Rafael
16 Published Stories
Rafael's Books and Stories
From Drowning To A New Life
Romance On my fifth wedding anniversary, I wasn't arranging flowers; I was staging my own death.
My husband, Graham, treated me like a prized accessory, but the antique watch on his nightstand revealed the brutal truth.
It was engraved "Forever, Elia"-proof that his heart belonged to his business partner, not me.
So I vanished into the ocean, letting the world believe I had drowned.
For two years, I lived as "Anna," finding peace in a small coastal town and rediscovering my art.
But the past has a way of clawing its way back.
Elia tracked me down, storming into my pottery studio with a weapon, screaming that my "death" had ruined Graham.
She lunged, and I took the blow to protect a child.
That' s when the door burst open.
Graham stood there, frozen, staring at his "late" wife bleeding on the floor.
He fell to his knees, sobbing, begging to destroy his empire just to have me back.
I looked at the man I once worshipped and felt nothing but cold indifference.
"I loved the man you pretended to be," I told him.
"But that man never existed." The Jilted Bride's Billionaire Vengeance
Modern I was engaged to Bradly Warner, a union meant to merge our family empires. In my past life, I poured my soul into his failing company, making him a titan of industry while he treated me with cold indifference.
But a near-fatal accident gave me a second chance, flooding my mind with memories of his ultimate betrayal.
I remembered how he and my cousin, Janell, flaunted their affair, publicly shaming me while I was trapped in a loveless marriage. They stole my work, took my fortune, and left me to die alone, a fool who had given everything for nothing.
He never loved me. I was just a convenient tool, an obsession he could control and discard.
So when I woke from my coma, back at the start of it all, I made a new vow. At the gala where he planned to humiliate me, I looked him in the eye and announced I was marrying someone else. His powerful, reclusive uncle, Garrison. Heiress Betrayed: My Sweet Revenge Wedding
Modern For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big.
On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe."
Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero."
Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends.
"She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy."
Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder.
I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number.
"Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married." Shattered Crystal, Broken Love
Modern The crystal shattered, a scream tearing through the quiet afternoon.
It was followed by a tiny, terrified gasp from my four-year-old daughter, Lily.
I found her frozen in the doorway of Ethan' s study, surrounded by the glittering shards of his limited-edition crystal set.
When Ethan appeared, a cold presence blocking the light, he didn' t look at Lily or me, only the broken crystals.
"This was a gift," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "From Chloe."
Chloe Davis, his spiritual mentor, the ghost in our marriage.
"Ethan, it was an accident," I pleaded, shielding Lily.
But he ignored me, pulling Lily from my grasp. "Discipline is not a punishment. It is a teaching."
He dragged her toward the soundproof meditation room, her panicked sobs echoing: "No, Daddy! Not the quiet room! It' s dark!"
"Ethan, no! She' s terrified of enclosed spaces!" I cried, but he pushed her inside.
The heavy door clicked shut, sealing off her screams.
When he finally let me out an hour later, Lily was gone.
No pulse. No breath. Nothing.
Hours later, the TV in the living room showed Ethan on a stage, smiling, declaring his devotion to Chloe.
My heart shattered, replaced by a cold, hard thought.
I called my lawyer. "It' s Sarah Miller. Please draft a divorce agreement for me."
The doorbell rang. It was Ethan' s mother, Mrs. Hayes, offering me a staggering check for his "carelessness."
"He wasn' t careless," I said, pushing it back. "He was cruel. Your son killed my daughter."
I expected shock. I didn' t expect Chloe Davis to walk through my front door, looking like a distressed angel, instantly comforted by Ethan.
As she hugged him, she looked at me with a flash of pure, triumphant victory.
This wasn't an accident. This was an execution, and she orchestrated it.
The cold emptiness inside me ignited into a white-hot rage. Amnesia's Gift: A New Beginning
Romance The antiseptic smell was sharp, the ceiling a stark white as I blinked myself awake, the rhythmic beeping of a machine my only company.
A dull ache pinned me to the mattress, and I stared at the IV in my arm, a blank slate where memories should have been.
Then, the door swung open, and three figures walked in: my impeccably dressed adoptive parents and my effortlessly confident adoptive brother, Liam.
"Oh, for God's sake, Ethan. Are you done with this charade? Another one of your pathetic stunts to get attention," my adoptive mother, Mrs. Reed, sighed, her face a mask of weary frustration.
My adoptive father, Mr. Reed, didn't even look at me, his gaze fixed on Liam.
Liam stepped forward, a perfect blend of concern and superiority.
"I'm just worried about Ethan. He seems... confused."
Confusion turned to panic as their words landed like stones, painting a picture of a disappointing, burdensome person I didn't recognize.
"Who... who are you?" I rasped, my voice foreign even to myself.
Mrs. Reed scoffed.
"Now he's pretending to have amnesia. How original."
Then, Olivia, my wife, entered, her presence commanding, her eyes cold.
"Is he done making a fool of himself? And me?" she cut through the air, her voice frigid.
"The press is already sniffing around. 'Tech CEO Olivia Reed's husband in another suicide attempt.' Is this the life you want for me, Ethan?"
Humiliation washed over me as whispers from the hallway confirmed my role: the artist who married Olivia Reed, pitied for his pathetic attempts, rumored to be in a loveless marriage with a woman who loved his brother.
They left eventually, leaving me with the silence, the beeping, and a profound realization.
This emptiness wasn't a void; it was a blank slate.
The amnesia wasn't a curse; it was a mercy.
It was a chance to escape a life I couldn't remember, a life that sounded like a prison.
I fumbled for the phone, my finger landing on "Lawyer."
"Ethan Miller," I said, my voice stronger now, filled with a newfound resolve.
"We need to proceed." His White Moonlight, Her Broken Heart
Billionaires "Welcome home, sister," Olivia purred, her voice dripping fake sympathy, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
My stepsister. Standing at the top of the stairs in a soft white dress, looking every bit the innocent angel.
Just hours before, I' d been the picture-perfect partner to tech mogul Liam, or so the world believed. We were the ultimate power couple, but our life was a beautifully constructed lie. I was his accessory, the woman he paraded while his true affections revolved around Olivia, his childhood friend, his "white moonlight." That night, I found a silver locket, a shrine to her, inscribed: My O. My life. It shattered the last illusion.
Then, my father, seeing my broken spirit and ruined relationship, unveiled his plan: a marriage contract to the ailing Nathan for a critical business merger. A desperate escape, or so I thought.
"You knew," I whispered, rage trembling in my voice, looking at my stepmother and Olivia. "You both knew all along."
They were in on it. Olivia, my mousy, perpetually "ill" stepsister, was the architect of my humiliation, systematically undermining me, pulling her medical scares to sabotage my moments with Liam.
But Liam' s betrayal wasn' t just about Olivia. He cut off my credit cards, left me penniless, and then, after dramatically "saving" me from my father' s goons, he threw me in a holding cell at the auction house where Olivia, with his blessing, stole my mother' s last heirloom. He had used me, not as a replacement, but as a pawn in a sick game to manipulate Olivia into confessing her feelings for him.
The shock was a physical blow. My mother' s assistant confirmed it: Liam had engineered our entire relationship. I wasn't just second best; I was a calculated strategem.
Empty, hollow, and utterly adrift, I walked back into the sterile silence of our penthouse. A cleansing fire. I burned it all down. Every lie. Every memory.
"I don't know you," I told him, as the elevator doors closed.
The next day, I accepted Nathan Lawford's marriage proposal. Too Late For Your Love
Romance I was a time traveler, driven by love to 1972, spending five years as a shadow to folk singer Nathaniel Hughes, crafting his career and believing I was finally winning his heart.
But that dream shattered the night before our wedding when, in a moment of chaos, Nathaniel brutally shoved me aside to protect his childhood flame, Jennifer Clarkson.
He didn't even see the wound, a deep gash on my shoulder, as he rushed to her, his true devotion laid bare. His casual gesture threw me to the ground, but his words, "Jennifer's safety is more important," cut deeper.
How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to think I could outrun destiny and break a bond so profound? My love, my efforts, even my future knowledge, were just tools for him, eventually cast aside for the woman he truly adored.
Then, caught in an anomaly during my forced return, I plummeted from the sky, my memories shattered, landing at the feet of "The Hatchet," Andrew Scott – an unexpected savior who would forge a new empire and choose me first. The Husband's Secret Game
Fantasy My husband, Julian, a brilliant but reserved academic, and I, Eleanor, an artist obsessed with miniature dioramas, had built a quiet, seemingly perfect life together.
Until she arrived.
Isabelle Thorne, a character from an old gothic romance Julian was researching, took my body.
One moment, I was sketching a new miniature, the next, I was a horrified ghost, watching her claim my life.
She moved into my home, used my voice, wore my face, but her eyes held a cruel triumph.
She was an actress, and my life was her stage.
Helpless, I watched my husband fall deeper into her web.
Her ultimate goal? To bear Julian a child, anchoring herself permanently to our world through a twisted ritual.
The profound injustice, the sheer impossibility of it, chilled me more than the coldness of my ghostly form.
Would Julian ever see through her perfect facade?
Could anyone fight something that wasn't supposed to exist?
But Julian, my quiet, bookish Julian, began to notice.
The small slips, the missing affection.
As suspicion hardened into a terrifying certainty, he uncovered her monstrous plan.
Now, armed with forbidden knowledge and a desperate, dark resolve, Julian must play a dangerous game – to reclaim his life, avenge his love, and send this horrifying visitor back to the pages from which she spawned. A Scorned Heir's Reckoning
Billionaires Ethan Vanderbilt, a wealthy heir, was deeply infatuated with genius coder Izzy Monroe, seeing past her aloofness to a promising future.
He believed her fierce loyalty to her "brother" Leo was a sign of her good heart.
His perfect world shattered at a Hamptons gala when he overheard Izzy openly mocking him with her "Vanguard" friends.
Their true plan: to use him as a "meal ticket" for Leo, who wasn't just her brother, but her lover.
Izzy' s betrayals escalated from a deliberate boat sabotage and his public humiliation at an auction, where she used his frozen funds to buy Leo an NFT.
The ultimate insult came at his 25th birthday, when she unleashed deepfake videos to completely destroy his public image.
How could the woman he adored, the one he trusted implicitly, be capable of such calculated malice and cold-hearted deceit?
The pain of her betrayal was an open wound, fueling a relentless quest for understanding and justice.
Fueled by ice-cold rage, Ethan decided his time as a pawn was over.
With his unexpected ally, Sophia, he meticulously planned a ruthless counterattack to unveil every dark secret and ensure his tormentors faced their just, public downfall. The Woman He Couldn't Break
Modern My hands trembled, clutching the small music box that held my son Leo' s ashes, as Dean Thompson slid the divorce papers across the desk.
My husband, Mark, refused to acknowledge our boy was gone, completely convinced by my conniving sister, Laura' s, twisted tales that Leo was simply "visiting my parents."
He called me hysterical, pathetic, accusing me of inventing Leo' s death just to manipulate him, all while lavishing attention on Laura' s son, Ethan, and ignoring our child' s memory.
When I desperately needed Mark' s signature to legally transport Leo' s ashes for burial, he saw it as leverage, demanding I consent to his adoption of Ethan as a "trade."
How could he be so willfully blind, so utterly cruel, to deny our beloved child's passing and weaponize my profound grief for Laura' s selfish gain?
My heart shattered daily, not just from the immense loss, but from his relentless, unbearable dismissal of Leo and me.
Then, disaster struck: a raging fire engulfed an apartment, and in the terrifying chaos, Mark chose them again – Laura and Ethan – abandoning me to the smoke and flames, with only Leo' s music box clutched to my chest.
But amidst the inferno, I didn't die; I emerged from the ashes, a new woman, shedding the name Sarah Miller for a stronger identity: Sarah Astor.
Now, as an influential journalist, I stand ready to confront the man who broke me, to claim my peace, and ensure Leo' s memory finally finds justice. The Baby Is Gone: No 'Us'
Billionaires Sarah Miller, a brilliant software engineer, poured her genius and every last penny into rebuilding her disgraced tech mogul boyfriend, Ethan Knight.
She sacrificed everything, even her own health enduring a miscarriage, to help him rise from the ashes and build a billion-dollar empire.
But success revealed Ethan's true monstrous nature.
He brought his heavily pregnant ex-girlfriend, Jessica, home, ordering Sarah to serve her.
With his venomous mother, Eleanor, they turned Sarah' s life into a nightmare of relentless humiliation.
The ultimate public degradation came at a charity gala when Ethan, in front of their wealthy peers, ordered Sarah to kneel and polish Jessica' s shoes with a cocktail napkin.
Days later, Sarah discovered she was pregnant with Ethan's child, a secret flicker of hope.
But his cruelty knew no bounds; after physically assaulting her, he locked her in a freezing garage on a bitter winter' s night.
When she desperately revealed her pregnancy, he sneered, dismissing it as "manipulation."
Abandoned and freezing, a chilling clarity settled over Sarah.
The man she loved was gone, replaced by a monster more concerned with another woman's "important" pregnancy.
In that dark, cold garage, she made the most agonizing, yet utterly resolute, decision of her life.
When Jessica's lies finally unraveled, and a desperate Ethan, clutching Sarah's positive pregnancy test, begged for reconciliation, Sarah calmly shattered his world.
"The baby is gone, Ethan," she whispered, "I had an abortion this morning. There is no 'us'."
With that, she walked away, leaving him utterly ruined, her own path to healing finally begun. Sister-In-Law's Jealousy
Fantasy My life was woven from Montana's wind and the whisper of ancient spirits, far from Washington D.C.'s noise.
As a tribal healer, I lived connected to the land, but when my brother, Senator Julian Vance, called, his voice tight with desperation, I knew I had to go.
His wife, Vicky, was dying, and modern medicine had failed her; I came to save her, to offer healing beyond what doctors understood.
Instead, I stepped into a nightmare.
The moment I arrived, Vicky lunged at me, eyes blazing with a jealousy I couldn't comprehend.
She accused me of being a "homewrecker," her rage unchecked as her entourage joined in.
They desecrated my sacred tools, the very conduits of my power, stomping them to splinters.
My young apprentice, Lena, barely out of her teens, was mercilessly murdered protecting me.
Then, in a final, horrifying act of malice, Vicky herself plunged a letter opener into my eyes, stealing my sight; I lay there, blind and broken, my world plunged into utter darkness.
Why this monstrous, unprovoked assault?
What deep-seated rot drove a woman to such extreme, unhinged violence against the very person trying to save her?
How could such hatred be born from a false accusation?
The pain of Lena's death and my stolen sight gnawed at my soul, demanding answers.
Just as all hope seemed lost, Julian burst in, witnessing the horrific truth.
His icy fury, a Senator's power unleashed, promised swift and absolute ruin for Vicky, but as I recovered, profound inner truths began to reveal themselves, forcing me to redefine justice, healing, and my own broken spirit. The Angel Who Saved Him Twice
Mafia My name is Marcus Costello, heir to a New York crime family, and today I was meant to choose my future wife from a lineup of my elite bodyguards, the "Guardian Angels."
My mother, the Donna, sat across from me with their photos, but my mind was miles away, trapped in a dim, dusty warehouse by the docks.
I remembered the smell of stale water and fear, and the agonizing pain of my own blood.
In my first life, I chose Seraphina "Sera" Rossi, my beautiful childhood crush, Angel One.
When rivals kidnapped me, I called her, my wife, my top guard, but she dismissed me, too "busy" seeing Leo Maxwell, the man she truly loved.
She left me to be tortured for hours before a bullet ended it.
The last thing I remembered was a desperate cry: Winter "Winn" Hayes, Angel Ten, found me, fought like a demon, and died trying to shield my already broken body.
Her loyalty was a stark contrast to Sera's unforgivable treachery.
Now, I was blinking back to reality, realizing I was sent back in time, back before the betrayal, to the moment of choice.
A wave of nausea hit me as I saw Sera's arrogant smile on the top photo.
I pushed her photo aside, then another, and another, until my hand stopped on the last one, Winter Hayes, Winn.
"This one," I said, my voice steady, laying her photo on the table.
My mother was surprised, but this time, I wouldn't be a fool.
I had a second chance, and this time, I would live. Played for Fools: Our Unstoppable Wedding
Romance For seven years, I, the lead singer of "Static Bloom," harbored a secret love for our infuriatingly talented guitarist, Jack.
Thanksgiving night was supposed to be our night, with his brother Noah also nursing a long-standing crush on my ex-best friend, Olivia.
But neither Jack nor Olivia showed up where they were supposed to be.
My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification, then a shared post appeared: Jack and Olivia, arms around each other, announcing, "Finally making it official. Happy Thanksgiving! ❤️"
The photo, five years old, shattered my world, confirming years of their secret relationship and calculated deception.
Jack, who’d recycled love songs for me, and Olivia, who’d used Noah as her dutiful admirer, saw us as naive pawns in their cruel game.
Olivia later messaged, gloating and asking if I was "happy" for them, while Jack dismissed my seven years of devotion as "intense."
Noah and I met, numb with betrayal, realizing how deeply and deliberately we had been played, their arrogant triumph stinging more than the heartbreak.
The sheer audacity of their lies, the way they’d used our unwavering affection as a smokescreen for half a decade, burned with an unbearable injustice.
How could they have been so cold, so manipulative, while we poured our hearts out?
They truly believed they had won, that they were clever escaping the messy entanglements of their own making.
Then, amidst the ashes of our shared misery, Noah looked at me, a wild glint in his eye, and dropped the bomb: "Let's get married, Emily."
It was reckless, insane, gloriously petty, and the perfect chaotic revenge.
To give them a surprise they wouldn't expect, we decided to tie the knot, turning betrayal into our most unexpected love story. You might like
Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
Zaccaria Linn On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table.
Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen.
"Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over."
I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward.
Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant.
She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest.
As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me.
He hugged her.
"It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you."
The betrayal didn't stop there.
When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police.
When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations.
He declined the call.
He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife.
That was the moment the chain broke.
As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come.
I opened the door and jumped into the dark.
Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement.
Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one. 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." Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse
Hu Minxue For seven years, I served as the eyes for Dante Vitiello, the blind Capo of New York.
I pulled him back from the edge of madness, tending to his wounds and warming his bed when everyone else had given up on him.
But the moment his vision returned, the years of devotion turned to ash.
In a single phone call, he decided to marry Sofia Moretti for territory, dismissing me as just "the maid's daughter" and a "comfort" he intended to keep as a mistress.
He forced me to watch him court her.
At a gala, when a chaotic accident caused a tower of champagne glasses to shatter, Dante threw his body over Sofia to protect her.
He left me standing there, bleeding from the glass shards, while he carried her away like she was porcelain.
He didn't even look back at the woman who had saved his life.
I realized then that I had worshipped a broken god.
I had given him my dignity, only for him to treat me like a disposable bandage now that he was whole.
He arrogantly believed I would stay in the penthouse, grateful for his scraps.
So, while he was out celebrating his engagement, I met with his mother.
I signed the severance agreement for fifty million dollars.
I packed my bags, wiped my phone, and boarded a one-way flight to Australia.
By the time Dante came home to an empty bed, realized his mistake, and began tearing the city apart to find me, I was already a ghost. Marrying His Rival: The Ex-Fiancé's Nightmare
Moria Anninger I was the "Caged Canary" of the underworld, a biological asset designed to merge two crime families. My fiancé, Bryant Barnes, didn't love me. He loved the power I brought, and he loved his mistress, Kalia.
The night Kalia broke into my penthouse and stomped on my hand, crushing the bones and my fashion career, Bryant didn't help me. He told the police she was my guest and warned me not to embarrass him with a cast.
That was just the beginning. When Kalia lied about feeling unsafe, Bryant dangled me off a balcony. When she faked a kidnapping, he locked me in an industrial freezer for six hours until I turned blue. And when I fell into the marina, he swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown in the freezing water.
He destroyed my body and my dignity for a woman who was stealing my designs and faking a pregnancy. He thought I was just a broken obligation he could discard.
But he made a fatal mistake. He didn't make sure I was dead.
I dragged myself out of the water and made a call to his greatest rival.
On the night of our grand merger, I walked onto the stage wearing royal blue instead of white. I rolled up my sleeve to reveal the scars he gave me, looked him dead in the eye, and grabbed the microphone.
"I hereby terminate my engagement to Bryant Barnes. And I am proud to announce my betrothal to the true King of this city." Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy
CHRISTINE ROBINSON I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction.
Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world.
"The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella."
I froze.
My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival.
He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen."
I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours.
Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content.
He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's.
Then, he pushed me off the edge.
As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing.
I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement.
"Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game."
He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life.
But he forgot that I knew his secrets.
I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson.
"It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt." 
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