Downstairs Novels & Stories

"Get up, I'm hungry. Cook for me NOW!" The authoritative tone jolted me awake, not giving me a moment to freshen up or even change. We don't sleep side by side; he stays in the master bedroom while I occupy the guest room. He can't stand being near me. It hurts deeply when those words come from him, but it's a recurring pattern. I hurriedly made my way downstairs, still tying the robe around me. In the kitchen, I began preparing his breakfast. You see, I'm his secret wife. No one knows except our parents and a few friends. Since we got married, not a day goes by without him reminding me that he doesn't love me. Not a day goes by without him hurting me. But that's alright because, as I've mentioned, I love him so much that I'm willing to do anything just to earn his love in return. A single tear escaped and fell onto the clove of garlic I was chopping. I quickly wiped it away. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Manang watching me. I took a deep breath to regain my composure before turning to her with a forced smile. "I'm sorry; I got emotional over garlic." I lied.

When I went to register my son, Cody Vantor, for medical insurance before his first year of kindergarten, I was told I wasn’t his biological mother. "Are you sure this is your child? The system shows a different woman listed as the mother." I said nothing. I quietly snapped a photo of the unfamiliar home address, then followed it to the neighboring complex. When he saw me, my husband, Dorian Vantor, froze. His hand instinctively moved to block the doorway. "So you found out. But making a scene won’t change anything. I haven’t treated you badly these past three years." I looked past him, and my body went cold. The woman behind him was my younger sister, Summer Walsh, fresh out of college. She handed him a glass of water and gave me an apologetic smile. "Don’t blame me, Lennie. The doctor said I have postpartum depression. I can’t handle hearing a baby cry. Thank you for raising Cody for me all these years. I really am grateful." Just then, Cody, who had been waiting in the car downstairs, ran up. He rushed into Summer’s arms like it was second nature, then turned to look at me. "Aunt Lenora, don’t cry. Mommy said you’re a good person. That’s why she asked you to help. Daddy said if I behave and call you ‘Mom’ at your house, I can come back on weekends to see my real Mommy."

After seven years of marriage, my wife had rarely asked me to accompany her back to her parents' home. She always said she didn't want me stepping into that cramped, crowded little house and feeling wronged. This year, during the New Year, I happened to be in the city where my in-laws lived for a business trip. By chance, I came across a local video online. It was posted by a resident of an upscale neighborhood. "Mom, Dad, my beloved wife and son—thank you for giving an orphan like me a complete and happy life." The elderly couple in the video were dressed in the same high-end outfits I had bought for my in-laws. I thought of how frugal they had always been, how they lived simply and spared every penny. A decision formed in my mind: tomorrow, I would buy them a place in that very neighborhood, in their name, so they could enjoy a comfortable retirement. It would be my small act of filial piety. But the next day, the moment I stepped into the residential complex, I saw my in-laws coming downstairs—with my wife and a child. Could it be that my wife had secretly bought them an apartment? I pressed my lips together, about to step forward, when a man rushed over and caught my father-in-law just as he nearly stumbled. "Dad, careful now." My footsteps froze. My wife was an only child. I had never heard of any foster relatives. He called my father-in-law "Dad." Then… who was I?

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. He's holding a fake confession letter with my forged signature, storming into my old apartment in the rust district, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he grabs the corner store owner downstairs, demanding to know where I am. The owner pauses, wiping his hands on his apron, calmly tells him: "Serafine? She died five years ago." "Heard it was retaliation from a rival family during the gang war. They ambushed her in an alley... shot her over a dozen times. She died immediately." My husband, Lucien, refuses to believe it. Convinced the owner is on my payroll, hiding me to help me escape his reach. He scoffs, his eyes filled with scorn: "Oh, so what? Because I called her out for messing up that last job, now she's throwing a tantrum?" "You tell her, if she doesn't come back and take the fall in three days, I'll revoke her grandmother's 'special family protection'! Let the old woman rot!" With that, he storms out, his rage still simmering. The owner watches him leave and sighs, shaking his head. "There's no grandmother left to protect... That woman passed away not long after Serafine did... couldn't survive the winter without our family's medical supplies and protection..."

My husband’s company went bankrupt, and his creditors quickly came over to threaten him. Then, of course, they asked me for the money. Milo Cardilo, my husband, was worried that they would hurt me, so he shielded me and said while crying, “Stella, the company owes ten million dollars. Let’s fake a divorce and split our assets. That way, I won’t drag you down with my debts. Trust me, honey. Once this is settled, we can get married again.” His sincerity and selflessness touched me. When the creditors came to drag him out of his company to beat him up again, I stepped forward. “I’m Stella York, and my father is the Don of the Rosa Family. Let my husband go, and I’ll give you the money.” But when I went downstairs to call my estranged father, I heard my husband talk to his creditors. “Don’t believe her. How could she possibly be the Principessa of the Rosa Family? She must be bluffing to stall for time. Make your act more convincing. Puncture all the fake blood bags I have on me! Once she signs the agreement to walk away with nothing, I’ll pay you ten times the acting fee!” My heart went cold. So, when it was time to sign the divorce agreement, I agreed without hesitation. Milo sighed in relief, but what he did not know was that he was going to pay the price for his deceit.

The dormitory entrance downstairs is completely blocked. After squeezing to the front row, a he-wolf from the physical training camp next door points and whistles at me. "Look, that's the Luminian vixen. She's famous for being a notch-collector and will do it with any Alpha." My bed is strewn with rotten meat and animal entrails. On the wall, the words "Harlot", "Floozy", and "Tart" are scrawled in bright red lipstick. Jessica Cobb, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed cheer captain, holds up her phone. "Girls, I really don't want to expose her, but she's just filthy," she says with a face filled with contempt. "She's worse than a dog in heat. On Monday, it was the little hottie with the six-pack abs in his Ferrari. "Wednesday, it was the mature Alpha who reeks of cigars and has eyes that look like they want to devour you in his Bentley. Yesterday, it was that old gentleman with the monocle who's into domination in his Rolls-Royce." She shoves the photos right in the faces of the surrounding women. "Clearly, she didn't come here to study, but to find a sugar daddy." Despite the crystal-clear pictures showing me in those cars, I can't reveal that the men with me are my obsessively controlling older brother, my hot-tempered uncle, and my great-uncle. Respectively, they are the Alpha King of Lumin, the Chief Justice, and the Chair of the Elders' Council. The surrounding male werewolves burst into laughter, their eyes roaming over my thighs. "Hey, Luminian doll, how much for one night? I'd like a taste of you too." They have no idea that these men they're fantasizing about as my sugar daddies are actually the werewolf elders they can least afford to mess with in this lifetime.

Three year after my death, my former mate returned— not to mourn me, but to make use of me one last time. It was the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year—the night when wolves whispered to the dead. “Where’s Mira Thorne?” Rowan demanded as he strode downstairs into the tavern beneath the den. “Her lived here—Gavin’s sister. I need to find her.” Dorian, the tavern keeper, glanced up slowly. “Mira?” he repeated, wiping his hands on a cloth. “She’s gone, Doctor. Died three winters ago. Same night the Moon rose red.” Rowan’s brows knit. “Dead? That’s impossible. There’s no record.” Dorian’s voice softened. “The family from that healing case—remember them? They found her in the alley behind this inn. Tore her apart before dawn. The healers couldn’t even retrieve her wolf.” Rowan froze, a flicker of disbelief passing across his face before irritation took over. “No. She’s pretending. She’s doing this to make me feel guilty.” he said sharply. “She’s hiding. She always was weak. Tell her if her doesn’t come out within three days, I’ll stop sending money for brother’s treatment.” He turned abruptly and left, the tavern door slamming behind him. Dorian sighed after him., shaking his head. “brother? Her brother died before the healers even arrived… there was never any money for treatment.” The silence that followed was heavier than snow. Dorian watched the falling snow and murmured to the empty air, “No one pretends death, Doctor. Not when they’ve already lost everything.”

So it appeared that she was to start paying her way on her back with this absolutely massive, broad-shouldered, tattooed, aptly-named wild warrior. Gideon was a large man, but this modern viking put him to serious physical shame; if Gideon’s dick had split her in half in agony, Iris could only imagine what this monster’s cock would do to her. She just hoped that he left her able to walk… and able to fuck the rest of the boys downstairs, because of course they’d be close behind. She knew there would be blood soaking and staining her thighs before things were done, long before they decided that they’d used her up. Stopping her jumbled thoughts, Iris slowly lowered herself to her knees. **** Liam “Viking” Callahan thought the job was done. Evidence buried. Debt paid to The Road Devils MC. Then he drives out of the Utah mountains with a secret in the back of his van: a terrified woman running for her life. Iris has spent six months planning her escape from Gideon and the Garden of Divine Light. She’s barefoot, freezing, and desperate enough to gamble on a stranger who looks dangerous... but still safer than the hell she left behind. So she hides. And prays. When the Road Devils discover Iris, the truth unravels: a cult, a tyrant, and a woman who fled into a winter night wearing nothing but a nightgown and borrowed boots. She’s broken, but not defeated. Iris wants her life back... her body, her choices, her fearlessness. The only man she feels safe with is the towering, gentle Viking. As trust turns into desire, neither of them sees the danger closing in. Gideon wants his “property” returned... and he won’t stop until he gets it.

“How do you like your cock sucked?” He throws his head back and laughs. My brows furrow. Then his gaze drops to mine again. “You’re cute. But not tonight, Chan.” “But—” “Another time.” Before I can respond, he scoops me up like I am his newlywed bride, arms under my knees and back, and carries me to the bed. He slowly lowers me onto the mattress. His hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers working into my hair, and he pulls me into a deep, claiming kiss. I close my eyes and melt into it, arms curling around his neck. A moan escapes me when his mouth leaves mine and closes over one nipple. The wet suction sends a jolt straight between my legs. His hand drifts lower, fingers finding my clit and rubbing slowly. The pleasure becomes tight. More moans spill out before I can stop them. I bite my lip hard, trying to stay quiet. My family is downstairs eating dinner. If they hear—if anyone hears—they’ll kill me. He switches to the other breast, sucking harder while his fingers keep working me. ~~~ Chancé has been in love with River Dawson for four years. The charismatic hockey captain is everything she should avoid—magnetic, reckless, and dangerously irresistible. River doesn’t believe in relationships. He doesn’t do love. And according to his twin sister Cortney—Chancé’s best friend—he definitely isn’t someone Chancé should ever get involved with. But when Chancé saves River during a near-drowning accident, the boy she’s secretly loved finally notices her. What begins as a stolen moment quickly becomes a secret, intoxicating affair built on strict rules: no love, no labels, no drama—and absolutely no one can find out. Especially not Cortney.

Ethan hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks, the other tangled in her hair as he pulled her head back, kissing and biting her neck like he couldn’t get enough. They didn’t even notice me. “She’s downstairs,” Juliana gasped between moans, her voice wicked and breathless. “Pregnant… all round and swollen… looking so ugly… and here you are… fucking me.” Ethan chuckled low and cruel, never slowing his rhythm. “She’s not my wife. She’s just an incubator.” ################ He thought he destroyed her. He was wrong. Serena Harrington trusted three people: her husband. Her best friend. Her mother-in-law. They were all lying. On the night of the grand vow renewal party, she caught them in the act her husband brutally fucking her best friend over their own bed while they laughed and tore her apart with every vicious word. Her mother-in-law watched it all with a satisfied smile. And her husband? He looked at her like she was nothing more than a transaction. Six years of marriage. Six years of lies. Six years of watching her back while they plotted her ruin. They took her money. They destroyed her name. Then they left her for dead. But Serena survived. She disappeared. She rebuilt herself. She became someone unrecognizable. Now, five years later, she’s back. Not as the desperate wife they mocked. Not as the woman they buried. But as their worst nightmare Ethan Cadwell took everything from her. Now she will take everything from him. Piece by piece. Dollar by dollar. Tear by tear. And when he’s finally on his knees… she’ll show him exactly what a Harrington does to those who betray her. They thought they buried her. They should have made sure she stayed dead.