Ning Ruoshui

For three years, I was the invisible, obedient wife of Julian Falcone, the ruthless Don of the East Coast. I secretly ran my own underground network, laundering his money to secure his throne, hoping to finally earn his love. But he brought his childhood sweetheart, Elena, back from Europe and publicly paraded her at the syndicate gala, leaving me standing alone like a piece of furniture. He even moved her into our master suite, letting his mother and the entire family humiliate me as a nameless civilian. I was nearly five months pregnant with his heir, but he was too busy building a fake mafia resume for his mistress to notice my suffering. He used the very funds I had cleaned for him to buy her a throne, while his capos laughed at my expense. Lying alone on the cold operating table to abort his child, my last shred of devotion withered and died. I had labored in the dark for a man who only wanted a doll to arrange in his house while he built an empire for another woman. "I must go arrange a divorce." I packed my worn suitcases, left the annulment papers on his desk, and walked out of the estate. At the upcoming National Commission Summit, I will step out of the shadows as the true Boss of the W.E.N. Network, and let my husband watch his world burn.

I sat at a table for two in the center of Le Coucou, clutching a gift box that had cost me two months of savings. It was our three-year anniversary, and I was waiting for Gavin to finally ask the big question. But when the heavy oak doors opened, Gavin didn't walk toward me with a ring. He walked in with a polished blonde heiress tucked under his arm, her hand resting protectively over a small baby bump. "This is Tiffany Stone. My fiancée," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He didn't apologize for being late or for the three years we'd spent together. Instead, he pulled out a checkbook, scribbled a number, and slid a ten-thousand-dollar check across the white tablecloth. "Consider it severance for your time," he added, as Tiffany mocked my cheap drugstore dress. "Don't contact me again. Tiffany doesn't need the stress." I was the entertainment for the entire restaurant—the pathetic girl dumped for a better model. By the time I walked out into the rain, I had lost my boyfriend, my home, and the funding for my secret medical research project. I was an orphan with no safety net, facing an eviction notice and a ruined career. I had given Gavin everything, and he had discarded me like a broken tool. The injustice burned in my chest, a hot, sharp rage that replaced my tears. Desperate and freezing, I ducked into a coffee shop where I met Colton Bentley, a reclusive billionaire in a wheelchair. After I defended him from a cruel date, he offered me a contract: a marriage of convenience and a seven-figure payment to act as his shield. I signed the papers that night, ready to use his wealth to rebuild my life. But as I watched my new husband navigate his penthouse, I noticed his "paralyzed" legs tense with a strength that shouldn't exist.

In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters. I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone. Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate. They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run. As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance. "She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed. "Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back. I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood. Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money. Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start. Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies? Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room. Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever. I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me. This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.

I went to the Alpha Heir's office to tell him I was pregnant. I thought three years of devotion meant something. Instead, I heard him laughing with his mistress. "She's just a pet," Holden said. "A placeholder until you were ready." While I lay bleeding in the clinic, mourning my lost child, Holden sent a "prank" cake laced with ghost peppers to the only father figure I had left. The shock gave the old man a heart attack, killing him instantly. Holden didn't know about the miscarriage. He didn't know he had killed his own heir. He just dragged me out of the hospital bed and ordered me to be a bridesmaid at his wedding to the mistress. "Kneel and hold her train," he commanded, using his Alpha Voice to force me down. "That is your place." He thinks I'm broken. He thinks I'm trapped because I'm a weak Omega. But he forgot about the bet he made six months ago. He bet me as a prize in a street race against the ruthless Alpha King—and lost. I dialed the private number I swore I'd never use. "You won," I whispered into the phone. "Come get me." Holden is waiting for me at the altar, expecting a submissive servant. He has no idea that the Alpha King is coming to claim his prize, and his world is about to burn.

The surgeon told me I had one hour to save my right hand, the one that spun my soul into symphonies. My husband, Don Dante Rossi, gave that hour to his mistress for a minor fracture. The surgeon pleaded with him, explaining that every minute we delayed risked catastrophic, permanent damage. But Dante just looked at our ten-year-old son, Nico. “What do you think?” Nico met my eyes from the gurney, his own gaze chillingly calm. “Mamma is strong. She’ll understand the sacrifice. Besides,” he added, “if she’s in pain, it means she loves us more.” My hand was ruined, my career as a composer over. But for them, the game was just beginning. They needed my jealousy, my tears, my pain, to feed their sick definition of love. They pushed me down a flight of stairs just to watch me cry. I had mistaken my husband’s obsession for passion, his cruelty for a test. I finally saw it for what it was: a pathology of ownership. My suffering was their trophy. Lying broken at the bottom of the stairs, I heard my son's voice float down. “See, Dad? Now she's really crying. She really does love us.” Something inside me didn't just break; it turned to ice. When my lawyer visited me in the hospital, I took the papers he brought. In our world, a Don’s wife doesn’t leave. She endures or she disappears. I signed the divorce petition. I was choosing war.

My family' s crimes finally caught up to us. To save them, I had no choice but to "sell" myself to Sarah Jenkins, my ex. She was the daughter of my family' s biggest victim, and she made me her personal assistant, a pawn in a game of twisted revenge. For three years, her luxurious penthouse became my cage. I endured unimaginable physical and psychological torture, from electric shocks and beatings to being forced to sleep on the floor and eat scraps. When her new husband, Mark Peterson, joined in, things worsened. He carved the word "CRIMINAL" into my arm, turning me into a branded animal. Consumed by despair, I plotted to crash a private jet with them onboard, but Sarah's desperate cry to protect Mark, the man who aided in my torment, made me hesitate. Their twisted dependency baffled me; why would she protect him after all he' d done? Then, Mark found the ashes of my parents, which I had secretly saved, and began to mix them with mud, planning to use them as shark bait. My last shred of dignity shattered. I pleaded with Sarah, reminding her of her promise to leave their remains untouched, but she coldly dismissed it. As she watched, I scooped the filthy ash into my mouth, choosing to become their grave. I was broken, bleeding, and ready to die. But my desperate act triggered a response in her I hadn't seen. She pushed Mark away, protecting me in her own brutal way, just before I pulled her into the ocean with me. In the cold depths, surrounded by sharks, I found myself fighting to save the woman who had systematically destroyed me. It still bewilders me why a love so broken, so entwined with hatred, could force such a sacrifice. My death was inevitable, but it brought me a strange peace. Little did I know, Sarah had meticulously planned every cruel act, using me to destroy Mark. Yet, in her twisted revenge, she blurred the lines between love and hate so completely that my sacrifice somehow became her ultimate redemption. My story has ended, but hers has just truly begun.

I died on a Tuesday, a stress-induced heart attack ending the brilliant career of Gabrielle Smith, Chicago's corporate law star. My spirit lingered, an invisible spectator at my own memorial, watching Andrew Clark, my childhood friend and secret love, console Molly Johns, the paralegal I'd taken under my wing. Then came the whispered confession that shattered my spectral peace: Molly, hysterical, admitted she swapped the evidence file to protect the client, promised a fortune. But Andrew's next words were the real kill shot. Stroking her hair, he revealed he knew all along, that he helped her cover it up, that he was tired of living in my shadow and wanted me to take the fall. The betrayal was a jolt, a blinding flash that ripped through my disembodied form, extinguishing the scent of funeral lilies and replacing it with the familiar smell of my office. I gasped, a lung-filling breath, snapping my eyes open to see my hand resting on my mahogany desk, the clock reading 3:15 PM. A knock came at the door. "Gabrielle? I have the final discovery files for the Russo case," Molly's voice said. I looked at the calendar. It was the very day my downfall began. But not this time. This time, I knew.

Lily went straight to the bar and drowned herself in alcohol the day she found out about her boyfriend cheating on her. Drunkenly, she staggered towards him and whispered, "Is one million enough for you?" An irritated Kevin merely took her to his room. As if this news wasn't bad enough, the following day, Lily was told that her family went broke. Kevin didn't seem the least bit fazed. Instead, he offered to marry her to help her out. Unbeknownst to her, Kevin had other reasons why he wanted to put their relationship on a marriage contract. Albeit he knew this was an irrational move, he couldn't seem to shake off his feelings for her... It was as though he were obsessed.

When is the worst time to tell someone he's going to be a father? Probably the day of the wedding... When he is getting married to someone else. Well, that is exactly what I did. But my hands were tied. Literally. Matvey Groza is a dangerous man. And nine months ago, he strolled into my shop looking for a custom suit. But when I accidentally walked in on him in the changing room, *I* was the one that ended up needing a new set of clothes. It was a one-time mistake. After that... good riddance. But the pregnancy test I took a month later had other plans. I kept it a secret from everyone. Or so I thought. But when Matvey's enemies learned that I was pregnant with his child, they kidnapped me and held me hostage. Until I broke free and ran as fast as I could. And I had no one else to turn to but the devil himself. What better time for me to enter the church... ... than as the pastor says, "Speak now or forever hold your peace"?

I spent the night with a stranger... Who got me pregnant... And turned out to be my boss... Whoops, sorry, did I say "boss"? I meant a MOB boss. To be fair, I didn't know he was my boss when I slept with him. I thought he was just the kind stranger offering me a place to stay. But one night in Misha Orlov's hotel room got me way more than I bargained for. It got me champagne that tasted like starlight. Satin sheets as soft as a dream. And a man with silver eyes who showed me how it felt to come undone. And then, in the morning... He was gone. That's I needed to get my life together anyway. After all, my ex-not-quite-husband (it's a long story) just emptied all our bank accounts and disappeared, taking my home and my money and my job with him. So I'm starting from a blank slate. I find myself a new apartment. A new job. And I put both Misha and my husband behind me. At least, I thought I did. Until Day 1 of orientation. When I learn that Misha Orlov is my new boss. That's bad enough. What's worse is what came next. A car crash. A doctor's appointment. And two pieces of unsettling news. Congratulations, the doctor says. You're pregnant. Congratulations, Misha says. You and I are getting married.

I was discarded the moment my husband gained power. Divorced, Humiliated and left with nothing...while my mother lay dying. Serena Black believed loyalty and sacrifice would be enough to secure her place beside Antonio Romano. Instead, she discovers she was only ever a stepping stone. He replaces her with a pregnant woman claiming to be the legendary Black family heiress and erases Serena from his life without mercy. Broken and desperate, Serena's fall should have ended there. Instead, it places her directly in the path of Dante Romano,the ruthless Don of the Romano Mafia empire, and the father of the man who destroyed her. Cold, powerful, and untouchable, Dante recognizes something no one else does: the scar on Serena's neck, and the truth it might hide. A contract marriage binds them together. Protection for obedience. Revenge for her name. But as secrets surface and bloodlines are questioned, Serena realizes she may not be the powerless woman everyone believes her to be. And Dante finds himself risking his empire for a woman he was never meant to touch. In a world ruled by violence and betrayal, one wrong choice could cost her life... Or crown her the most dangerous queen the mafia has ever known.

"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 stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria. But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity. A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love. My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me. Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego. He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press. He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan. He had no idea she was a fraud. He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her. He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate. At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play.

Seventeen years after going missing, Brooklyn was finally brought back to her ultra-wealthy biological family. But instead of a tearful reunion, her parents and sisters treated her like infectious garbage, mocking her cheap clothes and calling her a country bumpkin. They dumped her into a remedial class to hide her away, cut off her allowance, and threatened to lock down her trust fund to force her into absolute submission. One night, Brooklyn stood in the shadows of the estate and overheard a conversation that shattered everything. She hadn't wandered off as a child. Her parents had deliberately thrown her away because a fake fortune teller claimed her birth chart was a jinx to the family's wealth. They felt zero remorse, only plotting to banish her again the moment she turned eighteen. Her biological father thought he was putting a leash on a helpless, uneducated girl by cutting off her pocket change. He had no idea that Brooklyn was the anonymous VIP who casually dropped sixty million dollars on an emerald at the city's most exclusive auction. He didn't know she was the elusive medical genius that the world's most powerful billionaires were currently tearing the city apart to find. The last microscopic shred of hope for a family withered into cold ash in her chest. "Lock down my trust fund?" She pulled out her encrypted phone and activated her shadow networks, severing herself entirely from their pathetic surveillance. Since they believed she was a jinx, she was going to show them exactly what a real curse looked like.

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

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."

On my wedding day, the wedding planner looked at me with pity in her eyes. She told me the groom had called with a last-minute request. He wanted the name on the floral arch changed from "Elena" to "Sofia." Five years of loyalty to Dante Romero, and I found out he was planning a "secret" ceremony with his mistress an hour before ours. He claimed she was dying of cancer. He said it was her final wish to be a bride, and that as a good mafia wife, I should understand. He swore it was just charity. But I had seen the texts where he called me "furniture." I had watched him step over my body when I fell down the stairs at a club, just so he could leave with her. And this morning, I watched Sofia walk into the hotel lobby wearing *my* custom French lace wedding dress, smirking as she clung to his arm. Dante thinks I'm crying in the bridal suite. He thinks I will sit in the front row of his "fake" wedding and wait for my turn like a dutiful puppet. He is wrong. I wiped my tears and picked up my phone. I didn't cancel the wedding date. I just changed the location to the ballroom next door. And I changed the groom. As Dante says his vows to his mistress, I am walking down the aisle to meet the only man the Romero family fears. The Reaper.

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."