The Lost Son Novels & Stories

The school boxing match. My son Leo’s gloves were lined with broken glass. I carried him from the ring. Blood was everywhere, staining the canvas crimson. And Isabella, the monster behind it all, just stood there smirking. A snake's smile. She dragged her son over, then slapped me. Hard. Again and again. She tried to force me to my knees. "Some gutter trash like you… thinks he can challenge the Falcone heir? This is what happens. Believe me, I say the word, and you disappear. Poof." I just raised an eyebrow. The Falcone family has one heir this generation. My son, Leo. So when did a Falcone become gutter trash? I wiped the blood from my lip. I called the Don—the man my father made. "I hear the Falcone family has a new heir." Let's see who has the nerve to touch the old Don's grandson.

“Grandfather, please don't marry me off to this waste of space. He is just a lowlife that is sick, carrying diseases around, and being gross!” Ava said, getting more and more enraged with each word coming from her mouth. “That's enough! Ava, stop that right now!” Mrs. Taylor said. “Don’t order your grandfather!” “If you insist on giving Ava to me, I would walk out of here now and never look back. A woman like her is not something that interests me.” Zane said, his voice steady as he met the old man's eyes, his words pissing Ava and her parents off.

In my previous life, my sister thought that since my husband and I had high-paying jobs, she could swap her son with my child without anyone noticing. But twenty-five years later, the tables turned. My son had grown into a street thug, while her son—raised under my care—rose smoothly through life. Young as he was, he had already become a CEO. He was dutiful, bought me a villa, and even sent me traveling around the world. My sister barged into his company, waving a DNA test report, kicking up a scene, only to be thrown out by security. "Mr. Kieran said that even if you are his biological mother, you never gave him a single day of care," they told her. "So he refuses to acknowledge you." Breaking down completely, she drove her car into me and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, we had returned to the very day she switched our babies. This time, my sister clutched her own child tightly, a wild, triumphant grin on her face. "From now on, you can be the mother of a street thug," she sneered. "The villa and all those riches—they're mine!"

“He’s not yours,” I said, each word slicing through him like glass. Valentine stared at me, stunned, like I’d slapped him. Maybe I should’ve. That would’ve been easier than this. I thought I’d buried the past the day I ran—pregnant, heartbroken, and alone. Valentine Hale was the love of my life… until he shattered it. He never knew I was carrying his child. He never tried to find me. I raised our son alone. But fate doesn’t forget. Now I’m back in the one place I swore I’d never return to. And Valentine? He’s here. He’s looking at me like he still feels it. Valentine- She was human. Off-limits. But I touched her anyway. Loved her. Marked her. Then I walked away before the pack could find out. Before I destroyed us both. But now, Vivian’s back—with a kid who smells like me. But now I bear a secret, a curse from my father the previous alpha and I cannot risk their lives. I need to protect them. I need them. I feel it in my blood. He’s mine. She’s mine. They both always were.

At sixty-five, I got served divorce papers. The same day, my husband Sebastian — decked out in his wedding suit, of all things — popped a handful of sleeping pills in a suicide attempt. For years, we were the perfect couple. The kind of pair neighbors whispered about with envy. I couldn't wrap my head around it. The divorce. The pills. None of it made sense. Not until I found the photo and letter in his pocket.

The last hope I had of finding my parents was destroyed right in front of me. I had just arrived at the meeting place when they were hit by a car and killed before my eyes. By the time I returned home, I was numb. Then I heard a voice coming from the entryway. It was Eric Terrell, speaking to one of his trusted men on the phone. "First, it was the fake DNA report," the man said. "Now it's a staged car accident." He gave a low laugh. "Mr. Terrell, you've really gone to great lengths to stop Aimee Walters from finding her family." I curled up on the couch, and for a moment, I felt as if I had forgotten how to breathe. Eric took off his coat. His voice sounded tired, but there was no hesitation in it. "This is the last time. Aimee will never find her biological parents now." His man sighed. "Why go this far? Even if Ms. Walters reunites with the Hart family, it wouldn't really threaten Ms. Hart's place..." "No," Eric cut him off, his voice cold and firm. "If Aimee returns to the Hart family and wins back Mr. and Mrs. Hart's love, Isabelle will be the one who gets hurt." Then he added, "That's why I had no choice but to arrange for Mr. and Mrs. Hart to fake their deaths in front of her. In three days, they'll leave the country and never come back." My blood ran cold. Eric continued, as if my entire life were nothing more than a problem he had already solved. "As for Aimee, I've already agreed to marry her." The man sounded surprised. "Then what about Ms. Hart?" Eric fell silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and defeated. "As long as she's happy, that's enough for me."

On Christmas Eve, my six-year-old, Yule, was dying from cancer, and all he wanted was a gift from his dad dressed as Santa. I called Peter, my husband, begging him to come. His reply? "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I don't have time for this! I'm helping Tracey find Puffy. Do you know how upset she is?" Oh, Tracey. His first love. And Puffy? Her dog. I told him Yule might not make it through the night. His response? A straight-up dagger: "Don't act like this isn't your fault, Freya. If Yule hadn't kicked Puffy, none of this would've happened. Tomorrow, make sure he apologizes to Tracey." Then he hung up. That night, I sat with Yule, crying as I helped him celebrate his last Christmas. By morning, Peter's social medias were still full of posts about that freaking dog. Mine? Yule's obituary. Ten years of marriage, gone.

WARNING: This book contains mature content, explicit scenes, and dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. “Maybe… maybe I don’t ever want to be anyone’s wife again.” Betrayed. Banished. Broken. For eight years, Selena was the devoted Luna of the Knightstorm Pack, until her alpha husband branded her a whore, stripped her of their children, and cast her out. Years later, she’s risen from the ashes as a renowned artist, fiercely independent and done with men forever. But when her ex-husband discovers the devastating truth, that a cruel scheme made him punish the wrong woman, he will stop at nothing to win her back. His reckless, alcoholic brother has always wanted her too. And then there’s the powerful alpha trapped in a loveless open marriage, willing to burn down his twenty-year union the moment he scents his second-chance mate in Selena. Three alphas. One woman who swore she would never belong to anyone again. As old wounds resurface and new desires ignite, Selena must fight not only for her stolen children, but for the heart she thought was dead. Who will claim the broken Luna… and will she ever let any of them in?

In our five years of marriage, I had given in to my husband, John, for a grand total of three times. The first time was during my pregnancy. He had taken his ex-girlfriend Stacy, who had once taken three bullets for him, back home and cared for her. When I became angry, he immediately sent her away once she recovered. The second time was after childbirth, when I was ready to return to work. To repay a favor, he gave the position I had worked years for to Stacy. He said it was so I could rest well. I looked at my son, who needed me, and I conceded. The third time was during our son’s birthday. In front of the entire company, he had announced that Stacy was his wife, all so she could establish herself in the company. I gave him two choices: divorce or send her away. Without hesitation, he chose the latter and immediately sent her abroad. The fourth time was when my father suddenly had a heart attack and urgently needed surgery. He disappeared again. I searched everywhere for him to cover the hospital expenses, and I finally discovered that he had gone to the airport to pick up a pregnant Stacy, who was returning to the country. Because of that, my father missed the best chance for treatment and died. I was done giving in. I disguised the divorce agreement as our son’s medical bill and tricked him into signing it. No compensation or apology would matter. I did not wish to have him near my son or myself again.

On the day I left for a business trip, my son, Billy Smith, livestreamed his suicide attempt from our home. While I took my time shopping at the mall, my younger sister, Lori Chaney, and my husband, Greg Smith, were beside themselves with panic. By the time I got the call from Lori, I dropped everything at work and rushed home. However, I reached home to see Billy sobbing into the camera. “Mom, whenever Dad isn’t home, you bring Mr. Scott into the house. After that, you’d force me to keep it a secret. When I refused to play along, you abused me in every way you could! I also found the medical report in your nightstand. You have AIDS, but you never told Dad. I’m ashamed to have a disgusting woman like you as my mother!” Billy then jumped from the building and landed on the rescue airbag without a scratch. I, however, became the target of public outrage. I tried to clear my name, but no one believed me. After all, who would risk his own life just to frame his mother? Greg even brought me a glass of poisoned milk and forced me to drink it. He then told everyone that I had committed suicide out of shame. When I opened my eyes again, I realized I had been sent back in time to the day Billy threatened to kill himself.