Lan Zhen
12 Published Stories
Lan Zhen's Books and Stories
His Discarded Wife Was The Real Boss
Mafia I spent fifteen years building my husband's mafia empire, coding the complex algorithms that washed his blood money clean.
But on my thirty-fifth birthday, instead of a gift, I received a photo of his hand resting on another woman's thigh.
When I confronted him, Dustin didn't apologize. He brought his pregnant mistress, Jami, into our penthouse and told me to accept the hush money.
"You have nothing except what I give you," he sneered, treating me like a slow servant rather than the mastermind behind his success.
The argument turned violent. He shoved me hard, sending me crashing into a solid oak nightstand.
As I lay on the floor, bleeding and dizzy from a split forehead, I watched the man I loved step over my body to comfort the woman wearing my mother's stolen heirloom ring.
He didn't check my pulse. He didn't call for help. He looked at me with pure disgust and turned his back.
In that moment, the wife died, and the witness was born.
He thought I was powerless because I had no assets in my name. He thought I would fade away quietly.
He forgot one crucial detail: I wasn't just the furniture in his castle. I was the architect.
Every server, every encrypted drive, every hidden account—I owned the code.
I wiped the blood from my face and walked out the door, but I didn't go to a lawyer.
I went to a hardware store and bought a ten-pound sledgehammer.
I wasn't going to just leave him.
I was going to delete him. His Fatal Love, Her Bitter End
Romance My billionaire husband spent three years and a fortune to find a donor heart to save my life. He was my hero, my entire world after a woman named Karma Smith framed my father and destroyed my family.
Then, I discovered he'd been protecting her all along. She was his mistress, pregnant with his child.
Overnight, I became the villain in his eyes. He ignored my calls for help as her thugs beat me and dragged me behind their car. He forced me to kneel in the snow all night as punishment for the miscarriage she faked and blamed on me.
The final act of his cruelty was a sea burial for the "baby" I had "murdered." On his yacht, he held her in his arms, his eyes burning with a hatred that seared my soul.
When she "accidentally" dropped the urn into the ocean, he turned his rage on me.
"Then you'll jump in and find it!" he roared.
I looked at the monster who wore my husband's face, the man I had loved more than life itself.
And without hesitation, I threw myself into the icy water. His Humiliation, Her Freedom
Young Adult For seven years, I lived in Liam Sterling' s shadow, meticulously crafting his academic success.
Tonight, at our graduation party, he stood on stage, arm around his new girlfriend, Skye Miller, and publicly humiliated me.
He announced they were going to Northwood Community College, then suggested I come along, sneering, "You know you can' t manage without me telling you what to do. It' s for the best."
Murmurs and snickers filled the room.
"His lapdog."
"He owns her."
Humiliation burned my cheeks, but this time, something snapped.
The suffocating feeling that had always compelled my obedience vanished.
All the years of silent suffering exploded into rage.
When Liam, unaccustomed to resistance, tried to order me around again, I looked him straight in the eye.
"No," I said, my voice clear and loud for the first time.
His face reddened, but I wasn' t done.
"I' m not going to community college with you, Liam. I' m not going anywhere with you."
His control shattered, Liam escalated.
He and Skye led a mob to my house, turning my sanctuary into a frat party.
They poured wine on my graduation dress, laughed at my humiliation, and when I saw my grandmother' s locket-a precious heirloom-around Skye' s neck, a piece of my soul was torn.
Liam had stolen it from my room and given it to her.
"It' s just a piece of cheap metal, Ava," he scoffed.
"It was my grandmother' s! It' s all I have left of her!" I cried, but he just said, "Get over it."
Then, Skye whispered to Liam about my college applications, suggesting he
destroy my future.
My heart pounded as he headed for my room, a cruel smile on his face.
No!
My future. My laptop.
He publicly deleted my Ivy League applications, replacing them with Northwood Vocational School, and submitted it.
Then, he smashed my laptop.
They dragged me to the basement, locking me in, knowing my deepest fear.
My world ended there, swallowed by darkness and their laughter.
But somewhere, a father was about to get a call, and Liam Sterling was about to learn a very painful lesson. When Silence Roared: A Mother's Escape
Romance My life was a constant struggle, cleaning up after Ethan, a musician with "the devil's blood" and a cruel wife, all while trying to save for my son Caleb's therapy.
But when Ethan bought his mistress a diamond bracelet with Caleb's therapy savings, then locked my terrified boy in a closet just for her amusement, I knew I was living in hell.
The real nightmare began when he dragged Caleb to the edge of a bottomless quarry, threatening to push him, making me believe he was about to murder our child.
Saved at the last moment by the Sheriff, Nathaniel, a man rumored to be the sworn enemy of Ethan's family, I thought I'd found sanctuary.
But my ex-husband's control, rooted in a terrifying blood pact, threatened to destroy us all, pulling every loved one into his spiral of sadism.
Even Nathaniel, my supposed savior, had his own dark secrets, revealed by a chilling recording on what was meant to be my wedding day.
His calm dismissal of my pain and his true motives shattered my last ounce of hope.
How could the man who rescued my son from the brink of death be using me as a pawn in his own twisted family game, willing to sacrifice my comfort and trust for his ambition?
Why did he send my child away right before our ceremony, claiming it was for "safety"?
I ripped off the wedding dress.
I wasn't just leaving that wedding; I was leaving behind every lie, every manipulation, and redefining what it meant to fight for my son and myself, no matter the cost, no matter the man. The Billionaire's Blizzard Bait
Horror I lived a life of enviable luxury in my pristine Colorado mountain cabin, nestled deep in the Rockies.
Then, I died, frozen solid just outside my own front door.
My last sight was Ethan, my boyfriend, feasting on my food inside, watching me claw at the glass until my fingers bled.
His family, the Scotts, laughed as I froze, adjusting curtains to block me out, celebrating my demise.
They left me to perish in the brutal blizzard, utterly and completely abandoned.
That death was absolute, excruciating, and unforgettable.
But then, I jolted awake, submerged in 1200-thread-count sheets, the Rockies bathed in sunlight outside my window.
It was ten days before the storm, before my betrayal.
A wave of nausea hit me, the phantom hunger and cold still clinging to my bones, but then a cold, hard fury replaced it.
This time, my cabin, my wealth, and my meticulous planning wouldn' t be my downfall; they would be my ultimate weapon. When the Script Flipped
Young Adult My senior year was supposed to be the start of everything.
My award-winning screenplay, "Echo Park", had captivated a young producer named David, and my dream film school, USC, was within reach.
But then, everything shattered.
My SAT scores inexplicably plummeted, a disaster that strangely coincided with my best friend, Olivia's, perfect score.
A year later, Olivia's mysteriously acclaimed screenplay, almost identical to mine, landed her the very deal David had offered me.
Every ambition, every relationship, everything I cherished, she systematically stole, leaving me in a devastating spiral of depression that ended in an accidental overdose.
As darkness consumed me, a terrifying truth slammed into my consciousness: Olivia, clutching a shimmering "Script Switcher," used it to rewrite my fate, three times over.
How could my closest friend harbor such monstrous envy, possessing a magical device that allowed her to meticulously dismantle my entire life?
Now, I'm back.
Reborn on the exact day my downfall began, but this time with a chilling certainty and a ruthless plan.
Olivia may still have her notorious Switcher, but I have the memories of a life lost and a cold resolve to make her steal nothing but my most spectacular failures. Beyond Forgiveness: The Vanderbilt Fall
Romance I was eight months pregnant, suffocating inside a gilded cage for ten long years.
My marriage to Ethan Vanderbilt was nothing but a cold, calculated transaction.
His family paid for my little brother Leo's experimental, life-saving medicine, and in return, I endured Ethan's endless parade of mistresses and his cruel, dismissive taunts.
My only flicker of hope, a fragile, dangerous thing in that house, was the life growing inside me.
Then, a blinding flash of red on the road.
A blaring horn too late.
Tiffany Hayes, Ethan' s latest social media darling, caused the crash.
I fumbled for my phone, fingers slick with something warm, gasping his name: "Ethan, accident! The baby..."
His voice was cold, impatient, as Tiffany's giggle echoed in the background: "Don't be such an attention-seeker."
He hung up.
In the sterile hospital room, amidst the quiet hum of machines, the doctor' s words were a death knell: "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Vanderbilt. The baby… he didn't make it. Stillborn."
My world shattered into a million pieces.
Then, my phone rang again, pulling me deeper into the abyss.
It was Dr. Ramirez.
Due to Ethan's malicious disruption of payments, Leo' s condition had deteriorated rapidly.
"He passed away an hour ago, Sarah."
My brother. My son. Both gone.
Numbness, a heavy blanket, descended.
But then, a video message buzzed on my phone: Ethan and Tiffany, hours after the accident, laughing, kissing.
"Sarah? She's probably just milking it for sympathy," Ethan slurred from the screen.
The casual cruelty of it, the utter, monstrous indifference, curdled my grief into bitter resolve.
How could any man be so devoid of a soul?
How could a lifetime of sacrifice end in such devastating, calculated malice?
That night, something inside me broke free.
My baby would be buried in the Vanderbilt plot as was his right.
But Leo?
His ashes would come home with me.
I wasn't just escaping a marriage.
I was reclaiming my very soul, leaving the ashes of a destroyed life behind. The Scapegoat Heiress: Havenwood's Reckoning
Modern I clutched the USB drive, halfway to Havenwood's town hall, rehearsing the speech that would expose GlobalCorp's ruthless fracking operation and save our community.
Suddenly, the ground bucked violently, an unnatural tremor that tore through the town, confirming my worst fears.
Before the dust could even settle, Mrs. Henderson's shriek pierced the din, echoing across the shattered town square:
"It's her! Sarah Miller! She did this!"
My adoptive father, the Mayor, looked at me with dawning horror, not for my safety, but for his failing reputation, while my brother Ethan's expression solidified into something cold and unrecognizable.
Even Mark, my Mark, the boy who'd promised me forever, was already by Veronica Hayes's side, his arm protectively around her, refusing to meet my desperate gaze.
They twisted my desperate attempt to force an investigation into GlobalCorp's inherently flawed safety equipment into an act of "eco-terrorism," blaming me for the town's destruction and even framing me for a beloved librarian's tragic death.
The angry mob surged, so my own family shoved me towards the outskirts, leaving me no choice but to flee Havenwood, branded its monster, its ungrateful scapegoat.
How could they so easily believe I, who had tirelessly tried to protect them, was capable of such malevolent destruction, completely ignoring the crucial proof I held in my hand?
For months, I existed in the shadows, a ghost haunted by the bitter taste of betrayal and the crushing agony of a truth no one would hear, my life utterly destroyed.
But a reclusive, Pulitzer-winning journalist, Alistair Finch, found me and called a fateful town hall meeting, promising to finally reveal Havenwood's full, devastating truth.
Tonight, I, Sarah Miller, the one they cast out and branded a traitor, will finally return, not as a broken fugitive, but ready to expose the real villain and reclaim my story as the defiant heir to the formidable Vance Justice Foundation. Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: My Life Without You
Romance My engagement party, the culmination of five years poured into Ethan Cartwright and our future, was supposed to be my fairy tale.
But hiding on the terrace, his voice, cold and dismissive, echoed through the night: "Sarah? She's perfect.
Adorably naive, utterly devoted.
She won't rock the boat.
Won't challenge me.
And she certainly won't interfere with Isabelle."
The words hit like stones, shattering my world and sending me tumbling into darkness.
I woke up with amnesia, the doctor explaining recent memories were gone – Ethan's name meant nothing.
But this man, a stranger, kept pushing me, forcing me into public appearances purely for his convenience.
At his gala, his actual lover, Isabelle, deliberately pushed me down a grand staircase.
I learned later that fall cost me a baby I never knew I carried – *his* baby.
Yet, he showed zero concern.
Instead, Ethan demanded I issue a public apology for "attacking" Isabelle, threatening to annul our engagement on grounds of mental instability and destroy my family's business if I refused.
A man I couldn't even remember was trying to ruin my life, dismissing my pain and accusing me of deceit.
The amnesia, meant as a curse, became my liberation.
Looking into his empty eyes, I finally spoke, my voice steady: "This is the last thing I will ever do for you.
Consider our ties severed."
I walked away, leaving behind a life I could no longer remember, eager for a new beginning in Chicago with someone whose warmth offered a fragile promise – Noah Evans. The Agent in the Dark
Billionaires My sister, Lily, was dying.
Leukemia, rare and aggressive.
Only an experimental bone marrow transplant could save her, costing seventy-five thousand dollars.
Insurance called it "experimental," so they wouldn't cover it.
I worked double shifts at the grimy diner, counting every dollar of my meager tips.
It was never enough for Lily.
Then Jess, my flashy old high school friend, showed up.
She had an "unconventional" job, she said, with "huge pay."
A vigil for a dying man, Adam Blackwood, a wealthy recluse in rural Louisiana.
They needed a "pure-hearted young woman," a virgin, to perform "comforting rites" for his soul's passage.
And a "discreet examination" afterwards, to confirm my "commitment."
One hundred thousand dollars. More than enough for Lily.
Despite a creeping unease, Lily’s pale face flashed in my mind.
I took the thirty thousand upfront, let Jess drive me to the massive, gothic plantation.
Mr. Blackwood was cold, Mrs. Blackwood tearfully obsessed with my "purity."
They immediately took my phone, locking me alone in a dimly lit room with "Adam."
He lay still, impossibly sedated, his breathing shallow, his pupils constricted pinpoints.
He wasn't dying naturally. He was being drugged.
The chilling truth slammed into me: this wasn't a ritual.
The "pure-hearted" vigil? A calculated farce.
"Adam" wasn't dying of illness; he was being systematically poisoned.
And he wasn't Adam Blackwood at all.
He was Ben Carter, an FBI agent, deep undercover in an antiquities smuggling ring.
I was the perfect scapegoat, framed to take the fall for his impending "death."
Jess, my friend, had sold me out, a willing accomplice in their deadly deception.
Trapped, utterly betrayed, and staring down a dangerous criminal conspiracy, Lily's money no longer mattered.
Now, it was about survival.
I had to save Ben, expose the Blackwoods, and fight my way out of a nightmare. 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 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." 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." 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. 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. 
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