What Happens At The End Of 'The Traitor'?

For ten long years, Ravelle Celeste Branson kept her identity as the sole heiress of Branson Group tightly hidden for the sake of an illusion of genuine love from Kyle Stevens. But on the night of their 10th wedding anniversary, that illusion shattered into pieces. Ravelle caught Kyle passionately making out with his secretary in the CEO's office. That betrayal was merely the tip of the iceberg. The true blow of reality struck when the Civil Registry Office revealed a cruel fact: in the eyes of the law, Ravelle had been secretly removed and divorced eight years earlier through the manipulation of a stack of documents she had blindly signed. Returning home with a heart as cold as ice, a secret safe uncovered an even more disgusting conspiracy. The little girl she had raised with all her heart and soul was not an adopted child, but the biological daughter of Kyle and his mistress. Even worse, Ravelle's body had been poisoned with microdoses of heavy metals for years—a vicious scheme designed to render her infertile and slowly kill her. They thought Ravelle was a weak woman with no one to protect her, someone who could be discarded after being drained of everything she had. They were terribly mistaken. With Erlan El Salvador Jhins, the genius CEO who was ready to level Manhattan to protect her, standing by her side, the crown heiress rose from her emotional death. Ravelle returned to reclaim her throne, crush Stevens Group into the ruins of bankruptcy, and send the traitors to the deepest hell. When Kyle finally fell to his knees at her feet, crying tears of blood and begging for forgiveness, Ravelle merely looked at him with the coldest smile. "I'm sorry, my ex-husband. Your regret came too late."

His sinful hands traveled to her waist as she looked at him; her breath hitched as he traced her belly button “You are so vulnerable right now,” his gaze landed on the gunshot wound on her chest, just between her breasts. The fact that she was not wearing a bra right now was very distracting. Even with the scar she was so beautiful. “So are you,” he whispered keeping the gun in her hands. The heat of their graze did not help with the hot atmosphere of the room; this was deadly. “We can’t deceive both agencies,” her murmur was soft, unlike the sound of his harsh breathing. “We can, we will,” He looked straight into her eyes as her lips trembled. So unlikely of the girl she was. “It's a matter of two countries,” she whispered, her last straw against him, she knew she would give up if he had an answer to this. That she would let go of the lust suffocating her insides after this. “It's a matter of two hearts,” her eyes snapped to his immediately. “I can't seem to forget the little girl who took a bullet for me,” He said as her lips parted in shock. “You… knew?” she could not form more words. He could not find himself to answer anything else than a nod, he was deceiving her in the name of love. ‘Ya Allah, why do I have to do this?’ she asked her god taking her eyes away from him for a second. “It's the matter of two hearts, two bodies, two souls…” and two deceivers, the word they both so wanted to add but couldn’t. “Have me,” He whispered. “Take me,” she obliged In which she deceived him before he could deceive her

When finding evidence is by the skin of one's teeth, what price are you willing to lay to find the culprit?~~~She was just a typical girl from a not so typical family, who will seek justice after her loved ones' death. She was the only survivor in that death trap or at least that was what she knew. Their death wasn't just a mere tragedy, it was intentional. The purpose was to eradicate her clan, but they failed when she survived.When her only reason for living was taken away from her... What was left in her being were: hatred, anger and the burning fire to have her revenge, but it was hard to find since no obtainable evidence could uncover the culprit behind the terrible scheme.When her boss, turned lover, started to show affection, a beam of light was flashed in her being. The newly found solitude with him gradually replaced her negative feelings. But as another guy entered into the picture and claimed her to be his, it drifted her back to her intentions which led her to unravel some secrets she never thought existed. Join me as I lay pieces of information about the Culprit's real identity.

My husband, Luca, had a childhood sweetheart named Sophia. Years ago, during a brutal gang shootout, Sophia shielded him from the worst of the bloodshed, and since then, she had suffered from severe PTSD. Because of that, Luca would push aside family business every year and fly to our estate on a secluded island off the coast of Sicily to spend three months “helping her recover.” “Victoria, she lost her mind because of me,” he told me. “I’m responsible for her. I hope you can be magnanimous.” So, I nodded. And eventually, I got used to the fact that every year, my husband would disappear for three months to fulfill what he called a moral obligation. That was until the day I flew in without warning to inspect the family’s money-laundering network on that island and saw him. In the town square, under the bright Mediterranean sun, Luca was standing there with a five-year-old boy by his side. “Papa, how long do we have to hide on this island?” the child asked. “I want to go to New York. I want to see the Empire State Building.” Luca laughed gently and scooped him up in his arms. With his other hand, he held Sophia’s. “Antonio, be good,” he said affectionately. “Papa’s position is… complicated. When you turn eighteen and pass the family’s initiation ceremony, I’ll kill that woman and her dead old man. Then, I’ll take you back to New York to inherit the entire Corleone family.” I stood in the shadows, unseen. Slowly, I lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around me as their voices drifted over, the conversation getting more vicious as it went. Sophia leaned into his chest, her tone sweet and coy. “Luca, I’ve been with you for seven years without a name or a title. How much longer are our son and I supposed to live like ghosts?” Luca sighed. “I don’t have a choice. The old man in the Corleone family is still alive. I married Victoria just to get her territory. Don’t worry. I’ve been adding something to her milk every day. She’ll never get pregnant in this lifetime. My family bloodline will only continue through you.” The last thread of reason in my mind snapped. In the six years of marriage we shared, I had been infertile. I’d taken countless hormone injections to stimulate ovulation. I’d knelt in church and prayed more times than I could count. Yet, all along, the devil poisoning me was my own husband. The initial shock faded quickly into rage. I crushed out my cigarette and pulled out my phone. Then, I dialed my uncle, the family’s clean-up man. “Uncle Rocco,” I said calmly, “Luca betrayed me. He betrayed the family. Order a coffin in the finest black walnut for me, and make it large, large enough to fit a family of three.”

In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt. All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables. The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me. I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer. He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter. Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone. A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster. The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs. The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie. Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled." Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere. But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar. His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead. "This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom. "The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Right in the middle of the fire and the blood. This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room. And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.

In a time where it is impossible for women to provide for themselves, Irene has to find her chosen mate to take care of herself and her younger brother, but it’s almost impossible as she is known as the Traitor’s Daughter and no Alpha wants to be with her. What happens when she ends up being forced to seek help for the man responsible for her misfortune? The man who put those false accusations and had her father executed? A man with many scars, both physically and mentally?