The Foolish Donkey

Her life was written in stone. A perfect life one she always dreamt of. Everything Cassandra wanted was within reach until one night revealed the love she'd trusted was a lie. Betrayal and deceit from those she trusted the most made every belief she had crash down. What she didn’t expect was to stumble into a stranger's arms, into his bed and wake up married. Alaric gave her what she thought she wanted; now she can't take it back. One reckless mistake became a wedding vow. Now she’s trapped inside Alaric’s empire of lies. Married to a stranger who knows more than he’s letting on He’s dangerous. He’s charming. And in front of everyone, he claimed her as his . Caught between Sinclair’s obsession, Alaric’s shadowy intentions, and her family’s betrayal, Cassandra doesn’t know if this marriage will be her downfall… or her salvation. ****** "Would you give me your surname or better take mine then? Will you be the lucky man?" I blurted out having no idea of what I was saying. My head was already in the clouds and blinded by his smile. It calmed the storm in my mind. He laughed. Those dark abysses were truly alluring when they sparkled. His fingers grazed my cheeks, wiping off my tears, before cupping them in his callous palms. "If you love my surname so much." A foolish smile graced my lips, oblivious of the fact that he wasn't joking. "You can't back down now, hubby. You just got a wife." I thought I lost everything when I walked away from Sinclair. I never imagined I’d end up as Alaric Von Duvall’s wife.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.

Emery Sinclair had spent years perfecting the art of being the perfect wife. The devoted, loyal, and elegant Mrs. Sinclair. Even when whispers of her husband's infidelity trailed after her like a ghost, she held her head high, convinced that love—her love—was enough to fix the cracks in her marriage. But the moment she walks into that hotel suite and finds her husband entangled with another woman, something inside her shatters. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. Instead, she walks away, her heart numb, her mind spinning. The life she built is over. The man she sacrificed everything for never deserved her. Then comes Killian Wolfe. Cold, calculating, and ruthlessly powerful, Killian is everything her husband is not. And he is done watching from the sidelines. For years, he’s kept his distance, biting his tongue as his foolish stepbrother squandered the one good thing in his life. But now? Now, Killian doesn’t hold back. He steps in—offering her a way out, a place to stay, and, most dangerously, a deal she never saw coming. "Let me take care of you," he tells her, his voice a low, commanding whisper. She should say no. She should run. Because nothing about Killian Wolfe comes without a cost. But the way he looks at her—like she’s something precious, something worth ruining kingdoms for—makes her wonder if, just this once, she should let herself be wanted. The game changes in a single night. A kiss turns into something more, and before she knows it, she’s tangled in his sheets, in his world, and in his control. But Killian doesn't just want her in his bed. He wants everything—her body, her mind, her soul. And most terrifying of all? He wants her heart.

"Spread your fucking legs for Daddy…" The moment those growled words hit my ears, my thighs trembled, going weak at the knees. I swallowed hard, my throat dry with envy, aching to be the one spread wide and commanded by that deep, dominant voice. Heat flooded my core, soaking my panties with slick arousal, my pussy clenching desperately around nothing. Like the foolish, needy girl I was, I nudged the door open just a crack, peeking into the dim light of his bedroom to see who he was claiming on that massive bed. But shock slammed into me—Alpha Kane wasn't with anyone else. He lounged against the headboard, his massive hand wrapped around his thick, veined cock, stroking it slow and firm while his piercing eyes locked on a spread of my photos scattered across the sheets. Pictures of me in innocent poses, but the way he pumped his shaft, pre-cum beading at the tip and dripping down his length, turned them filthy in his gaze. **** I'd been just ten when rogues tore through our pack in a brutal war, slaughtering my parents and leaving me orphaned in the blood-soaked ruins. Alpha Kane Laskovic had charged in like a storm, ripping through the attackers with savage fury, saving me and the survivors. He became my guardian, my armored knight, pulling me from the ashes and raising me under his powerful protection. I was supposed to call him Dad—respectful, safe. Not Daddy, not while fantasizing about him pinning me down, growling filthy commands as he fucked me raw, claiming every inch of my body as his. But gods, I couldn't stop. The taboo hunger burned too hot, making me crave his cum flooding my womb, marking me as his forbidden little slut.