Married to the Tyrant in a Wheelchair
My boyfriend and stepsister murdered me for my inheritance, their celebratory kiss a final insult above my broken body on the rain-slicked concrete of the port.
As my soul floated inches from my own face, a tyrant the world knew only as a disfigured cripple, Charles Moses, arrived with a team of soldiers.
He ignored my killers, who were now begging for their lives. Instead, he fell to his knees in the mud and blood.
He cradled my lifeless head in his hands, and a gut-wrenching sob of pure agony tore from his throat before he carried my body into the black ocean.
As the water closed over us, I didn't understand. Why did this monster, a man I had never met, weep for me as if I was his entire world?
My eyes snapped open. I was five years in the past, coughing up water in a hospital bed. It was the night my family screamed at me for ruining my stepsister's dress after she'd tried to drown me.
When they offered to marry me off to the "crippled monster" Charles Moses to save my perfect stepsister from that fate, I didn't fight them.
I smiled and said yes.
This time, I would walk straight into the lion's den myself.
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Chapter 6
Early the next morning, a black Mercedes G63 with no license plates idled on the side of the road.
Augustina climbed into the back seat.
The driver, Gus, had been ordered to take her to the marriage exchange. He kept glancing at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes full of contempt.
"You really threw your life away," Gus sneered, tapping the steering wheel. "Going to serve a crippled freak. Hope you enjoy pushing a wheelchair for the rest of your miserable life."
Augustina leaned her head against the cold window. She watched the thick fog rolling in from the hills, treating Gus like he didn't exist.
The G63 drove out of the sunny city limits and entered the deepest, heavily forested private sectors of Beverly Hills.
The GPS screen on the dashboard suddenly flickered and turned to static. The signal was completely jammed.
Towering, century-old redwoods lined the narrow road, blocking out the sun. The temperature inside the car dropped noticeably.
Gus stopped talking. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. The eerie silence of the woods was suffocating.
The SUV finally stopped in front of massive black wrought-iron gates. The metal was forged into the shape of thorns and black ravens.
There were no security guards in sight. Only military-grade cameras with blinking red lenses tracking the vehicle's movements.
With a heavy, grinding screech of metal, the gates slowly slid open on their own.
Gus swallowed hard. He put the car in park, absolutely refusing to drive onto the property.
"Get out," Gus muttered, his voice shaking. "I'm not going in there."
Augustina grabbed her battered duffel bag. She pushed the door open and hopped down onto the gravel.
The second her feet hit the ground, Gus slammed his foot on the gas. The G63 spun its tires and sped away like it was fleeing a war zone.
Augustina stood alone in the thick fog. She adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking up the long, black gravel driveway.
Ten minutes later, the fog parted.
A massive, imposing structure loomed before her. It was a blend of gothic architecture and a modern fortress.
The exterior walls were a cold, unforgiving charcoal gray. Every window was tinted black, giving the mansion an aura of absolute, suffocating silence.
An elderly man in a pristine black tailcoat stood at the top of the stone steps.
It was Mr. Albright, the British butler. He wore white gloves and stood with flawless, rigid posture.
Albright offered a shallow bow. His voice was crisp and devoid of warmth.
"Welcome, Miss Osborne."
Augustina's eyes flickered. He called her Osborne. The surname she used in the slums, not Hogan. Charles's intelligence network had already stripped away her fake identity. He didn't recognize her as a Hogan.
She nodded calmly and handed her cheap bag to a waiting footman.
Albright led her through the massive, vaulted foyer. Her footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floors.
The walls were lined with dark, abstract oil paintings. The air smelled strongly of cold cedarwood and old paper.
She was led to a guest room at the far end of the second-floor hallway. Not the master suite.
"The Master is currently handling overseas affairs," Albright informed her, standing in the doorway. "He will not be receiving you for a few days."
Albright's eyes hardened slightly. "You are permitted in your room and the first-floor dining hall. The West Wing and the basement are strictly forbidden. Do not wander."
Without waiting for a response, Albright turned and pulled the heavy door shut.
Augustina looked around the room. It was ten times the size of her attic at the Hogan estate, but it felt like an icebox.
She walked over to the window. Down in the courtyard, men in black tactical gear were patrolling with massive Dobermans.
A slow, determined smile touched her lips. She was exactly where she needed to be.
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9.3
Six years ago, my adoptive family framed me for commercial espionage, stripped me of my identity, and threw me out. Now, I finally returned to the Solis estate as a commercial pilot to take back what was mine.
But the first thing my adoptive mother did was threaten me with that forged evidence again. She demanded I take my sister Kiana's place in a marriage contract with a disabled man, simply because Kiana refused to marry him.
When I refused, Kiana ambushed me at the airport with a mob of reporters. She cried for the cameras, publicly accusing me of causing our father's and brother's deaths. She painted me as a ruthless monster who bankrupted the company and ruined the family. The crowd instantly turned on me, screaming that I was a murderer and a gold-digger. Kiana wanted to completely destroy my reputation so I would have no choice but to submit to her arrangement.
I looked at her fake tears, feeling a cold, absolute fury. How dare she use the tragic deaths of the only family members who actually loved me as a prop for her sick show? They had ruined my life once, and now they wanted to bury me alive.
I didn't hesitate. I slapped her hard across the face right in front of the flashing cameras.
"That was for my father and brother."
Then, my real fiancé, a decorated Delta Force commander, rolled through the crowd in his wheelchair. He tossed a classified Pentagon file to the reporters, completely clearing my name and exposing Kiana's lies. I married him to start my revenge, but as I stepped into his heavily secured penthouse that night, I realized my powerful new husband had been preparing for me for a very long time.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
7.5
I run my family's political dynasty with an iron fist. From my father’s Senate votes to my own calculated engagement, every move is mine to control.
Then, in a single evening, my ambitious stepmother made her play. She used our housekeeper as a spy and orchestrated a scandal involving my fiancé and stepsister, designed to shatter my reputation and power.
They thought they could break me. Within twelve hours, the spy was dead on the marble floor of my foyer. My fiancé’s family was blackmailed into silence. My stepsister was exiled to a Swiss boarding school, and I stripped my own father of his authority for his weakness.
As for my stepmother, Bronte, I had her declared mentally unstable and forcibly taken to a remote facility in Montana, completely cut off from the world.
Everyone saw a cold-hearted coup, but they didn't know the secret I held. I had proof that Bronte had systematically orchestrated my brother’s death years ago, all to position her own son to inherit everything. This wasn't about power; it was vengeance.
But winning the war at home has put me on a much deadlier board. Now, I'm preparing for a dinner with Eldridge Marsh—the most dangerous man in Washington—who wants to decide if I'm a player he can use, or a threat he needs to destroy.
8.7
At eighteen years old, Estelle is kicked out of the only place she knew as home. With nowhere left to go, she goes toward Club Paradise, a place that offers the basic amenities she lacks: food, clothes, shelter, and a well-paying job.
***
The room was thick with smoke and muted chatter, but the moment Antonio D'Amico's eyes landed on her, the world narrowed to just her.
Estelle froze, heart hammering, as if some unseen force had pulled her into his gaze. He didn't move at first, simply studied her with a cold, calculating intensity that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
One night with him shifts the course of her life forever. Something in him fractures; obsession blooms, dangerous, consuming and he decides to take her away, forever.
***
What will happen to Estelle? Will her fortune finally turn around, or is she about to experience hell... and an unexpected, forbidden bond growing inside the darkness?
8.9
The mangled car teetered on the cliff's edge, my leg crushed, gasoline fumes thick in the air. My husband, Holden, stood safe on the highway, directing the rescue – but not for me. He was saving her, the woman in the passenger seat, leaving me and our unborn child to the ocean below.
I woke trapped in the crushed Maybach, leg pinned. The cliff loomed; the driver's seat was empty.
Holden, safe outside, directed paramedics past me to Giana, his "most valuable asset," ordering her rescue first.
I watched him comfort Giana, oblivious, as the car slid. My baby barely viable. Holden offered a black card for silence; Giana gloated.
Ten years of devotion, a cruel lie. Rage fueled me: how could he abandon his wife and child?
I swore a venomous oath: never again an accessory. I flicked his card away, shielded my pregnancy, and promised my baby escape.
7.1
Perry Lake never believed in fate, especially not when it came to love. To take revenge on her cold, power-hungry father, she broke off her engagement to Richard Scott, the ruthless Alpha of the feared Bloodmoon Pack. Walking away from that world should have meant freedom.
But one impulsive night changes everything.
Perry walked into Richard's room to end things. She never expected to end up in the bed of a stranger-an Alpha who overwhelmed her senses. Even worse, the Moon Goddess has bound them as fated mates.
Now, torn between the desire to escape and the pull of a bond she can't deny, Perry must face a destiny she never wanted-with the man she tried hardest to forget. But can love bloom where betrayal and secrets still linger?