A Ruthless kind of love
Elena Marlowe is a quiet and gentle woman who never looked for trouble. But everything changes the night she meets Damien De Luca, a powerful Mafia boss known for being cold, arrogant, and ruthless.
From the beginning, Damien wants her-and he always gets what he wants. At first, Elena is afraid of him, but as time passes, she sees another side of the man everyone fears. With her, Damien becomes softer, more human. And for the first time, he learns what it means to love.
Their love is strong, but danger follows them everywhere. Friends turn into traitors, and even family members plot against them. Surrounded by lies and betrayal, Elena and Damien must fight for each other and for the life they dream of.
This is a story of love and danger, of passion and betrayal-where even in the darkest world, love can change everything.
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Chapter 4
The city whizzed by the car window, rain streaks on glass. Elena sat stiffly, notebook still clutched in her lap as a barrier, although it would do nothing to protect her from Damien's tempest sitting next to her.
He had not spoken a word since their kiss.
He didn't need to. The stillness was nastier-barded, heavy, like the atmosphere just before thunder. His hand rested negligently on the seat between them, his fingers touching the hem of her coat as if daring her to notice.
Her body noticed. So did all the nerves.
"Where are we going?" she finally replied, her voice trembling.
Damien slowly shifted his face, his black eyes locking onto hers. "Does it matter?
"Yes," she said, sharper than she intended.
His mouth curved, not in humor but in something darker, something that told her he enjoyed her defiance. "You're trembling again."
"I told you-it's the cold."
"Still lying."
Her jaw tightened. "You don't know me well enough to call me a liar."
"Fact is," he took a deep breath, his mouth inches from her ear she could sense his warm breath. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist and a shiver ran through her. "Your body says it all."
She tried to pull away on her wrist, but he held her-not tight, not hurting, but hard enough to make her realize just how quickly he could hold her there.
"Let go," she breathed.
"Say please."
She gasped for air. His voice wasn't teasing. It was a test, testing depth. She hated herself for the flush that danced in her chest.
"Please," she got out.
For what seemed like forever, he held her stretched, his gaze still locked on hers. And then, slowly, deliberately, released her.
But rather than drawing back, he leaned in-his hand brushing the wet hair from her face, his fingers tracing the line of her neck.
Elena tensed, her heart racing.
"You feel that?" Damien breathed, his thumb pressed against the pounding rhythm of her pulse. "Your body betrays you. Every time."
She opened her mouth, a protest upon her breath, but before she could say the words, he was lifting her chin.
The kiss here was not reluctant. It was ravenous, insisting, his mouth taking her in claim. His hand dropped to the back of her neck, holding her in place as if he already possessed her.
She whimpered against his mouth, but the breath to a whimper changed when his other hand slid along her waist, pulling her closer.
The city outside, rain-soaked beyond, the rain, the leather armchair all receded. Damien alone remained. His mouth, his control, the icy way he seemed to know exactly how to unravel her.
His fingers, clever fingers, lay on her breast. She told herself she meant to thrust him away. But instead, her hands wrapped around that fabric of his shirt, holding hard.
He broke away from the kiss for a moment to whisper against her mouth: "You don't want me to stop."
"Yes, I do," she whispered.
"Liar."
His lips touched her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone where her shirt clung wetly to her skin. Each touch seared, each kiss a command her body obeyed despite her will. She shivered, torn between terror and lust.
"Damien..." Half warning, half entreaty.
He took a step back, dark, unreadable eyes. He simply looked at her for a moment-pink face, trembling lips, the jerky drop and rise of her chest.
Then, with a deliberation that skirted on deadliness, he took a slow breath and said, "Say my name."
She swallowed. "Damien."
A deep growl came out of him, edging towards satisfaction. His hand slid down her side, on her hip, his fingers sinking in possessively.
Her entire body seared. She despised to hate him. She must escape. But she inched forward instead, forehead colliding with his, lips meeting.
And just when she thought he'd consume her whole-when all her fight on the cusp of explosion-he went stiff.
Damien shoved her away with a harsh motion, recoiled in his chair with a sickening smile.
Elena blinked in dismay, her body protesting the lack of his touch. "Why-why'd you stop?"
His gaze burned into hers. "Because control is mine. Not yours."
The car hit slower speed and rode over, coming to a stop at her apartment complex. Elena hadn't even realized they were going home for the entire ride.
"Go inside," Damien told her, his voice unstoppable. "And we'll figure out what you want. Because the next time, Elena.... His eyes fell to her lips.
".there won't be stopping."
She was racing with a heart, trembling legs as she went out into the rain and opened the door. She didn't even look back, though she could feel the burn of his eyes on her until the car melted into the blackness.
And solitary in her apartment, rain pounding against the floor, Elena realized she had ever been so scared-
Or so desperate for his return.
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8.2
The prophecy didn't save me, it claimed me.
Death was not her ending...... it was her rebirth.
Awakened into a world of gods, bloodlines, and ancient curses, she learns that her second life is bound to a prophecy written long before she existed. Marked by divine blood and hunted by fate, she becomes the one Olympus never wanted to rise again.
As secrets unfold and forbidden bonds form, she must decide whether to obey the destiny forced upon her or defy the gods who control her future. But prophecies always demand a price, and some rebirths are meant to destroy the world that created them.
Because being reborn under a cursed prophecy means there is no escape, only fate.
7.4
My husband, a powerful tech mogul, stole my sister' s posthumous research award. He gave it to his young protégé. The same woman who killed my sister.
He didn't just steal her legacy. He threatened to destroy my lab and my life's work-the cure for the very cancer that took our family-if I didn't publicly endorse his mistress.
When I confronted him, he let her destroy my irreplaceable samples. Then, he had my hands, the hands of a neuroscientist, systematically broken to ensure I could never work again.
He imprisoned me, forcing me to sign away my entire career and publicly apologize for crimes I didn't commit.
He called it "discipline," a lesson I needed to learn. How could the man who swore to protect me become my personal tormentor?
But as I lay in a hospital bed, broken and alone, a text message lit up my screen: "Need help? I owe your family a debt." He thought he had erased me. He had only forged me into a weapon.
9.7
Existing in a depressed life without a glimpse of hope, Alice lived with her uncle, who mistreated her badly.
She finally found her mate whom she had sought for and wished to have.
Her mate rejected her after she caught him cheating.
She ran away but found out that she was pregnant. She moved on with her life and planned to raise her kids alone.
On a momentous day, a sinister plot by jealous forces threatens; her children; they were kidnapped by unknown people.
Alice was unable to find her kids after all efforts. In a while she discovered that it was her powerful rival, the Villain that orchestrated the kidnap.
She got back to her mate, Andrew, to help her find her kids.
What was his reaction to his secret babies Alice has hidden from him, can Andrew and Alice put their differences aside to rescue them?
9.6
"I don't want you. I hate you."
Those words from her only son slice deeper than any blade.
Sarah returns from the hospital expecting love, only to find her place at the family table stolen.
Her husband, James, stands arm in arm with Tiana - his late brother's widow, while her son clings to the other woman's waist, rejecting his own mother.
The betrayal does not end there.
After a confrontation with Tiana, she woke up in an abandoned building, her hands tied, and mouth taped.
Beside her was Tiana too. Tied. James stood, his confused gaze darting from Tiana to Sarah.
And then came the baritone voice from one of the kidnappers: "One life. One choice. You can only save one. Choose!"
Sarah turned, seeing how Tiana was communicating with the kidnappers with her eyes.
She struggled to let James see the truth; that this was all a setup. But she couldn't. Her mouth was tapped.
But then, like a match striking steel, James' voice came brittle and final. "Tiana."
He chose his ex over his own wife. Over the mother of his child.
Sarah was abandoned in the warehouse. Immediately they left, the warehouse exploded, covered in flames.
And Sarah's screams and cries inside, filled the night.
Did Sarah survive the fire outbreak?
If she did, can they stand her revenge when she finally returns?
8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.
8.9
I lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end.
The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds.
She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck—my mother’s necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers.
My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy—it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay.
But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother’s voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I’m the one who holds the shears.