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 8
The heavy, armored door of the SUV slammed shut.
The thick glass and steel instantly cut off the sounds outside. Inside the cabin, it was dead silent. The only sound was the soft, steady hum of the climate control system.
Clare sat in the middle of the wide, leather backseat. She kept her knees pressed tightly together. Her shoulders were stiff. Her brain knew she was safe, but her body was still waiting for the next blow to fall.
Genevieve sat close beside her. She had her arm wrapped tightly around Clare's shoulders. Silent tears continued to track down her perfect makeup.
Silas sat in the rear-facing seat opposite them. His eyes never left Clare's face. He looked like a man who had just found water after years in the desert.
Suddenly, a loud, rumbling growl echoed in the quiet cabin.
It came from Clare's stomach.
Clare gasped. She immediately slapped both hands over her stomach and ducked her head. Her heart rate spiked. In the Pruitt house, showing hunger had always come with consequences.
Genevieve quickly wiped her eyes. She reached into the small, built-in refrigerator console between the seats. She pulled out a small, silver tray. On it were delicate, crustless sandwiches filled with turkey and cheese.
She held the tray out to Clare.
Clare stared at the fresh, soft bread. Her mouth watered instantly, but she didn't reach for it. She looked up at Silas, her eyes wide and questioning. She was waiting for permission.
Silas's chest hitched. He forced a gentle smile. "Eat, Clare. It's yours. Everything we have is yours now. You never have to wait for permission again."
Clare's hands shook as she reached out. She grabbed a sandwich and ate quickly, hungrily. She grabbed another before she had finished the first.
She ate too fast. The dry bread caught in her throat. She started to cough.
Genevieve quickly grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and held it to Clare's lips. She rubbed Clare's back in slow, soothing circles. "Slow down, baby. Take a breath. There's plenty more."
Clare drank the water, clearing her throat. She looked at the remaining sandwiches, forcing herself to slow down.
"What did they feed you?" Silas asked. His voice was quiet, but the muscles in his jaw were jumping.
Clare swallowed. She looked at the soft leather seats. "Bread," she said flatly. "But it was stale. And sometimes very little else."
Silas closed his eyes. He gripped the armrest of his seat so hard the leather creaked.
Genevieve covered her mouth, letting out a muffled sob.
"Thirsty," Clare whispered, her voice completely monotone. She pointed to her lips. They were chapped and cracked. The one word, spoken so matter-of-factly, was more devastating than any accusation.
Silas opened his eyes. They were bright with unshed tears and fury held carefully in check.
Clare pulled the oversized coat tighter around herself. "He made me wake up when it was still dark. I had to chop the wood and feed the animals. If I was slow, he used the leather strap."
She pointed to the dark, ugly bruises on her collarbone. "He said I was a waste of space."
She spoke about the hardship as if she were reciting a grocery list. The emotional detachment was a classic trauma response. It terrified her parents more than if she had been screaming and crying.
Genevieve couldn't take it anymore. She pulled Clare into her lap, burying her face in Clare's dirty hair. "I'm so sorry," she wept. "I'm so sorry we didn't find you sooner."
Silas leaned forward. He placed his large, warm hand over Clare's small, cold ones.
"I swear to you, Clare," Silas said, his voice trembling with the weight of his promise. "We will make sure justice is done. The law will hold those people accountable. And no one — no one — will ever hurt you again. You are home now. You are ours, and we are yours."
Clare leaned her head against Genevieve's chest. She listened to the steady, rapid beat of her mother's heart. The coldness inside her finally began to melt.
"I believe you," Clare whispered.
The SUV sped down the winding mountain road, leaving the compound far behind. They were heading straight for the Barrett family's private medical center in the city.
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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.