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Cassandra

11 Published Stories

Cassandra's Books and Stories

The Substitute Bride of the Scarred Billionaire Heir

The Substitute Bride of the Scarred Billionaire Heir

Romance
5.0
I woke up naked in a stranger’s bed aboard the Seraphina, a luxury yacht drifting across the Atlantic. My head was splitting. My dress was torn on the floor. Bruises bloomed across my skin like proof of a crime I couldn’t remember committing. Before I could even scream, the cabin door burst open. My father stood there with my boyfriend behind him, leading a swarm of reporters with flashing cameras. “I have no such daughter. From this day forward, Alaina Romero has nothing to do with the Snyder family.” My father disowned me in front of the world. My boyfriend looked at me like I was filth and ended everything without asking a single question. I had been drugged, framed, and destroyed in one night. When I tried to throw myself into the Atlantic, my stepmother stopped me. Not because she cared. She needed me alive long enough to take her precious daughter’s place in an arranged marriage. If I refused, she would cut off my dying mother’s life support. That was how I became the bride of Dereck Carlisle, the billionaire heir everyone whispered about but no one dared to face. They said he was disfigured. Violent. Half-mad. A monster locked away inside his family’s grand estate. He hated me before we even met. His family treated me like a stain on their name. The servants mocked me. His relatives tried to humiliate me. Someone even tried to scald me with boiling tea. I had lost my family, my reputation, my education, and my future. They thought I would break. But then I saw the monster no one else saw clearly. Dereck Carlisle, shaking in the dark, trapped inside the agony of severe PTSD. I didn’t run. I threw him the handmade herbal sachet my mother taught me to make, and for the first time in years, his demons went quiet. They locked me in a cage and called me a pawn. Fine. I would survive their cage. Then I would make every last one of them regret underestimating me.
Rejected Heiress: My Heartless Family's Regret

Rejected Heiress: My Heartless Family's Regret

Modern
3.6
For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."
Her Husband's Cruel Indifference

Her Husband's Cruel Indifference

Modern
5.0
It was my son Ethan' s fifth birthday, a day meant for celebration. His small hand clutched mine, his eyes wide with the innocent wish to visit the city aquarium. But then, my husband David, a man as imposing as the military jacket he wore, declared his plans had changed, dismissing our son' s hopes with chilling indifference. "The aquarium is for common people." he sneered, his true priority a mistress, Lisa Johnson, and their sordid affair. When I begged for just a few hours, David' s face hardened into a mask of cruel indifference. Ethan, sensing the tension, began to cry softly. "Crying? Over something so trivial?" he scoffed, before scooping Ethan into his arms. My son' s cries turned to shrieks as David strode towards our private lake. "I' m teaching him a lesson," he calmly stated. Before I could react, he tossed our five-year-old son into the dark, cold water. The splash was horribly loud, and Ethan' s small body disappeared, then reappeared, flailing, gasping for air. David stood motionless, watching him drown, "If he' s my son, he' ll survive." I screamed, fighting to reach Ethan, but David' s steel grip held me back, forcing me to watch as my son' s struggles grew weaker, his head bobbing, his small hands slapping the water with less and less force. His eyes, wide with terror, locked on me, a desperate, silent plea. Then his head went under. It didn' t come back up. "He failed," David stated, as I collapsed onto the ground, my life shattered. I returned home to find Ethan' s room being dismantled, his world erased, replaced by a nursery for Lisa' s unborn child. They stood there, smiling, planning their future on the ashes of my son' s life. "Ethan doesn' t need a room anymore, Sarah," David said, his voice laced with that same chilling indifference. "He' s dead!" I shrieked, "You killed him!" His response was a dismissive sigh, and Lisa, cunningly feigning distress for her baby, manipulated David into striking me. His slap echoed in the empty room, stinging my cheek, and in that horrifying moment, I saw the monster he truly was. This wasn' t just indifference; it was pure evil. With his father' s help, I held a small memorial for Ethan, a vigil that David and Lisa callously ignored, even sharing a triumphant kiss in front of our son' s symbolic casket. My heart turned to ice. Then David, in a fit of rage, smashed Ethan' s last photograph and burned his beloved teddy bear, extinguishing the last tangible pieces of my son, and with them, any lingering attachment I had to him. Later, I discovered David was sterile, meaning Lisa' s baby wasn' t his. This wasn' t just betrayal; it was a calculated scheme. Clutching the charred remains of Ethan' s teddy bear' s eye, a searing physical anchor to my unimaginable loss, I walked out of that house and that life with a quiet, resolute dignity. I was done.