Kissing The Boss's Daughter
7.3 / 10.0
Share
Elara Valente has lived her life under her father's control, a mafia princess trapped in luxury. But when she meets Luca, a humble baker who sees her for who she truly is, her world begins to change.
Secret meetings, stolen moments, and forbidden attraction ignite a slow-burning romance-but danger lurks at every turn. With a strict father, an arranged marriage, and watchful cousins, Elara must choose: follow her heart, or obey the world she was born into.
Kissing The Boss's Daughter Chapter 1
The private jet touched down smoothly, its engines fading into the morning hum of the city. Elara Valente's eyes, hidden behind oversized sunglasses, scanned the tarmac with a precision only years of training abroad could grant her. Cameras flashed, but she didn't flinch. She had learned long ago that appearances were everything-and that freedom often had to be stolen in silence.
At twenty-four, freshly graduated with a Master's degree, she had imagined returning home would feel triumphant. Instead, the familiar sense of suffocation settled over her like a heavy velvet curtain. The limousine awaited, black and imposing, doors opening silently as bodyguards flanked her. Their faces were unreadable, hands never far from weapons. The city raced past the tinted windows: skyscrapers gleaming, the streets alive with life, opportunity, and danger. And yet, it all felt like a cage.
The Valente mansion emerged at the end of the road, a fortress wrapped in gold and marble. Its gates, tall and foreboding, gleamed in the sun. She had grown up behind these walls, every choice dictated, every word measured, every breath monitored. Twelve cousins, each with their own sharp eyes and even sharper tongues, awaited her arrival inside. They were her father's extension, trained to notice every flicker of rebellion in her posture, every glint of defiance in her gaze.
"Welcome home, Elara," Rafael Valente said from the foyer, his voice deep, controlled, commanding. Pride softened the edges, but only slightly. To the world, he was a billionaire CEO, the man who had built Valente Global Enterprises from the ground up into one of the most powerful companies in the world. To Elara, he was the architect of her cage.
"Thank you, Father," she said, her voice calm, even as a rush of suppressed frustration pressed against her chest.
"You'll find everything ready for you," he continued, sliding a thick envelope across the marble table. "Your schedule. Your wardrobe. Tutors. And your engagement." His words landed like a thunderclap.
Elara froze. Engagement. Already planned. Already hers without a choice. Daniel Carter, the son of one of her father's oldest business partners, had been chosen to marry her. Her future neatly packaged, like a gift she hadn't asked for.
Dinner was formal, the air thick with unspoken rules. Her cousins observed her like hawks: Isabella's cold, calculating eyes; Antonio's barely restrained irritation; Vivienne's subtle, elegant gaze, taking everything in; Matteo smirking, dangerous in his casual mockery; Gabriella whispering behind her hand. Every movement, every word, every expression was weighed, measured, and judged.
Elara excused herself under the guise of retiring early, each step echoing in the polished hallways. She paused by the window, taking in the city lights, the subtle hum of life beyond the mansion's walls. She wanted more than this gilded cage-more than a life dictated by expectations, rules, and alliances. She wanted something real. Something ordinary. Something hers.
Her eyes caught a flicker of movement down the street. A warm, inviting aroma drifted toward her-a scent that was not polished or sterile, but alive, human, comforting: bread. The pull was immediate, instinctive. Without thinking, she slipped silently from her room, careful to avoid the guards' patrols, and followed the scent through quiet streets.
The source revealed itself at last: a small bakery, nestled between taller, modern buildings. Light spilled onto the sidewalk, warm and golden. Inside, a young man worked at the counter, dusting his hands with flour, focused on shaping dough. He didn't notice her at first, absorbed entirely in his craft.
Elara hesitated in the doorway, feeling a thrill she hadn't experienced in years. No guards. No expectations. Just him, and the ordinary, magical simplicity of a man living fully in the present.
"Can I help you?" His voice was calm, casual, and entirely unpretentious, cutting through the silence of the early morning street.
"I... smelled the bread," she admitted softly. "It smelled incredible."
He offered her a small smile, genuine and unpracticed. "Then come in. Fresh from the oven."
She stepped inside, letting the warmth and the aroma wrap around her. The moment felt stolen, dangerous, exhilarating. No golden walls. No cold expectations. Just flour, bread, and a fleeting connection that ignited something deep within her.
His hands brushed hers as he passed a small loaf to her. The touch sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. A glance, a smile, a shared breath-simple things, yet electrifying, forbidden in a life built on control.
Elara laughed, a sound that surprised her with its freedom. Not the polite, trained laughter she had used in front of her father and cousins. Not the measured smiles of a princess. This was hers-raw, genuine, alive.
For a moment, the golden cage of the mansion felt distant, irrelevant. And for the first time in her life, Elara Valente allowed herself to imagine a life she could call her own.
She didn't know it yet, but the bakery, the man, and this fleeting taste of freedom would change everything.
Continue Reading
Kissing The Boss's Daughter of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6
Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
7.9
For years, Elara Park endured being called "half-breed" and "weak blood" at pack meetings. Because she was a hybrid wolf, she trusted Zack Blackwood's sweet promises.
Then he rejected their fated mate bond moments after claiming her body.
Before she could even breathe through the soul-crushing agony, the news was already celebrating his engagement to her vindictive stepsister, Selina. The headlines gushed about their "perfect pureblooded union."
Her mother's call came like a final blow: "Elara, you're twenty-three now. It's time you contributed to the family."
Marry the worthless second son of a prominent Alpha family or lose her father's empire forever. They had her trapped, ready to steal her birthright and leave her powerless.
But as the heartbreak bled out, ice-cold determination took its place.
Elara went to the arranged meeting at the city's most exclusive club, determined to turn her mother's matchmaking scheme to her advantage. She would agree to marriage-but on her own terms.
When she found who she believed was Damian Sterling in the private suite, she cut straight to business: a contract marriage with clear boundaries, separate lives, and a guaranteed escape route.
What she didn't know? The devastatingly dangerous man who'd just signed her contract with a predator's smile wasn't the pathetic playboy she expected.
He was Dominic Wolfe-the Alpha King who'd been relentlessly hunting her for years.
And now, she'd just signed herself over to him completely.
9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.
8.1
Born into luxury, Hermione Watson-Pierce has always felt like merely a pawn in her parents' ruthless game of power. She learned to suppress her emotions, earning herself the title of the "Ice Queen."
Just then, Aiden Mendes bursts into her life-a charming playboy known for his reckless reputation. Aiden chooses to cope with his inner turmoil through a lavish lifestyle, using his charisma and striking looks to keep others at bay.
A looming threat forces them to face a contracted marriage or risk losing their inheritance. When they first meet, Aiden is struck by an unexpected attraction, as if it were love at first sight. Yet, his notorious reputation precedes him, and Hermione makes no effort to hide her disdain.
As their contractual marriage evolves into a battle of wills, Aiden must work to melt Hermione's icy heart, proving that he is more than what meets the eye. But can he persuade her to rise above her prejudices and bravely pursue love?
8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
![[Dubbed Version] The Stolen Life](https://v.melolo.com/b1265344voduse1318177724/6ff903035145403706109548385/vOH966Q3gSYA.webp!15491.webp!15491.webp)
