Follow
Chapters
Share
The Doctor's Return

The Doctor's Return

They call Dante Moretti the ruthless and heartless mafia boss. Seven years ago, he made a deal with Elara Vance. But he used her, broke her, and planned to send her to a medical facility after she produces an heir. Scared for her life, Elara ran away. Now, an entirely different person has returned to New York. She doesn't want his money, and she certainly doesn't want his heart, unless it's on her operating table. The girl he destroyed is dead. The woman who replaced her is the only one who can keep him alive. He's dying for a second chance, but he's just waiting for the first cut.
Chapters
Share

Chapter 1

"Elara." I jumped, nearly dropping a tray of vials. Dr. Aris stood in the doorway. He wasn't supposed to be here until eight. "Dr. Aris?" "I need you to run an errand," he said while fidgeting with a black folder. "Some materials need to be picked up from a private courier. It's downtown." I paused, wiping my hands on my apron. My back ached, and my legs felt heavy. "Doctor, I'm in the middle of the blood panels for the oncology study. Picking up materials isn't in my job description. That's for the logistics team." Aris stepped into the room, finally looking at me. "The logistics team isn't cleared for this. I need someone I trust. Someone discreet." "I'm exhausted," I said flatly. "I've been on my feet for sixteen hours. I'll do it, but only if it's overtime. Double pay for the hours I'm off-site, plus a voucher for the subway back." He nodded quickly. "Fine, no problem. Don't worry about the subway. There's a car waiting outside the east exit. They'll bring you back when you're done." That was the first red flag. Aris was usually stingy enough to count the number of latex gloves we used. For him to agree to double pay without an argument meant he was desperate, or someone else was footing the bill. I stripped off my lab coat, grabbed my bag, and headed for the exit. The car was a black sedan with tinted windows.  Two men sat in the front. They were wearing identical black suits and sunglasses, despite the sun not being up yet. They didn't speak when I approached. One of them simply unlocked the back door. I hesitated. New York had taught me to be suspicious of everything that felt too easy. But then I thought about the notice I'd received yesterday morning, the one informing me that my tuition payment was overdue and my student account would be frozen in forty-eight hours. Aris wouldn't set me up to be kidnapped. He needed me for the lab work too much. So, I got in. The car pulled up in front of a heavy steel door with no signage. I knew this place. It was an elite private club, the kind where the membership fee cost more than my four-year degree. "Out," the driver said. It was the first word anyone had spoken. "This isn't a courier office," I said, my heart beginning to thud against my ribs. "What is this?" "Go inside, Ms. Vance. You're expected." The second man got out and stood by my door, gesturing toward the entrance. His posture told me that getting back in the car wasn't an option. I walked toward the door. It opened before I could touch the handle. The two men led me down a hallway and opened a set of double doors. The room was large, and a man was seated at the center. He was tall, even while sitting, dressed in a black tuxedo. He had dark hair pushed back from a face that looked like it had been carved out of stone. He didn't smile. He didn't even look like he breathed. I sat down in the chair across from him because my knees were starting to shake. I needed to appear stable. He didn't introduce himself or even offer a drink. Rude. He simply reached into a leather briefcase and pushed a thick stack of documents across the table towards me. "I am going to pay off your medical school debt," he said. His voice was low. "Every cent. I will also buy you a medical practice in any city you choose, and I will deposit ten million dollars into a private account in your name." I stared at him. The silence in the room was absolute. Then, a laugh escaped my mouth. I couldn't help it. It was the most absurd thing I had ever heard. "Is this a joke? Is there a camera hidden in the wall?" The man didn't react to my laughter at all. The room remained silent, heavy and suffocating. My laughter died instantly. I realized he wasn't waiting for a punchline. "What's the catch?" I asked, clearing my throat."Nobody gives away ten million dollars for free." "You will marry me," he said with absolute certainty. I laughed again, unsure if this was all a prank. "Wait, you're serious?" "You will live in my home. And you will give me a male heir within one year of my next birthday. Once the child is born, you receive your final payment and your freedom." I leaned back, trying to process the madness."You don't even know me. You picked a random lab assistant out of a university basement to carry your child? What happened to strippers or girls in your world?" "I don't do anything at random, Elara," he said."I requested a survey to be sent out to all students in your school, and you were among the few that met all criteria. I told your employer I needed time to speak with you, hence the lie." I looked down at the papers, a contract. Ten million dollars, my debt wiped clean, and a future where I didn't have to choose between a subway fare and a sandwich. I looked at his face again. He was cold, yes, but he looked trustworthy. "All you need is a son?" I asked. He nodded. "Yes. After that, our business is concluded." I thought about my dorm room with the leaking ceiling, the six-figure loan on my shoulders that would take thirty years to pay off and the fact that I was completely alone in the world. If I disappeared tomorrow, nobody would even notice until my shift started at the lab. This was dangerous. I knew that. But poverty was its own kind of danger, one that was currently killing me by inches. At least this way, there was a finish line. "Is the contract binding?" I asked. "Legally enforceable?" "My lawyers ensured it," he said. I picked up the pen sitting on top of the documents. This was the only way out of the life I was living. I signed my name on the bottom line of every page, right next to his. Dante Moretti.

You may also like

Her Revenge Her Temptation
9.4
Lucy is a cheerful human princess who enjoyed her peaceful life at the palace but mainly on the busty village streets. What will happen when she sneaks out as usual, only to return and find out her father had been defeated by an unknown man will her life change for good or bad or gray as she tries to get back her father's throne even if it meant staying under the enemy's nose. will she take her revenge or fall for the one person who has ruined her father. she has to make up her mind between following her heart or be blinded by a false revenge.
STOLEN MOANS
9.4
⚠️ MATURITY WARNING [RESTRICTED: 18+] This novel is strictly intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains explicit sexual content, high-intensity erotica, themes of psychological manipulation, dominance, and dark emotional narratives. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18. "I didn't want to talk, Julian. I wanted to feel-and now, I want you to watch." They called her the Ice Queen-until the man she loved melted her world into a puddle of betrayal. Now, the ice has turned into a tidal wave of raw, vengeful heat. From the moment she guides her ex's best friend into her "jagged ruin" of a heart, the game begins. It's a descent into a world of gold-leafed brothels, secret Parisian protocols, and a global syndicate that audits the soul through the skin. She is no longer looking for love; she is looking for friction. She is building a cathedral of hedonism where kings abdicate for a touch and empires fall for a climax. But as the "New King" Dante Vane and the Matriarchs of the Council close in, she must decide: Is she the master of the Lust Palace, or just its most exquisite prisoner? Vengeance is a dish best served wet.
The Bratva's Bride.
8.6
After five brutal years of war between the Italian La Famiglia De Luca and the Mexican La Mano Roja, Capo Ivan De Luca seeks a desperate alliance with Russia's feared Bratva, led by the ruthless Pakhan Sergei Morozov. The Pakhan agrees-but demands a price: a marriage between his heir, Mikhail Morozov, and one of Ivan's daughters. Reluctantly, Ivan accepts, knowing the union could save his famiglia. Mikhail, a half-Russian, half-Cuban heir forged in violence, believes emotion is weakness and mercy a sin. Donatella De Luca, Ivan's sharp-tongued and fearless second daughter, is the last woman who'd bow to any man-least of all a Bratva heir. When Sergei chooses Donatella as the bride, a dangerous game of loyalty, power, and forbidden attraction begins. As war brews and alliances shift, Donatella must decide if she can survive Mikhail's cold world-or melt the heart of the devil himself.
The last lust before divorce
8.7
Sign the papers, Silas. We had a deal." "The deal was for one last night, Elena. And I'm not finished with you yet." ​Elena spent three years as Silas Thorne's perfect, silent doll. He didn't marry her for love; he married her to settle a debt, treating her body as his personal playground and her heart as an afterthought. ​Now, the divorce papers are on the bed, but Silas demands a final, grueling price for her freedom. One night of total, erotic surrender. Elena endures his touch, counting the seconds until she can walk away from his toxic obsession forever. ​But freedom is a lie. ​As Elena steps out into the rain, a black Rolls Royce stops her in her tracks. Out steps Dante Vane-a man more powerful, more dangerous, and infinitely more dominant than the husband she just left. ​"Your time with her is up, Thorne. She belongs to me now." ​Caught between a husband who won't let go and a mysterious titan who just "bought" her life, Elena realizes she hasn't escaped the fire-she's just stepped into a much hotter flame. ​Silas used her for pleasure. Dante wants her for everything.or will she use these obssesive powerful man for revenge
The Masked Princess Bound To The King She Hates
8.2
Princess Ella walks down the aisle to marry the man who destroyed her life. Behind her mask lies a secret powerful enough to bring a kingdom to its knees-and a revenge plan years in the making. To the world, she is a quiet and obedient queen. In truth, she is a survivor who has come to finish what war began. But King Augustine is not a man easily deceived. Cold, intelligent, and dangerously observant, he quickly realizes his new bride is hiding more than she shows. Instead of exposing her, he watches... waits... and begins a silent game where every glance, every word, and every move becomes a test. As tension builds inside the palace, a survivor from Ella's past arrives-someone who can reveal her identity and destroy everything she has planned. Now trapped between revenge and survival, Ella must decide how far she is willing to go. Because in a marriage built on lies, one truth could ruin them both- or bring them closer than either ever intended.
The Mute Wife's Silent Revenge
9.7
I haven't spoken a word in three years. As a professional art restorer, I spent my days fixing seventeenth-century Dutch oils and playing the role of the perfect, silent wife to billionaire Arno Rutledge. I thought our marriage was a cold but stable arrangement, a gilded cage I had accepted to keep my father’s medical bills paid. That illusion shattered when I found a VIP hospital pass in Arno's suit pocket. Following the trail, I discovered my husband was keeping a woman named Serena on life support in a restricted wing. He wasn't just paying for her care; he was micromanaging her vitals from a tablet like a volatile stock portfolio, obsessed with controlling her every breath while lying to me about late-night board meetings. When I confronted him at the hospital, the mask of the refined businessman slipped. He didn't offer an apology; he offered a violent shove. I crashed into a glass display case, the shards slicing deep into my dominant hand—the hand I used to restore history. As blood pulsed onto the white tiles, Arno didn't even look back. He was too busy cradling the other woman’s hand, leaving me to stitch my own mangled flesh together with industrial glue in a public restroom. Back at the penthouse, the nightmare only escalated. When I tried to pack my bags, Arno froze my bank accounts and reminded me that he controlled the ventilator keeping my father alive. He dragged me into my studio, snapped my custom sable brushes in front of my face, and forced himself on me atop my own workbench. "You’re an asset, Edlyn," he whispered against my skin. "And right now, you’re underperforming." He told me that since my hands were now "broken equipment," I had to find other ways to compensate for my lack of value. He thought he had successfully liquidated my soul, leaving me a hollow shell trapped in his high-rise fortress. But Arno made one fatal mistake. He thinks because I am mute, I am also blind. He thinks because he broke my hand, I have lost my touch. He doesn't realize that a restorer’s greatest skill isn't her hands—it's her ability to see the hidden rot beneath the surface. He wants to treat me like a line item on a balance sheet? Fine. I’m about to show him exactly what happens when an asset decides to set the entire portfolio on fire.