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 4
My arms, shoulders, and back were a canvas of scars, words carved into my skin like a twisted tattoo.
When I first got thrown into that mental hospital, I prayed Damian would come for me.
Every time they tortured me, I clung to the pain, scratching his name-and mine-into my flesh with my nails to keep going.
One year, three years, Three. my name faded away, scratched out, until it was just Damian, Damian, Damian.
I stopped hoping we'd ever meet again.
His name became my lifeline, the only thing keeping me alive.
But now, that lifeline had crumbled, and I was too broken to piece it back together.
Under the shower's spray, I broke down, sobbing until my voice gave out.
That night, my body still aching, they dragged me out to serve drinks.
Laughter and mockery buzzed around me like flies.
I just kept pouring liquor down my throat, glass after glass.
Meanwhile, Brielle was tucked safely in Damian's arms, his voice soft and careful as he tended to her.
He barked orders at me-fetch this, deliver that.
My steps faltered, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through.
By the end of the night, after seeing everyone off, I collapsed by a flowerbed, vomiting until the world spun.
Damian stood nearby, his face twisted with disgust, and tossed a wad of cash at me.
"Pick it up. Clean yourself off," he said.
I pressed down my trembling hand, gathering the bills-my payment-without a word.
I couldn't go back to that place. It was too filthy. I had to vanish clean, not a single bone left behind.
Damian and Brielle's binding ceremony was coming up fast, and he dumped all the prep work on me.
"Brielle's eye's on that auction ring. Tear the place down if you have to-get it."
"Venue's not her vibe. Burn it. She wants a private island, sundown."
"Brielle's obsessed with black orchids. Raid every greenhouse-smother the place in them. Food, drinks? Only what she craves. Screw the rest."
I ran myself ragged every day, jumping to meet their endless demands.
At night, I was Damian's tool to vent his rage.
Mornings, I could barely drag myself out of bed.
I put together their entire binding ceremony, but when the day came, it wasn't me standing on that stage.
Brielle, arm in arm with Damian, soaked up every gaze in the room.
The crowd's praise filled my ears, but I was tucked away in a corner, untouched by the light. Exhausted from the grind, my eyes drifted shut.
I dreamed of my own binding ceremony with Damian.
His eyes, deep and full of love, pulled me in like a tide.
He slid a ring onto my finger, slow and deliberate.
"You're mine now," he'd said, voice warm.
"Unless I'm dead, we're bound forever."
The crowd's blessings echoed around us-wishing us a lifetime together, an eternity of love. In the dream, I should've been smiling, but my face was wet with tears.
Moments like that, standing side by side, were gone for good.
When I woke, Brielle was sitting across from me.
"Emily, it's been a while," she said, swirling a wine glass, her eyes looking down on me like I was dirt. "I don't get it. You're sitting here, crying like a pup, but back then, why'd you do it?"
I scrambled to wipe away the tears from my dream, my hands shaking.
Her gaze brought it all back-the bullying, the nightmares that never left.
"You didn't see this coming, did you?" she went on, her voice icy.
"Damian stood up for you back then, but now? He's in love with me. How could he ever want someone as weak and boring as you?"
I kept my head down, my left hand clamping my trembling right.
"I won't. get in your way," I rasped.
She scoffed.
"Not here to crawl back to him? Then why show up?"
Before I could answer, she tilted her cup, sloshing scalding coffee down her silk dress. Her features contorted into a wail, and she shrieked, "Emily!"
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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.