me go without a word was a disgrace. An un-rejected mate wandering free was a direct insult to the Montgomery name. But keeping me here… my defiance today proved I was no longer a mindless pawn she could easily control.

    I could almost see the gears turning in her strategic mind. A formal Rejection ceremony, while a temporary blow to Julian’s and the Pack’s reputation, would solve the problem of me permanently. It would appease Isabella and her powerful family once and for all, securing the alliance.

    She fell into a long, incredibly tense strategic silence.

    I remained kneeling on the floor, my head bowed, waiting for her verdict. This was my first real move on the chessboard. I was betting my life that her cold, political mind would win out over her maternal anger.

    After what felt like an absolute eternity, Genevieve finally spoke, her voice dry and measured. “This is a serious matter that concerns the Pack’s honor. I need time to consider.”

    She hadn’t agreed. But crucially, she hadn’t refused.

    She said she would consider.

    It meant I had won the first round.

    But the sudden, forceful, and loud opening of the sitting room doors instantly shattered the tense silence, making my heart leap into my throat.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

    👉 READ NOW

    On the night before my wedding, I opened an anonymous message card, only to find out that my fiancé had been cheating on me with my maid of honor for four years.
    The engagement ring on my hand was actually a cheap reject that she didn’t want; her so-called “emergency business trip” was actually to cover up the fact that she had just given birth to his child last week.
    What sent the worst chills down my spine was that his entire family knew about this perfectly well, yet they still happily watched me meticulously prepare for this scam of a wedding.
    When I canceled the wedding and confronted them, his mother actually slapped me across the face.
    “You’re nothing but a poor girl clinging to my son. Camilla is the one he truly loves.”
    And my fiancé didn’t even defend me. Instead, he pushed me to the ground, causing me to hit my head, all just to comfort his crying mistress.
    I spent eight years by his side, accompanying him from having nothing to where he is now, only to realize I was nothing but a convenient placeholder.
    I took off that discarded ring, blocked all of them, and bought a one-way ticket to Oregon, USA.
    This time, I decided to leave forever and never look back.
    But now, he’s going crazy begging for my forgiveness!

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    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 1

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    The moment I read that anonymous card, my life instantly collapsed. It brought not wedding blessings, but Harding’s lies.
    It was the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. My bridesmaids and close friends were sitting around the table. My fiancé, Harding, the man I had loved for eight years, was at another table discussing business with his parents.
    As for my maid of honor, Camilla, she was supposedly unable to attend due to a sudden business trip.
    “Alright, Madam Bride!” bridesmaid Sarah excitedly held up a beautifully decorated box. “Everyone wrote a blessing card for you. Let’s see what advice they have to pass on!”
    Smiling, I reached into the box and pulled out a thick white card. I thought it would be sweet words, but as my eyes swept over the text, my smile instantly froze.
    “He and she have been secretly sleeping around behind your back for four years.”
    Right below it was a line: “Your maid of honor.”
    Camilla.
    That was my childhood best friend, the “sister” I had entrusted my life to.
    A freezing terror seeped into my bones. This had to be a prank. With sweating palms, I eagerly pulled out a second, light blue card.
    “The engagement ring he gave you? He actually bought it for Camilla first. But four years ago, she rejected him, saying she wasn’t ready for marriage. You are just his backup.”
    I instinctively touched my left ring finger. It turned out Harding had taken the ring Camilla didn’t want and pretended to carefully select it for me.
    I hurriedly pulled out a third, cream-colored card, trying to find evidence to refute this.
    “Remember your anniversary trip in college? You found suspicious texts on Harding’s phone and cried in the bathroom for hours. He wasn’t chatting with a client then; he was in the hotel room right next to yours, celebrating his one-month anniversary with Camilla.”
    The shame and pain of the past surged over me. That night, he comforted me as I cried, making me believe it was a misunderstanding.
    With trembling hands, I pulled out the last card, a thick, dark green one.
    “Camilla isn’t on a business trip. She is at the ‘Serenity Postpartum Retreat Center.’ She just gave birth to Harding’s child a week ago. They want to wait until your wedding is over to go public. Surprise.”
    My world completely overturned. They even had a child behind my back!
    I felt like I had fallen into an ice cave. I stared at the handwriting on the green card; it was Harding’s mother, Karen Frank. His entire family was involved in this scam.
    Eight years of dedication and compromise were nothing but a carefully woven joke. I took off that piece of trash that belonged to Camilla and threw it hard onto the table. The diamond hit a wine glass with a sharp clink.
    The surrounding conversations stopped. Everyone looked over in shock. Harding looked up, a smile still hanging on his face.
    I walked toward him. “Harding, what is Camilla Gillespie to you?”
    His smile instantly vanished. He glanced at his mother, then at me. “Isla, what are you talking about?”
    I held up the green card. “I’m talking about your child, Harding. The one born just last week.”
    The air froze. Harding’s face turned deathly pale, and Karen gasped. The relatives who were just laughing a moment ago now mostly stood with their mouths hanging open, and some even wore knowing smirks.
    I immediately shouted, “I announce that this wedding is canceled!”
    Harding walked over to the table, picked up the ring, and spoke in a low voice, “Isla, don’t be so dramatic. We can postpone the wedding and solve this problem. Don’t make a scene here.”
    “Solve what?” I sneered. “Solve you cheating with my best friend for four years, or your whole family helping you hide the truth?”
    He finally looked at me. There was no remorse in his eyes, only shrewd calculation. “It’s complicated. Camilla is very fragile right now; she needs my support.”
    “She’s fragile?” I raised my voice. “What about me? What about my eight years, my dignity!”
    “You’re strong, Isla. But Camilla has been through a lot, having a baby, keeping secrets…” He defended her casually.
    My hand swung out before my brain could process it. With a loud, crisp slap, Harding’s face was violently thrown to the side, a red mark surfacing.
    He didn’t fight back, but his eyes turned dark. “You think getting physical changes anything? Camilla is pregnant with my child. And you… are just you.”
    My rage was instantly replaced by despair. In his eyes, I was just a convenient alternative.
    “We are done.” I turned and walked away.
    “Isla, please, we can talk about this!” he shouted from behind, his tone still carrying that self-righteous desire for control.
    I ignored him. Walking past the flowers and tables I had spent months meticulously arranging, every detail now felt like a cruel joke.
    As I reached the door, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Camilla:
    “Isla, I’m so sorry! My business trip got suddenly extended. So sad I can’t attend your big day! I’ll contact you when I’m back!”
    I stared at the screen and typed a reply:
    “Enjoy your postpartum confinement. I hope the baby is healthy. Harding will be by your side to support you; he’s really good at that.”
    Hitting send, I blocked Camilla, Harding, Karen—blocked all of them, completely.

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 2

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    My phone vibrated all night long. I didn’t answer any calls, just stared numbly at the ceiling. The first rays of dawn spilled in. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but right now, there was only coldness.
    Urgent knocking came from the door. Then, the sound of a key turning in the lock.
    Harding pushed the door open, leading a team of florists and makeup artists. He was wearing a brand-new white shirt, acting as if nothing had happened last night.
    “Isla, what are you doing?” he asked impatiently. “The makeup artist will be here any second, you need to get ready.”
    I slowly sat up from the bed. “Harding, I told you last night. The wedding is canceled.”
    He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Stop messing around! You can’t break the contract a few hours before the wedding. You have to think about the guests, the expenses, and our reputation!”
    “Your reputation?” I scoffed. “Didn’t you lose your reputation when you cheated with my best friend for four years and had a baby with her?”
    “That’s not fair! It’s complicated. Camilla is in poor health, and she just had a baby.” He raised his volume.
    “So I should just pretend nothing happened, marry you, and fulfill this ridiculous fairy tale?”
    “We will fix this! You’re just too emotional right now.” He took a step forward, stubbornly insisting.
    Just then, the main door was pushed open violently. Camilla stood there panting, pale-faced, hair messy, wearing loose casual clothes. Her eyes were red and swollen, and a frantic desperation filled her gaze.
    “Isla!” She rushed over, trying to grab my hand. “Please listen to me, it’s not what you think!”
    I dodged her touch with disgust. “Then what is it? You slept with my fiancé and had his child. What else am I supposed to think?”
    “No! It was a terrible mistake!” she cried and begged.
    “A four-year mistake? Camilla, is that newborn baby at the ‘Serenity Postpartum Care Center’ a mistake too?”
    She jerked her head up, shocked that I knew such specific details, while Harding stood to the side, looking guilty.
    “How long have you been lying to me? Was there ever a single ounce of truth in our friendship?”
    She couldn’t make a sound, only shaking her head through her tears.
    At that moment, I caught sight of the gold bracelet on her wrist. It was exactly the same as the one Harding gave me for our fifth anniversary—he had sworn it was a one-of-a-kind design.
    I suddenly remembered two years ago, when Harding lost the leather bracelet I gave him and replaced it with a new one. Right now, on his other hand, he was wearing the matching couple’s bracelet to Camilla’s.
    It turned out he had already built a parallel reality for them long ago, and I was nothing but the smokescreen.
    Camilla was sobbing and trembling all over. Harding immediately walked over and pulled her into his arms, gently stroking her hair. He didn’t dare look at me, but his eyes were full of heartache for her.
    My gaze fell on the expensive limited-edition diaper bag on Camilla’s shoulder.
    “Harding, how much money have you spent on this secret life?” My voice was freezing, almost broken. “Am I just the cheap spare tire you kept around for stability?”
    “Enough, Isla!” Harding finally roared at me. “You’re going too far! Camilla is very fragile right now, and you’re agitating her!”
    “I’m agitating her?” I laughed out of sheer anger. “You two betrayed me, and somehow I’ve become the villain?”
    I stood up, forcing my trembling legs to walk toward the door. I had to leave this suffocating room.
    Just as I reached the entryway, the door was pushed open again. Karen Frank stood there in an elegant suit. She glared at me sternly. “What is going on here? The wedding cars will be here any minute, why aren’t you dressed yet?”
    “There won’t be any wedding cars, Karen. The wedding is canceled.”
    Karen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Did you just say you canceled the wedding? Do you have any idea how much of a scandal this will cause for Harding?”
    As soon as the words left her mouth, she finally noticed Camilla, who was sobbing and trembling, curled up in Harding’s arms, looking weak and in pain.
    Karen’s anger vanished instantly. She walked right past me, her eyes full of concern for Camilla.
    “Camilla, sweetheart! Why aren’t you resting at the retreat center?” Karen exclaimed, then turned to scold Harding. “Why is she so heartbroken? What did Isla do to her now?”
    Watching this utterly absurd scene, my heart turned completely cold. Harding, Camilla, his mother—they were all accomplices.

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 3

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    Karen Frank didn’t even look me in the eye. She pushed right past me, grabbed Camilla’s hand, her face full of artificial concern.
    “Sweetheart, why did you come running over here?” she chided hypocritically. “You just had a baby, you should be resting well. Harding, how could you let her run out?”
    Camilla whimpered softly, burying her face into Harding’s shoulder, but she quickly stole a glance at me, her eyes full of provocation.
    “Isla, what exactly did you do?” Karen spun around and interrogated me, her voice shrill. “What right do you have to upset her? She just gave birth!”
    “Whose child?” I asked coldly. “Isn’t it your son’s? Isn’t it the child your whole family knew perfectly well about, yet kept treating me like a fool while I planned a wedding?”
    Karen sneered with utter contempt. “Don’t play the saint. You’re nothing but a poor girl after money, latching onto my son. Camilla comes from a prominent family; she is the one truly worthy of Harding.”
    “I latched onto him?” I raised my voice in disbelief. “When he had nothing, I worked two jobs to help pay the rent for his rundown apartment! And now you’re telling me I latched onto him?”
    “You were never good enough for him.” Karen became even more vicious. “We only tolerated you back then because Harding found you somewhat novel. Camilla is the one who can give him a future, not some penniless girl from a single-parent home like you.”
    Her insult toward my mother stabbed me deeply.
    “He loves her, yet he wanted to marry me?” I retorted, suppressing my rage. “Loved her enough to let her secretly give birth outside while making me plan the wedding? That’s not love, that’s shameless!”
    Before I could finish speaking, a loud smack rang out. Karen slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned with pain.
    “How dare you speak about my son that way!” she shrieked.
    “Mom, don’t do that,” Harding finally spoke up, though his tone was weak and powerless.
    “Mind your own business!” Karen snapped at him. “This is what happens when you let lower-class girls like this through the door—absolutely no breeding. Camilla is a true socialite; she would never cause a scene like this.”
    Camilla was still sobbing. She pulled back slightly from Harding’s embrace, looking at Karen with teary eyes. “Karen, please don’t. It’s not Isla’s fault. I… I made a mistake too.” Her voice was so low it could barely be heard, performing her frailty perfectly.
    Karen’s tone instantly softened. “Sweetheart, you’re just too kindhearted, that’s why you get bullied by this woman.”
    Camilla turned to me again, reaching out a hand, her voice perfectly mimicking fragile remorse. “Isla, I am truly, from the bottom of my heart, sorry. I never thought it would turn out like this.”
    I stared at this hand that had once promised me a lifelong friendship.
    “Are you sorry for getting caught, or are you sorry for destroying my life?” I asked coldly.
    She flinched. “I… I just wanted to be loved. Harding was too good to me.”
    “Now you’ve gotten what you wanted—him, and his child. Are you satisfied?”
    She shook her head, tears raining down. “No! I never wanted to hurt you!”
    I could no longer bear to watch this nauseating performance. I turned and walked toward the door.
    “Isla, wait!” Harding chased after me and grabbed my arm. “Don’t go. We need to fix this.”
    “Fix what?” I violently shook off his hand. “Your mother just hit me, humiliated me, and you stood there like a piece of garbage. We are done.”
    “She was just overly emotional!” he pleaded desperately. “She just wants what’s best for me.”
    “And who cared about me?” I fired back sharply. “When have you ever stood up to protect me?”
    He stared at the floor, speechless.
    “I spent eight years giving you everything. I trusted you, supported you. And what I got in return was betrayal, and a family that looked down on me from the very beginning.”
    I walked out the door without looking back, leaving Harding’s shouts, Karen’s roaring, and Camilla’s fake sobbing far behind me, completely walking out of those absurd eight years of my life.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel by Janna Lemay

    Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel by Janna Lemay

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    I was about to marry Dante, a ruthless New York Mafia boss.
    However, just three blocks away from the cathedral, his ex-wife sent a text message saying their son was coughing up blood.
    This was the third time, and Dante abandoned me at the altar once again, transferring a hundred million dollars to me as compensation instead.
    I accepted the money, but his ex-wife did not stop there. She moved into my home with her son, faked an illness, and tried to force me out.
    The last straw that broke me happened at the airport, when the little heir, instigated by his mother, viciously pushed me from behind.
    I fell hard onto the cold marble floor and lost the child I did not even know I was carrying.
    As I lay in a pool of my own blood, Dante’s mother coldly gave an order over the phone:
    “The child is dead. You need to protect the living heir and Isabella’s status.”
    Dante looked at me, his face full of guilt, but eventually, he turned and walked away with them.
    To compensate for the child I lost, he threw a massive business empire at me, expecting me to continue waiting in the shadows while he enjoyed his family’s bliss.
    I finally understood that in the face of his mafia bloodline, my loyalty meant absolutely nothing.
    With a steady hand, I signed the asset transfer documents and did not hesitate to liquidate all the properties he had given me.
    Then, I boarded a private cartel jet flying to Switzerland.
    This time, I am going to build an empire of my own!

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    Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel Chapter 1

    Valentina’s POV
    The bulletproof car idled quietly in the shadows of an old apartment building, three blocks away from the cathedral where I was supposed to have my wedding.
    At that moment, my fiancé’s burner phone let out a low, urgent vibration.
    It was a text message from his ex-wife: “Dante, Leo is coughing up blood again. Come quickly, or your son will die before you say your vows.”
    I stared at the faintly glowing screen. The hum of the engine transmitted through the floorboards into my bones, feeling like a heavy tremor.
    Sitting beside me was Dante Salvatore, the head of a New York Mafia family, a man who commanded a ruthless empire.
    His daily routine consisted of nothing more than fighting for street turf and brutal expansion.
    Yet, inside this cramped cabin, the air was thick with the scent of his cologne. Beneath the heavy aroma of sandalwood, there was a faint trace of whiskey and gunpowder, adding an atmosphere of mystery and danger.
    His gaze was heavy, as if it could press down the surrounding air, possessing a power that could make even the toughest men bend their knees.
    Dante stared at the text message, all the color draining from his face until his bronze skin looked like wax-covered bone.
    His large, scarred hands tightly gripped the leather armrest, forming a sharp contrast against the dark material.
    I looked at him, then looked down at my custom-tailored wedding dress. I had been looking forward to this wedding so much.
    Even though this was already the third time.
    Three times we had been ready to take our vows before the priest, and three times his ex-wife Isabella had called due to a sudden critical emergency with their son, Leo.
    I had a very strict rule: three strikes, and after the third time, it is over.
    I understood that our world was transactional, and I knew the Mafia demanded loyalty, blood, and sacrifice.
    But I never expected that I would be the one sacrificed time and time again for the sake of his past.
    Dante looked at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Valentina…”
    I didn’t let him finish. Putting on the perfect, considerate posture of a Mafia woman, I forced a stiff smile.
    “Go.”
    Dante let out a shaky breath and reached out to grip my hand tightly.
    “I will make it up to you,” he promised. I simply nodded and signaled the driver to pull over.
    The heavy lock clicked open. I stepped out of the car and stood on the cold, dark curb. A biting, freezing wind blew off the river, hitting my bare shoulders and making me shiver involuntarily.
    I stood there, watching the convoy of black SUVs swiftly pull a U-turn. The tires shrieked against the asphalt.
    Then, they disappeared in the opposite direction. They had completely abandoned me, leaving me standing alone on this grime-covered sidewalk, wearing a wedding dress.
    I raised my hand and hailed a passing yellow cab. The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes full of silent questions.
    My phone vibrated in my clutch. I took it out and saw a notification from my offshore bank account, a wire transfer had just cleared.
    One hundred million dollars. That was laundered “blood money” from the Salvatore family accounts.
    The screen’s phosphorescent glow stung my retinas; that long string of zeros looked piercingly cold and white in the darkness of the cab.
    I accepted the money without hesitation; as my protector, Dante no longer held any value.
    I opened an encrypted underground social network on my phone and found that the Mafia gossip forum had already exploded. Someone had leaked a blurry photo of me hailing a cab in my wedding dress.
    The comments flooded in. They called me a pathetic stray dog, mocking how the Mafia boss had abandoned this “gold digger” for the third time, leaving her hanging at her own wedding.
    They ridiculed my complete failure to secure the ultimate symbol of Mafia power.
    I scrolled through these mocking words expressionlessly, decided not to read any further, and simply turned off my phone.
    When I finally returned to my private penthouse, I took off the heavy wedding dress, letting the expensive silk fall carelessly onto the floor, and changed into a simple pair of sweatpants and a loose T-shirt.
    Walking into the kitchen, I boiled a pot of water and made a simple bowl of pasta, adding nothing but a little olive oil.
    I placed the bowl on the cold marble countertop, took a picture, and posted it to my private feed without any caption.
    Within minutes, the women from other Mafia families left a string of sarcastic comments. They mocked my cheap meal and laughed at my miserable life.
    My phone vibrated again. It was another bank notification. Dante had transferred another three million dollars, with only a short sentence in the memo: “Take care of yourself.”
    The corner of my mouth curled into a cold, ruthless smile.
    Five years ago, on the night of Dante’s first divorce from Isabella, when he showed up at my tiny apartment exhausted and covered in bruises, this simple pasta was exactly what I had cooked for him.
    But he had long forgotten its meaning; he only knew how to use money to cover up his guilt.
    Suddenly, my private encrypted phone rang. I answered it and heard Camila’s voice. She was my longtime mentor and a legend in the underground world, having successfully married the head of a Swiss banking cartel.
    “Valentina, are your psychological defenses still holding up?” Her voice was clear and cold, without a trace of pity.
    “I am calculating my next move, but I regret getting involved in his power games.”
    A soft sigh came from the other end of the line.
    “Switzerland has a higher level of power and security,” Camila said. “I can get you out and give you sanctuary in Zurich. There is no need for you to stay here and be his sacrificial lamb.”
    I looked down at the simple bowl of pasta, quickly calculating my new wealth and my odds of winning, just like I always did.
    “Make the arrangements.”

    Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel Chapter 2

    Valentina’s POV
    Dante didn’t return to the penthouse that night, nor the next day.
    The apartment was unusually quiet. Taking advantage of this rare peace, I opened my laptop and began organizing the assets under my name.
    Over the years, Dante had gifted me numerous properties, luxury cars, and shell companies. I contacted hidden brokers, requesting to legally liquidate all assets. I needed untraceable, liquid cash.
    On the fourth day, the sound of a key turning in the lock came from the front door. I calmly closed my laptop and slid it under a magazine.
    Dante walked in, looking haggard. Behind him was Isabella, tightly holding the hand of a pale seven-year-old boy, Leo, the heir to the Salvatore family.
    “Leo’s condition is unstable,” Dante said in an unquestionable tone. “Isabella has a fever, and the estate is too far from the clinic. They are staying here temporarily.”
    He didn’t ask for my permission; he simply issued an order.
    I looked at Isabella. She was wearing a soft cashmere sweater, her shoulders slightly hunched as if she were chronically cold, and her eyes remained cast downward.
    I nodded silently, accepting the Don’s order without a single word of rebuttal.
    Seeing my obedience, Dante visibly breathed a sigh of relief. Carrying the faint scent of hospital disinfectant, he kissed me gently on the forehead and walked toward the kitchen to call his men.
    That night, as I sat on the edge of the large bed in the master bedroom, the door creaked slightly, and Isabella slipped in quietly.
    She offered a forced, polite smile, looking extremely strained.
    “Sorry to intrude, Valentina,” she said softly.
    I didn’t answer.
    She walked over to my nightstand and pointed to a silver-framed solo photo of Dante.
    “Leo is having trouble sleeping,” she said. “He needs to look at his father’s picture to feel safe.”
    She reached out and took the frame. I simply showed cold apathy toward her action.
    Isabella clutched the photo tightly to her chest and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, an unusual glimmer of tears flashed beneath her eyelashes.
    “I am so jealous of you,” she whispered. “I am jealous that you get to sleep in his bed.”
    Before I could respond, the hurried sound of little footsteps came from the hallway, and Leo rushed into the bedroom, his face flushed red.
    “You’re bullying my mom!” he yelled at me.
    He lunged at me and forcefully pushed my shoulder.
    Caught off guard, I was pushed a step back. My ankle accidentally tripped over the edge of the floorboards, and a piercing pain shot up my calf straight to my brain.
    I fell heavily onto the smooth floor. The impact made my entire body go numb, and the palms of my hands stung as I braced my fall.
    Taking advantage of this, Isabella immediately let go of the photo frame, letting it smash onto the floor with a sharp shattering sound. Then she grabbed Leo and shielded him behind her.
    “Valentina, I am so sorry!” Isabella cried out in a panicked voice, deliberately raising her volume as if trying to make sure someone at the end of the hall could hear. “Please don’t hurt him! He is just a child!”
    Leo instantly dropped his innocent disguise and gave me a cold, contemptuous smile.
    “Just wait until we go back to the main estate, my dad will definitely back me up,” he said through gritted teeth. “Then I will never have to look at your ugly face again.”
    Just then, steady footsteps came from the hallway. Dante emerged from the shadows.
    His pitch-black eyes immediately narrowed as he scanned the chaotic scene before him. His gaze shifted from me, sitting on the floor, to the scattered glass shards.
    Isabella immediately knelt beside me, hovering her hands over my arms in a fabricated display of helpless panic.
    “Dante, I am so sorry!” she sobbed with a trembling voice. “The photo triggered Leo’s trauma, and Valentina was just trying to take it back.”
    In between her sobs, she quickly cast a glance at Leo, passing a hidden signal through her eyes.
    Catching the hint, Leo immediately let out a loud scream, clutched his chest tightly with both hands, rolled his eyes back, and collapsed heavily onto the floor, starting to convulse.
    “Dad!” he shrieked.
    All the color vanished from Dante’s face. He shoved me aside, causing my already bruised shoulder to slam hard against the nightstand.
    He scooped up the convulsing Leo and rushed out of the room.
    “Isabella, go get the medical kit!” Dante roared.
    Isabella wiped her dry cheeks and quickly chased after him.
    With a heavy slam, the door shut, and silence descended upon the room once again.
    Dante had completely ignored me, not even stopping to ask if I was hurt.
    I sat alone in the quiet room. Slowly, I stood up, limped into the master bathroom, and calmly applied ointment to my sprained ankle.
    Just then, my phone vibrated on the marble counter. It was a text from Dante.
    “Leave the penthouse for now. Your presence is causing the child stress. I have transferred the deed to the luxury safehouse in the West End into your name. Go there.”
    I stared at the glowing words on the screen, and the anger that should have been in my heart turned into pure calm.
    With steady fingers, I typed my reply and hit send.
    “Understood.”

    Too Late For Regret, Mafia Capo novel Chapter 3

    Valentina’s POV
    The private dining room of the Mafia club was dimly lit. The air was thick with the rich aroma of truffles, mixed with the faint scent of old money that carried a touch of corrupt sweetness.
    Today was my birthday.
    Dante had booked the entire VIP section, promising me that tonight would involve absolutely no “family business.”
    He sat across from me, wearing a dark suit, looking breathtakingly handsome.
    He reached across the pristine white tablecloth, gently took my hand, and fastened a heavy, cold bracelet around my wrist.
    I looked down. It was a string of priceless “blood diamonds,” tied to violence and exploitation.
    “Valentina, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I know this period has been very hard for you.”
    I forced a smile and looked up at him. “It’s fine.”
    Right at that moment, the heavy mahogany door was pushed open silently.
    Isabella stood in the doorway, pulling a visibly reluctant Leo. Her hair was a mess, and she looked perfectly panicked.
    “Dante!” she gasped for air, as if she had just run a long distance. “Leo is sick, and his special medicine is missing from the estate!”
    The string quartet in the corner immediately stopped playing.
    The accompanying “family members” and their wives in the hall turned their heads, and whispers spread outward like ripples.
    They gossiped, their voices clearly audible, saying that the head of the family had actually abandoned his sick heir to have dinner with his mistress.
    Leo broke free from his mother’s hand and ran straight to Dante.
    “Dad, my chest hurts so much!” Leo cried, throwing himself into Dante’s arms.
    Suddenly, he pointed a trembling finger at me.
    “It’s her! She’s stealing you away!” he screamed, his face full of resentment.
    In the next second, Leo grabbed a glass of expensive red wine from the table and threw it fiercely at me.
    The dark red liquid splashed all over my chest, slowly dripping down my skin.
    The muscles in Dante’s jaw twitched slightly.
    He stood up abruptly. The chair made a loud bang against the hardwood floor before tipping over.
    “Apologize to Valentina immediately!” Dante commanded, his voice carrying a chilling authority.
    Leo stubbornly crossed his arms and glared at me fiercely, refusing to apologize.
    Isabella immediately stepped forward, her posture slightly bent as if bearing immense pressure.
    She lowered her head and began to sob.
    “Don’t yell at him, Dante,” she said between sobs. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t raise him right. I’m a terrible mother.”
    I looked around, feeling the critical gazes of the family wives darting through the open door.
    I waved my hand, my tone calm and composed.
    “Go take care of your family, Dante,” I said peacefully.
    Dante looked hesitant. He looked at my stained dress, then at his crying ex-wife and sick child.
    Ultimately, he yielded to duty. He picked up the boy and hurriedly left the restaurant, with Isabella following closely behind.
    I sat alone at the dining table.
    Picking up a napkin, I calmly wiped the wine stains from my skin, refusing to let a single tear fall.
    I looked over at the musicians, who stood frozen in the corner.
    “Keep playing,” I ordered.
    After dinner, I used my own black card to pay the exorbitant bill.
    A waiter approached me nervously.
    “Miss Rossi, would you still like your birthday cake?” he asked cautiously.
    “Bring it,” I replied.
    They brought out a small, delicate cake, and I lit the single candle.
    I made a silent wish in my heart.
    I wished for complete freedom, to be rid of all chains.
    After blowing out the candle, I took a picture of the cake and uploaded it to the family’s secure network.
    I didn’t add any caption.
    As I walked out of the club, my phone vibrated.
    Dante had sent a long text message, desperately apologizing for what just happened.
    Immediately following that was a bank transfer notification. He had wired another three million dollars into my account.
    That night, I sat on the couch in the new safehouse.
    The room was completely silent. What broke the quiet was not a sound, but a subtle shift in air pressure.
    Then, the hinges let out a faint friction sound.
    My hand instinctively reached into the crevice of the sofa cushion, my fingertips touching the cold, hard grip of a gun.
    The dim yellow light from the hallway spilled through the crack in the door as the lock turned and the door slowly pushed open.
    Dante walked in, holding a brown paper bag containing my favorite takeout.
    He placed the food on the coffee table, sat down next to me, and tried to pull me into his arms.
    “Leo’s heart rate spiked suddenly, and I had to take him to the clinic. You have to understand me, Valentina.”
    I calmly placed my hand on his chest and pushed him away.
    “No explanation needed,” I said.
    Dante frowned, a flash of obvious panic in his eyes.
    He sensed a fundamental shift in my attitude.
    “You are too quiet,” he said. “Why aren’t you arguing with me?”
    “Because I don’t care anymore,” I replied coldly.
    Dante stared at me, clenching his jaw, his expression turning dangerous.
    Before he could probe further, I quickly appeased his ego, reaching out to gently touch his cheek.
    “You are a good father, Dante. I admire that about you.”
    Dante let out a long breath, leaning into my palm.
    “I swear on my life, once the boy recovers, we will have a grand wedding, and you will become my wife.”
    Right then, his burner phone rang, the harsh ringtone shattering the brief, fragile moment.
    He glanced at the screen. It was Leo.
    He answered the phone and pressed it to his ear.
    “Dad, I want to hear a bedtime story!” the child’s voice came through the phone, thick with tears.
    In the background, Isabella’s voice could be heard softly humming a lullaby, with that kind of softness that carried a manipulative undertone.
    Dante showed a hesitant expression again, turning to look at me with pleading eyes.
    I stood up and waved toward the door. “Go.”
    Dante stood up, dropped a kiss on my cheek, grabbed his coat, and hurried out of the room.
    He left in such a rush that the phone remained connected.
    I stood in the center of the empty living room, listening to his footsteps gradually fade in the hallway, eventually completely cut off by the muffled thud of the heavy fire door.
    A moment later, a low-frequency vibration came up from the floorboards. It was the sound of an engine starting on the street below.
    On the other end of the line, the woman’s lullaby still hadn’t stopped.
    I picked up the phone, pressed the end-call button, the screen went black, and the entire apartment was left with only the low hum of the refrigerator.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • My Foolish Husband’s Regret Comes Late novel by Edik Brandwein

    My Foolish Husband's Regret Comes Late novel by Edik Brandwein

    👉 READ NOW

    For three years, I secretly used my hidden network of connections to build my husband’s pathetic mafia syndicate into the absolute pinnacle of this city.
    Tonight was supposed to be the birthday dinner where I planned to finally reveal my true identity to him.
    Instead, Cassio left me all alone in that high-end restaurant and froze every single one of my accounts.
    Hours later, he returned with his mistress Lola and a group of heavily armed men.
    “You have nothing. No power, no money. You are completely worthless,” Lola sneered triumphantly, viciously smashing a bottle of vintage red wine at my feet before landing a hard punch to my jaw.
    He announced to the roaring crowd of mobsters that I was being cast aside.
    Then, he gave me a cruel ultimatum.
    If I couldn’t produce three hundred thousand dollars in thirty minutes, his men would strip me naked and throw me out onto the street, leaving me to be publicly humiliated for the entire city to see.
    Those sleazy capos closed in on me, staring with the greedy eyes of predators sizing up their prey.
    Looking at the man I had married out of genuine love, I finally understood that our wedding vows were nothing but a carefully calculated experiment to him.
    He truly believed I was just a helpless, penniless woman whom he could trample on at will just to please his mistress.
    He had no idea that I was Serena Falcone, the legendary heiress of the most cold-blooded mafia family on the East Coast.
    When the countdown ended and his men reached out to tear my dress, I calmly picked up a phone and summoned my real family.
    It was time to burn his entire empire to the ground!

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    My Foolish Husband’s Regret Comes Late Chapter 1

    Serena’s POV
    I sat alone at a banquet table meant for twenty. The polished mahogany surface reflected my solitary silhouette. The restaurant manager, who had been bowing and scraping before me just an hour ago, now wore a contemptuous sneer. He arrogantly informed me that my accounts had been frozen. He gave me exactly ten minutes to come up with a “compensation fee” of three hundred thousand dollars, or else he would have his men “escort” me to the back alley.
    A waiter slammed the leather bill folder onto the table, the sharp smack echoing harshly in the vast, empty restaurant. I stared at the astronomical figure on the receipt, feeling a wave of disorientation.
    This was supposed to be my birthday dinner.
    Three years ago, I married the boss of the Greco crime family, Cassio Greco. Tonight, he brought me to this famous mob-affiliated French restaurant, ordered a lavish spread of dishes and vintage wine, and promised me that his inner circle would arrive shortly. Then, he pressed a cold kiss to my cheek, made an excuse about taking a phone call, and walked out the front doors.
    I waited for three hours. The candles burned out, and the restaurant emptied. Not a single person showed up.
    I reached into my designer bag for my black card, only to find the cold surface of my compact mirror.
    An astringent sourness rose in my throat, and a numbing sensation spread from my fingertips through my entire body.
    Cassio had taken the card from my bag before we even left the penthouse, claiming he would handle all the expenses.
    I picked up my phone and dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. Seconds later, the screen flickered and went completely dark—the battery was dead.
    The restaurant manager marched over to my table, his previous subservient demeanor entirely gone. With his arms crossed, he looked down at me condescendingly, his eyes failing to hide his hostility as he demanded to know if I had an alternative payment method.
    I told him my husband would be back any minute.
    The manager let out a dry, abrasive laugh. He reminded me that the mafia never allows debts to be delayed, regardless of whose wife it is.
    Then, a flicker of cruelty flashed in his eyes as he deliberately brought up what happened to Lola last month.
    Lola was Cassio’s secretary, but within the syndicate, it was an open secret that she was his mistress.
    Last month, I discovered that she had been abusing a credit card the family had given me, buying piles of luxury bags and jewelry, all while spreading rumors that I was nothing but a useless trophy wife.
    To strike back at her blatant disrespect, I froze the illicit accounts she used for her spending sprees, which left her unable to pay off a massive debt she had racked up at an underground casino.
    She was briefly detained and taught a lesson by the family’s enforcers, and it was Cassio who eventually bailed her out.
    When I confronted Cassio about it, he brushed my actions off as the “jealousy of an aging woman,” completely dismissing the insult she had dealt to our marriage vows.
    Now, looking at the predatory smile on the manager’s face, a dark certainty settled in my heart.
    This was all Cassio’s meticulously planned revenge, all for the sake of his mistress.
    As if summoned by my very thoughts, the air across the restaurant suddenly shifted. The heavy oak doors creaked loudly on their hinges, and the distant clatter of cutlery abruptly ceased.
    Cassio strolled into the restaurant, his arm wrapped tightly around Lola’s waist, pulling her flush against his side.
    A trailing entourage of armed goons and drunk, corrupt businessmen followed them in, their faces flushed with alcohol and the eager anticipation of a good show.
    Cassio stopped a few paces away from me, his gaze sweeping over me with utter disdain.
    He deliberately projected his voice, letting it echo theatrically into every corner of the room: “Since you love punishing people who can’t pay their bills so much, it’s only right you experience that exact humiliation for yourself.”
    The onlookers began to whisper. “Gold-digging bitch,” “Slept her way to the top,” and “Now she’s finally getting tossed out.”
    My husband had personally designed this brutal public execution, tearing my dignity to shreds.
    Cassio pulled out a chair, seating Lola at the table next to mine as if attending to a queen, loudly promising that he would avenge her. Lola slowly pressed her lips to Cassio’s in a deeply possessive kiss.
    Then, she turned to me, her eyes brimming with smug malice: “What right does a useless, ordinary woman like you have to freeze my accounts?”
    Before I could answer, Lola grabbed a bottle of reserve red wine from the ice bucket and hurled it viciously at my feet.
    The glass shattered. The dark red liquid splashed over my calves, staining my white silk dress like fresh blood.
    “You are nothing!” Lola shrieked. “You have no money, no power! Cassio pays for me, but you have absolutely nothing!”
    Cassio sneered, taking his time to light a cigar. He told me that if I could come up with the cash, I could pay the bill and get the hell out. The crowd erupted into roaring laughter. One of his associates pointed at me and shouted that without Cassio’s protection, I was nothing but a lamb waiting to be slaughtered in this city.

    My Foolish Husband’s Regret Comes Late Chapter 2

    Serena’s POV
    Cassio raised a hand, and the grating laughter in the room instantly died down.
    His voice rang out loud and clear in the sudden silence, carrying an unquestionable authority as he issued a public decree.
    “Anyone who dares to help her tonight makes an enemy of the entire Greco family.”
    A few legitimate business partners who had been secretly shooting me looks of pity immediately shrank back into their chairs, their eyes darting away, terrified of drawing the mafia’s wrath.
    Low murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, and I could clearly hear some bold whispers noting that the boss obviously favored his young, beautiful mistress over his own wife.
    That was the moment my heart shattered.
    I stood up, the wine-soaked dress clinging to me like a freezing shroud. I grabbed the lapels of Cassio’s tailored suit, consumed by fury: “You orchestrated this entire humiliation just to elevate your mistress?”
    Cassio stared at my hands gripping him with pure disgust. Instead of answering, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face with brutal force.
    The sheer impact threw me back into my chair. The metallic taste of blood instantly bloomed in my mouth as he finally spat out a single, cold word: “Yes.”
    I sat there in a daze, the stinging in my cheek the only thing grounding me to reality.
    In a trance, my mind drifted back to our wedding three years ago. He had sworn before God and the family that he would protect me with his life. Now it was clear that the dignity of a mafia wife was nothing but a laughable lie.
    I married Cassio out of pure love, not for wealth. The deepest irony was that it was precisely because I secretly used my hidden network to clear his path that his once-insignificant family was pushed to the apex of the city.
    Yet, Cassio felt no gratitude. He casually pulled a linen napkin and slowly wiped the hand he had just used to strike me, as if he had touched something filthy. Watching his movements, I finally realized that these three years of marriage were an absolute scam.
    He scoffed, tossing the soiled napkin onto my lap. He leaned down, his breath, heavy with the scent of whiskey, fanning across my face.
    “If you can’t pay,” he said, his voice lethal, “I’ll have the manager strip your clothes off. My men will throw you out into the street and let the whole city see what happens to you.”
    The vicious threat drew a chorus of laughter. The men in the crowd raked their sickening gazes over my body. They muttered among themselves that Serena Greco was finished—I had officially been stripped of the title of the Don’s wife.
    Over by the mahogany bar, a few greasy, middle-aged capos lazily swirled their drinks, openly evaluating my chest and legs, their eyes flashing with the excited anticipation of watching me be publicly humiliated.
    I could even hear them crudely making bets on who would get the privilege of dragging me out the door.
    I looked up at Cassio. The man I thought I knew was gone, replaced by an absolute demon.
    The card slot in my purse was empty—he had taken it back at the penthouse.
    The flashing low-battery warning was no accident either.
    The conspiracy of this public execution finally pieced itself together in my mind. He had even calculated the delay in my ability to call for help, savoring every second of my torment.
    The manager took a step closer, slipping a gleaming brass knuckle over his fingers. He smiled obsequiously at Cassio: “Boss, should I start tearing her clothes off now?”

    My Foolish Husband’s Regret Comes Late Chapter 3

    Serena’s POV
    Lola stood up, her stiletto heels clicking sharply and urgently against the smooth marble floor. She stalked toward me step by step, her gaze like a knife.
    “Where is the protection fee, Serena?” Her tone was sickeningly sweet but as deadly as a viper. “I demand you pay up immediately.”
    She had no intention of letting this go, smugly bringing up old scores. Even the time she was locked in the syndicate’s holding cell for maxing out my card and spent the whole night crying had somehow become a badge of honor for her to flaunt.
    She pulled a cigarette from her designer bag, lit it, and leaned in, blowing a thick cloud of smoke directly into my face. Through the acrid haze, she smiled arrogantly, acting as if she possessed a death-immunity card bestowed by Cassio himself.
    I didn’t hesitate.
    I shot to my feet, raised my hand, and slapped her across the face with everything I had. The crisp smack echoed through the suddenly dead-silent room.
    Lola shrieked and stumbled backward, dropping her cigarette. Sparks flew, burning a scorch mark into the pristine white tablecloth.
    Cassio roared, a deep bellow exploding from deep within his chest. Infuriated that I dared to strike his mistress in public, he flew into a rage and immediately signaled his enforcers to intervene.
    Two massive goons lunged at me. Their rough, calloused hands clamped down on my collarbones like iron vises, their thumbs digging deeply into the hollows of my shoulders. The pain forced a sharp gasp from my lips.
    They forcefully shoved me back into the chair, pinning me heavily against the mahogany backrest.
    I glared at Cassio, my chest heaving.
    “Why do you get to trample on the very bottom line of loyalty,” I said, my voice trembling but filled with suppressed rage, “while I don’t even have the right to fight back?”
    My heart was as cold as frost, a murderous intent surging beneath the surface.
    It was the ultimate irony. The Greco family had only managed to become the top syndicate in the city within three short years because I had secretly mobilized my family’s massive power to clear their obstacles.
    Originally, at tonight’s birthday dinner, I had planned to reveal my true identity.
    I was going to tell him the truth: that I am the heiress of the Falcone family, the descendant of the most powerful, cold-blooded mafia empire on the East Coast.
    I even intended to bring him into my family’s inner circle and introduce him to my father—the supreme mafia don.
    I never expected him to design such a despicable betrayal.
    But in those three hours of lonely waiting, a monumental shift had occurred within me.
    Before my phone died, I sent one last encrypted message, ordering my syndicate’s legal advisory team to immediately draft the severance papers.
    “Cassio, do you really plan to let me walk out of here in such disgrace?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm and flat.
    Cassio sneered, casually adjusting his gold cufflinks.
    “Serena, this humiliation is exactly what I designed,” he admitted smugly, a flash of cruel satisfaction in his eyes. “It’s meant to put a pathetic commoner right back where she belongs.”
    Taking advantage of the goons pinning me down, Lola stepped forward, her face twisted in rage.
    She clenched her fist and punched me hard in the jaw.
    My head snapped back, my vision blurring for a second as the coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth.
    Before I could recover, Lola violently grabbed my hair. A sharp pain shot through my scalp as she forced my head up, making me look directly at her.
    She gave me a choice.
    “You can either be thrown into the syndicate’s underground cells and let the men have their fun with you,” her hot, foul breath hit my face, “or you can crawl out that door on your knees like a dog.”
    I balled my hands into tight fists, focusing so hard that even the searing pain in my scalp felt distant.
    I looked straight at Cassio, completely ignoring Lola as if she were nothing but a buzzing fly.
    I made a cold vow, my voice low and icy.
    “When the Greco family is reduced to ashes, Cassio,” I said, barely above a whisper, “the blood of every single one of your men will be on your hands.”
    Lola let out a grating, fake laugh, giving my hair one last vicious tug before letting go.
    The surrounding socialites and mob bosses joined in her mockery, their laughter echoing off the marble walls, sneering at me as if I were a delusional heroine in some cheap romance novel.
    “Is she having a psychotic break?” one of the capos by the bar sneered.
    Infuriated by my unyielding attitude, Cassio grabbed a half-eaten plate of steak from the table and hurled it at me with a curse.
    The heavy ceramic plate slammed into my shoulder and shattered. Scalding grease and black pepper sauce slid across my exposed skin, adding another filthy stain to my already ruined dress.
    “Stop bluffing, you crazy bitch! Pay your debt!” he roared.
    Taking the cue, the restaurant manager approached with a dozen heavily armed thugs. He expertly racked the slide of his pistol, the crisp click cutting through the crowd’s laughter as he coldly asked how I intended to settle the bill.
    The goons loosened their grip on me slightly, allowing me to stand. I scanned the hostile crowd, my eyes slowly sweeping across the sea of betrayal.
    I locked eyes with a legitimate businessman who used to work with the Greco family.
    Ignoring the guns pointed at me, I walked straight toward him.
    The man shrank back into the leather booth, terrified that I would ask him for money and draw Cassio’s wrath.
    “Relax,” I said in a low voice dripping with utter contempt. “I just want to borrow your phone to call my family so they can bring the money.”
    The room erupted into roaring laughter once again.
    “An ordinary family is going to pay off a mafia debt?” someone from the crowd mocked loudly.
    Lola pointed her perfectly manicured finger at the trembling businessman.
    “Give her the phone,” she ordered.
    She turned to me with a cold smirk and announced, “You have thirty minutes, Serena.”
    Pointing toward the bar, she threatened that if the money didn’t arrive by then, that fat, sleazy capo would publicly humiliate me and strip me bare.
    The capo slowly licked his lips, taking a step forward with the excited gleam of a beast staring down dying prey.

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