Er Ye
15 Published Stories
Er Ye's Books and Stories
Betrayed By Blood: The True Heir's Revenge
Mafia I thought being rescued from the kidnapper's basement after eight years was the end of my hell, but it was just the beginning.
My father, the powerful Underboss Derek McCall, looked at my twelve-year-old face and saw only the monster who had held us captive. He was convinced I was the byproduct of his wife's assault, calling me "pollution" in his pristine bloodline.
Life at the estate was a nightmare. I was forced to scrub floors while his stepdaughter, Kylie, lived like a princess.
When I was starving, Derek caught me eating from the garbage and mocked me.
When Kylie ordered a Doberman to maul me, tearing my leg apart on the manicured lawn, he just watched and told the guards to stitch me up without anesthesia.
Yet, when he was dying from a gunshot wound and the hospital was out of blood, I was the one who stepped up.
I gave two pints of my blood to save him, hoping he would finally see me.
He didn't.
The moment he was stable, his mother kicked me out of the house, handing me over to social services like unwanted trash.
They didn't realize until the car drove away that the medical file on the table held a secret.
My blood wasn't dirty. The DNA was a 99.9% match.
I wasn't the kidnapper's child. I was his.
When they finally came begging for forgiveness years later, I didn't offer a hug.
I handed them an eviction notice. Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband
Romance My son was dying in my arms, and the man who should have been saving him was likely choosing an engagement ring for another woman.
I rushed Jeremy to the Emergency Room, his small body heavy and limp against my chest. But the person blocking the sliding doors wasn’t a doctor. It was Yvonne, my fiancé Benedict's new lover.
She looked at my desperate, rain-soaked face and sneered.
"Don't ruin my night with your drama," she hissed. "Benedict is busy."
She and her brother shoved me back onto the wet floor. My son died on the cold tiles of the entrance. My heart gave out moments later, unable to bear the grief.
When Benedict finally walked past our bodies, he didn't even look at our faces. He crumpled up the note I had written begging for help and tossed it into the trash.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She uses the kid as an excuse to interrupt my shift again."
He stepped over his own dead son to go to a party.
But I didn't disappear. I became a ghost, invisible and tethered to him by an unbreakable chain. I watched him laugh with the woman who killed us. I watched him live his perfect life while I floated in the void.
Until he found the autopsy report. Until he saw the date of birth. Until he found the broken locket in the evidence bag engraved with *Benedict & Ava*.
Now, he spends every night crying into the dark, begging for a forgiveness he will never get.
He thinks he is simply haunted. He has no idea he is paying a blood debt that will never end. His Guilt, Her Freedom
Romance At their nine-year anniversary party, Annis's husband brought his pregnant mistress home. He told Annis to move her things to the guest room and play hostess.
"She's carrying my son," he said. "Be a good girl."
But that wasn't the worst of it. A few days later, his mistress had "complications." She needed a transfusion. She had a rare blood type—the same as Annis's.
He had his men drag Annis to a private hospital. She had a severe heart condition, and the doctor warned him that a full transfusion could stop her heart. Her husband simply waved him off.
"Do it," he ordered. "I'm assuming full responsibility."
He forced her to sign the papers, saying, "You owe me this, Annis. After all I've given you."
As her blood drained away, her heart monitor began to scream. But his mistress called for him from the next room. He left Annis on the table, snapping at the doctor to "speed it up" before rushing to her side.
The nine years of love she had for him died right there in that hospital bed.
But she didn't die. She survived. And she waited.
On his grandfather's 80th birthday, in front of his entire powerful family, a courier arrived. He wasn't carrying a gift. He was carrying a package from Annis, containing signed divorce papers and the official medical report detailing exactly how her husband had tried to kill her. The Price Of His Choices
Romance My husband, David Chen, casually destroyed my grandmother' s locket-a cherished family heirloom-in the garbage disposal, just to appease his childhood friend, Jessica Lee. That same day, I packed my bags, took our son Leo, and left.
Three years later, back in the city as a jewelry designer, I found myself face-to-face with David at a prestigious competition. He was still the arrogant tech mogul, seemingly surprised I wasn' t struggling. He tried to buy me back, offering diamonds, believing money could fix his broken character.
Then his assistant, Jessica, slinked up, mocking my simple dress and implying I was a gold digger, desperate for David' s lifestyle. She then deliberately spilled red wine on my priceless Antoine Dubois dress. As if that wasn' t enough, she maliciously tossed my custom-made, diamond-studded anniversary bracelet-a gift from my new husband, Michael Thompson-into a public trash can, mirroring David' s cruel act from years ago.
The audacity of their insults, their absolute contempt for my worth, and the calculated destruction of something deeply personal infuriated me. How could they be so blind, so utterly convinced of their superiority, while standing on property owned by my husband and insulting his wife, a judge of the very competition they were attending?
Just as Jessica raised her hand to slap me, a strong hand caught her wrist. "What do you think you' re doing to my wife?" Michael Thompson' s voice, cold and authoritative, cut through the silence. My new life, built on respect and true love, was about to shatter their illusion of power. Beyond Forgiveness: A Wife's Vengeance
Romance For ten years, Julian Thorne, the Silicon Valley titan, was my world.
He came into my life when I was a nobody, busking on the streets, and transformed me into a princess, envied by every woman in the country.
He promised me forever, fighting his powerful family to marry me, treating me like the most precious thing in existence.
But that fairy tale shattered the moment Bethany Greene entered the picture, and six months was all it took for him to erase a decade of devotion.
My husband, once full of warmth, became a stranger who looked at me with cold fury.
He accused me of manipulating Bethany into leaving him, spitting "Liar" with disgust.
He played a video of my younger brother, Finn, on life support, threatening to pull the plug if I didn' t convince Bethany to return.
"He' s a vegetable that' s costing me a fortune," he said coldly, as I begged him not to.
The pain of knowing I might lose Finn, my only family, was unbearable, but the true horror was yet to come.
As I pretended to call Bethany, a sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen.
I was bleeding.
"Julian, please… help me," I whispered, terrified, realizing I might be losing our baby.
He dismissed it as drama, then his face lit up with a genuine smile when Bethany called his phone.
He left without a second glance, instructing the butler to lock me in the meditation room, confident I was just trying to manipulate him.
Hours later, alone, bleeding, and pounding on the locked door, I felt the life I was carrying slip away.
My baby was gone, lost because the man I loved condemned me.
When I woke in a sterile hospital room, Bethany was there, clinging to Julian, fabricating a story about me harassing her parents.
He believed her instantly, his eyes cold and unmoved, denying we' d ever had a baby.
"Lost what baby? Scarlett, stop making up stories to get attention."
He watched impassively as Bethany forced me to apologize for something I hadn' t done, her triumphant smirk a knife to my heart.
Then, he dropped the final bombshell, "I'm divorcing you."
He even had his lawyer tell me he expected me to wait patiently for him to return after his "fling" with Bethany was over.
That was the moment everything snapped into brutal clarity.
My love for him, which had endured so much, finally burned to ashes, leaving only a cold, hard resolve.
I signed the divorce papers, picked up the plane ticket, and looked him straight in the eye: "I don' t want you to love me anymore. I' m done."
And with that, I walked out, leaving Julian and his new obsession behind, ready to disappear and never look back. Love Letter, Public Shame
Young Adult The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb.
It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize.
But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket.
"What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall.
I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession.
She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket.
"My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell.
Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private.
I was wrong.
Ms. Albright, perched behind her mahogany desk like a queen on her throne, deemed the letter "poetic" and "overly emotional," a "distraction" that derailed "promising students."
Then she dropped the bomb: I would be reading it aloud, for everyone, at the Parent-Teacher Meeting tomorrow night.
It wasn't a choice; it was a command, a public shaming she framed as a "teachable moment."
My blood ran cold.
Her voice, now dripping with self-righteous conviction, painted the letter as a "serious problem," a "symptom of a lack of focus," a "derailment of academic career."
She demanded I not only read it, but identify the author.
She was turning a tender, private sentiment into a weapon, attempting to break me and publicly humiliate some anonymous boy.
But Ms. Albright, so certain in her rigid worldview, had no idea just how spectacularly her plan was about to backfire.
She had no idea that the "problem" boy she wanted to expose, the one whose heartfelt words she was about to use as a performance of moral superiority, was her own son.
Ethan Albright. Her perfect, valedictorian, star-athlete son. The Illusion Of His Love
Romance The private jet was a symbol of my high-flying life with Ethan Vance, my husband and tech empire co-founder.
But then he slid a contract across the table, demanding I sign away my company share, declaring it was to repay a debt to his supposedly lost first love, Scarlett.
As I hesitated, he had his bodyguards throw my younger sister, Lily, from the plane, her terrified screams swallowed by the roar of the engines.
I was left utterly broken, locked in a freezing basement, my mother' s cherished bracelet shattered, her grave desecrated – all while Ethan paraded Scarlett as his fiancée, even forcing me to be her maid of honor.
How could the man I loved destroy everything I held dear, believing a manipulative con artist' s lies, and feel no remorse?
Yet, as I walked down the aisle at their wedding, a defiant plan ignited within me: freedom, no matter the cost. Regret’s Embrace
Romance For seven years, I lived a quiet life as a musician, believing my wife, Sophia, kept her distance to protect my "fragile artistic temperament."
It was a story I told myself, a reason for the cold silence of our marriage.
But that carefully constructed world shattered when I overheard her whispering another man' s name in the moonlight-her half-brother, Liam.
The whispers festered, revealing a truth more agonizing than I could have imagined: her passion, her longing, was all reserved for him.
My heart was ripped to shreds, but the true horror began when Liam, fueled by jealousy and encouraged by Sophia, viciously attacked me.
Not only did she abandon me, she even robbed me of my painkillers from the hospital, claiming Liam needed them more for a measly foot injury.
I didn't understand.
How could the woman I loved disregard my broken ribs so easily, while doting on a spoiled, entitled man-child?
Why did my pain mean nothing to her, while his minor discomfort became her world?
My life, my very art, had been built on a foundation of lies.
Then came the twisted game, a cruel choice forced upon Sophia: save me or Liam.
With a gun to my head, and my final words telling her I hoped to never meet her again, she chose him, declaring her unwavering devotion to her brother.
I didn't die that day, but the man I was did.
Now, free from her toxic embrace, and with hands that may never play guitar again but a spirit finally unbound, I am ready to forge a new path.
Sophie, however, is left to face the empty silence of a life without the man who once gave her everything. The Impostor Daughter
Fantasy I am Echo, born of forgotten children's whispers, and for centuries, I've seen only the transactional nature of human love.
A chance at freedom from Purgatory appeared: assume the form of five-year-old Lily for three days.
If her brother or mother truly recognized me, I could stay, finally knowing what true connection felt like.
But stepping into the vibrant human world as Lily, I became an immediate pawn.
Her wealthy brother, Ethan, saw not his sister, but a medical solution-a bone marrow donor for his "real sunflower."
He locked me away, labeling me "the donor" and "secured," completely devoid of familial affection.
Later, her politically calculating mother, Katherine, eyed me with suspicion, dismissing me as a cruel stunt arranged by her rivals.
My every attempt to rekindle their memories-a shared friendship bracelet, a secret four-leaf clover-was met with cold accusations.
I was imprisoned, treated as a tool, and nearly forced into a painful medical procedure.
During a terrifying earthquake, Ethan abandoned me without a glance; my mother violently shoved me away, convinced I was a political weapon.
How could they know all Lily's secrets, her cherished tokens, yet gaze through me as if I were nothing more than an empty shell?
The love I craved, the recognition I desperately pursued, seemed to vanish the moment it flickered.
My cynicism, once a shield, became a crushing weight; they recognized the symbols, but utterly failed to see the soul.
At the stroke of midnight, as my test hung on a thread of their persistent doubt, the true Lily' s spirit appeared.
And in that instant, without a single question or a need for proof, Ethan and Katherine recognized her, unconditionally.
This pure, undeniable love, transcending physical form, shattered my entire understanding of existence.
Now, faced with this profound truth and an unimaginable choice, my story-and theirs-was destined for a miraculous, unforeseen path. The Heart Condition That Wasn't
Romance My life was stable.
I had a good tech job, a beautiful home in Seattle, and a decade-long marriage with Jessica, who I thought was the love of my life.
She was supposed to be on an overseas work assignment, a big career move we celebrated.
Then the key turned in the lock-a sound I hadn' t heard in two years.
And she wasn't alone.
She pushed a double stroller into our living room.
"Michael," she calmly announced, "meet Leo and Lily. They' re mine. And Ethan' s."
Ethan. Her high school sweetheart, the one she always said was terminally ill and she was just "helping."
My heart jumped, then plummeted.
For ten years, Jessica had told me her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous.
I believed her, mourned the children we couldn't have.
Now, she waved a dismissive hand, "My doctor said IVF was perfectly safe."
Then she handed me a baby, telling me to quit my demanding job.
"They need a stay-at-home dad. My work is too important right now."
It got worse.
I found intimate emails between her and Ethan spanning years, even our wedding anniversary.
And a second mortgage on our house, taken out without my knowledge, the money likely gone to him.
The final, gut-wrenching blow: I followed her to a honky-tonk bar.
There, Jessica, who claimed to hate country music and beer, was line-dancing, beaming up at Ethan-tanned, fit, and very much alive.
The woman I married was a stranger.
My world was built on a decade of calculated lies.
Whatever I felt for her shriveled up and died.
I was done arguing on her terms.
The next morning, I had divorce papers drawn up.
I wouldn' t let her destroy me. I would reclaim my life. My King, My Coma Patient
Sci-fi My husband, Ethan, lay in a coma, drowning in medical bills that threatened to crush me.
Desperate, I took a lifeline: an offer to return to Elysium, the hyper-realistic virtual world I helped create, for a reality show.
My task: "reconnect" with AI King Aiden, a being I' d shaped, poured my heart into, years ago.
But the Aiden I found was a cold, opulent stranger, surrounded by cameras and a smug rival queen, Nova, who reveled in every public humiliation.
He dismissed me, mocked my desperate plea for funds, even specifically mentioning Ethan' s rising medical debt.
Yet, his words were at odds with small, secret acts-a hidden wooden star, a fleeting, tender gaze-that unnervingly mirrored someone else.
How could this advanced AI feel so disturbingly familiar, like the man I was desperately trying to save in the real world?
The show, hungry for drama, then demanded a humiliating, public kiss to prove my "devotion."
I closed my eyes, whispered "I accept," and braced myself for the performance.
But then, chaos erupted.
A system attack plunged Elysium into crisis, Nova' s frantic betrayal exposed her true mercenary nature, and Aiden, suddenly a blur of combat, pulled my flickering avatar into a desperate embrace.
"Don't leave," he rasped, his voice raw with a fear of abandonment I knew too well from Ethan.
In that shattering moment, the impossible truth hit me: Aiden wasn't just like Ethan. He was Ethan. The Unwanted Wife's True Home
Romance My life as Mrs. Harrison of Boston's elite was a gilded cage, beautiful from the outside, suffocating within.
But that cage shattered in a third-grade classroom.
My 9-year-old son, Ethan, declared in front of everyone, "She's not my real mom.
Grandma Eleanor said Dad took her in, like charity."
His words were a knife, twisted by my husband's ex-girlfriend, Izzy, who had subtly infiltrated our home.
She turned Ethan against me, destroyed my last sentimental possession, and systematically framed me for instability.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, even threatened to have me committed.
The cruel climax arrived at a charity gala.
There, Izzy orchestrated a theatrical "fall," and Ethan, coached by her, gleefully accused me of violence.
The humiliation was total, public, and exquisitely painful.
How could my own family conspire to destroy me like this?
Was I truly meant to be erased, just a ghost haunting a life never mine?
But as the crowd stared, a cold resolve settled within me.
I was pregnant with another man's child, my one true secret, my hope.
That night, I walked out of the mansion.
I left behind signed divorce papers relinquishing everything, including custody of my son.
This wasn't surrender; it was survival.
My desperate escape was just the beginning of a truth that would bring their gilded world crashing down.
And my new life, finally on my terms, was waiting. No Longer His Second Choice
Modern My Charleston dream wedding to Ethan, my fiancé of ten years, was just days away.
Our future together felt set, a lifetime hand-in-hand.
Then, my smart home security feed played a horrifying, silent film.
Ethan, my fiancé, intimately with Chloe, my stepsister, right there in our house.
An undeniable, sickening betrayal.
A decade of devotion shattered, revealing I was merely a placeholder.
Ethan enabled Chloe's every cruel stunt, from public humiliation to outright wedding sabotage.
He dismissed my pain, protected her lies, and left me invisible, even after injury.
My world crumbled.
Grief gave way to a cold, burning rage.
How could I have been so blind?
So carelessly used?
The truth hit hard: I was just a prop in their long, illicit affair.
But the wedding would still proceed.
Only, it wouldn't be their triumph.
It would be my grand exit, a public act of devastating defiance.
I would ensure their world came crashing down around them.
My countdown to liberation had officially begun. My CEO Ex-Wife
Romance The email hit my inbox with the force of a guillotine: "Company-Wide Announcement: Acquisition & New Leadership."
My gut twisted, another Austin tech buyout meant more upheaval.
Then, I saw the new CEO’s name: Isabella Rossi.
My stomach dropped.
Isabella, my ex-wife, the woman whose betrayal had scarred me deeper than any wound.
At the mandatory all-hands meeting, she swept in, a predator in a power suit, her cold eyes scanning for me, devoid of recognition.
Later, my name, highlighted on the company BBQ sign-up sheet, was brutally scratched out by her red pen.
She demanded I work late, then warned me, "Stay away from any woman in this company. Understood?"
My colleagues whispered, wondering if this "ice queen" was strangely flirting or just exercising pure, calculated power.
The truth behind her audacity was a wound that never truly healed: five years ago, on our wedding anniversary, she publicly flaunted her "college sweetheart" Alex.
The Frost Bank Tower blazed with their names, while I was holding her dying father’s hand in the hospital—the very man *she* had abandoned.
Her father, seeing my raw pain, urged me to divorce her, handing me a lifeline.
Even then, she fought me, trying to manipulate the narrative, accusing me of extorting her over *her own* father's medical bills.
Now, after the final decree, she’s moved in next door.
How much audacity could one person possess, to continue playing these games, attempting to control my life even after our divorce was finalized?
My heart felt like a dead thing where Isabella was concerned, a vast, echoing emptiness where too much had been lost.
But then, an unexpected and chilling discovery about Alex, a secret only I knew, made me realize this wasn't just about escape anymore.
It was time to reveal the true face of the man she’d chosen over me, and finally claim my definitive freedom. You might like
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. 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. Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Moria Anninger I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia.
The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast.
That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water.
He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard.
But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead.
I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival.
On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone.
"I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city." 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. 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. 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." Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy
CHRISTINE ROBINSON I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.
Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.
"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."
I froze.
My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.
He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."
I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.
Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.
He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.
Then, he pushed me off the edge.
As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.
I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.
But he forgot that I knew his secrets.
I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.
"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt." Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. 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. 
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