Her Escape From Their Broken Promises

My stepmother sold me like a piece of inventory to a man known for breaking people just to plug the financial crater my father left behind. I was delivered to the Morton estate in the middle of a freezing storm, stripped of my phone, and told that if I didn't make myself useful, my senile grandfather would be evicted from his care facility by noon. The master of the house, Adonis Morton IV, was a monster living in a silent mausoleum, driven to the brink of madness by a sensory condition that turned every sound into a physical assault. When I was forced into his suite to serve him, he didn't see a human being; he saw a source of agony. In a fit of animalistic rage, he pinned me to the wall and nearly strangled me to death just for the sound of a shattering teacup. I only survived by using my grandfather’s secret herbal blends and pressure-point therapy to force his overactive nervous system into a drugged sleep. But saving him was my greatest mistake. Instead of letting me go, Adonis moved me into a guest suite connected to his own bedroom by a hidden door. He didn't just want me as a servant; he needed me as a human white-noise machine to drown out the demons in his head. The nightmare deepened when he took the promissory note that defined my freedom and tore it into confetti. By destroying the debt, he destroyed my exit strategy. He replaced my maid’s uniform with a silver silk dress that clung to my skin but did nothing to hide the dark, ugly bruises his fingers had left on my neck. He branded me as his "primary care associate," a title that was nothing more than a gilded cage. I felt a sickening sense of injustice as he forced me to sign a contract that banned me from contacting other men and required me to sleep wherever he slept. He looked at me with a possessive heat, calling me his "medication" rather than a woman. My family had sold my body, but Adonis Morton was intent on owning my very presence, using my grandfather’s medical bills as a leash to keep me within twenty feet of him at all times. Standing in a neglected greenhouse with mud staining my expensive silk, I realized I was no longer a victim waiting for rescue. If I was going to be his medication, I would learn how to be his cure—or his undoing. I began clearing the weeds with a cold, calculated frenzy, determined to turn this prison into my laboratory. He thinks he has trapped a helpless girl, but I am going to pry open the cracks in his stone walls until his entire world comes crashing down.

For seven years, I was the rejected mate of Alpha Kaelan Blackwood. But he never wanted me; he only ever wanted Livia, the woman he'd grown up with. When Livia framed me for stealing a priceless necklace, Kaelan didn't even hesitate. "You disgusting Omega," he spat. "You are not even worthy of licking the dirt from her shoes." Then he had his guards cuff me in silver and drag me to the cells, all while Livia wept crocodile tears in his arms. As they hauled me away, I saw him flinch, a flicker of pain from our severed bond crossing his face. But he did nothing. In that moment, seven years of foolish hope finally died. The next day, after my mother bailed me out, a rival Alpha found me at the airport. He offered me a position as his Chief Strategic Advisor, with one goal: to destroy Kaelan’s empire. I accepted without a second thought.

The imperial selection, a grand affair that could secure a family' s fortune, was upon us. But in the Thompson household, excitement was replaced by a chilling demand. My mother, Mrs. Thompson, gripped my hands, her face a mask of strained concern. "Sarah, you have to do this for us. For the family." She wanted me to go to the selection in my cousin Emily' s place, "fail gracefully," and return home a nobody. I looked at her, her words a haunting echo from a life I' d already lived. The last time, I believed her. I failed as instructed, but nobody ever came for me. I spent three years as a low-ranking intern, enduring humiliation and grueling labor, clinging to the promise of my family. When I finally scraped enough money to return, I found red lanterns and festive decorations. My cousin, Emily, was marrying my fiancé. My mother saw me at the gate, tattered and starved. "What are you doing here?" she spat. "You' re an embarrassment. Go away." The gates slammed shut, laughter from inside filling my ears as I collapsed in the snow, my life bleeding away. Then, I woke up. Back in my room, my mother' s voice a poisonous murmur. "Sarah, you have to do this for us." A bitter laugh almost escaped. I was back, at the very moment of my ruin. But this time, things would be different. I pulled my hands from her grasp, a cold resolve settling in my heart. "I will go. But I will go as Sarah Thompson. And I will not fail."

I stood at the altar in a fifty-thousand-dollar custom lace gown, waiting to marry the boy I had loved since I was five. But Silas didn't say "I do." He answered a phone call, turned pale, and bolted toward the exit as if the gates of hell had opened, leaving me to face five hundred of New York's most dangerous criminals alone. He left me for a waitress named Lola. The humiliation was suffocating. The elite of the Five Families looked at me with pity, a Genovese princess rejected for trash. When Silas finally returned, he didn't apologize. He showed up with hickeys on his neck, clinging to Lola, and had the audacity to suggest I become his mistress. He even demanded I hand over my dowry—millions in weapons and cash—so he could fund their lifestyle and "redecorate" with her. He thought I was still the innocent girl who would beg for his scraps. He didn't realize that in the moment he ran, a shadow had stepped forward to fill the void. Dante Moretti. The Don. Silas's uncle. The most feared man in the city looked at me with dark, predatory eyes and offered me a choice: be a victim, or be a Queen. "Since you are to marry a Moretti," Dante said, extending his scarred hand, "why not marry the head of the table?" I looked at the door where Silas had disappeared, then at the Reaper standing before me. "I do," I whispered. Silas thought he had ruined my life, but he only cleared the way for me to marry the monster who would burn the world down for me.

I threw a latte on the most dangerous man in New York and lived to tell about it. Dante Vitiello. The Capo dei Capi. A man rumored to cut out tongues for interrupting his dinner. Instead of a bullet to the brain, he handed me a black card and a terrifying ultimatum. "I need a fiancée," he told me, his eyes dead cold. To save my failing journalism career and my life, I signed a contract with the devil. I had to wear his massive diamond ring, smile for the cameras, and pretend to be the love of his life to stop a political mafia marriage. The rules were clear: Absolute obedience. Total exclusivity. And absolutely no feelings. But the performance started to feel dangerous. When a rival Don insulted me at a gala, Dante didn't just play the part—he threatened to butcher him in front of three hundred people. When I saw the jagged scars on his chest in the dead of night, I didn't see a monster; I saw a lonely protector. My investigation was supposed to expose him, but I was the one getting stripped bare. Then his cousin Rocco stormed in, calling me a disposable whore and a temporary pawn. I stood my ground, defending not just myself, but Dante too. Dante looked at me then, not as an asset, but as a woman he wanted to devour. He stepped closer, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my bones. "I think we are going to have a problem with the clause about 'no feelings'."

For ten years, I was the indispensable right hand and fiancée to star architect Declan Sharp. I poured my life into his career, sacrificing my own ambitions for us. Our wedding was just weeks away. But my world shattered when I saw him with the new intern, Kisha. He was showing her my design, the one he called "competent," and proudly saying, "This is Kisha's idea." It got worse. He stole my groundbreaking research paper for her, then publicly dismissed me as a mere "drafting assistant." My own family attacked me, furious I had lost their meal ticket. I was just a tool. A convenient machine he used to build his empire. He never loved me; he loved what I did for him. So when he tried to kiss me to shut me up, I slapped him. I deleted every file, every blueprint, every trace of my work from his life. Then I blocked his number and bought a one-way ticket to Detroit. This time, I was building a life for myself.