HJ Lovelace

GIANNA RAINE The card with the 'Constantine De Graaf' written on it. That's the only clue that I got about the identity of the man that impregnated me. I'm not really interested in getting to know him...all I want is to inform him that I am pregnant. That's all. Then, I can move abroad and live a life with my baby as a single mom. But why am I staring at a familiar face? He had left as Elliott the bodyguard. All of a sudden, he's Constantine De Graaf?! CONSTANTINE I'm on cloud nine when Miss Gianna shows up in my office. But it all disappears when she reveals her purpose. WHO THE HELL DARE GETS HER PREGNANT?!!! WHEN I...NO! NO WAY! I'll do everything in my power to help her. For the meantime, I'll take care of her. Give everything she and the baby wants. I promised Miss Gianna that I'll help her find the father of the baby...but I didn't say alive.

After her father's death, Roseline Ferguson watched her mother crumble under the weight of grief and financial strain. So when a marriage proposal arrived-one that promised security and comfort-Roseline pushed aside her doubts. If it meant giving her mother a better life, she'd endure anything... even her cold, sharp-tongued new stepbrother. Maverick Cuervo has always done what his father asked-until the day that same father shattered their family, divorced his mother, and brought home a stranger and her daughter as replacements. Feeling betrayed, Maverick lashed out at the easiest target: Roseline. But what started as resentment slowly shifts into something neither of them expected. As tensions give way to undeniable attraction, Roseline and Maverick find themselves unraveling long-buried secrets-and stepping into a love that could either mend everything or tear their families apart for good.

Blythe Sanchez has had enough. After years of enduring her boyfriend's endless infidelity, her patience has run dry, and her heart is shattered. One impulsive night changes everything when she crosses paths with Larkin Callahan, a mysterious and irresistibly handsome stranger. Larkin's allure pulls her in, but behind his charming smile lie secrets that could either bring them together or tear them apart. What begins as a moment of passion quickly spirals into a whirlwind romance, forcing Blythe to confront not only her past but also the dangerous mysteries surrounding Larkin. Can she risk trusting her heart again, or will his secrets be the final betrayal?

Bella stood before a large mirror in a grand room, brushing her hair. She was preparing herself for what would happen on the first night of her marriage. As Bella was brushing her hair, the door to the room opened, and she saw in the mirror her husband approaching her. Bella put down her hairbrush and turned to face Leandro, who was standing with pride and honor behind her. "You can refuse if you don't want me to do this," Leandro said, his tone cold and formal. Bella lowered her head. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be touched by a man she didn't love. She didn't want anything to happen between her and a man she barely knew, except for their wedding day. But what could she do? She had to fulfill her husband's needs. If he wanted something to happen between them, she couldn't refuse. That's what her father had drilled into her mind. Leandro sighed, and Bella raised her gaze to meet his. Her eyes widened when she saw Leandro undressing. "If you're not going to say anything to stop me, I will take it as permission to have sex with you," Leandro stated. Bella firmly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She stood up and slowly removed her nightdress. Leandro's lips parted in surprise at his wife's actions. Nevertheless, the desires of his flesh overpowered his other emotions. He quickly pulled his wife into a deep kiss, catching Bella off guard, leaving her with no time to close her eyes. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the bed with Leandro on top of her. Leandro's movements were swift. He removed Bella's underwear and looked at her one last time before speaking again. "You can still stop me," Leandro said in a hoarse voice. Bella took a deep breath and shook her head. "This is my obligation as your wife. You don't have to ask me again. Do it." Leandro retrieved a condom, put it on, and then positioned himself before slowly entering Bella. She screamed in pain and discomfort as she accepted her husband's entirety. Bella involuntarily pulled Leandro's hair as he continued to penetrate her slowly. Tears streamed down Bella's face as she felt Leandro's fullness inside her. She gradually began to feel Leandro's movements. That night, Bella experienced a mix of desire and bitterness. She surrendered to her husband's actions, but she cried and felt bitter because she was unsure if this was the life she truly desired. They shared a passionate night, and Bella barely remembered the details due to exhaustion. She woke up the next morning to find her husband no longer by her side. She later discovered that he had left the country early that morning, leaving her alone.

Monique soared to the heavens when Joshua made her his bride. Her love for him brimmed over, so much so that not even the absence of his best man could stop the ceremony. And she even fell in love more with her now husband after the union. What initially appeared to be the prologue of their happily ever after soon changed into a captivating illusion, woven with deceit and falsehood, shattering her once-rosy reality. Now faced with the daunting truth, Monique must grapple with the revelation that the husband she adored is not the man she believed him to be but instead his twin brother…Jacob. What if the lie that she had been living with was the fairytale that she had been wanting all her life? Is love enough to overshadow the web of deception entwining them?

Amelie Pearce, born into one of the prominent crime families in Chicago, is a princess of the mafia renowned for her physical attractiveness. However, what many perceive as a blessing becomes her downfall when she is compelled to marry Gio Merante, in order to establish peace between two mafia dynasties. Gio is the prospective head of the Merante Cartel within the New York Famiglia, a man infamous for his brutal nature and for strangling his cousin with his bare hands. Millie is filled with terror at the prospect of marrying such a monster. Despite being one of the most desirable bachelors in New York due to his good looks, wealth, and charismatic but predatory demeanor, Millie understands that Gio's bad boy persona is more than just an act. Behind Gio's captivating gray eyes and arrogant smile lie bloodshed and death. In her world, an attractive exterior often conceals a hidden monster—one capable of both killing and kissing with equal ease. However, escaping from the arranged union, let alone a man like Gio, is impossible. He would pursue her to the ends of the earth. Millie's only hope of survival in a marriage with Gio is to win his affection and gradually find her way into his heart—despite rumors that suggest Gio possesses no heart at all. A beautiful mafia princess given to a monstrous man. Even monsters harbor a heart. She fully intends to find her place within it.

Sheika Naya, a middle eastern princess who lives in isolation, seeks for freedom. Escaping from her father's strict ruling, she finds herself living a normal and yet risky life in the bustling city of New York. Still being trapped in lies about her true identity, Naya crosses paths with Finnigan Langston- an Omega from the Nightshade Howlers of the Eastern Coast. Both are escaping the lies that are continuously trapping them, they find strength in each other's presence as they search for answers in their respective dilemmas.. Will love be enough to defy what nature dictates? A story that rewrites the mythology of wolves, creating a more relatable world where love stands against the betrayal of time, culture, and lies.

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.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

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.*

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.

"Fifty strikes," Floyd ordered, his voice devoid of warmth. I knelt in the freezing snow, watching the man I had taken a bullet for five years ago stand beside his new fiancée, Jaylah. Because Jaylah tore her engagement dress and blamed me, Floyd let his men beat me until my face was unrecognizable. But that was just the beginning of my hell. To save his alliance with Jaylah's family, he drained my blood to save her mother, ignoring my own fading pulse. When Jaylah lied that I tried to burn her, Floyd forced me to thrust my hands—my architect's hands—into glowing coals until the flesh melted. He stripped me of my name, my protection, and finally, my life. "You are a liability," he said, pushing me into the freezing pool with a skimmer pole. He watched me drown with the same detached interest he used to inspect firearms. My lungs burned, and my heart turned to ice. I died hating him more than I ever loved him. I thought it was the end. But then, I gasped. Air rushed into my lungs. I wasn't in the water. I was sitting at a drafting table, five years before the nightmare began. My hands were smooth. No scars. No burns. And when Floyd Meyers approached me on the quad, smiling like the boy I used to love, I didn't smile back. I ran.

For nine years, I was the perfect mafia wife. I laundered Marcus Thorne’s money through my design firm, smiled at his dinners, and ignored the lipstick stains on his collars. I believed in the Omertà of our marriage. I thought my loyalty was my armor. I was wrong. On the night of our anniversary gala, a car lost control and barreled straight toward us in the parking lot. Marcus didn't look at me. Not once. He lunged for his mistress, Izzy, tackling her to safety behind a concrete pillar. I was left standing in the open. The impact threw me like a ragdoll. I lay bleeding on the cold asphalt, my body broken, watching through the haze as my husband frantically checked his mistress for scratches. "My ankle," she whimpered. Without a backward glance, he picked her up and carried her to his limousine, leaving me to bleed out on the pavement. He didn't leave me because he panicked. He left me because I was just a shield he used to protect what he actually loved. As darkness crept in, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Marcus. It was Julian Croft, his sworn rival. I looked at the empty spot where my husband should have been and made a choice. "Get me to the hospital," I rasped, staring into the eyes of the enemy. "And then help me burn his empire to the ground."

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."

I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood. For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe. On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident. Donovan didn't hesitate. He forced me to drain my blood to save her life. Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean. He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her. He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella. He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night. When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth. He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman. Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man. He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy. I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing. "It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her."

"The child is mine." My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, announced to the world, his hand resting protectively on his mistress's stomach. He was lying to save her life, but in doing so, he signed the death warrant for the baby growing inside me. Just hours before, I had finally gotten the positive test we had prayed for over five years. But Dante chose to claim a traitor's bastard as his heir. When I tried to confront him, he dismissed me cold-heartedly. "It's a strategic lie, Elena. You aren't pregnant, so it doesn't matter." He didn't know. Later, when an accident left his mistress critical, he dragged me to the hospital. He forced me to donate my blood to save her, ignoring my ghostly pallor. He didn't know I was already bleeding out. He didn't know I had just come from the clinic, where I had removed the "complication" he made me feel ashamed of. He thought he was being noble. He didn't realize he was killing his own son to save another man's lie. On the night of the gala celebrating his "heir," I left a white box on his desk and vanished. Inside was a medical report: *Termination of Pregnancy. 8 Weeks. Father: Dante Moretti.* By the time he read it, I was already gone.

On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family. I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown. But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic. He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event. "She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity. "You will give her whatever she needs." I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm. As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing. "Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted. Dominick didn't even turn around. He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table. I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic. He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins. He was wrong. I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match. I let the room burn. By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London. I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty. He wanted a war? I would give him one.