Bound To The Devil From My Past

To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years. But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms. "Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now." He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school. He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge. He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy. He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me. I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present. Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty? Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase. If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created.

Chapters

Chapter 3

The Bentley merged smoothly into the chaotic flow of New York traffic. Inside, the silence was thick, suffocating. Ashlie sat rigidly in the back seat, Keenen a warm, unsettling weight on her lap. She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the man sitting next to her.

She could feel Ellsworth's eyes on her. He was studying her like a bug under a microscope, assessing her discomfort.

Keenen shifted in her arms. "I'm hungry," he mumbled, his voice small.

Ashlie panicked. She didn't know the first thing about kids, let alone this kid. She looked up at Ellsworth, a silent plea for help.

He just stared back, his face blank. He didn't move, didn't speak. He was going to let her drown.

Fine. She had to figure this out herself. She fumbled with her clutch, her fingers clumsy. She dug past her phone and wallet, finding only a small packet of almonds she kept for emergencies.

She looked at the boy. "Do you... do you want some nuts?"

Keenen shook his head, his lower lip jutting out.

Ashlie felt a flush of frustration. She was failing test number one.

Ellsworth's phone rang, breaking the tension. He answered it, and suddenly the car was filled with the sound of rapid, fluent French. It wasn't a casual chat; it was a barrage of business terms, sharp commands, and clipped tones. He was closing a deal or destroying a competitor, and he was doing it with the same cold efficiency he used to order her around.

Ashlie understood maybe one word in ten. The language barrier felt like another wall, a reminder of the vast, unbridgeable gap between her old life and this new world. He was a shark; she was just chum.

But the phone call was a perfect distraction. His focus was absolute, his gaze directed out the front window as he argued a point. This was her chance.

She looked down at Keenen, who was now quietly tracing the patterns on her dress. He seemed so small and lost.

"My name is Ashlie," she whispered, leaning close so only he could hear. "What's yours?"

"Keenen," he whispered back.

"That's a nice name," she said, her voice soft. The boy looked up at her, his big eyes uncertain. An innocent comment slipped out of him. "Uncle Ellsworth says I have to be good for you."

Ashlie froze. Uncle?

The word sent a jolt through her. She glanced quickly at Ellsworth, who was still deep in his call, oblivious. Her heart hammered. She had to be sure.

"Uncle Ellsworth?" she repeated, her voice barely a breath.

"Yeah," Keenen said, nodding. "He's my uncle."

The information hit her like a physical blow. Uncle. Not father. Which meant she wasn't the stepmother from hell. She was the... aunt? The knot in her stomach loosened just a fraction. It was still a forced marriage, still a nightmare, but the label mattered. "Aunt" was a distant relative; "stepmother" was a life sentence.

"So... where is your mommy?" she asked, the words tasting like ash. She had to know.

Keenen's face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Uncle says she is sick. She lives far away."

Ashlie's heart ached. This child had a story, a sad, complicated one.

"Stop prying into Marshall family matters."

Ellsworth's voice was a whip crack, slicing through the hum of the French conversation. He had hung up the phone without her noticing.

Ashlie clamped her mouth shut. She looked away, staring out the window, but her mind was spinning. If this was just about revenge, why involve the boy? Why force her into the role of caretaker for his nephew? It didn't make sense.

The car slowed, pulling up to the curb in front of a brick building in SoHo. Her building. Her studio.

"Take him upstairs," Ellsworth said, not bothering to turn around. "Your first task is to take care of him for the rest of the day. I'll send someone to pick you up tonight."

Before Ashlie could respond, the driver opened her door. The noise and smell of the city rushed in, a stark contrast to the sterile bubble of the Bentley.

She scrambled out, holding Keenen's hand. The car pulled away the second her feet hit the pavement, disappearing into the traffic.

She stood there on the sidewalk, a married woman with a child she barely knew, staring up at the sanctuary of her studio. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had been just a designer with a dream.

Now, she was a nanny for the enemy.

Continue to next part

In a dilapidated warehouse, my husband brutally cut open my abdomen to extract the fetus. All for the sake of obtaining bone marrow from our child to save the life of the son he had with his mistress. "Honey, I'm begging you, don't hurt the baby," I pleaded with him. "Arina, don't be afraid. It won't hurt. Just a little while, and you'll be free,". Just when I was on the verge of giving up all hope, the sound of approaching help reached my ears. I felt a glimmer of joy, thinking I was finally going to escape this nightmarish hell. But then, in an instant, there was a sharp "Puff!" It was the sound of a dagger slicing through my belly. There was a deep gash in my abdomen, and blood was gushing out profusely. "Ah! My baby!" "How could you be so cruel?" I stared in disbelief at my best friend standing before me. "Arina, you have to die today..."

Horror Modern Romance

8.6

Bound By Contract, Tied By Faith

8.6

Ivy Hart didn't just lose love, she was destroyed by it. Publicly betrayed by the man she thought she'd marry, her heartbreak becomes a spectacle she can't escape. Humiliated, angry, and done believing in forever, Ivy swears she'll never be that vulnerable again. Then Damian Blackwood steps in. Ruthless. Possessive. A man who doesn't ask, he takes. His offer is simple, his tone is not: Marry me. A contract. Strict rules. No love. No questions. But Ivy quickly learns one thing. Damian doesn't share. Not his power. Not his control. And definitely not what he considers his. What was supposed to be a cold, calculated arrangement turns suffocatingly intense. The way he watches her. The way he touches her. The way his voice drops when he says, "You're mine, Ivy." It's not part of the contract. And neither is the jealousy that burns in his eyes when her past comes crawling back, begging for a second chance. Because Damian doesn't believe in love... But he believes in possession. And once he's claimed something, he never lets it go. As secrets unravel and the truth behind their marriage begins to surface, Ivy realizes she didn't just sign a contract. She signed herself over to a man who would destroy anyone who tries to take her away... even if that means destroying her too. When the contract ends, one question remains: Will Ivy walk away with her heart intact... or will Damian make sure she never leaves at all?

Action Horror Romance

7.6

He Broke My Spirit, I Soared

7.6

I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history. But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me. He swam past me. He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water. When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl. "You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home." Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her. I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife." He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps. He was wrong. While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room. I was packing his ring into a cardboard box. I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead. By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.

Horror Modern Romance

7.5

His Regret, Our Irrevocable Goodbye

7.5

, I am Colleen Hoover, and I am ready to write. This story will be an emotional surgery, raw and direct, for the American woman who craves that gut-wrenching, heart-healing journey. Let's begin. I married a man haunted by the ghost of his dead son. I gave him a new son, Leo, and foolishly believed our love could heal his shattered past. But then the ghost came back to life. His ex-wife, Georgia, returned with wide, innocent eyes and a diagnosis of trauma-induced amnesia. Suddenly, my husband was walking on eggshells around the woman who broke him, while our son and I became background noise in her twisted play. The day he chose her was the day he destroyed us. After Georgia framed our five-year-old for desecrating his dead brother's memorial, my husband, Calvin, snapped. He grabbed Leo's arm and twisted it until I heard a sickening pop. As I lay on the floor bleeding, I watched him cradle Georgia, whispering comforts while our son screamed in agony. Over his shoulder, her eyes met mine, filled not with confusion, but with pure, triumphant malice. He had made his choice. Now, I would make mine. My fingers, sticky with my own blood, dialed 911. "I need an ambulance," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And I need the police."

Horror Modern Romance

9.6

My Death, His Ultimate Downfall

9.6

For a decade, I was the perfect wife to tech mogul Carson Jarvis. I cleaned up every scandal and endured every affair, trapped by my father's "poison pill" inheritance clause that would leave me with nothing if I divorced him. His latest mistress was pregnant, but that wasn't what finally broke me. It was when he shut down our mansion's power grid for their tryst-and turned off my grandmother's life support. He murdered her. At a charity auction days later, he paraded his new love while she announced her pregnancy. When I confronted her for stealing my money, Carson watched as his guards broke my arm, leaving me bleeding on the floor while he comforted her. He thought I was his unbreakable wife, a possession with nowhere else to go. He expected me to clean up this mess, just like all the others. He was wrong. As I watched him shield her during the chaos of an explosion I secretly arranged, I knew my old life was over. Tonight, the world would learn of my death. And with it, Carson Jarvis would lose everything.

Horror Modern Romance

9.6

Reborn To Reign: Choosing The Monster Over The Prince

9.6

The bullet tore through my chest, ending my life as the perfect mafia princess. My fiancé, Connor Walls, watched me bleed out on the cold tile floor while he calmly cleaned his gun. Standing beside him was my cousin Jana, the girl I trusted with my life, looking at him with adoration as I took my last breath. I died realizing that the "Golden Prince" of the Chicago Outfit was actually a monster who had beaten me behind closed doors for years. And the man I had been terrified of—his brother Brannon, the "Butcher"—was the only one who had ever truly protected me. I died full of regret, hatred, and the metallic taste of blood. But then, I gasped, my body jolting upright on a blue gym mat. My skin was smooth. My heart was beating. Connor stood above me, young and arrogant, offering me a hand. I was twenty-one again. The beatings, the betrayal, the murder—none of it had happened yet. Connor smiled, thinking I was still the naive girl he planned to break and discard. He thought I would walk into the Rite of Choice tonight and obediently become his property. He was wrong. That night, under the crystal chandeliers, the Don asked me to pledge myself to the heir. The entire room held its breath, waiting for the rehearsed "I do." I looked at Connor, then turned my gaze to the terrifying shadow in the corner. "The debt requires a union with the Walls bloodline," I said, my voice steel. "It does not specify the heir." I pointed at the monster everyone feared. "I choose Brannon Walls."

Fantasy Horror Mafia

Bound To The Devil From My Past

Chapter 3

You may also like