Lu Meng
16 Published Stories
Lu Meng's Books and Stories
The Runaway Fiancée: Claimed By The Rival
Mafia I watched the man I was contractually bound to marry dive into the freezing water.
But he wasn't swimming toward me.
Only seconds prior, his mistress had shoved me into the ornamental pool.
I struggled to surface, my heavy silk dress dragging me down like a lead weight.
Jax, the ruthless Underboss of Chicago, swam right past me.
He reached for the woman who had pushed me, scooping her up as she faked a leg cramp.
He carried her out, stepping over my hand as I clawed at the slippery edge.
Every Capo and soldier in the underworld watched the heir choose a jersey chaser over his fiancée.
"You are making a scene, Eliana," Jax said, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Go home."
He didn't offer a hand. He ordered me away like a disobedient dog.
Later that night, when I tried to return his ring, his mistress laughed and shoved me down a flight of stairs.
I lay at the bottom, broken and bleeding.
Jax didn't check if I was alive. He comforted her instead.
To him, I was just furniture. A guarantee.
He thought he had broken me. He thought I had nowhere to go because our families were allied.
He was wrong.
I left the five-carat diamond on the table.
I left my car keys on the dashboard at O'Hare Airport.
I didn't just run away.
I boarded a one-way flight to New York to join his mortal enemy, the Tran Syndicate.
Jax Little thought he owned the board.
He didn't realize the Queen had just defected. Public Betrayal: My Husband's COO
Modern At our company's launch party, while I was pregnant with our child, my husband's COO, Dorian, slid her hand into his.
She leaned in and purred that she was already "taking care of" his unique needs, a public declaration of their affair.
My husband, Bryon, just laughed nervously, his classic tell when he was caught.
The next morning, after I'd made the gut-wrenching decision to terminate our pregnancy, I saw them again.
I stumbled and fell to the pavement. Bryon rushed to my side, but when Dorian faked a dizzy spell, he abandoned me on the ground without a second thought to cradle her in his arms.
Lying there, forgotten on the dirty sidewalk, I finally understood. He didn't just cheat; he had no care for me or the child I had just lost. All my love and sacrifice meant nothing.
As he walked away with her, I pulled out my phone.
"Dad," I said, my voice ice-cold, "Pull every penny from AuraTech. And get me the best lawyers. I need divorce papers and a termination of pregnancy consent form. Tonight." Reborn Heiress Marries My Ex-Fiancé's Brother
Modern Tonight was supposed to be the night I became the happiest woman in D.C., celebrating my engagement at the legendary Bolton Manor gala. I wore emerald silk and a diamond that cost more than most mansions, convinced that Hank Bolton was my soulmate and the key to my family's future.
But behind the heavy oak doors of the guest wing, the dream died. I found my fiancé tangled with another woman, laughing about how I was nothing more than a "clueless cash cow" whose inheritance would fund his run for the Senate.
In my first life, I reacted with tears and screams, which only allowed his family to paint me as an unstable lunatic. They stripped me of my dignity, bankrupted the Adams estate, and watched coldly as my brother, Lucas, died in a ditch trying to save me. I ended up gasping for air in a burning building, realizing too late that my perfect engagement was actually my execution.
I died in the soot and the shadows, feeling the searing heat of a betrayal that burned worse than the fire. I lost everything because I was too blind to see the monsters hiding behind expensive smiles.
But then, I suddenly gasped for air and realized the smoke was gone. I was standing in front of a vanity, the calendar mocking me: October 14th. The night of the gala. I had been given a second chance, and this time, I wasn't going to be the victim.
I recorded the betrayal on my phone and walked into the library with a heart made of ice. I didn't just blow up the engagement; I demanded a new groom—Hank’s "invalid" older brother, Dereck, a man the world had written off as a dying recluse.
"I'll take him," I told the stunned family. I wanted a husband who couldn't cheat, a puppet who would leave me a wealthy widow within a year.
I thought I was choosing a safe, broken man to shield me from my enemies. I didn't know that under his blanket, Dereck was hiding a holster, or that the "dying" man was actually a predator who had been waiting for someone exactly like me to walk into his trap. No Longer Your Spare Part: The Luna's Revenge
Werewolf The drill's whine was the only thing in my world, vibrating through my skull and drowning out my own screams.
I was strapped to a cold metal table, paralyzed by wolfsbane, while surgeons bored into my hip bone to siphon my essence.
"Just a little more," the surgeon muttered. "Isabella needs the boost for the wedding photos."
They weren't saving my sister's life. They were harvesting my marrow just to make her skin glow for a picture.
I looked at the observation window, begging with my eyes.
Dante, the Alpha I had dragged from the jaws of death, stood there. He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand.
He didn't know I was the one who healed him. He believed her lies.
"Take it all if you have to," Dante's voice drifted through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."
The drill punched through. My heart stuttered and stopped.
I died on that table, a hollowed-out husk used to feed my sister's vanity.
"Seraphina! Are you deaf?"
A sharp voice snapped me back into existence.
I gasped, clutching my hip. No blood. No drill. No pain.
I looked at the calendar on my father's desk.
I was alive. And I had exactly one year before the surgery that killed me.
I looked at my trembling hands and felt the ancient anger of my White Wolf stirring.
I wasn't going to be the sacrifice this time.
I was going to be the arsonist. The Billionaire's Secret Heir: Sign the Divorce
Modern I spent three years as the perfect, silent wife to billionaire Ezequiel Sanford, enduring a marriage colder than the marble floors of our Manhattan mansion. The day I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test was the same day my world burned down.
I found Ezequiel at the hospital, but he wasn't there for me. He was cradling his ex-girlfriend, Alexa, with a gentleness he had never shown me, while my own father was being rushed into the ICU after a suicide attempt triggered by our family's bankruptcy.
Instead of comfort, Ezequiel handed me divorce papers. He had checked a box that read "No Issue of Marriage," effectively erasing any claim I had to his legacy. He blackmailed me, promising to save my father’s company only if I signed away every cent of alimony and walked away with nothing.
When Alexa called him claiming an emergency, Ezequiel shoved me aside so violently I hit the sharp corner of his glass desk. As I collapsed to the floor, clutching my abdomen in sudden, searing pain, he didn't even look back.
"Stop acting," he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. "It’s pathetic. I will never love you, Claudia, no matter how many times you fall down."
He walked out to be with her, leaving me bleeding on his office carpet with the secret he had spent years trying to avoid. He thought I was a gold-digger faking a crisis, never realizing I was actually carrying the Sanford heir he claimed didn't exist.
Now, I’m hiding in a private clinic while my husband’s security team scours the city for me. My childhood friend just handed me a one-way ticket to Paris and a chance to restart the medical career I sacrificed for a lie.
The money just hit my father's account. I’m signing the papers and disappearing. By the time Ezequiel realizes what he’s lost, I’ll be a world away, and he’ll never even know my child’s name. The Alpha's Cruel Bet On His Unborn Heir
Werewolf For eight months, my Alpha husband Derek smiled as he rubbed my swollen belly, discussing nursery names.
I thought he was excited. Then I found the hidden medical file: Vasectomy. One year ago. Irreversible.
He believed my pregnancy was a betrayal. But instead of confronting me, he planned a public execution of my dignity.
At the pack gala, he and his mistress drugged me with Wolfsbane. Paralyzed and helpless, I was forced to listen as they took bets from the crowd on who the "real" father was.
When the pain started and I felt the life slipping from my womb, I screamed for him through our Mind-Link.
"Let the bastard die," he replied coldly, severing the bond.
I miscarried on the ballroom floor while they laughed.
They thought I was broken. They were wrong.
I sent him a box containing the remains, accompanied by a forged DNA test proving the child was his.
I watched from the shadows as his sanity shattered under the weight of "killing his own heir."
Now, he sits in a maximum-security asylum, howling in grief for a son that never truly belonged to him.
I sip my champagne in First Class, leaving the wreckage behind.
The sterilization had worked perfectly. The baby wasn't his.
But as long as he suffers, the truth doesn't matter. The Day My Heart Died: An Ex-Wife's Reckoning
Billionaires The charity gala was suffocating, a gilded cage where I, Jocelyn Duncan, watched my husband, Andrew, openly parade his mistress Maria, making my irrelevance a public spectacle.
Our five-year-old twin sons, Caleb and Jayden, in an innocent accident, spilled chocolate mousse on Maria, provoking Andrew to condemn them to a brutal desert "behavioral correction camp."
I begged, humiliated myself, but he was unmoved; my babies were ripped from my arms, their screams echoing as Andrew watched with chilling indifference.
Hours later, driving through the arid landscape to rescue them with my sister-in-law Molly, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification: Andrew' s sonogram announcement with Maria, "A new chapter begins."
At that exact moment, police officers emerged from the camp gates and delivered a horrifying truth: my sons, Caleb and Jayden, had died from dehydration and heatstroke.
My world shattered, but Andrew, when I called, laughed and accused me of melodramatic lies, dismissing their deaths as a tactic for attention.
How could he deny them, our own children, who had just died from his callous cruelty, while he celebrated a new life that would never know theirs?
I had nothing left but an unbearable, burning agony, and a single, unyielding resolve: I would leave the shattered remains of my life with him, taking my sons' memory and only my unbreakable will to survive. Her Own Hell
Mafia A phone call from my oldest friend, Wendy, ripped through the quiet of my garage.
Her panicked voice claimed ruthless bikers had taken her, demanding I fix their custom bikes for her freedom.
Without a second thought, I sped into the Mojave desert to rescue her.
But when I arrived, Wendy betrayed me, knocking me out and delivering me to a biker gang.
I came to, discovering the bikes-thirteen identical, menacing machines-were ones I had custom-built years ago for their enigmatic leader, Deacon.
Imprisoned in a foul container, I risked everything, engraving my unique mechanic's mark on a spark plug for Mama Fuller to relay to Deacon, hoping he'd remember me.
Yet, Wendy, my supposed sister, shrieked out my secret to Ryan, the gang' s sadistic interim leader.
He retaliated by shooting Mama Fuller and throwing a gun on the floor, demanding Wendy and I fight to the death.
As I lunged for the weapon, bracing for the worst, I couldn't comprehend how my life had plunged into such a brutal nightmare.
Now, trapped in a world of violence and betrayal, I must confront the past I thought I'd buried and fight for a future I never imagined. The First Lady's Faked Demise
Modern For ten years, I, Jocelyn Chavez, the First Lady, was a prisoner in a gilded cage, enduring my President husband' s public humiliations with his mistress.
But then, I heard his chilling confession: he framed my family for treason, destroyed my father, imprisoned my brother, and now planned my "accidental" death to make his mistress the next First Lady.
My world shattered as he orchestrated my public downfall, forcing me to confess to poisoning his mistress's son and leveraging my daughter' s life to make me admit I was "unstable" before the press.
Every humiliation, every lie, every wound-each cut deeper than the last, culminating in him telling me my mother was dead and then plotting to terminate our unborn child.
But he didn't know the old Jocelyn was gone; I was fighting back, and the explosion that rocked D.C., supposedly claiming my life and my daughter's, was my masterpiece, not his. Ashes of Betrayal: A Daughter's Fiery Return
Fantasy The smell of smoke and burning flesh still felt real on my skin.
I woke up gasping, my hands flying to my throat, expecting to feel the char and ruin from the fire I died in.
But I was back in my own bed, weeks before the Lone Star Smoke-Off, the competition that ended my life.
My father, Andrew Johns, the patriarch of the famous Johns barbecue dynasty, stood by my side, feigning pride while secretly grooming my half-sister, Gabrielle, to steal my legacy.
They' d sabotaged me before, but this time, it was more than just a competition.
I discovered my mother' s hidden diary, revealing the horrifying truth: my father poisoned her to seize the family empire and erase her, and me.
Returning to the competition, they stripped me of everything-my smoker, my reputation, even my mother' s last memento, the "Whiskey River" grill.
I was left with nothing but the burning humiliation and the phantom pains of a betrayal that led to my death.
How could the man who raised me be a murderer? And how could I, disarmed and discredited, fight back against a conspiracy that spans generations and seems to defy logic?
This time, I was playing for keeps. I vowed that vengeance would be served, slow and hot, even if I had to become the fire itself. Unwanted Wife, Unstoppable Heiress
Romance For seven years, I poured my entire life into Caleb, believing his success was ours, even buying his mother an expensive Thanksgiving gift in hopes of finally being accepted.
But the moment I walked in, my world shattered: Caleb' s high school sweetheart, Maria, was there with a five-year-old boy who called Caleb "Daddy!"
The entire dinner became a public humiliation. Caleb treated me like a stranger, his mother doted on the boy as her "perfect little grandson," and then Maria cried, making the child slap me.
When Caleb and his mother demanded I apologize, he didn't even flinch when I walked out, instead grabbing my arm and hitting me for "being dramatic."
That' s when I saw the expensive drafting set I bought for his "nephew" through my money-it was for Maria's son.
I walked out, leaving him, our shattered fantasy, and every belief I had held about us behind, ready to reclaim my life. The Unwanted Wife's True Legacy
Romance My father' s funeral was two days ago.
Today, I married his killer. Five years later, I thought I had a quiet, comfortable life with Ethan, my steady, perfect husband who' d saved me from ruin.
He was my rock, my savior, the only good thing left.
Then, at a high-profile industry party, I slipped behind a potted plant and heard voices: Ethan and my ex-fiancé, Dylan.
Dylan sneered, revealing their masterpiece of a scheme – Ethan had orchestrated my father' s bankruptcy and subsequent death just to get me to marry him, a sick consolation prize, all while pining over another woman, Scarlett.
My world shattered. The man who held me as I grieved my father was the one who destroyed him. The lies didn' t stop there.
I discovered his toxic obsession with Scarlett, a decade-long shrine of photos, and a horrifying plan in his notes: he paid someone to destroy my father' s last gifts to me. The final blow? A will leaving everything to Scarlett, not me, his wife.
How could I have been so blind? My entire five-year marriage was a calculated lie, a twisted cover-up, not for love, but for guilt and a sick obsession. He didn't just ruin my family; he stole my choices, piece by piece.
The next morning, Scarlett came to my house, a cruel victory lap as she planned a photoshoot within the home she expected to inherit.
Ethan, my "loving" husband, rushed to her side when she faked a fall and screamed at me, then refused to believe me.
After I collapsed, I woke up in a hospital bed to the news I' d had a miscarriage.
Then Scarlett appeared again, casually admitting Ethan had been giving me "harmless" pills for years to prevent me from getting pregnant with his child.
She then shoved me down the stairs. That' s when the fog cleared. I walked out of that hospital, leaving a single note: I want a divorce. No looking back. The Guardian Angel's Comeback
Fantasy My quiet life in the sprawling Hawthorne estate was a secret dedication, for I was their Guardian Angel, my well-being intertwined with their immense fortune.
A scholarship student, I focused on my books, a delicate porcelain dove on my desk, a silent reminder of my crucial, hidden role.
This peaceful existence shattered when Brooke Ashley, my cousin Ethan's jealous fiancée, burst in, leveling wild accusations of grants "stolen" and spells "whispered."
Her rage culminated as she deliberately smashed my heirloom porcelain dove, its sharp fragments gashing my forehead.
The attack spiraled into a nightmare: Brooke and her friends disfigured my face with a letter opener, ripped my clothes, and even tried to brand me with a hot lighter, while the family butler betrayed me, diminishing my sacred status to save himself.
When Ethan's father, Marcus Sr., arrived, instead of salvation, he saw only scandal, and pressed a thick pillow over my face, attempting to suffocate me.
As I struggled for breath, the realization hit me: the very family whose prosperity I safeguarded was willing to commit murder to bury their cruel secret, sacrificing their own destiny just to silence me.
How could they, knowing the ancient pact, extinguish the source of their own success with such monstrous indifference?
In my final moments of darkness, the door burst open, and my childhood friend, Liam Hawthorne, my true protector, pulled me back from the brink of oblivion, promising a new beginning and a devastating reckoning for those who dared to defy fate. Too Late, Richard
Romance For eight long years, I was trapped in Richard Blackwood’s mansion, an agreement to care for his son, Ethan, after my sister Eleanor’s death, but I called it a cage.
Just as my contract neared its end, Ethan accused me publicly at a glittering gala, screaming that I was trying to replace his mother.
Richard, ever the dismissive patriarch, instantly took his son’s side, leaving me humiliated and isolated.
His cold indifference deepened when Ethan destroyed my sentimental belongings, culminating in the heart-wrenching death of my beloved dog, Buddy, at Ethan’s hands, which Richard shrugged off as an accident.
He even tried to offer me the freedom from birth control as a ‘favor’ for my service, then brought in a younger Eleanor look-alike, Tiffany, to openly replace me.
How could they consistently strip away my dignity and dismiss my grief, only to then try and buy my loyalty back?
The pain was a constant throb, yet my resolve hardened with each calculated insult and dismissal.
My breaking point came when Ethan, echoing Tiffany’s cruel words, shot me with a slingshot as I left, delivering a final, petty wound.
That moment snapped the last lingering thread of attachment; I dropped a silver charm at his feet, definitively severing our tie.
I picked up my bag, ignored Richard’s threats, and walked out the door, knowing my true freedom, and a new life, awaited in Montana. 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.* Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
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. Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
Married to the ruthless Billionaire Mafia
Starrlight I was meant to study law. Instead, the law sold me.
My father's debts sold me into a contract marriage with Dante Moretti, the heir to a mafia empire who hides behind a billion-dollar legal empire.
To the world, he's the polished, untouchable CEO. Behind closed doors, he's ruthless, demanding, and dangerously irresistible.
I swore I'd outsmart him that I'd serve my time and win my freedom. But every kiss feels like a trap, every touch like a dare, and every secret I uncover pulls me deeper into his world.
And the longer I stay, the harder it is to remember:
Am I his prisoner... or his bride?
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." 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. 
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