RUINED BY THE MAFIA CEO
"You're mine now, Brittany." He whispered in my ears. I froze. I don't remember telling him my name.
Zayne...Zayne...oh God. Now, I remember why his name sounded so familiar...but it was too late, I thought as I lost consciousness.
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Brittany's life has been full of heartbreaks and pain, from her father's death to her mother's manipulation and abuse, while using religion as a weapon.
She grews up with fear, guarding her virginity like a cloak because of her mother's constant words in her ears.
Until she meets Zayne, known throughout New York as the CEO for his ruthlessness, he turns out to be Mafia too.
Zayne claims her as his refusing to let her go. Will Brittany grow to love him and give him a chance after what he did to her?
What happens when she's the only one who can save him from enemies flocking around him?
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"I'm letting you go, doll." He mumbled as he held on to me, his eyes growing weak.
My heart twisted in my chest as tears fell down my cheeks.
No... "I don't regret a thing. You taking me was the best thing that ever happened to me."
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Chapter 5
BRITTANY'S POV
I had no idea if it was the alcohol in my veins or if it was the words that fell from his lips...
Or maybe it was the heartbreak of seeing Bryan again, doing just fine without me that made me so...spontaneous.
But whatever it was, I wish I had just walked out of there or never come to New York.
If only I had known the kind of man I had given my virginity to and kissed in a lobby in New York, I would have run.
It took less than ten seconds before he was taking over the kiss. Somehow, before I could realize much, he was carrying me away.
We ended up in a room, his room I assumed and he threw me down on the bed.
My head buzzed from the alcohol and arousal, he got on top of me and pinned my hands above my head.
He dropped brutal, possessive kisses over my neck and chest. He had easy access because of the strapless dress I was wearing.
He dragged his teeth along my neck, no doubt dropping hickeys here and there, marking me.
It was all I could do not to come undone right then.
His free hand moved down and pushed my dress up.
I yelped when he ripped my pants away with a growl and shoved three fingers inside me.
Three fingers? I moaned and writhed in pleasure as his hands shoved rapidly in and out of me.
Who was this man? I hadn't felt it that first night but right now...there was something dangerously addictive about him.
My mind was telling me he was dangerous and I felt it in the way he owned my body, in the way he fucked me with his fingers, mercilessly, brutally.
Like he was trying to tell me he had been way too easy on me the first time.
And I was here for it. I was loving every moment. I surrendered to him as he unraveled me piece by piece.
Ruining everything I had protected all my life because of my mom's words.
I barely registered him taking off his clothes and tearing mine off me.
When he took my nipples into his mouth, he bit me mercilessly, making me feel pain and pleasure all at once.
I was hysterical as I sobbed in pleasure, unable to touch him.
My hands were still pinned above my head, while he ravaged me with his mouth and fingers.
"Say my name, doll." He ordered and I jerked as he tugged on my nipple with his teeth.
I started to say I didn't know his name when he whispered it in my ear.
Zayne. The name sent shivers running down my spine and something told me I had heard that name somewhere but I was too gone to think clearly.
When he tugged on my nipple again, hard and fast, I yelped his name, slipping past my lips in a breathless moan.
"Fuck...you're so fucking sexy." He growled as he added another finger inside me.
I gasped, pain filling me. I shook my head, it was too much...I couldn't...I couldn't...
"It hurts...I..." I whimpered.
He growled and circled my nipple with his tongue, the feeling eased some of the pain and I let out a helpless moan.
"That's it, doll. You can take it." He whispered in my ear.
He dug his fingers in deeper and I bucked, my insides starting to burn up as I felt my orgasm building inside of me.
A few more thrusts, and I was unraveling in his arms, his name falling from my lips like a helpless prayer.
But he wasn't done yet, I had barely caught my breath before he thrust his cock into me, slamming into me.
He didn't let go of my hands and I gasped as his free hand squeezed my boobs hard.
He was...breaking me. It felt too much...too much...I could almost see my mom rolling in her grave.
Her face twisted with anger and disbelief as she watched me getting fucked.
And I asked myself why I had waited so long to finally do this. The first time, it was wonderful.
But this time? It was mind-blowing. He was fucking me in more ways than one, branding me, marking me as his.
I found myself wondering if he had been gentler the first time because he knew I was a virgin.
"Fuck, your greedy little cunt feels so good around my cock." He groaned as he released my hands and wrapped a hand around my throat instead.
He was choking me slightly and I was loving it. Was that normal? I yelped when he pulled me closer, so that my legs were wrapped around his shoulder.
My back arched and my eyes rolled back in my head when I felt his cock hit me in a spot I didn't think existed.
"Oh fuck. Yes, please...don't stop." I blurted, my poor excuse of dirty talk made me blush but he seemed to love it.
His hand tightened around my neck until I saw stars.
"Fuck, I thought about fucking you like this every single day." He groaned.
Really? I couldn't remember if I thought about him like that too but I definitely didn't mind getting fucked like this everyday.
Even if it was just to know my mom was squirming in her grave while her innocent daughter got pummeled.
"I want you to fuck me like this every day, Zayne. I want your big juicy cock buried all the way inside me."
Where did that come from? Maybe I was good at this dirty talk thing.
He growled and reached down and took a nipple into his mouth. My hands dug into his hair as he sucked my boobs like he was having a meal.
In seconds, I felt another high rising inside of me and I braced myself.
My insides threatened to explode as his thrusts grew frantic, animal-like...I choked as his hands tightened around me, almost like he was strangling me.
Just when I thought I would pass out, he would ease the pressure and do it all over again.
It drove me crazy and I was screaming his name in minutes as another orgasm rocked through me.
He collapsed against me just as his own orgasm rolled out, and I felt utterly and completely destroyed and corrupted.
"You're fucking mine now, Brittany." He whispered in my ears and I froze.
I never told him my name.
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9.5
For two years, I lived as a ghost in the Horn manor, a world built on blood money where my every breath was monitored. Fulton Horn, my stepfather’s nephew and the executor of my life, held the golden leash around my neck, forcing me to play the role of his secret mistress while he paraded a socialite as his fiancée.
Everything shattered at a high-society gala when the scent of raw seafood made me vomit at the feet of Fulton’s future bride. The ballroom erupted in whispers of a secret pregnancy, but Fulton’s reaction wasn't concern—it was cold, predatory calculation.
He immediately forced me into a clinical "inspection" to ensure his "merchandise" was sound, then destroyed my only chance at escape by framing my friend in a scandal and blacklisting my credit. He dragged me to his penthouse, ripped my clothes, and told me I was nothing but a "placeholder" for his dead first love, Arlena.
I was drowning in his obsession, forced to model his fiancée’s engagement gown while he claimed he was the only one who could "protect" me.
"You are what I say you are," he whispered, "and you belong where I say you belong."
I didn't understand how he could be so cruel, or why he was so determined to keep me in a cage of secrets. But when I looked closer at the photo of the "original" girl he loved, my blood turned to ice. It wasn't a girl named Arlena. It was a picture of me from six years ago, smiling and unbroken.
I realized then that Fulton hadn't just found a replacement—he had spent years carefully destroying the girl I used to be so he could keep the broken pieces for himself. Reaching for the hidden keycard, I finally made a choice: I would find a way to kill the ghost he loved before he finished killing the woman I had become.
8.6
I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip—a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow.
When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother’s history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property.
"You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name."
The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother’s stolen emerald brooch—my only connection to my past—and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life.
I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget.
I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I’m not just leaving; I’m going to make him crawl.
9.1
Selene Rivers was an upcoming singer and her future was bright until the moment when she received a phone call which was supposed to elevate her but ends up ruining her life.
During the night, she was declared a fraud, beat up on the street, run over by a car and charged with committing a crime she never committed. Her husband framed her. Her songs were stolen by her best friend. And the world thought that she was dead.
Selene lost her voice, her face and her child who she believed was dead at birth in jail.
Somebody wanted her to go permanently. The job was nearly done by a gang attack, but was rescued by billionaire Ronan Blackwood, who is the best friend of her husband, and provided her with a new name, a new face, and a second life.
Now Selene is willing to reclaim all the things that had been stolen.
With a new name she comes back to the music world and reveals the lies, the betrayal, and the secrets that took her to the hell. Her revenge, however, reveals a bigger truth, that her son is alive, and he has lived under her roof all along.
As she struggles to seek justice and reclaim her life, she begins to feel something she has never anticipated, that is, love, comfort, and security in the arms of Ronan.
Her past tried to bury her.
Her opponents attempted to mute her.
But she is done running.
This is the time she will have her voice back.
This time she will save her child.
This time, it will be her own choice of the future.
9.5
Frances survived a horrific car crash, only to return to a suffocating life. Her wealthy husband, Baron, and his domineering mother were now relentlessly pressuring her to adopt a "poor, distant relative" named Jagger as the heir to their billionaire empire.
But on her way to sign the adoption papers, a violent vision flashed in her mind. The crash wasn't an accident. She saw her car in flames, while Baron watched with cold, calculating eyes. Beside him stood an older Jagger, who calmly muttered the chilling truth.
"The problem is solved."
A private investigator soon confirmed her worst nightmares. Jagger wasn't a charity case; he was Baron's illegitimate son. The family had been illegally funneling offshore money to fund his elite lifestyle. Worse, Baron's ultimate plan was to label Frances mentally unstable, lock her away in a Swiss sanatorium for life, and bring in Jagger's biological mother to take her place.
For years, Frances had played the perfect, obedient wife in their corporate marriage contract. How could they be so ruthlessly evil, plotting her agonizing death just to legitimize their dirty bloodline and steal her trust fund?
But she was no longer the fragile puppet they thought she was. At the high-stakes board meeting, with all eyes expecting her to submit, she put the expensive pen down.
"I refuse."
Instead of adopting their bastard son, she slammed down an SEC whistleblower threat, forced a new will, and introduced her own handpicked heir. The war had just begun.
9.8
"I didn't marry you for love, Elara. I married you for the land."
Five years ago, Elara Sterling wore a gold mask and shared a night of forbidden passion with Silas Vane, the "Ice King" of Seattle. Then, she vanished.
Now, she's back-not as a socialite, but as a struggling mother desperate to save her son. But Silas isn't the man she remembers. He's cold, powerful, and he just bought her father's debt.
The terms of the "Sterling Clause" are simple: Marry him for one year, and her debts are erased. But there's a catch. Silas doesn't just want the Sterling Port; he wants the son he never knew he had.
As Elara steps into a world of vipers and corporate sabotage, she must decide: Is she a wife, a prisoner, or the only woman powerful enough to melt the Ice King's heart?
In the game of power, love is the ultimate hostile takeover.
9.5
I married Clive Harrington, the coldest billionaire in Manhattan, under a strict contract that forbade any emotional burdens. When I needed a high-risk surgery to save my sight, I checked into the clinic alone, hiding the procedure from a husband who saw me as nothing more than a legal asset.
I thought I could handle the darkness in silence. But while I was blind and bandaged in my hospital bed, my biological mother called, screaming that if I didn't produce a Harrington heir by the end of the fiscal year, she would cut off the life-saving treatments for my disabled sister.
I was crawling on the cold hospital floor, desperately feeling for a cane I had dropped, when I touched a pair of expensive leather shoes. It was Clive. He was supposed to be in London closing a multi-million dollar deal, but there he was, watching his "contract wife" groveling in the dark like a beggar.
He didn't walk away in disgust. He carried me to a five-thousand-dollar-a-night VIP suite and sat by my bed, listening in chilling silence as another voicemail from my mother filled the room, calling me a "useless broodmare" who was only worth the trust fund disbursements my marriage secured.
I expected him to remind me of Clause 34B or hand me divorce papers now that I was "damaged goods." Instead, I felt his thumb brush a stray tear from my cheek, his presence shifting from a statue of ice into a predatory shield.
"I thought I was just currency to you," I whispered, my voice trembling behind the gauze. "Just an investment."
Clive didn't answer with words. He picked up his phone and called his head of legal with a single, terrifying command: "Kill the Douglas family’s credit lines. Every debt, every lien—trigger them all. If they want a war, I’ll give them a massacre."
As he leaned down to kiss my bandaged forehead, I realized the contract was dead. My husband wasn't protecting an asset anymore; he was hunting the people who had dared to touch what belonged to him.