Maeve Wiley Novels & Stories

I've been married to the prince of the underworld for ten years and have endured countless life-or-death situations by his side. My hands, once trained to play the piano, are covered in calluses from holding guns and stained with blood. But at 28, my husband ends up falling for a young woman from the slums. She's as delicate and pure as a chamomile. She's his well-kept little secret—until I run into them at the woman's prenatal appointment one day. I storm up to him, demanding an explanation, only for him to nonchalantly hand me divorce papers. "Sonia is a devout follower of the church and can't have a child before marriage. I must make an honest woman out of her. Sign these, and you'll get 40% of the company's shares." I refuse to do as told, so he corners me. In the end, he has my crippled younger brother tied up and forced under a hydraulic compression machine. "Sign the papers, Maeve, or watch your brother become a human mince pie. The choice is yours." I fall on my knees and beg him to stop. As the machine turns on, my hands fly to my aching lower belly, and I scream as I lose consciousness. When I wake up again, I'm back in the hospital, in the same spot where I ran into my husband and his mistress at her prenatal appointment. This time, I don't confront him. Overnight, I make arrangements with a sanatorium abroad, get divorced, and run away from home. Yet the moment I truly disappear, my husband loses his mind.

Maeve Ford after graduating high school decides to leave Cario, Egypt for the united states of America in search of her brother who had gone missing for years, to find some clues which could lead her to her brother, she steals a book sorted out by every illegal syndicate, powerful Clans, and even the Mafia, this makes her become a target, and amidst everything she gets caught up in a misunderstanding, entangled with a cold-hearted Ceo, and with the increasing need to find her brother she goes into a contract marriage with the enemy """""''''''' " Let me be clear Miss Ford" He growled, his voice slightly husky but cold, his gaze never leaving her face as he closed the distance between them, trapping her with his hands against the wall. The fresh musky scent of sandalwood mixed with some other fragrance that would usually put her in a conscious state filled her nostrils but this time she was more concerned with how close their bodies were. Her heart began to race, and her breath caught, she didn't like the way her body reacted to him but she had no control over it. She clenched her fist with her gaze fixed on him, and his on her, his silver-grey eye terrorized her but she wasn't willing to show any form of weakness. He leaned closer toward her ears and she finally let out her breath but the relief was short-lived as she felt his breath on her skin, causing a chill to run down her spine. "I don't care what image you've built to convince.." He whispered, his voice raspy as his words trailed off after which he continued."But, I won't hesitate to kill you, if you so much as pose a threat to his life."

“What am I doing? What were you doing letting another man feel you up?” “I don’t belong to you. I can let whoever I want to feel me up. Take a hint Declan.” I ran a hand over her arms and watched as goosebumps rose on her skin. I could smell her arousal, and knew every alpha could too. I was overwhelmed with the urge to carry her away and lock her up for my eyes only. I settled for pulling her into me and burying my face into her hair. Her scent drove me crazy. She smelled so sweet, so safe, like home. “Does his touch make you feel like this? Does his scent make your pussy purr, Maeve?” She gasped, and I watched, satisfied, as a blush crawled onto her face. Without a word, she had given me my answer. She could deny the way we reacted to each other with her words, but the body didn’t lie. She wanted me. ********* One night. One mistake. One bond that will never break. It was supposed to be nothing more than a freshman party with loud music, bad drinks, and no consequences. But when I locked eyes with him, I knew I was walking straight into trouble. I did it anyway. He’s been searching for me, watching me, and obsessing over me. The possessive alpha he keeps buried slips closer to the surface every time I push back and remind him I don’t belong to anyone. But bonds don’t care about pride. And the darker his desire gets, the harder it becomes to tell whether I’m running from him… or provoking him on purpose. Because the truth is, I never forgot that night either. And some knots were never meant to be broken.

For my birthday, I got a gift box. Inside was a dead silver fox. Its fur was peeled away. Dark, profane runes were carved into its flesh. My wolf cried out in agony, then shattered. I desperately reached for my Alpha, Darian, through our mate bond. “Darian… help me… My wolf… my heart…” His response was ice cold. “Maeve, stop being so dramatic. It’s just a prank. A Luna should be stronger than this. Amara has a fever. I’m with her.” He just cut the bond. He chose his childhood friend over me. Her mate had recently died, and she only had a low-grade fever. I was left to collapse in agony. I didn't get help until a pack beta found me and rushed me to the medical center. It took me three whole days to recover. When Darian finally came back, reeking of Amara’s sweet perfume, he sneered at me. "I knew you were faking it. How could a dead fox hurt you? You just wanted to stop me from comforting her!" I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just handed him a document to sign. Compensation, I said, for choosing Amara over me. He signed it without even looking. "Is this about money? Don't be another jealous she-wolf. Don't cause trouble for me. I can give you anything. Amara and I grew up together. She's important to me. You know that." I just nodded. I didn't say a word. The next day, he took Amara to an Alpha-only alliance dinner. Pictures were all over the werewolf social feeds. He had no idea what he’d signed. It wasn’t a compensation agreement. It was a rejection of our mate bond. I counted down the three days. I calmly packed my most precious things. Then, I pulled out my burner phone. “Uncle Marcus? I need a private jet to the South.”