The Reborn Duchess's Ruthless Revenge
I stood in the Royal Hall, clutching a glass of warm champagne while watching Senator Levine laugh. To the crowd, he was a pillar of the community; to me, he was the parasite who had already destroyed my life once.
In my past life, this gala was the night the monarchy began to bleed. Levine successfully planted his cameras, the Vance empire funded a coup, and the kingdom I loved was sold off to the highest bidder.
I lived through the consequences of my silence. I watched my sister, Seraphina, die in childbirth because the medical supplies were intercepted by traitors. I watched the man I loved, Duke Elliot, stripped of his titles and branded a criminal. I spent my final days in a damp, freezing cell, listening to the executioner sharpen his blade while the people cheered for our demise.
The injustice burned in my throat like lye. I died wondering how I could have been so naive, how I could have let these monsters walk among us while I played the part of a perfect, quiet wife.
Why did the gods let the wicked prosper while my family’s blood watered the palace gardens? What would I have given for just one chance to strike first?
Then, the world shifted. I opened my eyes to find myself back at the gala, the scent of sandalwood and rain surrounding me as Elliot rested a possessive hand on my back. I wasn't just a Duchess anymore; I was a ghost from a future that would never happen, and I was ready to erase every name on my list.
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Chapter 8
The mansion was quiet now. The guests had gone, the doctors had left.
In the master bathroom, General Stone stood in front of the mirror. He had finally taken off his jacket.
He hissed as he peeled his undershirt off. The fabric was stuck to his back.
He hadn't told anyone. When the mortar hit the depot, a piece of shrapnel had grazed his back. It wasn't deep, but it was ugly. A long, jagged tear across his latissimus dorsi.
He grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a towel. He bit down on the towel and poured the alcohol over his shoulder.
The burn was blinding. He groaned, bracing his hands against the sink, his knuckles turning white.
"Marcus?"
Stone froze. He spun around, trying to hide his back.
Seraphina was standing in the doorway. She was wearing a silk nightgown, holding onto the doorframe for support. She looked weak, but alive.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly.
"Nothing," Stone said quickly. "Just... cleaning up."
Seraphina walked into the room. She moved slowly, wincing with each step. She walked around him.
She gasped when she saw his back. The angry red line, the dried blood.
"You're hurt," she whispered. Her fingers hovered over the wound, afraid to touch.
"It's a scratch," Stone lied. "Julian took the real hit."
"You idiot," Seraphina said, but there was no heat in it. Her eyes filled with tears. "You came home like this... you held me... and you didn't say a word?"
"You were busy," Stone tried to joke, but his voice cracked. "You were pushing a human out of your body."
Seraphina took the towel from his hand. "Sit down."
"Sera, you should be in bed..."
"Sit. Down."
Stone sat on the edge of the tub. He was a General who commanded thousands of men, but he didn't dare disobey his wife.
Seraphina gently cleaned the wound. Her touch was light, reverent. She kissed his shoulder, right above the cut.
"I thought you weren't coming," she confessed softly. "When the pain started... I thought I was going to die alone."
Stone turned and pulled her into his lap. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of milk and baby powder.
"Never," he swore. "I will burn the world down before I let you go alone."
They sat there for a long time, holding each other in the silence of the bathroom.
"Have you named him?" Stone asked.
"Victor," Seraphina said. "For victory."
"Victor Stone," Marcus tested the name. "Sounds like a tank commander."
"He will be a poet," Seraphina argued with a smile.
A knock at the door interrupted them. It was Isolde.
"Sorry to interrupt the love fest," Isolde said, leaning against the doorframe, holding a thick envelope. "But a royal courier just dropped this off."
Stone took the envelope. It was heavy cream paper, embossed with the Royal Crest in gold leaf.
He opened it.
INVITATION TO THE VICTORY GALA
In Honor of General Marcus Stone and the Heroes of the Border War.
"It's next week," Stone said, tossing the invitation on the counter. "I hate galas."
"You have to go," Isolde said. Her eyes were sharp. "Julian is getting a commendation. And... I think he's planning something."
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Planning what?"
Isolde smiled, a secretive, knowing smile. "Let's just say Imogen better get a manicure."
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7.4
In a world ruled by dominance and desire, being an Omega is a curse, especially when you're mine.
On his eighteenth birthday, Luca wakes to a nightmare, his wolf has chosen the lowest rank of all. An Omega. The scent of submission, the mark of shame and the kind of wolf others own, use, and discard.
But Luca isn't broken, he's burning and the only one who's ever made him feel safe is Rafe, his best friend, his protector and his temptation.
Then Rafe shifts and becomes an Alpha and their wolves recognize each other, the bond between them is instant, magnetic, and utterly forbidden.
Because an Alpha claiming a Male Omega?
That's forbidden, but this Omega? He's different
Now their connection is more than a secret, It's a sin to their world, a deadly craving, slow, delicious and primal to fall into.
And when one bite can seal a bond or spark a war, how long can they resist it?
He's not supposed to want him.
But gods, he does.
And once an Alpha touches what's his... he never lets go.
8.4
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
9.3
Born into privilege, Eleanor never imagined her life could shatter in a single night. Then her father disappeared with his mistress, her mother fell from a building and slipped into a coma, and everything she once owned turned to dust.
Determined not to ruin Jonathan's future with her family's disgrace, she ended their relationship and became the bride of a man trapped in a vegetative state.
She believed that was the last time their paths would cross. But two years later, Jonathan pinned her in the dark and whispered, "Long time no see, my sister-in-law."
7.5
Raven Noir, stolen and sold at birth, a lethal assassin scarred by a decade-old rape, infiltrates billionaire Damien Blackwood's elite nightclub empire as stripper, her cover to get close enough to torture and kill the man who unknowingly fathered her daughter. Damien, captivated by her icy control and commanding presence, pulls her deeper with lucrative nights and charged intimacy. But when he encounters her identical twin, the buried memories flood back. Mistaking the twin for his victim, guilt drives him to propose marriage. Devastated, Raven faces an impossible choice: expose the truth, seize her revenge, or let obsession destroy them all in a dark, slow-burn thriller of betrayal and forbidden desire.
8.4
"Are you going to treat me like the enemy?" Raffaele asked, hovering over me like a predator.
"You are the enemy," I sneered.
He smiled. "Careful. You're hurting my feelings."
"I hope I can hurt much more than that."
His eyes darkened. "You forget-I'm the one who can break you."
I vowed never to give my heart to a man. Never let one bend me. Never let one own me.
Then a single night changed everything.
When my best friend became a target, I took her place and caught the attention of the most dangerous man in the city. Raffaele, My friend's older brother, wasn't supposed to see me. We were never meant to meet but the moment his eyes locked on mine, I became his new obsession.
I don't bend and he doesn't let go.
Suddenly caught up in a world of blood and power, resisting a man like Raffaele might cost me everything...heart, body, and soul.
He wants me, dead or alive.
7.1
For ten years, my family kept me locked away, forcing me to play the part of a broken, mentally unstable girl. They controlled me with sedatives and treated me like a ghost in my own home, a prisoner in a gilded cage.
But I had a secret. I was a world-famous anonymous artist with a hidden fortune, and I had an escape plan. On the day of my cousin's wedding, my rebellion was accidentally witnessed by a dangerous stranger who saw the predator beneath my fragile mask.
To silence him, I dragged him into a dark closet. The encounter turned raw and reckless, a violent collision I used as the perfect cover for my escape. I vanished with a new name and a one-way ticket to a new life, leaving him with nothing but a bloodstain and the bitter taste of betrayal.
I thought I was free, that I had successfully buried the girl I was forced to be and the man I was forced to use.
Three months later, on a superyacht in Monaco, he found me. He wasn't just some wealthy guest; he was the ruthless head of a powerful crime syndicate, and I was trapped in his private penthouse. He locked the door, his eyes black with possessive rage.
"The game is over," he whispered. "This time, you're not running."