Substitute Bride for the Mafia Don by Marlize Beneke

Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge

Xiao Hong Mao

I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go. The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside. The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal. I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate. But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone. "Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands." The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak.

Modern Revenge

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Valentina Russo

I was never supposed to be here.

Not under this chandelier, dripping with crystals and menace.

Not in this gown silk, suffocating, white like a goddamn lie.

Not walking down the aisle of a gothic cathedral that smelled of blood and sanctimony.

And I was definitely not supposed to be marrying Alessandro De Luca the most dangerous man in New York's underworld.

That was supposed to be my sister.

Serafina the golden child, the obedient one, the Russo family jewel. She smiled in rehearsals, played the part of the docile bride, and promised to save our father's crumbling empire with her dowry of submission.

But Bianca disappeared last night.

No note. No goodbye.

Just a shattered phone, a bloodstained scarf, and a phone call from a blocked number at 3 a.m.

Only two words:

"She's gone."

The next morning, my father was pale and shaking, sweat beading under his temple like he'd aged ten years in one night.

"You'll take her place," he said with dead eyes. "Or the De Lucas will kill us all."

And just like that, I became the substitute bride.

Not out of love. Not even out of loyalty.

Out of survival. Out of fury.

And the sick feeling in my gut that Bianca's disappearance wasn't a runaway act.

It was a warning.

The doors creaked open behind me.

The pews were lined with men in tailored suits armed, dangerous, and watching me like I was prey.

De Luca soldiers. Capos. Hitmen.

The elite of the De Luca family, all gathered to witness the farce of a wedding binding two criminal dynasties.

I lifted my chin and stepped forward, heels echoing down the stone floor like gunshots.

Each step was a rebellion.

I felt their eyes judging me.

Too loud. Too defiant. Too... wrong.

I wasn't Bianca. I never had been.

And now I was walking straight into the mouth of the wolf pretending to be her.

But Alessandro De Luca wasn't fooled.

He stood at the altar like a statue carved from vengeance and war tall, dressed in black, cold eyes raking over me like he wanted to tear off my skin and see who I really was underneath.

His jaw ticked once. No smile. No greeting.

Just silent fury.

And then he leaned in, low enough so only I could hear.

"You're not her."

A pause. His breath touched my neck like ice.

"But now you're mine."

The priest said the vows.

I didn't remember saying "I do."

I barely remembered the ring sliding onto my finger platinum and heavy, like a shackle.

Applause broke out like a gunfire salute.

Fake. Controlled. Soulless.

Then Alessandro's hand clamped over mine and he leaned in to whisper.