
The Savage Chief's Coveted Modern Bride
The darkness of the Yale archaeological dig site swallowed Eleanor whole, dropping her straight into a lethal, prehistoric jungle.
Before she could even process the bizarre time jump, a massive prehistoric wolf attacked her, only for her to be saved—and immediately claimed—by Jace, a towering, blood-soaked savage chief who marked her as his mate.
Dragged back to his primitive camp, her nightmare only escalated.
When she used her modern first-aid kit to save a dying hunter whose stomach had been ripped open, the tribe didn't thank her.
Instead, a jealous tribeswoman named Greta and a ruthless Shaman incited a violent, torch-wielding mob.
"Burn the witch before we all die!"
They marched on the Chief's cave, demanding Eleanor be burned alive, claiming her life-saving stitches and antibiotics were dark magic that would curse them all.
Eleanor was terrified and furious. She had just pulled a man back from the brink of death using basic medical science, yet she was about to be slaughtered by a mindless mob simply because they couldn't understand her language. Was she really going to be burned at the stake for an act of pure salvation?
But when the hunter's fever broke and he walked out alive, the angry mob dropped to their knees in absolute reverence.
Looking at her dying lighter and finite supplies, Eleanor realized that fear wouldn't keep her alive in this brutal world.
She pulled out her tactical pen, deciding to drag this savage tribe out of the dark ages herself.
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Chapter 5
Eleanor backed up slowly until her spine hit the rough bark of a massive ancient tree. There was nowhere left to run.
The wolves were slightly smaller than the monster Jace had killed, but they were still the size of lions. Saliva dripped from their jaws in long, thick strings.
A sharp hiss sounded directly above her head.
Eleanor jerked her chin up. A snake as thick as her forearm, covered in vibrant, toxic-looking scales, was slithering down the trunk. Its triangular head was pointed straight at her face.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Trapped.
Eleanor ripped her backpack around to her front. Her mind flashed through countless hours of wilderness survival courses, panic threatening to override her logic. She forced her trembling hands into the main compartment, desperately fumbling for the two specific items she had packed as an absolute last resort. She pulled out her windproof lighter and a small spray bottle of 90% isopropyl rubbing alcohol from her first-aid kit.
The alpha wolf let out a low bark and charged.
Eleanor flicked the lighter. She aimed the spray bottle at the wolf and squeezed the trigger repeatedly.
A three-foot jet of roaring orange flame erupted from her hands.
The fire caught the alpha wolf straight in the snout. The beast shrieked, a high-pitched sound of pure terror. It twisted mid-air, crashing into the dirt, and scrambled backward, the smell of singed fur filling the air.
The sudden burst of heat and light made the snake recoil instantly, slithering rapidly back up into the dark canopy.
The rest of the pack flinched away from the fire, whining, but they didn't leave. They widened their circle, pacing nervously.
Eleanor knew the alcohol wouldn't last. She dropped to her knees, keeping the lighter lit, and frantically swept dry leaves and dead twigs into a pile in front of her. She sprayed a tiny bit of alcohol on the pile and ignited it.
A small, crackling campfire flared to life.
The wolves hated the light. They stayed just beyond the edge of the illumination, their green eyes glowing with predatory patience.
The temperature dropped rapidly. Eleanor shivered violently, her teeth chattering. She kept feeding the fire with whatever twigs she could reach without stepping away from the tree.
Within an hour, the fuel within her reach was gone.
The flames began to shrink. The circle of light tightened.
The wolves noticed. They stopped pacing. They lowered their heads, creeping forward inch by inch as the fire died down to glowing red embers.
Eleanor pulled a collapsible metal trekking pole from the side of her pack. She snapped it out to its full length, gripping the rubber handle with both hands. Her palms were slick with cold sweat.
A faint rustle sounded behind her right shoulder.
The snake had returned. It launched itself from the brush, aiming straight for her calf.
Eleanor caught the movement in her peripheral vision. She threw her weight to the left. The snake's fangs grazed the fabric of her pants, leaving two streaks of clear venom on the nylon.
Eleanor swung the trekking pole like a baseball bat. The metal shaft cracked against the snake's body, sending it flying into the darkness.
But the violent swing threw her off balance. Her boot slipped on the damp moss. She fell hard, her left hand landing directly in the hot ashes of the dying fire.
She screamed, yanking her burned hand back to her chest.
It was the opening the wolves were waiting for.
The alpha howled. Three wolves lunged simultaneously, leaping over the smoking embers.
Eleanor swung the pole blindly from the ground. She caught one wolf in the shoulder, but the wolf on her right clamped its jaws around the metal shaft.
The beast yanked its head back violently. The force ripped the pole from Eleanor's grip, tearing the skin off her palm.
She was defenseless.
The alpha wolf was right on top of her. Its jaws opened, aiming for her face. The stench of rotting meat washed over her.
Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arms over her head.
A roar tore through the forest.
It wasn't an animal. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated human rage, so loud it vibrated in Eleanor's chest.
The wolves froze instantly. The alpha snapped its jaws shut, its ears pinning flat against its skull. The predators looked into the darkness, their eyes wide with sudden, absolute terror.
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.

7.1
I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.

9.1
When is the worst time to tell someone he's going to be a father?
Probably the day of the wedding...
When he is getting married to someone else.
Well, that is exactly what I did.
But my hands were tied.
Literally.
Matvey Groza is a dangerous man.
And nine months ago, he strolled into my shop looking for a custom suit.
But when I accidentally walked in on him in the changing room,
*I* was the one that ended up needing a new set of clothes.
It was a one-time mistake.
After that... good riddance.
But the pregnancy test I took a month later had other plans.
I kept it a secret from everyone.
Or so I thought.
But when Matvey's enemies learned that I was pregnant with his child,
they kidnapped me and held me hostage.
Until I broke free and ran as fast as I could.
And I had no one else to turn to but the devil himself.
What better time for me to enter the church...
... than as the pastor says, "Speak now or forever hold your peace"?

8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.

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.

9.4
I spent the night with a stranger...
Who got me pregnant...
And turned out to be my boss...
Whoops, sorry, did I say "boss"? I meant a MOB boss.
To be fair, I didn't know he was my boss when I slept with him.
I thought he was just the kind stranger offering me a place to stay.
But one night in Misha Orlov's hotel room got me way more than I bargained for.
It got me champagne that tasted like starlight.
Satin sheets as soft as a dream.
And a man with silver eyes who showed me how it felt to come undone.
And then, in the morning...
He was gone.
That's I needed to get my life together anyway.
After all, my ex-not-quite-husband (it's a long story) just emptied all our bank accounts and disappeared, taking my home and my money and my job with him.
So I'm starting from a blank slate.
I find myself a new apartment.
A new job.
And I put both Misha and my husband behind me.
At least, I thought I did.
Until Day 1 of orientation.
When I learn that Misha Orlov is my new boss.
That's bad enough.
What's worse is what came next.
A car crash.
A doctor's appointment.
And two pieces of unsettling news.
Congratulations, the doctor says. You're pregnant.
Congratulations, Misha says. You and I are getting married.