Dark Desires The Tempting Gaze

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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Rosalia POV

“We want him dead. And you will do the job.”

My eyes widened in shock at their sudden words. Kill! Carmine Montanari?!

“No way! I can't do that! I've never done an assassination job! Ever!” I protested, my voice trembling with fear. “And even if I had, this is not just anybody we're talking about. This is the lord of the Montanari family! I could never even get close to him without being killed myself. I can't take…"

Smack!

Before I could finish, a forceful strike sent me crashing to the floor, pain radiating through my face. The sting was immediate, and my vision blurred with tears.

Looking up, I saw the deputy head's cold, unfeeling eyes boring into me as if I were a piece of trash. “Have you forgotten your identity, Rosalia?” she asked.

I shivered as she bent down to my level and raised my chin roughly to meet her eyes. “You're a slave. Our slave.” Her voice froze my blood. “And you will do whatever we tell you to do. Understand?”

Tears filled my eyes as she stood back up, casting one last, disdainful glance at me before leaving the room. Her words echoed in my mind, amplifying the hopelessness that gripped my heart.

The walls seemed to close in, trapping me in an eternal hell. She was right. I had no choice. I was their slave.

Even if they had asked me to kill myself, I would have no option but to obey. Resistance was futile. I could only submit. My attempts to fight back, to assert even a shred of my will, were pointless. I was nothing more than a tool to them, a pawn in their brutal game.

Curled on the floor, I cried silently. Each sob wracked my body, a manifestation of the despair and powerlessness that consumed me. The cold, hard floor beneath me felt like a grave.

I never wished for a life like this. No one would. Every day was a struggle to survive, to hold on to the faintest hope that things might change. But hope was a cruel illusion, always just unreachable.

But I had no choice. My father died in their debt, and I was at their mercy. Escaping was pointless; they would catch me, and the torture would be even worse. I had seen firsthand what happened to those who tried. Their broken bodies and vacant eyes haunted my nightmares.

“Rosa? Rosa!”

The door of my room opened and someone came in.

“Rosa?” Her urgent voice quieted in concern as she sat next to me. It was my best friend, Marcel. I raised my head from my knees and hugged her tightly. She was probably confused but she hugged me back.

“Rosa, what happened? Tell me.”

And so I burst out sobbing again. “I don't know, Marcel. They assigned me an assassination mission. And I can't kill. I don't know how to. I've never killed anything! And this is not just anything. How am I supposed to kill Carmine Montanari?! I'll be killed! They're sending me to my death!”

Her body froze as I spoke hysterically. She pulled me away from her, her eyebrows furrowed angrily, green eyes seeming like they were ready to cast a witch's spell.

“Fuck!” She blurted out. “Rosa, you can't go!”

“I know, Marcel! I know! But Imelda doesn't let me reject the mission. There's nothing I can do. Absolutely nothing. I'm going to die.”

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