Yi Shi
16 Published Stories
Yi Shi's Books and Stories
The Canary Who Learned To Fly
Mafia 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. The Blind Alpha's Rejected Savior
Werewolf Five years. That's how long my Mate, Alpha Courtland, locked me in the Silver Mines for killing his "true love," Kinsley.
But Kinsley wasn't dead. She was hiding in the pack house, living in luxury while I rotted.
When I was finally released, broken and dying, Kinsley framed me again. To protect his "pregnant" mistress, Courtland stood by and watched as she threw my ten-year-old brother off a bridge.
That was the moment my love died. I climbed to the hospital roof, accepted Courtland's rejection, and jumped to my death right before his eyes.
It took my suicide for him to find the truth—that I was the White Wolf who had healed his blindness, not her. That he had tortured his innocent Mate.
He spent three years drowning in regret, his brain rotting from Bond Decay, praying for death.
Until he saw me at a gala.
I wasn't Ana anymore. I was Amelia, the fiancée of a rival Alpha.
He knelt, begging for six months of my time to soothe his dying bond, offering me his entire pack as inheritance.
I agreed. Not to save him, but to watch him die.
And to secure the legacy for the secret son I was carrying—his son. Not Just A Nanny: My Comeback
Modern I spent six years raising his twins, believing I was his wife.
Then the bank manager slid a document across the desk.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dunlap. You aren't listed as the mother. Eliana Dudley is."
I drove to Gavin's office, desperate for answers.
Instead, I found him with his high school sweetheart, Eliana, sitting on his lap.
I froze as I heard him laugh.
"Alex was just a comfortable alternative," he told her. "A glorified nanny to keep the seat warm until you came back."
My world shattered.
But it got worse.
At the twins' birthday party, the children I had loved like my own screamed that they hated me.
His seven-year-old son shoved me down the stone steps.
I hit the ground hard. Pain exploded in my stomach.
I looked up, begging Gavin for help.
He didn't move. He just wrapped his arm around Eliana and turned away.
"Come on, kids," he said coldly. "Let's go cut the cake. Alex is just making a scene."
I lay on the cold patio, bleeding out the baby he didn't even know I was carrying, listening to them sing "Happy Birthday" inside.
He thought I would fade away. He thought a check would fix it.
But when I woke up in the hospital, the woman who loved him was dead.
I signed the divorce papers, walked out, and built an empire he could never touch.
Now, three years later, he's begging at my feet.
"I made a mistake," he sobs.
I look at my new husband and smile.
"I know. And now you have to live with it." My Marriage License, His Public Fall
Modern For five years, I was the secret wife of billionaire Chace Bentley, hiding in the shadows because he swore it was the only way to protect me from his ruthless family.
But when his security guards dragged me out of his gala by my hair, breaking my ribs while the crowd jeered at the "delusional stalker," Chace didn't save me.
He stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, and watched me bleed with cold, dead eyes.
I thought I had hit rock bottom in that jail cell, until I found the documents in his safe.
A prenuptial agreement with a socialite named Celina.
And a trust fund for their future children.
When I confronted him, he didn't beg for forgiveness.
He laughed.
"Everything you own, the clothes on your back, the roof over your head, it's all because of me. My charity."
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a disposable pawn in his rise to power.
But he forgot that I still held the one thing that could destroy him: our original marriage license.
On the day of his grand engagement announcement, I didn't hide.
I walked onto the stage, took the microphone, and introduced myself to the world.
"I'm Gracelyn Weeks, and I'm Chace Bentley's wife." Peace After Pain: My Unwritten Blueprint
Modern The algorithm knew my fiancé was cheating on me before I did. It led me, five days before my wedding, to a secret Instagram account. My maid of honor was wearing my wedding dress.
The account was a shrine to her three-year affair with my fiancé, Arden.
They had crafted a perfect narrative for their followers: they were tragic soulmates, and I was the cold, calculating villain keeping them apart.
The comments were full of hate for me.
But the final twist of the knife was seeing that my best friend, Dallas, had "liked" a comment wishing I'd have an "accident" and break my leg again.
I had saved his life. My family had saved hers from ruin. Why this elaborate, public cruelty?
On my wedding day, I was a no-show.
Instead, as the elite of New York society watched, the ballroom screens lit up with a presentation I' d prepared, exposing every photo, every text, and every single lie. The Architect of My Ruin
Romance For ten years, my life was a straight line towards one goal: winning the National Design Excellence Award, my ticket to study under the world' s greatest architects in Italy. But on the night I reached for my dream, it was snatched away by the last people I expected.
My fiancé, Mark Johnson, the lead judge, awarded the prestigious prize to Olivia Chen, a woman with no design experience, who had submitted an amateur sketch of a "dream closet." The polite applause sounded distant as I watched her embrace the trophy, while Mark beamed beside her, never once looking at me.
As I confronted him, his bodyguards dragged me away, my career and my decade of dedication dismissed with a wave of his hand. Later, I overheard him tell Olivia that our engagement was merely a "debt" he had to pay, crushing every "I love you" and shared dream into dust. He laughed, calling my decade of effort a "hobby" he was willing to fund.
The public backlash was immediate, but Mark, feigning sincerity, tried to minimize the scandal. He then threatened to cut off funding for my mother' s critical medical care, holding her life hostage to control me. Blacklisted from the design industry, I sold everything and took a humiliating job as a barmaid.
Then, Mark and Olivia walked into my new workplace, and he deliberately humiliated me, throwing money at me and demanding I "entertain" them. When I refused, Olivia faked a theft, and Mark, seizing the opportunity, blamed me. In the chaos, I was shoved, hitting my head and collapsing. In the hospital, Mark brought a gaudy diamond necklace, expecting me to be bought. But I wasn't broken. I was done. A Ring Crushed, A Heart Broken
Sci-fi My shoulder felt like it was tearing apart, dangling precariously from a skyscraper' s edge, the city lights smeared far below. Wind howled, drowning out everything but the terror that coursed through me. My feet scraped against cold, smooth glass-nothing to stand on but the abyss.
Then, a sharp yank on my collar pulled my head back, forcing my chin up. It was Olivia, the woman I' d spent three simulated years trying to save, her face pale and hard, eyes devoid of warmth. "Look at me, Noah," she commanded, her voice cutting through the roar.
She wore the black dress we picked out together, now looking like funeral attire. "You didn' t save me," she hissed, her grip tightening on my shredded shoulder. "You played God. You pulled my strings, moved me around like a pawn in your own pathetic little hero fantasy." My attempts to speak her name were pathetic croaks, lost to the wind.
"He was getting married tonight, you know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Liam. He' s marrying someone else. He was mine! My beautiful disaster. My pain. He was mine to lose. Not yours to take away." With a guttural scream, she dragged me closer, and my ring, meant as a promise, fell from my pocket.
She watched it fall, then let go of my collar, stepping on the velvet box, crushing metal and stone. "None of this was real," she said, her voice flat and dead. "You' re not real. Your help, your kindness... it was all a lie. A cage." Then, she shoved the mangled ring into my mouth, forcing me to swallow it, my own failure.
"Get out," she growled, pushing me with all her rage. My feet were already in the air, my body past the point of no return. As the city rushed up to meet me, everything went white, and I gasped to find myself in a sterile white pod, still feeling every bit of her betrayal. His Secret Fiancée, My Secret Fiancé
Romance For five years, I poured my life into Apex Holdings, into Mr. Harrison, my mentor, my confidant, the man everyone assumed I' d marry.
I walked into the company meeting expecting a promotion, maybe even a proposal, only to watch my world shatter as he beamed, announcing his engagement to a doe-eyed intern half my age.
The room applauded, their polite smiles hiding victorious smirks, and the intern, Bethany, held up her massive diamond, looking at me with triumphant pity.
Humiliated, I announced my own whirlwind marriage, but my supposed husband was a stranger, hired on the spot.
He refused my resignation, sabotaged my projects, and when I finally forced him to sign, his new fiancée, Bethany, deliberately opened my parrot' s cage, and Mr. Harrison, in a fit of rage, kicked my beloved Sky, the last gift from him.
He accused me of faking my pain, while everyone whispered about my jealousy, leaving me isolated, just like after my parents died, leaving me to question if my five years of loyalty meant nothing.
Desperate for a clean break, I accepted a marriage proposal from Mr. Davies' s son, a man I hadn' t seen since childhood, hoping this drastic step would finally erase Mr. Harrison from my life. The Dog Stays: And So Does My Revenge
Romance For seven years, I was the perfect political wife, seamlessly orchestrating every gala, every public appearance.
I stood behind my Congressman husband, Ethan Scott, a silent, smiling prop in our opulent D.C. townhouse.
Then, at our annual fundraising event, he tapped a glass for silence, his arm draped possessively around his pregnant mistress, Sabrina.
"Jocelyn and I have agreed to a divorce," he announced, his eyes cold, dismissive, while the room gasped.
He expected me to nod, to accept the humiliating settlement, to stay on as a "household consultant" for her.
But I refused, declaring I was leaving that night.
He laughed, assuming I was dependent on him, that I' d be crawling back.
Then Sabrina' s cruel sneer cut through the air: "The dog stays."
Buddy, my golden retriever, my last connection to the child I lost, was yanked from my side.
Sabrina feigned a bite, screamed, and Ethan, without hesitation, ordered Buddy to be put down.
My world shattered. This wasn' t just about Buddy; it ripped open an old wound.
Sabrina had given my premature son, Leo, a deadly teddy bear in his NICU crib. Ethan had blamed me for his death, choosing her over our grief.
Now, he was literally sentencing my last piece of family to death for her.
My tears were gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I was trapped, sick, and nearly burned alive in my room, thanks to Sabrina' s arson, but a hidden message from Andrew, my childhood sweetheart, illuminated a path forward.
It was time to fight. His Miracle, Her Madness
Fantasy I was Elara, a woman from the Appalachian mountains, dubbed 'the hillbilly cure.' I was brought to save Julian Thorne, a paralyzed heir. I poured my life force into him, healing his broken body, and against all odds, I fell deeply in love. We even had three unique children-precious, living eggs, humming with a power few understood.
But once healed, Julian scorned me, seeing only a primitive necessity, not a wife. Fueled by his jealous stepsister, Cassidy, he orchestrated a cruel spectacle at a gala celebrating his 'miracle.' He forced me into a sadistic egg hunt: identify my children among a hundred fakes, knowing for every wrong guess, one would be brutally smashed.
Under the blinding lights, my heart shattered. The first wrong guess ended with a sickening crunch. The second egg, sickeningly, was whisked away to be an 'exotic omelet'-its psychic death tore through me, leaving me writhing in agony. When Cassidy moved to burn my last child, I chose a different path.
My only option was self-destruction. I publicly confessed to being a con artist, claiming I never loved Julian, only his immense fortune. My heart broke as I collapsed, sacrificing my name to save my daughter. Why would anyone unleash such cruelty on the woman who saved them? How could this monster revel in my pain?
Yet, as I lay dying, my magnificent daughter hatched, unleashing her powerful Thunderbird blood. A psychic torrent forced Julian to relive every ounce of my selfless love, his healing, and the horrific, soul-shredding deaths of our other two children. His mind shattered into maddening despair. My mountain family arrived, reclaiming me from this hell. We faked my death, leaving him haunted by his cruelty, while I found true freedom and peace back home. Her Unforgivable Sin
Horror My life was perfect, filled with the laughter of my five-year-old twins, Noah and Mia.
We were building a couch fort, our own little world.
Then, her Tesla pulled into the driveway.
Chloe, my estranged wife, brought not just herself, but Leo, her old high school flame, into our home.
When my innocent children stood up to the stranger, Chloe' s temper flared.
"You two need a timeout," she snapped, dragging them, whimpering, into the soundproof wine cellar.
My gut screamed, but she slammed the heavy door, the lock clicking shut.
I begged, I pleaded, pounding on the door, while from the living room, I heard Chloe's laughter with Leo.
Then, seeing Leo's Instagram post – an ultrasound of their baby – shattered me.
A new life, while mine were trapped.
My desperate efforts to rescue Noah and Mia came too late.
The cellar was silent.
Too silent.
I found them, blue-faced, unbreathing, an open bag of nuts nearby.
Their severe peanut allergy.
My world ended.
And Chloe?
She shrieked, accusing me of drama.
At the hospital, after the doctor confirmed they were gone, she called, furious I' d ruined her evening.
Later, she laughed in my face when I told her, believing it was a pathetic manipulation.
My children, who loved her unconditionally, were dead because of her cruelty, and she didn't even care.
How could a mother be so utterly devoid of humanity?
The cremation was quiet, just me, their paternal uncle, and my father-in-law.
But a few hours later, I walked into the house to the sounds of my wife having sex with Leo.
She saw the urns in my hands and dismissed them as "junk."
That was it.
My love, my family, my life – all irrevocably destroyed by the woman I married.
With Mia's drawing of "our family" clutched in my hand, I signed the divorce papers and began to disappear. A Double Life Exposed
Modern The school admissions office. A new chapter for my son, Leo, a fresh start we hoped for.
Then the woman at the desk dropped a bombshell, her voice flat. "Staff Sergeant Mark Johnson already has a child enrolled here."
Mark Johnson was my husband, Leo' s father.
"His son, Ethan Johnson," she continued, "and his wife, Jessica Johnson, is the emergency contact."
Wife? Jessica? The names echoed, cold and sharp, triggering a horrifying flashback.
In another life, this exact scenario had already unfolded, leading to an abyss of deceit and despair.
I remembered Mark' s smooth lies, his flimsy tales of helping a "hero's widow," forcing Leo to be a whispered secret.
Then came the unspeakable: Leo, my sensitive son, vanished from a bus stop.
The frantic calls, the police reports, the agonizing silence.
Weeks later, a horrifying news item: a child found, badly hurt, "two fingers missing."
I never knew if it was Leo.
The torturous uncertainty, Mark' s chilling indifference, his brutal concern for his "reputation" over my grief.
And finally, the river-cold, dark, an attempted escape from the pain.
Now, here I was again, back at the exact start of that soul-crushing nightmare.
The same casual dismissal, the same insidious destruction of my life, my son' s future, unfolding again.
But then, a surge of icy fury consumed me, hardening my resolve into something unbreakable.
This wasn' t a rerun of despair; it was a second chance.
This time, there would be no crumbling, no quiet suffering, no drowning.
Mark Johnson was going to pay.
And I would make sure everyone heard the truth, loud and clear. A Mother's Vengeance: Reclaiming Her Daughter
Billionaires I was supposed to be recovering, sipping green juice at a luxury Arizona retreat, post-car accident.
One scroll on Instagram ripped my perfectly curated world apart.
The girl wearing my daughter Chloe’s bespoke gown at our estate wasn’t Chloe.
It was a stranger, Ashley, who then introduced her ‘mother’ as Brenda Hoskins, the *acting CEO* of *my* company, AuraNova.
In the blurred background, chillingly, was my sweet Chloe, serving drinks, her shoulders slumped, nearly falling as someone bumped her.
My housekeeper dismissed it as ‘a small get-together,’ but the school records told a different story: Chloe was registered as Mrs. Peterson’s granddaughter, and her tuition was shockingly overdue.
My own daughter, reduced to a charity case, while the woman I fired, Brenda Hoskins, ran my billion-dollar company with my husband, Rick, by her side.
When I finally found Chloe, she was thin, bruised, her spirit dim, and shrinking from my touch.
Ashley, the impostor, brazenly claimed my luxurious master suite as ‘her parents’ room.’
Medical tests confirmed the horrifying truth: Chloe was being systematically drugged with hormone blockers and sedatives.
Retrieved security footage revealed the chilling daily reality: Rick and Brenda watched, smiling, as Ashley and her clique humiliated and abused Chloe, turning her into an unwilling house servant.
They hadn't just stolen my company and my life; they were meticulously destroying my daughter’s spirit, erasing her very existence.
My blood ran cold, then boiled with a rage so profound it threatened to shatter me.
But the despair lasted only a second, replaced by pure, unadulterated fury.
They had taken everything, but they were about to learn that nothing burns hotter than a mother’s vengeance. The Bride Who Vanished: A Billionaire's Reckoning
Billionaires My Hamptons wedding to tech mogul Ethan Carter was supposed to be a fairytale, lauded by Page Six and celebrated by all who knew of his apparent devotion. But beneath the dazzling facade, a chilling secret had festered for three years: Ethan’s sordid affair with Instagram influencer Olivia Vance, a truth Olivia herself reveled in exposing through taunting texts, explicit photos, and videos sent directly to my phone.
The lies became unbearable. Then, just hours before I was set to walk down the aisle, Ethan appeared on national television with Olivia, publicly announcing their pregnancy. Mere moments later, I witnessed his entire family, his mother included, gathered at a private beach house, cooing over Olivia’s bump and warmly embracing her as the soon-to-be Mrs. Carter. My world tilted. I was a fool, utterly erased.
The humiliation felt like swallowing broken glass, a raw, open wound. How could an entire family be complicit in such a brazen betrayal, reducing my life to a grotesque charade? But amidst the agony, a cold, hard resolve solidified within me. This was no longer just about escaping my suffocating gilded cage. This was about making Ethan pay dearly. I confirmed the final details with Mr. Jones. A tragic accident. My death. His utter ruin. You might like
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.
But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.
A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.
My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.
Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.
He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.
He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.
He had no idea she was a fraud.
He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.
He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.
At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.
I didn't beg. I didn't cry.
I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play. My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." You Can't Buy My Heart, Mr. Vitiello
JENNIFER JARVIS My father sold me to the Vitiello Crime Family to settle a three-million-dollar gambling debt.
For three years, I was Dante Vitiello’s property. I warmed his bed, tended his wounds, and let him own every part of me.
I thought I was earning my freedom. I thought I mattered.
Then his "true queen," the Mafia Princess Sofia, returned to the city.
Dante pushed me off his lap the moment she walked into the room. He ordered me to leave because, in the presence of his equal, I was nothing more than "the help."
The humiliation didn't stop there.
He evicted me from the penthouse to renovate it for her.
At a gala, he outbid me for my grandmother’s heirloom bracelet—my family's last scrap of dignity—just to gift it to Sofia in front of the entire city.
But the final blow came when he came to my bed drunk one last time.
He kissed me with a desperate hunger, whispering that he was only "practicing" his technique on me so he would be perfect for her.
I realized then that I wasn't a person to him. I was a training dummy. A debt with a pulse.
He told me to wait for him while he took her to Paris. He thought I would stay in the kennel like a good pet.
He was wrong.
While he was gone, I accepted a surgical fellowship in Switzerland.
I snapped my SIM card in half, left his millions on the floor, and boarded a one-way flight.
By the time the Wolf comes home to find his cage empty, I will be gone. 
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