Better Left Unsaid Naruto Novels & Stories

Three months after my liver cancer diagnosis, I found out the only contact Evelyn Pritchard had pinned was one of her male students. Suddenly, all those cute reaction gifs she had been using made sense. I didn't spiral. I gave Evelyn two choices. "Divorce me, or cut him off." Evelyn said nothing. She locked herself in the study for the entire night. When she came out the next morning, her eyes were red, and she looked at me like she already knew she had ruined something she couldn't fix. "He doesn't know anything. I'm the one who crossed the line. It won't happen again." We had been together for six years. I couldn't bring myself to end everything over what I kept telling myself was one mistake. Then, during my surgery, Evelyn answered a phone call. "My parents are trying to force me into a marriage. Please, you have to come help me!" Her hand slipped out of mine. And then, she ran for the door. Pain tore through my abdomen, but I gritted my teeth and shouted, "Evelyn, if you walk out of this operating room today, we're getting divorced when you come back!" She stopped for half a second, but still left anyway. The heart monitor began to shriek. Evelyn never looked back. That was when I finally understood. This three-year marriage should have ended a long time ago.

Three years ago, my husband’s brother took a bullet for him. So Gwen brought his brother's widow, Eliza, into our home. I was the Donna in name only. I had to step aside for Eliza in everything. Once, Eliza faked slitting her wrists. She said I drove her to it. Gwen grabbed my throat. Murder flashed in his eyes. "Get out. The Falcone family has no place for a venomous bitch like you." He gave her the family's art foundation to "make it up to her." It was supposed to be mine. This time, I said nothing. He was signing a stack of business contracts. I just slipped the divorce papers in with them. A few days later, he noticed I wasn't home. He searched all over Chicago. He couldn't find me. That's when he saw the divorce decree. He finally understood. I was gone. For good. That day, the untouchable king of the Chicago Outfit… shattered.

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

At the engagement party, the champagne tower is only half-built when Marcus Harrison answers a phone call. He glances at me and says, "I have to go. Lily collapsed at the airport." I say, "If you leave, we're done." He leaves anyway, in front of 200 guests. He carries Lily Bardot in his arms, wearing the coat I gave him, as he drives away in my car. The next day, he sends me an email that reads, "Lily will be moving into my apartment. She needs me, and I hope you can understand. Once Lily gets better, we'll get married. Please trust me." I stare at the screen and suddenly laugh. So what he wants isn't someone who loves him. It's someone who needs him. And I'm too independent, so I don't make the cut. That evening, I scroll through my contacts and find a number I've never given a second glance to. It belongs to someone who's been waiting for me for 23 years. I dial it. "Tomorrow night, 7:00 pm. Meet me at the restaurant by the sea."

When I was eighteen, Kael pulled my sister and me out of a rogue auction ring on the northern border. From that day on, I fought for him, bled for him, and helped him carve out his place among the northern packs. By the time his name carried weight across the borderlands, everyone knew I was the one who stood closest to his power. I thought that one day, he might finally look at me and see more than a weapon at his side. Then he brought home a soft-spoken Omega named Liora. “Mira, look at you. Covered in blood again.” “Wash up before you frighten Liora.” After that, everything changed. The pack began calling her future Luna. Kael took my blades away, tied an apron around my waist, and made me responsible for her every need. Whenever she slipped into places she should not have been, got hurt, and claimed I had frightened her out of jealousy, Kael believed her. Every punishment came with a reason. Neat enough to sound fair. Sharp enough to hurt. I accepted all of it. Because years ago, when I asked how I could repay him for saving my sister and me, Kael had said: “You want to repay me?” “Then do one hundred things for me.” I lowered my eyes to the yellowing notebook in my hands. Only three were left. When I finished them, I would owe him nothing. And then I would leave.

For ten years, I spent by Damien Thorne's side, helping him transform from a servant's son into the powerful Alpha of Shadow Pack. I believed I would eventually see the day he'd claim me as his mate. Instead, he brought home Scarlett Rivers, his childhood sweetheart who had been living abroad, treating her like precious royalty while making her his Luna. To help his beloved Scarlett and free her parents from prison, Damien handed over my healing potion patents without hesitation. Even my own son was placed in Scarlett's care to secure her position as Shadow Pack's Luna. I became everything to Damien—his financial backer, his assistant, his healer, his bed partner—everything except what I truly wanted to be: his rightful mate. "Just wait a little longer," Damien always promised me. "Once I repay my debt to my childhood benefactor, you'll be my only mate." So, I kept waiting and waiting. But Damien seemed to forget his promises entirely. Even my own child began to despise me. Suddenly, exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave. Waiting felt pointless. I didn't want to do it anymore.

For five years, I quietly supported my boyfriend, helping him rise from a lawyer's assistant to a partner at a top-tier law firm. At the annual awards ceremony, I was thrilled, ready to celebrate publicly and surprise him. But then, he walked on stage with a female coworker, their behavior cozy and intimate. "Cade owes his success to my brilliant strategies behind the scenes," Caitlyn boasted. Cade smiled, echoing her words, "Absolutely, without Caitlyn, I wouldn't be where I am today." The audience erupted in applause, congratulating them. I stood at the back of the crowd, frozen. Leaving the venue, I called my assistant. "Cut off all networking support for Cade Gilliam. End all cooperation. That shady case he took on? Stop smoothing things over. Let him face the consequences."

• My mom died saving me during a kidnapping. At least, that’s what everyone believed. My dad—once the man who spoiled me like his little princess—turned his grief into hatred. He adopted a girl who looked just like Mom and gave her all the love that used to be mine. For five years, I lived in that shadow, broken and unwanted. Until the day I was beaten and left for dead… and my mom came back. Alive. He used to call me his treasure. Now he calls me a curse. But the night my mom returned, everything shattered—his lies, his obsession, and the truth I was never meant to know.

She found out her ex borrowed loan in her name and used the only house her father gave her as a collateral a day before his death so she let his father fuck her in her mourning dress during his funeral service. She caught her hockey captain boyfriend giving bj to his teammate so she stepped walked up to the principal which was his father and dropped her panties in front of him. Caught her husband of five years dryhumping her sister so she signed the divorce papers and fucked her dad before him while he was forced to watch. Dear Ex, Your Father Fxxked Me Better: Filthy Shorts is a scorching collection of standalone short stories where scorned women turn the ultimate betrayal into their most delicious revenge. After being lied to, cheated on, and discarded like yesterday’s news, these fierce, broken-hearted heroines decide the best way to destroy their exes isn’t violence or drama — it’s pleasure. Raw, forbidden, mind-blowing pleasure in the arms (and bed) of the one man their ex could never compete with: his own father. From the ruthless billionaire patriarch they once feared… to the magnetic silver-fox rival they secretly admired… these older, dominant, dangerously possessive men don’t just give them revenge, they give them passion so intense it rewrites their entire lives. Expect filthy, addictive age-gap erotica packed with power plays, jealous exes losing their minds, family scandals that shake New York’s elite circles, and heroines who walk out of luxurious bedrooms completely transformed — bolder, stronger, and deliciously ruined in the best possible way. Because sometimes, the sweetest revenge isn’t making him cry. It’s making his father moan your name.

I had been married to Alexander for three years. Everyone feared his ruthlessness, but he had always been incredibly gentle with me. But ever since Elena took a bullet for him during a shootout six months ago, everything changed. He always said she got hurt saving him, so I had to be accommodating. At the family’s most prestigious gala, my husband—the Don, Alexander—arrived with his secretary, Elena, on his arm. Pinned to her chest was the ruby brooch that symbolized the position of the Donna of the family. "Elena took a bullet for me. She liked the brooch, so I let her borrow it for a while. Regardless, you are the only donna here. Try to show some class." I didn't argue with him. I just removed my wedding ring and pulled out the divorce papers: "Since she likes it so much, she can have it. Including this seat next to you. I'm giving that up, too." Alexander signed without hesitation, a cold smile on his face. "What kind of manipulative trick are you playing now? You're an orphan, separated from your family, you won't survive three days in Sicily. I'll wait for you to come back begging me." I took out an encrypted satellite phone I hadn't used in three years. Alexander didn't know that I was actually the youngest daughter of the oldest Mafia family in Europe. But my family and Alexander’s had always been enemies. To marry him, I had changed my name and even severed ties with my father and brothers. The call connected. I took a deep breath and whispered, "Papa, I regret it. Send someone to pick me up in two weeks."