Rutledge Shepp
7 Published Stories
Rutledge Shepp's Books and Stories
Regret Is Useless: The Mafia Queen Rises
Mafia I was a Mafia Princess, and he was the gutter rat I tried to make a King.
On our wedding day, with five hundred guests watching, Luca Moretti didn't say his vows.
Instead, after receiving a photo of a secret child, he looked at me with panic and backed away from the altar.
"I can't do this," he announced to the silent church. "She's here. She'll ruin the kid."
He chose a waitress and their illegitimate daughter over me.
He walked out, leaving me humiliated in a dress that cost more than most people's lives.
Forty-eight hours later, he married her.
He gave the waitress my ring, my future, and his name, all to protect a child he had hidden from me.
When I confronted him weeks later, he looked at me with cold eyes and told me he did it for honor.
He destroyed me to save them, convinced I would fade away into the background.
He thought he could break a Vitiello and not pay the price.
Five years later, I returned to Chicago.
The gala went silent as I walked in, wearing blood-red silk.
Luca approached me, eyes full of regret, begging for a second chance, claiming his marriage to the waitress was a mistake.
He thought he could win me back.
Until a little girl ran into the room—my daughter.
And behind her walked my husband.
Not a soldier, but the Reaper himself, Dante Cavallaro.
Luca’s face turned pale as he realized the truth.
He had left me at the altar to play father, but I had married the Devil to become a Queen. Lies, Love, and Loss
Romance My wedding was three days away when the police told me my fiancé, David Reed, was dead, lost to the sea in a hiking accident. Just like that, I became a pregnant widow, my world turning gray.
Then, David' s older brother, Mark Reed, returned from Africa. When I saw him, the resemblance to David was shocking, a ghost in my living room with a slightly deeper voice. I found myself staring, haunted by his presence.
One night, the baby kicking, I overheard voices from the study. It was David' s laugh. My blood ran cold, and I crept closer, the door ajar. "You have to be more careful, David. She almost looked at you funny today," Eleanor whispered. "Relax, Mom. She' s a wreck," David sneered, his voice dripping with confidence. My grief was a joke.
He had faked his death for Aisha, a mistress he planned to return to once her supposed terminal illness ran its course. I was a backup plan, a safety net. His mother, the woman who had held me while I cried, was in on the disgusting lie.
The pain in my abdomen intensified, a physical manifestation of my agony. I stumbled back to my room, locking the door. My brother Chris called, saying I' d sent a blank text. I heard Aisha' s soft giggle in the hall. She was here, in my house, looking healthy and triumphant.
Her eyes met mine through the crack in the door, a cruel, deliberate look that said, "I have him. You have nothing." My mind went blank with rage, then settled into a chilling calm. The game was on. His Death Day, Her Wedding Day
Romance The phone felt heavy in my hand, a cold, dead weight.
It had been a year since I last heard her voice, a year of silence that felt like a lifetime.
My doctor' s words echoed in my head: "Glioblastoma, stage four. I' m sorry, Ethan. We' re talking months, maybe less."
I called her, my thumb hovering over the button.
"Happy wedding day," I said, pushing the words out. "And the second thing… you once promised that you' d carry my coffin after I die."
The line went dead.
A week after that promise, Olivia had left me. "I never loved you, Ethan," she had said, her face a mask of indifference.
Her words broke me more than the illness ever could.
That' s why I was in Zurich, in a sterile room, scheduled to end my life tomorrow.
But then I saw her, by the lake, skipping stones, just like we used to.
As I took a step towards her, a man came up, wrapping his arm around her waist. Liam Stone.
"Olivia' s fiancé," he said, extending a hand. "We' re actually getting married tomorrow."
My death day would be her wedding day. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
I fled, only to stumble into the path of an oncoming tram. Olivia saved me, pulling me back.
But as she pulled me up, her sleeve rode up, and I saw it: a silver bracelet, engraved with "L.S."
She had been with him while we were still together. My life, my love, my everything, was a lie.
"I' m dying," I told her, hoarse. "I have a brain tumor."
Her facade cracked. Then, she asked me for a favor. "I need you to take the photos, Ethan. Just for the ceremony."
I agreed, on one condition: "I want a photo. Just one. Of you and me. Together."
She agreed, then immediately abandoned me for Liam.
At the wedding, she used my origami stars, our special date on her new wedding ring.
"It never meant anything, Ethan," she said, her eyes cold. "It was never real."
I was numb. I left, heading back to the clinic, my fate sealed.
Then, a text from Liam: We could use an extra hand with some last-minute wedding preparations.
He was trying to buy my compliance, to turn my final day into a transaction.
Fine, I replied.
I didn' t know why I agreed. Maybe I needed to burn the image of her happiness into my brain so I could finally let go. The Chef, The CEO, and The Second Chance
LGBT+ We were two weeks away from our wedding, a culmination of seven years I' d poured into supporting Nicole' s dream.
Then, she dropped a bomb: she was going to be a surrogate for Ryan, her deceased mentor' s manipulative son, because "he needed this."
She left me stranded at a funeral in a storm, prioritized his emotional needs over my life-threatening allergy, and when I faced a high fever alone, she quietly packed an overnight bag to go stay with him.
Each abandonment was a calculated betrayal, a casual cruelty that ripped through my heart, leaving me invisible and discarded.
I looked at her, at the woman who had systematically erased my worth, and realized: my future, my very existence, meant absolutely nothing to her.
So I wrote a desperate Instagram post: "Wedding in two weeks. Need a new bride. Any takers?" My phone buzzed, and an unknown number with a Seattle area code changed everything. Wives of War: A Hale Family Saga
Billionaires We were the Hale brothers, Liam and Ethan, groomed to inherit an empire of power and influence.
Our upcoming engagement dinner wasn't just a celebration; it was the strategic alliance that would cement our dynasty.
But on the eve of that pivotal night, a blinding flash, a screech, and a brutal car crash threw us into a living nightmare.
I saw it all with horrifying clarity: our future, laid bare.
Our names, smeared across every screen as traitors.
Our father' s empire, dissolving into dust.
And leading the charge?
Our fiancées, Ava and Chloe, their faces masks of cold righteousness as they delivered soul-crushing lies to federal investigators, all orchestrated by Julian, their hidden puppet master.
Ava accusing me of illegal server access, Chloe claiming Ethan's desperation.
Two unforgivable lies, whispered by the women we loved, fueled by a shadow.
The memory of a gun in my hand, Ethan's shot, then my own – the only escape from prison – was an unbearable weight.
Then, a gasp.
The smell of antiseptic.
Waking in a hospital bed, Ethan beside me, his eyes wide with the same shared horror.
The nurse smiled brightly: "Just in time for your family dinner tonight!"
The engagement dinner.
Our last chance.
Not fools this time. Her Ice Heart, His Bitter End
Romance My father arranged my marriage to Liam, the man I' d secretly loved for a decade.
But on our wedding night, Liam, seeing only a gilded cage and forced manipulation, turned his back, muttering, "You got what you wanted, Ava."
He fled overseas for three years, leaving me to raise our daughter, Grace, alone.
He returned with his ex-girlfriend Chloe and her daughter Skylar.
Liam shamelessly favored Skylar, explicitly neglecting Grace, even re-gifting Chloe's old scarf to me.
Confirmation of his true life came from a public video where he boasted of "peak happiness" with Chloe and her child.
My heart, once foolishly hopeful, shattered into ice.
The man I loved was a brutal illusion; the one in that video, smiling with another's child, was real.
How could he be so utterly cruel to his own flesh and blood, treating me merely as a disposable burden?
The final snap came when Grace suffered a severe allergic reaction.
Liam, however, prioritized Skylar' s minor heat rash, diverting critically needed specialists.
As Grace gasped, her innocent whisper, "Mommy, if Daddy likes Skylar more, it's okay. I just need you," ignited an unbreakable resolve.
He would never hurt her again. Second Chance With My Disabled Boyfriend
Young Adult Caleb served as an assistant for four years and a canary for three years.
I never thought I could walk out of that villa that imprisoned me.
Nathan, the poor school grass with disabled legs, returned after six years abroad and successfully defeated the Griffin Group.
Caleb went bankrupt and became a destitute.
Nathan carried me out of that villa, holding me in his hands like a princess for a year.
On my 26th birthday, I was killed by Caleb in the villa.
Nathan, covered in blood, held me and said calmly, "Yaoyao, you go first, I will follow soon."
Looking at his tearful eyes, I desperately prayed to the gods to save him and let him live.
The gods answered my prayers.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back to 18 years old.
Nathan, this time it's my turn to save you. You might like
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.
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. His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
Hei Baidong I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair.
They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves.
Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment.
But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger.
In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all. Betrayed, I Married the Feared Cripple
Hu Minxue Three days after my fiancé publicly dumped me for my stepsister, the Supreme Don issued a command that silenced the entire estate.
I wasn't being cast aside. I was being sold to Damien Russo.
The "Broken Don." A crippled, scarred monster rumored to have murdered his last two wives.
My adoptive mother, Elena, didn't cry for me. She smirked.
To her, I was finally being disposed of.
She was so confident I was walking to my death that she decided to loot my corpse before I even left.
She forged documents to steal my entire inheritance—my biological mother’s trust fund—to pay for my stepsister’s lavish wedding to my ex.
"She won't need money where she's going," my stepsister laughed, wearing a dress bought with my stolen funds.
They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter.
They thought I was too weak, too stupid, and too afraid of the monster to fight back.
But they made a fatal mistake.
With my aunt’s help, I didn't just find the proof of their embezzlement; I found a weapon.
I’m not running from the monster. I’m going to marry him.
And when I hand him the evidence that the Herrera family stole from his bride, he won't be my executioner.
He will be my vengeance. The Jilted Bride's Secret Mafia King
Benjamen Ernst Standing at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, I waited to marry my wealthy fiancé in front of three hundred of New York's elite.
But right before the vows, my phone vibrated in my bouquet. It was a text from my groom: he was backing out because my maid of honor—my supposed best friend—was pregnant with his child.
Before the shock of this double betrayal could even settle, his mother dug her manicured claws into my arm and publicly humiliated me.
"A woman who can't even attract her own man, how is she worthy of the Doyle name?"
She mocked my background, calling me a worthless orphan who only knew how to draw blueprints, turning my broken heart into a public execution of my dignity.
The terrified girl inside me vanished, replaced by a dark, burning rage. I didn't understand why I had to let this arrogant family step all over me while they played the innocent victims.
I yanked my arm free, tore off my expensive lace veil, and walked straight to the podium to grab the microphone.
"The wedding is canceled. The groom is currently busy with my maid of honor."
I walked out of the church, leaving them in absolute shock. But as I stumbled onto the street, I fell right into the arms of Damiano Moretti—the exiled, dangerous mafia boss known as the Ghost, who sat in a custom wheelchair.
Looking into his cold, storm-gray eyes, I made a reckless, desperate deal.
"Marry me." My Husband Sold Me to the Don
Qing Gongzi My husband, Hudson Higgins, used my dowry to buy his way into the Chicago underworld while his family treated me like a servant in my own home. I endured their insults for the sake of my five-year-old daughter, Josie.
But then, the unthinkable happened. I found Josie's small, lifeless body by the garden fountain, while my sister-in-law Karly and mother-in-law Eleanor stood by, complaining about their party plans.
"She was just too naughty," Karly sneered, adjusting her pearls over my dead child.
When I turned to Hudson for help, he looked at me with dead eyes and told me it was just her fate. In that moment of absolute grief, I remembered the words of the ruthless Don Damien Falcone: "Your husband is a man who knows how to close a deal."
The truth sliced through me like a blade. Hudson hadn't just ignored the Don's interest in me; he had actively sold me to the Devil of Chicago to buy his seat at the table. He let his family punish me for the very sin he committed.
I had lost everything-my dignity, my mother, and now my baby-all sacrificed for a man who traded his wife's body for power. The sorrow in my chest evaporated, replaced by a scorching, blinding thirst for a blood vendetta.
After lunging at Hudson and feeling the world explode into white, I opened my eyes to find myself back in the winter of 1928. It was the exact night the nightmare began, and Don Damien Falcone was walking toward me in his penthouse.
This time, I won't be the broken bird in his gilded cage. If Hudson wants to use me to climb the ranks, I will use the Don's dark obsession to burn the Higgins family to the ground. Too Late, Mr. Capo: Your Wife Is Gone
Mo Yufei "Happy Anniversary," my husband said, sliding the separation agreement across the mahogany desk.
It was the eighteenth time in five years I had signed these papers.
Matteo De Luca, the most ruthless Capo in New York, checked his Rolex with cold impatience.
"Sign it, Sera. Bianca is on the ledge again. She needs to see we're over, or she jumps."
Bianca. The ward. The broken bird. The woman whose fragile psyche dictated every moment of my marriage.
I signed my name, and he left me alone on our anniversary to save her. Again.
But saving her wasn't enough.
When Bianca pushed me down a flight of marble stairs in a fit of jealous rage, shattering my spine and leaving me paralyzed, I thought Matteo would finally choose me.
I was wrong.
I woke up in the hospital to find him holding her hand, not mine.
"The security footage has been wiped," he told me, his voice void of emotion. "We cannot have a scandal. You fell, Sera. That is the story."
He erased the truth. He erased my pain.
He protected the woman who crippled me over his own wife.
Two months later, he wheeled me into a gala, playing the doting husband while I sat in the chair that was my prison.
He didn't know I had a burner phone hidden in my velvet dress.
He didn't know that tonight, the obedient wife was going to die on the pavement, and a ghost would rise in her place.
I looked at him one last time and dropped the phone in his lap.
"I hope she's worth it." 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 Enforcer's Jilted Princess
Bone Possolo Tomorrow was my wedding day to Jason Brennan, the heir to a powerful Mafia family.
My family, the Falcones, had even taken in an orphaned girl, Elena, treating her like my own sister.
But in my nightmare of a past life, I choked on my own blood, poisoned by the arsenic Elena slipped into my food every day.
As I lay agonizingly close to death, Jason stood over me with a cold laugh, holding Elena in his arms.
"We just needed the Falcone wealth, Bella. And the docks."
Then came the gunfire. I was forced to watch them slaughter my father and my brother, tearing my family out by the roots.
After my death, Elena even spread vicious rumors that I was a barren spinster, twisting their foul betrayal into a tragic tale of noble sacrifice to completely destroy my legacy.
The metallic tang of my own blood was so real I could still taste the ash.
I didn't understand why the girl my family sheltered for eight years would repay our charity with such venom.
And I understood even less how the man who swore to love me could orchestrate my brutal murder without a shred of hesitation.
Bolting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, I realized I had returned to the night before my wedding.
This time, I wouldn't just cancel the engagement. I would hand their treason directly to the Mafia's most terrifying Enforcer, and watch them burn. 
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