Marigold

I bled beside Dominic for ten years, helping him rise from a scarred street soldier to the most feared Mafia Don in the city. But on the day I planned to tell him about the eight-week-old heartbeat inside me, he canceled our wedding to marry an eighteen-year-old girl. He told me he craved her innocence, untouched by the filth of our business. His new bride faked an injury to frame me. Without hesitation, Dominic stripped me of my ring and threw me into a freezing underground cell. Days later, they dragged me out and forced me to chug raw moonshine to prove my submission to his new Queen. The liquid fire tore through my starved stomach. I collapsed and miscarried our baby in a pool of blood right in front of them. Even then, his new wife laughed, pointing at my dying body. "She is using hidden blood packs to manipulate you! She was never pregnant!" Ten years of absolute loyalty and two previous miscarriages on the run, all rewarded with this deadly poison. He walked away, leaving me to die on the cold floor of his club, thinking I was just a stray orphan with nowhere to go. But he didn't know my true bloodline. Six months later, as the Underboss of the rival Marino Family, I rolled up the tinted window of my armored SUV, leaving the crippled, ruined Don begging in the mud.

For three years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Alpha Julian Sterling. When I finally got pregnant with his heir, I thought it would warm his cold heart. But the first thing he did when he returned from his trip was hand me a Mate Rejection Agreement. He had brought back his ex-lover, Serena. Julian coldly declared our marriage was just a political chore. To clear the path for her, he fired me from the company I built, watched her mock my late father, and threatened to throw me out as Rogue meat if I didn't submit. The most chilling part was a hidden clause in the divorce papers. It stated that because I was a wolfless Omega, if I were ever pregnant, he would terminate the pup to protect his pure bloodline. I had given him everything, only to be discarded like trash. I touched my flat stomach, terrified and disgusted that the man I loved would gladly kill his own child just to please his new queen. "Prepare the documents to accept the rejection," I told my lawyer calmly. Julian thought he had won, throwing away his useless, barren Omega. He had no idea I was taking his only heir with me, and I would burn his entire empire to the ground before he ever found out.

My husband, Cole, collapsed on our kitchen floor, gasping that he was in agony. But I told him to stop being so dramatic. My toxic ex, Bryant, was drunk and whining about a sprained arm, and I chose to rush him to a private clinic instead. I left Cole to die alone on the cold tiles. He had to call 911 himself. When I finally saw him in the hospital, the adoration he'd held for me for five years was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. "You left me to die, Emily," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You chose him. Again." I had taken the kindest, most devoted man I'd ever known for granted, treating him as a placeholder for the man who constantly broke my heart. In one single, cruel moment, I had finally killed his love for me. Now, the divorce papers are on my desk. He's in Paris, thriving with a new restaurant and a new love who appreciates him. And I am left with nothing but the ashes of my mistakes, beginning a life of lonely, agonizing penance.

My mother, a nurse who spent forty years caring for others, was poisoned and left for dead after a charity gala. The woman responsible, Keyla Dixon, stood in court, a mask of tearful innocence, claiming self-defense. The real horror? My husband, Garrison Gardner, the city's top lawyer, was defending Keyla. He tore my mother's reputation apart, twisting the truth until the jury believed Keyla was the victim. The verdict came swiftly: "Not guilty." Keyla hugged Garrison, a triumphant smirk flashing across her face. That night, in our cold mansion, I confronted him. "How could you?" I choked out. He calmly replied, "It was my job. Keyla is a very important client." When I screamed that she tried to kill my mother, he threatened to use my mother's sealed medical records, her history of depression, to paint her as unstable and suicidal. He was willing to destroy her memory to protect his client and his career. I was trapped, humiliated, and heartbroken. He had sacrificed my mother for his ambition, and now he was trying to erase me. But as I signed the divorce papers he had prepared, a wild, desperate plan began to form. If they wanted me gone, I would disappear. And then, I would make them pay.

For five years, I, Chloe Davis, was the woman every other woman wanted to be, married to a man whose wealth was matched only by his handsome face, living in a gilded cage. But in three years of marriage, he had never touched me, our bedroom cold and empty. On my ninety-ninth attempt to seduce my husband, Ethan, he finally pulled me close. But as pleasure washed over me, he whispered, "Ashley, you know I love you. Marrying Chloe was something I had to do. How could you let her do this? How could you let her seduce me?" His confession shattered me. He wasn't incapable; he just didn't love me. His heart belonged to Ashley Thompson, his niece and my best friend, and I was just a shield. Ashley, the one who had encouraged me to pursue him, was the real object of his affection. Later, as I lay dizzy and confused in a hospital bed from donating my kidney to Ashley, Ethan offered me anything I wanted, even a child, if I saved her, revealing his plan to use me as a surrogate for him and Ashley. The truth sliced through my seven years of devotion like a knife. After all I'd given, all I' d sacrificed, I was just a tool in their twisted game, a cover for their sordid affair. Even my wedding ring was a duplicate of Ashley' s. I secretly signed our divorce papers on the operating table, and in the dead of night, I walked out of that mansion, leaving behind the shattered pieces of my naive heart and a final message: "Happy divorce! Never see you again!"

The family trip to the coast was supposed to be a relaxing end to summer. But the moment I stepped back on campus, a cold dread washed over me: my dorm room lock was changed. My roommates-Emily, Ashley, Megan-they were just… gone. Their numbers disconnected, their social media wiped clean. It was like they' d vanished into thin air, leaving only silence and a terrifying void where my life used to be. Then, things got worse. My best friend Jessica' s new roommates started screaming at the sight of me, fleeing in terror. The university counselor looked at me with a mix of pity and fear, everyone whispering about "personal safety concerns" and "extreme reactions." They all thought I was the monster. I had no idea why. I knew I hadn' t done anything, but an unbearable sense of confusion and injustice gnawed at me. How could my friends abandon me without a word? Why was everyone suddenly so afraid of me? A chilling discovery would soon reveal that my friends hadn't abandoned me at all; they were closer than I could ever imagine, trying to tell me something unspeakable.

My fiancé, Liam, fidgeted, his parents stone-faced across the coffee shop table. Just weeks after celebrating our pregnancy, his mother, Susan, dropped a bombshell: our $380,000 dowry was slashed to $52,000, and our lavish hotel wedding was downgraded to a backyard BBQ. They thought I was trapped, a pregnant woman with no choice but to accept this humiliation. As I escaped to the restroom, I overheard their cruel laughter, confirming my deepest fears: my baby was a bargaining chip, and I was "damaged goods" they had to "take in." Liam, my fiancé, stood by, silent and complicit, solidifying the cold realization that the man I loved was gone. My heartbreak was immense, but beneath it, a simmering rage began to build. No, I would not be their pawn. I wiped my tears, smoothed my dress, and returned to the table with a new plan. They wanted to play a game? Fine. But I would write the rules. The cage door was open. But they were the ones about to be trapped inside with me.

"Just drink it, Emily, it\'ll help you relax." David Clark\'s voice was smooth, but his grip on my arm was tight, pushing a dark, sweet-smelling liquid toward me. I looked at him, his face a charming mask, and knew he wanted me drugged for a photographer he\'d hired. He aimed to frame me, his fiancée, in a scandal to boost his political campaign. My refusal turned his charm into an ugly snarl, his hand grabbing for me as he threatened to ruin me. Just then, our hotel room door exploded inward. Two grim men in sharp military uniforms stood in the doorway, led by Captain Alex Stone. I, Chloe Miller, a tech inventor from the 21st century, had woken up in Emily Hayes\'s nineteen-year-old body, trapped in the 1980s. Emily\'s pre-arranged marriage to David, her family\'s desperate bid for security, was about to become my public nightmare. This was not my life. I stumbled forward, feigning fear, accusing David of trying to drug me, seizing the unexpected opportunity. Captain Stone, suspicious yet bound by duty, took me under his wing, dragging me into the heart of his powerful, tangled family. My engagement to Alex became my shield, but it also painted me as a gold-digger, an enemy to his vindictive aunt Clara, her resentful son Mark, and his jilted almost-fiancée Anna Lewis. Then, on my wedding night, Clara orchestrated the ultimate humiliation, bringing my poverty-stricken, opportunistic family to the mansion to stake their claim. I knew then that I had to fight, not just for survival, but for autonomy. Meeting Alex in secret, he revealed his true motive for our marriage: I was to be his "unassuming" tool, a corporate spy to secure his family\'s legacy. I accepted. This was my chance not just to survive, but to truly live and rebuild, turning what was meant to be my ruin into my ultimate rise.

On our eighth anniversary, my husband, Ryan Lester, confessed to a "one-night stand." I forgave him, burying the deceit, clinging to the life we' d built, believing it was a drunken mistake. Two years later, his intern, Molly, walked into my favorite café, dropped a folder filled with photos – Ryan and Molly vacationing, celebrating milestones, and finally, a baby, his baby. "He never loved you," she whispered, his words echoing in my ears, "you were just a business arrangement." The man I' d loved, the life I' d fought for, was a meticulously crafted lie, a calculated betrayal, and still, he wouldn' t let me go, demanding I raise his secret son. That' s when I called my brother, a former Delta Force operator, and told him: "I need an exit. Make me a ghost."

My morning took a chilling turn when a grainy video popped up: my eight-year-old son, Ethan, pleading, "Mommy, save me." A distorted voice demanded $50,000 ransom by tonight. My husband, Mark, panicked, but I remained unnerved. Our $50,000 emergency fund was gone. Mark stammered about "business expenses," but I already knew. Bank statements confirmed a transfer to "M. Morningstar." He confessed: the money went to his mistress, Tiffany, for her son Leo' s "life-saving" cancer treatment. As Mark crumbled, "kidnappers" called, Ethan's cries audible. I calmly told them we had no funds, hanging up despite Mark's horror. Then Tiffany brazenly arrived, demanding more money for Leo, shattering Mark's parents with the lie that Leo was Mark's biological son from their affair. Through it all, I maintained confusing composure. My family stared, bewildered by my steely calm, my defiance. Why wasn't I in hysterics? Was I insane or was a deeper game at play? I picked up a burner phone: "Time for Act Two. Bring her son into play." I forced Mark to choose between Ethan and Leo. He chose Leo. Moments later, a perfectly unharmed Ethan walked in. The kidnapping? A staged trap. I' d meticulously orchestrated this to expose Mark's profound betrayal and Tiffany' s elaborate fraud. The fallout had only just begun.

I spent two years as "Sparrow" in "Chronicles of Eldoria," a quiet, analytical Loremaster, meticulously perfecting my skills and hiding my striking real-life beauty behind a plain avatar. My loyalty to Lex "Lionheart" Miller' s guild, The Crimson Vanguard, was absolute. But when a major server-wide tournament was announced, Lex, obsessed with "visibility," brought in Starfire, a flashy streamer known for her perfected looks. I was publicly demoted, my spot given to her. Then, for daring to question it, I was falsely accused of stealing guild resources and slandered across the server, with Lex himself endorsing a bounty on my head. He didn't even recognize me when I served him coffee in real life, his dismissal in-game mirroring his utterly indifferent gaze. My safe haven, the one place where my talent truly mattered, became a public arena for my humiliation. Two years of silent dedication, every strategic insight, every hard-earned contribution-all discarded because I wasn't "flashy" enough. How could he, who once relied on my genius, betray me so completely, and then act as if I was "never important"? But their cruelty ignited an ice-cold fury. I deleted Sparrow, created a new identity, and decided it was time not just for Eldoria, but for Lex, and the entire gaming world, to see what the "plain, mousy" Sparrow truly looked like. The game was on.

Eight years, the whispers in Havenwood never stopped. They called it the "Thorne Curse"-eight women, all Julian Thorne's fiancées, all dead the night before their wedding. My sister, Emily, was the first, ruled a suicide, but I knew that was a lie. Today, I announced I'd be the ninth. My father, Dr. Miller, looked at me, his face like stone, his words cold and sharp: "You are no daughter of mine." He even offered my mother's inheritance, a severance from my own family, as the town stared, calling me crazy, just like my dead sister. Walking into Thorne Manor, its black iron gates twisted like angry branches, I met Eleanor Thorne, whose smile didn't reach her eyes, and heard the staff whisper about Emily' s screams. Julian Thorne, pale as death, just said, "I pray you'll be the one to break this curse." His rehearsed words, my father's chilling abandonment, and the town's judgment only fueled my resolve. How could my father accept Emily's "suicide" so easily? Why did this town cling to such a convenient lie? I had to know what really happened to Emily. I had to finally expose the truth behind the Thorne Curse, even if it meant becoming its final victim.

My perfect life with Liam felt like a dream – his gentle smile, his warm touch, a love so complete it seemed too good to be true. Then the system alerts began: Affection Level: Liam +5. This wasn't real. My memories screamed of labs and blinding flashes; I was trapped in a cognitive simulation, a prison crafted by NexusMind. Every loving word, every tender moment was a lie, meticulously programmed to control me. The torturous truth emerged: Liam wasn't programmed just for me. He was torn between his directive to bond with me and a hidden "cover narrative" involving Elara, a woman who haunted my simulated reality. She was Liam's "real" love, his true "Sparrow," whose preferences dictated every detail, down to the almond croissants he brought me. Days turned into loops, 47 iterations of the same cruel game, always with Elara as the preferred, radiant rival. The simulation's ultimate torment arrived when Liam reunited with Elara, whose contempt was palpable, especially when she announced she was pregnant – with his child. His family embraced her, and I, Liam's supposed lover, became a humiliated bystander, collapsing under the weight of this unbearable, endless lie. Why was I put through this agony? Was I supposed to break? To surrender to this manufactured despair? How could I fight a system that could rewrite reality, controlling minds with lines of code? Just as I felt utterly defeated, adrift in a sea of emotional torment and physical weakness, something unexpected happened. Amidst the chaos of Elara's pregnancy announcement, Liam defied his programming. He knelt before me, heart in hand, and against all odds, asked for my hand in marriage. The system shrieked: CRITICAL NARRATIVE DIVERGENCE! SYSTEM OVERLOAD IMMINENT! After 47 cycles of torment, could this be my impossible escape?

For seven years, I lived a life of gilded gratitude, managing the Ashworths' sprawling estate and their demanding schedules. I was the loyal husband to Jessica, the devoted stay-at-home dad to Sophie, constantly reminded of the "debt" I owed for their rescue. My world revolved around their convenience, their expectations, their rules. On paper, I had everything: a wealthy family, a beautiful home, even a new promotion at their company. Then, after a rare night out celebrating that promotion, I returned to the house I managed. The security code was rejected. I tried again. Rejected. Through the window, I saw Sophie's shadow. I called her name, desperate, but she vanished. Jessica had changed the codes, and told our daughter not to open the door. The humiliation was a cold, hard knot in my gut, sharper than any betrayal. I spent that night shivering in my car, staring at the house that was never truly mine. The next morning, facing Jessica and her parents, I declared I wanted a divorce, willing to walk away penniless. Their scoffing, their incredulity, Mrs. Ashworth' s icy question, "Where would you go? What would you do?" rang like a prison sentence. They saw a man throwing away everything they' d "given" him, unable to comprehend the seven years of silently endured disrespect, the slow suffocation of my spirit. They thought it was about a security code, but it was about every condescending glance, every undermining comment, every minute I' d spent playing their grateful puppet. My gratitude, once a heavy cloak, had finally become an unbearable chain. So, I left. I walked away from the Ashworths, the mansion, the gilded cage, and the woman who never truly saw me. With nothing but an old pickup and a dilapidated family cabin, I began building something new, brick by painful brick, not for them, but for myself. This wasn't an end; it was finally a beginning.

I'm the adopted daughter. To repay my adoptive mother, I've never had any contact with my biological parents. Even after they passed away, I didn't claim their inheritance, just to avoid hurting my adoptive mother. Then the high-temperature apocalypse arrived. My family found a folk remedy for Davina to ensure she would have a son. But Davina looked disgusted at the nasty remedy. I casually mentioned that this wasn't the right time to have a child. After hearing that, Davina secretly disposed of the remedy. Less than a week after the disaster struck, there was an artificial rain. My family thought the disaster was coming to an end. They all learned that Davina had discarded the remedy because of my advice. They blamed me for cutting off their offspring. They kicked me out of the house. Before long, I was left to die from the heat. In this new life, I inherited a large fortune, which I used to build a safe house. I want them to watch me enjoy the air conditioning while I feast. And I will watch them meet their demise.

I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella. Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark. But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved. Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies. When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel. While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest. The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella. He ordered my father to punish me. I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth. That night, the love in my heart finally died. On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven. Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney. By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.

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."

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."

My husband, Don Lorenzo Bianchi, the man who once took ninety-nine lashes for me, had just locked me in a guest room. I was four months pregnant with our child, the heir to his mafia empire. My crime was throwing a glass of wine on his mistress, a woman he had moved into our home. She cornered me in the garden, gloating that once the baby was born, he would give it to her to raise as her own. Later, she shoved me down the grand staircase, then threw herself down after me, screaming to my husband that I had tried to kill her. As I lay in a pool of my own blood, Lorenzo rushed past me, scooping her into his arms and carrying her away without a single backward glance. To force me to apologize, he had my parents brought to my hospital room and brutally whipped until they collapsed at his feet. He was no longer the man who had 999 crystals sewn into my wedding dress. He was a monster who believed every lie she told and punished me for her crimes. How could the man who swore to love me forever become this cruel stranger? But he didn't know the truth. Days before the fall, I had secretly terminated the pregnancy. I took the urn containing our child's ashes, filed for divorce, and disappeared from his world forever.

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.

She went to lose her virginity to her boyfriend... But woke up in his father's bed. Now, Isabella is trapped between two dangerous men- one who thinks he owns her... and one who refuses to let her go. Secrets. Desire. Betrayal. And a Mafia King who never shares what's his.

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.

I was the wife of Dante Cavalli, the most ruthless mafia Don in the country. But today, his Underboss slid mandatory annulment papers across my hospital bed, ordering me to dissolve our marriage. In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged them not to abandon me. I spent the next thirty years locked in Dante's massive penthouse, waiting for a man who bathed the streets in blood but never gave me a single drop of warmth. My aristocratic mother-in-law stripped me of every cent, leaving me completely isolated. I foolishly threw away a brilliant surgical career to be a submissive, obedient mafia wife. In the end, Dante never came to see me, and I died entirely alone in that massive, empty bed. Until my last breath, my chest was suffocated by a lifetime of regrets. I couldn't understand why I had sacrificed my freedom and my scalpels for a man who would only feel a twisted guilt decades after I was already a cold corpse. Opening my eyes again, Fate had dragged me back to the exact day my nightmare truly began. Matteo stood at the foot of my bed, clearly expecting my usual pathetic tears. "Take your time to think about it." This time, I didn't cry or beg for my life. I just picked up the fountain pen, signed my name, and walked out to reclaim the scalpel I had abandoned.

"My world is a mess; you want nothing to do with this" "You don't have the right to decide that for me." Her chest was heaving, harsh breaths scraping the walls of her nose. "I am your wife, and I am choosing to be in your mess." He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer. "This is your last chance. Once you step in, I can never let go." "I'm not planning on it." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jade Saint, who was switched at birth, is coerced into an arranged marriage after returning to the Sterling home. That is, until Roman Volkov – the richest and most dangerous man in the city – claims her as his bride. Desperate to save her dying adoptive mother, she willingly enters into a contract marriage with the devil himself. But marriage to Roman is not what she thinks it is – not the enemies lurking in the shadows. Not the dangerous world he refuses to explain, and certainly not the way his cold touch begins to feel like a promise instead of a warning. Because the more she tries to understand him, the more she realises he didn't choose her by accident. And the truth behind it all may destroy her.

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?