His Bet, Her Unforgivable Revenge

"Say it." Elara's throat tightened. "I belong to you," she whispered. "I am your slave." Kane Blackthorn's gaze hardened. "And?" Her voice broke. "I am... your sex slave." The Alpha stepped closer, his shadow swallowing her whole. "You will expect no kindness," he said coldly. "No affection. No protection. You exist to obey me." "Yes, my Lord." "Strip, Elara." Elara once lived in the Blood Moon Pack as the daughter of a powerful man. Now she lives in the Alpha's palace as something far worse than a servant. A slave. Alpha Kane Blackthorn rules his pack with an iron will and an untouchable reputation. Mercy is not something he offers twice. And Elara belongs to him now. She should hate him. She tries to. But the deeper she falls into the Alpha's dark world, the more dangerous things become. Because Kane Blackthorn doesn't look at her like a slave. He looks at her like something far more dangerous. Something he might never let go.

"Don't touch me, you monsters!" I screamed, thrashing away from them but it was futile. I was like a little cotton ball they could crumple in their hands because I was pinned to the floor. Dante held my hands as if I was a broomstick and the other, Caius held my legs with just a simple hand without putting any effort. Cassian stood like the big brother he was, watching, giving the orders and Elias squatted before me. God, how can one be good-looking and wicked at the same time. He pulled my skirt upwards, used his fingers to rub my pussy which suddenly reacted to his touch and ripped the thong in one swift drag , brushing my delicate core purposely. I begged, I cried, scared of what they're going to do to me but they were suddenly stones, concerned on what they wanted alone. "Beat her pretty pink little pussy until she screams." Cassian ordered and I gasped, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs like a war drum. No. No, no, no. "Like this?" He asked darkly, slapping my pussy hard, pain and tingles spread across my body and I screamed. "Fuck, she's throbbing brother." Elias growled and Cassian nodded, his eyes fixed on my folds. "Just like that Elias!" He growled, "beat her and show her what it means to defile our rules." I was living a Peaceful Life until my mum got Married to Vampire King and I was stucked with my three Step brothers who showed me hell and desired me at the same time. I had to run. These men were sick, they were truly cursed in the brains and needed help because how the hell am I trapped in this? But where would I run to? I was trapped. And the worst part? They were enjoying every second of it. TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ [Contains clear explicit scenes, vulgar and degrading words, kinks and spicy scenes]

Ten years ago, Rocco Valeriano made a choice. He chose the crown of a crime boss over the innocent light of his first love, Eliza Hawthorne. He forced her to run, believing it was the only way to save her from the darkness that consumed him. Now, she's back, an acclaimed artist unwittingly stepping into the crosshairs of a city still echoing with the Valeriano name. Rocco, the ruthless and enigmatic head of the Valeriano family, rules his empire with an iron fist and a heart forged in shadows. But Eliza's return shatters his carefully constructed world, exposing the raw vulnerability he thought long buried. He'll stop at nothing to protect her, even if it means dragging her back into his orbit, controlling her life with velvet chains, and becoming the monster she always feared Eliza, fierce and independent, resists his possessive power at every turn. She wants her freedom, her art, and a life untouched by his dangerous world. Yet, as threats from rival families close in, she finds herself trapped in a gilded cage of his making, forced to confront the impossible truth: the only man who can keep her safe is the one who broke her heart, and the only way to survive might be to surrender to the darkness within his 'Obsidian Heart.' Can two souls, irrevocably changed by fate and choice, find redemption amidst a storm of violence, loyalty, and a love that refuses to die? Or will their dangerous game consume them both, leaving only ashes where a burning passion once stood?

My husband, Brody, built his mayoral campaign on my stolen masterpiece, "Project Nightingale." I was his secret weapon, the ghostwriter of his success. Then I discovered his affair. And then, I discovered I was pregnant. But to him, our baby wasn't a blessing; it was the perfect leverage to control me forever. His mistress, frantic and fed a stream of his lies, confronted me in a rage. She pushed me. I lost my baby. In the hospital, I saw the cold calculation in Brody's eyes. He wasn't mourning our child; he was worried about the scandal. He had taken my work, my love, and now my baby. He thought he had broken me. But he had just unleashed the woman who had nothing left to lose. I picked up the phone and called my lawyer. "It's time," I said, "to take back everything he stole."

For three years, I poured my soul into Cade, forgiving him 99 times. I was a struggling art student, paying for our shared dreams and caring for his fragile heart. But the 100th time, he let his cruel mistress, Alessandra, try to kill me in an old boathouse. He called it an "accident," his eyes already choosing his ambition over my life. I woke up in the hospital to hear him call me a "disposable stepping stone" and announce his engagement to the woman who had just tried to murder me. The doctor then confirmed the worst: his betrayal had cost me our unborn child. I had been a fool, a victim in their sick game. But as I lay there, broken and bleeding, I realized something. They thought I was a poor, orphaned artist. They had no idea I was Blaire Madden, the sole heiress to a global corporation. And I was finally ready to come home and make them pay.

I died on an apocalyptic battlefield, only to wake up pinned down by a lead-lined blanket of my own fat. A violent download of memories hit me. I had transmigrated into the body of an exiled, sadistic noblewoman who was three million coins in debt. The original owner was an absolute monster. She had purchased beastman guards just to torture them for fun. In the corner of the filthy room, a golden retriever boy cowered, his back shredded by her barbed whip. In the basement, a snake guard was frozen and scarred from constant electro-shocks. When the white tiger guard returned from hard labor, he looked at me with pure, murderous hatred, ready to tear me apart to protect the others. Even the local elites kicked down my door to mock my pathetic life and try to steal my men. I was a decorated commander who bled for humanity. Why was I trapped in this ruined vessel, bearing the sins of a degenerate abuser? It was all a setup by her sweet-faced cousin, Debera, who stole her royal life and sent her to this outer-rim hellhole to rot. I gritted my teeth and plunged a military-grade gene repair serum into my arm, letting the agony burn away the black filth and weakness. "The crazy woman you knew before is dead." I tossed a medical kit to the trembling guards, loaded my old electromagnetic pistol, and headed for the deadly Demon Hunting Zone to start my revenge.