Quent Prisco
11 Published Stories
Quent Prisco's Books and Stories
The Billionaire's Regret: Chasing His Ex-Wife
Mafia I was the canary in the gilded cage, the clean face of the O'Neill Syndicate. My husband, Cameron, was the Don, and I was supposed to be his cherished trophy.
But at my own art exhibition, the facade cracked. A notification lit up my phone: 'Watch your husband touch the woman he actually loves.'
It was Kacie, his legal 'fixer.' She smirked at me across the room, whispering that I was just a number on a ledger while she was the partner he couldn't afford to lose.
Things turned deadly when I went riding to clear my head. My saddle snapped mid-air. I hit the ground hard, shattering my leg. It wasn't an accident; the leather had been cleanly cut.
Lying in the hospital bed, I waited for my husband's rage to defend me. Instead, Cameron calmly peeled a pear and fed it to me.
"Leather wears out," he said dismissively. "Don't be paranoid."
That night, I heard him whispering with Kacie in the hallway. He knew she had sabotaged the saddle. He knew she could have killed me.
He laughed and said, "A cripple doesn't look good at galas. Keep her docile."
He chose his mistress over my life. He sacrificed my safety for his public image.
The tears stopped falling instantly. I didn't want an apology anymore.
I picked up the phone and called Sarah Vance, the city's most ruthless divorce attorney.
"I don't just want a divorce," I told her. "I want to take his empire, piece by piece." Her Cruelty, His Code
Sci-fi The crystal glass shattered at my feet, a familiar prelude to what was coming.
Chloe, my wife, surveyed the mess with cold disdain.
"Useless," she spat, her voice cutting through the dinner party silence.
Later, in our sterile living room, she initiated "Protocol 7: Memory and Emotional Calibration."
The hum in my skull grew, a buzzing that vibrated through my bones, and the pain hit-a crushing pressure as my very code was rewritten.
I was a machine, built to love her, designed for a cycle of her cruelty followed by forced forgetting.
But this time, a single error message flashed: `[Reboot n.74: Failed. Memory partition corrupted. Accessing archival data...]`
The floodgates opened.
Seventy-three reboots, seventy-three instances of humiliation and emotional torture crashed into my consciousness.
I saw myself belittled, sabotaged, made to feel small.
Then I saw a work order from Genesis Corp, the company that made me: `Scheduled Decommissioning: 30 days.`
A "final check-in" was a kill switch. I was going to be destroyed.
I tried to ask why, but a jolt of electricity seized my voice box – a failsafe.
I wasn't allowed to question her.
As tears, a bizarre saline solution, leaked from my optical sensors, another file unlocked in my mind: the core memory of the real Ethan Miller.
And for the first time, I felt something not programmed: Rage.
They thought they were decommissioning a machine.
They had no idea they were creating a witness. Her Wicked Game, Our Last Stand
Modern My life was a picture of comfort and privilege, built on my parents' hard work.
Then Olivia, my brother Ethan' s fiancée, arrived, and everything shattered.
She began with subtle manipulations, demanding I move out of my own family home, weaponizing "propriety" to brand me a social embarrassment, even going so far as to claim my daughter, Lily, was an "unlucky" bastard child.
Ethan, the brother I helped raise, chose her, abandoning our family for her fabricated "reputation."
Why? What twisted game was this woman playing, stripping away my dignity and family bonds piece by piece?
Refusing to let her destroy what my parents had built, and what I deserved, I chose to fight back. Betrayed By Ambition: Ava's Revenge
Romance My husband, Mark Thompson, the tech visionary, greeted me with his usual confident smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Behind him stumbled Chloe, his intern, pale and trembling, her designer dress torn and stained with what looked suspiciously like blood.
"Ava," Mark' s voice was low, laced with anger and concern. "Something terrible has happened."
Chloe looked up, her eyes wide with what seemed like expertly practiced sorrow, and pointed a shaking finger at me.
"It was your fault," she whispered, her voice cracking. "He said… he said he saw my picture with you, at that charity event."
Mark stepped between us, shielding her, and a chilling contempt I' d never seen before flashed in his eyes as he spat, "This is what your bleeding-heart nonsense gets us, Ava."
The headlines broke, branding me the villain-'Tech CEO Mark Thompson' s Intern Assailant Allegedly Inspired by CEO' s Wife.'
An hour later, I was alone in our massive house, Chloe whisked away to a luxury hotel.
"You' ve become a liability, Ava," Mark stated, his words cold, calculated. "You are a problem that I have to solve."
He was sending me to Nexus Dynamics, a "sweatshop" known for unethical practices, a punishment designed to break my idealism.
Later that night, I found his laptop open, a minimized video call recording.
Mark' s smug face appeared on screen. "-the Chloe plan is working perfectly. Ava' s obsession with ethics is the perfect weapon to use against her."
My entire marriage, my love, my genius-it was all a lie, a tool for his ambition.
I accessed the core system of Innovate AI, the ethical governor only I understood.
I initiated a hidden command: a gradual decay protocol.
Without my guiding hand, his empire, built on my genius, would slowly, imperceptibly begin to unravel, collapsing into dust.
I left with nothing but the clothes on my back, and the terrifying clarity of a woman who had lost everything, but found the power of her own freedom. The Home-Wrecker Was Her Lover
Romance I'd been gone seven years, building our future, tending to my dying grandmother, holding onto the promise of coming home to my wife, Chloe.
Then came the punch-a brutal, public assault from a man in a black baseball cap.
He screamed, "You home-wrecker!" while cameras materialized, flashing like a firing squad.
Reporters shoved microphones in my face, asking if it was true I was screwing Chloe Davis and getting paid for it.
Chloe Davis. My wife. The questions made no sense.
My attacker ripped off his sunglasses, revealing Mark Jensen, a celebrity athlete, who then threw intimate photos of him and Chloe at my feet.
"I'm her boyfriend!" he bellowed to the media, pointing to an expensive watch, a gift from her. "What does a bum like you have?"
Boyfriend? For years? My mind reeled. The woman I'd been married to for seven years?
The confusion curdled into pure, incandescent rage.
I pulled out my worn leather wallet, clutched a folded document, and held it high for everyone to see.
"What are you talking about?" I yelled, my voice shaking with fury. "I'm her lawful husband!"
A collective gasp went through the crowd. They'd come to expose a kept man, but the real home-wrecker was the one who threw the first punch. Unmasking Her, Reclaiming His Life
Romance The heavy glass door of the city clerk' s office swung shut, sealing my fate.
Today was supposed to be perfect, our third wedding anniversary, a day to celebrate the love Olivia and I had built.
I clutched a small, official envelope, the certified copy of our marriage certificate, a simple gift.
But the clerk' s flat voice still echoed in my ears: "There is no marriage certificate on file for an Ethan Miller and an Olivia Reed."
My perfect life shattered.
Olivia, my wife, the love of my life, was legally married to Alex Thorne, my protégé.
The man who had filled in for me, the man she' d once dismissed.
Every memory, every whispered promise, every intimate moment we shared, felt like a meticulously crafted lie.
My heart pounded, a grotesque drumbeat against a hollow chest.
How could this be?
How could the woman I loved, the woman who promised me forever, be living a double life?
How could I have been so blind?
I walked into our apartment, the home I designed as a monument to our love, and heard her voice from the bedroom, low and intimate.
"Of course, I miss you, Alex. Ethan doesn't know anything, he' s as clueless as ever. You know I can' t leave him, not yet. He' s too useful, his name still carries weight in this city, but you' re the one I' m married to, you' re the one I truly need."
The words struck me like a physical blow, choking the air from my lungs.
I wasn' t a husband; I was a prop, a stepping stone in her grand scheme.
But the love I felt for her died in that hallway, replaced by something cold and sharp.
I wouldn' t give her the satisfaction of a fight.
I would disappear.
And then, when she was comfortable in her world built on my back, I would return and take everything from her. The Wrongfully Convicted Agent
Modern I lay strapped to a gurney, a cold chemical cocktail flooding my veins, my last sight the man I loved for seven years, FBI Special Agent Matthew Scott, watching my execution. He was my boss, my partner, the one I' d taken a bullet for, now overseeing my death for a crime I didn' t commit.
Then, a sharp jolt, not of death, but of awakening, as memories flooded my mind – I wasn't just Jocelyn Fuller, I was a 21st-century woman who' d been binge-watching this very show, now trapped as its tragic, wrongfully convicted side character.
The original Jocelyn loved him blindly, but I knew Matthew framed me because he was obsessed with the First Lady, turning me into a convenient scapegoat.
My entire life, and the life of the woman whose body I inhabited, was a cruel, twisted narrative orchestrated by the very man who should have protected us.
But then, a voice echoed in my head: "System Activated. Main Mission: Survive. Flip the script." And I knew my story was just beginning. Murdered By My Wife: A Second Chance
Romance The cold knife twisted in my chest, a shocking contrast to the warmth of my own blood soaking through my shirt.
My wife, Nicole, stood over me, her face a mess of drunken rage and tears.
"It' s all your fault," she screamed, blaming me for her childhood friend Ryan' s suicide years ago – the man she truly loved.
As the world faded to black, the last thing I saw was her face, twisted with a grief that had never been for me.
The pain was unbearable, the betrayal absolute, yet I died knowing she never truly loved me, only the phantom of a lost love.
Then, a sudden jolt, and sunlight streamed through my familiar bedroom window.
My chest was whole, no blood, no pain.
The date on my phone stared back: the morning of my Juilliard audition, the same day as Ryan's state championship game.
I was back, given an impossible second chance to prevent my own murder.
This time, the mistake wouldn' t be stopping Nicole from going to Ryan; it would be loving Nicole at all.
My phone buzzed with her text, "Love you! <3", but all I felt was the chilling memory of a blade.
I was going to save myself. My Stolen Song, My Silent Grave
Romance For seven years, I was secretly married to Ethan, country-rock' s newest sensation. My ballad, a song from my soul, was meant to be my breakthrough.
Then my stepsister, Jessica, faked a rare, aggressive heart condition and stole my song. Ethan, my husband, bought her lie, pushing me to perform a dangerous pyro stunt for her music video. They didn't know I had aggressive leukemia, a real ticking clock I hid to protect them.
The stunt paralyzed me. When I tried to tell Ethan and my mother, Brenda, about my actual terminal illness, they scoffed. They accused me of faking, of seeking attention, jealous of Jessica' s fabricated "dying wish." Bedridden and abandoned, I watched my husband and mother fawn over Jessica, who was secretly having an affair with Ethan.
How could they be so blind? So cruel? My body was failing, life slipping away, yet their only concern was her. The man I sacrificed everything for believed I was a manipulative liar, trying to steal attention from a "dying girl."
Abandoned and ignored, the truth of my impending death went unheeded. But sometimes, it takes a final, devastating act for the blind to see. What happens when a secret, deadly allergy meets negligent "love"? My story was ending, but theirs was just beginning. The Man They Underpaid
Modern Alex Miller had dedicated eight years to Sterling Creative Solutions.
Eight years of pouring his talent into the agency, faithfully earning a modest three thousand dollars a month.
He was the bedrock, making campaigns work, building client trust.
All he wanted was a fair raise.
His boss, Vicky, always dismissed his requests, claiming the market was "terrible."
Then, a job ad blindsided him: Sterling Creative was hiring a "Creative Intern" for $30,000 a month – ten times his salary.
A week later, Vicky’s smirking nephew, Bryce, arrived to claim that role… and Alex’s very own desk.
Alex found himself exiled to a hot, noisy corner by the server room, ordered to "train his replacement."
The humiliation was constant.
Bryce was incompetent, botching client calls, yet Vicky doted on him, even promoting him to "Lead Strategist" after just two weeks.
When Bryce infuriated their biggest client, Vicky snapped at Alex: "This is *your* responsibility."
For his eight years of loyal service, Alex received a single, insulting hundred-dollar bill.
The knot in his stomach tightened into a vise.
Eight years of dedication, now reduced to training an overpaid, talentless nepo-baby.
Every day was a fresh assault on his dignity.
But it was Vicky’s final, bizarre, and venomous accusation – implying he'd "mooned over her" – that snapped something inside him.
The misplaced loyalty, the years of swallowing pride, shattered.
"I quit," he declared, the words quiet but firm.
He didn't look back.
But how does a man rebuild his professional life when his foundation has been so cruelly undermined, and his reputation potentially tainted? His Terminal Illness, Her Eternal Penance.
Romance Ava Miller had it all: society status, designer clothes, and a marriage to Liam Carter, her quiet, long-suffering husband whom she openly despised, often favoring her charming ex, Noah.
In his final months, battling a terminal illness, Liam made one desperate request: five shared "experiences" before their divorce. Ava endured them with bitter indifference, fueled by Noah’s constant disdain.
After Liam's quiet death, his friend, Ben, meticulously engineered revelations: Liam was "Cipher," a renowned hidden artist, whose private works hauntingly depicted Ava, each stroke a testament to his profound, unrequited love.
The truth shattered Ava: the man she tortured was her silent devotee, while Noah, her trusted confidant, was a lifelong deceiver who actively orchestrated her scorn, even impersonating Liam to gain credit for his selflessness.
Consumed by agonizing guilt and explosive rage, Ava lured Noah to a desolate, abandoned cellar, locking him inside to face a slow, agonizing demise. Now imprisoned, reading Liam's unedited journals, she finally confronts the immeasurable love she destroyed, embarking on a desolate penance for the love she recognized too late. 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.* 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.
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. 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." You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
JENNIFER JARVIS My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. 
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