I DON'T WANT HIM BACK
Blurb: She signed the divorce papers. He never signed away his obsession.
Veronica Stanford was the perfect wife-devoted, patient, and hopelessly in love. But when her billionaire husband, Jason Harper, trades her in for her treacherous best friend, Rhea, Veronica's world shatters. Broken and betrayed, she drowns her sorrows in a bar, only to be saved by a dangerously alluring stranger with emerald-green eyes and a lethal reputation: Monte "Four" Zagcanni, the ruthless heir to a mafia empire.
Four is everything Jason isn't-dark, dangerous, and devastatingly protective. When Veronica discovers she's pregnant with Jason's child, she strikes a deal with Four: a fake marriage to shield her from scandal. But what starts as a cold arrangement ignites into a passion neither can resist.
Jason, realizing his mistake too late, wants Veronica back-along with the son he never knew existed. But Four isn't a man who surrenders what's his. And Veronica? She's done being the meek wife.
Betrayal runs deep. Revenge burns hotter.
As secrets unravel-her father's bloody past, Rhea's twisted obsession, and Jason's deadly lies-Veronica must decide: trust the man who destroyed her once, or surrender to the devil who might destroy her forever.
One wants her back. The other wants her forever.
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Chapter 3
My hands trembled as I stared at the photo, my vision blurring with tears. Jason's arm was wrapped around Rhea's waist, their lips pressed together in a kiss. The date scribbled in the corner was from just last week.
She knew.
Rhea knew everything. She knew how Jason treated me, how he hit me, how he blamed me for not giving him a child. and yet, she was with him. Laughing with him, loving him, fucking him
The glass of wine slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor.
"Vee?" Rhea's voice came from behind me. I turned slowly, the photo clutched in my shaking hand. Her eyes darted to it, and for a second just a second I saw the guilt. Then it was gone, and in its place, cold indifference.
"How long?" My voice was barely a whisper.
She sighed, rolling her eyes like I was some annoying child. "Does it matter?"
"YES, IT FUCKING MATTERS!" I screamed, throwing the photo at her. "You're my best friend! You were supposed to !"
"Supposed to what?" she cut in, crossing her arms. "Care? Please. You think I don't know how Jason treats you? How pathetic you are, begging for his love like some desperate dog?"
Each word was like she stabbed me a knife. I staggered back, my chest burning.
"You... you knew?"
She smirked. "Of course I knew. He tells me everything. How he hits the fuck out of you. How you cry, how you still crawl back to him like you deserve it." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a cruel whisper. "And guess what? I don't care. I never did."
The room spun. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the couch, gasping for air. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be real.
Rhea just watched, her expression bored. "You should leave. Jason's divorcing you anyway. No point in dragging this out."
I looked up at her, tears streaming down my face. "Why?"
She shrugged. "Because he wants a real woman. One who can give him what he wants and let's be honest, Vee... that was never you, he even said you were so stiff and boring in bed like a sex doll."
That was it, no more.
I lunged at her, nails raking across her face. She shrieked, stumbling back, but I didn't stop. I grabbed her hair, yanking hard. "YOU BITCH! YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!"
She slapped me hard and I reeled back, my bruised face throbbing.
"Get out of my house," she hissed, wiping blood from her cheek. "Before I call the cops."
I wanted to hit her again. I wanted to scream, to break everything. But what was the point?
She had already won. No use dragging this out like she said earlier, this was all for nothing
I turned and ran, slamming the door behind me. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, dialing Roberts.
"Pick me up. Now." I said immediately his line rang, and thank Goodness he didn't ask any questions
---
Jason's office building loomed ahead, huge and imposing meant to show the world it's worth. All sleek and cold........just like him. I stormed past the receptionist, ignoring her protests.
"Mrs. Calloway, you can't just !" She started and I whirled around, giving her my most deadliest stare and she backed up
"Watch me." I shoved open Jason's office door. He looked up from his desk, annoyance flashing across his face. He didn't even have the decency to even hide the fact he hated me so much.
"Veronica. What the hell are you doing here?" He said and I choked down a sob
"Rhea." My voice cracked. "She's the one you're cheating with, isn't she?" I shook my head about to cry, "Rhea, Jason. She's my fucking best friend you knave!"
For a second, he hesitated. Then he leaned back, smirking. "Yeah. So?"
The casualness of it broke me. "SO?! SHE WAS MY BEST FRIEND! AND YOU YOU'RE MY HUSBAND! HOW COULD YOU BOTH DO THIS TO ME?!"
Jason sighed, rubbing his temples like I was the one causing him pain. He gave me a warning glare and he looked like he was going to walk right over and punch me.
"Veronica, stop being dramatic. You knew this marriage was over. You can't even give me a child. What did you expect?" He said brutality and I stared at him, my heart scattering into tiny pieces
"I expected loyalty! Love! Not not *this*!" I yelled and he rolled his eyes and pressed a button on his desk.
"Alright" he cocked his head to side "Security." He said to the comm and two men appeared instantly, grabbing my arms.
"No! Jason, PLEASE! We can fix this !" I cried but his eyes were dead cold, devoid of even one atom of emotion.
"Throw her out," he said calmly, turning back to his computer.
They dragged me, kicking and screaming, through the office. Employees stared, some whispered and I heard others laughing.
I was nothing to them, nothing to him.
The last thing I saw before the doors closed was Jason's back, already moving on. Roberts found me curled up in the backseat of the car, sobbing. I tried to hold it back, honestly. I tried telling myself that it wasn't worth it but I couldn't hold it back anymore
"Ma'am...?"
I didn't answer.
What was left to say? My husband hated me. My best friend betrayed me, even going as far to be in his bed behind my back. I had no one left, no one to turn to, no shoulder to cry on. My parents would kill me if they found out that my marriage was in shambles.
As if it was my fault
My mom would berate me for being a goody two shoes and not able to please him in bed, Dad would have called me a disgrace, saying something like I wasn't worthy to be his daughter if I can't keep a marriage with Jason Calloway. Soon the media would be hot on my ass. I sighed and cleaned my eyes. I tapped Roberts on the shoulder.
"Take me to Frisk Bar and Lounge, Roberts"
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7.1
I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.
7.5
On the morning of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I found a cream-colored document tucked inside my husband's suit pocket.
It was a twenty-million-dollar asset transfer for his former receptionist, Carmen. But what made my blood run cold was the contingent beneficiary: Leo, my newborn son who the hospital claimed was kidnapped twenty-three years ago.
When I confronted Devonte, he didn't even try to explain. He handed me a fake Cartier watch, canceled all my credit cards, and publicly called me delusional.
The next day, he moved Carmen into our mansion and emptied all our joint accounts into offshore trusts.
"If you don't sign these papers and walk away, I will have you committed," he threatened, his mother nodding in agreement.
They had orchestrated the kidnapping of my baby, hiding him with the mistress while I spent half my life sedated and screaming in grief. Now, to keep his secret, Devonte was going to lock me in a psychiatric ward and bury me in debt.
I didn't understand how the man I loved could be such a monster. Why did he steal my child? What else was hidden in that confidential adoption file?
Pushed to the absolute brink, I refused to be his victim.
When his goons came to my temporary apartment to drag me away, I turned to the rugged union electrician who had just fixed my lights.
"If you need a husband to keep you out of a psych ward, I'll marry you," he said, offering himself as my legal shield.
I took his hand. It was time to tear my husband's perfect life apart.
8.7
My new boss is gorgeous, arrogant, and filthy rich.
The only problem?
He doesn't know he's also the father of my baby.
Six years ago, I was supposed to get married.
But the night before the wedding, my groom-to-be showed me sides of himself I'd never seen before.
I might've died in that hotel room...
If Mikhail Novikov hadn't burst in to save me.
Handsome, strong, capable knight in shining armor-sign me up, right?
WRONG.
Because Mikhail wasn't just the hero I never knew I needed...
He was also way more dangerous than I ever could've known.
But for one night, I let myself do something I never should've done.
It was worth it-several times over, if you catch my drift.
In the morning, though, I did the reasonable
I RAN.
For six years, I keep running.
Until I walk into work one day, and find my new boss waiting in my office.
Guess who?
And guess what he does when finds out about our baby?
7.5
He wasn't supposed to notice her.
She wasn't supposed to want him.
And her daughter definitely wasn't supposed to fall in love with him first.
"He's not just dangerous," she whispers to herself . "He's the kind of man who ruins your life slowly... and makes you thank him for it."
He rides loud.
He loves hard.
And once he wants something, he doesn't let go.
"You don't get to look at me like that," she tells him.
His smile is slow. Predatory. Certain.
"I already did," he says. "And now you're mine."
She's a single mother barely holding it together.
He's a biker king with blood on his hands and loyalty carved into his bones.
Their worlds should never touch.
But they collide anyway.
"You think I don't know what you're doing to me?" he growls.
Her back hits the wall. His body cages her in.
"You think I'd touch you if I didn't plan to keep you?"
This isn't a sweet romance.
It's raw. Possessive. Unforgiving.
The kind of love that marks you.
"Mummy," her daughter says softly, holding his hand.
"Can he stay forever?"
He shouldn't want them.
But the idea of leaving them hurts worse than any knife.
"I don't share," he tells her in the dark.
"Not my bike. Not my club. And definitely not my woman."
One kiss turns into hunger.
One night turns into obsession.
And one choice could burn everything down.
"If you climb on my bike," he warns, voice low and lethal,
"you don't get off unchanged."
7.4
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.
8.8
For three years, I swallowed a bitter pill daily, suppressing my royal white wolf bloodline for a normal life as the Alpha's Luna. That morning, my husband Santino coldly announced a crucial announcement, then entered our grand hall with another woman, declaring, "Alessia, she will be living here from now on."
She was pregnant, he announced, carrying our late Beta's child-yet her neck was unmarked. My scoff met his furious Alpha dominance, threatening my title, forcing my bow as he settled her into the suite next to ours.
Her sickening scent soon permeated my private study. Later, I found him intimately grooming her in the kitchen-a sacred act for mates-while he snarled mental insults, branding my jealousy pathetic.
Watching his hands violate our vows, a slow, cruel smirk pulled at my lips. My three-year marriage was officially over. I had already paused my royal trust fund's capital, then severed our mind link with a chilling declaration: "Don't touch me with the hands that just touched her."