Award Winning Novel Novels & Stories

As soon as I come of age, I become the secret lover of Luciano Carlotta, the future Don of his family. The reason why I choose to be with him isn't to covet his money—it's because I love him. To me, he's my savior who has rescued me from my sad, tragic life as an orphan. He even tells me lovingly that it's not my fault that my parents don't want me, and that he will be the one loving me from now on. So, when Luciano wants me to give birth to his child, I say yes. But once the baby is born, I'm only allowed to visit him once per month. Luciano explains, "I'm the future Don, Rosanna. My family wants me to marry a woman of a similar background and social standing. They still find it difficult to accept you at the moment. I have to keep their opinions of you in mind. "Just wait for a little longer. Once I conquer the final turf and become the Don, I'll definitely marry you. Our son shall become my heir. Staying in the Carlotta family is the best option for him, you know." Naturally, I believe Luciano's excuses. On sleepless nights, I just stare at photos of him and our son as I shed tears quietly. One day, I receive great news from my best friend, Sofia Rossi. Apparently, she's about to get married. "Rosanna, I'm getting engaged! My fiance is very handsome, and he loves me with all his heart, too! You must attend my wedding when the time comes!" As I congratulate her, I tap on the photo that she's just sent me. But I find myself staring at Luciano's face instead.

Three years ago, she was hurt by a man she loved deeply, leaving her to go through marriage alone. Three years later, she was reborn beautifully. She said with a smile, "What is a husband? I don't need one." The gaze of the man behind her sank and his thin lips curled into two sharp knives : "Elaine, do you dare to say that again?"

After five years of marriage, my wife’s childhood friend posted a photo of a property deed in his social media circle with the caption, [Thank you, Miss CEO, for transferring the house to me.] I was stunned when I saw the address on the deed—it was my home. Confused, I left a comment. [?] Almost immediately, my wife, Alice, called and scolded me. "He’s a single dad, so pitiful! I only transferred the house to his name to make it easier for his daughter to attend school. It doesn’t affect us living there. How can you be so heartless and lack even a shred of compassion?" In the background, I could hear her childhood friend complaining bitterly. Half an hour later, he posted on social media again and tagged me. This time, he showed off a $150,000 sports car with the caption, [Paid in full! As the saying goes, where a woman spends her money is where her heart lies.] I knew it was my wife who bought him the car to make up for upsetting him. But this time, I’ve made up my mind—I’m filing for divorce.

On the day I was supposed to try on wedding dresses with Charles Jaspier, the mafia leader I had loved for seven years, I walked into the boutique carrying a pregnancy test report—my heart full of hope. Instead, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. "Registering the marriage with Ellis Olsen was a temporary measure," he said calmly to his closest confidant. "My brother died in a shootout. She's carrying the Jaspier family's only heir. Without a legal status, neither she nor the child would survive in this family." "Everyone would bully them." A cigar rested between his fingers. His voice was cold, edged with resignation. "Zoey Qandor can't have a title—but I can give her everything else. My love. My money. This must never reach her ears." I clenched the pregnancy report, my heart turning to ash. With my best friend's help, I created a new identity—one that ensured Charles would never find me again—and disappeared from his world. If he could not give me and my child a complete family, then this love—built on responsibility and lies—was better cut cleanly, once and for all.

Dante Valieri, the most sought-after mafia lawyer in New York, had just signed his own name on my divorce papers. But he had no idea. Because while he was signing them, his eyes never left Camille. The second Camille walked in, Dante had already looked up. He watched her disappear into the lounge before finally turning back to me. “What did I just sign?” “Nothing important. You never really look at the things I hand you anyway.” He started toward the lounge. “Next time, just send it to my phone. Don’t make a special trip.” As he closed the door behind him, I heard him say to Camille— “You came so early. I was worried I’d miss you.” And just like that, I was shut out on the other side of the door. You won’t miss anything anymore, Dante. In ten days, I’ll be going home. After that, no one will interrupt the two of you ever again.

Sepharine cared for Draven, the crippled son of an Alpha, for three long years. After painstakingly helping him regain his strength, he scorned her—for she was merely a lowly maid, unworthy of an Alpha's heir. Heartbroken, Sepharine left the pack. Only after losing her did Draven realize the depth of his feelings for her.

Our bodies tangled in the car. My husband moved inside me, lips claiming my chest, when the sudden ring of a phone ripped me out of our intoxicating haze. Gabriel answered without hesitation. It was one of his closest friends from the medical world, speaking in German. “Don,” the voice said casually, “your mistress is two months pregnant. What are you going to do?” Gabriel didn’t pause. His tone was calm. “Grace can’t have children,” he replied. “I’ll let her carry the baby to term, then adopt it as my own. That secures the heir. This stays between us.” Something inside me froze. The one thing he had forgotten— I majored in German. And he learned it just to win me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I smiled, stayed quiet, and kept playing the perfect wife. Later, I slipped the divorce papers into a real estate contract and watched him sign without reading. Then I quietly registered a new identity. For the next three days, his absence—and her taunting messages—erased the last illusions I had about love. When my new identity finally went live, I walked away without looking back. Carrying his child. And disappearing from his world forever.

Four years into our bond, my body was a wreck. Losing our first pup had nearly killed me, leaving me too fragile to handle Fred’s massive frame. Fred was our Alpha—a mountain of a man. To protect me, he publicly announced he’d had a vasectomy. Even after the Pack Healer cleared me, Fred wouldn’t touch me. He claimed he was terrified of hurting me again. I thought I had the most loyal mate alive. Then I saw him. He was at a shop across town with his Lead Warrior, loading a basket with over a dozen toys—the most expensive models they had. The Warrior nudged him, smirking. "Planning a marathon? You’re not worried Maya will find out you’re screwing her sister?" Fred laughed, his eyes bright with a sick kind of pride. "Maya is my Luna; I love her. But her body is broken," he shrugged. "Cynthia looks exactly like her—only younger, tighter, and willing to do whatever I want. No complaints, no pain. My soul belongs to my Luna, but I need an heir. Cynthia will carry my son so Maya doesn't have to suffer."

By the ninety-ninth day of Lux Vitale’s disappearance, all of Sicily had already accepted that she was dead. The Antara family held a funeral grand enough to shake the entire underworld. Standing before her grave, Lorenzo Antara, Don of the Antara family and her husband, mourned openly in front of police officials, family lawyers, and powerful business associates. Under the glare of reporters’ cameras, he even swore that for the next three years, no woman would ever take Lux’s place. However, when Lux finally returned to the seaside estate on Long Island, wounded, limping, and barely alive after months of captivity, she discovered that Lorenzo had not only broken his promise– He had already given another woman everything that once belonged to her. And that woman was none other than Bianca Vitale. The sister who had shared her name.

On the day of my wedding, my fiance, Don James Colombo, left me at the altar again. "Angelina is in the ICU," he said. "The ceremony will have to wait." It was the ninth time he had abandoned me for his terminally ill childhood sweetheart. The first time, she had run away from home, and he could not rest easy. "Angelina is missing, yet you want me to stand here toasting at the wedding? Don't be so selfish, Leticia." The third time, he said Angelina was in a terrible state and threatening to take her own life — he had to go comfort her. By the eighth time, James had stopped explaining and simply had the butler notify me the wedding was off. For him, postponing a wedding was nothing. For me, the Buono Principessa left standing in a chapel, it meant ridicule and one hundred lashes from my furious father. The lashes split open my skin and left me running a fever that would not break. James would hold me afterward, apologize helplessly, and promise he would make it up to me after we married. He promised nine times. He kept none of them. So when he left me again for Angelina, I did not cry or make a scene. I packed my bags alone and in silence. It would be the last time he ever postponed our wedding. One month later, he would never be able to find me again.