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 3
The pain in my wrist was sharp, like a spike driven through it.
I looked up at Damian, his eyes wild like a cornered beast, and forced a bright, bitter smile. "This is my reckoning? Kathleen's gone, and I'm still standing, aren't I?"
His face darkened.
He lunged, his hand clamping around my throat, squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe.
My face paled, my body betraying me with choked, whimpering gasps.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, unstoppable.
Just when I thought Damian would choke the life out of me, he let go.
I collapsed like a gutted fish, coughing so hard my ribs screamed.
Through the blur of tears, I saw him crouch down, his voice cold as a blade.
"Wolfe territory doesn't tolerate strays who outstay their welcome. I'll make sure you regret ever lifting your head here."
He reached for me again, but his hand froze midair, hesitating.
Then, in a flash, he grabbed my collar and yanked.
The fabric tore with a sharp rip, and his voice exploded.
"What the hell is this!?"
Beneath the fresh red marks from his grip, a deep, black-purple welt coiled around my throat, swollen and threatening.
I swallowed the metallic taste of blood, my trembling hand flying to cover it.
That scar was a gift from the mental hospital, carved into me over years of torment.
They called it "choke therapy."
Day after day, they'd cinch a leather belt around my throat, twist it till my vision blurred, and growl, "Scream it, Emily. You're a filthy lycan filth who taints every inch of Wolfe land with your stench!You will never worth Damien."
For the first two years, I refused to say the last part, even if it killed me.
By the third year, I was numb, reciting it like a broken record: "Emily. is a filthy lycan filth who taints every inch of Wolfe land with your stench!You will never worth Damien"
Damian's hand brushed the scar, and my trembling got worse, my body betraying me.
Tears fell, but I was still smiling, a twisted, broken thing.
"You know how it is other packs," I said, my voice steady despite the shaking. "They're into some wild stuff. Way more thrilling than anything with you."
His eyes blazed with fury.
He grabbed me, dragging me into a lounge and throwing me onto a bed.
I shivered, forcing words out. "You think this is fair to Brielle?"
He laughed, cold and cruel. "You think you're worth her worry? She's carrying my pup. You're just a tool to burn off steam."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer.
I shut my eyes, my heart ripping apart, and stopped fighting.
No lingering touches that felt like devotion, no whispers that might've been kind-only the weight of him, deliberate and hungry, proving he meant every word, moving in a rhythm that blurred pain .
"Is this how they choked you?"
It wasn't until dawn that he pulled away, not sparing me a glance.
"Clean this up," he said, voice like ice.
"Tonight, you're serving drinks."
He slammed the door behind him.
I came to later, my body trembling as I knelt on the floor, picking up the mess of torn fabric and bloodstains.
I crawled to the bathroom, clothes in rags-only the top I'd clawed to keep stayed whole.
That one piece, I'd fought for tooth and nail. Only made Damian rage harder, his punishment bloodier.
I peeled off the tattered fabric slow, deliberate. What I'd hidden, guarded with my life? Now laid bare.
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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.