Nina Brooks
8 Published Stories
Nina Brooks's Books and Stories
The Runaway Heiress Returns For Revenge
Modern Adelina returned to New York after three years in exile, determined to take back her family's failing company.
But the moment she landed, she ran into her ruthless ex-fiancé, Gage Evans.
He was holding a supermodel who was wearing Adelina's own custom, exclusive perfume.
He trapped Adelina in his car and threw a ten-million-dollar check at her, telling her to go back to Paris and give up her legacy.
"This world will eat you alive. Take it."
Adelina tore up the check. She crashed her company's board meeting, using a secret will to oust her corrupt stepfather and stepbrother.
But they lured her into a deadly trap: she had to increase profits by ten percent in six months, or lose all her shares.
Desperate for capital, Adelina pitched to the city's top venture capital firm, only to find Gage waiting in the office.
He and his cousin publicly humiliated her, calling her "corporate poison" for running away from their wedding three years ago, and brutally rejected her proposal.
Adelina was pushed to the absolute edge, mocked and cornered by the man who was actively erasing her identity.
She didn't understand why Gage was so determined to destroy her, yet had quietly shielded her from a freezing rainstorm just a day before. What was his real game?
Standing in the torrential rain, Adelina wiped her face and pulled out her phone.
She unblocked a contact she hadn't touched in three years. It was time to call in a monster of her own. The Unwanted Luna: Secret Heiress Of The White Wolf
Werewolf I walked into my kitchen to find my husband's assistant wearing nothing but his white dress shirt.
Jami sat on the granite counter, sipping coffee from my favorite mug. My husband, Dustin, stood next to her, smiling in a way he hadn't smiled at me in years.
When they saw me, there was no shame.
Instead, Jami sent a photo to my phone while sitting ten feet away.
It was an ultrasound.
"The Alpha's bloodline," the caption read. "Something you couldn't give him."
I demanded an explanation, but Dustin only looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"She carries my heir, Eliana," he said, shielding her with his body. "You are barren and unstable. Go back to bed."
When I refused, he used the Alpha Command to force me to my knees, humiliating me in my own home while his mistress watched with a triumphant smirk.
He thought I was just a submissive wife. He thought I was trapped by the bond, acting as an endless battery for him to drain to keep his own volatile power in check.
He conveniently forgot that before I was his Luna, I was the sole heiress to the David mining dynasty.
He forgot that everything in this house—from the security system to the very foundation—was paid for with my money.
I fought against the crushing weight of his command and forced myself to stand.
"I reject you, Dustin Powell."
As he collapsed in agony from the severed bond, I didn't help him. I picked up my phone and called my legal team.
"I want it all gone," I ordered, staring at the horror on his face. "If I bought it, take it. Start with the mattress." Betrayed By My Alpha, Awakened As The Luna
Werewolf I was the Alpha’s fated mate, chosen for him by the Moon Goddess. I spent years loving him in secret, certain he would finally announce me as his Luna at the pack’s Ascension ceremony.
Instead, he stood on the dais and presented another woman. I discovered he had used my own blood in a secret ritual to bind himself to her, a political marriage he had planned for months while whispering promises to me in the dark.
In front of our entire pack, he publicly rejected me, a brutal act that shattered our sacred bond and tore my soul in two. He allowed his new bride to frame me for treason, destroy my home, and erase my history. He stood by while his warriors threw silver-laced stones at my head, then commanded me to kneel and apologize for a crime I didn’t commit.
The man I would have died for broke me for power and ambition. Then he came to me in the ruins of my life and asked me to be his hidden mistress, his secret prize locked away from the world.
I refused. I escaped his tyranny, rebuilt myself from the ashes, and found a new love with a true Alpha who saw my worth. I became a Luna in my own right, powerful and finally free. But my rejected mate’s obsession festered. A year later, he lured me into a trap. The last thing I remember is the sting of a needle in my neck and his chilling voice whispering, "It's time for us to go home." His Thirty-Fourth Accidental Betrayal
Romance My fiancé, the city's top surgeon, has always taken such good care of me. That's why our wedding has been postponed thirty-three times.
Then, one night in the hospital, I overheard him talking to a friend. He confessed he was the one behind all thirty-three of my "accidents." He was in love with a new resident, Kalea, and couldn't bear to marry me out of family obligation.
His cruelty escalated. When Kalea framed me for slapping her, he shoved me back onto my bed, calling me insane.
When she faked a suicide attempt on a rooftop, he rushed to save her, letting me fall off the edge without a second glance.
While I lay paralyzed in a hospital bed, he had my mother beaten in prison as punishment, and she died from her injuries. On the day of her funeral, he took Kalea to a concert.
I was his fiancée. My father had sacrificed his career to save his. Our families had bound us together. Yet he destroyed my body, my mother, and my voice, all for a woman he'd just met.
Finally, he let Kalea, the woman he loved, perform surgery on my throat, and she deliberately ruined my vocal cords, destroying my ability to ever sing again. When I woke up, voiceless and broken, and saw the triumphant smirk on her face, I finally understood.
I snapped my SIM card, walked out of the hospital, and left everything behind. He had taken my voice, but he would not take the rest of my life. Her Vengeance is a Silent Waltz
Romance My sister was dying, and my husband, Alex, refused to let me see her.
"Diamond's comfort is my priority," he said over the phone, his voice cold. "She's not comfortable with you there."
Diamond. The woman who supposedly took a bullet for him. A debt he was repaying with my life.
His repayment plan had already cost me my future. He stood by impassively as I was forced to sign sterilization papers, ensuring Diamond, who claimed the bullet had left her barren, would never have to see him have a child with another woman.
They smeared my name in the press, painting me as an unstable addict whose "violent outburst" led to my sister's hospitalization. At the funeral they planned without me, they announced their plan to send me to a "facility" for my own good.
The night before their wedding, he came home drunk. He grabbed me, his hands roaming my body in a grotesque parody of intimacy, and whispered her name. "Diamond."
Something inside me finally shattered. I shoved him off me, screaming my own name. The next morning, Diamond stood on our doorstep, a triumphant smile on her face, calling me a barren, washed-up musician who couldn't even keep her own sister alive.
Looking at them, the monster and his master, I felt nothing but a cold, clear resolve. I turned and walked away from the wreckage of my life. It was time to erase Erica Wade and build someone new. Someone who would burn their world to the ground. The House That Holds Our Hearts
Horror My podcast, "Crimson Echoes," was flatlining, desperate for a jolt of something real, something raw.
Then the email landed: "The Blackwood Experience" – an exclusive, five-person weekend trapped in the notoriously haunted Blackwood Manor.
I signed up instantly, picturing viral content, the ultimate professional coup.
But the confirmation email already hinted at the unease: "Five participants. No more, no less. The gate will open once, and close once."
I arrived at dusk, only to find four others – a Goth, a Tech CEO, a Gamer, and an Influencer – already there.
Then, a sixth person, a clueless student named Mark, pedaled up on a beat-up bike, clueless about the exclusive invitation.
Just as the chilling realization of an extra person sank in, the massive iron gate groaned shut behind us, locking with a deafening clang.
We were trapped, not five, but six, and one of us was definitely not supposed to be here.
Panic set in, but then came the voice, childish and clear, echoing throughout the now-lit up manor: "Welcome, playmates… Let's play a game. A game of hide-and-seek."
My fellow captives scattered, desperate to hide, but the voice promised "punishment" for those found.
The terrifying truth dawned on me as one by one, they were claimed, their deaths horrifying reflections of their deepest flaws, from the Influencer literally dissolving to the paranoid Gamer twisting into an impossible shape.
I survived, found but spared, only to realize the ghost, Lillian, wasn' t just in the house; she was the house, hiding in every reflective surface, watching.
I found her, I "won," and the spell broke, the house reverting to a ruin as a faint whisper confirmed my chilling victory.
But that whisper became a scream in my memory: "You've won before, you know. It's just your first time remembering."
My entire reality fractured; I wasn't a survivor, but a ghost myself, trapped in a loop, reliving this nightmare again and again.
My memory was wiped clean the moment I stepped outside, the horror dissolving like smoke.
A week later, I found myself inexplicably drawn back, my duffel bag with recording equipment forgotten, a friendly smile on my face.
"Hi," I said to the five strangers gathered at the gate. "My name is Sarah. I'm a podcaster. I came here for the experience."
The cycle, inevitably, began anew. Beyond His Reach: The Girl He Cast Aside
Romance My world revolved around Alex Thompson, the golden son of the family who took an orphan like me in.
For years, my love for him was a secret hum, a quiet song played on the old piano, hoping he' d hear.
But when I finally laid my heart bare, he looked at me with cold, distant pity.
"Ava," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You' re like a sister to me. Always."
Then he declared his engagement to Chloe Vanderbilt, parading her around like a bright, sharp shield; each public display a fresh wound.
Chloe mocked me openly, called me a "hand-me-down," and casually destroyed my last precious memento, my mother' s music box.
And while Alex stood idly by, she maliciously framed me for attacking her.
Then, his fist flashed.
A searing pain erupted on my cheek as he slapped me.
"You ungrateful brat!" he seethed, his eyes blazing with fury.
That brutal blow extinguished the last dying ember of hope, replacing it with a cold, clear certainty: I had to leave.
My love, my loyalty, my very existence had been treated as mere charity, a burdensome obligation, then crushed with cruel contempt.
How could the boy who once swore to protect me become the man who struck me for another' s lie?
It was over.
So, I left.
I walked out of that house, leaving behind the shattered pieces of my heart and a symbolic repayment for their "charity."
I agreed to an arranged marriage with Noah Evans, a quiet tech mogul.
Now, as his fiancée, I'm heading to New York to chase my music dreams, a life where Alex Thompson is nothing but a distant, bitter memory.
He thinks he won, that I'll eventually come crawling back.
He' s about to find out just how wrong he is. The Day the Contract Ended, His World Crumbled
Romance For five tireless years, Sarah Jenkins’ life revolved around Ethan Miller. She was his shadow, his silent caretaker, meticulously managing his expensive lifestyle, his meds, and his fragile mental state after his fiancée, Olivia Hayes, abandoned him. Sarah deferred her own dreams, trapped by a contract that covered her father’s escalating medical bills.
Then, a bombshell: Olivia was back.
Suddenly, the indifferent Ethan, who barely acknowledged Sarah’s existence, lit up, his world revolving solely around Olivia. Sarah, his contractual wife, watched as he dismissed her, even when she presented divorce papers, his only concern being the continued seamless functioning of his affairs. He treated her merely as a utility, expendable once his old obsession returned.
Had her five years, her entire youth and ambition, been nothing more than a debt repaid to a man who saw her only as "services"? The crushing truth left her hollow, a ghost in a gilded cage. Was she forever destined to be invisible, a pawn in someone else’s drama?
But then, a lifeline: a message from an old university friend offered a spare room in New York and the journalism gig she’d always dreamed of. Sarah Jenkins, the photojournalist, was finally reclaiming her narrative. It was time to leave, to find herself beyond the Miller mansion's suffocating walls. You might like
Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray’s text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." Untouchable After Goodbye: She Had A Secret Empire
Mira Westfield "Let's get a divorce. She's pregnant and deserves a place in my life."
He once promised to protect Claire forever, yet when his first love returned, he cast her aside. For three years, Claire dimmed her brilliance, living quietly as the obedient wife behind him.
When he handed her divorce papers to give his pregnant mistress a place, Claire no longer hid her talents.
The woman he had overlooked was a legendary healer, racing prodigy, and a genius designer. After the divorce, she reclaimed her glory.
When he pleaded, "Honey, let's remarry," another man pulled her close. "She's my wife now. As for you... Someone, take him out and give him what he deserves!" Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." First Lady Out, Your Majesty In
Asher Wolfe For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back.
Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away.
On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess.
Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side.
Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like."
Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?"
Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music."
When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled.
It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake. 
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