Betrayed Heiress: Married To The Devil
I was tossed into a dark alley like rotting garbage, bleeding and grieving the child I had just lost.
When I was finally brought back to my fiancé Angelo's penthouse, instead of comfort, I was met with absolute disgust.
His family declared me "unclean" after the kidnapping. Angelo coldly announced he was burying the scandal by marrying my sweet, innocent cousin, Carissa.
When we were alone, Carissa stood over my bed, her voice dripping with venomous delight.
"My father arranged the kidnapping. And now, Angelo and I can finally be together."
Before I could react, she forced a silver letter opener into my hand, deliberately stabbed her own shoulder, and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Angelo stormed in, struck me across the face, and gathered a sobbing Carissa into his arms, looking at me with absolute revulsion.
The family matriarch appeared at the door, her cold eyes sweeping over the scene before she gave a chilling order to the maids.
"Clean this up."
They pinned me down and brutally drove the blade directly into my chest.
I choked on my own blood, staring at the man who had promised me the world as he turned his back, calling my murder a "mercy."
As my heart beat its final agonizing rhythm, I made a silent vow to the shadows that if there was a next life, I would have my vendetta.
When I opened my eyes again, there was no blood, only the soft silk of my nightgown.
I had returned to the day before my eighteenth birthday.
This time, I wouldn't play the desperate victim. I was going to ally with the Devil of Chicago and burn them all to the ground.
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Chapter 3
Seraphina POV
The rhythmic clack of the ivory-headed cane ceased as my grandmother, Francesca Marino, stepped into the Grand Salon. Her cold, calculating eyes swept over the room, the black rosary beads slipping rapidly through her withered fingers. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
Sophia immediately rushed to her side, her voice trembling with manufactured grief. "Mamma, you must speak to her. Seraphina is throwing a tantrum over the betrothal, shaming our family in front of Angelo!"
Francesca’s gaze locked onto me, heavy with absolute authority. "Apologize to Angelo and your sister at once. Since the Valenti match is broken, you will accept a new arrangement immediately for our Onore (Honor)."
Carissa stepped forward, reaching for my hand with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Sera, please, just listen to Grandmother—"
I slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me." I looked straight at Francesca. "Angelo wants Carissa, and Carissa wants to be the Underboss's wife. I will not be the sacrificial lamb for their dirty little transaction."
Sophia gasped, clutching her pearls. "Such insolence! To speak of your sister this way... Who knows what you've been doing behind closed doors to act so brazenly? Perhaps you are no longer pure. A puttana (whore) who knows she cannot secure a decent match!"
I tilted my head, offering Sophia a chilling smile. "Are you questioning Grandmother's strict upbringing, Aunt Sophia? Because I have been under her roof my entire life."
Sophia’s mouth snapped shut, her face flushing ugly red.
Before Francesca could unleash her wrath, I delivered my ultimatum. "At my eighteenth birthday gala tomorrow, I will choose my own husband. Any single man with a clean name who dares to ask for my hand, I will accept."
Francesca struck the marble floor with her cane. "Madness! I will not allow you to turn this family into a circus!"
"Then let her marry my nephew, Marco Conti," Sophia interjected smoothly, her eyes gleaming with greed. "He has a few bad habits, but his bloodline is clean. It will keep her inheritance safe within the family."
Marco Conti. A degenerate gambling addict. They wanted to lock me in a new cage and drain my wealth.
I took a slow step toward the matriarch. "My adoptive mother was Isabella Gallo Marino. The original betrothal was brokered by her family. If you force me to marry a useless addict, you spit directly in the face of my uncle, Christian Gallo, and the entire Moretti family." I let the silence stretch, watching the color drain from Francesca's face. "Let me choose publicly. It proves this is my own doing, and the Morettis cannot claim you abused their blood."
The name Moretti was a curse in this house. Francesca feared the true rulers of New York far more than she hated me. Her jaw clenched so hard I thought her teeth might shatter.
"Fine," Francesca hissed, her eyes burning with venom. "Have your circus. Angelo, you will formally court Carissa."
I didn't wait for their celebrations. I turned my back on them and walked up the sweeping staircase to my suite.
The air in my room felt stagnant, like a gilded tomb. In the corner, a thin girl named Ruby was scrubbing the floorboards. Near my vanity stood Jasmine, the first maid Sophia had planted to spy on me.
"Ruby," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Wash up and change into something presentable. You are coming out with me."
Jasmine scoffed, crossing her arms. "Excuse me, Miss Seraphina? You're taking a third-rate scrubber out instead of your first maid? That is highly inappropriate."
I closed the distance between us in three strides. The smirk vanished from Jasmine's face as she met my dead, empty stare.
"In this room, I decide who is worthy to walk beside me," I said, my voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Your only job is to shut your mouth and obey. Kneel on the floor and reflect on your place until I return."
Jasmine opened her mouth to argue, but the sheer violence in my eyes made her tremble. Slowly, reluctantly, she sank to her knees.
I turned to Ruby, who was staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. A sudden, violent memory flashed in my mind—Ruby’s pale, lifeless face sinking beneath the ice of a frozen lake, murdered because of her loyalty to me in my past life.
Not this time.
"Hurry up, Ruby," I said softly, the gears of my Vendetta already turning. "We have an invitation to deliver."
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7.2
I am a resident surgeon, secretly married to Dr. Barrett Walters, the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery. It was a transactional marriage; he paid my mother's mounting medical bills, and I was his secret, obedient wife in the dark.
But at the hospital, he was a cold-blooded tyrant who deliberately made my life a living hell. During a major medical conference, he viciously tore apart my successful surgical repair, looking me dead in the eye as he called me incompetent in front of all my colleagues.
The humiliation didn't stop there. With his tacit approval, the senior residents bullied me, assigning me every brutal night shift. When his beautiful, wealthy heiress "girlfriend" visited the ward, he publicly mocked my background to make her smile.
"Some people get in through the back door. They're not fit for the front lines."
Even when I was forced to work as a secret banquet waitress to cover the medical copays he ignored, he found me, ruined the job out of pure possessive jealousy, and then fined my meager resident salary the very next morning just to show his absolute control.
I endured his punishing kisses and cruel rebukes, sacrificing my dignity just to keep my mother alive. But I couldn't understand why he had to destroy every shred of my peace. If he wanted the perfect heiress, why did he refuse to let me go?
Staring at his cold, controlling eyes in the stairwell, my exhaustion finally overpowered my fear. I was done being his victim, and it was time to tear up this contract.
9.6
Brenda Vincent thought her biggest nightmare was catching her boyfriend cheating with her roommate on her own sofa.
But her life truly derailed after a drunken night led her into the bed of Bryon Reeves, the ruthless billionaire CEO and older brother of the student she tutored.
Trying to pay off the most dangerous man in New York with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill was her first mistake.
Fleeing the hotel, she accidentally rear-ended his custom Maybach. Bryon used the massive repair bill to blackmail her into being his fake date, parading her at a gala just to make his sister-in-law jealous.
When Brenda finally snapped and fled the humiliation, only to be rescued by his biggest corporate rival, Bryon's twisted possessiveness turned completely destructive.
"If you feel kidnapped, call the police. But your teaching license will be permanently revoked."
He didn't just threaten her. He systematically dismantled her life, using his influence to force the university to freeze her tenure and suspend her without pay.
Brenda couldn't understand why this terrifying man was going to such extreme lengths to ruin a simple tutor who just wanted to be left alone.
Now, stripped of her career, her income, and her independence, she was forced into the sprawling Reeves Manor.
Hearing the heavy mahogany door lock from the outside in her signal-jammed bedroom, Brenda's panic slowly morphed into a cold, clinical rage.
She was trapped, but she refused to be his helpless pawn.
8.4
Elia was an orphan from the rust belt, taken in by the wealthy Chapman family in New York.
To them, she was just a shameful charity case.
The parents shoved her into a dusty storage closet, treating their other daughter Geri like a delicate princess, and mocked Elia as uneducated trash.
When Elia secured her own admission to Manhattan Elite Prep, Geri's jealousy turned vicious.
Geri orchestrated a massive smear campaign, posting anonymously on the school forum that Elia was a violent dropout who sold her body to a sugar daddy to pay tuition.
In the cafeteria, the school's elite dumped dirty milk on Elia's food.
They called her a whore and told her to go back to the streets, while Geri watched from afar with a victorious, innocent smile.
They thought she was just a helpless stray dog who would easily break under their high-society cruelty.
They had no idea she was actually "L", the dark web's most feared hacker, and "The Surgeon", a genius medical anomaly.
They also didn't know she was currently tracking a dying Wall Street billionaire who had stolen her only necklace in a dark alley.
What made these arrogant rich kids think they could destroy a girl who played with international firewalls for fun?
Instead of crying, Elia calmly pulled out her phone.
Within seconds, she breached the school's server, locking every screen in the building onto a blood-red skull.
As Geri's own recorded voice plotting the fake rumors blasted through the PA system, Elia grabbed her bag, stepping back into the shadows to reclaim what was hers.
8.3
Alena landed at JFK, eager to call her fiancé of three years.
But a sudden message from her best friend shattered her world: a high-resolution photo of Darrin passionately kissing another woman. The woman was Katrina, her older sister.
Alena rushed to the grand ballroom and confronted them in front of New York's elite. Instead of an apology, her own mother slapped her across the face.
"You jealous, spiteful girl. Trying to ruin your sister's happiness because you can't handle your own failures."
Darrin coldly wrapped a protective arm around Katrina. The nightmare worsened when they ambushed Alena at her apartment, demanding she sign an NDA to cover up the affair and save their family's failing business. If she refused, her father threatened to tell her frail grandfather the truth, knowing the shock would trigger a fatal heart attack.
Alena was suffocated by the sheer magnitude of the betrayal. Her family was weaponizing the only person who truly loved her, treating her like a disposable pawn to protect the sister who stole her life. How could her own flesh and blood be so sickeningly cruel?
Cornered and entirely out of options, Alena pulled a matte-black business card from her pocket.
It belonged to Andrew Spencer, the ruthless billionaire who had rescued her from the freezing rain, and the apex predator Darrin feared most. He had offered her a transactional marriage. If her family wanted to destroy her, she would become their worst nightmare. She picked up her phone and dialed his number.
9.7
Giana woke up drugged and burning with fever in a luxurious hotel suite. Standing before her was Cornel Stark, the most ruthless billionaire in New York.
Memories of her past life stabbed into her brain. In that life, her adoptive family and her fiancé Gary had stolen her inheritance and left her to die a brutal, agonizing death.
She also remembered how fighting Cornel only made him more violent. So this time, she didn't scream.
She endured his brutal punishment, escaped the moment he let his guard down, and swallowed a Plan B pill on the freezing streets.
Returning to her adoptive family's mansion, she faced the people who had destroyed her. Her fiancé and her stepsister put on masks of fake concern, secretly mocking her.
Instead of throwing a useless tantrum like before, Giana deliberately threw herself down the steep wooden stairs.
She smashed her head against the marble floor, using her own blood to shatter their plans and win back her mother's trust.
She thought she had finally taken control. She was ready to crush the people who had betrayed her and live for herself.
But she didn't understand why the billionaire she had just escaped was suddenly turning her life upside down.
When she woke up in the hospital, her room wasn't filled with her family's fake tears, but an ocean of blood-red roses.
The heavy door swung open, and Cornel Stark walked in, his gray eyes locking onto her with a dark, predatory hunger.
"Remember this feeling, Giana. Every breath you take belongs to me now."
8.1
Allison was hiding in a dusty small-town garage, working as a mechanic to suppress the lethal, experimental serum freezing her veins.
But a call from her estranged, wealthy father shattered her peace.
He threatened to permanently freeze her dead mother's trust fund if she didn't return to the family estate immediately.
That trust fund held the only key to the truth behind her past and her survival.
When she stepped into the sprawling mansion in her faded hoodie, her family treated her like a stray dog.
Her stepmother mocked her cheap clothes, and her half-brother called her a piece of trash.
Her father tossed a vocational school enrollment form at her, telling her to learn to sew so they could marry her off to anyone desperate enough.
Her perfect, porcelain-doll stepsister Gwyneth even deliberately smashed a glass of boiling milk against her own leg.
"Why did you push me?!" Gwyneth screamed, crying tears of fake terror to frame Allison.
"You vicious bitch! You're just as sick as your mother!" her father roared, raising his hand to strike her.
They looked at her with absolute disgust, thinking she was just a stupid, uncultured hick they could easily manipulate and destroy.
They had no idea that the girl standing before them was a lethal operative who already possessed all their offshore tax ledgers and darkest secrets.
Allison easily caught her father's wrist mid-air, her grip like a steel vice.
"I'm not going to a trade school," she whispered coldly, ripping the form into pieces. "I am going to Crestwood Academy."
It was time to take back everything that belonged to her, with interest.