Mercy Orii

"Let me go," I screamed, my voice echoing off the walls, as the unnervingly attractive man, who was supposed to be my patient, forcefully pinned me down onto his bed. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of madness and obsession as he restrained me, an unsettling grin stretching across his face. "You are so beautiful, Momma...so incredibly beautiful," he murmured, his gaze locked onto me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. It felt as though he was completely in his own world, a place where my desperate pleas for freedom did not exist. This sickening façade he wore, as though he were talking to someone other than the terrified woman he had trapped, made my stomach churn in disbelief. This nightmarish situation was not what I had anticipated when I had agreed to serve as the personal doctor for this deranged individual. I thought I could help him, perhaps even make a difference in his life, but now it was clear-I had misjudged him entirely. He was proving my worst fears right, unraveling the fantasies I had spun about saving him, revealing instead a horrifying reality that I had been foolish to ignore. "Let me go, you crazy bastard!" I shouted again, my voice filled with desperation and frustration, rising above the din of my racing heart. But he only responded with a low, deranged chuckle that sent shivers down my spine, a sound so chilling it resonated with his unstable mind. "Yes, Momma, I'm crazy for you," he declared, his voice tainted with unhinged fervor as he slowly trailed his hands from my abdomen down to my thighs. A sharp gasp escaped my lips, a reflexive reaction to his touch that was both unwelcome and shocking, a physical violation that left me stunned. "You love what I'm doing... don't you?" he taunted, his twisted grin widening as he watched my horrified expression. Before I could even process what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine in a brief yet jarring peck. My body recoiled involuntarily, a mixture of shock and revulsion flooding my senses as the boundaries of my professional duty shattered against his deranged advances. In that moment, I realized just how dire my situation truly was. This was not merely a confrontation with a patient; it was a dangerous game of survival against a man whose reality was warped, and I was the unwilling object of his twisted affections. It was a sickening realization, one that filled my thoughts with a desperate urgency to escape his grasp before it was too late. "How dare you? You absolute psychopath!" I exclaimed, my voice tinged with disbelief and outrage. My initial shock from his unexpected kiss hit me like a bolt of lightning-an overwhelming mix of surprise and confusion coursed through my veins. "What on earth do you think you're doing? Let me go this instant!" I demanded, my heart racing as I stared into his eyes, filled with an unsettling mixture of amusement and intensity. To my astonishment, he merely grinned again, displaying a strikingly beautiful set of teeth that somehow made the situation all the more unnerving. "You know... I really can't stand it when anyone labels me as a psychopath," he replied, his tone light but laced with an unsettling undercurrent of danger. "But oddly enough, when you say it... I can't help but feel incredibly turned on." His chuckle sent a shiver down my spine, and before I could fully process his words, he leaned in and playfully bit my earlobe. The unexpected sensation caused a soft mewl to escape my lips, a reaction I couldn't quite control despite my attempts to resist him. In truth, I had been trying desperately to push him away from me, my instincts screaming for me to flee. Yet, lately, the things he said and the way he touched me were creating an undeniable impact, stirring something within me that I had long kept buried. It was confusing and frightening, igniting a war between my rational mind and my body's instictual responses. "You're so unbelievably beautiful," he continued, his gaze fixed intently on me as if he were drinking in every detail of my being. "And I can't help but feel this overwhelming curiosity about how you'll moan my name." His laughter echoed in the air, hysterical and wild, heightening my anxiety and leaving me feeling more scared and vulnerable than ever. "Get ready, Kimberly Wilson ..." he said, the intensity of his words causing my breath to catch in my throat. "We're going to have a tremendous amount of fun together, and I sincerely hope you're prepared for what's to come." With that, he smashed his lips onto mine with such force that it left me utterly gobsmacked. The world around us faded away, leaving only the chaotic swirl of emotions and the undeniable tension between us as I tried to grapple with the reality of this moment. Ok what the hell did I get myself into?, I should have known I should have declined to Mr Felix decision that I should be this mad man's doctor, Now look at what's happening,I thought and as the Psychopath

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit. The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena. This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone.

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

My wealthy husband, Nathaniel, stormed in, demanding a divorce to be with his "dying" first love, Julia. He expected tears, pleas, even hysteria. Instead, I calmly reached for a pen, ready to sign away our life for a fortune. For two years, I played the devoted wife in our sterile penthouse. That night, Nathaniel shattered the facade, tossing divorce papers. "Julia's back," he stated, "she needs me." He expected me to crumble. But my calm "Okay" shocked him. I coolly demanded his penthouse, shares, and a doubled stipend, letting him believe I was a greedy gold digger. He watched, disgusted, convinced I was a monster. He couldn't fathom my indifference or ruthless demands. He saw avarice, not a carefully constructed facade. His betrayal had awakened something far more dangerous. The second the door closed, the dutiful wife vanished. I retrieved a burner phone and a Glock, ready to expose the elaborate lie he and Julia had built.

I stepped from the taxi onto Manhattan's pristine curb, a naive farm girl from Montana. My mission: marry billionaire Julian Sterling for a contract. But my welcome was a trap; that night, I found myself in his bed, a drugged, vulnerable man clinging to me. The Sterling penthouse became a gauntlet. Julian's mother and stepsister relentlessly tried to undermine my "charity case" facade, insulting, sabotaging, and humiliating me, making my true mission perilous. Victoria tossed money into my breakfast. Stella set impossible tasks. Julian's friend, Vanessa, bribed me to leave and shamed me at a gala. Julian, cold and suspicious, demanded I "play the fool." Each cruel prank fueled a quiet fury. It was infuriating to be dismissed, knowing secrets I held. Julian's unexpected vulnerability and my grandfather's mysterious will sparked deeper questions. But I fought back. I shredded Vanessa's bribe, tamed a pop star, and outwitted Stella's sabotage, proving competence. Julian's disdain shifted to respect. This was now a battle for my inheritance, identity, and hidden truths.

My world crumbled the day I held my death sentence in my hands. My husband, Sebastian, thought I was strong, a socialite wife who had "everything." He didn't know my body was already betraying me, just like he was. At twenty-five, I was Catherine Vanderbilt, wife to a Manhattan titan, but my body was quietly giving up. A doctor's report confirmed it: critical kidney failure, a terrifying secret whispering through my veins. My marriage, a fragile dance of silence, felt like it was balanced on a knife's edge. When I tried to talk about starting a family, Sebastian dismissed me as greedy, comparing me to his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Serena. Then, on our anniversary, a panicked call from Serena sent him rushing out, leaving me alone with my pain and the terrifying truth of my failing health. He didn't come home, returning only to give me a diamond bracelet – a golden shackle. He made me sign an NDA, legally binding me to silence as he hired Serena, bringing her into our company. I found them in his office, Serena wearing an identical bracelet, openly flaunting our shared humiliation. During an elevator breakdown, he comforted her panic attack, ignoring my own terror. Later, Serena "accidentally" scalded my hand, and Sebastian rushed to her side, leaving me burned, invisible, and alone. I was dying, yet he saw me as strong, while his ex, whose life he'd "broken," received all his care. How could he be so blind? How could I be so utterly dispensable? After a fleeting night of intimacy, Serena's feigned suicide threat lured him away again. The next morning, my world crashed completely: my entire fashion collection, my soul's work, was stolen and leaked by Serena, using Sebastian's company cloud. As the betrayal hit, a sharp pain tore through my back, blood trickled from my nose, and I collapsed, utterly broken, while my stolen designs blazed across the screens.

Sera stood at the altar, ready to renew vows with Lucas Sterling, a public declaration of their solid marriage. But in that holy silence, Lucas answered his phone, his voice booming, "Naomi? I'm coming." He then turned, eyes cold, declaring, "It's over," abandoning her mid-ceremony. The crowd gasped. His family humiliated her, calling her "trash." He then cut off all her money, stranding her in a downpour. The cruelest blow: his sister revealed Lucas had gossiped about Sera's deepest trauma-a past kidnapping-mocking her belief he was her savior. This betrayal shattered Sera's loyalty, replacing pain with cold rage. How could he expose that secret? And why did powerful Julian Thorne appear, whispering, "I've known who you are for a long time," as if privy to her past? With her last attachment severed, Sera pulled out her encrypted phone. Her voice chilling, she commanded, "Target Sterling Supply Chain. Initiate Phase One: Disruption." Her counterattack had begun.

My husband promised me forever, but gave me endless lies. On our anniversary, I found his secrets on social media, exposed by his mistress. He didn't just break my heart; he broke my entire world. Seraphina sat alone in her opulent mansion, preparing their anniversary dinner, feeling the suffocating weight of her cold, hollow marriage. An Instagram post from Tiffany Sloan then brazenly revealed Harrison's hand at a romantic dinner, shattering his flimsy excuses and exposing his blatant infidelity. The betrayal turned Seraphina's despair into cold resolve. He gaslighted her, dismissed her pain, and reminded her she was "nothing." He chose his mistress over her dying brother, caused her to break an ankle, and finally abandoned her on a desolate street corner, stripped of dignity. How could she have sacrificed her entire violin career for a man who so casually discarded her? Under that bridge, her foolish love died, leaving only a fierce desire for reclamation. Shivering and alone, a faded flyer for a violin teacher caught her eye. It was a defiant whisper of her old self, a promise: Seraphina Vanderbilt was gone, and a new Seraphina was finally free.