Sweet Revenge Of The Stolen Heiress
I was only three and a half years old, living in a damp basement and beaten daily by Enoch Pruitt with a heavy leather whip.
"Get up, you useless waste of space!"
He always told me I was a stray he had picked out of the garbage.
But during one brutal beating that nearly stopped my heart, time froze, and a glowing figure called The Chronicler appeared.
"You are not an abandoned orphan, Clare. You carry the blood of the highest gods."
He revealed that I was the stolen daughter of the ultra-wealthy Barrett family.
Then, he showed me the horrific ending of my previous life.
I had died right here on this bloody dirt floor.
My real parents and three brothers went completely insane with grief, turning into ruthless monsters who destroyed themselves and the entire world to avenge me.
Meanwhile, the Pruitt family kept torturing me, locking me in a woodshed and feeding me moldy bread.
The memory of my bones breaking and my real mother's agonizing screams crushed my chest.
Why did I have to suffer like an animal while my true family tore the world apart looking for me?
This time, I refused to die in the mud.
I accepted my divine blood, my eyes glowing gold as I summoned a bolt of purple lightning to strike my abuser.
I just needed to survive the night.
Because my real father's heavily armed convoy was already tearing up the mountain, ready to burn this hell to the ground.
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Chapter 6
Enoch was held under guard, two men positioned firmly on either side of him.
"Wait! Wait!" Enoch choked out. "You can't do this! I saved her!"
Silas paused. He turned around, still holding Clare tightly in his arms. He nodded once to the guard, who eased his grip enough for Enoch to pull something from his jacket.
Enoch reached in with trembling, bandaged fingers. He pulled out a folded, crumpled piece of paper. It was stained with grease and dirt.
"I have papers!" Enoch yelled desperately. "Legal papers! I adopted her! She was a stray, eating out of garbage cans! I gave her a home!"
Genevieve stood next to Silas. She stared at the dirty paper in Enoch's hand. Her entire body shook.
A man in a sharp gray suit stepped out from behind the SUVs. He was the Barrett family's lead attorney. He walked over to Enoch and took the paper from his hand.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses. He scanned the document for exactly three seconds.
He let out a short, dry laugh. "This is a generic form printed off the internet. The signature is forged, there is no notary stamp, and it hasn't been filed with any state or federal agency. It's worthless."
Enoch's face turned purple. "She's a liar and a thief!" he screamed, pointing a bandaged finger at Clare. "She's ungrateful! I fed her! You owe me!"
Kayleigh, restrained nearby, nodded frantically. "She's trouble! She deserves everything she got!"
Clare looked at Silas. His jaw was clenched tight. He passed her gently to Genevieve, and then walked toward Enoch with slow, deliberate steps. When he stopped in front of the man, he said nothing for a moment. He simply looked at him.
"Stop," a small voice rang out.
Everyone looked.
Clare looked down at Enoch from Genevieve's arms. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a knife.
"He didn't feed me," Clare said clearly. She looked at Silas. "He made me sleep in the woodshed. He punished me every day if I didn't finish the work."
She pointed to the dark, ugly bruises on her collarbone. "He said I was a waste of space."
She spoke about the mistreatment with a flat calm that was more heartbreaking than any outburst. It was the voice of a child who had long ago learned not to expect anyone to care.
Genevieve held Clare tighter, her tears falling silently.
Silas looked at Enoch. His voice, when it came, was very quiet. "You will answer for every single day."
He turned back to his lawyer. "Make sure the child welfare report is filed immediately. I want every agency involved. His record will follow him for the rest of his life."
Kayleigh tried to speak again. A guard stepped forward and guided her firmly away.
Clare asked Genevieve to put her down. Genevieve hesitated, but gently set her on her feet.
Clare walked over to the lawyer. She took the fake adoption paper from his hand. She walked over to where Enoch stood.
She looked up at him. She slowly ripped the paper in half. Then she ripped it again, and again, until it was nothing but tiny shreds.
She opened her hand. The pieces of paper fluttered down like dirty snow.
"This isn't the end," Clare said quietly. "This is just the beginning of what's coming."
Tabitha was kneeling in the mud, holding Gus. She looked at Clare and started to beg. "Please! We have a child! Have mercy!"
Clare turned her gaze to Gus.
Gus saw her looking at him. He flinched back hard, throwing his hands over his head. He pressed himself against his grandmother, shaking.
The Barrett family's resources and the weight of the law were formidable, but the Pruitt family now understood: the little girl in the expensive coat was the one they should have treated with respect from the very beginning.
Silas turned to his lawyer. "Freeze every account. Seize the land under the existing liens. I want them to have nothing left to use against anyone."
The lawyer pulled out a tablet. His fingers flew across the screen. "Done, sir."
Clare turned around. She walked back toward the warm, idling SUV. She didn't look back at the Pruitts again.
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9.2
She loved him until she lost herself.
Now, behind locked doors and shattered glass, she must learn to breathe again.
When she first met Lloyd, he was magnetic and intoxicating. The kind of man who turned every head when he entered a room, who spoke in promises sweet enough to taste. With him, she felt chosen, cherished, and safe.
But safety was an illusion, and love became a weapon.
And slowly, piece by piece, he dismantled her until nothing of the woman she once was remained.
Now institutionalized after a breakdown, she begins to piece together the brutal truth of what really happened in the shadows of their love story. Memories sting like open wounds: the manipulation disguised as tenderness, the apologies that blurred into threats, the desperate hope that tomorrow he'd be the man she fell for again.
Yet beneath the grief and the shame, a quiet rebellion stirs, a vow to reclaim her voice, her freedom, and her life. Because this is not just a story of how she fell apart. It is a story of how she rises.
Haunting, raw, and achingly intimate, Boys like him peels back the glittering mask of a toxic love affair to reveal the kind of darkness that hides in plain sight, and the unbreakable strength it takes to escape it.
8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.
9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
9.1
My husband, Dante Moretti, the feared Underboss, signed the divorce papers I slipped him without a glance. Too busy texting his true love, Sofia, he was blind to the annulment decree ending everything. The Reaper couldn't see the death of his own marriage.
For three years, I was Elena, his silent wife, the "Caged Canary," cleaning his messes while meticulously planning my escape from our loveless world.
He dismissed me for Sofia's every whim, publicly shaming me after a past love letter was read, then abandoning me again for her fake crisis.
That night, he violently shoved me against a wall, leaving me bleeding and concussed, rushing instead to protect Sofia. Discarded and injured, my invisible love became a weapon against me.
His crushing blindness, the cold realization I was a mere placeholder, fueled a profound injustice. How could he be so lethal, yet oblivious to his wife, favoring the one who betrayed him?
With chilling resolve, I uploaded Sofia's confession, initiated a massive financial transfer dismantling his empire, and staged my own death. Under a new identity, I fled to San Francisco, ready to build my power, far from his bloody, deceitful world.
9.2
Clara was drowning in student debt and barely making rent when she downloaded a fantasy mobile game to escape reality.
Inside the game, an exiled prince named Alex was freezing to death. Pitying him, she spent her last few dollars on microtransactions to fix his shelter and cure his poison.
But the game was far too real.
Every time she paid, the prince reacted. When she complained aloud about going broke, the in-game army suddenly halted, as if the prince had heard her voice.
Then, the terrifying real-world consequences hit.
Clara woke up to find her water glass and a box of Kleenex had vanished from her locked bedroom overnight.
She frantically searched the tiny apartment, her heart pounding in her chest.
She thought she was losing her mind. Had she thrown them out in her sleep? Was there a stalker hiding in her home?
How could physical objects just disappear into thin air behind a deadbolted door?
Until she looked at her nightstand.
Sitting exactly where her missing items used to be was a glowing, weightless crystal cup that defied all logic.
And on her laptop screen, the exiled prince was carefully holding her Kleenex box, offering a mountain of real gold on an altar.
She hadn't just downloaded a mobile game; she had opened a cross-dimensional trade route with a desperate future king.
9.0
The biopsy report slid across the cold metal desk, stamped with a brutal death sentence: advanced gastric cancer. Aretha had exactly ninety days left to live.
It was her twenty-sixth birthday, but her phone only rang with a furious call from her husband, Anders.
"Do you have any idea how much of a joke you made this family look like today? Post a public apology to Kelli right now."
He had completely forgotten her birthday, only caring that she skipped her adopted sister's yacht party.
When Aretha dragged her failing body back to the family estate, her biological mother slapped her across the face just for looking pale and embarrassing them in front of guests.
Seeing Aretha wasn't submitting to the usual abuse, Kelli deliberately threw herself down the stairs, playing the innocent, depressed victim.
Anders rushed in and shoved Aretha brutally against the wall to protect Kelli, while her biological father delivered his ultimate threat.
"I am freezing your trust fund. Get on your knees and apologize to Kelli right now, or you won't see another dime."
A massive, suffocating sense of absurdity washed over Aretha. She had spent six years lowering her head and begging for their approval, only to be treated like a disposable placeholder. Why should she spend her final days enduring this agonizing torture for people who didn't even care if she breathed?
Aretha wiped the blood from her chin and laughed. She publicly severed all ties with her family, whipped the signed divorce papers directly at Anders's face, and walked out into the freezing storm—ready to fight for her own life.