Call Me Cutie
17 Published Stories
Call Me Cutie's Books and Stories
The Alpha's Rejected Mate: Awakening The Secret White Wolf
Werewolf For three years, my family's merchant wealth filled the empty vaults of the Obsidian Pack. I was their Luna, bleeding to keep them afloat.
But my Alpha mate, Xander, spent my gold on his childhood friend Serena, while his mother secretly fed me Wolfsbane mixed with silver dust to destroy my fertility.
They drained my private dowry to buy Serena a mansion and plotted to kill me so she could take my place.
When I suffered a severe hemorrhage from their poison, Xander's mother locked my door and priced a cheap pine coffin for me.
Even when I risked my life to save a royal pup and got crushed by a burning silver beam, Xander only rushed to comfort Serena's fake tears.
"Look what you are doing! You are cruel, Wynne."
He used his Alpha Command to force me to my knees, accusing me of bullying a sick orphan while my own flesh was melting from the silver.
I didn't marry up; I bought him. I gave them everything, but they treated my life like worthless dirt to make room for his true love.
I finally realized that this mate bond was nothing but a rotting chain around my neck.
When the Supreme Luna asked what royal grace I desired for saving the pup, I dragged my bleeding, ruined body to the center of the hall.
"I ask for permission to reject my Alpha, Xander."
I spoke calmly, ready to tear down his pack brick by brick. I Was Kidnapped, He Married His First Love
Romance When the kidnapper pressed a tactical knife to Falon's throat and demanded a one-million-dollar ransom, she was certain her fiancé would pay.
Instead, Jerod's annoyed voice echoed through the speaker. He was busy cutting a cake with his fragile, manipulative mistress, Abby.
"Do whatever you want with her," Jerod told the thug. "I am done."
The call disconnected. Left to die, Falon was injected with a lethal black-market aphrodisiac. She fought her way out, escaping into the freezing rain, and threw herself at the mercy of a stranger in a black Maybach. That stranger was Bell Farrell, a ruthless billionaire and Jerod's biggest corporate rival. To survive the burning drug and shatter the memories of her fiancé's betrayal, she gave herself to the devil that night.
The next morning, Falon woke up in a stranger's bed, staring at her bruised skin. For four years, she had endured her abusive family's cruelty, watching them treat her fake, adopted sister like a princess while using Falon as a corporate pawn. She had compromised everything for Jerod, only to be thrown away like garbage.
Why did she have to suffer while the people who destroyed her played the victims?
Falon took off her five-carat engagement ring and threw it in the trash.
She put on a sharp black suit and crashed her family's elite ballroom gala, ready to burn their high-society facade to the ground. The Villainess Stepmother's Ruthless New Life
Modern I woke up with a splitting headache and a pinstriped lawyer shoving a contract in my face, demanding I sign away my rights to the Sterling estate. My husband, the billionaire Arthur Sterling, had been missing for three months after a plane crash, and everyone assumed he was dead.
The lawyer sneered, threatening to leak compromising photos of my "shopping trips" if I didn't accept a measly fifty-thousand-dollar settlement. That was when the horrifying reality hit me: I had transmigrated into the body of Gloria Peck, the gold-digging villainess of the novel *The Sterling Legacy*.
In the original story, I signed the papers, abandoned Arthur's children, and ended up frozen to death on a park bench after the family's eldest son, Jones, grew up to destroy me. But my current reality was even more desperate-I discovered I had five million dollars in gambling debts and debt collectors who didn't take "no" for an answer.
Signing that paper wasn't a fresh start; it was a death sentence. Jones, Arthur's fourteen-year-old son, sat in the corner of the office, watching me with a hatred so cold it felt like a physical weight on my skin.
I realized that if I followed the script, I would die. If I played the victim, I would die. I was trapped between a predatory legal team, a vengeful stepson, and a mountain of debt that fifty thousand dollars couldn't even begin to touch.
How could I survive in a world where I was the most hated woman in the city, with a bank account that held exactly five hundred dollars and a target on my back?
I didn't pick up the pen to sign. Instead, I slammed it into the mahogany table, piercing the heart of the agreement.
"This contract is garbage," I told the stunned lawyer.
Just as I prepared to fight for my life, the office door swung open, and Arthur Sterling-the man the world thought was dead-walked back into his empire, his eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity. The script was officially broken, and I was just getting started. His Betrayal, My Beautiful Rebirth
Modern I was the secret girlfriend of rising political star Kellen Jefferson, and the sacrifice he made thirty-eight times to appease his manipulative sister, Cherrelle.
Her cruelty escalated from ruining my career to pushing me off a stage, breaking my wrist. Kellen covered it up.
He chose her again when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, covering up the attempted murder. He chose her when he publicly kissed her after she framed me for stalking.
But the moment that truly killed my love was when I was abducted. I called him, begging for help. He never answered.
Later, I saw the video: he watched my call come in and, at his sister' s urging, let it go to voicemail. He abandoned me to die.
After escaping with my life, I disappeared.
Two years later, he saw my face on the cover of a magazine-a celebrated artist with a new life and a new love. And he finally understood what he had lost. Love's Shadow, A Billionaire's Tears
Mafia He broke my heart ninety-nine times, but it was the last one that finally killed my love for him.
At his family's party, his new girl theatrically stumbled, pulling us both into the pool. My heavy gown dragged me down, and I gasped for air, reaching for him.
But he shoved right past me. He saved her.
Through the chlorinated water, I heard his voice, sharp and clear for everyone to hear. "Your life is no longer my problem."
The world went silent. My love for him died in that pool.
But the final humiliation came a week later, at a high-stakes poker game. He kissed her in front of everyone, a brutal, public execution of my worth.
Then he looked straight at me, his voice booming across the silent room. "She's a much better kisser than you ever were."
Later that night, I overheard him talking to his second-in-command. "I'll keep her around long enough to make Ellie jealous. Give it a few weeks. She'll come crawling back, begging me to take her back. She always does."
My love, my pain, my heartbreak—it was all just a game to him.
So I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I went home, opened my laptop, and applied to a university in New York. This wasn't a threat. This was a burial. My Fairytale Was A Cruel Lie
Young Adult I was the scholarship kid at Westbrook University, dating the star quarterback, Gage Barton. Everyone on campus thought I was living a fairytale, the brilliant girl from the wrong side of the tracks who had captured the prince's heart. My roommate, Cayden, was my best friend, the one I trusted with all my secrets.
But my fairytale was a lie. My prince was a cruel narcissist who saw me as his pet project, and my best friend was a snake who secretly slept with him, seething with jealousy over everything I had earned.
Their betrayal culminated in an act of pure evil. Using my own laptop, Cayden permanently deleted my entire thesis-one hundred and twelve pages of research that represented my only ticket out of their world. My future was gone in a single click.
When I confronted them, they laughed. "It's just a stupid paper," Gage sneered, accusing me of deleting it myself to save face. They stood together, a united front of privilege and cruelty, believing they had finally broken me.
But they were wrong. I calmly walked over to Cayden's desk, where her own laptop was open, her final project displayed on the screen. Next to it sat a full glass of water. I picked it up and poured it directly onto the keyboard.
The screen sparked, then went black.
As she shrieked in horror, I repeated his words back to her, my voice cold as ice. "It's just a stupid project. Why are you making such a big drama out of it?" Reborn Without Sarah
Romance My wife, Sarah, always had a radiant smile, bright and flawless, just like the diamond necklace she wore. Everyone at the party, celebrating the pinnacle of my architectural career, saw us as the perfect couple, living in a stunning penthouse. But beneath the facade, a chilling rot was eating away at our foundation.
Two weeks ago, hunting for a charging cable in Sarah' s car, I stumbled upon a burner phone. It lit up, revealing not just flirtatious texts, but explicit photos and mocking conversations between my beautiful wife and my ambitious mentee, Alex. They called me "The Old Man," a relic to be managed.
The discovery was a physical blow, turning my decade-long marriage into a carefully constructed lie. Every shared glance, every subtle touch between them became a dagger. I saw Alex meticulously undermining me, charming clients, systematically taking over not just my marriage, but my entire company. The pain of betrayal was excruciating, but the calm that settled over me was even more terrifying.
How could I have been so blind? How could the woman I built a life for, the man I trusted like a brother, conspire so intricately against me? The architect in me, trained to see structures and systems, knew one thing: this wasn't just an affair; it was a planned takeover.
So, I gripped the cold metal railing of my penthouse balcony, the city lights blurring below. I wouldn't just leave. They wouldn't find me. I would disappear completely, to die and be reborn as someone else, someone who didn't remember the name Sarah. And my final design would be my escape. His Unwanted Wife, Her Unspoken Sacrifice
Sci-fi The morning after my wedding, I found myself in a cold interrogation room.
My beautiful white dress was gone, replaced by a gray jumpsuit that felt rough and alien.
My new husband, Ethan, looked at me like I was a monster, shattering the dream we'd built.
They accused me of murdering his entire family at our wedding brunch, a twisted nightmare beyond comprehension.
I knew the truth, but I couldn't speak, bound by a terrible secret that protected him.
But then, Ethan strapped me to a terrifying memory-reading machine, broadcasting my deepest secrets to the world.
He believed it would expose my guilt, confirming the monstrous betrayal he saw in me.
He didn't know it would rip open a decade of manipulation and unveil the real killer, destroying the very foundations of his life.
He demanded the truth, but what if the truth was far more horrific than any lie? The Game She Played
Fantasy The doctor's words echoed, a distant hum, yet crystal clear: "Congratulations, Mrs. Prescott, you're pregnant!" My husband Ethan beamed beside me, his grip on my hand tightening, a wide, genuine smile lighting his face – the kind of pure joy I hadn't seen in far too long. He pulled me into a hug, his voice booming with happiness that filled the sterile room.
But a cold dread pierced me, deeper than any clinic air conditioning. This exact moment. I remembered it.
In my last life, this pregnancy, this supposed joy, became the very weapon they used against me. Chloe, Ethan's first choice, the woman he was supposed to marry, had returned. She feigned concern, using her 'wellness expertise' facade to get close. She then whispered poison in Ethan' s ear, painting me as a burden, before orchestrating my 'accident' – a fall that led to the tragic loss of my child, and soon after, my own broken, wasted death. I could still hear Chloe's voice, soft and venomous, as I lay bleeding: "You were always beneath us, Ava. Just in the way."
That memory burned, a raw wound in my soul. The sheer injustice of their cruelty, the depths of their betrayal, still sent ice through my veins. How could I have been so naive, so easily discarded? The confusion, the despair from that past life resurfaced, potent and suffocating.
But this time, I was ready. The knowledge wasn't a shroud, but a shield. I blinked, forcing a fragile smile. My new goal was clear, etched in the pain of my past: survive, protect my child, and utterly destroy them. His Thoughts, Her Weapon
Young Adult The familiar AP Computer Science lab hummed, a painful reminder of last year's public humiliation.
My innovative app, once celebrated, shockingly showed abysmal results, while my boyfriend Ethan and Brittany unveiled an identical project, claiming victory.
My mentor' s disbelief, the principal' s shame, and my parents' crushing humiliation broke me.
Accused of fabrication, I spiraled into a dark, isolating breakdown.
Now, back in the lab for senior year, the wound still fresh, Ethan sat beside me, his voice a disarming lull.
Then, a thought, loud and sickeningly clear, echoed in my mind: "Keep coding, Maya! Every line brings me and Brittany closer to that MIT scholarship! Haha!"
My blood froze; this wasn't clairvoyance, but a chilling memory of his internal monologue, played just for me.
My dream, stolen by them, confirmed by his own mind - how was this possible?
The origin of this bizarre ability didn't matter; knowing the truth, I suddenly had a second chance.
They' d made their move, but they had no idea who they were truly dealing with this time. The Heiress Who Rose From The Ashes
Romance I loved Blake Vanderbilt with everything I had.
He was my world, and when he told me about his rare, career-ending nerve condition, my heart truly shattered.
The experimental treatment was $80,000, a fortune for a struggling songwriter like me, but I would do anything.
So, I sold my father's most treasured possession, a vintage 1959 Gibson Les Paul, the last piece I had of him.
Handing over that guitar felt like losing a piece of my soul, but it was for Blake, for us, for our music.
Days later, bringing him cookies at his upscale clinic, I overheard voices from a half-open door.
"Can you believe she actually sold it?" Chloe Astor's mocking laugh cut through me.
Then Blake's voice, clear and strong, "Eighty grand, straight into my account. Paid for this lovely clinic visit, and Chloe's new demo."
My blood ran cold.
They had laughed about my sacrifice, my tears, and planned to play a video of my heartbreak at a party – my birthday party.
The cookies clattered to the floor, my world crumbling around me.
He was healthy, radiant, and everything had been a lie.
The betrayal knocked the air from my lungs.
How could someone I loved so deeply be so monstrously cruel?
Weeks later, after being publicly humiliated and assaulted by Chloe's friends, waking up in a hospital bed with stitches in my head, I received a cryptic text.
It was from a lawyer, informing me that my long-lost grandfather, a legendary music mogul, had just passed away.
And he'd left his entire multi-million dollar estate to me. The Sterling Legacy: Toy's Love, Lily's Voice
Billionaires My older sister just married a rich man, Jim Sterling.
I’m an 8-year-old girl who can’t speak, suddenly flung into a world of grand mansions and glittering parties.
But this supposed fairytale quickly turned into a profound nightmare.
Adults whispered "charity case" behind my back.
Girls at school sneered "mute freak," and one even tried to exploit my stepfather’s generosity for her own father’s business.
My new step-grandmother, Marian, saw me as nothing but an obstacle, actively plotting to drive my sister and me away.
She even manipulated my biological father, a terrifying ghost from my darkest past, into a chilling encounter, hoping to prove I was "unsuitable" for this new life.
Why did everyone see my silence as a weakness, a flaw?
Why was the cruelty so relentless?
My voicelessness had always made me a target, and now the malicious whispers threatened to drown me entirely.
But then, an unexpected truth began to emerge.
My stepfather, Jim, stood firm as my unwavering protector, publicly claiming me as his daughter and establishing a trust fund in my name.
My step-siblings, initially distant, slowly began to rally around me.
And the terrifying plot orchestrated by Marian was exposed by Jim's relentless investigation.
Would I remain a silent victim, forever defined by my past trauma and the cruel words of others?
Or could I, the 'mute freak,' finally find my voice, not just in whispers, but in a roar that would redefine my future and claim my true place in this world? The Man Who Valued Money Over Life
Romance For seven years, I was with Blake, my ambitious Silicon Valley boyfriend. He told me he was building a dream, always "testing" my independence to prove I was with him for love, not money. I believed him, working tirelessly to pay my equal share.
Then, my mom got critically ill, needing a $2000 scan so urgent it couldn't wait for insurance. I begged Blake for a loan, promising to pay him back, stressing it was a matter of life and death. He coldly refused, hid behind his "principles," and dismissed my desperation as a "test" of my resilience.
Three agonizing days later, my mother died.
Amidst my grief, a sickening truth began to unravel. Blake wasn't a struggling founder; he was a silent multi-millionaire, secretly lavishing gifts worth hundreds of thousands on another woman. I found texts where he mocked me to his friends, calling my plea a "handout" and my situation "desperate."
How could the man I loved and supported for seven years be so monstrous? How could he let my mother die over $2000 he casually spent on jewelry? The betrayal sliced deeper than any knife.
But the final twist was the cruelest: Blake secretly owned the coffee shop where I worked for minimum wage. Not only that, he had been systematically diverting my earned bonuses—including a $2000 payment right when I needed it—into his own private account. The money I had *earned* for my mom’s life, he had stolen. That day, my grief turned into an ice-cold rage, and I knew exactly what I had to do. The Voiceless Victim's Vengeance
Modern My life was a symphony, building to a crescendo with the "Tomorrow's Country Star" finale.
I was Emily Carter, a singer-songwriter on the cusp of realizing my dreams, my heart entwined with Jake Myers, a music producer, and the creative force behind my most personal work, "Heartland Echoes."
Then, in a shocking betrayal that ripped my world apart, Jake, along with his 'college sweetheart' Brittany Sloane, presented *my* masterpiece as hers on national television.
The internet screamed "Plagiarist!" and "Fraud!" as my reputation crumbled to ashes.
The public crucifixion that followed was a living nightmare; the shame coiled around me until I couldn't breathe.
My parents, heartbroken and broken by the endless harassment directed at me, withered away, leaving me utterly alone before I, too, succumbed to the despair and the dark.
From that desolate void, I was forced to watch my betrayers prosper.
Jake and Brittany thrived, building their careers on the bones of my tragedy, even laughing about "Emily Who?" in the privacy of a hot mic.
To be reduced to a meme, to die knowing they got away with it, to watch them celebrate their sordid triumph – the injustice was an acid in my soul, fueling a rage beyond measure.
But fate, it seemed, wasn't done with me yet.
One blinding moment, I was back, returned to the critical juncture before my public downfall, grasping a second chance, and armed with a terrible knowledge: a medical diagnosis that, in my previous life, had seemed a curse, but was now the key to my twisted opportunity.
This time, I would sacrifice my voice for vengeance, and the narrative would be entirely mine. His First Love, My Son's Grave
Fantasy For years, I, an Apache Spirit Guide, brought blessings to the Maxwell ranch, transforming its barren soil into fertile land through ancient ways.
My marriage to Ethan had sealed a sacred pact, and our son, Kay, was a vibrant symbol of this union, his laughter echoing through the canyons.
Then, Sophia Kincaid, Ethan’s past love, reappeared.
She claimed to be pregnant with his child and, manipulated by a shady psychic, demanded Kay’s sacred turquoise amulet—a protection blessed by my elders—to ensure her baby’s “destiny.”
Ethan, blinded by Sophia’s charm, violently ripped the amulet from our five-year-old son’s neck.
Kay died that night, bleeding and gasping in my arms, while Ethan, oblivious to his son's violent pineapple allergy, entertained Sophia.
My grief was absolute, yet for him, it was merely an inconvenience.
Publicly humiliated, forced to drink a vile potion stealing my fertility, my hands brutally broken by Ethan himself, I wondered: how could the man I loved, the father of my child, descend into such monstrous cruelty?
Lying broken and bleeding in the dust, the man I married abandoned me.
But as darkness threatened to consume me, my ancestors whispered, igniting a new fire within.
Now, I, Wind Walker, have returned to my people, ready to embrace my true power and witness the Maxwell legacy crumble, just as Ethan’s soul did. You might like
The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen
Shore Tour I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire.
On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own.
"Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy."
My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry.
He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance.
I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever.
Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network.
The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun. Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Jilted Fiancée? No, The Billionaire Heiress!
Luo Xi I hid my identity as the heiress of a top-tier wealthy family just to build a normal, quiet life with my fiancé, Jefferey.
We had just picked out our dream villa, but a sudden bank notification shattered my illusion.
The entire $7.8 million from our joint trust fund had been wired to a woman named Jessie Barr.
When I hacked into his synced tablet, the truth hit me like a truck. Jessie wasn't just a stranger; she was his secret lover.
They even had a four-year-old son who shared Jefferey's exact eyes.
"The money is in your account. Our future is secure now. I'll leave her soon."
Reading his messages to her, I realized my three years of devotion were nothing but a long con.
I was just the final "project" he needed to fund his real family.
He used my resources, my connections, and my money to build a life in the shadows with his true love, treating me like a naive piggy bank he could discard at any moment.
I had given up my absolute power for a man who fed me nothing but lies.
But Jefferey forgot one crucial detail. I wasn't just some helpless woman he could ruin.
I calmly closed my laptop and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.
"Mom, I was wrong. I'm ready to accept the Romero family's marriage alliance."
It was time to gut his company and take everything he owned. From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." Carved From My Body, His Regret
Ive Gutterson My eyes struggled open, but a heavy weight held them shut. I was paralyzed, trapped in a cold hospital room, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor a cruel reminder of my mother's death. I, Elena Vitiello, who controlled everything, was now helpless, reduced to a slab of meat.
Then I heard his footsteps. Dante. My husband, my anchor. But his voice was chillingly devoid of warmth as he ordered, "Do not increase the dosage. I will not risk damaging the organ's viability." The organ. My mind went blank, ice filling my veins.
Trapped and unable to move, I realized Dante saw me only as a "political placeholder," never loving me. He was having my kidney removed, carved from my body like livestock, to save his mistress, Sofia-the woman whose messes I'd cleaned for ten years. His hand, usually my comfort, smeared away my tear with sheer disgust.
The scalpel tore into my flesh, a blinding, white-hot agony. Every tug and pull hollowed me out, stripping away my potential, my love, my future. How could the man I bled for reduce me to a mere object, a spare part for his true love? The sheer insult of it fueled a volcanic rage.
As my kidney was lifted out, the final illusion of our marriage shattered completely. My fear dissolved, replaced by a chilling, absolute calm. The darkness that embraced me was not defeat, but the coiling silence of a viper preparing to strike. This kidney was not a sacrifice. It was the down payment for Dante Moretti's life. My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. You Called Me Barren, Mr. Sterile Don
Gong Zi On my birthday, my husband Dante asked for a divorce over a plate of cold lasagna.
He held my hand, tears in his eyes, and told me his mistress was pregnant.
"It’s a miracle, Elena," he wept. "God has finally given me a son."
He looked at me with pity, calling me "broken" because I hadn't given him an heir in eight years.
He moved his pregnant mistress into the penthouse I paid for, and his mother mocked me as a "dry vine" while cooking tonic soups for the new woman.
They didn't know the truth I had buried three years ago.
I remembered the day the doctor slid the file across the desk: *Azoospermia. Zero sperm count.*
Dante was the sterile one.
I had burned the results to protect his fragile ego as a Mafia Don. I took the blame. I drank his mother's vile herbal poisons every morning until I vomited, just to keep his secret.
Now, he was discarding me for a "miracle" that was biologically impossible.
I signed the divorce papers without a tear.
Then I bought the debt of his company, put on a blood-red dress, and walked into his heir's Christening.
I didn't come to object.
I came to plug a USB drive into the projector and show the entire underworld exactly whose "miracle" that baby really was. 
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