The Fake Mute's Spectacular Revenge Game
Madeline slammed the prenuptial agreement onto the table, forcing Danielle to sign herself away as a "blood bag" bride.
To secure her mother's safety, Danielle was sold to the ruthless, comatose billionaire Deforest Stuart. She kept her head down, perfectly playing the role of a terrified, broken mute.
But on her wedding night, Deforest's sister set a vicious trap, dragging Danielle to a hotel to be ruined by a sleazy investor.
Danielle was prepared to escape, but the hotel door was suddenly smashed open by a massive figure.
It wasn't the investor. It was her comatose husband, Deforest, temporarily awakened by a violent, drug-induced rage.
In the pitch-black room, he pinned her down, mistaking her scent for a ghost from his past, and violently claimed her.
She fled before dawn, only to be blinded by camera flashes.
His sister dragged her back to the Stuart manor, ripping her collar open under the chandelier to expose the dark hickeys on her neck.
"Throw this shameless whore out into the street!" the matriarch ordered.
Danielle's eyes grew cold. If they kicked her out now, her years of planning to tear this rotten family apart would be completely destroyed.
No one believed that the monster who assaulted her was the very man lying perfectly still in the medical wing.
Playing the frantic mute, Danielle dragged the family to his bedroom.
Right as the guards reached for her, she launched herself onto the bed, crushing her weight directly onto Deforest's chest.
A second later, the "comatose" tyrant's eyes snapped open with murderous rage, and her real game of revenge finally began.
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Chapter 5
Out in the hallway, Deforest yanked aggressively at the collar of his black shirt, popping the top two buttons. His skin was flushed, radiating an unnatural heat.
Zane, his business partner, gripped Deforest's bicep, trying to keep him upright. "You just woke from a coma, Deforest. Chugging half a bottle of whiskey at the club was a terrible idea."
The alcohol was reacting violently with the heavy sedatives still lingering in Deforest's bloodstream. His vision blurred, the edges of the hallway doubling and overlapping. His head pounded with a vicious, rhythmic ache.
Deforest shoved Zane's hand away. He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a sleek, metal hotel black card.
He slapped the card against the sensor of room 1802.
The card reader flashed green. A long, high-pitched beep sounded. A heavy clunk sounded from the door as the master override electronically retracted the deadbolt. Deforest shoved his heavy shoulder violently against the wood, his brute force snapping the secondary security latch right off its hinges.
Deforest pushed the heavy wooden door open. He stumbled over the threshold into the pitch-black suite.
"Just sleep it off, man," Zane called out from the hallway, pulling the door shut behind Deforest.
The heavy door clicked shut. The suite plunged into total, suffocating darkness.
Behind the bathroom door, Danielle's heart hammered against her ribs. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sharp, metal eyebrow razor. She gripped it tightly, the cold metal biting into her palm.
In the living room, Deforest took a heavy step forward. His foot caught the edge of a heavy armchair. He let out a low, painful grunt, his knee buckling slightly.
He navigated purely by instinct, moving toward the bedroom. The heavy scent of expensive whiskey rolled off him in waves, filling the stagnant air of the suite.
Danielle peeked through the crack in the bathroom door. The ambient light from the city outside cast a faint glow. The man stumbling through the room was massive. Broad shoulders, towering height. This was absolutely not Warren, the short, overweight investor.
Danielle held her breath, her muscles coiled tight.
Deforest felt his blood boiling. The drug interaction was frying his nervous system. He couldn't think. He couldn't see straight.
He grabbed the hem of his shirt and ripped it over his head, throwing it blindly into the dark. He crashed onto the edge of the massive king-sized bed, groaning as he fell back against the mattress.
Danielle waited a full minute. The man on the bed didn't move. His breathing was heavy and ragged.
She pushed the bathroom door open an inch at a time. She stepped out barefoot, her toes sinking into the thick carpet. She moved silently toward the front door, keeping her eyes locked on the bed.
As she passed the nightstand, the fabric of her loose sweater caught the edge of a tall glass vase.
The vase tipped over. It hit the floor with a sharp, shattering crash.
The man on the bed moved with terrifying speed. Deforest lunged through the dark like a predator. His large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around Danielle's ankle like a steel vice.
Danielle gasped, losing her balance. She pitched forward, crashing hard onto the soft mattress.
Before she could scramble away, Deforest flipped her over. He pinned her down, his heavy, burning chest pressing flush against her back.
Danielle thrashed wildly. She twisted her wrist, bringing the sharp eyebrow razor up to slash at him.
Deforest felt the movement. He caught her wrist mid-air. He squeezed her bones until she gasped in pain, easily prying the razor from her fingers and tossing it across the room.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck to hold her down. As he inhaled, the faint, sweet scent of vanilla filled his lungs.
The scent triggered a massive hallucination in his drug-addled brain. He pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. "Anya... you smell just like Anya," he muttered against her skin, his voice thick with a desperate, sick obsession, tying her vanilla scent to a ghost from his past.
Danielle froze. The deep, gravelly vibration of his voice sent a shockwave of pure terror down her spine. She knew that voice. It was her husband. The man who was supposed to be in a coma.
The shock paralyzed her. Her muscles went completely slack.
Deforest took her stillness for surrender. His mouth crashed down on her neck, his teeth scraping against her collarbone.
The alcohol and the drugs completely stripped away his control. In the pitch-black room, the two of them tangled together in the sheets, driven by chaos and a terrifying, unstoppable force.
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8.3
Betrayed at the altar. Replaced by her own sister.
On what should have been the happiest day of her life, Amara loses everything-her fiancé, her dignity, and her future.
But that same night, a dangerous man steps out of the shadows with an offer she can't refuse.
Marriage. Power. Revenge.
Now bound to a ruthless CEO, Amara is ready to destroy everyone who betrayed her.
There's just one problem...
Her new husband knows more about her past than he should.
And the closer she gets to revenge-
the more she realizes she may have married the man who ruined her in the first place.
9.1
With only fifteen days of cash flow left to save her tech startup, Aida had no choice but to seek a five-million-dollar bridge loan from Brendan Walls, a ruthless billionaire predator.
He agreed to sign the check, but on one sickening condition. He demanded Aida act as bait to get close to his corporate rival, Grayson Lott, treating her like a high-end call girl for a business transaction.
Forced to comply to save her employees, Aida let Grayson take her to a windowless underground club, where he secretly spiked her whiskey.
As the drugs paralyzed her body, triggering horrific flashbacks of a brutal assault from six years ago, Aida locked herself in the bathroom. She had to shatter a mirror and slice her own thigh open with a jagged shard of glass just to stay conscious enough to call Brendan for help.
Brendan's armored SUV immediately smashed through the club's wall to save her, and Grayson was arrested. But lying in the hospital, the horrifying truth finally clicked in Aida's mind.
The rescue was too fast. Brendan’s men hadn't rushed from Midtown; they had been parked outside the entire time. He had watched Grayson drug her and waited for the felony to happen just so he could legally seize Grayson's company. He had gambled her life and trauma for a hostile takeover.
When Brendan casually tossed a signed contract and luxury car keys onto her hospital bed as hush money, the last thread of Aida's sanity snapped.
"The deal is dead. NovaTech is mine. If you ever come near me again, I will kill you."
Bleeding and shaking with icy rage, Aida threw the keys at his chest, formally declaring war on the monster who thought he could buy her soul.
9.2
She loved him until she lost herself.
Now, behind locked doors and shattered glass, she must learn to breathe again.
When she first met Lloyd, he was magnetic and intoxicating. The kind of man who turned every head when he entered a room, who spoke in promises sweet enough to taste. With him, she felt chosen, cherished, and safe.
But safety was an illusion, and love became a weapon.
And slowly, piece by piece, he dismantled her until nothing of the woman she once was remained.
Now institutionalized after a breakdown, she begins to piece together the brutal truth of what really happened in the shadows of their love story. Memories sting like open wounds: the manipulation disguised as tenderness, the apologies that blurred into threats, the desperate hope that tomorrow he'd be the man she fell for again.
Yet beneath the grief and the shame, a quiet rebellion stirs, a vow to reclaim her voice, her freedom, and her life. Because this is not just a story of how she fell apart. It is a story of how she rises.
Haunting, raw, and achingly intimate, Boys like him peels back the glittering mask of a toxic love affair to reveal the kind of darkness that hides in plain sight, and the unbreakable strength it takes to escape it.
7.2
Clifton, the god of esports, was secretly battling a career-ending wrist injury to protect his team.
A year ago, he kissed his duo partner, Justice, only to be met with violent disgust. Justice shoved him away and dry-heaved in the rain, looking at him like a monster.
Humiliated by the straight man's raw revulsion, Clifton cut him out of his life.
But now, Justice suddenly appeared at Clifton's club as a rookie tryout.
Instead of an ambitious climber, Justice played the perfect, pathetic victim. He cowered, trembled, and acted terrified whenever Clifton was near.
He even signed a bloodsucking contract with a toxic teammate, sparking rumors he was brought in to replace Clifton as captain.
During a scrimmage, Clifton hesitated to shoot because he remembered Justice had just severely burned his hand.
Justice showed no mercy. He ruthlessly gunned Clifton down, humiliating the captain in front of the entire coaching staff.
Clifton was consumed by blinding rage and betrayal.
If Justice was so disgusted by him, why did he fake his devotion for six months just to use him?
Why was he acting like helpless prey now, after trampling all over Clifton's pride?
Determined to rip off the liar's disguise, Clifton dragged Justice into a live stream in front of sixty thousand viewers.
"He's asking if you are in love with me."
Clifton smiled cruelly, waiting for the public execution. But just as the trap snapped shut, a choked, terrified gasp came through the headset.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
9.6
My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend.
From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down."
That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny.
But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded.
I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said."
Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off."
My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers.
I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal.
Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing.
As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury.
In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho."
How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me?
Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault?
Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred?
I would not be his victim.
Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done.
I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties.
This was not an escape; this was my rebirth.
Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.