/1/122742/coverbig.jpg?v=20260708182001)
I was supposed to marry Jerrell Griffin, securing an alliance between our wealthy families. But today, his mother threw a hospital report in my face, aggressively accusing me of murder. His fragile mistress, Bobby, sobbed in his arms, claiming I had viciously caused her miscarriage so I could keep my position as his fiancée. "Look at what you've done! You vicious, evil woman!" His mother shrieked, while Jerrell looked at me with absolute disgust, demanding I apologize to his mistress. The scene was a horrifyingly perfect replica of my nightmare. In that past life, these exact fake accusations had utterly destroyed me. I was abandoned by my family, publicly disgraced, and eventually died alone in a freezing, dark alley while they celebrated their twisted victory. They wanted to frame me again, expecting me to crumble and beg under the weight of a phantom grandchild. They thought I was just a pampered, helpless girl they could easily manipulate to elevate a lying mistress. But they forgot one crucial detail. I am Isabella Valeriano, the Princess of the Chicago Outfit. Instead of crying, I smiled coldly, picked up my phone, and called in my family's most feared enforcers. "Activate the Purification Protocol." This time, I wasn't just going to expose her fake pregnancy and cancel the wedding. I was going to erase the Griffin name from this city forever.
Contents
Broken Vows: The Mafia Princess Strikes Back Chapter 1
Isabella POV:
The sharp crack of the file hitting the marble coffee table echoed the splintering of my composure.
"Look at what you've done!"
Margaret Griffin-my fiancé's mother, my future mother-in-law-shrieked, her voice thin and sharp enough to cut glass. Her manicured finger, trembling with rage, jabbed toward the medical report on the table. An emergency room visit. A miscarriage.
"You vicious, evil woman! You made Bobby lose my grandson!"
Beside her stood my fiancé, Jerrell Griffin. His face, usually handsome in a bland, predictable way, was twisted with disgust. He looked at me as if I were something he'd scraped off the bottom of his shoe. And draped against his side, sobbing with theatrical little gasps, was Bobby Little-his mistress, the woman who had just accused me of shoving her down the stairs.
I didn't look at the report.
My gaze drifted past Margaret's apoplectic face, over Jerrell's condemnation, and settled on Bobby.
The scene was identical. A perfect, horrifying replica.
Because I had already lived this nightmare once.
In my previous life, I had stood in this very room, trembling and weeping, begging for a chance to explain. It hadn't mattered. They had branded me a murderer, broken the engagement, and cast me out. My own family disowned me to save their business ties. I died two weeks later-bleeding in a cold, dark alley, alone and forgotten, with no one to even close my eyes.
But somehow, impossibly, I had opened them again. I woke up this morning in my own bed, in my own body, before the wedding, before the accusations, before the alley. The clock had turned back. And now I understood: this was not a second chance to endure. This was a second chance to destroy.
A chill crept up my spine, but I didn't shiver. I smiled.
The nightmare flickered behind my eyes-the same accusations, the same room, the same faces. But this time, I wasn't the screaming, pleading girl from my dreams. This time, I would not beg. I would not explain. I would strike before they could.
I finally spoke, my voice shockingly steady, cutting through Margaret's impending second wave of hysterics.
"Your grandson?" I asked, my tone soft, conversational. "Margaret, as far as I am aware, the only legitimate heir to the Griffin name can come from my bloodline."
The words hung in the air, a slap more resounding than any physical blow.
Margaret's mouth snapped shut. Blood rushed to her face, turning it a blotchy, unbecoming shade of purple.
"Isabella!" Jerrell roared, stepping forward. "Don't you dare! Bobby was carrying my child!"
My eyes shifted to him. For a fleeting moment, I felt a sliver of something akin to pity. He was a fool. A pawn in a game he didn't even know he was playing.
"Your child?" I tilted my head. "Jerrell, are you quite sure about that?"
Bobby flinched in his arms, her sobs hitching. "Jerrell," she whimpered, pressing her face into his chest. "It hurts... Our baby is gone..."
Slowly, I rose to my feet. The silk of my dress, a deep emerald green, whispered around my legs. It was a dress I'd bought for a celebration that would now never happen-because I had no intention of walking down any aisle to this family.
I ignored Jerrell's furious breathing and walked to the floor to ceiling window, my back to them. The manicured gardens of the Griffin estate stretched out below-a perfect, orderly world that was about to be torn apart.
"This farce," I said, my voice resonating with an authority I hadn't known I possessed until this very moment, "is over."
"Farce?" Margaret screeched. "You have the audacity to call this a farce? Is this how the Valeriano family taught you manners?"
I turned slowly, my gaze sweeping over her. My brown eyes, which people often called warm, felt like chips of ice in my own skull.
"Manners?" I repeated. "No. Today, I'll teach you about Valeriano rules."
I walked back to the table and picked up my phone. Jerrell lunged, as if to snatch it from me, but I was faster. My movement was fluid, practiced-the muscle memory of a woman who had already died once and would never be caught off guard again. He was clumsy with rage.
I dialed a number from memory.
It was answered on the first ring. No greeting, just silence.
"Winter," I said her name and felt the ghost of my old self flinch.
In my previous life, I had feared Winter Frost-feared her cold eyes and the way she moved like shadow given form. I never understood why my father kept her so close.
Now I knew: she was not a monster. She was a tool. And tools, when wielded correctly, cut both ways.
"Activate the 'Purification Protocol.' I need Dr. Wallace. Now."
Dr. Wallace. The man who had patched up my father's enemies before delivering them to their graves. In my last life, I had never dared to call him. Tonight, he would answer to me.
I ended the call and placed the phone on the table with a soft click.
I sat back down on the plush white sofa, crossing my legs at the ankle. A queen waiting for her court to assemble.
My eyes locked onto Jerrell, then his mother. Their shock was a palpable thing, a thick, heavy blanket smothering their fury.
"And just so we're all perfectly clear," I said, each word precise and deliberate, "as of this moment, the engagement between the Valeriano and Griffin families is officially terminated."
Jerrell's jaw dropped. "What? Are you insane?"
Margaret, recovering slightly, found her voice. "This marriage is not for you to decide! It was arranged by your father!"
A small, humorless laugh escaped my lips. It was a dry, brittle sound.
I gestured with a flick of my wrist toward Bobby, who was still trying to look pathetic in Jerrell's arms.
"Before we discuss the terms of our annulment," I said, my smile widening, "perhaps we should first verify if a life ever truly existed inside our little victim's womb."
Bobby's body went rigid.
View More Comments on App
Other books by Breeze
More/1/100249/coverbig.jpg?v=500241bf6fe1e88ae390b71c991c1a78)
The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
MafiaI 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.
/1/113817/coverbig.jpg?v=f586bcf7162eda00ef098a5874812ef1)
Revenge Of The Forsaken Pregnant Wife
ModernMy marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child. Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby. To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner. They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his. The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused. But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.
/1/121243/coverbig.jpg?v=2cffc2f85e1f4a564a71ab60362bf710)
Too Late, I Married The Mafia King
MafiaFor six years, I endured my fiancé Silas's calculated cruelty, believing it was the only way to pay for my dying father's black-market lung medication. Then, I overheard him talking to his secret lover—his late brother's widow. "Once the old man suffocates, I'll put Aria in a fortified apartment as my personal whore, and you will wear the Capo's ring." At the syndicate's annual Feast, Silas put his ruthless plan into motion. He publicly humiliated me, tearing my dress open from collarbone to shoulder in front of hundreds of leering mobsters. He deliberately scattered my father's bloody medical money across the dirt and forced me to draw the White Carnation, making me the ultimate laughingstock of the Family. My frail father coughed up blood trying to protect me, while Silas and his lover sneered at my absolute ruin. For six years, I swallowed my pride, thinking I was making a noble sacrifice to keep my father breathing. I never realized I was just a disposable pawn in his sick game, kept on a leash only until my father was in the ground. But Silas didn't know that the night before, I had taken the last of my money to buy a silver Vendetta Rosary. I had ventured into the shadows and pledged myself to Dante, the terrifying, newly ascended Don of the entire syndicate. As I sobbed on the cold wooden floor, the courtyard fell dead silent, and a pair of large, scarred hands reached into my vision holding a flawless Crimson Rose. And in the heavy silence that followed, I understood: either salvation or damnation had come for me, and I was no longer the one choosing.
/1/120425/coverbig.jpg?v=1d30852266450129a911aab0e44087be)
Substitute Marriage: Taming The Disabled Billionaire
RomanceThe Linwoods stole my parents' company, held my grandfather's belongings hostage, and treated me like a servant. Now, they forced me into a cheap dress to be a substitute bride for a disabled, notoriously ruthless billionaire, claiming their own daughter was sick. But the moment I arrived at the monstrous Norton estate, the billionaire threw a fifty-million-dollar contract in my face. I hadn't just been replaced; I had been sold. The Linwoods didn't just want me to marry a man they feared. They hoped the cold-blooded Duncan Norton would eventually dispose of me. If I died here, they would keep the money, their daughter would be free, and the only living heir to the company they stole would vanish forever. I was trapped in a fortress, treated like garbage by the staff, and dragged to the hospital to visit the dying Norton matriarch, fully expected to be the "jinx" that finally killed her. But my adoptive family didn't know I possessed an extraordinary, hypersensitive sense of smell. Standing by the matriarch's bed, beneath the scent of lilies and disinfectant, I caught the rotting sweetness of a rare neurotoxin hidden inside her silk pillow. The Linwoods were orchestrating a murder to frame me! Instead of waiting to be slaughtered, I ripped the deadly pillow apart and saved the old woman's life. Meeting the billionaire's shocked, analytical gaze, I stopped playing the terrified prey. "We go to City Hall, and we make this marriage legally binding." It was time to become the real Mrs. Norton and tear my adoptive family's perfect plan to shreds.
/1/120036/coverbig.jpg?v=ab4e5dd4362716ac04a75510f69c5a7e)
Reborn And Remade: Escaping The Cold CEO
ModernAvery Harding spent her youth loving Dominic Baxter, only to be rewarded with absolute destruction. In her past life, she dragged his unconscious body from the freezing ocean. But Seraphina Vance slithered in, stole the credit, and became his beloved savior. To protect Seraphina's lies, Dominic relentlessly targeted the Harding family. He orchestrated the bankruptcy of Harding Industries, leaving Avery's father to die of a heart attack in despair. He arranged a suspicious car crash that turned her fiercely protective brother Caleb into a mangled wreck of steel and glass. Finally, Dominic locked Avery away in a forgotten property, leaving her to bleed out alone on a cold concrete floor. As she took her last agonizing breath, pure hatred coiled in her stomach. Why did pulling the devil from the water only buy her family's extermination? Opening her eyes again, Avery found herself in a luxurious hotel bed, staring at Dominic's sleeping face. It was five years ago, the exact morning after she had saved him. This time, she didn't wait for him to wake up. She swallowed a morning-after pill, erased all evidence of her presence, and went straight to her family. "I want to call off the engagement to Dominic Baxter." The naive girl who loved him died on that concrete floor. Now, she was going to step into the family business, tear down his empire, and make him pay.
/1/115247/coverbig.jpg?v=df3d48543ee872f55fc3ccdc2efe2a1c)
The Billionaire's Secret Paper Wife
RomanceChantal Lewis's family legacy was twenty-four hours away from a fifty-million-dollar foreclosure. Desperate to save her parents, she sold her soul, offering herself as a paper wife to Dell Valdez, a ruthless Wall Street billionaire needing a quick PR fix. But Dell didn't just buy her; he trapped her in a living nightmare. He forced her into a brutal three-year repayment plan she could never afford, treated her like a disposable prop, and deliberately leaked a scandalous paparazzi photo to destroy her hard-earned professional credibility. Worst of all, the first time his calloused hand touched hers, a violent, terrifying flashback assaulted her brain. The scorching heat of his palms and the distinct, dark scent of his cedarwood cologne perfectly matched the repressed memory of a pitch-black room where she was pinned to a mattress against her will. Chantal didn't understand why her cold-blooded fake husband felt exactly like the monster from her unspoken trauma. She understood even less why, after months of ignoring her, he was suddenly acting violently jealous and possessive when she merely smiled at another man! Why did his scent match her attacker, and what was he truly planning? Furious, she called him to threaten a divorce, only for his voice to drop into a lethal whisper. "Try it. See what happens." Before she could process his deadly threat, her office phone rang. "Ms. Lewis," her receptionist trembled. "Your brother is in the lobby. He owes money to some very bad people, and they are coming here right now."
