He Man Dc Comics Novels & Stories

I spent five years as Dominic Santoro’s wife in name only. Five years hidden behind closed doors, buried under his sheets, erased from his world. When he finally agreed to take me back to Chicago—to stand beside him, to be seen—I thought I had won. I bought a new dress. Soft. Elegant. Worthy of a Don’s woman. The night before we left, he looked at me through the mirror and said calmly, “Take the makeup off. Change into pants.” I asked why. He adjusted his cufflinks like I was nothing more than background noise. “Juliana Lancaster is back. Tonight is our engagement.” Russian Bratva. Lancaster blood. A marriage alliance. Seeing my silence, he laughed—careless, cruel. “What’s with that look? Didn’t we agree on this when we married? Brotherhood. Loyalty. No love.” Then he turned, eyes sharp and mocking. “Victoria Miller… you didn’t actually fall in love with me, did you?” I stood there, frozen. Because inside the inner pocket of his tailored suit— was my pregnancy report. And the Don of Chicago had no idea the woman he was about to sacrifice was carrying his heir.

For seven years, Alina Virelle was the perfect wife. Gentle. Patient. Quietly devoted. She loved Lucien Drax in silence, even when he gave her nothing in return no warmth, no affection, not even a place in his world. But she stayed. Because she believed that one day, he would finally see her. She was wrong. On her birthday, Alina crosses countries just to be with her husband and daughter… only to find herself standing outside a life that no longer includes her. Another woman has already taken her place. And the most painful part? Her daughter doesn’t reach for her. That day, Alina doesn’t cry. She doesn’t beg. She doesn’t fight. She simply lets go. She signs the divorce papers. Walks away from the marriage. And disappears from their lives without looking back. But the woman who returns is no longer the quiet wife who endured everything. She is distant. Untouchable. And far more powerful than anyone remembers. Just as Alina begins to rebuild her life, Lucien starts coming back. More often. Closer than ever. Watching her like she is someone he is only now seeing for the first time. Until the day he discovers the truth. She wants a divorce. And this time… he refuses to let her go. “A divorce?” he says, his calm finally breaking as he traps her against the wall. “You don’t get to leave me… not now.” But what Lucien doesn’t understand is Alina already left him long ago.

While they slice me apart, I desperately call my brother, Nathan Slade. He finally picks up as my consciousness starts to slip and answers in an annoyed voice, "What now?" "Nathan, help—" I don't get to finish before he cuts me off. "Can't you ever go a day without drama? Gemma's graduation is at the end of the month. Miss it, and I swear I'll kill you!" Then, he hangs up without a second thought. The agonizing pain swallows me whole, and my eyes close for good, tears still trailing down my cheeks. Well, good news, Nathan… You won't have to kill me because I'm already dead.

I spent decades taking care of my kid and the elderly. I ignored my stomach pain until it turned into cancer. By the end, it had eaten me alive. Before I died, I went back to my old family home to sort through my stuff. That's when I found Danny's diary. My dead husband's diary. Hidden for fifteen years. I carefully flipped through it until I reached the last page. [Some loves are worth dying for. Alicia, I'm coming with you.] The diary never mentioned me. Not once. Page after page, it was all Alicia. That was when I learned Danny hadn't died in an accident. He and Alicia Doyle—the woman he never got over—had chosen to die together. I sank onto a chair and stared at his framed photo. "Danny Caldwell, if you loved her that much, did you regret marrying me?" Blood filled my throat. I threw his picture to the floor. "Because I regret marrying you." When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the past. This time, I refused to rot in a loveless marriage. I walked out and never looked back. He smirked and told his friends, "She'll crawl back. Bet she won't last three hours." But three hours passed. Then three days. Then three months. I never came back. Later, he asked when I'd return to him. My answer was simple. "Never."

The night my husband, William Costello, was assassinated by his enemies was supposed to be a celebration—our wedding anniversary. I was dressed in his favorite red dress, waiting for him, when the phone rang. "Mr. Costello was shot at the harbor. The bullet went through the back of his head. He died on the spot." I collapsed to the floor. I clung to his belongings, mourning for a week straight. We even lost our unborn child during this time. Everyone said William and I were true love. Even the Don himself came to the funeral, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder with a sigh. He said, "All of Blackhaven knows you were the only woman he ever loved." Grief nearly destroyed me. I stood at the river's edge, ready to follow William into the afterlife. However, I overheard my sister-in-law, Emily Hawkins, leaning into my brother-in-law, Jones Costello, her voice dripping with a twisted affection. She purred, "William, I love you so much. Between Nina and me, who do you think is sexier?" "Of course it's you, babe!" came the husky reply. I stood frozen, my eyes wide and my body trembling. Why was Emily calling my brother-in-law by my husband's name?

I was nine months pregnant when the Wolf Council sent a resource report to the Luna’s quarters. It listed my mate’s monthly distributions. For two years straight, my husband—the pack’s Alpha—had been secretly providing the same female wolf with territory access, protection, and supplies. Without missing a single month. The first record dated back to two years ago. The same month I lost my first pup. A notification appeared—A contact request. The note read: “A woman kept by an Alpha.” I was strangely calm, one hand rested on my swollen belly as I accepted. She messaged immediately. “You saw the report, didn’t you?” I didn’t reply, I opened her feed instead. The earliest post was dated April 21st, two years ago. A female wolf leaned against an Alpha’s chest. His face was cropped out—but the mark on his shoulder was clear. I recognized it instantly. My mate’s Alpha mark. The caption read: “Thank you for choosing me on my coming-of-age night.” April 21st. That was the night I lay bleeding in the healing room, losing my unborn pup. He had told me he was away on pack business. I kept scrolling. She trained freely in Alpha-only areas. Used resources reserved for the Luna. Was guarded as if she already belonged at his side. Every post carried the same message: He chose her. Pinned at the top was a medical report—She was pregnant—With the Alpha’s pup. I put the device down and returned to our bedroom. Then I received it—Photos. Videos. She sent them to me on purpose— to flaunt that the love I had once been so proud of had already rotted beyond repair. I sat down slowly, my pup shifting inside me, pain spreading through my chest. Only then did I understand—He had betrayed me completely. This kind of love—I don’t want it. This pack—I won’t stay in it. When my pup is born, I will leave—And I will take his heir with me. Let the Alpha search every territory, scour every border, tear the pack apart in regret— he will never find us.

The men of his Pack never live past thirty. Only a union with my bloodline can break the curse. But on the day of our mating ceremony, he tore up our bond in front of everyone— just for his precious lover. In front of the entire Pack, he looked at me with nothing but disgust. “Elara, you’re nothing but a parasite. Your kind has been using black magic to deceive my Pack for generations. That ends with me.” His lover clung to his arm and laughed softly. “Why are you still standing here? Get out.” “With my knowledge, I can keep him alive far beyond thirty.” I looked at him. At the life-force already collapsing beneath his skin. A quiet laugh slipped from my throat. Fine. On his thirtieth birthday— we’ll see who’s right. Very soon.

My dad never got over his first love, so he traded me for her daughter, Irene. I spent twenty years like that before they finally took me back and named me the real heiress. So when it was time to pick a husband, I didn't care about anything else. I just wanted someone with a clean past. Like Shane Terrell. Detective captain. Cold, intimidating, and known for ignoring women—yet when he confessed, his ears went red. "Lana Laurent, you're my first. You have to take responsibility for me." I believed him. Thought I'd found the one. Then Irene came back. I stood in our house and watched Shane hold her, crying. "Why'd you make me lie to her? Why'd you make me marry her? You're the one I loved first!"

For five years, I was married to the heir of the Romano family, Italy's biggest crime family. Every night, he'd hold me and whisper, "Just give me an heir, and I'll give him the entire Romano empire." But I never got pregnant, and the Don's disappointment in me grew with every passing month. Until I found out my husband had been secretly swapping my folic acid for birth control pills. I was still reeling from the fury when I saw a post from his ex-girlfriend: an ultrasound photo. Her caption was sweet and smug: “Ten weeks along. Vincent said he can’t wait to meet the baby.” Seeing the flood of congratulations, my mind was made up. I found the contact info for my ex-boyfriend—the one who’d spent the last five years trying to get me back. I sent him a single text. 【Give me one month. Then I’m coming with you.】

After the IVF procedure worked, I finally got pregnant and flew back from overseas, hoping to surprise my husband, Rob Balmer, with the news I'd been waiting so long for. A friend tipped me off that while I'd been abroad, Rob had taken on a new personal assistant — the clingy, temperamental type who always had to have her way. At first, I didn't think much of it. In the old days, all I had to do was frown, and Rob would have anyone who got on my nerves shown the door. But when I got home, I found out the code to the front gate had been changed. I tried our wedding anniversary date again — and that's when the door swung open. Some woman was leaning against the doorway in my silk pajamas, all drama and attitude, her brows arched like she owned the place. "Look what the cat dragged in — some beggar showing up at the Balmer estate! Scram! Or I'll set the dogs on you!" I was so furious I almost laughed. "Go get Rob. I want to ask him just what kind of stray he's been letting into this house." And I had one more question: Did he still want the heir — the Balmer family's only shot at continuing nine generations of single sons— the one I was carrying right now?