Sunian Jinshi

I loved Julian Falcone for eighteen years. He was the future Don of the Cosa Nostra—ruthless, calculating, and the only man who could dismantle an entire cartel with a single phone call. I was the daughter of his family's Consigliere, raised in his shadow, molded into the perfect mafia princess. When his mother announced our betrothal at a syndicate dinner, I held my breath and looked across the table at him. Julian turned his head. The look he fixed on me was one of profound, physical revulsion. He dragged me to a club that night—not for a dinner, but to use me as a human shield against his mother's surveillance. He ignored me for hours while his crew laughed and drank. He gave my most treasured possession to another woman. He left me standing alone on a curb after his convoy drove away without me. And on a mountain retreat, hidden behind the pines, I heard him tell his crew he was relieved to finally be rid of me. So I took a pen to my university applications. I scored out the life I'd planned around him until the paper tore beneath the pressure. I secretly enrolled at a local college—somewhere he would never set foot. Three years later, I had built a fortress around my broken heart. A new life. A new name in circles he didn't control. Then I discovered the truth. Julian Falcone never went to his prestigious university. He spent thirty-six months at the exact campus I had abandoned—waiting for a ghost. And now he's found me. ---

Eloise was the adopted stray of the wealthy Foreman family, mocked daily for her tarot cards and dismissed as a mentally unstable burden. When her adoptive father suddenly collapsed with thick, black veins pulsing up his neck, they didn't blame his corrupt real estate deals. They blamed her. "She's a witch! She cursed me!" Mitch roared, ordering his doctor and armed guards to forcefully drain her blood to cure his supernatural toxin. Her adoptive mother revoked her trust fund and threatened to drag her to a psych ward. Her spoiled sister threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at her feet, laughing as the security team cornered Eloise against the wall. Eloise stared coldly at the family that had abused her for years. They had dug up a sacred burial ground to build condos, bringing this deadly curse upon themselves, yet they wanted to bleed her dry to survive. Just as the guards lunged, the heavy oak doors were violently shoved open. An aristocratic butler stepped through the freezing rain, flanked by elite operatives who snapped the guards' legs in seconds. He dropped a three-billion-dollar trust document onto the table as mere "compensation" for her shelter. "Please, Miss Palmer," the butler bowed deeply, offering her pristine white gloves. "Do not dirty your hands in this place." Leaving her adoptive father to his midnight death sentence, Eloise stepped into a waiting Rolls-Royce, ready to reclaim her place in a hidden global dynasty.

As a "wolfless" Omega at the absolute bottom of the pack hierarchy, my only goal was to build a safe, normal life with my fiancé, Dan. That illusion shattered the day I came home early from work. I found Dan completely naked, tangled in my bedsheets with my cousin, Laura. The suffocating stench of their betrayal polluted my home. Dan frantically tried to blame Laura, while she shrieked that they had been sleeping together for months. My sanctuary was destroyed. With no family to turn to, I fled into the night. Heartbroken and desperate for oblivion, I ended up in the office of my terrifying boss, Alpha Kane Cain. Fueled by whiskey and grief, I recklessly surrendered to him, signing a note consenting to whatever he wanted just to make the pain stop. But the next morning, the blinding pleasure was replaced by pure terror. Kane hadn't pulled out. In our brutal world, an unmarked, wolfless Omega carrying an Alpha's child would be cast out and hunted. I panicked, begging him to let me leave, convinced I was just another disposable mistake. Instead of letting me go, the ruthless Alpha's eyes darkened with a terrifying, primal possessiveness. He pulled out the note I had signed in my drunken haze. "You gave me this power, little wolf," he growled, ordering his men to move my belongings to his estate. "Don't pretend you can take it back now."

For seven years, I sacrificed my career to be the invisible woman behind my rising star boyfriend, August. But on our anniversary, I watched him on a livestream, openly flirting with his co-star, Alana, while the internet hailed them as the perfect couple. His fans sent me death threats, calling me "forgettable" and "unworthy." When I begged him for help, he called me "needy" and told me I was "overreacting." Yet, when Alana faced the same online hate, he held a press conference, fiercely defending her as a "vulnerable artist." The man who dismissed my suffering was now a champion against injustice for another woman. I realized he wasn't incapable of empathy; he just chose not to direct it at me. I wasn't just forgettable. I was a fool. So I packed my bags, blocked his number, and booked a one-way ticket out of his life, ready to finally stop being invisible.

My fiancé, a mafia Capo, promised the painkillers would help after the "car crash." It was a lie. The real accident was his temper, and I was his favorite punching bag. In a medicated haze, I overheard the truth. He was on the phone with his consigliere, boasting about stealing my billion-dollar casino blueprint. He was going to use it to become Underboss. He planned to propose, then use our world's code of silence to legally gag me from ever claiming my own work. His mistress, Olivia, would be the public face of the project. The worst part was the truth about my miscarriage. It wasn't an accident. He and Olivia had orchestrated it, calling our baby a "complication" that would kill his ambition. At a party, he proved it all. After shoving me to the ground in front of everyone, he walked away with her, leaving me in a heap of humiliation. The love I had for him didn't just die; it turned into a cold, hard certainty. He had taken my work, my child, and my dignity. So I sent him one last email: a file containing proof of every lie, every betrayal, and a video of his abuse. The subject line read: "My Wedding Gift." Then I boarded a one-way flight to New York to partner with the one man he truly feared. This wasn't a breakup. It was war.

The box arrived on Valentine's Day, filled not with chocolates, but with used, strawberry-flavored condoms – a twisted message from my fiancé, Ethan Vance. For three years, I, Sarah, the rightful Miller heiress, endured his mockery and Chloe Peterson's manipulative presence, all while my tech billionaire grandfather insisted I choose an heir from four men who only ever loved Chloe. This time, on our shared birthday, Chloe, feigning injury and tears, framed me for kidnapping within moments of arriving at our Aspen ski resort party, turning Ethan and the others against me, leaving me shivering and deserted in the freezing lodge. Ethan, my supposed fiancé, ripped off my jacket to give to her, his eyes blazing with fury, as his friends-my so-called "chosen heirs"-circled like vultures, accusing me of cruelty and jealousy. Left locked in the sub-zero night, my phone dead from the cold, I finally blew the emergency whistle Grandpa gave me, summoning my quiet bodyguard, Mark Davis, who arrived like a dark knight in shining armor. "I said, take off your ski jacket." I faced Ethan Vance, heart hardened. "I don't want you anymore." Tonight, at the grand dinner, my new fiancé, Mark Davis, CEO of Skyward Holdings, will stand by my side as I reclaim my dignity. He' ll watch as I expose Ethan and Chloe, turning their cruel games back on them, and watch as they lose everything. This isn't just a birthday party anymore; it's a reckoning.

Seven years. My marriage to Matthew Lester, the golden boy of Texas high society, was outwardly perfect. I was even pregnant, finally giving his ecstatic parents the grandchild they longed for. I told myself I was happy. Then, his phone lit up with a text from Nicole Lawrence, my high school rival. "Did you tell her yet?" the message read. My blood ran cold as I scrolled up and saw Matthew's reply, "Not yet. Let her enjoy the pregnancy for a little while." Nicole' s next message ripped the air from my lungs: "It's my pregnancy too, Matt. My baby. I want to be the one to feel it kick." The baby growing inside me wasn't mine. It was Matthew' s and Nicole' s, conceived via IVF, and I was merely a surrogate. The man who supposedly saved me after my father' s tragic death had turned me into a vessel for his and my greatest betrayer' s child. My perfect life was a cage, and the truth made it crumble. How could he? How could they? The horror of being used, violated, and utterly betrayed by the two people who had already shaped my darkest moments was unbearable. Every act of kindness, every loving word, every shared dream was a calculated lie. My father' s death, my shattered past-it was all a setup. But a cold resolve settled in. I wouldn't be a victim again. I wouldn't break. I would play their game, then I would disappear, erase Stella Lester, and reclaim my life, whatever the cost.

I was Amelia "Mia" Vargas, the orphan girl who'd clawed her way to country music stardom, living out my fairytale as I prepared to get engaged to Nashville's golden boy, Jax Thorne, live on the CMA red carpet. The flashbulbs popped, the crowd cheered, and my heart pounded with a future I thought was finally mine, a dream come true for the girl from nowhere. Then, the nightmare literally burst onto the scene: Jax's ex-fiancée, Brooke Harrington, materialized, distraught. He brazenly dropped my hand, embraced her, and publicly branded me an "opportunistic social climber" right before security wrestled me away like a discarded prop. My world imploded. My career was systematically obliterated—songs pulled from radio, venues canceled, my name tarnished beyond recognition. But the ultimate blow came when Jax invaded my sanctuary, savagely smashing the vintage guitar that was my very soul. As I desperately lunged to save it, he shoved me, and I fell. My choked scream turned into a gurgle as my vocal cords ruptured, stealing the unique voice that defined me. Not content with my silence, Brooke, with a cruel smirk, offered me a final, crushing humiliation: an internship, serving coffee to the man who'd ruthlessly taken absolutely everything. I was broken, voiceless, stripped bare, and they thought I was utterly alone, a defeated footnote in their grand political ascent. They thought they knew the orphan girl. But they had no idea who they had truly crossed, or that the name Vargas held a horrifying, unspoken power.

As a geologist, I suffocated in my husband Jack Thorne's gilded cage. Our six-year-old, Lily, was my only joy amidst the fake smiles of a gala night. Then, a simple juice spill on Tiffany Bellweather's couture gown – Jack's mistress-EA. Lily's accident turned chilling when Jack, enraged by her defiance, declared her punishment: abandonment in the brutal Nevada desert. He drove her off, casually promising a "desert experience," complete with a drone feed for me. I watched my terrified daughter face scorpions, rattlesnakes, and scorching heat. This wasn't punishment; it was calculated torture. The drone showed Lily, small and alone, whimpering. Jack was unmoved. Then Tiffany's poisoned confession: she orchestrated the spill. Jack simply sought an excuse to hurt me through our child. This calculated betrayal broke me, leaving me utterly helpless. On screen, a rattlesnake bite. Jack ignored my pleas. Lily died. My world shattered. I vanished with her ashes, fueled by icy fury. My geological expertise, once dismissed, would become my ultimate weapon. Jack destroyed my life. I would dismantle his empire.

Sophie married Harold only for the benefit of her family. The two of them had no feelings for each other. Later, she wanted to leave Harold, but divorcing him was out of the question. So instead, she made her twin sister, Sally, become her substitute for a few days. However, on the first day Sally played the part of her sister, she slept with her brother-in-law. After that night, Harold became obsessed with her. She was like poison, slowly taking his heart away. He couldn’t figure out how his cold wife had suddenly become so irresistible.

My husband swallowed a ten-year prison sentence to save me from my abusive stepfather. When he got out, he built a mafia empire and made me his Queen. But last night, his encrypted tablet lit up with an ultrasound photo and a text from another woman. "Our little secret is growing." The mistress soon called to mock me. She was pregnant, while I had been barren for four years. When I confronted my husband, he didn't apologize. Instead, he assigned heavily armed guards to protect her and burned my divorce papers with his cigar. "The only exit from this Family is death," he warned. The nightmare deepened when I uncovered her true identity. The mistress was my half-sister, and her mastermind was the mother who had abandoned me at six. My husband knew. He even whispered our sacred vow to her-"I will shield you from the blood"-the exact words he used when I lost our child on a freezing concrete floor for his syndicate. I took bullets for him. I waited a decade outside those prison gates. Yet he used my absolute loyalty to lock me in a cage, handing my crown to the family that threw me to the wolves. He thought I was just a helpless wife, entirely dependent on his mercy. He didn't know I was Vanguard, the shadow billionaire controlling the very lifelines of his empire. I calmly picked up my phone and called my head operative. "Liquidate his supply chains. Let's see whose empire turns to ash first."

My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement. To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia. It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping. But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished. She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug. She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago. The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash. Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name. She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant. I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead. I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye. "Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you." Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth. "Prove it," he growled. I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip.

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.

"My gift has finally arrived, a perfect specimen, perfect for an heir." *** If only I had known that I wouldn't ever return to my house. Never see my mother, my siblings, or Violet... I never would have gotten in that car. My father remarked, "She's all yours," "Dad? Dad? Dad?! " I yelled. I squirmed as tears began to stream, attempting to break free. *** Years have passed... "My gift has finally arrived," said a voice I recognized. That voice was the catalyst for my downfall. "Well, now that we're acquainted, I think we can go see my son." You know, I purchased you for him. "A perfect specimen, perfect for an heir," he murmured, a nasty smirk on his face. *** "Son!" Antonio applauded. "What do you want, father?" I felt a little chill at the sound of the fresh voice. The Italian accent in the words, together with how deep, velvety, and dominating it was, shook me to my very core. I was a little pleased that he spoke so harshly about his father. He had midnight-black hair that fell in a part of his onyx eyes, which was lengthy in the center but short on the sides. Deeply tanned complexion, full pink lips, and a jawline with a five o'clock shadow. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt beneath that had the first three buttons undone, revealing some tattoos. His hands were encrusted with silver rings, some of which had black jewels. Both hands and backs of both had tattoos. I was intrigued by the creative swirls since I was ignorant of the whole tattoo. Not if he made the decision to remove his shirt. *** Lucy was sold to Antonio Martinelli, the former boss of the biggest Italian mafia when she was 14 years old. After spending years in the "safe house," Lucy is delivered to his son Luca Martinelli, the new leader, as a birthday gift. Luca fights the urge to fall in love with the ebony beauty as Lucy attempts to keep a promise she made and regain her former self. Will they endure all the deceit, lust, murder, and betrayal committed in the name of love together?

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."

I was five months pregnant and the top underground surgeon for the Chicago mafia. On Christmas Eve, I was called in to perform an off-the-books C-section on a VIP patient. But through the operating room glass, I saw my mafia boss husband, Julian. He wasn't there for me. He was slamming his fists against the door, screaming in desperation for the bleeding mistress on my table. "I swear on my life I will marry you, Lyla. Just hold on." I delivered his illegitimate son while he completely ignored my existence, kissing her knuckles with a reverence I thought was mine alone. The nightmare didn't end there. When I returned to our cold penthouse, I had my prenatal vitamins tested. They were laced with black-market hormones designed to cause severe fetal deformities and force a late-term miscarriage. Julian, the man who once took a bullet for me and swore a blood oath to protect me, had been secretly poisoning our unborn child. His entire family had been covering up his four-year affair, praising the mistress while using me as a convenient shield. How could the fiercely protective husband I loved be the very monster plotting to destroy me from the inside out? The last shred of my affection for the Capo instantly turned to ash. I calmly booked a discreet termination, drafted ironclad annulment papers, and walked out to build my own empire. ---

(ADULT CONTENT) Lucia - I had gotten to the point in my life where I could totally understand why people felt the need to take their own life. It was a need a lot of people thought they understood but in reality didn't even know the half of it. I would know because it was a need I constantly battled with. My life was complete shit. I'd lost my parents at a young age, been tossed from one abusive chaotic home to the other until I'd finally decided I couldn't take it anymore and had run away. Only running away had made it worse. Way worse. Because living on the streets I witnessed a lot of things no young girl should ever witness. Then for a moment it seemed like I'd found love. He was kind, caring and sweet. But even that didn't last. I told myself then that I was completely done. At first I didn't want to live at all. Later on, I just wanted to live long enough to get my revenge on everyone who had dared to make my life miserable. I never expected I would want to live for him. Bruno - Inheriting a ruthless top mafia gang at a very young age did a lot of damage to someone. It certainly did a whole lot of damage to me. Fucked me up so bad I could no longer tell what was right from what was wrong. I could no longer separate what I needed to do from what I wanted to do. And it was fine, really. I didn't give a flying fuck what anyone thought about it. It was who I was now and there was no going back. At least that was what I'd thought. Until I'd met Lucia. I still couldn't explain it but seeing her up there, hands tied above her head as she waited for whatever asshole was going to buy her at the auction caused some kind of reaction in me. It was enough to tell me that I should probably let someone else buy her so she could be their problem. Unfortunately I'd never been one to stop myself from making a wrong decision. So I bought her anyway. And who would have guessed? She turned out to be the best decision I'd ever made.

My five-year-old son stumbled into the hall, his cheek marred by the livid, blistering print of a hand. My phone buzzed with a message from my husband’s mistress, warning me to teach my brat some manners before she taught him a real lesson. Franco Moretti, my husband and the acting Boss of the Romano Syndicate, had allowed his mistress to strike the heir to our empire. When I confronted him, he dismissed the assault as a mere reflex and demanded I stop being dramatic. The silence that followed was heavy and cold. I realized then that my years of playing the docile, obedient wife had only invited disrespect upon my own blood. My mother-in-law echoed his coldness, telling me to look the other way for the sake of peace, as if my son’s pain were merely a trifle to be ignored. I looked at Leo, his small shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, and felt something ancient and hard wake up within me. The man I had married—the predator who ruled Chicago with an iron fist—believed I was weak, a shadow that existed only to serve his crown. He had mistaken my silence for stupidity and my restraint for submission. I stared at the countdown on my phone, the numbers marking the final moments of my long, hollow marriage. I had spent four years playing the role of a placid wife, but the script had dissolved the moment his mistress touched my child. I tapped the screen, silenced my alarm, and ended the call. The time for talk was over; the vendetta had begun.

I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair. They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves. Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment. But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger. In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all.

As I lay in the cold underground clinic, terminating the unborn heir of the city's most feared mafia underboss, my phone lit up. My fiancé of seven years had just publicly pledged his protection and a home-cooked meal to his ex-lover, moments after telling me to risk a deadly ambush by ordering takeout. When I returned to our penthouse, bleeding and broken, he didn't even notice. He gave my specialized prenatal milk to his ex because she had a "delicate stomach," leaving me only a hollowed-out egg white and dry crusts. When I begged him to stay, he violently kicked my packed suitcase across the marble floor. "Elena's medical needs take priority right now," he snapped, rushing out because his ex felt cold. He even blocked my secure number when I frantically tried to reach him one last time. For seven years, we had built an empire together. I couldn't understand how a past flame playing the fragile doe could make him discard my life and our child's existence so callously, treating me like worthless scraps. Sitting in the empty penthouse, I wiped my tears and opened the global Syndicate network. "My betrothal to Vincent is officially dissolved. Act accordingly." I powered down my phone, grabbed my tactical gear, and boarded a private jet to leave his territory forever.