The Don's Dangerous Addiction
"Take them off yourself, or I will do it for you."
Ten sessions. Two hundred thousand dollars. Her brother's life for her body.
Dr. Avery St. Clair signed a contract in blood. To save her family, she has to fix the mind of Obsidian City's most feared monster, Dominic Kessler. He's a Mafia Don rotting from the inside out. A bullet gave him C-PTSD and a touch so sensitive he can't stand being touched. Avery is the only antidote who can calm him down. So he locked her in his villa.
But Dominic is playing a game he's already lost.
He doesn't know Avery is the woman from seven years ago. The stranger who saved him on that dark gambling ship and disappeared before sunrise.
He doesn't know the scar on his wrist is burned into her memory.
And most of all, he doesn't know the autistic little girl hiding in her clinic is his own daughter.
While Avery hides the truth behind her professional mask, their little girl feels his every nightmare. Every flashback. Every crack in his monster mask.
When the secrets finally come out, his empire will fall. He'll lose his sight. His throne. The only woman who ever made him feel human.
To win her back, he'll have to destroy the monster he became. And help her burn down the man who murdered her parents.
She won't make it easy.
This is not a love story. It's a monster learning to beg.
Why read this?
Obsessive Mafia Hero
Secret Baby with an Autistic and Gifted Daughter
Identity Reveal
"Touch Her And You Die" Energy
Massive Groveling and Revenge
A Heroine Who Fights Back
No Cheating. Happy Ending Guaranteed.
Chapters
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Chapter 2
Morning light poured through the floor to ceiling windows and spread across the cold grey marble floor. Pale. Like an operating room light.
Avery sat up, her body aching. Her eyes swept the room.
No photos. No plants. No decoration at all. Grey white walls, metal trim. So empty it made her chest tighten.
Last night's memories crashed back. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Sensor lights in the hallway flicked on as she walked, then died behind her. Every door looked the same. Quiet. Endless. Like being sealed off from the world.
At the end of the hall, two black suited guards blocked her way.
"Mr. Kessler said you shouldn't wander around."
Avery stopped. "I need access to Mr. Kessler's complete medical records. I can't make a treatment plan without his full history and medication records. That means going back to my clinic-"
"Anything your clinic has, we have here."
The guard cut her off.
"And any resource Mr. Kessler needs for treatment? We have it here too. Just tell us what you need."
Her fingertips went cold. All the arguments she'd prepared died on her tongue.
After changing, the guards led her to the study.
The study was dim. Dominic leaned back in a leather chair, dark circles under his eyes. A coin turned slowly between his fingers.
When he heard her footsteps, he didn't even look up.
"Come here."
Avery walked over. Her phone sat on the desk, sealed inside a clear plastic bag.
She reached for it. His hand landed on the bag first.
"My caretaker might call the police if she can't reach me."
"The police?" He finally looked up, eyes sliding over her face. "Are you threatening me?"
"Stating a fact."
He stared at her for a few seconds. Then he smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. He tapped the bag lightly with his fingers.
"Fine. You can call." He tilted his chin toward a small black box on the corner of the desk. A red light glowed on it. "Speaker. I want to hear every word."
He leaned back. The coin started spinning again. "After you're done, you're going to tell me why you planted a listening device in my car last night."
The air froze for a heartbeat.
Avery's face didn't change, but her heart dropped. He knew. He'd known all along.
She was silent for three seconds. Then she tore open the bag, turned on speaker, and dialed her caretaker, Kate.
"Avery! Where are you-" Kate's voice cracked, like she'd been crying.
"Kate, listen." Avery cut her off. "I have an urgent project. I'll be gone a few days. Follow Protocol Three for the 'patient.' Tell Julian I'll pay the fees on time."
"Got it, but someone came by today..." Kate lowered her voice. "Said he was your colleague. Asked which school Dorothea goes to. I didn't tell him, but he waited downstairs for a long time before leaving."
Avery's fingers tightened on the phone. "What did he look like?"
"Mask and hat. I couldn't see his face. Avery, I'm scared-"
"Follow the protocol. Don't open the door."
She hung up.
She set the phone down and looked up. Dominic's eyes were on her.
"A child?" His eyes narrowed."I planted the device because my mentor told me to." Avery took a deep breath. "He said your previous treatments all fell through. He needed to know your real condition."
"You think I believe that?"
"You don't have to. But it's the truth."
"Wenger." He repeated the name like he was tasting it. "Your mentor. The one who recommended you to me."
"Yes."
"So he planned to use you as a pawn from the start?"
"I'm not a pawn." Avery's voice steadied.
"I agreed to the listening device because I need to track your progress. A patient who won't cooperate? The best treatment plan in the world is worthless. I need data. Not his trust."
Dominic watched her for a long moment. Then he stood, walked around the desk, and stopped right in front of her.
"Interesting." He tilted his head down, voice low.
"But I don't like being played for a fool. I'll deal with Wenger. As for you-"
He stepped closer.
"The listening device? You owe me one."
Avery didn't move back. "How do I pay it back?"
"You'll find out soon enough." He stepped away. "Now go get ready. First official treatment starts in ten minutes."
He turned toward the door. As he passed her, he paused.
"And by the way. What's Protocol Three?"
Avery didn't answer.
He didn't wait. He pushed the door open and walked out.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, then faded.
Avery stood there, palms slick with cold sweat.
Protocol Three was the last line she'd left for her caretaker. When Dorothea's episodes became uncontrollable, use a strong sedative and lock the door from the outside. The last resort she never wanted to use. The only way to keep her daughter from hurting herself.
But right now, her mind was stuck on something else.
The person in the mask. The one who asked about Dorothea's school.
She turned. Her eyes caught the corner of the desk. The little red light was still on.
Recording.
Every word she'd said since walking in had been recorded. Including the part where she admitted to the listening device.
The door opened again.
Dominic stepped back in, tossed a folder on the desk, and stayed in the doorway.
"You said you need data." He paused.
"That's Wenger's medication and lab records from the last seven years. Look at page thirty eight."
He didn't explain further. He left.
Avery stared at the folder. She walked over and opened it.
Page thirty eight.
Just one black and white photo. Poorly printed. An interior shot of a lab. A row of numbered tags hung on the wall. Her eyes landed on one of them.
030.
Her fingers stopped moving.
030... She'd seen that number somewhere in Julian's records too.
She didn't have time to figure out what it meant. She flipped straight to the last page.
Unlike the others, this page had no photos. Even the table was handwritten. Neat handwriting.
Three columns: Name, Number, Notes.
Her eyes scanned down and stopped on the seventh row.
Avery St. Clair.
She thought she'd misread. She brought the folder closer and looked again.
No mistake. The birthday matched too. That was her.
The Number column was blank. The Notes column had four words: Candidate A.
Next to it, smaller handwriting, darker ink than the rest. Like it had been added later.
"Blood match rate 99.7%. Unique antibody profile. Can neutralize residual compounds in Subject 047. Recommend long term observation. Do not eliminate."
The back of her neck went numb. The numbness crawled down her spine.
Avery stared at those words. A ringing sound filled her ears. Everything in the study felt far away. Only those words stayed, burned into her eyes.
What did all this mean?
She had no idea.
But her hands were already shaking. She didn't notice until the edge of the folder cut her fingertip. A thin red line.
BANG-!
A dull blast ripped through the air. The whole hallway trembled. The floor to ceiling windows cracked with a sound that made her teeth ache. Avery dropped to the ground on instinct, arms over her head.
The folder fell from her hands. The last page flipped face up, pinned under shattered glass.
"Everyone, on guard!"
The ringing drowned out everything.
Red emergency lights flickered on and off. Smoke filled the hallway. Guards shouting. Gunshots. Footsteps. All of it blending together.
A hand reached down from above and grabbed Avery's wrist. The grip was so hard she stumbled forward.
"Get up."
Dominic's voice came from above her. He wasn't looking at her.
He pulled her deeper into the hallway. Avery had no choice but to follow. Her medical bag slipped from her hand. She instinctively tried to look back-
"Leave it."
He pushed open a door at the end of the hall, shoved her inside, and locked it behind him. The room was dark. A storage closet, maybe. The gunfire continued outside, muffled now by the walls.
Avery leaned against the wall, gasping for air. Dominic stood by the door with his back to her, listening.
Her eyes landed on his shoulder blades. His shirt was torn. A shallow cut bled beneath it, still seeping.
"You're hurt."
"A graze."
"I'm a doctor." Avery's voice steadied. "Let me see."
Dominic turned his head and looked at her. Emergency light slipped through the crack in the door, cutting a sharp line across his face.
"You're a psychiatrist."
"I'm an MD. I can handle a minor wound."
She stepped forward. Her knees felt weak, but her fingers didn't shake. She bent down and found the first aid kit in the corner, opened it, and pulled out antiseptic wipes and tweezers. Quick movements. Like she'd done it a thousand times.
Her eyes went back to his wound.
"It's not deep, but there might still be debris inside. If I don't clean it, it'll get infected."
He didn't sit. He just stayed against the wall and turned slightly, exposing the wound.
Avery stepped closer. When the antiseptic touched the cut, Dominic's muscles tensed for a second.
He didn't make a sound. Didn't even change his breathing. But she saw it. His fingers clenched once, then relaxed.
She used the tweezers to pull out a small piece of debris lodged near the surface. Small. Not deep. But when it came out, the blood flowed faster.
She stopped it quickly and bandaged the wound. As the gauze wrapped around his shoulder blade, her fingertips brushed his skin for a moment.
It was hot.
"Done."
She stepped back.
Dominic looked down at the bandaged wound and rolled his shoulder. The gauze didn't shift.
"That bullet," he said. "It was meant for you."
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9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.
9.3
Halie woke up to a sharp pain and a terrifying reality. She was in a new body, her face covered in a hideous web of scars, and her spiritual power reduced to a pathetic D-Class.
Before she could even process the memories of being framed, her bedroom doors were violently kicked open.
Her sister Seraphina sauntered in with a venomous sneer, followed closely by Halie's S-Class fiancé, Jett.
"Look at the disgrace of the Avila family. What a waste," Seraphina mocked, throwing a mirror at her bed.
"I can't be tied to a cripple. As an S-Class, I have to break our engagement," Jett added, his gaze full of disgust.
The nightmare didn't stop there. Her father called, screaming about how she had shamed the family name. He officially stripped her of her inheritance, froze all her accounts, and exiled her to the decaying Southern District to rot.
To make matters worse, a cold, mechanical voice suddenly echoed in her skull, warning her of an impending genetic collapse. Without an immediate energy infusion, she would face total organ failure in thirty days.
A ruined face, a treacherous family, a world that wanted her dead, and a literal death clock ticking in her brain. The original owner had died in absolute despair, a tragic victim of sheer cruelty.
But if they thought she would just sit there and die, they were severely mistaken.
Armed with a mysterious system and her brilliant scientist mind from her past life, Halie packed her bags. She chose the craziest survival quest: head to the slums, find the exiled, sterile S-Class "madman" Coleman, and cure him to harvest his life energy. It was time to start her counterattack.
9.4
My brother and his wife slapped the contract on the table, forcing me to marry Alpha Stone. He was a cruel monster known for breaking his mates' bones, and I was just the price for a new trade route.
Right before I surrendered, the legendary Blackwood Pack arrived. But they didn't offer a glorious rescue. They claimed I was the fated mate of Kaelan, a disgraced, wolfless Omega.
My family laughed in my face, eagerly taking the dowry and throwing me out like garbage. They mocked my miserable future, sending me off to a crumbling shack in the woods. When they later summoned us back to publicly demand a humiliating "tribute" to bleed us dry, they waited for me to break.
"Couldn't handle life in a shack with an Omega? Come crawling back already?" my sister-in-law sneered.
But I refused to let them shame him. I didn't understand why the Moon Goddess gave me an Omega, but Kaelan was kind, giving me the only bed while he slept on the cold floor. Why did my family value a cruel Alpha over a gentle soul? I declared to their faces that his loyal spirit was worth more than any title.
Then, a vicious rogue wolf threatened us at the local market.
My "wolfless" husband stepped in front of me and grabbed the rogue's wrist.
Suddenly, a suffocating, terrifying Alpha King's aura exploded from Kaelan, bringing the rogue to his knees in pure terror.
I stared at my quiet, supposedly weak mate in absolute shock. Who exactly did I marry?
8.5
After surviving years in the Alpha King's brutal prisons, I returned to my pack only to be stripped of my family home and exiled to a rotting cabin.
I accepted the humiliation in silence, until I found a dying baby girl abandoned in a trash-filled alley.
Taking her in awoke the terrifying, protective beast I had kept chained in my mind. The pack, fueled by rumors and a jealous woman's bruised ego, viewed us as abominations. They trespassed on my land to uncover my "dirty secrets," forcing me to build a massive stone fortress with my bare hands just to keep my daughter safe from their cruelty.
We lived in isolated peace for years, until the day I took her outside the walls to visit my parents' graves.
A convoy of royal Alphas arrived, and their Luna fell to her knees at my mother's cousin's grave, weeping and calling her "sister."
I didn't understand. Why was my forgotten family connected to the royals? And why did Cassian Vargan, the most powerful Alpha in the world, freeze in absolute shock the moment he realized who I was?
"You... are you Gideon Stone's son?"
The bloody past I had buried under a mountain of stone had finally found me.
I didn't answer him. I just pulled my daughter behind me and tightly gripped my knife, ready to slaughter a king if he took one more step.
7.6
I woke up to the suffocating smell of copper and sulfur, my fingers wrapped around a blood-soaked leather whip.
Hanging from an obsidian cross in front of me was a boy with silver hair and dead, golden eyes.
His pale chest was torn open to the bone.
I recognized those eyes immediately. I had spent three years describing them on my laptop.
He was Kamari Monroe, the tragic, overpowered protagonist of my own web novel.
And I wasn't just a bystander. I was Benedict Guerrero, the sadistic academy headmaster. The ultimate villain.
A reel of images flashed in my mind: my original ending. Kamari, fully awakened, skinning me alive and burning my soul in a furnace for forty-nine days.
My loyal attack dog, Gideon, stepped forward with a basin of glowing green liquid.
"Headmaster, let me wake him up with this bone-rot acid so you can resume."
If that acid hit Kamari, his hatred would become permanent. My gruesome death would be sealed.
But if I broke character and apologized, the magical world would sense the shift, and Kamari would just think it was a sicker, more twisted trap.
How was I supposed to survive a death sentence I wrote myself?
I couldn't show weakness. I had to play the monster to survive.
Suppressing my terror, I smashed the acid basin, healed his ruined flesh with agonizing dark magic, and lied straight to his face.
"Someone had to be the monster to push you into the fire."
This time, I will rewrite my own fate.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.