Catlaina Sloggett
17 Published Stories
Catlaina Sloggett's Books and Stories
Waking Up To The Mafia Don's Betrayal
Mafia I woke up from a five-year coma, only to find my death certificate filed away—signed by my own husband.
Dante Vitiello, the Don of New York, looked at me like a miracle, but he was holding the hand of another woman.
Sofia Bianchi was wearing my diamonds, living in my house, and standing beside the man I had built an empire for.
But the true betrayal wasn't the mistress. It was my son.
When I reached out to Leo, my baby, he recoiled in terror and buried his face in Sofia's dress.
"Go away!" he screamed.
"Mama Sofia said you're a monster! You're a ghost!"
Sofia smiled at me, a sharp, victorious blade. She didn't just steal my husband; she rewrote my son's memories to make me the villain.
To protect the family alliance, Dante forced me to stay silent.
When Sofia later rammed my car on the racetrack to finish the job, Dante ran past my bleeding body to comfort her over a broken nail.
When she faked a fatal illness, he dragged me from my recovery bed. He forced me to donate my rare blood to save her.
"Do it for the family, Elena," he said, watching the life drain out of me to fill the veins of the woman who destroyed us.
That night, I didn't just leave. I erased myself.
I left my wedding ring on a cliff's edge and let the world believe Elena Vitiello had finally drowned.
Six months later, Dante sat in the audience of a global tech summit in Zurich, desperate to find his dead wife.
I walked onto the stage in a white suit, looking him dead in the eye.
"My name is Kate Harding," I announced.
And I prepared to burn his world to ash. The White Wolf's Secret: Rejected By The Alpha
Werewolf I stood alone at the marble altar, the silence of the temple pressing against my eardrums.
It was my Mating Ceremony, but the groom was missing.
My phone buzzed with a notification: a livestream of my mate, Alpha Cain, skipping our union to welcome my sister, Eris, home.
In the video, he held her like she was fragile glass, captioning it: "True power recognizes true power."
When I returned to the Pack House, humiliated, I wasn't met with an apology.
I was met with a slap from my mother.
Eris, feigning a powerful "Alpha Aura," claimed my mere scent was poisoning her.
To "save" her, my family locked me in my room.
But the true betrayal came when I overheard their hushed whispers through the door.
"Use Vera," my mother said, her voice chillingly practical.
"She recovers fast. We can drain her blood weekly for Eris. She can stay as a servant to raise Cain and Eris's pups."
My blood ran cold.
They didn't just neglect me; they planned to harvest me like livestock.
They thought I was the weak Omega they exiled to the North years ago to peel potatoes.
They had no idea that in the North, I wasn't a servant.
I was Commander V, a warrior forged in ice and blood.
I reached under my bed and pulled out my black tactical duffel.
"Screw the meatloaf," I whispered.
I wasn't just leaving. I was going to war. Hands of Stone, Heart of Vengeance
Short stories My husband told me I was a bad investment, a legacy asset he was forced to liquidate after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a "Muse," a supermodel whose lies were as polished as the magazine covers she graced.
But when her son—the boy Adrian believed was his heir—suffered a sudden allergic reaction, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous chemist who mixed poison to harm an innocent child.
My husband, the man whose empire was built on the scents I created, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he declared that if my hands were used for evil, they shouldn't be used at all. He ordered his security team to bring quick-drying industrial cement.
"Since you can't control these hands, I will seal them forever," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy.
He then had my hands encased in stone and had me displayed in the window of our flagship store, a public spectacle for the world to condemn.
As I stood there, the heavy weight crushing my fingers and my soul, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me.
But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I’d planted in the nursery. And they had no idea that my family controlled the very flowers that kept his empire alive. My Guardian's Kiss, A Bitter Sweet Goodbye
Modern For ten years, I lived with my guardian, Cole, secretly loving him. He was my late brother's best friend, the man I had worshipped since I was eight.
On my eighteenth birthday, I confessed my love with a painting. He ripped it to shreds, roaring, "I am your guardian, for God's sake!" He called my love a pathetic fantasy.
Two months later, he was engaged. He forgot I had a deadly allergy to the mango dessert his fiancée offered me.
Then, one night, he stumbled home drunk, pinned me to my bed, and kissed me while murmuring his fiancée's name. The next morning, he looked at me with disgust.
"What are you doing in my bed, Cora?"
My world shattered. The man who had spoiled me rotten, who promised to protect me forever, now saw me as disgusting and delusional. My decade of devotion had only burned me.
But his cruelty was the final push I needed. I accepted a full scholarship to Juilliard, a one-way ticket out. On his birthday, I packed my bags, deleted his number, and walked out of his life forever. I would never look back. One Night, His Unseen Legacy
Modern After ninety-nine failed attempts to win the heart of the brilliant but cold Dr. Julian Burke, I drugged him for one night of passion. It didn't make him love me. I fled to London in shame.
Three years later, a photo surfaced. It was Julian, smiling tenderly at a younger woman-a dead ringer for his deceased first love.
I flew back to New York to end our sham engagement, but he destroyed me first.
He publicly accused me of leaking his research, and his testimony sent me to prison. While I was inside, I was brutally attacked and lost a kidney. My father, crushed by the scandal, died of a stroke, and I wasn't there to say goodbye.
I was just collateral damage in his twisted atonement for a ghost, a convenient villain to protect her manipulative sister. He let me rot, believing I was a monster.
But he didn't know the secret I carried from that one night.
After my release, I took our son and vanished. I would build a new life, and he would never know the son he abandoned or the woman he truly broke. His Betrayal, Her Bitter Freedom
Modern To save my dying mother, I had to remarry my cheating ex-husband, Braden. He was the only surgeon in the country who could perform the life-saving surgery she needed, so I swallowed my pride and walked back into our gilded cage.
But on the day of the operation, he abandoned her. He left my mother to die on the table for a "personal emergency"-a flat tire with his mistress, Angelina.
When my grief turned to rage, he didn't just dismiss my pain. He used his power to have me declared mentally unstable, bribing doctors and having me dragged away to a psychiatric hospital to silence me forever.
Trapped in a padded cell, stripped of my dignity and my sanity, I realized he had taken everything. My mother, my freedom, my name. The love I once felt for him had curdled into a cold, sharp resolve.
After I escaped, I didn't run into the night. I walked straight into the national medical awards gala where he was being celebrated, ready to burn his perfect life to the ground on live television. From Drowning to Darling: A Second Chance
Romance I walked into City Hall, ready to tear up my marriage application. It was over.
Hours earlier, I woke up in a hospital bed, my fiancé Aubrey beside me, his face a mask of annoyance. He told me to apologize to Kennedy, the woman who had just pushed me into an icy lake, nearly drowning me.
Through the churning water, I had seen Aubrey swim past me, straight to Kennedy, who was faking drowning. He believed her lies, accusing me of attacking her, despite my life-threatening injury.
He dismissed my pain, my sacrifice, and my years of loyalty, all for a woman who had betrayed him in the past. He even used my own values against me, telling me to "put others before yourself."
I was tired. So incredibly tired. The near-drowning had been a baptism. I finally understood: I could not fix this. I could not win his love.
When I returned home, he had already given my precious herbal tea, meant for my chronic pain, to Kennedy. He then demoted me to a guest in my own home, ordering me to cook for her. It was time to burn the last bridge. Betrayed Wife, Unstoppable Rise
Romance My adopted daughter, Lily, was my whole world.
We were playing hide-and-seek in our penthouse when I heard a shriek, cut short, followed by a sickening thud.
I raced to the balcony, only to find my husband' s stepsister, Haylee Walls, standing there, and the railing empty.
On the pavement five floors below, Lily lay still in a pink dress, surrounded by a rapidly spreading pool of red.
My husband, Brighton Castro, rushed out, pulling me into an embrace that felt like a cage. Then, a sharp prick in my neck, and darkness.
When I woke, my eyes were sewn shut.
I was in a cold, damp, derelict building.
Brighton' s mocking chuckle echoed, followed by Haylee' s soft voice. "She can't hurt you anymore," Brighton said. He accused me of insulting Haylee, of throwing her childhood blindness in her face.
"So now," he continued, his voice devoid of warmth, "you can experience it for yourself. Feel what it's like to be blind." His friends laughed as I stumbled, blood trickling from my eyelids.
I didn't understand. My daughter was dead, and my husband, the man who promised to protect us, had done this to me. Why? What kind of monster was he?
But their mockery fueled something else. I stood straight, my hand finding the diamond earring I wore. I pressed it.
"I need a new husband," I said, my voice steady and clear. "Send a helicopter for me in an hour." His Deception, Her True Freedom
Billionaires Five years ago, a car crash shattered my pelvis and my dreams of motherhood. My brilliant tech mogul husband, Ethan, vowed revenge on the driver, Willow Greene, who was obsessed with him. He used his wealth to ensure she rotted in prison, then wrapped me in a cocoon of luxury, convincing me he only needed me.
Then, a miracle happened: two blue lines. I was pregnant, a medical marvel. I wanted to surprise Ethan at his tech conference, to see his joy. But on stage, he introduced the visionary behind his new app: Willow Greene, radiant, confident, and very pregnant.
The world shattered. My life, my perfect marriage, was a meticulously crafted deception. My miracle child was a cruel joke. Every grand gesture, every luxurious gift, had been a distorted echo of his life with her. He was Mr. H, the savior in her viral romance novel, the man who got her out of jail and built her a life.
Back home, Ethan' s loving voice on the phone was a lie. The smart home, a monument to our love, became a shrine to his betrayal. The miracle inside me turned into a curse. This child was not a symbol of love, but the final twist in a five-year prank.
"I need to schedule an appointment," I told my fertility doctor, "for a termination." The silence was deafening. I looked at the priceless paintings, now cheap, fake. I watched him carry Willow, not me, to the hospital, abandoning me to crash on the floor at his family' s party.
Then they forced me to donate my blood to save her, the woman who took everything. Lying on the hospital bed, revived after flatlining, I realized I was free. I called Ethan' s rival, Liam Miller, to sell him twenty percent of Hayes Industries, wiping out Ethan' s stock and reputation. Then, I disappeared. My Wife's Betrayal, My New Beginning
Romance My hands, once surgeons' hands, now trembled balancing champagne glasses at an elite medical summit.
My wife, Sarah, lay in a coma, kept alive by machines.
My daughter, Lily, traumatized, diagnosed with severe autism, was a ghost in our home.
My career, my reputation, my life – all shattered by a malpractice suit that wasn't my fault, and an amusement park incident that left me with broken ribs and my family broken beyond repair.
I poured every last cent, every ounce of my being, into their care, working menial jobs just to survive.
Then, a voice announced a speaker on stage: "Dr. Sarah Miller, presenting 'New Advances in Brainstem Injury Repair'..."
The name, the topic, the face I saw under the spotlight, hit me like a physical blow.
It was Sarah. My Sarah. Confident, brilliant, and clearly not comatose.
The champagne tray slipped. Crash.
Security grabbed me, but I didn't care. "She's my wife! Sarah! She should be in the ICU right now! She's in a coma!"
Her eyes, for a split second, flickered with panic before settling into cold composure.
The man next to her, Andrew Sterling, CEO of Sterling Medical Group, stepped forward, handing me a business card, his face full of contempt.
Whispers of their shared past, of her being his company's chief expert, swirled around me, twisting the knife.
Was our entire nine-year marriage a lie?
The applause for the brilliant Dr. Miller mocked my agony, making me wonder if I had been the biggest fool of all. Shattered Trust, Silent Scars
Billionaires My marriage to Sylvia Lind, a strategic alliance between my new money and her old-money family, appeared perfect for five years.
But at a Sotheby's auction, Sylvia suddenly outbid me on a vintage Patek Philippe watch I wanted, only to gift it to her new young intern, Caleb, whose resemblance to my younger self unnerved me.
Later, she not only defended his audacious presence in my private Mercedes-Maybach but also prioritized his emotional distress over my blatant disrespect, hanging up on me to go "help" him.
The trust I thought we' d built evaporated, leaving me cold and contemplating a betrayal I couldn't ignore, yet I couldn't fully grasp why she'd risked everything for this kid.
With a profound sense of finality, I picked up my phone and told my lawyer, "Draft the divorce papers." The Divorce Decree: A New Beginning
Romance The world came down in dust and fire, and I was trapped, pinned under a heavy beam.
Next to me, a colleague, Jessica, was also caught. Through the rubble, I saw first responders, a glimmer of hope. Hope that shattered when I heard my husband, Mark, over the radio.
"My wife is a strong woman; she' d want others saved first. Jessica is a key aide to the Senator-get her out now!" His calm voice cut deeper than any debris. He chose another woman, again. Just like in our first life, a life where he resented me for twenty years for saving me instead of his political connection. He was correcting his "mistake."
I watched him, my seemingly devoted husband, pull a barely scratched Jessica from the ruins, holding her like she was glass, completely ignoring me, bleeding and pregnant just feet away.
He left me for dead at the scene, and later, for an unpaid hospital bill. He even moved Jessica into the apartment next door, buying her designer clothes while I healed. Then, he tried to sabotage my future, voiding my bar exam registration and giving my spot to her.
Why would he do this? Why, after being reborn, would he repeat such a cruel betrayal, even worse this time? Did he truly hate me that much?
But he failed to break me.
Fueled by a rage hotter than any fire, and by the tiny life growing inside me, I knew this wasn't an ending. This was a war, and I was ready to fight. The Unwanted Dog, The Unseen Plot
Modern My Golden Retriever, Max, was the heart of my dog daycare, Pawsitive Vibes. My boyfriend, Mark, usually walked him in the mornings-a picture of our perfect life.
But one morning, Mark came back alone, leash dangling. "Sarah," he flatly stated, "Max ran off. He nipped me." Max? Aggressive? My gentle dog who wouldn't hurt a fly?
Before I could question him, my phone blazed: "The Feed." "Max didn't run. He's with her. Elm Street & 7th. Red light. Big rig. NOW." Panic clawed at me. Mark dismissed my terror: "He's gone. We' ll look later." His indifference infuriated me. I sped to the intersection, just as I saw her-Clara-pulling Max into a speeding semi' s path. Risking everything, I saved him. As he trembled against me, "The Feed" delivered a crushing blow: "He gave Max to her." Mark had given my dog away.
"Gave him to her?" I choked, rage boiling. "The Feed" then showed Mark's manipulative plotting with Clara, discarding Max and me. He tried to gaslight me, calling me "emotional." The betrayal was immense.
The old Sarah would have crumpled. But a cold fury solidified. Armed with truth, I faced him. "We're done, Mark. Get out." When he threatened, I showed him a photo from "The Feed": him kissing Clara in a hospital-a damning breach. His face went ashen. Trust shattered. This was war now, and I was ready. Her Vengeance, Their Ruin
Billionaires My marriage to Ethan Hamilton wasn't about love or money; it was a meticulously executed strategy, years in the making, to find answers about my mother, Sarah Thorne, who vanished mysteriously.
I suspected the powerful Hamiltons were deeply involved.
Then, the call came: Ethan was dead, his yacht capsized, "lost to the sea"-a convenient end that accelerated my hidden agenda.
His mistress, Chloe, quickly appeared with a small boy, claiming the child was Ethan's heir and demanding her share of the vast Hamilton fortune.
Ethanâs mother, Eleanor, and father, Richard, publicly embraced Chloe, endorsing her claims over mine, forcing me to play the 'grieving widow' while meticulously dismantling their narrative.
I exposed Ethanâs infertility and Richardâs scandalous secret son, shattering their constructed lies, but the true horror arrived when Richard, utterly ruthless, pressured Chloe to force her son to donate a kidney to his other 'true heir.'
Cornered and terrified, Chloe finally confessed the unspeakable truth about Ethan: a horrific hit-and-run years ago that Richard had completely covered up.
My blood ran cold: the victim, left to die on a winding mountain road, then meticulously removed from existence, was my mother.
The mask of the grieving widow shattered, replaced by a burning, decade-old fury.
Every calculated risk, every year of quiet infiltration, culminated in that moment.
The Hamiltons had no idea the architect of their downfall was already inside.
Justice for Sarah Thorne was finally within reach, and I would make them pay. My Rival, My Redemption
Romance I'm Ethan Vanderbilt, a Kingsbridge legacy, currently facing the annual Legacy Pairing Program. For years, one nightmare haunted me: I chose Clara Hayes, she tragically died protecting me, whispering "Don't choose me... next time." Today is that next time.
Defying fate, my powerful father, and tradition, I shocked everyone by choosing Scarlett Jones, my sharp-witted rival.
But the dream's shadow deepened. Clara, obsessed with Julian Vance-a supposed guitar virtuoso-begged me to release her. Julian, a master manipulator, systematically built a web of lies around her, framing me as the villain.
Clara, utterly blinded by Julian, publicly humiliated me, accused me of poisoning, and even physically assaulted me. Every attempt to reveal his deceit only cemented her belief in his false heroism and my assumed malice.
I was condemned, trapped as the antagonist in a story I never wrote. How could she refuse to see the obvious truth?
At Julian' s grand engagement ball, I finally exposed his deceptions with an undeniable truth, shattering Clara's world. Her desperate pleas for forgiveness? I coldly rejected them.
But Julian, enraged, hired an assassin. In a final, desperate act, Clara threw herself in front of me, dying to save the man she finally knew she truly loved. Her sacrifice broke the cycle, freeing me.
Now, with Scarlett, my fierce partner, can I truly forge a love that conquers fate? The Ex-Wife's Fatal Betrayal
Modern My son Leo, a brilliant young scientist, had just been accepted into the prestigious National Youth Innovators' Summit, a spot I'd worked hard to secure for him.
He was over the moon, his eyes alight with the promise of his future.
But a single day later, that joy was brutally snatched away: Leo’s coveted spot was inexplicably given to another, whose father, Marcus—my ex-wife Isabella's lover—had paid a $50,000 "donation" using a credit card I instantly recognized as Isabella’s supplementary, funded by *my* very own money.
I stormed into that university department, ready to call out the brazen betrayal.
There was Marcus, smirking, flashing the tainted card, only to have it repeatedly declined after one call I made to the bank froze every dime.
Yet, Isabella, ever the schemer, swooped in, making a direct transfer to secure the spot, then chillingly disowned our son, publicly labeling him an "embarrassment."
She then pointedly had her lover accuse Leo of vandalism, fabricating a scene to have us removed by university security.
The woman I married, the mother of my child, standing there, betraying Leo and me so brazenly, was a gut punch beyond measure.
How could she orchestrate such a cruel, calculated public humiliation for her own family, all for petty status and a cheating lover?
But just as the guards closed in, the game changed: my family’s head of security arrived, and a deeper, darker truth about Isabella's true nature was finally unveiled, exposing how she had cunningly manipulated my grandmother's health to marry into our wealth.
This wasn't just about a summit spot anymore; it was about an entire life built on deceit, and it was about to come crashing down. The Day I Died, She Finally Knew My Truth
Romance I walked out of Chino State Prison, a free man, but my body carried a death sentence.
The clanging gates closed behind me, a period at the end of five lost years.
The California sun felt too bright on my face, and my lungs burned with the fatal lung cancer I’d contracted inside.
I had one final wish: to have my ashes scattered at Point Sublime, a remote, sacred spot in the Grand Canyon I’d promised to share with Olivia, years ago, our forever place.
But then Olivia Hayes, my past love, now engaged to my former best friend and tormentor, Marcus Thorne, appeared.
Her eyes, once full of youthful adoration, now seethed with pure, unadulterated hatred.
She offered me a job: her personal driver, not out of kindness, but out of a cold desire for me to witness everything I had supposedly ruined.
I took the job, enduring her glacial contempt and Marcus's sadistic pleasure day after agonizing day, as my failing health rapidly withered beneath my uniform.
I coughed up blood in secret, retrieved her family heirloom ring from an icy pool at Marcus’s cruel behest, and pulled her from a burning guesthouse, letting Marcus claim the credit for my heroism.
Every interaction was a fresh twist of the knife, a public humiliation for a crime I didn’t commit, but chose to embrace.
They called me a murderer, a reckless monster, a lifelong convict, always oblivious to the truth: I had taken the fall for her mother’s suicide, sacrificing my freedom and reputation, to protect Olivia and her family’s stained name from further ruin.
I had lost everything for her, only to become the very person she now despised, fueling her relentless cruelty.
Then Marcus’s reckless accident left him bleeding out, urgently needing my rare blood type.
Olivia, desperate to save the man who reveled in my suffering, came to me.
She didn’t ask; she demanded my life.
And with my last breath, still loving her unconditionally, I gave it. You might like
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. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Too Late, Mr. Don: The Wife You Buried
Cinderella's Sister I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old.
While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary.
Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir.
I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me.
Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son."
The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us.
Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress.
Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official.
I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors.
By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France.
The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother
EVA PINK I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.
But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.
"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."
His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.
For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.
But then I found the truth.
I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.
"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."
He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.
He was wrong.
I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.
"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.
"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's." 
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