The Don's Dangerous Addiction
"Take them off yourself, or I will do it for you."
Ten sessions. Two hundred thousand dollars. Her brother's life for her body.
Dr. Avery St. Clair signed a contract in blood. To save her family, she has to fix the mind of Obsidian City's most feared monster, Dominic Kessler. He's a Mafia Don rotting from the inside out. A bullet gave him C-PTSD and a touch so sensitive he can't stand being touched. Avery is the only antidote who can calm him down. So he locked her in his villa.
But Dominic is playing a game he's already lost.
He doesn't know Avery is the woman from seven years ago. The stranger who saved him on that dark gambling ship and disappeared before sunrise.
He doesn't know the scar on his wrist is burned into her memory.
And most of all, he doesn't know the autistic little girl hiding in her clinic is his own daughter.
While Avery hides the truth behind her professional mask, their little girl feels his every nightmare. Every flashback. Every crack in his monster mask.
When the secrets finally come out, his empire will fall. He'll lose his sight. His throne. The only woman who ever made him feel human.
To win her back, he'll have to destroy the monster he became. And help her burn down the man who murdered her parents.
She won't make it easy.
This is not a love story. It's a monster learning to beg.
Why read this?
Obsessive Mafia Hero
Secret Baby with an Autistic and Gifted Daughter
Identity Reveal
"Touch Her And You Die" Energy
Massive Groveling and Revenge
A Heroine Who Fights Back
No Cheating. Happy Ending Guaranteed.
Chapters
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Chapter 1
Before her appointment, Avery received an anonymous card.
No signature. Just one line:
"Experiment 047 is waiting for you. Don't disappoint him."
She turned the card over and back again. No clues.
047?A number for what?
She didn't know what it meant, but the feeling of being calculated in advance made her palms sweat.
She tucked the card into her pocket, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to the estate.
"Take it off yourself, or I'll do it."
Dominic's voice came from the darkness. Low. Rough. The kind that made your blood run cold.
Avery stood still.
In the dark, every breath Dominic took carried an unnatural tremor, like something inside his chest was forcing its way out.
She could see the veins in his neck, pulsing at an irregular rhythm.
She curled her fingers tight. Her nails dug into her palms.
Lightning split the sky. It lit up his face.
Avery froze for a second.
His lips were grayish purple. Not normal poor circulation. This was Cardiopulmonary distress after physical depletion. His eyes were bloodshot. Likely from frequent sleep disorders. But his pupils were so dilated she could barely see his irises. Mania and exhaustion written on the same face, like two opposing forces tearing at one person.
She had seen faces like this in clinical practice. They were always difficult to handle.
She pushed down that second of shock and refocused on his breathing rate.
"Mr. Kessler, this isn't the time to discuss what I'm wearing. Your heart rate is over 180. If this continues, you'll die by your own hand."
"My last doctor. Your mentor."
He lunged forward.
"Right here in this room, he tried to send me to the afterlife with a micro bomb hidden on his body."
"You think I'll let you just... get close to me?"
His eyes traveled over her body. A sharp stare, as if trying to burn through the fabric.
"If you want your payment, prove yourself first." His voice dropped.
One hand hooked into her collar. The other waved a check.
Avery opened her mouth to argue. In an instant, her coat was ripped from her shoulders. Her sweater torn open. Her skirt fell.
When she stood before him in nothing but thin undergarments, exposed, reason quickly took over from humiliation.
Twenty thousand dollars.
The cost of a single session. Also the ticket to one cycle of her brother's specialized medication at the private sanatorium.
Ten sessions. A contract of life and death.
She couldn't leave this house until the final injection was administered. She couldn't refuse any of his orders.
Dominic's condition had become deeply strange. He was gasping for air, his head hanging low, almost resting on Avery's shoulder.
"Enough."
Avery stepped forward. Her cool palm pressed against his jaw and lifted his face.
"You're dying, Mr. Kessler. Step back. Sit down."
She didn't give him a chance to argue. She pushed him back into the sofa. Then she quickly pulled a syringe from her medical kit, found the right spot, and pushed the sedative in.
The scent of peaches seeped from her neck. His hand slid off the armrest. His fingertips brushed her throat by accident.
He didn't open his eyes. A distorted murmur escaped his throat.
"Is it... you?"
Before Avery could react, he lunged. His hand locked around her wrist like an iron cuff, yanking her hard against his chest.
"I killed so many people looking for you..." His voice broke against her ear, barely a whisper, but carrying a terrifying obsession.
Looking for who? Me?
Avery stood frozen. Her professional instincts fired off a few diagnostic terms in her head.
Hallucination? Or cognitive confusion from a new drug kicking in too fast?
But the sheer weight of that obsession chilled her spine. That level of subconscious projection usually meant he was identifying someone he had carved into his bones. Hate. Or craving.
The drug spread fast.
Ten seconds later, his full weight collapsed onto her. Dominic fell into a deathlike sleep.
Avery was trapped in his arms, unable to move. Just as she tried to push his heavy body off, her eyes landed on the inside of Dominic's wrist.
In the dim lamplight, an old, misshapen star shaped scar ran across it.
Avery's pupils contracted. The familiar chill of being dragged into an abyss washed over her instantly.
The outline of that scar was like a rusted key, forcing open a door she had locked for seven years.
A phantom pain shot through her wrist. It merged with the memory of that night on the gambling ship. The same crushing grip, the same force that pinned her to the wet deck. Salty air. The dizzying sway of the boat. Her own sobs swallowed by the sound of waves. Countless fragments came roaring back to life with that scar.
No. Impossible.
She held her breath, staring at that pale raised mark. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably. Scars like this were everywhere. But when Dominic tightened his grip again in his sleep, that exact crushing force that felt like it could shatter her bones... it nearly destroyed the last shred of her reason.
Too similar. Not just the scar. That violence that even sleep couldn't calm.
She pushed herself up, trying to free herself from his arm. Her gaze accidentally swept across the corner of the desk.
An envelope sat there. Sealed with wax. The wax stamp was a gold letter "D."
Avery's breath stopped.
That letter D.
Seven years ago, on the gambling ship. The black diamond ring that slipped off that man's finger. Engraved on the band was the same letter.
She stared at the envelope for so long she counted Dominic's breathing three times before forcing herself to look away.
Coincidence. There were too many coincidences in this world.
The rain outside had stopped at some point. The dead silent room held only Dominic's terrifyingly steady breathing. He still had her locked in his arms. The heat from his palm burned her skin. It hurt.
Avery couldn't break free. She lay stiff in his arms, eyes closed, shivering without meaning to.
The sun would come up.
She counted.
One.
Nine left.
Avery didn't know when she passed out.
When she woke, she was lying on the hard leather sofa.
Cold morning light filtered into the room, making it look like a giant operating theater.
No unnecessary decorations. Cold gray walls. Dark metal lines. The smell of rust and cold pine in the air pressed down on her chest.
Avery sat up sharply and looked down at herself in panic.
Her coat had been draped back over her. Even the button that had popped off was tucked neatly into her pocket. This level of meticulous, almost obsessive precision made her skin crawl.
Dominic sat in a black office chair by the window.
He had changed into a charcoal black suit. No tie. The top button of his shirt was open, revealing a strip of pale neck. He was staring at a computer screen, his bony fingers tapping the desk occasionally. His expression and demeanor showed no trace of last night's unraveling.
"Twenty thousand dollars."
His voice was flat. Detached. Magnetic. He opened a drawer, pulled out a check already signed, and flicked it across the marble desktop. It slid to a stop in front of Avery.
"That's for last night." He finally looked up. His eyes, like dry wells, reflected her pale, disheveled face.
"Due to side effects from the medication, I wasn't fully conscious last night. I trust the doctor understands that certain unprofessional noises don't need to leave this room."
He was drawing a line. And warning her.
Avery reached out and quickly tucked the check into her coat. The paper was light, but it crushed her pride with its weight.
"I understand." Avery took a deep breath and turned toward the door. "Since the first session is over, I'll follow the contract and come back at the next scheduled time."
"Who said you could leave?"
Dominic's voice wasn't loud, but it caught her steps like a cold iron chain. Avery turned and met his eyes. Watching. Cruel. Amused.
"I thought I made myself clear." Avery held up her professional mask. "My brother needs care at the hospital, and your condition has entered the observation phase."
"Observation phase means the doctor needs to stay within sight." Dominic set down his coffee cup. He crossed his long legs and leaned back, settling into a purely predatory posture. He pressed a button on the desk phone.
"The doctor will need to stay here until the ten sessions are complete." He spoke quietly into the phone, but his eyes never left Avery's face. They swept over her trembling lashes and stopped at the red marks on her wrist.
"Mr. Kessler, this is false imprisonment."
"No, Dr. Clair."
Dominic stood and walked toward her. His neatly pressed cuff hid the star shaped scar that made her tremble. All that remained was the sharp, aggressive scent of cold pine.
"It's called contract security. After all, if you really saw something you shouldn't have in this room last night, the only reason you're still alive is that you haven't cured me yet."
He stopped in front of her. Close enough for her to see the fine weave of his suit.
"Until the tenth injection, you're not going anywhere."
Dominic's long fingers ghosted over her cheek. He didn't touch, but the chill of death ran through her.
"Now, take a shower. That peach scent of yours... it's too loud."
Two black suited guards appeared at the door. Silent. Blocking her only way out.
Avery clenched the check and walked into the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind her, her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
She stared at the screen and opened it.
A picture. Black background. White letters.
"Project 030"
Her thumb stopped over the screen.
A line of smaller text appeared below.
"You're already inside."
She stared at the words. Her heart beat twice. She tried to take a screenshot.
The screen went black.
The message was gone.
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9.3
I woke up in a freezing, desolate wasteland, my body weak and covered in sores. A mechanical voice in my head informed me that I was a defective rabbit-mutant, and if I didn't conceive within twenty-four hours, I would die permanently.
The terror was suffocating, but the system left me no choice. To survive the brutal cold and the decay of my own heartbeat, I had to force a pregnancy with a stranger.
I stumbled through the snow, my fingers turning blue, until I found a massive, wounded Arctic Fox-mutant in a dark cave. He was a Tier-9 predator, dying and radiating the exact heat I needed to stay alive. I threw away my dignity, crawling into his fur to merge our energies, desperate to trigger the life-reset protocol before my time ran out.
I felt like a monster, forcing myself onto a man who didn't even know I existed, just to keep my own heart beating. How could I ever face him if he woke up? Why did I have to be the one to pay the price for this twisted, mechanical ultimatum?
The fusion was a success, but when I woke up the next morning, the apex predator had me pinned under his massive claws, his fangs inches from my throat. I didn't beg for mercy. I stared into his feral, ice-blue eyes and made a deal that would change everything: I would be his anchor, and he would be my protector. But then I dropped the final, terrifying truth: I was pregnant, and he was the only one who could save us.
9.7
Eighteen months ago, the man I loved shattered my heart, claiming everything between us was a mistake. Now, he's back, a ghost of his former self, a rookie tryout in my pro esports team. And I will make him regret crawling back.
Clifton, captain of a legendary esports team, was secretly battling a severe wrist injury that threatened his career, every match a fight against his own body. He pushed through the pain, ignoring doctors' warnings, desperate to maintain his god-like status.
His world was already on the edge, but nothing prepared him for seeing Justice Terry again in the team basement. Justice, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with naked terror, was now a rookie tryout.
Clifton had spent a year and a half trying to forget that rainy Chicago alley, the raw revulsion in Justice's eyes, the whispered "it wasn't real" that had left him heartbroken. Justice had vanished, and Clifton had erased every trace. Now, the boy who once looked at him like he was the sun was back, flinching at his touch, displaying a deep, primal fear. Amidst sponsor pressure and whispers of being "washed," Clifton saw Justice's return as a chance for vengeance. He publicly humiliated Justice on a live stream, forcing him into a suicide mission, then coldly benched him.
Yet, the satisfaction never came. Instead, a hollow emptiness and a torrent of questions: What had truly happened in the past? Why was Justice here, and what trauma had carved such fear into his bones?
Clifton, unwilling to be fooled again, swore to uncover every secret and every lie. He would force Justice to explain why he had returned, even if it meant tearing down everything they both had left.
9.3
She thought their love could survive anything. She was wrong.
For five years, Amara Hayes was the perfect wife - loyal, gentle, and endlessly forgiving. She believed her husband, Ethan Blackwell, when he said his late nights were for business. She trusted him when he swore his heart was hers.
Until the night she walked into his office and saw him making love to another woman.
Humiliated, heartbroken, and betrayed, Amara left without a word - leaving behind her wedding ring, her identity, and the man who destroyed her faith in love.
Three years later, she returns to New York as a powerful businesswoman with a new name and a cold smile. She's no longer the naive wife he controlled - she's his rival, his downfall, and his punishment.
But Ethan isn't the same man either. He's haunted by the woman he lost and desperate for redemption. And when fate throws them together again, old flames reignite amid a storm of revenge, pain, and forbidden desire.
He once broke her heart. Now, she'll make him wish he never did.
7.6
I woke up to the suffocating smell of copper and sulfur, my fingers wrapped around a blood-soaked leather whip.
Hanging from an obsidian cross in front of me was a boy with silver hair and dead, golden eyes.
His pale chest was torn open to the bone.
I recognized those eyes immediately. I had spent three years describing them on my laptop.
He was Kamari Monroe, the tragic, overpowered protagonist of my own web novel.
And I wasn't just a bystander. I was Benedict Guerrero, the sadistic academy headmaster. The ultimate villain.
A reel of images flashed in my mind: my original ending. Kamari, fully awakened, skinning me alive and burning my soul in a furnace for forty-nine days.
My loyal attack dog, Gideon, stepped forward with a basin of glowing green liquid.
"Headmaster, let me wake him up with this bone-rot acid so you can resume."
If that acid hit Kamari, his hatred would become permanent. My gruesome death would be sealed.
But if I broke character and apologized, the magical world would sense the shift, and Kamari would just think it was a sicker, more twisted trap.
How was I supposed to survive a death sentence I wrote myself?
I couldn't show weakness. I had to play the monster to survive.
Suppressing my terror, I smashed the acid basin, healed his ruined flesh with agonizing dark magic, and lied straight to his face.
"Someone had to be the monster to push you into the fire."
This time, I will rewrite my own fate.
8.7
Kaylee woke up to the smell of rotting leaves and blood, realizing she had transmigrated into the grimdark fantasy novel she was reading last night.
A robotic system in her head immediately delivered a death sentence: she was the tribe's vicious cannon fodder, and the male lead—a brutally tortured slave named Elijah—was currently dying on a totem pole outside.
"If he dies, you will face instant soul-detonation."
Kaylee rushed to the plaza, using her villainous authority to stop the execution and drag his mangled body back to her hut.
But saving him was a nightmare.
The original owner's sadism had traumatized him so deeply that her gentle touches and clean bandages only triggered his PTSD.
His feral energy spiraled out of control, his golden eyes burning with paranoid terror as he waited for a new, twisted psychological game.
To keep his energy from detonating and killing them both, Kaylee was forced to act like a monster.
"I didn't save you because I care. A dead slave is useless to me."
Only her cruel insults and threats of future torture calmed his broken mind.
Adding to her despair, she stumbled upon the novel's supposedly innocent heroine in the forest, only to hear her system detect a terrifying anomaly.
The fragile heroine had her own cheat system.
Trapped with a paranoid future-tyrant and a rival player manipulating the tribe's strongest warriors, Kaylee shoved a bowl of hot stew at the bleeding slave with a mocking sneer.
To survive this hell, she had to play the villain perfectly.
8.5
Alexa Thorne was just an eighteen-year-old girl trying to survive her wealthy friend's sweltering summer pool party.
But a violent asthma attack, triggered by heavy cigar smoke, forced her to confront the man smoking it—Armando Holmes, a ruthless Wall Street billionaire and her friend's older brother. She begged him to put it out. He complied, but his cold gaze instantly shifted into a terrifying, predatory obsession.
From that moment, her quiet life was over. Armando cornered her in a dark hallway, staking a terrifying claim. He forced her into his Bentley, practically kidnapping her to his secluded Hamptons estate, a gilded cage he called the Rose Manor. When he offered her a dark rose and declared his "enchantment," the sheer terror finally made Alexa run. But she tripped, tumbling down the hard stone steps, breaking her arm and severely gashing her face.
Waking up in the hospital, facing the horror of a permanent, ugly scar, Alexa wept in sheer despair. She didn't understand why this dangerous, powerful man had targeted her, tearing her away from her modest life just to lock her in his terrifying grip.
"I swear to you, you will not have a single scar."
Armando vowed, his eyes burning with dark possession as he effortlessly dismissed her own brother's attempts to protect her. As he personally tended to her most humiliating needs with trembling hands, Alexa realized with chilling clarity: the real nightmare wasn't the fall, but the inescapable, obsessive love of the monster who had claimed her.