The Awakening 2 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.

Because of her first love's piano competition, my fiancee, Ashley Blake, postpones our wedding for the 17th time seven years into our relationship. On the eve of the competition, she chops off my ring finger just because Marc Tyson claims I injured his hand and ruined his ability to compete. The pain of losing my finger leaves me crying in agony, but she simply holds him in her arms and stares me down with indifferent eyes. She says, "Stop pretending, Troy Clinton. You're a grown man. What's all this fuss over losing a finger? Besides, you merely lost one finger. Marc has lost the dream he spent his whole life chasing! This is what you owe him." Her cruel words shatter my heart into tiny pieces. She has forgotten that my fingers are also meant to dance across piano keys. "The wedding next week is postponed," she says dismissively while covering Marc's reddened fingers. She adds, "This has nothing to do with Marc. It's simply because you can't wear a wedding ring with a missing finger anyway." Clutching my bleeding hand, I finally wake up to reality. From this moment onwards, we owe each other nothing.

I lifted my head from Rhys's arms, his strong chest rising and falling against my cheek. Silk sheets tangled around our naked bodies, the air thick with the scent of our passion. After a passionate night with my childhood friend, the Mafia heir, I was jolted awake at three in the morning by the shrill ring of a phone. It was the Don, ordering me to bring Rhys back to the estate for an arranged marriage. I figured it was just another heiress trying to claw her way into the Griffin family, so I kissed his forehead, pressing myself against him and whispering with a low laugh. "Rhys, what's your plan for this boring princess?" He arched an eyebrow, wrapping a lazy arm around my waist. "Baby, make sure you pick out a good tie for me. I need to make a good impression on my future father-in-law." Seeing me freeze, Rhys sat up and shot me a casual glance, his voice laced with indifference. "Maeve, what's with that reaction? We're just having fun." "You didn't actually think you were going to be the next Donna of the Griffin family, did you?"

When my wife, Hazel Zimmerman, is diagnosed with a terminal disease, she insists on divorcing me just to set me free. I refuse to do so. Instead, I travel all over the world to seek doctors and treatment remedies in hopes of finding Hazel a cure. I keep going at it until I start vomiting blood from exhaustion. But as soon as I reach home, I overhear Hazel bragging to her best friend smugly. "Brandon, that idiot, actually thinks that I really have cancer! I just wanted to use this excuse to divorce him so I could go on a world trip with Nathan. "Once I've had my fun, I'll claim that I'm cured of my disease. Then, I'll remarry Brandon again." "Do you really think Brandon will believe your excuse?" the best friend asks. Hazel just sneers in disdain. "That idiot loves me so much that he can't live without me. Ever since he found out that I have cancer, he's been crying his eyes out. What can he tell, anyway?" When Hazel brings up divorce once again, I don't hesitate to accept it this time.

Joshua Thompson, Rain Zimmer’s husband, had a deceased ex he could never get over—Lily Smithson. Rain always hoped that there would come one day where she could replace Lily’s presence in Joshua’s heart. In the eighth year of their marriage, Rain accidentally destroyed a bowl Lily had bought on a whim for Joshua, and Joshua yelled at her, “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” At that moment, Rain finally came to realize that she could never win against Rain’s ex. This time, she quietly drafted the divorce agreement and left, but Joshua panicked.

The seventh time Dante Moretti served me divorce papers, I was sitting with my son in a cheap diner on Chicago's South Side. I forced a smile and brushed my hand over my son's hair. "Just wait a little longer, sweetheart. This time, Mommy will get custody of you." He stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he looked up and asked, “Mommy, how much do you need to sell me for before you're happy?” Before I could answer, he pulled a handwritten divorce agreement from his backpack and pushed it toward me. "I know you keep fighting Dad for me because you want more money from him." "I wrote the agreement for him. Please sign it. Dad is already tired. Stop making his life so hard." His handwriting was crooked, but every word had been written with care. Dante would give me three million dollars. At the bottom, in my son's childish scrawl, was one more line. [After you take the money, don't bother me, Dad, and Serena anymore. Let us be happy.] Serena was Dante's childhood sweetheart. The woman he trusted more than his own wife. For five years, I had stood against Dante's family, his lawyers, and half the Chicago underworld just to keep custody of my son. For him, I would've walked away with nothing. But the child I had raised for eight years had already chosen another mother. So why shouldn't I give their perfect little family exactly what they wanted?

That night at the Holy Banquet, the Arrow of Desire struck both the divine prince Cassius, a descendant of Zeus, and his father, Theron. If they didn’t mate before the moon set, their divine power would implode, shattering their very essence. In my past life, I had secretly loved Cassius for ten whole years. So, when he grabbed me, his body burning up, I didn't say no. After one wild night, I was carrying his thunder-blooded child and successfully married into the divine palace. But after the wedding, he was ice-cold to me. He was convinced I had stolen the Arrow of Desire, all for the sake of marrying into divinity. Even after I gave him children, he never claimed me as his wife before the gods. He saved all his tenderness for his one true love—the holy maiden Lyra, who was forced to marry into the Sea Realm and eventually died in a storm. Later, I was branded as "jealous and wicked," scorned by all of divine kind. So when my children’s overwhelming lightning magic went out of control, no one came to help. My babies and I were consumed by that arcane tempest. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night he was shot. The young divine prince Cassius, burning with heat, reached out to me with desperate hunger. But high up on the throne... His father, Theron—the beautiful, ruthless God King who had ruled for centuries—was also losing the battle against his own searing desire. Everyone expected me to throw myself into Cassius’s arms. But this time, I gathered my skirts, strode past him, and sat right on the God King’s lap.

After five long years of dating, Winona Shaw finally said yes. I was elated, like a scavenger who'd struck gold. I put everything I had into the engagement party, but out of the blue, Winona embraced Claude Landton instead. She even tried to frame me and boot me to jail. I canceled the party and called the cops instead. That made Winona mad, and Claude started panicking. Icily, I said, "Now, calm down. We have a lot of trials to go through. See you in court."

I jump off the seventh floor on my wedding day. Why? Because everyone has abandoned me to pick up a fake heiress from the airport, my fiancé included. I expect to see them riddled with heartbreak and regret after my death. However, my father merely shakes his head stoically and looks at my body while saying I was too willful. My mother bites her lip and sighs in relief. My fiancé, Magnus Gilmore, shields the fake heiress. He's afraid she'll see the horrible state of my body. The fake heiress is scared to tears at this, and everyone crowds around her to console her. No one cares whether I'm still breathing while lying in a pool of blood. I'm stunned when I see this, but I soon laugh self-deprecatingly. When I open my eyes again, I've been brought back seven years in the past. It's the day I've just stepped foot at home.

My husband was tall and handsome, but he had no money to pay his debts. During the five years of our marriage, I sold my house and car for him. We then moved to a dark and humid basement that was only 300 square feet in size. When I got pregnant, I wanted to go for checkups, but he said that there was no need for it, as it was a waste of money. So I gave birth to a baby with a congenital heart condition. In order to get the money for his surgery, I worked three jobs every day. At that time, I noticed that my husband bought a mansion worth 40 million dollars for an influencer, and I finally realized that my husband was no orphan, but the son of the richest man in the country.