The Unwanted Mistress Becomes The Rival's Queen

The moment Damien shoved me into a waiter's tray to catch his brother's widow, I knew I had lost. For eight years, I was his sanctuary. But Vivian was carrying the "Family Heir," and that made her a saint. He didn't just catch her; he moved her into the Master Suite—the room he had promised to me—while I was relegated to the guest wing like a servant. When Vivian whispered the truth to me with a smirk—that her late husband was sterile and she had drugged Damien to fake the timeline—I rushed to tell him. "She's lying about the baby, Damien! Aaron was sterile!" But he didn't believe me. "Enough of your jealousy, Estelle," he roared, shielding her. "You will respect the mother of my legacy." To prove my submission, he forced me to take her wedding dress shopping. When a heavy iron rack tipped over in the boutique, Damien moved with inhuman speed. He dove to protect Vivian, wrapping her in a safe cocoon. He left me standing there. The metal crashed down, crushing my ribs and pinning me to the floor. As I gasped for air, tasting blood, I watched him carry her out without looking back once. I woke up in the hospital to the sound of him comforting her in the next room. He hadn't even asked if I survived. That night, I didn't cry. I ripped the IV from my arm, shredded every photo of us in the penthouse, and boarded a plane to a neutral territory where the Don's power meant nothing. By the time he found the engagement ring I left in the trash, I was already gone.

Chapters

Chapter 4

The next morning, the armored limousine waited in the circular driveway, silent and imposing like a hearse.

I stood by the open door, waiting.

Damien emerged from the front door, his arm wrapped securely around Vivian's waist.

He was guiding her down the steps as if the stairs were made of landmines.

He glanced at me, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes, but his grip on her didn't loosen.

"You sit in the back with us," Damien said to Vivian. "Estelle, take the jump seat."

The jump seat.

Facing them.

I climbed in and sat backward, forced to watch them as the car pulled away.

Damien spent the entire ride discussing security protocols with Vivian.

"I've doubled the guard at the perimeter," he said, covering her hand with his. "No one gets near you."

He didn't look at me once.

We arrived at *L'Eclat*, a boutique that laundered more money for the Outfit than it made selling gowns.

The staff scrambled to greet us.

"Don Jones," the manager said, bowing slightly. "We have the private suite ready."

Damien nodded. "Show Estelle the bridal collection. The best you have."

He stayed by Vivian's side, guiding her to a velvet sofa, acting as her personal guard dog while I was led to the racks of white silk.

I picked a dress at random.

It was a mermaid cut with lace sleeves. Beautiful. Pointless.

I put it on in the changing room and walked out to the podium.

Damien looked up from his phone.

For a second, the mask slipped.

He looked at me with that raw, hungry desperation that had kept me trapped for eight years.

"Estelle," he breathed, standing up. "You look..."

"I want to try it on," Vivian interrupted.

The spell broke.

Damien turned to her, blinking as if waking from a trance. "What?"

"I never had a real wedding," Vivian said, pouting. "Aaron and I eloped. I just want to see what it feels like. Just for a minute."

It was a power play. Pure and simple.

"Vivian, that's Estelle's dress," Damien said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Please, Damien?" She touched her stomach. "For the baby? I want him to feel his mother happy."

Damien sighed and looked at me.

"Estelle, *Tesoro*," he said, using the pet name that used to make my knees weak. "It's just a dress. Let her have this moment. She's hormonal."

I looked at him.

I looked at the man who was supposed to be my protector.

"Take it," I said.

I walked back to the changing room, unzipped the dress, and handed it to the attendant.

A few minutes later, Vivian emerged in the gown. It was too tight, straining at the seams, but she preened in front of the mirror.

"Can you zip it up?" she asked me, smirking in the reflection. "My arms are so sore."

Damien nodded at me. "Help her, Estelle. Don't let her trip."

I walked over behind her.

I reached for the zipper.

"You look ridiculous," I whispered so only she could hear.

Vivian's eyes met mine in the mirror.

"I look like the Queen," she whispered back.

Then, she reached out and grabbed the heavy iron rack of mannequins next to us to strike a pose.

She pulled it hard, losing her balance.

"Damien!" she screamed.

The rack, loaded with fifty pounds of metal and fabric, tipped over.

Damien moved with a speed that wasn't human.

He launched himself across the room.

He didn't reach for me.

He dove for Vivian, tackling her away from the falling metal, shielding her body with his own, wrapping her in a protective cocoon.

The iron rack crashed down.

It didn't hit the floor.

It hit me.

The metal bar slammed into my shoulder and ribs with a sickening crunch.

I collapsed, the weight pinning me to the hardwood floor.

White-hot pain exploded in my chest, stealing my breath.

I lay there in the debris, gasping, tasting copper in my mouth.

Damien scrambled up, lifting Vivian, checking her frantically for scratches.

"Are you hurt? Did it hit the stomach?" he shouted.

"I'm scared!" Vivian wailed, burying her face in his neck.

"Get the car!" Damien yelled at his men. "Now!"

He scooped her up and ran toward the exit.

He didn't look back.

He didn't check the pile of metal.

He didn't see me lying broken on the floor, watching his back disappear through the glass doors.

Continue to next part

I was the architect of my husband's legitimate empire, the queen to his throne as the Don of a powerful crime family. Our home was our sanctuary, our bed the one sacred place he always returned to. But in the middle of the night, I woke to a woman's moan coming from a guest room that was supposed to be empty. The space beside me was cold; my husband, Brendan, was gone. The woman's voice belonged to Kiya, my protégée—a girl I’d mentored like a sister. Through the door, I heard him call me "a piece of furniture that sleeps soundly." I heard him tell her she possessed something I didn't. Then, a video confirmed the ultimate betrayal: a four-year affair, a pregnancy, and his casual dismissal of me as a business arrangement. He called me a title, but he called another woman's child his heir. He had broken the one rule that held our world together, turning my life's work into ash. He thought I was just a fixture in his grand design, a brilliant mind he could control and discard. He was wrong. There was only one way to escape this agony. I would have every memory of him surgically cut from my mind, erase him from my soul like a cancer, and disappear so completely that not even a ghost of me remained.

Mafia Modern Romance

9.1

I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Dangerous Uncle

9.1

I stood at the altar in a fifty-thousand-dollar custom lace gown, waiting to marry the boy I had loved since I was five. But Silas didn't say "I do." He answered a phone call, turned pale, and bolted toward the exit as if the gates of hell had opened, leaving me to face five hundred of New York's most dangerous criminals alone. He left me for a waitress named Lola. The humiliation was suffocating. The elite of the Five Families looked at me with pity, a Genovese princess rejected for trash. When Silas finally returned, he didn't apologize. He showed up with hickeys on his neck, clinging to Lola, and had the audacity to suggest I become his mistress. He even demanded I hand over my dowry—millions in weapons and cash—so he could fund their lifestyle and "redecorate" with her. He thought I was still the innocent girl who would beg for his scraps. He didn't realize that in the moment he ran, a shadow had stepped forward to fill the void. Dante Moretti. The Don. Silas's uncle. The most feared man in the city looked at me with dark, predatory eyes and offered me a choice: be a victim, or be a Queen. "Since you are to marry a Moretti," Dante said, extending his scarred hand, "why not marry the head of the table?" I looked at the door where Silas had disappeared, then at the Reaper standing before me. "I do," I whispered. Silas thought he had ruined my life, but he only cleared the way for me to marry the monster who would burn the world down for me.

Action Mafia Romance

9.2

Mafia King Innocent Luna

9.2

{Warning: R-18} "No, please don't do this to me," she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "Have I ever shown mercy to anyone, my dear Mate? Why should you be an exception?" he retorted, his voice oozing with malice. "Please, I beg you, don't do this to me," she pleaded, her words barely audible amidst her sobs,"Why are you doing this? It's so painful. I hate you. Please stop." "How dare you try to escape from me? Do you think you have the courage to defy me?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venomous rage. "I'm sorry, please, I promise I won't repeat this mistake. Please, have mercy," she pleaded, her words forming a desperate melody. "Your begging is like sweet music to my ears, Angel," he taunted, his voice filled with sadistic pleasure,"You dared to run away from our marriage. Today, I am going to show you the extent of my power." "Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!"

Mafia Romance Werewolf

9.1

Mr. Mafia's Obsession: His Darkest Desire

9.1

His hand tightened around my waist, steady and unyielding. His mouth brushed the side of my neck, and the warmth of his body between my legs made my thoughts blur into nothing but sensation. “Niccolò…” I whispered, breathless, overwhelmed by him. He did not respond with words. Instead, he entered me slowly, deeply, with a control that made me cry out against his shoulder. My fingers dug into his back as I tried to hold on to something solid. I was already shaking, already losing myself in him, and he understood it completely. “You feel that?” he murmured against my skin. “That’s what happens when you belong to a fucking monster.” I moaned. I didn’t care if he was the devil. I wanted him anyway. He grabbed my throat, not tight, just enough to make me gasp. “Say it.” “I’m yours,” I breathed. “Only yours.” NICCOLÒ FALCONE The name that made grown men stutter. The face that haunted cartel nightmares. The man who’d burned empires just to stay warm. He didn’t run a criminal empire. He was the empire, carved in blood and wired with bombs. A walking, breathing weapon wrapped in a designer suit. The kind of man who didn’t flinch when you screamed — only leaned closer to hear the pitch. His enemies called him The Reaper.  His men called him Boss.  The world called him untouchable. And me? I called him mine. But here’s the truth no one tells you: when the devil gives you his heart, he doesn't hand it over — he chains it to yours, drags you into the dark, and dares the world to take you from him. But this wasn’t just sex. This was pain dressed as pleasure. And… I wasn’t just fucking a monster. I was falling in love with one. And that’s the problem. Because I’m the one thing Niccolò Falcone was never supposed to want. I’m the daughter of the man who tried to destroy him. I’m the secret that could get him killed. He said he’d marry me to protect me.  He said he’d kill for me.  And God help me… I believed him. But what happens when the truth rips through our world like a bullet? What happens when the past comes back, not just to haunt us — but to finish what it started? What happens when loving me turns Niccolò Falcone into something even he can’t control? Read to find out ...

Action Mafia Romance

8.6

My Husband Forced Me To Donate My Bone Marrow

8.6

Six months after I died during childbirth, my husband came looking for me, demanding I terminate the pregnancy so I could donate my bone marrow to his idealized love. I was the only match. My mother told him, "My daughter has already passed away." With a face full of disdain, my husband retorted, "I ignored for six months and now she's throwing a tantrum, even faking her death! Pass this message to her. Even if she gives birth, I won't spare her a glance! If she doesn't come forward to donate bone marrow within three days, don't blame me for cutting off your medical expenses!" What he didn't know was that after my death, my mother had already given up on her cancer treatment. She held on just to see his remorse at my grave.

Mafia Modern Romance

8.2

My Return With The Alpha's Secret Triplets

8.2

Alpha Eric left his mate, Lucy after a one-night stand at a foreign pack where both met as strangers. Three years later, Lucy is now the mother of triplets and struggling to raise her kids all by herself without support. Her heart is filled with revenge for the father of her kids wherever she will meet him. The new Alpha of her pack comes home and the pack estate is set for a colorful welcoming ceremony. To her widest shock, Eric is the new Alpha of her pack who had been away in the foreign pack she met him on Military Training. He's not only her Alpha but the owner of the Academy she schools in. Now he wants her and her kids back. “I rejected you because I was dating a mafia boss, I did it to protect you.” He says. Will Alpha Eric be able to convince Lucy to come back with him? Alpha Eric wants her back so badly, soon Lucy begins to fall for him too, little did they know the great obstacles and impending dangers ahead. Will their love be strong enough to withstand the tempest? What will happen when Alpha Eric's mafia ex comes back?

Mafia Romance Werewolf

The Unwanted Mistress Becomes The Rival's Queen

Chapter 4

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