Betrayed, I Married the Feared Cripple
Three days after my fiancé publicly dumped me for my stepsister, the Supreme Don issued a command that silenced the entire estate.
I wasn't being cast aside. I was being sold to Damien Russo.
The "Broken Don." A crippled, scarred monster rumored to have murdered his last two wives.
My adoptive mother, Elena, didn't cry for me. She smirked.
To her, I was finally being disposed of.
She was so confident I was walking to my death that she decided to loot my corpse before I even left.
She forged documents to steal my entire inheritance—my biological mother’s trust fund—to pay for my stepsister’s lavish wedding to my ex.
"She won't need money where she's going," my stepsister laughed, wearing a dress bought with my stolen funds.
They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter.
They thought I was too weak, too stupid, and too afraid of the monster to fight back.
But they made a fatal mistake.
With my aunt’s help, I didn't just find the proof of their embezzlement; I found a weapon.
I’m not running from the monster. I’m going to marry him.
And when I hand him the evidence that the Herrera family stole from his bride, he won't be my executioner.
He will be my vengeance.
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Chapter 1
Isabella POV
The bead curtain at the entrance of my private suite clicked softly, a fragile sound easily swallowed by the heavy silence of the Herrera estate. I sat by the half-open window, watching the gray clouds gather over the manicured lawns, a cup of lukewarm chamomile tea resting in my hands.
"I still can't believe he did it. A public statement, Isabella! He didn't even have the decency to tell you to your face."
Clara, my loyal Associate and maid, paced the length of my modest bedroom. Her hands were clenched into fists, her dark eyes blazing with a protective fury that I myself couldn't muster.
It had been exactly three days since Leo Contreras, the Underboss of the Contreras family, unilaterally severed our engagement. The society was already whispering, branding me the ultimate laughingstock—the forgotten Herrera girl, supposedly so talentless, plain, and devoid of virtue that even a political alliance couldn't force a man to stomach her.
"Let them talk, Clara," I said, taking a slow sip of my tea. "Leo's rejection is a blessing in disguise. With my ruined reputation, the family will likely forget about me. I might actually buy myself a few years of peace."
"Peace?" Clara stopped pacing, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Sophia has been parading around the estate like a peacock. Everyone knows she's the reason Leo broke it off. She's hated you since we were children, and now she's stolen your future."
Before I could tell Clara that a future with a man as fickle as Leo was no future at all, a sharp knock echoed through the suite. A guard's gruff voice filtered through the wood. "Miss Isabella. The Matriarch demands your presence in the main drawing room. Immediately."
Clara and I exchanged a look. The illusion of peace had shattered faster than I anticipated.
When I stepped into the Herrera family drawing room, the oppressive atmosphere hit me instantly. The air was thick with the scent of stale cigars and the suffocating, heavy floral perfume worn by Elena Herrera, the family's Mafia Queen and my stepmother. She sat on the velvet sofa, her eyes gleaming with a predatory anticipation. Standing near the fireplace was Sophia, looking radiant and entirely too smug.
But it wasn't them who commanded the room's attention.
Standing in the center of the Persian rug was Quinn, the stoic Underboss of the Russo family. The silver pin on his lapel caught the dim light—the crest of Don Vincenzo, the supreme ruler of our world.
"Isabella," Elena purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Come forward. Sir Quinn brings a direct command from Don Vincenzo himself."
My heart gave a single, hard thud, but I kept my face a smooth, unreadable mask. I stepped forward, my posture perfectly straight. A Don's Command was absolute law. To question it was a death sentence.
Quinn Foster unrolled a heavy parchment, his dark eyes flicking toward me with a hint of pity. "By the decree of Don Vincenzo, a new alliance has been forged to maintain the balance of our families. Isabella Russo of the Herrera family is hereby betrothed to the Don of the Russo family, Damien Russo. The wedding will take place within the month."
A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed immediately by a suffocating silence.
Damien Russo. The name alone was a ghost story whispered in the dark corners of our world. He was the Don of the Russo family, yes, but he was also a phantom. Rumors painted him as a monster—his legs crippled from a brutal assassination attempt, his face horribly disfigured, confined to a wheelchair, and ruling his empire with a ruthless, blood-soaked iron fist.
Elena pressed a hand to her chest, feigning shock, though the malicious triumph in her eyes betrayed her. Sophia ducked her head, hiding a vicious smile. Clara, standing behind me, let out a stifled whimper of despair.
My mind raced. Why would Don Vincenzo issue such a command so quickly after Leo's rejection? Was this a punishment for the Contreras family's arrogance? A twisted favor to the Herreras? Or did the supreme Don simply despise his own crippled son enough to saddle him with a woman the whole society deemed worthless?
"Miss Isabella," Quinn Foster prompted, his tone formal. "Do you accept the Don's will?"
I didn't tremble. I didn't cry. I simply folded my hands in front of me, lifted my chin, and met the Underboss's gaze with absolute clarity.
"I am honored to accept Don Vincenzo's command," I said, my voice smooth and unwavering. "Please convey my gratitude to my future husband."
Quinn Foster blinked, his stoic facade slipping for a fraction of a second. He stared at me, really looked at me, and I saw the exact moment realization dawned in his eyes. He saw the steady grace in my stance, the sharp intelligence I usually kept hidden, and the quiet dignity that no ugly rumor could tarnish. He realized, in that fleeting second, that the society had been entirely wrong about Isabella Herrera.
"I will deliver your message, Signorina," Quinn said, bowing his head with a newfound, genuine respect.
He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut behind him, sealing my fate.
The moment the latch caught, the silence in the room shifted from stunned to venomous. Elena rose slowly from the velvet sofa, the rustle of her silk dress sounding like a snake slithering through dry grass.
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7.2
Clifton, the god of esports, was secretly battling a career-ending wrist injury to protect his team.
A year ago, he kissed his duo partner, Justice, only to be met with violent disgust. Justice shoved him away and dry-heaved in the rain, looking at him like a monster.
Humiliated by the straight man's raw revulsion, Clifton cut him out of his life.
But now, Justice suddenly appeared at Clifton's club as a rookie tryout.
Instead of an ambitious climber, Justice played the perfect, pathetic victim. He cowered, trembled, and acted terrified whenever Clifton was near.
He even signed a bloodsucking contract with a toxic teammate, sparking rumors he was brought in to replace Clifton as captain.
During a scrimmage, Clifton hesitated to shoot because he remembered Justice had just severely burned his hand.
Justice showed no mercy. He ruthlessly gunned Clifton down, humiliating the captain in front of the entire coaching staff.
Clifton was consumed by blinding rage and betrayal.
If Justice was so disgusted by him, why did he fake his devotion for six months just to use him?
Why was he acting like helpless prey now, after trampling all over Clifton's pride?
Determined to rip off the liar's disguise, Clifton dragged Justice into a live stream in front of sixty thousand viewers.
"He's asking if you are in love with me."
Clifton smiled cruelly, waiting for the public execution. But just as the trap snapped shut, a choked, terrified gasp came through the headset.
8.0
"IS IT TRUE?" Grayson's voice thundered through the room.
"Yes!" Tessa said softly. "Yes it is!"
"So you've been cheating on me, haven't you?" He spat.
Her hands trembled. "No, I swear, it's not like that."
He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her wrist as she squealed in pain.
"Then whose baby are you carrying, huh?" His voice was ice cold.
Tessa shivered, tears blurring her vision.
"I don't know."
**********
Pregnant with the powerful Roman Blackwood's child, while engaged to his unstable stepbrother - Tessa Quinn becomes the key to a ruthless inheritance war where love has no place.
As secrets unravel and danger closes in, Tessa must protect her unborn child while trapped between love, vengeance, and men who want to own her fate.
9.6
I spent our third anniversary alone in our penthouse, adjusting a white rose and waiting for a man who didn't want to come home. When my fiancé, Chris Osborne, finally arrived, he didn't notice the 1982 Lafite or the dinner I’d prepared. He looked at me with disgust, calling my desire for a wedding date "pressure" before storming out to a private club.
I followed him, hiding behind a marble pillar at The Vault as I recorded his voice on my phone. He was laughing with his friends about a $20 million bet. He called me a "boring ice queen" and a "marble statue," explaining that he only needed to keep me around until the merger closed so he could steal my shares and "cut me loose." To make it worse, my own father was in on it, prioritizing his stock price over his daughter's life.
Broken and barefoot in a torrential Manhattan downpour, I sought refuge at the Four Seasons. I collapsed into the arms of a tall, dangerous-looking stranger and begged him to take me upstairs. I wanted to be erased, to forget the transaction my life had become. After a night of salt and desperation, I left my engagement ring on his nightstand as payment for services rendered and fled.
The next morning, I realized I had jumped from the frying pan into the furnace. My "stranger" wasn't a nobody. He was Gallagher Osborne—the ruthless patriarch of the family and my fiancé’s uncle. He tracked me to a private clinic, trapping me in a room while holding my medical file and the ring I’d discarded. He told me I was his now, and that he’d dismantle Chris piece by piece if I didn't comply.
I was a piece of currency to my father, a bet to my fiancé, and a prize to his uncle. I had no allies, no escape, and no mercy left. I realized that being the "perfect daughter" had only made me a target. If they wanted to play games with the "Ice Queen," I decided to give them a frostbite they would never forget.
I trashed my art gallery, backdated a diagnosis for a psychotic break, and sent a cryptic suicide note to Chris. As Gallagher watched from the shadows and Chris panicked over his investment, I began the process of scorching the earth. The merger was still happening, but I wasn't the bride anymore—I was the wrecking ball.
7.1
He doesn't believe in love.
He believes in ownership.
Lucien Vale built his empire the same way he destroys his enemies-quietly, strategically, without mercy. To the world, he's the youngest billionaire in Europe. To those who cross him, he's something far darker.
They call him The Devil in a Suit.
When struggling art conservator Amara Rossi unknowingly restores a painting tied to one of Lucien's most dangerous secrets, she becomes collateral in a war she never saw coming. To protect her-and control the damage-Lucien does what he does best.
He claims her.
What begins as a contract meant to silence her turns into an obsession neither of them expected. Amara refuses to be owned. Lucien has never been denied.
But behind Lucien's cold precision is a man forged by betrayal, raised in violence, and taught that love is a weakness exploited by enemies. And behind Amara's defiance is a woman who has spent her life surviving powerful men.
Their chemistry is volatile. Their power dynamic intoxicating.
Their connection? Terrifyingly real.
Because the devil doesn't fall in love.
He possesses.
And when Lucien realizes he would burn empires for her, the question isn't whether he can keep Amara-
It's whether she can survive being claimed by him.
7.2
SYNOPSIS:
"I spent ten years scrubbing your floors, Greene. Tonight, you'll scrub mine."
Elara Vance has always been the pride the Republic until she ran away from home, fell in love with Greene Jones, a man who treated her like dirt and discarded her like she was never the girl the entire Republic feared because of her strong dominating pheromones.
Now she's back after twelve years to serve revenge to Greene Jones like a hot dish in a way that he will pay for every act meted out on her for twelve years. But things wasn't going to go as planned as she meets Silas, the handsome bulky head of her father's security but a recessive omega of her past that she has totally forgotten but now wears a new stance as her bodyguard, recognized by the entire republic as an Alpha, and her perfect chosen mate, Calvin; ruining the comeback and revenge she planned out for herself and now she has to think about saving and claiming her mate, Silas while navigating and protecting the seat meant for her.
The real question becomes; will Calvin ever allow her take all it took him twelve years to build?
THEME: The true definition of power. Is it found in the biological dominance of an Alpha, or in the resilience of an Omega who survived in the lion's den?
8.7
I was dying in a cold hospital bed, listening to the monitor count down my final seconds.
As a ghost, I watched my own funeral. My popular friends and wealthy family soon moved on, but one person stayed.
Cas Riley. The invisible outcast from the back of my history class.
He brought a white rose to my grave every single day, withering away until he collapsed on the frozen ground, dying of a broken heart for a girl who barely knew his name.
Opening my eyes again, the hospital smell was gone. I was reborn back in my high school classroom.
I immediately tracked him down, only to witness the brutal hell he was trapped in.
He was humiliated by a cruel foreman for pennies, violently slapped by his uncle over his sick mother's medical money, and forced into bloody street fights.
He was starving, covered in bruises, and completely alone.
When I tried to buy him medicine and step into his life to protect him, he violently pushed me away in the pouring rain.
"Stay out of my life! To protect you, I have to fight, and when I fight, I lose everything!"
He wasn't rejecting me out of hate. He was terrified that his dark, violent reality would drag me down with him.
Standing soaked in the rain, my resolve hardened like steel.
Gentle kindness wasn't going to save him from this hell.
To protect the boy who died for me, I had to become ruthless enough to tear down his entire rotten world and build him a new one.