Engaged To A Coldhearted Murderer

My fiancée smiled as she showed me the "intruder" she had dealt with in the ER. I looked past her to see my mother beaten unconscious on the floor. And on the gurney next to her lay my seven-year-old brother, cold, blue, and dead. Brittnie clung to my arm, beaming with pride. "I handled it, Cannon," she chirped. "That gold digger tried to claim this bastard was your son. But I made sure they wouldn't bother us again." My blood turned to ice. She was holding my mother' s emerald brooch, a family heirloom, convinced it was her engagement ring. Because of her delusion, she had refused to give my brother his EpiPen. She had watched him suffocate to death, thinking she was winning my heart. I looked at Gabe' s lifeless body, then at the woman I was planning to marry. I pulled out my phone and shoved a family photo in her face. "That gold digger is my mother," I whispered, my voice trembling with lethal rage. "And you just murdered my brother."

Chapters

Chapter 3

Eleanora Bryan POV:

The brooch. Cannon had indeed restored it. It was my husband, Gabe's father, who had inherited it from his mother, Cannon's grandmother. Cannon had given it to me on my last birthday, a quiet dinner at home, a gesture of his enduring love and respect. He said it was time it came back to me, the matriarch. He'd even joked about how Brittnie would probably like the design, but it was mine.

Now, in Brittnie's twisted mind, it was a symbol of betrayal. She had seen the receipt. Cannon must have shown her a picture, perhaps excitedly talking about its beauty, and she, in her possessive delusion, had appropriated it as her own. She believed it was for her. Her engagement gift.

The realization hit me like another physical blow. She genuinely believed I was stealing from her, stealing her man, stealing her future. Her jealousy, fueled by a terrifying insecurity, had morphed into this monstrous delusion.

Brittnie's face was flushed, her eyes wild. "You heard him, you old witch! He loves me! He's going to marry me!" She clutched the brooch so hard I thought she might crush it. "He's never looked at anyone else. Never!"

Her voice went from a shriek to a desperate whisper. "He's mine. He promised. He told me he'd give me everything I ever wanted." She was staring into the middle distance, lost in her own distorted reality. "He can't have a past. Not one that threatens us."

A chilling plan began to unfold in her deranged eyes. She pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.

"Clabe! Get down to the ER VIP intake. I have a situation. A… pest. And bring your phone. I need you to record something for me."

My blood ran cold. Clabe. Brittnie's brother, the hospital's Head of Security. A thug in a suit, a man known for his brutal efficiency and utter loyalty to his sister. This was bad. Very bad.

"Brittnie, please! Gabe! Look at him!" I cried, crawling towards the gurney, desperate. "He's barely breathing! He needs help now!"

Gabe's small body was wracked with silent tremors, his lips a terrifying shade of purple. His eyes, once bright and full of life, were now half-closed.

"He's dying!" I shrieked, tears blurring my vision. "You're killing him!"

Another nurse, a young woman with kind eyes, peered tentatively around the corner. "Nurse Snow? Is everything... okay? I heard yelling."

Brittnie straightened, her face instantly composed, a professional mask slipping back into place. "Everything's fine, Nurse Anya. Just a hysterical family member. Nothing to worry about."

Anya hesitated, her gaze darting to Gabe, then to my bruised face on the floor. Her eyes widened with alarm. "But... the patient, he looks critical. Should we administer the EpiPen?"

Brittnie shot her a look so sharp it could cut glass. "Are you questioning my judgment, Nurse Anya? Or perhaps you'd like to find another hospital to work at? I'm sure Clabe would be happy to help you pack your things."

Anya flinched. Her shoulders slumped, and she retreated, her face pale. The fear Brittnie and Clabe instilled in the staff was absolute.

"Please, Brittnie," I begged, my voice raw, stripped of all dignity. "I'll do anything. Anything you want. Just save my son. He's so young. He has his whole life ahead of him."

Brittnie stared at me, a slow, malicious smile spreading across her face. Her eyes, filled with an ancient, predatory glee, seemed to rake over Gabe.

"Let him die," she whispered, her voice a chilling caress. "He's a complication. A messy reminder. I don't want to be a stepmother. Especially not to... that."

"No!" I cried, my voice tearing. "He's Cannon's brother! Cannon loves him! He's not just some complication!"

Brittnie's face hardened. She kicked me in the side, a glancing blow, but enough to make me gasp in pain. "Don't you dare talk about 'Cannon's brother' to me. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know a sugar baby when I see one?"

"I'm his mother!" I screamed, the words tearing from my soul.

Brittnie just laughed, a cold, empty sound. "Oh, you're someone's mother, alright. But not Cannon's. Not anymore. Not in my world."

Continue to next part

My boyfriend, Carter, hadn't spoken to me in five days. But when my national architecture competition win went viral, he finally called-not to congratulate me, but to scream that I' d embarrassed him by not telling him first. His new girlfriend, Brittney, was the one who tagged him in my post. She was also the one whispering in his ear during the call, telling him I was making him look bad. This was the final straw in a long, cold war. But the real nightmare began when Brittney sent me a video of her torturing my dog, Apollo, in our old apartment. Then came a photo of his lifeless body. I rushed over, blinded by rage, and slammed her head against the wall with an ashtray. Carter, the man I once loved, shoved me away, calling me a maniac for hurting the woman who had just murdered my dog. He chose her. He always chose her. As I carried Apollo's cold body out the door, I made a vow. I would make them pay. I would make their lives a living hell.

Horror Modern Romance

7.8

Alpha's Regret: Losing His True Mate

7.8

For years, I belonged to him. Not his mate. Not his love. But his bedmate. His Gamma. His shadow in the night. Alpha Calhoun made sure no man dared touch me, no wolf dared look at me. I was his possession, his secret, his sin wrapped in skin. And I endured it all-his rough hands, his dark devotion, his kisses that tasted like fire and chains because at least, for a while, he was mine. Until she returned. His destined mate. His so-called true love. And suddenly, I was nothing. Cast aside, silenced, left to wither in the shadows of a love that had never been mine to claim. But the thing about being claimed by a man like Calhoun. is that he never truly lets you go. "Try to leave me, Elodie," his voice had been a snarl against my throat, his grip bruising my waist. "I'll burn down every border, tear apart every wolf that stands in my way, until you crawl back to me. You're mine, even if the Moon Goddess herself wants to rip you away." He didn't know then that I already had one foot out the door. And when I finally left his pack. I took more than just my broken heart with me.

Horror Romance Werewolf

9.3

Bound By His Obsession, Trapped Forever

9.3

My mate, Theron, was a powerful Alpha, and I, a scentless Omega, was his greatest prize. But beneath his adoring facade was a terrifying, possessive monster, revealed when he dragged me home and forced me into our bed after I was late to his challenge match. His golden eyes burned with chilling control, and he whispered a threat that turned my blood to ice. I'd been stuck on a forest road, my truck dead, racing to reach his challenge match. His mate bond panic had already frayed my nerves, but nothing prepared me for his rage. He'd publicly broken his opponent's shoulder, then stalked directly to me, ignoring the crowd. He marked my lateness with chilling precision, before dragging me away to our rooms for "punishment." Later, as he tried to force a ceremonial marking pendant on me, he promised, "If you will not accept my mark willingly, then I will wait for your Heat. I will fuck you until your body begs for it, and my wolf will hold you down while I bite." My gaze fell on his open journal, filled with frantic, scrawled words: "SHE IS MINE. PUNISH. CLAIM. MARK HER. BREED HER. MAKE HER UNDERSTAND SHE IS MINE. MINE. MINE." The man I loved, my only protection, was a captor in disguise, his devotion a gilded cage. Every gentle touch, every soft word, now felt like a brand of ownership, a tightening leash. The terrifying truth of his pathological obsession finally hit me. A fragile plan formed in the space between heartbeats: I would de-escalate, redefine, and survive, no matter the cost, before his possessive madness consumed me entirely.

Horror Romance Werewolf

9.7

Fated To The Cursed And Tainted Alpha

9.7

Some chains are forged in iron. Others in desire. Sebastian Kol has existed for six centuries. Cursed to burn alive in his own skin every night he transforms into a beast even he cannot control. He wants one thing. Freedom. And after five centuries of searching, a prophecy finally gives it a name. Leilani Ravenwood. She carries the mark of the moon goddess on her skin and a prophecy that brands her as his salvation. Her blood silences his beast, and her touch sets him on fire. In the worst possible way. And in the best possible way. Furious at the hold she has over him, Sebastian takes her, strips her of everything, and bends her world until it breaks, determined to own what the goddess dared to use against him. What follows is dark and consuming. A monster who has never met his match, and a woman who proves to be it. But Leilani Ravenwood does not break easily. And somewhere between the hatred and the hunger, the punishment and the pull, the ancient beast begins to suspect the terrible truth. The woman born to be his salvation may already be his undoing, his poison and cure wearing the same skin. And he is running out of reasons to care.

Fantasy Horror Vampire Werewolf

8.7

Taming My Vicious Feral Wolf Slave

8.7

Kaylee woke up to the smell of rotting leaves and blood, realizing she had transmigrated into the grimdark fantasy novel she was reading last night. A robotic system in her head immediately delivered a death sentence: she was the tribe's vicious cannon fodder, and the male lead—a brutally tortured slave named Elijah—was currently dying on a totem pole outside. "If he dies, you will face instant soul-detonation." Kaylee rushed to the plaza, using her villainous authority to stop the execution and drag his mangled body back to her hut. But saving him was a nightmare. The original owner's sadism had traumatized him so deeply that her gentle touches and clean bandages only triggered his PTSD. His feral energy spiraled out of control, his golden eyes burning with paranoid terror as he waited for a new, twisted psychological game. To keep his energy from detonating and killing them both, Kaylee was forced to act like a monster. "I didn't save you because I care. A dead slave is useless to me." Only her cruel insults and threats of future torture calmed his broken mind. Adding to her despair, she stumbled upon the novel's supposedly innocent heroine in the forest, only to hear her system detect a terrifying anomaly. The fragile heroine had her own cheat system. Trapped with a paranoid future-tyrant and a rival player manipulating the tribe's strongest warriors, Kaylee shoved a bowl of hot stew at the bleeding slave with a mocking sneer. To survive this hell, she had to play the villain perfectly.

Fantasy Horror LitRPG

8.0

The Heir's Ruthless Obsession

8.0

Isabelle Duval spent her life at Saint Brigitte learning to be invisible. To her, her vibrant red hair wasn't a gift, it was a target she hid to survive the coal dust and the relentless, physical cruelty of Claire. Claire's bullying was a violent daily reminder that orphans like Isabelle weren't meant to have dreams. Isabelle's only voice lived in her violin, a way to scream without making a sound. When Director Rousseau offers her a scholarship to the elite St. Aurelia Academy, Isabelle sees a way out. She expects the charcoal uniforms and marble halls to be a shield against girls like Claire. But the relief is a trap. She hasn't escaped the pressure, she has simply traded physical bruises for social ones. At St. Aurelia, Isabelle is a "ghost" in a den of wolves who value bloodlines over talent. Her arrival sparks a silent war, drawing the gaze of Dmitri Volkov. Known to the school as the "Demon Prince," he looks at Isabelle with a bone-deep recognition that suggests he knows a secret about her family she hasn't even uncovered. He has no intention of letting her walk away. Torn, Isabelle is pulled toward Julien Rousseau, the Director's son. He is everything the orphanage wasn't: warm, protective and kind. He offers the safety she has craved since childhood but his "protection" masks a darker truth. His family is tied to the very conspiracy that left Isabelle on a doorstep fifteen years ago. Isabelle is caught in a dangerous triangle. One boy wants to keep her in the dark to save her; the other wants to drag her into the light to use her. In a world where whispers are weapons, Isabelle must realize she isn't a charity case. She is the living ghost of a crime the elite are desperate to forget. She is no longer playing for her life. She's playing to find out who actually is before the people who 'saved' her decide she's no longer worth the trouble.

Action Horror Mystery

Engaged To A Coldhearted Murderer

Chapter 3

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