Stamped Novels & Stories

"The marriage certificate's fake..." The clerk in the County Clerk's Office shot Serena a sympathetic look. "Vincent Schit legally married Maggie Cheape. Two weeks ago." Serena didn't even blink. Of course the guy she'd spent six years loving married his ex behind her back. "Thanks."

It was only meant to be a one-time, one-night solution to ONE problem. Okay, that's a lie. There are two problems: #1) I'm broke. Through no fault of my own, other than I fell down a rabbit hole so deep, I'm now buried in my sister's debt—with my name, Nikki St. Claire, stamped across it. #2) I honestly need a reprieve from my overly mundane, personal life. So when I stumble upon a highly exclusive and extremely secretive auction, I'm both intrigued and potentially saved, given I've left no "box" of what I'll do unchecked on the interview questionnaire, which exponentially increases the reserve that's set on me. Only thing is… The man who buys me turns out to be Jameson Richards. A drool-worthy billionaire bachelor. Also… My boss. How we got this tangled up in each other is a story unto itself. What we do once I accept his one-night contract is a tale riddled with lust and love.

The Lombardos' long-lost son turned out to be some "scam-busting" influencer. He stormed into the company with my fiancée, cut me off mid–quarterly report, pointed straight at me, and went live. "Drop a comment if you're watching. Blow this up. I'm exposing a fake heir who stole someone else's life!" His crew dragged me offstage, ripped my suit, and shoved me into a neon vest stamped with "FAKE." "A fake's always fake. Never real. I'm ripping off your mask. If you're smart, get on your knees, hand over the CEO seat, and get lost!" I glanced at his parents—faces drained—and gave him one warning. "You don't get to call me a fraud. For their sake, apologize now, and I'll let it go." The room buzzed. Everyone thought I'd snapped, waiting for the "fake heir" to crash and burn. They had no clue. I wasn't the fake. I was the one the whole family answered to.

They say the devil wears a three-piece suit. Mine wore a ring stamped with a golden lion, the symbol of the Ricci mafia. It was on a night of fire and ashes that my life changed. My name was Alaya, and I was just a girl among many others, born in the alleys of a neighborhood where poverty poisons you from the cradle. My mother, sick, had only me... and the debts. That night, they came. They knocked on the door. Three men in black. Not a word, just an envelope, and a chilling phrase: — "Your daughter is still a virgin, isn't she? The boss pays dearly for that." I had no choice. His name was Santino Ricci. Cold. Magnetic. Dangerous. The head of one of the most powerful families in Italy. He looked at me like one looks at precious merchandise. Then he said: — "You will be my wife. No matter how you feel." And I signed my condemnation. This marriage was not a union... but a gilded cage. I learned to survive among snakes. I saw death. I saw blood. I heard the screams of girls who, like me, had been sold. But what they had not anticipated... was that the little broken virgin would eventually bite back.

Yselle Morel is watching her family's glassworks collapse—unpaid wages, angry suppliers, a bank ready to shut the gates. When Renaud Valois, a feared billionaire financier, offers a rescue, it comes with a cruel condition: marriage. He says it’s business. His eyes say it’s revenge. In Valois’s riverside estate outside Paris, Yselle plays the obedient wife—smiling, thanking staff, acting harmless. She calls it "wife camouflage." Then she finds a locked room behind the library wall: a war room filled with files, photos, and timelines about her father’s life… and a folder stamped with Yselle’s name. Renaud didn’t choose her. He planned her. As “accidents” start closing in—tampered brakes, poisoned tea, a near fall on a dark stairwell—Yselle realizes the marriage isn’t only punishment. It’s protection. Someone wants her silent before the Day 30 board vote that will decide her family’s future. And the closer she gets to the truth, the more she fears the man who raised her. On the eve of the vote, Yselle opens the last drawer in the war room and finds an envelope addressed to her—in her mother’s handwriting. The ink looks fresh. Then the lights go out, and a voice behind her whispers, “Don’t trust your husband.”

I married Don Matteo in secret. Every time he fucked his childhood sweetheart, he promised me a real wedding，in front of the Five Families. For five years, Matteo promised me ninety-nine times. And ninety-nine times, he left me at the altar. The first time, Cecilia’s prize-winning show cat died. To comfort her, he postponed the wedding for three months. I stood at the altar alone, eyes red, trying to calm down the family elders. The second time, Cecilia threw a tantrum at a casino and shattered a hundred-million-dollar antique vase. He diverted the private jet meant for their wedding and rushed through the night to clean up her mess. And every time, right before our wedding, his childhood sweetheart would have some kind of emergency. I cried. I screamed. I even held a gun to his head. But Matteo would just pin me against the wall and shut me up with a cold, hard kiss. “She’s just a fuck. You are Mrs. Falcone. Have some goddamn class.” After the ninety-ninth time, I was finally done. I slid the papers across the table. The ink was still wet, the Falcone family seal stamped at the bottom. “Our marriage, our alliance—it’s over.”

"Are you sure you can get out of this trap, Arka? The trap you created for yourself long ago." The sentence haunted Arka's mind every time he looked at the woman who was now sitting gracefully on his lap. Amidst the glimmer of crystal lamps and the sheen of a gold dress, his ex-wife, Kania, looked like a queen who had just reclaimed her throne. Arka knew they were no longer bound by a sacred vow. Their divorce was final, signed on stamped paper years ago. Yet, in this private room, with the aroma of whiskey and Kania's challenging gaze, Arka once again became the helpless, foolish man. Tonight was supposed to be the celebration of his new engagement. He was supposed to be celebrating a new chapter. But Kania's presence in the private lounge, in a high-slit dress that showed off her long legs, had ruined everything. "You didn't have to come, Kania," Arka hissed, his voice choked. Kania smiled cynically, caressing Arka's jaw with her cold fingers. "You're right, darling. I didn't have to come. But I had to make sure of one thing: that your heart... still belongs to me, just like before." It turned out that getting out of the marriage was much easier than getting out of his ex-wife's love. Will Arka continue his engagement? Or will he return to his ex-wife?

After returning home from a flight, I realize that my bottle of hair conditioner has run out in the bathroom. The thing is, my husband, Carlos Zappa, doesn't use hair conditioner at all. Seeing Carlos through the frosted glass, I decide to probe him for answers. "Did any guests stay over lately? Or have you started doing hair care?" Carlos flips through the documents, which are stamped with the Zappa family crest, impatiently at my questions. "Maybe a maid accidentally toppled the bottle over when she was cleaning the bathroom. Also, why are you annoying me with such minuscule matters?" When I put on the bathrobe, I feel a ticklish sensation coming from the collar. As soon as I look down, I notice a strand of dried yellow hair being entangled in the collar. The moment the steam dissipates, I see two pairs of intertwining handprints on the bathroom's glass door. I never thought that my home would grow this popular during my one-week trip away from home. I've been married to Carlos for three years, and yet this is my first time finding out that he's actually this wild in bed. So, I secretly text my father, the Don of the Carozza family. "Dad, Carlos has cheated on me. Does the bet we made three years ago still count?"

When I was seven, Victor Medici took me off the streets of Brooklyn. From that moment on, I became a blade hidden in the shadows of the Medici family. The Medici family was one of the five major mafia families in New York City, and Victor was the family’s Don. By fifteen, I had learned how to handle a gun and a knife. I could carry out the family’s “clean-up” orders with precision. By eighteen, I led a team that wiped out three weapons hubs belonging to the rival Rina mafia family, securing the East Side territory for Victor. At twenty-one, during a hearing, I took the fall for Victor’s crimes. In the end, I was sentenced to three years in prison. The day I got out, he took me straight to Las Vegas to get married. With his own hands, he slipped a ruby ring onto my finger—a symbol of the Donna. Under the witness’s gaze, he kissed me, his voice almost reverent. “Rachel, I love you. You’re my only weakness.” Then, he pulled out a stamped and signed contract from his suit pocket. “This is my wedding gift to you. If I ever betray you, my power, my status, and my wealth will be transferred into your name, and I’ll walk away with nothing.” After a pause, he gave a sly smile and added, “But that day will never come. Because I’ll always love you.” I took the contract, so happy that I felt like I might cry, but that happiness only lasted two years.

"Hi there, I'd like to emigrate." Christina stood at the counter and handed over the neatly prepared documents to the clerk on the other side of the glass. The clerk quickly stamped each page. The red ink spread like tiny ripples on still water. Then, without looking up, he pulled out another form and passed it back to her. "Ma'am, your paperwork will be processed in fifteen days." Christina nodded, turned on her heel, and headed for the exit. But before she could step outside, whispers trailed after her. "Did I see that right? Mrs. Waldorf is applying for emigration? Did she have a squabble with Mr. Waldorf?" "Even if they argued, would it go this far? Mr. Waldorf practically worships her. What could possibly make her leave so decisively?" "Exactly. Five years ago, their wedding was the event of the century. Even someone like me, who barely goes online, heard about it. And three years ago, after her car accident, the blood bank ran out of stock. Mr. Waldorf ignored everyone's objections and nearly drained himself to save her. Then, just last year, when she disappeared for an hour, he mobilized every media outlet worldwide to find her. Now she's leaving without a word—won't that drive him insane?" The murmurs swirled and lingered, but Christina only smiled faintly. Her expression was calm, but her eyes darkened with a bitterness that deepened with every step. Yes, she thought. Everyone knew just how much Lucien Waldorf loved her.