
The Betrayed Princess's New Reign
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."
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Chapter 50
Elena Vitiello POV:
"Sofia."
The grey van hit the plaza curb with a violent, metal-crunching slam. It didn't slow down. It launched into the air for a split second before slamming back onto the paving stones, acting like a missile fired directly at me.
Through the shattered windshield, I saw Sofia. Her burned, centipede-like scar stretched tight as she mashed the accelerator to the floor. She was laughing—a wide, manic, soundless scream of pure insanity.
She wasn't afraid of dying. The fear had been entirely consumed by her hatred for me.
My guards reacted instantly. A barrage of gunfire erupted.
Bullets shattered the van's windshield, spider-webbing the glass into a million pieces. I saw a red mist spray inside the cabin as a bullet tore through Sofia’s shoulder.
She didn't even flinch. Her foot stayed pinned to the gas pedal.
I stood frozen on the steps, my brain calculating the distance and speed. She was going to hit the stairs.
In a fraction of a second, Dante’s chief driver inside the Rolls Royce slammed his foot on the gas and cranked the steering wheel hard.
The massive, heavily armored luxury car lurched forward. The tires shrieked against the stone. With a flawless, aggressive drift, the Rolls Royce slid sideways, parking parallel right at the base of the stairs.
It formed an impenetrable wall of military-grade steel between me and the incoming van.
Sofia saw the black wall of the Rolls Royce block her path. Her eyes widened in absolute, furious despair.
She knew the physics. If she hit the armored Rolls Royce, her cheap van would crumple like an aluminum can, and I wouldn't even feel the vibration.
In that split second of realization, her manic eyes darted to the right.
She saw Luca and Matteo.
They were still lying in the freezing mud, exactly where the water cannon had blasted them.
I saw the exact moment Sofia’s hatred pivoted. Luca had used her, abandoned her, and thrown her to the wolves in Chicago. If she couldn't kill me, she was going to drag the men who ruined her straight to hell.
Sofia yanked the steering wheel violently to the right.
The van’s bald tires lost all traction on the wet, mud-slicked stones. The heavy vehicle went into a massive, uncontrolled slide, its trajectory shifting directly toward the two men on the ground.
Luca lay paralyzed in the mud. He looked up. His eyes bulged out of his skull as the massive grill of the van filled his vision.
He tried to scramble backward, but his broken ribs made his body completely useless. He just lay there, screaming soundlessly.
Matteo dug his fingernails into the cracks of the paving stones, trying to drag his one-legged body out of the way.
It was too late.
The van’s front bumper slammed into Matteo’s back first.
A sickening, wet *crunch* echoed over the roar of the engine. Matteo was instantly sucked underneath the chassis, his body rolling beneath the spinning tires.
A millisecond later, the center of the grill struck Luca.
The impact launched Luca’s body into the air like a broken ragdoll. He flew backward, his head slamming with a horrific, hollow *thud* against the sharp edge of the stone steps.
The van rolled over Matteo’s legs and completely lost control.
It veered sharply and plowed headfirst into the massive, solid stone pillar in the center of the plaza.
The impact was catastrophic. The van’s engine block folded inward, metal shrieking and tearing. A shower of bright orange sparks erupted from the crushed hood.
The sheer kinetic force ejected Sofia through the remaining shards of the windshield. Her body slammed into the stone pillar and dropped to the ground like a sack of wet cement.
Inside the crushed cabin, the violent impact triggered the crude blasting caps taped to the steering wheel.
A blinding, white-hot flash of light erupted from the center of the van.
Then came the boom.
A massive fireball expanded outward, vaporizing the rain and mud. A shockwave of pure force ripped through the plaza, tearing streetlamps from their bolts and turning the crushed rose petals into burning shrapnel.
Before the heat could even touch my face, my guard captain tackled me hard to the stone floor, pinning me safely behind the thick steel chassis of the Rolls Royce.
The deafening roar stripped away all hearing, the world burning in fire.
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8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."

9.3
She sells flowers. He spills blood. And he will stop at nothing to make her his. Elena Rossi has always lived quietly among roses and lilies, dreaming of love as gentle as the petals she arranges. She thought she found it in Daniel, the man she planned to marry. Until her wedding day when a dangerous stranger walked into the church and shattered everything. Adrian Volkov is a king in the underworld, a man feared for his ruthlessness and power. But to him, Elena is not just a prize. She is an obsession. A storm he cannot live without. And he will burn the world and anyone in it, to claim her. Torn from the life she knew, Elena resists him, manipulates him, and even runs from him. But Adrian is relentless. His love is dark, his touch both punishing and tender, and his obsession inescapable. When betrayal and bloodshed close in, Elena must face the truth: She doesn't just fear him. She doesn't just hate him. She loves him. Petals and Blood is a haunting, passionate tale of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous kind of love that blooms in shadows.

8.0
"IS IT TRUE?" Grayson's voice thundered through the room.
"Yes!" Tessa said softly. "Yes it is!"
"So you've been cheating on me, haven't you?" He spat.
Her hands trembled. "No, I swear, it's not like that."
He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her wrist as she squealed in pain.
"Then whose baby are you carrying, huh?" His voice was ice cold.
Tessa shivered, tears blurring her vision.
"I don't know."
**********
Pregnant with the powerful Roman Blackwood's child, while engaged to his unstable stepbrother - Tessa Quinn becomes the key to a ruthless inheritance war where love has no place.
As secrets unravel and danger closes in, Tessa must protect her unborn child while trapped between love, vengeance, and men who want to own her fate.

9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.

8.0
For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world.
But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle.
The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch.
When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son.
"Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing.
And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down.
I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile.
The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe.
It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.

9.0
My father was dying in the ICU, and our family company, the Martin Group, was on the verge of total collapse.
While I was desperately trying to sign the consent form for his life-saving surgery, my fiancé, Eston, sent me a text.
"I told you not to be stubborn. The company is mine by Friday. Beg me, and I might pay for the funeral."
He had been secretly looting my family's assets from the inside, waiting for me to break so he could steal everything. He thought I would crawl back to him in absolute despair, surrendering my father's legacy just to survive. The sheer weight of my helplessness crushed my chest as the heart monitor next to my father's bed let out a frantic, high-pitched scream.
The betrayal tore through me, but the despair quickly hardened into a cold, sharp stone.
Why should I let the man who ruined me dance on my family's grave? Why should I let him walk away with everything while I lost the only family I had left?
I wiped away my tears and blocked his number permanently.
Then, I stepped out into the freezing Manhattan rain and went straight to the top floor of the Maxwell building.
I threw my remaining shares onto the desk of Ellwood Maxwell—the apex predator of Wall Street, and Eston's untouchable, ruthless uncle.
"I want you to marry me," Ellwood said, pushing a marriage contract toward me. "That is the only way your company survives."
I picked up the pen. If Eston wanted to destroy my life, I would become his aunt and make him bow.