Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns
I spent five years as the perfect wife to Easton Harrington, smoothing his midnight-blue ties and fading into the wallpaper of his massive estate. I thought I was the heart of our family, but I was really just a ghost in a sensible beige dress.
The illusion shattered at a charity gala when Easton’s "family friend," Georgina, appeared in a gown that matched his suit perfectly. While they basked in the flashbulbs as a golden couple, I was literally pushed into the velvet ropes by a cameraman. No one noticed.
Then my four-year-old son, Holt, slapped my hand away in front of the city's elite.
"Don't touch me! You're not my mom, you're just the nanny. Daddy said so."
The room went silent, but Easton didn't defend me. He just looked annoyed that I was causing a scene, making a sharp shooing motion for me to take the boy away. Beside him, Georgina feigned shock while her eyes crinkled in pure amusement.
I realized then that I wasn't his partner; I was a placeholder. They had stripped me of my dignity and even my child's love, treating my five years of devotion like a temporary staff position.
I didn't scream. I just slid off the Harrington heirloom ring, tossed it into a fountain, and walked out into the night.
Easton thinks I’m a penniless housewife who won’t last a week without his credit cards. He doesn't know that I’m Dr. Althea Morrison, the "prodigy" researcher his company has been begging to hire.
I'm not asking for alimony, and I'm not begging for a second chance. I’m returning to the lab to build an empire that will bring his to its knees.
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Chapter 6
The security guard at the Morrison Institute lobby frowned at Althea's ID.
"Name?"
"Althea," she said. Just Althea.
"I don't see a last name here, miss."
"Scan it," she said.
He scanned the card. The light on the turnstile flashed a distinct, urgent purple-the color for Executive Access. The guard's eyes popped. He looked at her jeans, then back at the screen which read PRIORITY LEVEL: ALPHA.
"S-sorry, ma'am. Go right ahead."
Althea walked through the lobby. The scent of antiseptic and ozone was better than any perfume. She took the elevator to the top floor.
Bret was in the middle of a board meeting. The glass walls of the conference room allowed everyone to see Althea approach. Bret stopped mid-sentence. He stood up and waved her in.
The board members turned, confused.
"Gentlemen," Bret said. "I'd like you to meet our new Senior Researcher. This is Althea."
He didn't say Morrison. Althea had asked him not to. She wanted to earn her place, not inherit it.
"A researcher?" One of the older men scoffed. "She looks like she's twelve."
Althea didn't blink. "And you look like you have early-stage hepatic lipidosis based on the yellowing of your sclera, Mr. Henderson. You might want to cut down on the scotch."
The room went dead silent.
Bret coughed to hide a laugh. "Meeting adjourned."
Later, in Bret's office, he was pacing.
"I can destroy him, Allie. One phone call. I pull the funding for Harrington's medical supply chain. He'll be bankrupt in a month."
"No," Althea said, looking out at the city view. "I don't want you to fight my battles. I want to build something so undeniable that he realizes what he lost on his own."
Her phone rang. It was a restricted number. She answered.
"You thief!" Eleanor's voice shrieked. "Where is the receipt for my vintage Chanel coat? The dry cleaner says you dropped it off!"
Althea held the phone away from her ear. "I don't work for you anymore, Eleanor. Check your own pockets."
"I will call the police! I will have you arrested!"
"Do it," Althea said calmly. "I'd love to explain to the police how you treat your staff. And your family."
She hung up and blocked the number.
"Ready for the lab?" Bret asked gently.
"More than ready."
They went down to the clean rooms. The hum of the sequencers was music. Althea walked over to a workstation where a young man was frowning at a monitor.
"Problem?" she asked.
"Yeah, the protein folding simulation keeps crashing at 98%," he muttered, not looking up.
Althea leaned over his shoulder. She tapped a few keys. "Your algorithm is assuming a linear decay. It's exponential. Change the variable here."
The man typed it in. The bar shot to 100%. Success.
He spun around, jaw dropping. "Who are you?"
Althea smiled, putting on her safety goggles. "I'm the new admin assistant."
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At just 21, Lyla Rose thought she had it all; a loving husband, a powerful mafia family, and a future she believed was secure. But everything comes crashing down when a medical report reveals she's infertile.
Vincent Ricci, her ruthless mafia husband, can't tolerate that one imperfection. In a brutal, heartless move, he divorces her and replaces her with Maria, the fertile woman who can give him the heir Lyla never could. But that's just the beginning.
Refusing to be discarded so easily, Lyla struggles to let go. But when Vincent plans to lock her away in a basement, everything changes. Carter Ricci, Vincent's cold, calculating uncle, steps in. He takes her to his penthouse, promising to protect her, cherish her, and vowing he's nothing like his nephew.
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When Vincent realizes the mistake he's made, regret consumes him and he comes to take her back. But Carter has no intention of letting her go. He's claimed her, body and soul.
Now Lyla must choose: Will she return to the man who shattered her, or stay with the one who trapped her in a web of lies and manipulation?
And can Carter really hold onto the woman he took through deceit, or will his dark past destroy everything they've built?
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7.4
"I wanted to ruin her. Instead, I craved her."
Revenge was all Clemente Cassano ever lived for. The son of Sicily's most feared mafia leader, he swore to destroy the man who betrayed his family. His plan was simple-break the daughter, Vivian Gustavo, and watch her father burn.
But Vivian wasn't fragile. She was fire-untouchable, ruthless, intoxicating. And the deeper Santiago pulled her into his darkness, the more he realized she wasn't his enemy... she was his weakness.
7.8
The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my marriage was over.
He moved her into our home under the guise of "family duty," forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows.
The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother's priceless necklace.
When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her.
He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don-an act of war.
I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother's grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family.
Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.
9.6
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."
7.3
A mafia billionaire single dad romance.
I just discovered the don's darkest secret. Wait 'til he finds out mine...
The Bratva don and I made a deal:
Spare my father. Take me instead.
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He wanted everything else, too.
My obedience. My submission.
My heart. My soul.
And when that still wasn't enough, he came to take my life.
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Something twisted. Something wrong.
Something hidden in a locked room of his mansion, in a wing he warned me never, ever to wander near.
When I opened the door and discovered Dmitry's secret...
Everything changed forever.
7.8
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The moment a private video she never intended anyone to see is accidentally sent straight to Asher Collins. Except Asher doesn't expose her. He becomes curious... and dangerously invested.
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Suddenly, the boys who never knew her name are watching her. Through it all, Asher remains in control... or at least he should be.
Because the closer Nora gets to becoming everything he designed, the harder it becomes for him to remember that she was never meant to be his.
*
His fingers lifted, brushing lightly along the side of her throat. "I think you've been lying to yourself," he said. "Because your body already knows what it wants."
Her breath faltered. "I swear, I'll kill you if you don't back the hell up."
And then, without giving her the chance to retreat, he closed the final inch between them. "I would much rather you kiss me."