Sibeal Sallese
12 Published Stories
Sibeal Sallese's Books and Stories
Rising From Ashes: The Architect's Comeback
Mafia I woke up in a sterile hospital room with no memory of the lethal-looking man pacing outside the glass. My friend told me he was Dante Moretti, the Underboss of Chicago, and the fiancé I had supposedly worshipped for seven years.
But the truth shattered me faster than the crash did.
When our convoy was ambushed and the car caught fire, Dante didn't pull me out. He chose to save Valeria—the widow of a soldier he felt guilty about—leaving me to burn in the backseat. He called it a "tactical decision." I called it a death sentence.
I thought losing my memory was a curse, but it was a gift. It stripped away the delusion of love.
I saw a man who treated me like a useful piece of furniture. I saw a rival in Valeria who smirked while taking my job and my place. When she set a room on fire to frame me, Dante saved her again, leaving me to choke on the smoke. He even branded me a thief in front of the entire Commission to protect her lies.
He thought I would always be there, the obedient statue waiting for his scraps.
He was wrong.
I fled to New York and walked straight into the arms of his sworn enemy, Enzo Falcone. A man who didn't just promise to protect me, but walked through fire to do it.
Months later, when Dante finally realized the truth and crawled back to me in the rain, begging for a second chance, I looked him dead in the eye.
"Forgetting you was the only peace I ever knew."
I took Enzo’s hand, letting Dante see exactly what he had lost.
"Remembering you just confirmed that you are a mistake I will never make again." Reborn Heiress: The Wolf’s Vengeance Deal
Modern I lay paralyzed on stiff white sheets, a prisoner in my own skin, listening to the rain lash against the window like nails on a coffin. My father, Elmore Franco, didn’t even look at my face as he checked his clipboard. He just listened to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor—the only thing proving I was still alive.
Without a hint of remorse, he pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the Do Not Resuscitate order. My stepmother, Ophelia, stepped out from behind him, wearing my favorite pearl necklace and smelling of cloying perfume. She leaned close to my ear to whisper the truth that turned my blood to ice.
"It was the tea, darling. Just like your mother. A slow, tasteless poison."
She chuckled as she revealed that my fiancé, Bryce, had a two-year-old son with my sister, Daniela. My inheritance had been funding their secret life for years, and now that the money was secure, I was an inconvenience they were finally scrubbing away. As my father yanked the power cord from the wall, the beeping died, and the darkness swallowed me whole.
I was being murdered by my own flesh and blood, used as a bank account until I was no longer needed. I died in that sterile room, drowning in the realization that every person I ever loved was a monster who had been waiting for me to take my last breath.
Then, I gasped. I woke up in a luxury hotel suite surrounded by silk sheets, five years in the past—the very morning of my wedding. Next to me lay Basile Delgado, the "Wolf of Wall Street" and my family's most dangerous enemy. In my first life, I ran from this room in a panic and lost everything. This time, I looked at the man who would eventually destroy my father's empire and decided to join him.
"I'm not leaving, Basile. Marry me. Right now. Today." My Mother's Cruel, Blind Heart
Modern I sacrificed five years of my life for my comatose mother.
When she finally woke up, she looked right through me. She embraced my estranged stepfather and a strange girl, calling her daughter.
I was cast aside like trash, forced into the servant's quarters and left to eat from the garbage. My new "sister" even set her dog on me.
As the dog tore at my arm, I locked eyes with my mother. She watched for a moment, then slowly pulled the curtains shut.
In that moment, my hope shattered. I was nothing to her. A problem to be ignored.
But as a social worker led me away to foster care, a black car screeched to a halt. My grandfather stumbled out, clutching a DNA report, his face ghost-white.
His eyes, wide with shock, locked onto mine.
"My God," he gasped. "Aisha... you're my son's real daughter. My granddaughter." From Ashes To Altar: Her Vengeance
Modern My mother was killed in a hit-and-run. My husband, Haywood, told me to drop the investigation.
Then my father died because Haywood froze my assets, refusing to pay for his life-saving surgery.
"My mother was murdered!" I screamed at him. "You want me to just... forget that?"
He told me he knew who the driver was and threatened to ruin me if I didn't stop. He used his power to destroy my career, publicly shame me, and even had me thrown into a cellar full of venomous spiders, leaving me for dead.
The final blow came when he forced me to lie on a live stream at my mother's grave, confessing to crimes I didn't commit. As I collapsed, he had his men scatter her ashes into the mud.
I lost everything. My family, my dignity, my truth.
They thought they had broken me. They were wrong.
As I boarded a flight out of New York, I hit 'Go Live' on a global stream. "My name is Celina Alvarado," I began, my voice steady. "And I'm here to tell you everything." The Betrayed Genius's Fiery Reckoning
Romance For five years, I believed I had a perfect life. I was the chief scientist of a clean energy company I co-founded with my husband, the CEO. My only regret was the lab fire that killed my mentor, a death I felt responsible for.
That perfect world shattered at a farmers' market. I saw my husband with a secret family-a woman and a little boy who called him "Daddy."
Then the scene became a nightmare. My mentor, Abel, the man I'd mourned for five years, was standing there with them, alive and well.
That night, I uncovered the full, five-year conspiracy. They faked his death to steal my next-generation technology. But their plan was even more monstrous.
I found a recording of them plotting to have me declared mentally incompetent, using my "grief" as proof. A conservatorship would give them legal control of my mind and all my intellectual property.
They weren't just stealing my work. They were planning to bury me alive.
The next morning, I walked into the office of the city's most ruthless lawyer and laid the evidence on her desk. She asked me what I wanted.
"I don't want their money," I told her. "I want to burn their empire to the ground." Discarded Husband, Unseen Genius
Modern The Grand Hyatt ballroom glittered with the success of SmithTech's IPO, a company I, Alex Chase, had secretly poured three years of my life into, building its unbreachable cybersecurity. As my wife, Sarah Smith, the celebrated CEO, took the stage, her eyes met mine, chillingly. Then, the hammer fell.
"It' s also a night for new beginnings. For cutting away dead weight," she announced, her gaze fixed on me, the "live-in husband." Sarah's assistant, Mark Johnson, smugly presented my termination letter. My "courtesy position" in IT was revoked, my performance "lacking." The cameras, once focused on her triumph, now devoured my public humiliation.
Sarah then ordered the destruction of my simple black laptop, calling it "junk," an "eyesore." I watched in silent horror as Mark gleefully smashed it to pieces, scattering the "true core of SmithTech' s security"-my life's work-across the marble floor. They didn't see the truth. They only saw a pathetic husband, discarded.
How could they be so blind? This wasn't just a laptop; it was the master key, the quantum core that authenticated their entire system. Without it, SmithTech isn't just vulnerable; it's doomed. Their billions mean nothing. The system I built, the fortress they so carelessly destroyed, will now turn against them.
As I walked out into the cool night, leaving behind the laughter and the wreckage, I smiled. My name online wasn't Alex Chase; it was Hades. And their public debut? It just became their public execution. The clock was ticking. Her Cold Revenge, His Regret
Romance The last thing I remembered was the cold night air and the unbearable pain as my body hit the pavement.
My husband, Mark, and his boss, Ms. Jenkins, had pushed me from the thirty-second-floor office window.
"She's just a trophy wife," Mark had sneered.
Ms. Jenkins had laughed, her arm wrapped around his waist.
I had walked in on them, entwined on his office desk, the contract he so desperately needed forgotten on the floor.
My heart shattered, my screams turned to accusations, and they, to protect their careers and their despicable affair, silenced me forever.
My last thought was regret for loving him, for trusting him, for giving him my entire world.
Then, a sudden jolt.
My eyes flew open. I was standing in the quiet, carpeted hallway outside Mark' s office, the thermos of soup still warm in my hands.
My phone read 9:00 PM. An hour earlier.
I was back.
Driven by a force I didn't understand, I crept closer to the door, peering through the narrow gap.
And there they were, just as before, Mark and Ms. Jenkins, mouths locked in a passionate kiss.
This time, there was no scream, just a cold, hard stone of rage in my chest.
This was a second chance.
I wouldn't waste it on tears. My Fiance, My Sister, My Revenge
Modern The lights of the Tech Innovators\' Gala blinded me as my adoptive father, Mr. Davis, prepared to announce the next big thing for Davis Tech-my innovation.
Suddenly, a hidden truth struck me: it wasn't our shared future, but my fiancé Liam\'s and my stepsister Bethany\'s.
They didn\'t know that every "brilliant" idea Bethany claimed as her own was stolen directly from my mind.
But deep down, a terrifying realization festered. It wasn' t just intellectual theft. After witnessing Bethany effortlessly "replicate" my most private thoughts and memories, I understood the insidious nature of the "mind-sync" tech she used to violate my very consciousness.
Having been publicly humiliated, stripped of my dignity, and confined to a mental institution in a past life that ended in fire. But I didn\'t wake up in hell; I woke up here, with a second chance, and a burning desire for revenge. The Unseen Witness: A Murder Revealed
Horror My name is Elara Vance, and I've been dead for five years.
I'm a ghost, trapped in the dilapidated lakeside cabin where I was murdered.
For half a decade, I' ve been forced to witness the world remember me as 'the psycho foster kid' who died of an overdose, 'the monster,' 'the ungrateful charity case.'
This is the false narrative my adoptive family, the Vances, spun to cover their tracks.
Tonight, a famous YouTuber, Chad Logan, aka 'The Exterminator,' announces his next spectacle: a live exorcism-right here, in my cabin.
He' s coming to 'confront the evil spirit of Elara Vance.'
On his livestream, a river of hate scrolls by: 'Get that demon!' 'She was a monster!'
My adoptive parents, who orchestrated my demise, watch with cold disgust.
My 'perfect' sister, Seraphina, likely fakes a single tear for her followers, while my adoptive brother, Ethan-my one-time protector-is probably consumed by guilt, having believed their meticulously crafted lies and abandoned me in my darkest hour.
The injustice burns, a powerless knot of nothing within me.
They painted me as a delinquent, a charity case gone wrong, suppressing the horrifying truth of what they did.
But buried beneath the floorboards of this rotten cabin lies my only hope: a journal and an SD card.
They hold the undeniable truth.
Tomorrow, the very man intent on solidifying my monstrous legacy might be the unwilling key to my salvation.
I just need to find the strength to make him see. Reborn to Rewrite Their Downfall
Young Adult I had one dream, one path: the U.S. Naval Academy. Every study session, every athletic drill, built towards Annapolis. It was my future, bright and clear.
Then, my childhood friend, Ethan, handed me a drink, "Just something to help you relax, Maya." It was drugged. I failed the medical exam, my dream crumbling to dust.
While he soared to Ivy League success, I ended up packing boxes in a dead-end job, my spirit as empty as the containers I filled. Years later, at our high school reunion, Ethan's girlfriend, Jessica Hayes, saw him glance at me. That night, she smiled triumphantly, "You don't fit into the script," before pushing me off a balcony to my death.
As I fell, a chilling truth struck me: Jessica knew. She was reborn too. This wasn't merely fate; it was a sinister, orchestrated setup, spanning two lifetimes. The scale of their malice left me utterly enraged.
I gasped awake, seventeen again, in my old bedroom. Three months before the SATs, before the Annapolis medical evaluations. A cold fire ignited within me. Rebirth. Another chance. Not just to reclaim my dream, but for revenge. This time, I knew their script, and I was going to rewrite it into their downfall. The Scapegoat's Return
Xuanhuan Halloween night in the mortal world. The Rift, our fleeting portal between the Shadowlands and their realm, was closing fast. Spirits around me scrambled, desperate to return. But not Chloe. She stood at its edge, Ectoplasmic Flames – her rare, ghostly green power – roaring from her palms, forcing it open. She was buying time. For him. Liam.
My gut twisted. Not with worry, but with a chilling sense of déjà vu. This was precisely how it all unfurled in my previous life, my destiny intertwined with her misguided devotion to him. A devotion that led directly to my destruction.
I remembered every horrifying detail. Chloe, then my girlfriend, screaming accusations, blaming me for Liam's end, as she led the Enforcers straight to me. Right when I was on the brink of ascending to Arch-Spirit. The Enforcers didn't care for truth; they simply tore me apart.
To be annihilated, merely a scapegoat for her idolized fool. The betrayal, the agony, burned as fresh as ever. Why did she always choose him? Why did I have to suffer for their toxic dance, not once, but twice?
But now, I was back. Reborn to this exact crossroads, this critical choice. To everyone else, I was just a low-ranking Patroller. Good. Let them underestimate me. Because I understood one thing perfectly: I had a new plan. A painful, meticulous plan. This time, they would both pay. 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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