The Blind Don's Unwanted Ghost Wife
I died on a filthy bed in a back-alley clinic.
I willingly sacrificed my own corneas so the Mafia man I loved could see the light of day again.
But my soul was forced to stay behind, watching another woman claim my sacrifice as her own.
Dante reclaimed his throne as the Mafia boss. Believing the lie that I had abandoned him, he unleashed his vengeance upon my family.
"Where the hell is she hiding?"
He shattered my brother's hands and drove my mother to her death. He absolutely refused to believe the fact that I was already dead, convinced instead that I was just cowering from his wrath.
It wasn't until my medical records were thrown right in his face that Dante finally realized whose eyes he was using to look at the world.
The truth drove him completely insane.
He burned the whole world down just to beg for my forgiveness.
"Gianna, please wait for me!"
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Chapter 2
Gianna's POV
"No!" Leo screamed. "You can't do this!"
The moment the metal jaws clamped down on Leo's pinky finger, the sound of snapping like a dry twig echoed in the damp air.
Leo's agonized scream tore through the silence of the warehouse.
Dante didn't even blink. He squatted beside my brother, his polished dress shoes stepping right into the pool of blood. "Leo, tell me where she is, and this ends right now."
Leo curled up on the concrete floor, sweat and blood dripping from his forehead. He lifted his head, his lips trembling: "Gianna... is already dead."
Dante stood up abruptly. He loosened his dark silk tie, twirling the heavy steel pliers in his hand.
"Your sister is a traitor." He gritted his teeth, enunciating every word. "She isn't worth protecting, Leo."
Leo's breath caught in his throat.
Dante turned and jutted his chin toward his lead soldier: "Break every single one of his pinky fingers. One by one."
The soldier stepped forward, pinning Leo to the ground with a heavy boot on his left hand. The steel pliers clamped onto the pinky and twisted.
Leo's screams dissolved into choking sobs.
Dante looked down at him, a cold smirk playing on his lips: "Didn't you love painting, Leo? Let's see what kind of art you can create with these hands."
I lunged at the soldier's arm. But my fingers phased right through his rough sleeve.
No leverage. No sensation. I couldn't even make the faintest sound.
All I could do was weep and wail, entirely powerless.
The soldier snapped the second finger.
Leo's eyes rolled back; the excruciating pain pushed him to the brink of fainting. He lay trembling on the floor, barely conscious, but his lips were still moving: "Gianna... is already dead..."
Dante crouched down, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked his face up: "Playing tough? Fine."
He let go, letting Leo's head slam heavily against the concrete. Then he stood up and clapped his hands.
The sharp sound of applause echoed through the warehouse.
The metal doors of the warehouse slid open.
Several burly soldiers dragged my mother into the blood-stained room.
Rosa stumbled, her eyes wide with terror.
Leo's eyes widened. He struggled on the floor, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible: "Don't touch her—"
A soldier raised his hand and slapped Rosa hard across the face. The muffled, sickening sound hung in the air.
Rosa steadied herself, her chest heaving.
When she saw Leo's mangled hands, she shrieked: "Leo!"
Then she turned her head, fixing her bloodshot eyes on Dante, her voice raspy: "You're going to rot in hell, Dante. You will definitely go to hell."
Dante closed the distance between them in two strides.
He grabbed Rosa by her graying hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him.
"Where is she?" he asked, his tone terrifyingly calm. "Give me her location, and I'll let your son walk out of those doors alive."
Rosa stared right back at him, refusing to yield even in the face of death.
She swallowed hard, her voice rough but crystal clear: "She is gone, Dante. Gianna is dead."
Dante's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked beneath his skin.
He released her hair and turned to Leo.
He waved a hand at his men: "Bring the metal pipe."
Rosa's body swayed. She watched the soldier pick up the heavy metal pipe, watched them walk toward Leo.
Her eyes rolled back, and she passed out. She collapsed onto the cold floor like a discarded ragdoll.
Dante looked down at her, his face filled with disgust. He kicked her, rolling her over, and muttered a low curse: "Useless trash."
He walked past Leo, his polished shoes stepping over the pooling blood. He casually kicked my brother's battered body, treating him like a stray dog on the street.
"I'll make you pay, Gianna," he said to the empty warehouse, his voice dark. "The price for playing me."
Just then, a soldier rushed into the room.
Holding a ringing cell phone, he stopped in front of Dante, panting heavily: "Boss, a call from Miss Francesca."
Dante's expression shifted instantly.
In that split second, all the ferocity vanished from his face. He took the phone, his voice dropping, almost gentle: "Frankie?"
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9.3
THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE MONSTER.
Five years ago, Julian Thorne was the golden heir to London's most powerful banking dynasty. Then, his own brother paid to have him murdered.
The world mourned. The family moved on. And his brother claimed everything Julian left behind-including Isolde Sterling, the icy, breathtaking heiress to the shipping empire.
But Julian didn't die. He survived hell, forged in the brutal underground fighting pits of the East, and now... the ghost has returned home.
He crashes his brother's engagement party with a scar on his face, violence in his veins, and a single vow: Burn it all down.
He will strip his family of their fortune. He will expose the dark conspiracy that rules the city. But his sweetest revenge? Stealing the bride.
Isolde knows she should run. The man who returned is a predator-cold, lethal, and terrifyingly seductive. But when he looks at her with those dark, possessive eyes, she realizes the terrifying truth: she doesn't want to be saved. She wants to burn with him.
Revenge is a dish best served hot.
8.2
I hovered in the corner of the damp Runt Quarters, powerless as a ghost, watching my five-year-old daughter take her last breath.
She died of a fever that a simple medicine could have cured.
But my husband, Alpha Elroy, refused to pay for it. He was too busy dining with his mistress to waste resources on a "runt."
When he finally arrived, there were no tears.
He picked up my daughter’s small body like a bag of trash and tossed her into the incineration pit meant for criminals.
"Stop hiding, Annis!" he roared at the empty woods, thinking I was alive and watching. "Your trick didn't work. The runt is dead."
I screamed at him, clawing at his suit, but my hands passed right through him.
Days later, his mistress gave birth to a son. But the baby was born with a fractured soul, dying.
The doctor said only a bone marrow graft from the White Wolf bloodline could save him.
Elroy didn't hesitate. He looked toward the incineration pit.
"Retrieve the girl's body," he commanded his warriors. "Her bones will save the future Alpha."
He intended to butcher our daughter's corpse to save his illegitimate child.
Enraged, he hunted down the Rogue who had secretly stolen Emma's body before it could burn.
"Give me the body!" Elroy demanded. "And tell Annis to stop spoofing her credit cards in Europe and show her face!"
The Rogue looked at him with cold pity and threw a coroner's report at his chest.
"Annis isn't in Europe, Elroy."
"She has been rotting in a shallow grave for six months. Your mistress paid for the bullet."
8.1
I spent forty hours hand-beading a gown for a woman who was currently sleeping with my husband. My fingers were raw, my vision blurred, and the needle had just driven deep into my index finger, leaving a drop of blood on the silk.
Braxton walked into our penthouse, rain dripping from his suit, and didn't even look at me. But the scent hit me instantly—Bulgarian rose and white musk. It was the custom perfume Griselda, my own sister, commissioned in Paris.
I had spent three years as a ghost in my own marriage, sewing costumes for the woman who had haunted my vows since day one. Braxton didn't bother to hide it anymore; there was a smudge of her coral lipstick on his collar. He didn't offer an explanation, only a command to finish the gown for the Met Gala so I wouldn't embarrass them.
My mother called moments later, her voice sharp with the usual dismissal. She didn't care that I was bleeding or that my husband was cheating with my sister. She only cared that I was "falling behind" on Griselda's gown.
I sat in the silence of that cold, marble cage, staring at the needle in my hand. For years, I had swallowed every insult and stitched every lie, believing I was the capable one who had to make them happy.
But as the clock ticked, a door inside me finally clicked shut. I wasn't just tired; I was finished. I set the needle down, picked up my phone, and dialed my sister’s number to tell her she’d have to find someone else to bleed for her.
8.3
When Eli is forced to enroll at Blackwood Academy, he thinks it is just another remote boarding school. But on his first night, he realizes the terrifying truth.
This school is a prison.
Trapped in endless, deadly time loops, students are forced to complete cruel, supernatural trials. Ghosts, cursed hallways, hidden rules, and unspeakable creatures hunt them after dark. The only way to stay alive is to solve mysteries, earn credits, and obey the academy's twisted commands.
No one remembers how they arrived.
No one has ever graduated.
No one leaves alive.
Eli must team up with other desperate students to uncover the academy's century-old secret. If they fail, they will be trapped in the nightmare forever.
At Blackwood Academy, survival is the only exam.
8.7
I make my living binding monsters to their promises. But Silas Malphas is the one monster I never should have touched.
As a Thread-Binder, I can see the glowing, invisible strings of loyalty, debt, and lies connecting everyone in the city's supernatural underworld. It makes me the ultimate contract lawyer-and the perfect infiltrator.
My mission is simple: secure a job in the inner circle of the House of Malphas, the city's most ruthless monster syndicate, and steal the Primal Ledger from their lethal heir.
Silas Malphas commands the shadows themselves. He is arrogant, dominant, and terrifyingly elegant. But the most dangerous thing about him isn't his power-it's that when I look at him, I see *nothing*. He is a void in the magical spectrum. No debts. No loyalties. He is completely unreadable.
I was supposed to betray him. But as I am dragged deeper into his golden cage of high-stakes negotiations and blood-soaked boardroom politics, the lines between my mission and my dark attraction to the Beast begin to blur.
When a rival faction launches a deadly coup and my cover is blown, I am left with a terrifying choice. To survive the night, I must forge a blood-oath contract with the very monster I was sent to destroy.
I'm no longer just his lawyer. I'm bound to the Beast.
8.3
My cousin Hailey paid a dock worker to assault me just to ruin my engagement.
To survive the military-grade aphrodisiac she poisoned me with, I stumbled into a walk-in freezer and threw myself onto the only source of cold I could find-a man paralyzed by unnatural hypothermia.
It was a desperate, primal exchange of my heat for his ice just to keep my heart from stopping.
But when Hailey threw open the heavy iron door, leading my fiancé and the entire Bolton family to witness my "shame," her triumphant grin instantly vanished.
She hadn't caught me with a low-life thug.
She had caught me straddling Demetrius Maddox, the ruthless Iron King of Chicago.
The air in the room dropped to absolute zero. My grandmother screamed in horror, and my father turned the color of ash.
Hailey, blinded by jealousy, tried to double down. She pointed a manicured finger at the deadliest man in the city and called him a "nameless muscle" I picked up to defile the family name.
She didn't realize she had just signed her own death warrant.
I didn't cower. I realized this was the only chance to survive the family that wanted me dead.
I walked up to the Devil himself, my body still humming with the poison, and looked him in the eye.
"Kill me, and the cold inside you wins," I whispered, knowing he was dying from the inverse of my own poison. "I am the only doctor who knows how to cure you."
Demetrius tightened his hand around my throat, his dark eyes assessing my worth.
"Prove it," he growled.
I turned back to my trembling cousin and signaled the enforcer to hand me the whip.