Addicted To His Disfigured Secret Lover
To keep her grandmother on life support, Aracely was blackmailed into taking Evelyn's place in the pitch-black bedroom of the ruthless billionaire, Brennen Levine.
After that night, Evelyn tossed a hideous silicone scar at her feet, forcing Aracely to glue it to her face and work as a bottom-tier maid in his estate so he would never recognize her.
Brennen, suffering from chronic insomnia, was completely addicted to the sweet gardenia scent of the woman from the dark. But when he saw the "disfigured" Aracely scrubbing floors, he was physically repulsed, publicly humiliating her and calling her a monster.
Meanwhile, Evelyn paraded around as his soon-to-be wife. Terrified of her lies unraveling, Evelyn constantly abused Aracely, throwing scalding coffee at her face and threatening to pull the plug on her grandmother if Aracely didn't sneak back into Brennen's room to act as his human sleeping pill.
Aracely endured the suffocating fake scar, the insults, and the freezing servant quarters. She ground her teeth, swallowing the bitter injustice just to keep her only family alive, wondering when this torturous hell would ever end.
But Evelyn's malice knew no bounds. When Evelyn raised her hand to strike again, threatening to rip off the very disguise she forced Aracely to wear, something inside Aracely finally snapped.
"Do not push me."
Aracely locked her hand around Evelyn's wrist in a bone-crushing grip, completely unaware that Brennen was watching from the balcony above, his dark eyes narrowing as a dangerous realization hit him.
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Chapter 1
Evelyn slammed the heavy medical trust fund bill against Aracely's chest, the sharp edge of the thick folder biting into her skin. The thick stack of papers hit her collarbone hard, scattering across the hardwood floor of the second-floor hallway.
Aracely's vision blurred for a second. She crouched down. Her fingers shook as she picked up the papers. She saw the massive numbers printed at the bottom, and her stomach dropped.
Evelyn pulled out her phone. She shoved the screen into Aracely's face. It was a live video from the ICU. Grandmother lay there, a plastic oxygen mask strapped to her pale face. The heart monitor beeped weakly in the background.
"Do exactly what I say," Evelyn sneered. "Or I call the hospital right now and tell them to pull the plug."
Aracely lunged for the phone. Heavy hands clamped down on her shoulders. Evelyn's bodyguard forced her to her knees, pinning her in place.
Aracely closed her eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath. The air burned her lungs. For her grandmother's life, she ground her teeth together and nodded.
Evelyn smiled. She threw a piece of black silk at Aracely's face. "Put it on."
Evelyn sneered, waving her hand dismissively. She ordered the bodyguard to wait outside and firmly shut the heavy wooden door behind him. "I wouldn't let a dog see this pitiful sight," Evelyn mocked. Under Evelyn's cold, triumphant stare, Aracely stood frozen for a split second. A deep sense of humiliation burned in her chest, but the steady beep of her grandmother's heart monitor echoed in her mind, drowning out her pride. With trembling fingers, Aracely slowly stripped off her clothes. She pulled the black silk nightgown over her head. The fabric was freezing against her skin. She gripped the edges of the hem, her knuckles turning white.
Evelyn grabbed Aracely's wrist. Her nails dug into Aracely's skin. She dragged her down the hallway toward the heavy oak double doors.
"Not a single sound." Evelyn whispered harshly. She shoved Aracely into the pitch-black master bedroom.
The door clicked shut behind her. The lock turned. The hallway light was gone. The room was completely dark.
Aracely pressed her back against the wooden door. Her chest heaved. A strong scent of cedar and tobacco hit her nose.
Fabric rustled across the room. Someone sat up on the King-size bed.
Brennen Levine rubbed his temples. His head throbbed with a blinding pain. He hadn't slept in days. The noise at the door made the veins in his neck pulse.
"Get out." Brennen ordered. His voice was rough, dripping with irritation. He thought it was his new, vain wife.
Aracely stopped breathing. She turned and grabbed the brass door handle. She twisted it frantically.
It was locked from the outside. The rattling sound echoed in the silent room.
Brennen lost his patience. He threw the covers off. His bare feet hit the floor. He walked straight toward the door in the dark.
Aracely felt a massive wave of heat approaching her. She tried to step back, but her back was already flat against the wood. A large, iron-like hand clamped around her wrist.
Brennen yanked her forward with the force of a tidal wave. Her slender body crashed into his hard, unyielding chest, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. His hot hand gripped her wrist so tightly she felt the bone might snap. He opened his mouth to yell, his eyes blazing with dark fury in the pitch blackness, but then-he stopped. A sudden, sweet scent drifted up from her skin and filled his lungs. It was natural gardenia. It was the exact, faint scent she had inherited from her mother's bloodline, a unique mark of the women in her family. The scent hit his brain like a heavy sedative. The agonizing pain behind his eyes, a torment he had endured for days, vanished instantly. He felt a jolt of shock ripple through his tense muscles. How could a scent do this? His rational mind scrambled for an answer, but his body was already surrendering to the overwhelming relief.
Brennen froze. His muscles locked. He lowered his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He took a deep, desperate breath.
His hot breath scorched her skin. Aracely flinched. She brought her hands up and pushed against his solid chest.
Her resistance triggered something dark inside him. Brennen grabbed her narrow waist. He slammed her back against the door.
He used his massive frame to pin her down. He lowered his head and captured her trembling lips without warning.
Aracely's eyes widened in the dark. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She thought of the hospital machines keeping her grandmother alive. She went limp and stopped fighting.
The darkness hid her face. Brennen was completely addicted to her scent. He lost all control. He swept her off her feet and threw her onto the mattress.
Hours later, the violent storm ended. Brennen fell into a deep, heavy sleep. His breathing was steady.
At three in the morning, Aracely's whole body ached. She carefully slid out from under his heavy arm.
She found her torn silk nightgown on the floor. She slipped it on. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet. She unlocked the door and slipped out into the hallway.
The morning sun pierced through the curtains. Brennen snapped his eyes open. The bed beside him was empty. Only that maddening scent remained on the sheets. He slammed his hand on the intercom.
"Arthur," Brennen growled. "Get in here and find her."
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7.4
I thought my life was over when my sister died, leaving me to raise her two babies in a world that wanted to swallow us whole. Then I made the mistake of a lifetime: I left a bold, humiliating voicemail for the one man I should have feared most.
Anton Oryolov.
The ruthless king of the Oryolov Bratva. A billionaire monster who rules the city with ice in his veins and blood on his hands.
I expected him to fire me. I expected him to destroy me. Instead, he gave me a choice that felt like a death sentence: sign a contract and become his.
The rules were simple. I belong to him. I live in his shadows. In exchange, he protects the children. But as the doors of his mansion locked behind me, I realized the "forced proximity" wasn't just a business arrangement. It was a cage.
He thinks he can use me as a pawn in his dark mafia games. He thinks the children are just leverage to keep me in line. But he's starting to look at me with a hunger that isn't in the contract, and I'm seeing a man beneath the monster that I never expected to find.
In the Cruel Paradise of the Bratva, loyalty is a lie and love is a weakness. Our deal is signed in ink, but it's going to end in blood.
He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now, he wants my soul.
7.2
Two years ago, Amaya Bennett witnessed a murder.
A powerful man was killed in cold blood, right in front of her. She should have died that night too.
Instead, she woke up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. No faces, no names and no clues. Just fragments, blurred images that slip through her fingers every time she tries to hold on.
Now, Amaya lives a quiet life, piecing herself back together. She works part-time, avoids trouble, and stays invisible. Until she lands a job at Twilight Global.
A company owned by Jake Anderson, the cold and untouchable CEO whose father was murdered the same night Aria lost her memory. Jake spent years searching for the only witness. But she vanished without any trace. Or so he thought.
But somehow, they cross path again, working under his roof, completely unaware of the truth she carries.
The killer is still out there.
And when Amaya starts getting flashes of blood, a voice, a ring glinting under the dim light, the hunt begins again.
But this time, she's not alone. Because even before he realizes who she is... Jake has already started protecting her. In the most relentless and dangerous way.
7.8
Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt.
Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay.
The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny.
Then came the betrayal.
On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack.
"Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment."
Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed.
Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow.
The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed.
The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back.
But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore.
She's a mother with claws.
A luna who learned to bite.
And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees.
Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet.
Some bonds can't be broken.
Some rejections come with claws.
And some second chances are paid for in blood.
7.1
The night before her wedding to Wall Street billionaire Everette Baird, Deliah Quinn stood happily in her haute couture gown.
Then, her younger sister Arvilla walked in, handed her a drugged glass of champagne, and slammed an ultrasound on the vanity.
"I'm pregnant with Everette's child," Arvilla sneered.
Before Deliah's paralyzed body could react, Arvilla dragged in a canister of industrial gasoline, soaked the bridal suite, tossed a lighter, and locked the heavy oak doors from the outside.
To escape the roaring inferno, Deliah smashed the glass balcony and threw herself into the freezing, violent waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
For five agonizing years, everyone believed the Quinn heiress was dead.
Deliah returned to New York entirely reborn—a top architectural designer and a single mother, having scrubbed her past clean and forgotten the people who destroyed her.
She only wanted a peaceful life with her five-year-old genius son, Leo.
But she had no idea her son was secretly hacking airport security cameras to find himself a wealthy stepdad.
Leo deliberately bumped into a terrifying, cold-blooded tycoon, spilling scalding coffee on his custom suit to get his attention.
When Deliah frantically rushed over to protect her son and apologize, the air in the terminal vanished.
Everette Baird stared at the exact face he had obsessively mourned for five years, his eyes turning pitch black as he crushed his phone in his bare hand.
9.1
The heavy oak doors of the Crane estate splintered under the battering ram. Annetta was just putting her five-year-old daughter to sleep when the SWAT team stormed the nursery.
They told her that her husband, Major Alek Crane, was killed in action overseas. But instead of a hero's funeral, he was branded a national traitor, and the feds were seizing every penny of their wealth.
Lead investigator Issac Rocha dragged Alek's charred remains into the grand hall just to mock him. He stripped Annetta of her wedding band, confiscated her winter coat, and officially exiled her, her daughter, and her hostile mother-in-law to a freezing Appalachian death zone. In the federal holding cell, the extended family turned on Annetta, calling her a cheap commoner and leaving her to shiver on the concrete floor. They were dumped in an abandoned mining town with nothing but canvas jumpsuits to die in the snow.
Annetta knew Alek was framed in a ruthless political hit. Issac Rocha wanted them to rot in the mud and freeze to death, completely forgotten by the world.
"We are going to live, and we are going to burn Issac Rocha to the ground."
But Issac made one fatal mistake. He didn't know the quiet, submissive daughter-in-law had spent the last three years secretly building a military-grade doomsday bunker right in the heart of that very mountain. Stepping past the freezing mud, Annetta initiated the biometric scan, and the massive steel blast doors slowly swung open.
9.0
My husband, Christopher Kramer, was Manhattan's most notorious playboy, famous for his seasonal affairs with nineteen-year-old girls. For five years, I believed I was the exception who had finally tamed him.
That illusion shattered when my father needed a bone marrow transplant. The perfect donor was a nineteen-year-old named Iris. On the day of the surgery, my father died because Christopher chose to stay in bed with her instead of taking her to the hospital.
His betrayal didn't stop there. When an elevator plunged, he pulled her out first and left me to fall. When a chandelier crashed, he shielded her body with his and stepped over me as I lay bleeding. He even stole my dead father's last gift to me and gave it to her.
Through it all, he called me selfish and ungrateful, completely oblivious to the fact that my father was already gone.
So I quietly signed the divorce papers and vanished. The day I left, he texted me.
"Good news, I found another donor for your dad. Let's go schedule the surgery."