Knuckles Laughing Novels & Stories

The mafia coalition’s family banquet had reached its liveliest point. Someone started stirring things up and steered the conversation toward the youngest Don of the Fumagalli family, Dante Fumagalli. “Dante, before you came to power, all those old Dons from the major families were falling over themselves to push their daughters at you. Was there ever one you actually wanted?” I stood half a step behind him, and my knuckles turned white around my wine glass. Dante did not answer right away. His gaze swept over me, cool and indifferent, before he turned toward Viviana Lombardi, who still held the crowd’s attention. “I wanted her.” Viviana spun around so fast that wine splashed from her glass onto her wrist. “Then why did you not come when I gave you that hotel key card all those years ago?” The calm on Dante’s face finally cracked. He frowned. “Your key card? Was that not for Enzo Ricci?” “How could it have been for Enzo?” Viviana’s eyes reddened. “He is my first cousin.” One question led to another and the truth emerged. That hotel key card had been handed to the wrong person by a Soldato. Because of that mistake, they had missed each other. Viviana burst into tears on the spot. Regret shadowed Dante’s expression. Just then, someone laughed softly. “What a coincidence. Was the key card really delivered to the wrong person, or did someone make sure it ended up in the wrong hands?” In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me. Everyone remembered me. I was the woman who used to trail after Dante Fumagalli like a lovesick fool. I turned to look at Dante and hoped he would say something for me. I hoped he would tell them we had been secretly married for five years and that he had been the one who pursued me back then. He said nothing. He did not defend me. He did not deny anything. He stared ahead in silence as if none of this had anything to do with him. In that moment, I pulled off the wedding ring I had worn for five years.

Our story started with a single, reckless night of sin while he was drugged. But I didn't regret it. After that night, I foolishly believed I had claimed his heart. For six years, we were inseparable and became a couple that made the entire underworld envious. However, everything was changed when I overheard him laughing with his capos outside the lounge. "Vincent, when will you put a ring on Lyra’s finger?" My footsteps froze. Then, his voice, still cold and utterly merciless, cut through the door. "She’s nothing but a fuck buddy. How could I marry her?" My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, violent warning. A suffocating, dead silence fell over the lounge. "When I broke up with my ex, she asked me to try dating other women. If we still have feelings for each other after six years, we’d reunite. We have a deal." His tone was chillingly calm. "My trial is over. It’s time for her to come back." "What about Lyra?" Another capo asked, sounding almost pitying. "I’ll throw her a fake wedding." Vincent replied, a cruel smirk audible in his voice. "Let her have little fantasy. It’s the least I can do before I discard her." A glacial chill seeped into my veins, making my fingertips tremble. Six years of affection…All those moments I thought were real were nothing but a twisted, calculated trial. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. I resolutely turned on my heel and walked away into the shadows. By dawn, I booked a one-way flight to Switzerland.

Kang Jae Woon is the youngest prosecutor in his department. With his handsome appearance, outstanding achievement, and powerful family background, he is being admired and envied at the same time by many people. One day, his best friend, Han Ryan is murdered by a serial killer and Jae Woon felt his world is crumbling down. Due to his excessive sadness, Jae Woon drowns himself in alcohol at his house, alone. He drunk and snacking food until his body suddenly convulsed in an allergic reaction. "Shit! Who the fuck put almonds in my snack?! I clearly remind the salesgirl to not put any almond in my baggage! Damn it! Where is my medicine?!" As he's groping around in agony, searching for his precious medicine, Jae Woon felt his body plopped on the bed as his consciousness faded and darkness is embracing his body. How miserable. To think I would die because of a stupid almond...Ryan will be laughing when he heard this. ------ "Wake up, you pig!" A harsh voice is jolted him away from his sleeping state. At the same time, his body is being drenched by a bucket of smelly water. "Since you're a pig, you didn't mind to bathe in poop, right?" Mocking waves of laughter are resounding in the dark, small room. Three boys and one girl are looking down at him with disgusted expressions plastered on their faces. One of the boys is holding an empty bucket. Jae Woon is dumbfounded. Wha...? Where is he? No, no, no. Actually, who are these pompous brats?! How dare they...Jae Woon suddenly felt that something is wrong with his body. He had difficulty in moving around and felt extremely sluggish. What is this?! Since when his slender and sturdy body changed into a piggy in just one night?!

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.

During the holidays, I've worked my ass off just to whip up a feast filled with my wife, Willow Steele's favorite dishes. But soon, my mother-in-law pulls out a paternity test report and announces with a smile that the birth father of my daughter, Naomi Johnson, is actually Willow's childhood sweetheart, Luther Lloyd. Everyone bursts into laughter before saying teasingly that "no wonder Naomi looks so much like Luther". Willow's father even pats Luther on the shoulder while looking at him as though the latter were a part of the family. What stings my heart the most is that Willow is laughing so hard that she can barely stand up straight. So, that leaves her clinging to Luther while she taps Naomi on the forehead with a finger. "Go on, call Mr. Lloyd 'daddy.' He's your real dad, after all." Naomi, who has always kept me at an arm's length, rushes into Luther's arms without hesitation and starts calling him "daddy" sweetly. I fall silent for a moment as I watch everything unfold. Then, I draw to my feet and look at Willow. "Let's get a divorce." But Willow just chuckles icily in return. "Must you go that far? My mom was just joking around." When I'm about to leave, Willow turns to tell the others, "He's just being ridiculous. Once I give him the cold shoulder for a few days, he'll still beg me to return to his side pathetically." But what Willow doesn't know is that I've chosen to endure everything she's hurled at me out of love in the past. Now, I want nothing more than to leave her permanently.

While enrolling my son in an elite school, the administrator suddenly tells me my marriage certificate is forged. "According to our records, your marital status is listed as single." "But I've been married to my husband, Chandler Leighton, for seven years!" Behind me, other parents waiting in line burst out laughing mockingly. "Did she just say Chandler Leighton? She must be dreaming." Amid their ridicule, I leave and head straight to the city hall for a confirmation. And as a wife of seven years, my marital status in the system is stated as "Single". A cold dread washes over me as I press. "Who is Chandler Leighton's legal wife?" The clerk flatly spats out a name, "Heather Hammington." It was that name again! I rush home, ready to confront Chandler, but pause just outside the door when I hear voices inside. "It's been seven years, Mr. Leighton. Do you still have no plans to grant Mrs. Leighton a legal status?" After a lengthy pause, Chandler finally answers, "Just wait a little longer. Heather lost both her parents… I'm the only one who can help her, so she needs this title." "What if Mrs. Leighton finds out?" "Danielle loves me too much to leave, even if she finds out. Once Heather has established her foothold in the business industry, I'll make it official with Danielle and give her a true marriage certificate." He sounds so certain, unaware that I'm standing just outside the door with tears streaming down my face. "You'll be disappointed, you liar." I take out my phone and dial a number I haven't called in years. "Mom, I accept the Atwoods' marriage arrangement."

On the night of my sister’s engagement party, my life officially crashes. Again. All because of one name on the invitation. Zachary de Sanctis. My sister’s fiancé. Fiona. My ex, the guy I punched in the face five years ago. Heir to the richest old-money family in Europe. And one tiny detail only God and I know: he’s the father of my twins. For the past five years, I’ve been hiding out in a little town in Oregon, working as the CEO of a IT firm while chasing two four-year-olds who look more like their father than me. Isaac and Isabella: two mini De Sanctis clones with the last name Gómez, razor-sharp mouths, brains that run too fast, and a talent for causing trouble exactly when I need peace. My family knows I came home pregnant and alone. They just never asked who the father is, and I never offered an answer. As far as they’re concerned, I’m still Arabella Gómez, the wild one who lost her way. I thought going to Fiona’s engagement party would just mean a few hours of fake laughing, then a quiet drive back to my glass-walled house in Oregon and two sets of blue eyes calling me Mommy. Until Zach walks into my parents’ living room holding Fiona’s hand… and his gaze stays on my face a little too long. He can’t find out about Isaac and Isabella. Fiona can’t find out her perfect fiancé was mine first. And my family can’t know what really happened five years ago. Hiding a scandal between two rich dynasties is one thing. Hiding two chaotic twins who are basically their father’s face copy-pasted? That’s the real nightmare.

Rated 18 Contains possessive, obsessive, and arrogant ML. Heavy on smút. A lot of explicit content. Please proceed with caution. EXCERPT; "Will you think me a monster if I do what you are afraid of?" He whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. "Sei un mostro(You're a monster)," I spat at Matteo. "Nothing can change that." "I've always cared for you, but you chose to betray me by running away with my child. Did you know how my reputation dropped because of that? I become a laughing stock BECAUSE of you. A man who can't keep his woman in check." His hand gripped my neck, cutting off my air supply. I gasped, pounding his chest as he smirked. "Go on, scream, darling," he taunted. "I love the sound of your screams." Gasping for breath as he released me, I saw the bulge in his pants and shook my head in disgust. "You don't care for me, Matteo. Your idea of caring is twisted, controlling, possessive, and obsessive....!" _________ Deirdre faced a heart-wrenching choice: surrender her child or endure a bitter court battle. The mere thought of another woman in her child's life, especially one of Matteo's passing fancies, was unbearable. Their journey began coerced onto a cruise, tossed astray by a raging storm, mirroring the turmoil in their hearts. Amid nature's fury, both were entangled in their tempest - a fiery passion reigniting into deep love. Yet, family disapproval marred their brief happiness, threatening to tear them apart. A lethal secret emerged, endangering both her and her child's lives. Compelled to hide this truth, Deirdre knew silence couldn't last. When Matteo discovered her secret, he presented an ultimatum: risk everything and reveal it or bear lifelong consequences in silence.

"You bastard, you rotten bastard. . . I will make you pay for this.”Lucianda threatened in a provoked voice but Prince Hakeem only laughed outrageously as he glinted down at her exposed breasts. "You and who will do that?" He made a mocking sound. "My dear Lucianda, the only reason you escaped from my wrath was because my findings indicated you are a decent woman, but don't try to take advantage, you will pay dearly for it." He warned coldly and Lucianda shivered physically. Laughing devilishly at her fear, Prince Hakeem kept his eyes on her pouty breasts and just when Lucianda felt she would die from the embarrassment and the unwanted passion washing over her body, he gave an insulting snort as he got up from the bed, and before she could do anything, with a blank expression, he covered her body with a wrap. “Try to know your place.” He said before striding out of the room. Only then did Lucianda give way to tears. What was her offence? She was just a disillusioned widow trying to get over all that had happened in her life and here is another cruel soul, trying to create more problems for her. ***** Lucianda Castos, the widow of the late powerful Alex Castos, refused to mourn the death of her husband. All she wanted was to start the process of healing. Prince Hakeem, her husband's equally powerful but ten times deadlier rival, would not permit her to do that. He had another thing planned and Lucianda did not know what that meant for her. She hated her husband and everything that had to do with him. And she would avenge the pain they made her go through. She has only two missions; to protect her son and to hurt those who hurt her.

Growing up, my mother always told me — choose your fated mate. Otherwise, you'll end up betrayed. But I was convinced Lennox was different. After all, he was willing to give up his position as Alpha for me. So I gave up my own fated mate for him. I even nearly died saving his life, and the injuries left my wolf permanently dormant. But barely two years later, rumors about him and an Omega named Alice were everywhere. And because my wolf was dormant, I couldn't sense a thing. I didn't find out he'd broken our vows until Alice showed up at my door with a pregnancy test. The whole Stonebrook Pack was laughing behind my back. Lennox dropped to his knees, eyes red and swollen. "I'm sorry. I was drunk that night. I'll make her end the pregnancy. I swear." I looked down at our one-year-old son in my arms. I nodded and forgave him — that one time. After that, he behaved. He was attentive, affectionate, doting — until one day, five years later, when I was at the gym. A young woman on the machine beside me was whining. "Everything down there gets so loose after having a baby. I really need to tighten things up." I didn't bother looking at her face. I let out a quiet laugh and started to leave. Then her phone rang. She answered, her voice coy and flirtatious. "So, Alpha Lennox — when are you finally going to end things with that woman? She's old, and she's lost her wolf. Can she even satisfy you?" "Of course not. I miss you so much, baby." I froze mid-step at the sound of his voice.