My mate send me to mental hospital
I fled the hellish mental hospital with a dislocated shoulder, only to run into Damian-my once-love, now hating me for a lie.
To keep him pure, I'd lied about Kathleen's death, letting him believe I'd chosen my life over hers.
"You slut deserve to rot in the mud!" he spat, letting Brielle-my torturer-twist the truth.
They broke me: beatings scarred my body, forced liver donation paralyzed me. Yet I clung to our fragments, carving his name into my flesh.
In the end, fire consumed me
"Emily!" His frantic roar echoed by the sea.
But I'd already turned to ash.
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Chapter 2
"Sorry, Damian, didn't mean for this stray to ruin your day. We'll drag her out of here!" one of the wolves snarled, lunging forward.
Before I could react, he clamped jaws on my forearm, fangs grazing bone, and shook me like a ragdoll.
"You gutter-scum thief! Snatched our cash like a rabid dog and thought you could scurry off? I'll tear your throat out before you blink!" he bellowed, veins bulging in his neck like writhing serpents.
I shrieked-a sound halfway between a wounded animal and a dying bird-as my legs buckled beneath me. The ground rushed up like a vengeful fist, slamming into my ribs with a sickening crunch that made stars explode behind my eyes.
"Let me go! That's my money!" I shouted, voice cracking.
"Pfft! You, with cash like that? Don't make me laugh!" he spat.
I tried to fight back, but he grabbed the back of my neck, pressing down hard.
It was like flipping a switch-my body froze, trembling uncontrollably, my face drained of color.
That grip, that pressure. it was the same feeling I got right before the shocks in the mental hospital.
My body had learned to fear it, conditioned to shut down.
The wolf, satisfied I'd gone still, started dragging me away, cursing under his breath.
The thought of going back to that place-those silver-lined walls, the endless howls muffled behind iron doors-sent a howl of desperation clawing up my throat, tears boiling over like molten lead down my cheeks.
"Enough!" Damian's voice cut through the air, sharp and cold as a winter storm.
His icy gaze swept over the wolf, who stiffened under it.
Damian fished a check from his pocket and flicked it at my feet like it was trash. "Cash it and vanish. Don't make me hose you off Wolfe turf like the mongrel you are."
The wolf dropped me like I was trash, scrambling to pick up the check before hightailing it out of there.
Before I could catch my breath, Damian's grip closed around my wrist, yanking me into the pack office building.
My chest screamed with pain, my head spinning as he shoved me against a wall.
His presence loomed over me, dangerous and suffocating.
"Emily," he growled, his voice dripping with venom.
"All these years, and you're living like some mangy stray?"
My heart felt like it'd been stabbed, the pain sharp and immediate.
"This. Is. Your. Reckoning."
Those hate-filled eyes burned into me, and for a moment, I wanted to scream the truth, to let it all spill out.
But I couldn't. I'd promised Kathleen I'd keep her secret, let her leave this world pure.
Three years ago, Kathleen and I were kidnapped.
She shielded me, and they dragged her away.
When I saw her again, her legs were broken, her face ruined. I set the place on fire, carried her on my back, ready to escape. But at the last moment, she grabbed my hand, tears streaming down her scarred face.
"Emily, get out. Live well." she'd whispered.
"I want to stay clean in the eyes of my mate, my brother."
She pushed me out and let the flames take her.
Kathleen wanted to stay pure.
Damian, the pack's golden wolf, deserved to stay pure too. I'd been through the filth of that place, marked by it.
I wasn't fit to be his mate anymore. One of us being tainted was enough.
So when Damian found me, eyes red with grief, clutching me and begging, "Emily, where's Kathleen? Why didn't she make it out?"
I forced a smile, tears flooding my face.
"She's dead. They said only one of us could live. I chose me, so she had to go."
I'll never forget the look in his eyes-shock, rage, despair all at once.
Damian's hands clamped onto my shoulders, his grip so tight it felt like he'd crush my bones.
"Emily, tell me the truth! Tell me it's a lie!" he'd roared.
But I gave him nothing.
Just silence.
The Wolfe pack wanted me dead.
Damian locked himself away for three days and nights, then handed me a one-way ticket out of the pack's lands.
His voice was raw with hate as he said, "Never show your face to me again."
He asked his rich pup friend to make sure I left.
What he didn't know was that his friend, to "avenge" him, locked me in a mental hospital for Three years.
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7.0
On our anniversary, I was basting the roast when my husband’s encrypted laptop lit up on the kitchen counter.
Alex Bradley, the ruthless Underboss of New York, never made mistakes. But tonight, he left a chat room open.
The notification shattered my world: "Is the idiot eating the dog food yet?"
It was from his mistress, Charlotte.
They were betting on whether I would eat the red velvet cake she had spiked with her Rottweiler’s excrement.
I realized then that my marriage was a long-con. I was just a "placeholder" wife to secure his promotion to Don.
To survive, I had to play the part.
Alex sat on the bed, feeding me the tainted cake with a loving smile.
"Eat up, Jillian," he purred. "It’s to die for."
I swallowed every bite of the filth, forcing myself not to vomit until he left the room.
The humiliation didn't stop there.
I found out our marriage license was void.
He publicly bought me a twenty-million-dollar necklace at a gala, then abandoned me to face the debt, forcing me to hand over my grandmother’s earrings as collateral.
He even watched calmly as his family beat me for a prank Charlotte orchestrated.
But the final blow came when I overheard him planning our "romantic" getaway.
"The blizzard hits Friday," he told Charlotte. "It’ll look like a tragic accident. Hypothermia."
He thought he was taking a lamb to the slaughter.
He didn’t know I had been counting down the days.
When we arrived at the cabin and he went to prepare my "accident," I didn't cry.
I tossed one of my boots over the cliff edge to stage my death.
Then I climbed into the black extraction van waiting in the snow.
Alex Bradley thought he had killed his wife.
He had no idea he had just set her free.
7.3
Arianna Blake thrives on control until Damien Hart enters her life. Tall, commanding, and impossibly magnetic, he doesn't just notice her; he challenges her, unsettles her, and awakens desires she never knew existed.
But passion has its dangers. Damien's ex-fiancée, Laila, watches from the shadows, jealous, calculating, and determined to reclaim what she believes is hers. When someone begins following Arianna, and the line between desire and threat blurs, she realizes that surrendering to Damien might come with more than just heartbreak, it could cost her everything.
Caught between irresistible attraction, hidden agendas, and lurking danger, Arianna must navigate love and peril, trust and betrayal, to discover who is truly hers... and who is dangerously theirs.
"Dangerously Yours" this is a contemporary romance infused with suspense, obsession, and the intoxicating push-and-pull of love and danger.
8.4
I was exactly three thousand words away from eviction when the heir to the New York underworld smashed my laptop and offered me a job instead of an apology.
Dante Vitiello wanted me to write a memoir that would paint him as a saint.
I moved into his penthouse, thinking I could keep things professional. But when his arranged fiancée, the daughter of the Chicago Outfit, arrived, she didn't see an employee. She saw a threat.
She didn't just humiliate me; she leaked fake evidence to the press, branding me as a federal informant.
I woke up in a hospital bed with the word "RAT" plastered across every gossip site.
Sofia’s guards were stationed outside my door, blocking even the nurses. I was a liability. A stain on the Vitiello name.
I knew how these stories ended. The Prince always chooses the Family. The Alliance is more important than the girl.
I was packing my bag, shaking with fear, ready to disappear into the night to save him from ruin.
But Dante didn't come to fire me. He walked into the boardroom where his father and the Chicago Boss were waiting for him to beg for forgiveness.
He looked at the crown that was his birthright, then he looked at the gun on the table.
He didn't kneel. He didn't apologize.
He slammed his weapon down, shattering a hundred-year alliance and forfeiting his empire with a single sentence.
"Keep the crown. I take the girl."
8.1
For two years, I was the perfect daughter-in-law, caring for my "paralyzed" mother-in-law to pay for a mistake my husband, Holden, never let me forget.
The day I found out her paralysis was a lie was the day I also discovered he' d tricked me into signing our divorce papers.
They moved his mistress into our home. When I tried to expose their lies, they had my leg broken and sent me for electroshock therapy, forcing a false confession while my husband watched.
On the night of his wedding to her, I overheard him say his biggest regret was ever marrying me.
That' s when the last of my love finally turned to ash.
Months later, as I turned my back on his pathetic pleas for forgiveness, a speeding car hurtled toward me.
Holden pushed me to safety, sacrificing himself.
Now, he lies broken in a hospital bed, looking at me with hope in his eyes, asking if I can finally forgive him.
8.7
I reached into my underwear while lifting my t-shirt to my belly button, clutching at the semi-erect cock that was only partially awake due to Professor Edmend's ideas. I had no idea the dude wore t-shirts or leather. His formal teaching attire gave off the impression that he was a rigid adherent to the rules.
"You want to fuck, Professor?"
7.0
I wore my favorite emerald silk dress to Per Se, thinking our third anniversary would finally be the night Darius came back to me. My heart was pounding with hope, but the moment he covered the rim of my champagne glass with a cold, marble-like hand, that hope died.
He didn't bring a gift; he brought a personal assistant and a medical consent form. His ex-girlfriend, Hazel, was dying of liver failure, and I was the only compatible match they had found in the world.
The realization hit me like a physical blow: he hadn’t married me for love, but for a "harvest." When I screamed that I wasn't a spare part, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he threatened to pull the funding for my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s care, holding the only family I had left hostage to save his "one who got away." He locked me in our penthouse under a high-tech security protocol, guarded by private contractors like a prisoner in a gilded cage. While I was trapped, he was at the hospital holding Hazel’s hand, wearing the Patek Philippe watch I’d bought him for his birthday.
I watched their updates on social media, Hazel tagging him as her "hero" and "true love," while I was left alone in the dark. Darius told his lawyers I was just being "dramatic" and that I’d get over it once the settlement check cleared. Every memory of our three years together felt like a long-term investment in an organ transplant.
How could I have been so blind? How could the man who promised to cherish me turn into a monster who only saw me as a regenerating asset?
I stopped fighting and started calculating. I agreed to the surgery on one condition: a signed divorce decree and an ironclad trust for my grandmother that he could never touch. I refused his millions, took back my maiden name, and walked into that hospital with my head held high. I was giving them the piece of me they wanted, but it was the last thing they would ever take. As the elevator doors closed on Darius's desperate face, I knew that when I woke up, I would finally be free.