The Canary Who Learned To Fly

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him—my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit—watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London—an exile disguised as a severance package—I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

Chapters

Chapter 3

I woke to the sterile sting of antiseptic and the oppressive weight of silence.

There were no flowers brightening the gray room.

No get-well cards lining the windowsill.

There was only the steady, rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor, counting away the seconds of my isolation.

My left leg was encased in a heavy cast, elevated on a sling. My shoulder throbbed beneath thick bandages.

I pressed the call button, my fingers trembling slightly.

A nurse bustled in a moment later. She looked exhausted, her uniform rumpled.

"Where is my family?" I asked, my voice scraping against my dry throat.

Her eyes darted away, avoiding mine.

"Mr. Moretti and your sister are in the VIP suite down the hall," she said, smoothing the sheets unnecessarily. "Miss Vitiello was treated for shock."

Shock.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest, but I choked it down as agony flared in my bruised ribs.

I had broken bones. She had shock.

And they were with her.

"I need pain medication," I rasped.

"The doctor hasn't signed off on the new dose yet," she said apologetically. "He is with your sister right now."

Of course he was.

I waited an hour. The pain in my leg transformed from a dull ache into a throbbing, living thing that gnawed at my sanity.

Finally, the heavy door swung open.

It wasn't the doctor.

It was Dante.

He strode in, his broad shoulders instantly making the small hospital room feel claustrophobic. He didn't look concerned; he looked irritated.

"Isabella is very upset," he said without preamble, his voice clipped.

I stared at him, unable to process the callousness.

"The sign almost killed her," he continued, pacing to the foot of the bed. "She is traumatized."

"It fell on me, Dante," I whispered, the injustice burning hotter than my injuries.

He glanced briefly at my elevated leg, his expression unreadable.

"You have a fracture. You will heal. Isabella is delicate. Her kidneys... stress is poison to her."

He walked to the bedside table and dropped a plastic takeout container onto the metal surface with a loud clatter.

"Mother wants you to eat," he said. "We ordered from the seafood place Isabella likes. She didn't want the shrimp scampi, so she said you could have it."

I stared at the condensation on the lid.

Shrimp.

"I am allergic to shellfish," I said, my gaze snapping back to his.

Dante frowned, a line appearing between his brows.

"Stop lying, Seraphina. Isabella said you love it. She told me you're just being difficult because you want attention."

"I'm allergic," I repeated, panic rising in my chest. "My throat closes up. I can't breathe."

Dante leaned over the bed, invading my personal space. His hands gripped the metal railing with white-knuckled force.

"Isabella is trying to be nice to you after you ruined her evening. You will eat it. Consider it discipline for your attitude."

He popped the lid open. The pungent aroma of garlic and shellfish filled the air, turning my stomach.

"Eat," he ordered.

I looked into his eyes—dark, demanding, and utterly devoid of mercy.

The eyes of the man I had saved.

He was a monster.

Realizing that fighting him would only expend energy I didn't have, I made a calculation. I picked up the plastic fork.

I took a bite.

I swallowed, feeling the slide of it like a stone down my gullet.

Dante watched me for a moment, satisfied that his will had been imposed.

"Good," he said, straightening his suit jacket. "Stop the drama."

He turned on his heel and walked out.

The second the door clicked shut, I dragged myself upright.

Ignoring the screaming pain in my leg, I hopped on one foot to the cramped bathroom.

I shoved my fingers down my throat.

I retched until my stomach was completely empty, until I was dry heaving nothing but bitter bile and saliva.

My hands shook violently as I gripped the porcelain sink.

I splashed cold water on my face, gasping for air.

I needed to get out. I was suffocating.

I found a wheelchair folded in the hallway and managed to collapse into it, wheeling myself away from that room.

I made my way to the hospital courtyard.

It was deserted. A stone fountain bubbled in the center, the water looking black in the moonlight.

I sat there, shivering in my thin, open-backed hospital gown, trying to stabilize my breathing.

"Well, look who it is."

My head snapped up.

Isabella was standing there. She was wearing a luxurious silk robe, looking perfectly, infuriatingly healthy.

She sauntered over to me.

"Dante is so protective, isn't he?" she mused, trailing her manicured fingers through the fountain water.

"He thinks you're the one who saved him," I said quietly, the words hollow.

Isabella smiled. It was a cold, sharp expression that didn't reach her eyes.

"I know," she said.

She leaned in close, her perfume cloying.

"I know about the safe house, Seraphina. I know about the vanilla candles you lit for him. I know about the prayers you whispered."

My breath hitched. She knew everything.

"But he prefers the beautiful lie," she whispered, her voice like venomous silk. "He doesn't want a savior who looks like you. He wants a queen."

She glanced back toward the glass doors of the hospital.

Then she looked at me, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"You really should be more careful," she said.

She stepped back.

Then she lunged.

She didn't push me.

She grabbed my injured arm and yanked me forward.

I lost my balance. The wheelchair tipped violently.

I hit the stone pavers hard. My heavy cast dragged me down, anchoring me to the ground as pain exploded in my shoulder.

Isabella screamed.

It was a performance—a piercing, bloodcurdling shriek of terror.

"Help! Dante! Help me!"

She threw herself backward into the shallow water of the fountain.

She splashed wildly, thrashing as if she were drowning in two feet of water.

The hospital doors burst open.

Dante sprinted into the courtyard, his face a mask of panic.

He saw me on the ground.

He saw Isabella flailing in the water.

He didn't ask questions.

He saw exactly what he expected to see.

The unstable, jealous sister attacking his fragile fiancée.

Continue to next part

I arrived at the hotel with Julian's favorite takeout, ready to surprise my fiancé before our big merger. But the moment I swiped the keycard, the silence of the hallway felt heavy and wrong. Inside, a red-soled stiletto lay on the marble floor-the same one I'd watched my best friend Lila try on at Saks last week. Through the cracked bedroom door, I watched Julian's back arch as Lila looked me straight in the eye and smiled, wrapping her legs tighter around him to mock my heartbreak. I fled to the penthouse to hide, only to find Grafton, Julian's "crippled" brother, waiting in the dark. To my horror, the man who was supposed to be paralyzed stood up from his wheelchair, gripped my chin with cold fingers, and forced me to sign a contract that gave him control of my family's shares. He knew about my mother's secret medical bills and used them to buy my silence, effectively turning my life into a calculated game of corporate chess. The betrayal tasted like acid, and the injustice of it all burned in my throat. My fiancé was a liar, my best friend was a thief, and the man now controlling my fate was a predator who had been faking his disability for years. I couldn't understand how everyone I trusted had turned out to be a monster. I was trapped between a man who cheated on me and a man who wanted to own me, with no way out and no one to turn to. But when Julian came looking for me, Grafton didn't hide; he stood tall, looming over me with a possessive glint in his eyes. "Help me destroy Julian," I rasped, realizing that to survive the Faulkner men, I had to become the most dangerous player of them all.

Horror Mystery Romance

9.1

Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract

9.1

I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash. To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars. I thought it was a clean transaction. But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty. He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me. My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire. Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner. "Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly. His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand. "Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler." They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog. I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain. As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth. But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood. "She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison." They murdered my parents. I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call. Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell.

Billionaire Horror Modern

7.7

Bound To The Ruthless Lycan King

7.7

I fled my werewolf pack five years ago to hide in a human city, all to escape a recurring nightmare. Every full moon, a terrifying, golden-eyed Lycan slaughters everything in his path, forces me to my knees with a crushing Alpha command, and claims I am his fated mate. The vivid dreams were destroying my inner wolf, forcing me to finally agree to return to my pack for the annual Pack Run to seek a cure. But right before my flight home, I accidentally bumped into Rick Miller, the most arrogant, tyrannical Alpha on our college campus. He looked down at the coffee spilled on his expensive leather jacket with pure disdain, publicly humiliating me in front of the entire airport. "Do you have any idea what this jacket costs? Never mind. It's not like you could afford to replace it." As he coldly insulted me, a terrifying realization suddenly froze my blood. He smelled exactly like the ancient pine and storm from my nightmares, and his brief touch sent a mate's electric spark straight to my soul. How could this cruel, spoiled campus bully possibly be the legendary, terrifying Lycan King who haunted my every sleeping moment? As he turned and boarded his private jet, I looked down at my trembling hands and realized the horrifying truth. My trip back to the pack wasn't a journey to heal my trauma. I was walking straight into the cage of the very monster I had spent five years trying to outrun.

Horror Werewolf Young Adult

8.8

My Cruel Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage

8.8

I spun the dial on the hidden wall safe, expecting to find the Glock 19 Aiden insisted I keep. Instead, I found a ledger proving my husband, the Mafia's most feared Enforcer, was funding a secret family with my dead father's money. For seven years, I had been his obedient doll. I cleaned the blood off his knuckles and justified his violence. But the ledger showed he had siphoned my entire inheritance into a trust for a child he had with his brother's wife. When I tried to leave, his mistress framed me as a spy. Aiden didn't ask for proof. He didn't hesitate. He dragged me to a damp warehouse, hooded me, and beat me until my ribs cracked. He left me to rot in the dark, ignoring the diamond bracelet on my wrist—the very one he had gifted me the day before as a symbol of his "ownership." He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die in that basement, a silent collateral of his rage. But he made a fatal mistake. He left me alive. I escaped through a ventilation grate and ran straight to the one man Aiden feared most: his sworn enemy, Jensen Levy. "Make me a weapon," I told him. Two years later, I walked back into Aiden's office. Not as his battered wife, but as the CEO of the corporation that had just bought his empire's debt. He looked at me with horror, realizing the ghost he created had come back to burn him down. "Hello, Aiden," I said, pressing a high-voltage tactical pen against his chest. "You're trespassing."

Horror Modern Romance

8.1

My Shapeshifter Mate:Falling for My Cursed Superior

8.1

His second name is Death. Anyone who tries to get too close to him loses their life. He was cursed with the blood of his dead brother and till he finds the killer of his brother, he's forever bound with the curse. He's avoided like a plague, but he even loves it that way. He's so addicted to solitude and being alone. He is a bloody supernatural being, an unusual wizard. The only child born under Three Red Stars on a gloomy night 25 years ago. The demons fret at the smell of his scent, and evils flee. He has no shadow even in the dark. He is soulless-Orion Alaric, that's his name. The son of Duran Alaric, who owns Mystic Institute, a school for supernatural beings, located deep in the fogs of Mount Delos. Mystic Institute takes in over five hundred disciples yearly, and of the five hundred, Orion was determined to find his brother's killer that year, so he joined the school as a superior. There he sat on his throne, and as expected, she came. Samara Hercules, a whitehead witch who's the exact opposite of everyone around him. Unexpectedly she is not the one he's hunting for, but her white hair reminds him of the killer each time he sets eyes on her and that builds a toxic hatred in him for Samara. He was even ready to get rid of her so he wouldn't have to see her face anymore. Let's stop here.... Now are you ready to jump into the book and see how things go? Will Samara ever escape him and his tortures Will romance ever bloom between these two? Will his curse ever get lifted? Will the real killer ever show up? And are you in for the steamy romance, fights, jealousy, betrayal, and series of dramas between the supernaturals? Demons and dark forces? Join this rollercoaster ride, don't miss out.

Fantasy Horror Romance

7.8

Return From Grave: Reclaiming My Betrayed Heart

7.8

I returned to Boston after three years, not for forgiveness, but to die. My family, who blamed me for my mother's death, had cast me out, replacing me with a quiet, grateful orphan named Gabriela. She stole my father's love, my brother's affection, and my childhood sweetheart, Corey. Now, terminally ill, my only wish was to reclaim my mother's wedding dress, a final piece of her to hold onto. But Gabriela was wearing it to marry Corey. When I confronted her, she destroyed my mother's locket and cursed me to drop dead. In a blind rage, I slapped her. She shrieked, stabbed her own arm, and framed me for the attack. As my family and Corey looked on with disgust, calling me a maniac, my body gave out. I collapsed, coughing up blood, my secret illness revealed in the most brutal way possible. "You always blame me," I gasped, the words bubbling out with blood. "But I was just... dying." Their faces filled with dawning horror, but it was too late. I was already gone. Until I opened my eyes again, and my mother, who had been waiting for me all along, took my hand. "We'll be reborn," she promised, her eyes blazing with fury at the family who had destroyed me. "Together. As mother and daughter, again."

Fantasy Horror Romance

The Canary Who Learned To Fly

Chapter 3

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