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 5
The afternoon sun beat down on the pavement. Taking advantage of Brennen’s afternoon board meeting, Aracely walked down the tree-lined street back to the estate. She had just finished secretly consulting specialized research at the medical school library.
She carried a faded canvas tote bag. She had stopped at a public restroom outside campus to glue the suffocating scar back onto her face and put on the heavy glasses.
A loud engine roared behind her. A silver Aston Martin sped down the street, hugging the curb.
The sports car swerved sharply toward her. A massive puddle of muddy water splashed up.
Aracely's muscles reacted instantly. Her training kicked in. She dodged the water perfectly. But then she remembered her "clumsy maid" persona. She forced herself to slip and fall hard onto the wet grass.
Her tote bag hit the ground. The zipper burst open. Cheap notebooks, old pens, and a pink, heart-shaped piece of paper spilled out.
The Aston Martin screeched to a halt. The door swung up. Erasmo Clark stepped out wearing limited-edition designer clothes. He whistled.
Erasmo walked over and stood over her. "Look at the ugly duckling rolling in the mud."
Aracely locked her jaw. She ignored him. She kept her head down and started picking up her pens.
Erasmo saw the pink paper. He snatched it off the grass before she could reach it.
Aracely's face tightened. She reached for it. It was a cruel prank note some bullies had shoved into her bag at the lecture hall.
Erasmo dodged her hand. He unfolded the paper. He cleared his throat and started reading it out loud in a mocking, theatrical voice.
The letter was a forged, pathetic love note directed at a wealthy heir on campus, shamelessly begging for his affection and heavily hinting at needing financial support for her tuition. It painted her as a desperate gold digger willing to throw away her dignity and pride for a few scraps of cash.
People walking by stopped to watch. They pointed at Aracely sitting in the mud. Disgust covered their faces.
Aracely curled her hands into fists. Her nails broke the skin of her palms. She had to swallow the anger. She couldn't show her fighting skills here.
The passenger window of the Aston Martin rolled down. Brennen Levine sat inside. His profile was carved from stone.
He wore dark sunglasses. He watched the scene coldly. The memory of losing control in the hallway last night made his stomach turn with disgust.
He heard the filthy words in the letter. His brow furrowed in deep revulsion. He pushed the car door open and stepped out.
Brennen walked over to Erasmo. He snatched the pink paper out of his nephew's hand.
He scanned the handwriting. His eyes looked at it like it was toxic waste. He threw the paper right at Aracely's face.
The paper slid down her scarred cheek and landed in the mud. Brennen looked down at her.
"You are not only physically repulsive," Brennen said, his voice dripping with ice. "Your soul reeks of rotting garbage."
He leaned in slightly. "If you ever try your cheap tricks on anyone in the Levine family again, I will make you wish you were dead."
Aracely looked up. She stared right into Brennen's eyes through her thick lenses. Her eyes weren't scared. They were dead and cold.
Brennen felt a sharp sting in his chest at her gaze. It made him angrier. He turned to Erasmo. "Get in the car. Stop wasting time with trash."
Erasmo shrugged. He whistled again and got into the driver's seat. The car roared away, blowing exhaust smoke into Aracely's face.
Aracely sat alone in the mud. She picked up the dirty pink paper. A cold, mocking smile touched her lips.
She stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. Her mind replayed the moment Brennen snatched the paper.
As a top medical expert whose career had been ruthlessly sabotaged into forced anonymity, she didn't miss it. Brennen's index and middle fingers were twitching uncontrollably.
It was the physical symptom of a nervous system on the verge of total collapse from chronic insomnia. Aracely narrowed her eyes. She had just found the tyrant's fatal weakness.
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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."