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 8
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Before Avery could react, a hand shoved her head down. She was yanked into someone's chest, hard.
The bullet hit the spot where she had been standing. Wall chips scattered everywhere.
She looked up. It was Dominic.
His chin pressed against the top of her head. His gun was already in his hand. He fired at the dark figure on the windowsill.
His arm locked around her waist, so tight it almost crushed her bones. His other hand moved fast to the gun at his hip. In the span of a turn, he had already fired.
The figure grunted. The bullet grazed his arm. He stumbled but didn't back off. He pulled a smoke grenade from his pocket and slammed it to the ground. White smoke billowed everywhere, stinging their eyes.
When the smoke cleared, only a few drops of blood remained on the windowsill. Dr. Greene was gone too.
Avery gasped for air. The sting on her cheek grew sharper.
Dominic looked down at her. "Are you hurt?"
"Just a glass cut."
Her eyes landed on the floor. A small metal pin lay among the glass shards.
She bent down and picked it up.
It was the logo from her parents' lab.
Something that should have disappeared seven years ago.
"What is that?" Dominic's voice came from beside her.
"The logo from my parents' lab." Her voice tightened. "It was all destroyed seven years ago."
Dominic took the pin, looked at it, and put it in his pocket. He pulled out his phone.
"Drake. Track down the figure who just escaped. And take a team to the hospital's underground storage. Get Julian out."
A pause on the other end.
"Boss. We already went to the storage. It's empty. Just a pen and a note. 'If you want Julian, meet at the abandoned pier.'"
"Got it. Get the car ready."
He hung up.
Avery's fingers clenched. That pen was the adult birthday gift she had given Julian. He never went anywhere without it.
She said she was going with him to the pier. Dominic looked at her and said coldly, "Don't slow me down."
The abandoned pier. The air smelled of rust and seawater. Shipping containers formed a maze.
Drake kept his voice low. "Boss. Target is in warehouse three. Six men. Armed."
Warehouse three. The door was open. Inside was dark.
Julian sat on a chair. His hands were tied. Tape covered his mouth. A man stood next to him, his back to them.
"Finally." The man turned around.
Dominic moved half a step in front of Avery.
"Let him go."
The man smiled. "Mr. Kessler. You came alone?"
"My men are outside."
"You brought them, but you won't let them in." He stepped forward. "Because you know that if you start shooting, this woman's brother dies."
Dominic didn't answer. His gun stayed fixed on the man.
"Leave her here." The man looked at Dominic. "You take your people and go. She stays. The kid lives."
"No."
"Then the kid dies here today." He pressed the gun against Julian's temple and looked at Avery. "Your choice."
Avery's fingers tightened.
Dominic lowered his voice, close to her ear. "Don't move."
The man waited a few seconds. He pressed the gun harder. "I'll count to three—"
"Let him go." Dominic's voice cut in. "You want her, not him. He's useless to you."
They stood frozen. Neither moved.
Dominic kept his gun raised.
"Your men are in the warehouse. Mine are outside. You can't get out. Right now, you only have one card to play."
He paused. "But if you play it, you're not getting out either."
The man stared at him. He didn't speak.
Outside the warehouse, footsteps closed in from all sides. Then a gunshot rang out from above. Short. Precise.
The man's wrist took the bullet. The gun flew from his hand and hit the ground.
He grunted. Julian broke free.
Julian stumbled. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud. He didn't cry out. He just pushed himself up and crawled toward Avery with everything he had.
His hands were still tied. He moved on his knees, one push at a time.
Dominic lunged forward, kicked the gun away, and pressed his own against the back of the man's neck.
"Mr. Kessler." The man clutched his wrist and looked up. "You're slower on the trigger than you were seven years ago."
Dominic's finger hesitated.
"Seven years ago on that boat, you weren't like this."
The man glanced at the smoke, then back at Dominic. "Wenger said you were broken. Looks like he was right."
Drake's men flooded in. They pinned the man down.
Dominic holstered his gun. He didn't say anything. His right hand hung at his side. The bandage was completely red.
"Take him away."
Avery knelt beside Julian. She tore the tape off his mouth and cut the ropes.
The moment Julian's hands were free, he started scratching the inside of his left arm. His nails dug into his skin. Avery grabbed his hands. He didn't react. His eyes stared at nothing.
"Let's go." Dominic had already called his men to take Julian. "We'll talk back at the villa."
Back at the villa, Avery helped Julian inside and sat him on the couch.
As soon as his hands were free, he started scratching his left arm again. Avery held him down. He didn't react. His eyes were empty.
Dominic crouched down. He turned Julian's left arm over and looked at it.
The scar wasn't long. Its edges were clean. Not from an accident.
Raised lines marked the surface, like someone had used a fine tool to carve into the skin.
"That's not from a needle," Dominic said, frowning.
"Someone carved it on purpose. Wenger's people like to mark their subjects. 030. That was the project number for your parents' lab subjects."
Avery stared at the scar. Project 030 again.
But she never expected to see it carved into Julian's skin.
Julian's hands slowly stopped. They dropped to his sides. His eyes were still vacant, but his lips moved. No sound came out.
Then Dorothea walked over. She quietly slipped her hand into Julian's.
Julian's fingers twitched. Then they slowly opened.
In his palm was something. Crumpled. Damp. But still whole. A folded piece of paper.
Dorothea looked down at it, then handed the paper to Avery. She didn't say anything.
Avery unfolded it.
It was letterhead from Dr. Greene's office. A line of unfinished writing, the ink messy, like it had been left in a hurry.
"D—the next target isn't her. It's—"
The rest was torn off.
She stared at the line. Her fingers tightened.
Dominic took the paper from her and looked at it. "Greene's handwriting. He ran before he could finish."
"Who's the next target?" Avery's voice wasn't a question.
Dominic didn't answer. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "I'll find out."
He turned and walked quickly toward the study. But Avery noticed him brace himself against the hallway wall. His knuckles went white. Then he let go just as fast.
Julian fell asleep. The doctor gave him a sedative.
Avery sat on the couch, clutching the pin in her hand. Her mind was a mess.
She thought about everything at the warehouse. The scar on Julian's arm. The fire that killed her parents.
A crackling sound filled her ears. Flames.
Smoke poured through the crack in the door. Her father stood in front of her. His mouth moved. She couldn't hear what he said.
She curled up in the corner of the couch, holding her head. Her whole body shook.
A sharp clink came from the coffee table.
Dominic had set a glass of water in front of her. He crouched down so his eyes were level with hers.
"Done crying?"
She didn't answer. Tears were still on her face.
"Wenger is still out there. The truth about your parents is still buried." He looked at her. "You're just going to curl up here and cry?"
"I've been carrying Wenger's drug, watching his backer, for three years without breaking. What about you?"
Avery looked at him. His eyes were cold. No warmth at all. But the hand at his side was clenched into a tight fist.
She picked up the glass and took a sip.
"I'm not wallowing." Her voice was still hoarse. "But you're right. I have people to protect."
Dominic stood up. He gave a small nod.
Avery stood too. She looked at the bandage on his hand.
"Tomorrow, we start real treatment. We're throwing out Wenger's methods. We do it my way. No toughing it out. No stopping the meds."
He looked at her. "Fine. Your way."
He paused. "We're even."
Avery looked at him and smiled. "Even."
Just then, the doctor walked down the stairs. He held a lab report in his hand.
"There are traces of a neuro inhibitor in the patient's blood. Not standard medication. The kind that interferes with short term memory and subtly controls behavior. This doesn't look like normal treatment. It looks like the continuation of a long term experiment."
Dominic looked at Avery. "Is this connected to what Wenger gave me?"
"The ingredients are similar, but this one is more targeted. Designed specifically for adolescent nervous systems."
After the doctor left, Avery opened the USB drive. She pulled up the numbered list.
"You're 047. Julian is 030. I'm Candidate A," she said.
"I've been going through my parents' records these past few days. This project started as legitimate research. Trauma intervention for C-PTSD. It could have saved so many people."
She paused.
"But someone turned it into something else. Wenger was just the executor. The person behind him wants the experiment to continue."
Dominic looked at the screen. He didn't say anything.
"They don't want a treatment plan," he said. "They want a tool to control people."
Just then, a noise came from upstairs.
Avery ran up and pushed the door open. Dorothea sat on the carpet, drawing. Nothing seemed wrong.
But the drawing showed a long, narrow hallway. At the end, a closed door. A star shaped mark sat on the door.
Next to it, a string of numbers. 030.
"Dorothea. What are you drawing?"
Dorothea looked up. Her eyes didn't blink.
"Mommy. When 030 doesn't behave, he gets locked up."
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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.