Norrra
11 Published Stories
Norrra's Books and Stories
You Chose Her, Now Watch Me Disappear
Mafia On our fifth anniversary, my husband Dante gave me a unique gift: he burned my business to the ground.
Why? Because a shopkeeper had been rude to Sofia, the fragile ward he swore to protect.
While I waited in our penthouse, he was comforting her in front of the flames.
But that was just the beginning.
When I finally snapped and confronted Sofia for mocking our marriage, she cut her own arm and screamed for help.
Dante didn't hesitate. He shot me.
He put a bullet through my hand to save her.
Then, to "discipline" me, he dragged me to the cellar and waterboarded me—using my deepest trauma against me—until I admitted to a crime I didn't commit.
I endured it all, thinking he still loved me in his twisted way.
Until the day we were ambushed at the docks.
The enemy held a gun to my head and a knife to Sofia’s throat.
"Choose," the gunman said. "The Queen or the Ward?"
Dante looked at me. He calculated that I was strong enough to survive, but Sofia would break.
"Let the girl go," he said.
He watched as the gunman pulled the trigger on me.
As I fell backward into the freezing ocean, bleeding from a chest wound, Dante screamed my name.
He thought he had killed me.
He didn't know I was wearing a Kevlar vest.
He didn't know that while he was mourning his dead wife, I was already planning my escape.
Dante Moretti thinks his Queen is dead.
I intend to keep it that way. The Fixer's Secret: Taming My Husband
Modern I spent three years playing the role of the perfect, silent wife to Julian Sterling, the most volatile billionaire in Manhattan. To the world, I was just a socialite; in reality, I was a high-stakes crisis negotiator known as "The Fixer," living a double life to survive a marriage that was nothing more than a cold, clinical contract.
The illusion shattered when Julian publicly humiliated me at his private club, flaunting his mistress while his mother issued a brutal ultimatum: produce an heir by next week, or my family's remaining assets would be wiped out.
But the true betrayal lay hidden in a secret file in my parents' safe. I wasn't chosen for love or status; I was a "genetic stabilizer," a biological filter purchased to breed the mental instability out of the Sterling bloodline. My own parents had sold me like a lab rat, trading my life to unfreeze their bank accounts.
Julian treated me like a "slab of meat" while chasing the ghost of a woman named Seraphina, and my mother-in-law viewed my womb as nothing more than a corporate asset. I realized then that every person I had ever trusted had placed a bounty on my DNA.
"I'm not jealous, Julian," I told him as he pinned me down in a hospital room, his eyes wild with the Sterling madness. "I'm just the one holding the bill."
When a secret request came in for a "ghost negotiator" to defend Sterling Industries against a hostile takeover, I didn't turn it down. They had no idea that the elite specialist they were hiring to save their empire was the same wife they had spent years trying to break.
I'm done being the cure for this family. This time, I'm the poison, and I'm going to make sure they pay every cent they owe me. From Rejected Omega To The Royal White Wolf
Werewolf I stood in the rain, watching my ex-mate place fresh white roses next to a toxic silver chain on my headstone.
The epitaph read *Beloved Daughter*, which was laughable.
Five years ago, I called my father from a mangled car wreckage, bleeding out. Instead of sending an ambulance, he asked if the car was salvageable.
Then Clayton took the phone. He didn't offer help. He used the Alpha Command to reject me while I was dying, all because I was a "weak" wolf and his new favorite, Ainsley, needed his attention.
They left me to die in the gutter to protect their reputation.
Tonight, I walked into their desperate charity gala, wearing a dress worth more than their entire failing pack.
My father didn't weep with relief at my resurrection. He looked at me like a stain on his carpet.
"You ungrateful brat!" my aunt shrieked, slapping me across the face hard enough to draw blood. "You were supposed to stay dead! You're ruining Ainsley's night!"
They signaled security to dump me in the alley, thinking I was still the powerless girl they broke.
They didn't notice the air in the ballroom turn heavy with ozone. They didn't feel the crushing weight of a true predator entering the room.
Until the double doors exploded inward.
A man with eyes like molten gold stepped through the dust, his terrifying aura forcing every wolf in the room to their knees.
He looked at the red mark on my cheek and let out a roar that shook the chandeliers.
"WHO TOUCHED MY MATE?!"
My father trembled on the floor, looking between the enraged Alpha King and me. "Mate? But... she is nothing."
I smiled, my eyes flashing silver.
"Hello, husband," I whispered. "Let the execution begin." Too Late For Regret: My Lost Heir
Modern I spent three years being the perfect, quiet wife to Julian Sterling, dimming my own light to fit into his cold Manhattan penthouse. On our anniversary, I sat in the dark with a secret that would change our lives forever—I was finally pregnant with the heir he always wanted.
But Julian didn't come home to celebrate. He threw divorce papers on the table and told me his first love, Harper, was dying of stage four cancer.
"It is her last wish," Julian said, his voice cold and detached. "She wants to be Mrs. Sterling before she dies. It is the only thing she has ever wanted."
I signed the papers and walked away without taking a dime of his billions, but fate wasn't done with me. A few days later, our paths crossed in a crowded hospital lobby. Julian, blinded by his need to protect Harper from the paparazzi, saw me as an obstacle in their way. To clear a path for her, he shoved me aside with enough force to send me flying.
I hit the sharp corner of a marble desk and collapsed. As I lay on the floor, I watched Julian hesitate for a fraction of a second before choosing to comfort a wailing Harper instead of helping me. He held her hand while I bled out on the cold stone, losing the child he never even knew I was carrying.
In the operating room, the truth finally came to light: Harper wasn't dying. She was faking her symptoms with bribes and stage makeup, and Julian had sacrificed his own son’s life for a performance.
When he showed up at my bedside crying and begging for a second chance, I realized that the woman he married was gone. I pulled off my platinum wedding ring and dropped it onto the metal tray with a hollow clink.
"Take it," I whispered. "It is too heavy. I cannot carry it anymore."
Julian thinks he has lost a wife, but he has actually created a storm. I am no longer the quiet girl he broke; I am a Vanderbilt, and I am going to burn his entire world to the ground for what he did to my baby. Betrayal's Cost: A Husband's Revenge
Billionaires Ethan Hayes was in a late-night board meeting, his tech empire soaring, built on logic and precision. Meanwhile, his beautiful socialite wife, Amelia, was at another party, her laughter echoing, a champagne flute always in hand. He valued loyalty; she had other agendas.
That night, a tagged photo on social media confirmed his long-held dread: Amelia, head on a younger man's shoulder, Leo Vance, an art student. This wasn't the first time, but it was the most blatant betrayal.
He drove to their penthouse, only to find Amelia and Leo tangled on the couch, laughing. "Ethan. You're home early." Her voice was cool, dismissive. "Don't be scared, Leo. He won't do anything," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. The final nail in the coffin of their marriage.
The next day, what little rage he expected to feel was absent. Just cold clarity. He was done pretending. He met Dr. Maya Sharma, an astrophysics candidate his foundation was sponsoring. Brilliant, resilient, and unfairly defunded.
"The truth is, your funding was specifically pulled and given to another, less promising project. Why did you lie about that?" He pressed. Maya confessed her funding went to Leo Vance, because Amelia, on the university board, had pulled strings.
The humiliation deepened when he found Leo Vance, Amelia's lover, smugly preening in his private closet, wearing his silk robe. "She said you wouldn't mind. That you're used to sharing." The insult, casually delivered, hit harder than any blow.
He wanted to scream. He was a man who valued control, and Amelia had turned him into a spectacle in his own home. He had become a stranger, an invisible guest. He had endured her betrayals for years, choosing convenience over self-respect, and now he was paying the price.
But a new path had opened. He funded Maya' s project, and with a cold, calculated smile, set a plan in motion to reclaim his life. "Enjoy the penthouse," he' d told Amelia. "I won't be needing it anymore." This was his fight, and he was ready. Father's Day: A Slap In Public
Modern Father' s Day usually means family, gifts, and forced smiles.
As an architect, I build strong foundations, but my relationship with my father felt like glass.
This year, I was going to his studio apartment, not just with a gift, but to retrieve my mother' s vintage watch-the last thing I had of hers.
But before I even got inside, a call shattered the fragile peace.
"Brenda," my father' s new, live-in girlfriend, was already on the offensive.
She claimed the watch was hers, a "payment" for her "service."
My father, when I finally reached him, only sighed-that familiar, weary sound of avoidance.
He defended her, told me to calm down, and refused to get involved.
"Just… not today, Olivia. Let' s not fight on Father' s Day."
The humiliation only escalated a few days later, at my daughter Lily' s elementary school art fair.
Brenda and her sullen son, Chad, launched a public attack, accusing me of trying to steal from my "poor, sick father."
Their performance drew stares and whispers, painting me as the heartless, ungrateful daughter.
Then, with my daughter trembling by my leg, Brenda threw herself to the ground, screaming that I had pushed her.
Chad lunged, ready to strike, but my husband, Mark, intervened.
Just as I was trying to leave, Brenda grabbed my ankle, shrieking, "You' re not going anywhere!"
Suddenly, my father appeared.
Relief surged, thinking he would stop this madness, defend me.
Instead, he rushed to Brenda' s side, asking, "Are you okay, my love?"
Then, his eyes cold with disappointment, he turned to me.
"Olivia, how could you do this to Brenda?" -and he slapped me.
In public. In front of my daughter.
As I stood there, reeling, Brenda, clinging to his arm, cooed, "Tell her, darling, tell your ungrateful daughter the truth."
My father looked at me, his face hard, unforgiving.
"Brenda is not my girlfriend, Olivia," he declared. "She' s my wife. We got married last month."
The world tilted. My own mother' s watch, a wedding gift to this woman?
He actually looked me in the eye and said, "If you want to remain my daughter, you will respect my wife and you will forget about that watch."
"Or you can keep fighting, and you can consider yourself disowned," he paused, letting the threat hang. "The choice is yours."
A cold, clear calm settled over me.
There was nothing left to fight for.
I pulled out my phone, opened my banking app, and looked him dead in the eye.
"How much is it worth?" I asked.
"The watch. How much do you want for it? Name a price. I' ll buy it from your wife."
His face went pale as Brenda whispered a price in his ear.
"Fifty thousand dollars," he choked out.
"Done," I said, showing him the confirmation screen. "For my own mother' s watch. Now it' s mine again."
The gift, the illusion, the pretense of family-all gone.
My father made his choice.
Now, it was time for me to make mine. Shadowed By Her, Now Free
Romance For seven years, I lived in Chloe Adams' s shadow, the architect of her fame, ghostwriting her witty captions and composing jingles, content to be the loyal friend.
Then, at her engagement party, Chloe announced her new brand deal, her arm linked with reality TV star Brody Hayes.
"It' s time for you to find your own spotlight, you know? Away from me."
Her casual dismissal, meant to be a gentle nudge, landed like a physical blow, firing me from her life.
Everyone in the room watched, waiting for me to nod, to accept my role as Chloe' s devoted groupie.
But something inside me snapped.
"No," I said, the word cutting through the celebratory hum like glass.
Chloe' s perfect smile faltered.
"I' m just done. Done writing your posts, done composing your jingles, done being your shadow."
Her face blotched red, the gracious influencer replaced by a furious toddler.
"You can' t be 'done' !" she hissed. "I' m not done with you!"
I thought I was finally free, but her fury escalated. She shoved me, then roared, "Your parents gave me a key years ago, remember? What' s yours is mine."
I rushed home to find my sanctuary invaded, my studio defiled.
A stranger strummed my grandfather' s prized vintage Martin guitar, another giggled, scrolling through my private files.
Rage burned through me. As I called 911, Brody snatched my phone and smashed it.
"He thinks he' s so much better than us just because his parents have money," Brody declared, manipulating the crowd.
Chloe' s eyes blazed. I felt a sharp sting as she slapped me, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.
Helpless, I watched as she grabbed a bottle of sticky red liqueur and upended it over my head.
Laughter and jeers erupted, phones flashing, recording my humiliation.
Then, I saw it: Brody wore my mother' s hand-carved wooden bird necklace, a sacred link to her memory.
"Chloe gave it to me. Said it was just some trinket she found lying around. A good luck charm."
"It' s a cheap piece of wood. Stop making a scene over nothing. You' re embarrassing yourself."
My mother' s last gift, the most precious thing I owned, dismissed as "nothing."
A raw, desperate cry escaped me. "That was my mother' s. It was a gift from my dead mother!"
Her face went dead white. "You shut your mouth!" she shrieked, striking my head.
Brody whispered to Chloe, eyes on my open laptop. "His laptop is still on. The application portal is still open."
My college applications. My future.
"NO!" I screamed, struggling against the men holding me. "Don' t you touch that!"
But I was forced to watch as Chloe, with a cruel smile, clicked, erasing my Yale application, my entire dream.
"This is Yale," she snarled, holding up my laptop before letting it smash to the floor.
A piece of the broken screen sliced my cheek, the warm trickle of blood a final punctuation.
"The application deadline is in fifteen minutes," Brody chimed. "Tough luck, man."
Hope died.
"Lock him in the basement until morning."
The basement. My deepest, primal fear.
"Chloe, no. Please. Not the basement. Do anything else. Please!" I begged, dignity gone.
But Brody' s whisper sealed my fate: "He' ll ruin everything."
Chloe' s eyes hardened to stone. "Do it."
They dragged me, struggling, pleading, towards the yawning black maw.
I tumbled down the creaking stairs, landing on the cold, damp concrete.
The door slammed shut above me.
The click of the lock echoed in the suffocating darkness.
I woke in a hospital bed, Maria, our housekeeper, explaining she' d found me. My parents burst in, back from Paris.
"I' m so sorry we let this happen. We brought a monster into our home. Into your life."
"It' s okay, Dad. She didn' t ruin anything."
"I got my acceptance letter from Juilliard two months ago. A full scholarship."
The only thing Chloe destroyed last night was the last bit of affection I had for her.
Thousands of miles away, Chloe' s card was declined. She tried to call me. Voicemail. She tried again. Voicemail.
She swore I was playing games.
Meanwhile, at Juilliard, I stood on stage. "You are the protagonist of your own life. Don' t ever let anyone else hold the pen."
Chloe Adams, abandoned and broke, would keep waiting for me to come crawling back. The Unwanted Wife's Foresight
Romance My hands white-knuckled the steering wheel, watching the tour bus - my son and mother-in-law inside - slide towards a freezing cliff edge.
Panic seized me, but not just for the immediate danger; I had lived this exact, horrific day before.
In my first life, my firefighter husband, Andrew, scoffed at my desperate calls, choosing to celebrate with his mistress Molly and her son over saving his own family.
His callous dismissal led to their deaths, my ruin, and finally, my own murder at his hands for exposing him.
Now, facing the same impossible choice and a chilling text where he declared me "psychotic" for reporting the crash, I knew I would not beg the man who had already killed me once.
This time, with the terrifying foresight of memory, I would save them, and myself, even if it meant destroying the monster I once married. Beneath the Texas Sun, A Mother's Sin
Modern My marriage to Nicole Chadwick was a business deal, but I fell in love with her, and together we had our son, Caleb.
I thought we had a chance at a real family.
Then, in one horrific instant, my five-year-old son was gone, drowned by his own mother, Nicole, with her high school sweetheart, Wesley, egging her on.
As paramedics fought for Caleb' s life, Nicole and Wesley shopped for saddles and laughed.
Later, she even tried to send peanut butter cookies to his hospital room, knowing he had a severe peanut allergy.
I watched her celebrate a new pregnancy with Wesley, declaring Caleb a "mistake" and mocking me as I lay bleeding in a ditch, pushed by her.
She then publicly whipped me with a riding crop on sharp gravel, spitting venom and telling me I was nothing.
My world shattered, built on a foundation of lies and unfathomable cruelty.
How could the woman I loved, the mother of my child, be such a monster?
But then, Mr. Chadwick, Nicole' s father, revealed a truth so shocking it peeled back every layer of deceit.
Wesley didn' t just instigate Caleb' s death; he had lied for five years about saving Nicole' s prize horse, a feat I secretly accomplished purely out of love for her.
Now, as Nicole shattered, confronting the horrifying reality of what she had done and lost, I finally understood.
There was no making it right, no forgiveness.
And my refusal to forgive her set in motion a chain of events that ended in her tragic, solitary demise years later. The Bride Who Said No
Romance Elara Hayes had spent nearly twenty-five years as Governor Carter's wife, a life of dutiful performance, a lie for her husband's political ambitions, all while he pined for her stepsister, Brittany.
As Ethan lay dying, his frail whisper asked her to place Brittany's portrait by his grave, a final, cruel reminder of her lifelong second-place status.
But a blinding headache striking at his deathbed plunged her back in time, opening her eyes to sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows, wearing a wedding dress and standing at the altar for her first wedding to Ethan.
Then, just as before, his phone buzzed, and he ran out of the church, leaving her humiliated for Brittany.
This time, though, there were no tears, no despair, only a wild, giddy sense of freedom as she realized: "This was it. My second chance."
With her family's wrath looming and society's judgment heavy on her, Elara lifted her chin, walked down that aisle, and, to the collective gasp of the church, proposed to the notorious media scion, Declan Monroe – the man who, in her past life, had been her silent, unwavering protector. My Cold-Hearted Ex, My Billionaire Love
Romance Fresh out of the hospital, my leg throbbed from the research accident, the pain meds useless. I just wanted to heal in peace. Instead, I walked into our bedroom to find my wife, Brenda, in bed with her adoptive brother, Billy Ray—the same man she always claimed was suffering from a rare, terminal illness.
My stitches burst, blood soaking my pants, but Brenda just scoffed, called me "dramatic," and ordered me out. She literally pushed me aside to attend to his "stress." Divorce papers met me at the ER, followed by vile photos from Billy Ray, celebrating their betrayal.
How could she abandon me to bleed out, choosing a man who suddenly looked perfectly healthy, smirking as my world fell apart? The woman I loved watched me suffer, then casually ended our marriage. The sheer audacity, the cold-hearted cruelty, ripped me apart.
Lying on an ER gurney, signing divorce papers, completely alone and stripped of everything, I hit rock bottom. But as the last drops of my blood mingled with shattered dreams, a quiet resolve ignited. They took everything, but they wouldn't take my future. My new life began right there, amidst the wreckage. 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.
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. My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. 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." 
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