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“You can play Priest for as long as you like,” he spat, ignoring my protests, “but you will never find salvation.” His words struck like a curse, but that wasn’t the reason my chest heaved, goosebumps littered my skin, and definitely not the reason I felt hot despite the chilling dip from the lake. Ezreal’s eyes widened momentarily, noticing. I winced as his hand shifted, pressing against the stiff betrayal straining against my soaked robes. He stilled for only a second, then a wicked grin overtook his features. “Well, well,” Ezreal drawled, his voice taunting “Look who’s getting excited,” “Stop,” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut as the humiliation dug deep. “Please….” He leaned forward, his breath hot as his lips ghosted over the shell of my ear. “I will taint you so bad,” he whispered, his hand tightening against my crotch. “So bad you won’t have the courage to stand on the altar you abandoned me for.” ****** At sixteen, Ezreal Vossell took the fall for a murder to protect the only boy he ever loved—Baron Lander, the timid son of the town’s high priest. A known delinquent, the bastard child of the mayor, but the only one who saw him for his true self was Baron. Ezreal made the ultimate sacrifice, and all he wanted in return was Baron’s support. But alas, on the day of the trial, Baron betrayed him, casting him aside to please his father. Ezreal was sentenced to life in prison, his heart shattered beyond repair. Fifteen years later, he was released, but gone was the naive sixteen-year-old. He’s returned as the ruthless leader of a mafia syndicate, and with all the power and wealth at his fingertips, he yearned for one thing alone. Revenge.

Reborn as the long-lost Rogers heir, missing for fifteen years, I avoided every chance to bond with my two brothers in this family. When they tossed me Vivi’s discarded, ill-fitting gown for the family gala, I smiled and put it on. When they sent Vivi to get an elite education while ordering me to scrub the utility room, I picked up the mop without a word. When they let Vivi chase love and dumped her rejected suitor on me, I didn’t fight. I accepted her leftovers with a calm nod. This was all because in my past life, I had spent my entire life desperate for my brothers' approval, only to end up despised by everyone for it. When I died in the crossfire of a gangland shootout, my own son pushed my body away in disgust. "Mom, did you really waste your whole life on such a petty fight with Aunt Vivi? Dying for the family would have been a more dignified end. At least then you wouldn't have disgraced our name." I left this world filled with resentment, only to open my eyes and find myself back at the moment I first set foot in the Rogers estate. This time, I'm done fighting. The power, the name, the honor. I'm letting them have it all. I’ve already been accepted into a closed-door medical project. Soon they will never see me again.

I married him when he couldn’t even open his eyes. Four years I sat beside Evanthe Blackwood’s bed. Keeping him alive while his family held their breath. The marriage was a contract. A legal arrangement. Nothing more. Nobody warned me that four years of silence could break a person open. Nobody told me that loving a man who couldn’t reject you was the most dangerous kind of loving there was. Then he woke up. He looked at me like I was a stranger who had broken into his house. To Evanthe I was an opportunist. A woman who had married a helpless billionaire for his name and his money. He decided who I was in the first five minutes and nothing I did was ever going to change that. He kept me anyway. For the heir clause. For the contract. Never for me. I should have left then. Instead I stayed and I hoped and I let myself believe that maybe underneath all that coldness something real was trying to get out. Then Sena came back. His first love. And I watched him look at her the way he had never once looked at me. So I left. No tears. No confrontation. Just his ring on the desk and my signature on the divorce papers. What he didn’t know was that I didn’t leave alone. Now he’s found me. Three years later. Standing at my door with regret all over his face and my daughter’s eyes staring back at him. But is sorry ever really enough?

The day I found out my wife, Madison Anderson, had a secret three-year-old son with someone else, was the day I wired our house with explosives. I was prepared to end it all, with her by my side. Only that night, Madison never came home. I sat hollow and numb until my 10-month-old daughter suddenly called out, "Da-da." That single word shattered my resolve. She breathed life back into me. And so, I grabbed the most expensive car in the garage and sped away, detonating the explosives from beyond the gates. I drove straight to the airport, uncaring of the fiery wreckage that I left behind. From that night forward, the man Havenport had ridiculed as the Anderson family's worthless son-in-law vanished without a trace. Five years later, our paths crossed again at a boutique inn in Bellmont. Madison stared at me as I politely handed her the room key. For a moment, she looked lost. "Travis.... you seem different." I simply smiled and wished them a pleasant stay as a family of three.

A lethal neurotoxin had taken hold of my lungs. My time is running out. My mother, Sofia, was the most connected lawyer in Palermo, excelling in burying crimes and twisting the law. When my brother Vincent mowed me down and shattered my leg, she called in every favor to clear his record. My father, Tommaso, the most feared private doctor in Sicily, faked my medical files, branding me unstable and delusional, all to mold me into the obedient son they needed. Then there was Lina, only daughter of Don Vitali, my wife. She said, “We let him out for Vincent’s liver. What if he says no?” Dad’s voice went cold. “He has two choices: lie quietly on that operating table… or waste away in the sanatorium for what’s left of his life.” I pushed the parlor door open, steady and slow. My voice was flat. “I’ll do it.” Every one of them let out a breath they’d been holding, showering me with hollow words. They didn’t know there was no life left to threaten. I had twenty-four hours. By sunrise, I would be dead either way. Funny… now that I’m in the ground, why are they all crying?

During a mission overseas, I shielded my younger brother from an explosion—only to wake up months later, my body broken, my mind trapped in the void of a coma. Grateful for my sacrifice, he repaid me by marrying my wife. When I finally clawed my way back to consciousness and rushed home, I found my son kneeling on the ground, sobbing as his college acceptance letter lay shredded in his fists. My nephew loomed over him, slamming a steel pipe into his back. "Lick my shoes clean," he sneered. "Who are you to think you deserve an education?" And there was my wife clapping in delight, dabbing the sweat from my nephew’s brow like a doting servant. "You’re just like your deadbeat father," My wife spat. "Born to be my stepping stone." My eyes bloodshot, I tightened my fists. Every last one of them would pay for this dearly.