Devotion Plot Twists Short Stories & Novels

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gown, the carat weight of my ring, even the beauty mark Victor had tattooed beside my eye, all came from a dead woman's final wishes. After seven years of consuming passion, I was never his salvation. I was a living specimen, crafted to harbor the ghost of a dead woman.

By the fifth year of my marriage to Noah Lester, everyone insisted that I, Emma Newman, was his eternal muse. But I knew the truth. Behind my back, Noah cycled through a parade of fresh-faced, eager lovers. He even flaunted them at social gatherings, swapping one for another with shameless ease. When friends teased him—"Didn’t you swear Emma was the love of your life? Why the revolving door of mistresses?"—he’d just laugh, arms slung around his latest conquests. "Once you’ve caught your muse the glow fades. Give me someone new and tender any day—at least they keep things exciting." So I began plotting my escape. What Noah never realized was that I had grown tired of him, too. Tired of this life, of these performances. I was done.

Lately, buying succubi and incubi online had become all the rage. I could not afford one, so I picked one up from the side of the road instead. It turned out the quality of this incubus left a lot to be desired. Not only did he have a terrible temper, but he showed absolutely no interest in me. He would rather starve than "feed". Left with no other options, I snapped a photo of his incubus mark and sent it to the shop owner, asking how to handle this particular model. The shop owner completely lost it. "Oh my god, please tell me you're joking! That's not an incubus! That's a demon! The most dangerous kind!"

To pay off my family's debt, I was forced to marry a comatose mafia heir. The city's elite were all waiting to see me become a young widow. On our wedding night, I used a damp towel to wipe down the still form on the bed. Suddenly, a lazy chuckle met my ear. "Enjoying the view?" I snapped my head up. A translucent man leaned casually against the nightstand, his long legs crossed, a smirk on his lips as he watched me with amusement. He nodded toward the "corpse" on the bed and raised an eyebrow. "Don't waste your energy. I can't feel the cold. How about we make a deal? You help me deal with the traitors in my family." I stared at his ghostly form, then calmly wrung out the towel into the basin. "Deal. But I want half the Volpe family fortune."

I went through hell for a man I met on an underground forum. I traded my thick-rimmed glasses for laser eye surgery, wore painful wire braces for two years, and endured agonizing laser treatments for my acne. A posture coach beat a graceful walk into me with a riding crop. I clawed my way from being the Pierce family's "four-eyed ugly duckling," the girl nobody looked at twice, and became someone who turned heads. But the night before we were supposed to meet, I scrolled past a post on another dark web forum. "Selling my internet girlfriend for cheap. We're meeting soon." "Been together over a year. Sweet voice, soft personality, great emotional support. DM if interested." Someone commented to ask why he was dumping such a perfect girl. The original poster replied: "I paid a hacker to get her address and pull surveillance footage. She's some hideous hillbilly with a mouth full of metal. The sight of her made me sick." The comment section erupted in jeers: "I was going to buy her for some fun, but I lost my appetite the second I saw that picture. What an ugly country bumpkin with a mouth full of braces." "Who would want this kind of trash? She's all yours, hahaha." Scrolling to the very bottom, only one ID had replied with two words: "DM me." I tapped on the original poster's avatar and zoomed in. The black cat silhouette was identical to my online boyfriend's profile picture. The post was dated three months ago.

I’ve been in love with the Don of the Moretti family for ten years, and everyone knows he loves me more than life itself. In seven days, he’s throwing me a massive, grand wedding that will be live-streamed to the entire world. But I’m the only one who knows the truth: he’s been keeping a mistress behind my back. He’s kept her for two whole years, and he’s lied to my face for just as long. I didn't call him out on it. Instead, I planned a fake death. At our wedding in seven days, he’s going to lose me forever.

I found a wounded giant wolf. After the world ended, I treated him as my strongest fighter and a living source of warmth, curling against him to sleep every night. Later, once he healed, he turned into a man and warned me with a savage look, "I'm the Alpha of a werewolf pack. I have responsibilities to my people. Don't think you can make me stay." And with that, he left. I pulled my ragged blanket tighter, confused. What was he talking about? I had been keeping him as a dog the whole time. What did his responsibilities have to do with me? Later, I rescued a foolish husky from a pile of zombies. When I led him back to my crumbling shelter, I found the heir to the werewolf pack crouched at my door, covered in blood and looking utterly betrayed. His voice was hoarse, close to tears: "Throw that thing out and keep me instead, all right? I'm bigger, stronger, and have a thicker coat. I can warm your bed, and I'm better in that department too! "...If you don't agree, I'm kicking that stupid dog of yours back into the zombie pile!"

After I accidentally uploaded a rant post instead of my resignation letter, the messages went like this. Me: [Did you see the file I submitted?] He: [Mm… yeah. I saw it.] Me: [Then why didn't you reply? You don't approve?] He went quiet. I lost my patience and typed back, [If you're not saying anything, I'll take that as a yes. I'll come by your office this afternoon.] He replied almost instantly. [That fast?] Me: [Fast? How is that fast?] He: [I need some time to think.] Two seconds later, another message came in. [Is that okay?] I said yes. He ended up leaving work early and even gave the entire company three days off. Sitting at my desk, I thought about it for a long time. He was the owner of the company, yet there he was, acting like he was afraid I might leave. Was he really that desperate to keep me?

I was super clingy, always trailing after my boyfriend, Nate, like a lost puppy, constantly craving more of his attention. Tonight as I snuggled in his arms, pressing soft kisses to his lips as usual, I suddenly saw translucent comments fleshing across my vision, one after another. "Hasn't she noticed our Nate, the male lead, is trying his best to avoid her?" "Nate hates physical contact, especially with her. She can't seriously think he's with her because he loves her, right?” "Relax. Nate's true love, the heroine, is about to appear. Once she does, he's going to dump this stupid bitch so hard." My heart skipped a beat. The next second, I pulled away from Nate's chest. Nate glanced down at me. Something that looked suspiciously like irritation flickered across his face. “What’s wrong?" he asked.

At the Crestwood Academy gala, a voice cut through the noise. We stood before a wall of portraits, our past selves staring back at us. "To our time at the academy. Three words." Victoria, the academy's fallen golden girl, raised her glass. She'd been silent for years. "Strength. Passion." She paused. Her gaze, hot as an ember, locked onto the one wolf every eye was already on—my mate. "And... Caspen." A hush fell over the room. They were the academy's most tragic couple. Caspen, the reckless Alpha. Victoria, the radiant pureblood. Their love had been a wildfire, wild and consuming. But they had broken apart on the night of the Blood Moon, just before graduation. Every wolf here had witnessed their legend. Including me. I glanced at Caspen. His power was a physical weight in the air. That untamed wolf had sheathed his claws. He was my mate now. The Alpha of Alphas. Powerful. Composed. But his heart was not mine.

To keep the peace between humans and shifters, those chosen by the Oracle are forced to mate with their bound partners. And me? I was forced to be the shared mate of twin black dragons. Every night, I brewed two glasses of moon-wine to help them sleep. The older brother, Kaelen, was cold. But when he took his glass, his scalding fingertips would brush my wrist in a silent promise, and he’d murmur a soft thanks. But the younger one, Cassian? A vicious temper. He’d smash the glass, hurl insults, and crush me with the weight of his dragon aura. I had been lying to myself. Walking on eggshells. Desperately keeping a fragile peace. Until a fellow apothecary told me the truth. She hesitated, then said: "He treats you like dirt. The other one is gentle. Why do they both get the same precious moon-wine? How is that fair to the one who actually cares?" I thought about it all day. She was right. Late that night, I left the apothecary in a sheer silk robe, carrying only one glass of moon-wine.

My adopted brother, the powerful Mafia heir Knox, had one strict rule. He despised every woman who tried to climb into his bed. And I was the only woman by his side who hadn't been chased away. That was until a family dinner, when someone exposed the secret I had guarded for years in front of everyone. "Do you know that your most trusted, sweet little sister completely lusting after your body?!" The entire room went dead silent. I lowered my eyes, waiting for the inevitable abandonment. But the next second, Knox pulled me into his arms with a playful smirk. "So what if I know? We're soulmates." It turned out he had known about my secret crush all along, yet he just watched me make a fool of myself. I was too tired to play his game anymore. I turned around and accepted a marriage proposal from another man. But on the night of my engagement, that usually aloof heir kicked my bedroom door open, his eyes red with fury. Watching him completely lose his mind, I just stood to the side and let out a soft laugh. A master hunter never strikes first. She only needs to act like the prey.

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case. Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family. But I still put on my white coat and walked in. Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation. Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes. "I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body." The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety. I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile. But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

After celebrating our tenth anniversary, my wife suddenly drops her ring into my palm. "Don't you feel like our life has gotten pretty boring? Maybe we should just get a divorce."

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.

They always said you should not pick up a stranger from the roadside. However, what if he were devastatingly handsome? I brought home a badly injured man I found by the roadside. When he woke up, he could not remember a thing. I took care of him for three months, and, as expected, we fell in love. Without a ceremony and without guests, we consummated our marriage. It was just the two of us. When I was three months pregnant, that jerk regained his memory. He left me a letter and said he had something more important to do and that he would come back for me once it was done. I knew those were just excuses. When he got his memory back, he must have looked down on me for being a farmer’s daughter and wanted to abandon me after having his fun. However, the day I gave birth, imperial guards showed up at my door with the royal carriage. They brought an official decree, written by the man. He wanted to bring me to the palace, make me his queen, and make my child the prince. As I gazed at the baby leopards sleeping soundly on my bed, I was stunned. “My little ones, could you really become princes?”

I was just a human with no connection to the vampire world, until I met Adrian, a vampire noble, at an art gallery. We fell in love at first sight. To marry him, I defied my father and cut ties with my family. Everyone envied me for becoming Adrian’s only human wife, showered with love and affection. But after the wedding, I realized that so-called love was just another form of imprisonment. He wouldn’t let me work, wouldn’t let me leave the house, wouldn’t let me attend vampire gatherings. He wanted me to stay obediently in his castle, waiting for him to come home, doing as I was told. And his vampire assistant, Celeste, controlled my every expense under the guise of looking after me. She said that as a human, I was too fragile, too willful, and only ever caused trouble for Adrian. Adrian never once disagreed. Then one night, I stumbled into a vampire hospital, covered in blood. The doctor said the baby could still be saved. But I had no money, and no way to prove I was Mrs. Blackwood. I called Adrian, but the person who answered was Celeste. Through the phone, I heard Adrian’s cold, weary voice. “Don’t bother with her. She’s just putting on an act again.” After I lost the baby, I put the divorce papers in front of him. Adrian thought I was just throwing another tantrum. But what he didn’t know was that the moment I lost our child, there was no chance left for us.

My boyfriend was the illegitimate son of Oceanfall Pack’s Alpha, while I was just an ordinary healer working at the pack’s hospital. When his father broke his legs and threw him out, I was the one who stayed and gave him everything I could. However, the day fifteen luxury cars came to take him back, he ignored me completely and left with my coworker instead. When reporters pointed at me and asked him, “Who is this Omega to you?” Jeremy said coldly, “Just my healer. Nothing more.” Later, he rose to power to become the untouchable Alpha. I turned away, crossing borders to Sirius Pack to marry his greatest rival. On the night of my mating ceremony, he sent his men to kidnap me. “Are you really going to marry Marcus Flint, a man cursed by a witch? Aren’t you afraid of punishment?” I smiled. “Being with you was already my biggest punishment.”

Anomalies were descending on the world when I got thrown into a horror dungeon. The problem? I was a hopeless romantic. An even bigger problem? The dungeon’s final boss turned out to be more of a lovesick idiot than I was. The moment he saw me, he practically begged to be my personal simp.. Me: Wait… we’re doing that already? The barrage of comments exploded: “Look at him. The mighty final boss is willing to be the third wheel.” “Sorry, sweetie, but our girl already has two anomalies in line. Even if he’s the boss, he still has to take a number.”