Historias cortas de Familial Bond y novelas con Bias ambientadas en Contract Marriage

Everyone thinks I agreed to marry Wendy Quinton out of gratitude and to fulfill her grandfather's dying wish. Little did they know, the real reason I gave in was that her features resembled my first love, Zara Langston. Despite knowing that Wendy is hopelessly in love with Zachary Shaw, the man who killed her father, I still chose to have faith in her. But my foolish hope vanishes when I catch them tangled up in bed again in our marital home. With half of her clothes undone, Wendy leans against Zachary's chest, smiling shamelessly. "You should know your place. I've already done you a huge favor by not taking things all the way with him." This isn't the first time. Zachary has already claimed every inch of her body over and over again. Gripping her waist, Zachary chuckles. "Once the two of you are married, we'll finally be able to take things all the way. I can't wait." They think I'm a fool who will put up with anything. But unbeknownst to them, I have already uncovered the truth. Wendy's grandfather, Edward Quinton, didn't suddenly fall gravely ill. Zachary was the one who left him in a vegetative state. Then, a week ago, he pulled the plug on Edward's ventilator and killed him. I don't make a scene. Instead, I simply slip my wedding ring onto Zachary's ring finger. "In that case, I wish you two a lifetime of happiness together." I'm done lying to myself and playing along with their little charade.

The Gambino family's highest decree: every Don must be married before taking office. So the moment I came back from studying abroad, my father sent me to intern at the family company run by my fiancé, Ethan Clark—to prepare me for taking over family operations, pave the way for me to become the next Don of the Gambinos, and, you know, build some chemistry between us while we were at it. The first day I walked in, I saw a woman holding court, surrounded by everyone, with everyone deferring to her, calling her "Mrs. Clark" with practiced reverence. She tore up a two-hundred-million-dollar contract, and they all applauded. She spotted the ring on my finger, and they all reached out to take it off for her. I didn't flinch. Didn't panic. "Do you know who can wear this ring?" She scoffed. "An intern. What's the big deal? Take it off." I smiled. This ring is the heirloom of the Gambino heir. Anyone who touches it without permission doesn't live to tell the story. I pulled out my phone and dialed Ethan right in front of her. "Your 'Mrs. Clark' is trying to take my family ring. Care to explain?"

On the night of the Benedetto family's Harvest Festival, my Mafia husband, Salvatore, told me to bring our son, Giuseppe, to the family gathering. He said his madre had finally accepted us into the Benedetto bloodline. I was trembling with excitement in our little cottage as I dressed Giuseppe in his finest little suit. He had carved a single wooden rose by hand, a project he'd saved for over five years. He said he would present it to his grandmother at the celebration, a plea for her to accept our place in the family. But the moment we stepped into the stone manor, I saw Carmela. Salvatore had her pinned against an oak barrel in a deep, searing kiss. In the moonlight, her hand was undoing his tie. In front of everyone, Salvatore smiled and gently pushed her away. He walked toward the family members gathered in a semicircle and raised a crystal glass. "Tonight, in addition to celebrating the harvest, I have an important announcement." "I would like to introduce you all to the woman I have married in the eyes of God and the Church." "Miss Carmela Torrino." Before I could even process his words, Giuseppe tore his hand from mine and rushed forward. "Papa, what are you saying?" "Isn't my mother your wife?"