Xia Luowei
16 Published Stories
Xia Luowei's Books and Stories
Too Late: The Don Begs Forgiveness
Mafia I placed the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, ending five years of being the perfect, silent wife to the most ruthless Don in Chicago.
He didn't sign them. Instead, Kaden Barnes looked at me with cold, reptilian eyes and named his price for my freedom.
"Thirty lashes," he said. "The discipline of a traitor."
I accepted. I let his enforcer shred my back until I was dragging myself across the gravel driveway in a pool of my own crimson.
But as I crawled toward the exit, I heard him laughing with his mistress, Brittaney.
"Harlow isn't my wife," he sneered. "The certificate is a forgery. She owns nothing."
My loyalty had been a lie. And when Brittaney faked an injury to frame me, Kaden didn't check on my bleeding wounds.
He tied my wrists and ankles to the tow hitch of his SUV.
He drove forward until my hip popped and my shoulder dislocated, leaving me broken in the dirt while his mistress smiled.
He thought he had destroyed me. He didn't know his mother would smuggle me onto a private jet to London that very night.
Three years later, the Barnes empire collapsed. Kaden was rotting in a Supermax prison, betrayed by the very mistress he had tortured me to protect.
Now, a letter sits on my desk in Kensington.
The monster is dying of cancer, and he has left me his entire fortune.
I packed my bag for one last trip.
It was time to see if the King had finally learned that he threw away a diamond to chase after cheap glass. Married To The Resurrected Alpha Prince
Werewolf I was forced to marry a dead man. Deemed the "Ugly Kensington" because of my wolfsbane scars, my family sacrificed me to be the widow of the late Alpha Prince, Jude Montgomery.
But the "dead" prince wasn't dead at all. Sneaking out one night, I used my secret medical knowledge to save a dying werewolf from severe silver poisoning, only to realize the man bleeding out was my husband.
The next day, Jude returned to the castle in glory—with another woman in his arms. He publicly credited the beautiful Coraima with saving his life. While she played the devoted savior, Jude humiliated me in front of the entire court. He refused to acknowledge me as his Luna, but he also refused to grant me a Rejection, keeping me trapped purely as a political shield to silence his enemies.
I was the one who cut him open and gave him my own blood to pull him back from the brink of death. Yet there I stood, the mocked and unwanted bride, watching him stroke the hair of the woman who had done nothing but scream during the surgery.
But I wasn't the weak, ugly Omega they thought I was. I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I calmly looked at my powerful Alpha husband and proposed a cold, unyielding contract.
"Give me a private laboratory and unlimited funds for one year, and then, you will give me my freedom." The Divorced Wife's Secret Triplet Heirs
Modern For three years, Ellie Mills endured a loveless contract marriage and her mother-in-law's daily torment, all to pay for her sick mother's medical bills.
But the moment her billionaire husband's first love returned, he coldly threw a divorce agreement on her vanity table.
"This transaction is over."
Ellie was cast out like disposable garbage. She signed the papers, left a one-dollar bill on the bed as a mocking tip for his services, and walked away. Soon after, she discovered she was pregnant with triplets. But during a difficult premature delivery in a foreign country, the doctor tragically informed her that her youngest son had died.
The loss of her baby became a permanent, agonizing scar. She couldn't understand why fate was so cruel, taking her child away while the man who ruined her life prepared for his grand wedding. For six years, she transformed into a top Parisian designer, vowing never to return to the city that held her deepest grief.
That was until her genius six-year-old twins secretly booked them a flight back to Miami. In a hotel hallway, Ellie suddenly bumped into a crying, wealthy little boy who had the exact same face as her son.
The child she mourned for six years wasn't dead, and her twins were already executing a master plan to make their jerk dad pay. Flash Marriage To The Cold CEO
Romance To save her mother from her abusive stepfather, Jocelyn was forced to sign her life away and marry Houston Matthews, a ruthless and terrifyingly wealthy CEO.
But shortly after moving into his sterile penthouse and playing the perfect, doting wife for his grandfather, she made a devastating mistake: she cooked him a plate of homemade dumplings.
Instead of a thank you, Houston stared at the food with contracted pupils and pale cheeks, reacting with an inexplicable, cold fury as if she had served him pure poison.
Things escalated when his meddling grandfather forced them into the same bedroom and slipped a powerful aphrodisiac into their nightly milk.
Driven by a drugged, feverish haze, Houston pinned her to the bed, tearing through her inhibitions in a storm of desperate possession, but by morning, he reverted to an impassive stranger in a crisp suit, looking at her bruised body with nothing but regret.
Jocelyn trembled with hot, acidic shame, completely unable to understand why a simple plate of dumplings triggered such violent trauma in this billionaire, nor how he could use her so thoroughly in the dark only to discard her like a cheap transaction in the daylight.
The last shred of her naive hope shattered, and she picked up the priceless emerald matriarch bracelet his grandfather had given her, placing it onto the table with a sharp, final clink.
"Our agreement did not include this." Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire
Modern Blaire's mother gave her a ruthless ultimatum: find a husband today, or never call her mother again.
Desperate to escape the suffocating control and disastrous blind dates, Blaire agreed to a fake marriage with a stranger she met through an old woman.
She thought she was marrying a dirt-poor salesman drowning in mortgage debt.
They lived in a rundown Queens apartment and split the living expenses fifty-fifty.
He drove a sputtering Toyota Camry, established extreme territorial rules, and treated her like a gold-digging biohazard.
When she accidentally tripped and spilled hot soup on him, he didn't help her up, instead accusing her of using pathetic tricks to seduce him.
Her own mother even crashed their apartment, ruthlessly mocking his pathetic financial state and calling him a total loser.
Blaire endured his coldness and extreme germaphobia, genuinely pitying him for his stressful, low-paying job.
She refunded his money and defended his dignity, refusing to take advantage of a struggling man.
But she couldn't understand why this supposedly broke guy possessed such a lethal, commanding aura, or why an incredibly expensive cashmere blanket mysteriously appeared on her when she was freezing on the couch.
Until her brother called with a shocking warning.
"Blaire, the name on your marriage certificate belongs to the notoriously secretive billionaire CEO of New York's top financial syndicate!"
Blaire laughed out loud, completely unaware that behind the bedroom door, her "broke" husband was frantically ordering his PR team to bury his true identity. The Phantom Heiress: His Secret Obsession
Modern After eighteen years, I finally returned to the billionaire Warren family, only to be treated like uneducated, rust-belt trash.
My stepmother shoved me into a freezing, windowless room, and my half-sister Kelly bought me an $89 plastic dress to humiliate me at the family's high-society gala.
When her petty bullying failed, Kelly took it a step further. Standing at the top of the grand marble staircase, she grabbed my wrist, screamed, and intentionally threw herself down the steps in front of hundreds of elite guests.
Lying in a pool of her own blood, she pointed a trembling finger at me.
"She pushed me! Corrie tried to kill me!"
The entire ballroom erupted in disgust. The guests called me a psychopath. My biological father, purple with rage, raised his hand to strike me, while my stepmother hid a victorious smirk behind her fake tears.
They thought they had perfectly framed the feral country bumpkin.
But they had no idea who they were dealing with.
They didn't know I was "Night God," the dark web's most legendary underground surgeon and hacker, currently being hunted by New York's most ruthless billionaire.
I didn't panic. I didn't cry.
I calmly pulled out my heavily encrypted phone and projected a crystal-clear, un-hackable security feed onto the ballroom's massive LED screen.
"Let's see the replay," I said.
Watching the color drain from their faces was just the beginning. I was going to tear this entire toxic family apart to find out who really burned my mother alive. From Rejected Maid to the Lycan King's Queen
Werewolf The clerk at the Registry couldn't look me in the eye when she turned the screen around.
My status didn't say "Luna" anymore. It said "Rogue."
My mate, Alpha Jackson, had secretly replaced me on the official paperwork three years ago with his mistress, Candida.
When I returned to the Pack House, Jackson didn't just bring Candida home; he brought a five-year-old boy he claimed was an orphan.
"This is Joey," he announced, his eyes cold and glazed over. "Since you are barren, he will be the future Alpha."
I tried to accept my fate as a servant in my own home, but they wanted me dead.
The boy, looking like an angel, brought me a bowl of soup.
"For you, Mama," he smiled.
But as I reached for it, he splashed the scalding liquid over my hands.
It wasn't just hot soup. It was laced with concentrated Wolfsbane.
As my skin sizzled and peeled, the boy threw himself on the floor, screaming that I had attacked him.
Jackson didn't check my burns. He didn't listen to my pleas.
"Submit!" he roared, using the Alpha Command to force me to my knees.
He made me apologize to the child who had just poisoned me.
That night, listening to Jackson mate with Candida in the room next to mine, the bond finally snapped.
They wanted the Luna gone? Fine.
I dialed a number I hadn't used in years.
"Hamilton," I whispered to the Lycan King. "I need a plane. And I need it to crash." The Barren Wife's Cold Hearted Revenge
Modern For eight years, I endured seven miscarriages, clinging to the hope of starting a family with my husband, Joshua.
Then I overheard the truth. He and my adoptive sister, Harlow, had orchestrated every loss. They needed the unique stem cells from my miscarriages to cure their own secret child.
My body was just an incubator for their twisted plan. After the eighth miscarriage, they left me barren, my womb removed to save my life. They stole my children, my future, and my ability to ever be a mother.
They thought I was a broken, naive princess. They had no idea they had just created a queen bent on revenge.
Now, I'm back. And I will burn their empire to the ground, leaving them with nothing but the ashes of their betrayal. His Stolen Luna, His Ultimate Regret
Werewolf For five years, I was the fated mate of Alpha Alan, the Luna of the Bloodmoon Pack. But for all five of those years, his heart belonged to another woman—Fiona.
On our shared birthday, the final thread of my hope snapped. I watched as she descended the grand staircase in a magnificent silver gown, a dress he had promised was a surprise for me. In front of the entire pack, she walked to him and kissed his cheek.
He always claimed Fiona was a fragile, broken wolf who needed his protection. For years, I believed his lies. I endured his indifference while he gave my dreams to her, celebrating her birthday in secret while leaving me with the hollow title of Luna.
When I confronted him, he dismissed my pain.
"She just doesn't get it," he complained to Fiona, his voice seeping into my mind through our broken bond. "Thinking a mate title can chain me. It's suffocating."
He thought he was suffocating? I was the one drowning in his neglect. He wasn't my mate; he was a coward, and I was just a cage he was forced into by the Goddess.
So I walked out of the hall, and later, out of his life. I formally rejected him. As the bond shattered between us, he finally panicked, begging me to reconsider. But it was too late. I was done being his cage. The Ex's Ruthless Revenge
Modern My company, Innovate, was my life' s work, built from the ground up with my boyfriend, Caleb, over ten years. We were college sweethearts, a golden couple, and our biggest deal, a $50 million contract with Apex Ventures, was finally closing.
Then, a sudden wave of nausea hit me, and I fainted, only to wake up in a hospital. When I returned to the office, my keycard was denied, my access revoked, and my photo, defaced with an "X," was in the trash.
Krystal Schroeder, a young intern Caleb had hired, was sitting at my desk, acting like the new Chief of Operations. She announced loudly that "non-essential personnel" were to stay clear, looking directly at me. Caleb, the man who had promised me the world, stood by, his face cold and indifferent. He dismissed my pregnancy, calling it a distraction, and put me on mandatory leave.
I saw a tube of Krystal' s bright red lipstick on Caleb' s desk, the same shade I' d seen on his collar. The pieces clicked: the late nights, the "business dinners," his sudden obsession with his phone-it was all a lie. They had been planning this for months.
The man I loved was gone, replaced by a stranger. But I wouldn' t let them take everything. I told Caleb I was leaving, but not without my full share of the company, valued at the post-Apex funding price. I also reminded him that the core algorithm, the one Apex was investing in, was patented in my name alone.
I walked out, pulling out my phone to call the one person I never thought I would: Easton Jensen, my fiercest rival. My Twin, His Obsession
Romance The air in Demian Oliver' s apartment was thick and hot, our bodies slick with sweat. This was it, the secret celebration of our graduation, the moment I had waited for.
Then, in the peak of his passion, he whispered a name: "Finley."
Not my name.
My name is Finley Brooks. Finley is my younger twin sister.
My whole body went cold.
I found his phone, and a group chat called "The Conquest" revealed a picture of me sleeping in his bed, my back exposed.
Messages confirmed my worst fears: "Consider this a warm-up. Gotta get familiar with the family before I go for the main prize."
Two years of secret dates, stolen kisses, and whispered promises were all a lie. I was just a conquest, an appetizer for my own sister.
The humiliation continued at the graduation party.
My sister, Finley, publicly exposed the hickeys Demian had left on my neck, mocking me. Demian, the man I thought loved me, stood by and watched, his expression unreadable. Later, during a game of Truth or Dare, he publicly disowned me, forcing me to drink an entire bottle of vodka.
I didn't understand. Why was I always the target? Why did my own family, and the man I loved, choose to humiliate me so cruelly?
That night, I received an email: early admission to Crestwood Institute for Advanced Research, a secluded university thousands of miles away. It was my chance to escape, to become a ghost. Winter's Betrayal: A Groom Left Behind
Romance For seven years, I, Liam Davies, built a life loving pop star Serena Vance, accepting her "Winter" persona as a quirky brand, a harmless aesthetic.
Then, on our wedding day, a mysterious gift arrived, shattering her public smile and revealing a name: Donovan Thorne.
Her face drained, her hands trembled, and as she lifted the lid, a single preserved white rose under glass mocked our seven years with its presence, proving her "Winter" was not a season, but a person-a dead person.
She whispered, "I can't do this," and ran, leaving me at the altar, realizing I was just a placeholder for a ghost, a humiliating truth that twisted my stomach.
When she tried to buy my silence and cooperation by threatening my sister Chloe' s life-saving medical treatment, a cold, hard resolve set in: she wouldn' t just lose a fiancé, she' d lose everything. Her Betrayal, My Cancer, Our End
Modern The opening bell rang, deafeningly loud. Confetti rained down on the NASDAQ trading floor as our company, Innovatech, went public. My arm was around my wife, Sarah, smiling for the cameras. Millions of dollars, years of coding in my garage, all of it had paid off. I was on top of the world.
Just two hours later, an antiseptic smell filled Dr. Chen' s sterile office. The smile was gone.
"It's pancreatic cancer, Ethan," he said softly. "Stage four. It's...aggressive."
The words hung heavy. IPO day. The best day of my life. And now this. The irony was a physical blow.
I drove home in a daze, the city lights blurring. I needed to tell Sarah. We' d face this together.
She was waiting when I walked into our large, empty house. Not smiling. Dressed in a sharp business suit, a leather briefcase on the coffee table.
"Sarah," I started, my voice cracking, "I just came from the doctor's office. It's bad news."
She held up a hand. "I know." Her voice was cold, completely devoid of emotion.
"You know?"
"I called Dr. Chen's office. The receptionist said he had an urgent appointment with you. I figured it was serious." She slid a thick stack of papers across the table. "These are divorce papers, Ethan."
I stared at the documents, then back at her face. "Divorce? Now? Sarah, I have cancer."
A small, ugly smirk played on her lips. "Exactly. My lawyer has already transferred the liquid assets. The IPO provided a lot of liquidity. It's better this way."
"Better this way? I'm sick, Sarah! I'm dying!"
"Don't be so dramatic," she scoffed, standing up. "Treatment would be a waste of money. Money that is now mine. You should just take whatever is left and enjoy your last few days. Don't waste it on doctors."
She walked to the door. Her heels clicked loudly. She didn't look back once. The door closed, a soft, final click. I was alone. The divorce papers sat on the table, a testament to a decade. The confetti felt like a distant, faded memory.
When Chloe, my childhood friend, inexplicably appeared at my doorstep, worry etched on her face, everything changed. She dropped her lucrative career for me. As I looked at her, then at the divorce papers, a dangerous plan began to solidify in my mind. From Midland Wife to Port City Queen
Modern The tiny plus sign on my pregnancy test was supposed to be the culmination of six years of IVF, a symbol of hope.
But then, a notification flashed across my phone screen: Chloe Bishop, my husband Mark' s executive assistant.
Her Instagram story showed Mark, my husband of almost six years, tenderly cutting steak for her.
Her caption: "My boss is the sweetest... I'd do anything for him! 😉 #BestBoss" The date stamp? Last night, celebrating "3 Years!"
Three years. We'd been married for almost six.
The nausea intensified, but it wasn't just morning sickness; it was pure disgust.
Mark' s call, dismissive, praising Chloe and her "lifesaving" efficiency, sealed it.
He called me "dramatic." He was praising his mistress to his wife, who just found out she was pregnant with his child after years of heartbreaking treatments.
The baby I' d fought so hard for, his baby, was conceived in a life built on his lie.
His betrayal was blatant, then aggressive.
Chloe slid into my apartment with a key during a blizzard, cozying up to him.
She sent me a suggestive photo, then faked a frantic call about a "boyfriend" and a "private suite."
On our sixth wedding anniversary, Mark abandoned me in my black dress for Chloe' s manufactured crisis, her fake pregnancy and suicide threat.
How could he be so blind? So utterly, completely heartless?
My quiet life had become a very loud, very ugly lie. It wasn't surprising anymore; it was just… final.
But I wasn't just Ellie anymore. I was Eleanor Hayes.
I signed the divorce papers, got the abortion, and left him a note with a rejected diamond ring.
Then, I boarded a flight back to Port City, ready to unleash the true power he never knew I possessed. The Impostor Husband
Romance My husband Julian Hawthorne was supposed to be dead, a casualty of the corporate wars.
But as the victory news echoed, a chilling memory resurfaced: he wasn't dead.
He was a liar, a manipulator, and he' d returned, impersonating his twin, Damian.
Just as I remembered his brutal betrayal-how he' d orchestrated my ruin while publicly adoring my stepsister Cassie-his mother, Isabelle, announced my fate: five years of deep mourning, social seclusion, and no remarriage.
This was the same trap from my first life.
When I defied her, Julian, playing the grieving brother, and Cassie, the picture of tearful devastation, tried to paint me as unhinged.
Then, 'Damian' fastened a diamond pendant around Cassie' s neck-a design I' d created, a cruel symbol of their shared deception.
The true horror wasn't just Julian's monstrous fraud, but Cassie's chilling confession: she knew.
My own stepsister, complicit in plunging me into this gilded cage of despair.
Stripped of everything, publicly shamed, I was adrift in a sea of their lies.
But I refused to be a victim again.
When facing utter disgrace, I demanded: "Is there any man here willing to marry me today?"
Silence met my plea.
Then, from the shadows, a calm voice cut through: "I am willing."
Noah Kincaid.
My unexpected salvation, or simply another pawn in the Hawthorne game?
This time, I' d reclaim my destiny. You might like
From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." 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.
A BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA LORD
Nooriva "Where do you think you're going, huh? You're mine now, Little Mouse. Get back in the house!" Vincenzo's voice boomed, sending chills down Victoria's spine as her world seemed to crumble.
Victoria Washington was shattered-betrayed by her boyfriend who dumped her the day before his wedding, to her sister. She was left humiliated, mocked by everyone. But fate had other plans for her.
She's broken, he's lost. She's full of fear, and he's the monster. Yet, somehow, he's her light while he remains in darkness.
Vincenzo Dante will stop at nothing to tarnish his family's name for forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. But what he doesn't realize is that his new wife is stronger than she seems-too broken to bend under his cruelty. But when love begins to bloom, and secrets start to unfold, what will happen next?
The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Diversion Three days before the wedding.
I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman.
Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress.
The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem.
It didn't spell Elena.
It read Sofia.
He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name.
Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife.
He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance.
I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared.
"The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?"
"Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport."
"Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys."
I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday.
He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead. 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. 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 Obsession, My Revenge: A Mafia Second Life
Diversion I woke up in the tangled black silk sheets of the Mafia Don's bed, my skin still burning from his ruthless touch in the dark.
The heavy door burst open, and his pristine wife, Bianca, looked at my bruised collarbones with visceral hatred.
Instead of having me killed for soiling her husband's bed, she offered a devil's bargain.
"You will take my place in his bed. You will be a shadow in the dark."
In my past life, I foolishly accepted, thinking her money would pay for my dying mother's hospital bills. I didn't realize the untouchable Mafia Queen was barren and just needed a disposable incubator. After I endured the Don's violent possession and birthed the Moretti heir, they cut off my mother's medicine. Then, they dragged me to a remote warehouse and suffocated me with a wet mattress to bury their dirty secret forever.
Until my last agonizing breath, I didn't understand why my absolute submission and suffering were rewarded with such a brutal, meaningless death.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the morning after the Don first claimed me.
I knelt on the Persian rug, weeping tears of fake gratitude as Bianca handed me the cash. But the moment my escort looked away, I didn't take her fertility herbs. I bought a bitter root from an alley witch to keep my womb empty. This time, I won't give the Don a child. I'll become his darkest obsession, and use his lethal power to burn this entire family to the ground. 
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