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 4
Avery was shoved into a car. The door slammed shut behind her.
The cabin was dark. Dominic sat across from her.
Before she could catch her breath, he spoke.
"Your daughter is with me."
Avery's fists clenched. "What did you say?"
"Wenger's men grabbed her. I intercepted them." Dominic's voice was flat. "She's fine."
She stared at him. Something surged up in her chest.
She lunged. Her fists hit his shoulder. Once. Twice. Dominic didn't move. He took the hits.
When she swung the third punch, he shot his hand up and caught both her wrists. He twisted them and pinned them against the seat back.
Avery's back hit the seat. She was stuck.
She struggled. Her wrists twisted in his grip. His fingers tightened. His knuckles ground against her bones. She sucked in a breath.
"Enough."
She didn't listen. She lifted her knee and drove it toward his stomach.
Dominic shifted sideways. He blocked her knee with his hand and pressed it down. Her leg got trapped between him and the seat. She couldn't move.
"Let me go—"
Avery yanked one hand free. Her nails raked toward his face. He turned his head. Her knuckles grazed his jaw. He grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her down against the seat.
Avery's neck was locked in his grip. She was on her back, looking up.
"Done?" His voice was low, right above her face.
She glared at him, chest heaving.
"You could have just taken her from the start. You didn't have to—"
"Would you have believed me?"
She said nothing.
Dominic let go. Avery fell back into her seat. Red marks circled her wrists. His fingerprints still burned on the side of her neck.
"What's the difference between you and Wenger?" She spat the words out.
Dominic turned to look out the window. He didn't answer.
"I'm bringing my daughter to the villa," she said.
"No."
She blinked. "You said she was safe—"
"Safe doesn't mean she moves in."
"Then I'm not seeing Wenger."
Silence filled the car for a few seconds.
"She can't leave your room," he said finally. "If she shows up in front of me, the deal is off."
"She's six. She won't—"
"She can't leave your room."
Avery stared at him. She knew this was the most he would give.
"Fine."
"Call Wenger. Tell him you're coming."
She picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over the dial button. "When do I see my daughter?"
"After the call. Forty minutes."
She held his gaze. "You promise."
Dominic didn't answer. He just looked at her.
She made the call. Wenger's voice came through, rougher than usual.
"Avery."
She looked at Dominic. He mouthed speaker.
"I'm coming," she said.
Wenger paused. "Did you give him the shot?"
"Yes."
"Confirmed?"
Avery looked out the window. Six years. She had studied under him for her PhD. Done research. Written papers. He was the one who reached out when she had nothing.
"I watched him go down."
Wenger laughed. A soft sound.
"Good. Come to the warehouse. We'll talk about your daughter."
The line went dead.
"You lied to him." Dominic let out a short breath that was almost a laugh.
"You told me to." She didn't look at him.
The car turned. They were on the road to the warehouse.
"One more thing," Dominic said.
She looked at him.
"Your daughter is already at the villa."
Avery froze. "You said forty minutes—"
"That was for you."
The car stopped in front of the warehouse.
Avery pushed the door open and glanced back. Dominic sat in the shadows. He wasn't getting out.
She walked closer. Wenger sat in a wheelchair. His face was yellow.
"Is he dead?"
"Yes," Avery said.
Wenger stared at her.
"Your right hand," he said. "When you're nervous, you make a fist. You've done it since your first year in my PhD program."
She looked down at her right hand. Her fingers were clenched tight.
"Dorothea must be six now," Wenger said. "November birthday."
Avery's steps faltered.
She had never told Wenger her daughter's birthday.
"You looked into me."
"From the first day you came to me." Wenger coughed. "Why do you think I recommended you to treat Dominic?"
She didn't say anything.
"Dominic isn't dead. You came to buy time."
"You think your brother's medical records, your research, your license. All of it is in my hands?"
Wenger's mouth pulled to the side. It wasn't a smile. His expression was horrible.
"You're wrong. When I die, it all disappears. No one will find it. Not even him."
Avery's fingers loosened. Then clenched again.
"My best student." Wenger looked at her. "You picked the wrong side."
His hand slid off the wheelchair armrest. He pulled a wire.
Avery saw it. When she saw what it was connected to, her legs moved before her brain did.
"Run," Wenger yelled at her.
She turned and ran. Her footsteps echoed through the warehouse.
An explosion ripped through the air behind her. The shockwave hit her back. It threw her forward several steps. She crashed into the warehouse's metal door and squeezed through the gap, falling to the ground outside.
Ringing in her ears. The smell of smoke.
She pushed herself up on her hands and looked back at the warehouse.
Flames licked out through shattered windows.
Wenger was still inside.
Avery ran. Her legs were so weak she almost fell to her knees.
The dull blast still vibrated in her ears like a needle stuck in her brain. She couldn't pull it out.
She didn't dare look back. She ran a few steps, but her legs were shaking too hard.
Dominic's car was still there. He leaned against the door, looking down at his phone. When he heard her footsteps, he looked up.
Avery braced her hands on her knees and gasped for air. Her throat tasted like rust.
"You ran fast."
She kept her hands on her knees. "My mentor, he—"
"I figured."
"He said the records would disappear—"
Dominic nodded.
"He said I picked the wrong side—"
Dominic put his phone away and opened the car door. "You didn't."
She stood there, legs trembling. She wanted to say something else, but her head was full of Wenger's face. His last look. The wire.
When the car got back to Dominic's villa, Avery ran through the front door. She grabbed the nearest black suited guard.
"Where's my daughter?"
The man stared straight ahead. He didn't answer.
Avery let go and yelled, "Dominic! Where is my daughter?"
Her voice bounced off the walls. No Dominic.
"Dominic!"
She shouted again. Her voice cracked. Sharp and hoarse. Her breathing got faster. Her hands shook.
A moment later, she heard Dominic's footsteps behind her. He looked at her for a long time before finally answering.
"Mm."
"Where is my daughter."
She stared into his eyes. His eyes showed nothing. Just empty darkness.
He didn't say anything. He turned and walked deeper into the hallway. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at her.
"Follow me."
Avery hurried after him, taking two steps at a time. She didn't know how long they walked. Her chest was about to explode.
He finally stopped in front of a door.
She tried to move past him to push it open. His arm came across, blocking her.
"Conditions first."
She pulled her hand back and stared at him. He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at her.
Avery's blood rushed to her head. She listened to her own heartbeat. Her fists clenched. She glared at him.
"Come to my room tonight."
"You're dreaming."
"Then try getting in." He stepped aside and gestured toward the door. Be my guest.
She stared at the door. Her daughter was right there.
She didn't know how long she had been in there. If she was scared. If she was crying.
She couldn't do anything except stand here and wait for this devil to say yes. She forced her tears back. She gritted her teeth and nodded once.
"...Fine."
The door finally opened.
Avery saw a small figure sitting on the floor. Dorothea had a pile of blocks in front of her. Her old, worn out stuffed rabbit was beside her.
The door creaked. The little girl looked up.
"Mommy."
Avery rushed over. She dropped to her knees on the floor and pulled Dorothea into her arms. The girl's body went stiff for a second. Then she softened and buried her face in Avery's neck.
Her daughter's breath touched her skin. Only then did Avery's shoulders relax.
She looked back. Dominic stood in the doorway. His gaze went past her and landed on the small figure.
Avery glared at him. She instinctively shielded the back of Dorothea's head with her hand.
"Ten o'clock," he said.
Dominic looked at her one more time, then closed the door for them and walked away.
Avery shut her eyes. Her chin rested on top of her daughter's head. Dorothea gripped her collar tight.
"Loud." Her voice was muffled against Avery's neck.
Avery pulled back and looked around the room.
Soundproof walls. Double paned glass.
"Not loud."
Dorothea shook her head. She pressed her hand against the wall. Her eyes fixed on something Avery couldn't see. A few seconds later, she pulled her hand back and pressed it to her own ear.
"Wall. Loud."
Avery stared at her. Words from the diagnostic report floated up in her memory. Sensory overload. She was listening to the house. It was breathing.
"Mommy." Dorothea looked up at her. She put her hand on Avery's chest. "You. Loud."
Avery looked down. Her heart was pounding.
In the study, the screens on the wall glowed. Security footage filled the panels. Dominic sat deep in his leather chair. His fingers rested on his knee.
"Boss."
Two knocks. Drake walked in.
"Wenger is still in the ICU. He hasn't woken up."
Dominic didn't move. "What did the doctors say?"
"No one knows when he'll wake up. Or if he will."
Drake paused. "Something happened with her brother. His primary doctor, Lin. He was picked up yesterday. He went willingly. No struggle."
Dominic's fingers stopped moving.
"There's more." Drake lowered his voice. "Two containers at East Pier got held up. The south side logistics route was tampered with too. Someone knew our timing. Knew the routes."
"How much did we lose?"
"Not a lot of money. But—" Drake stopped. "Someone inside is feeding information."
Dominic said nothing. He looked at the screens. The door on the east side of the third floor was closed. The light was on.
"Find them. Three days."
"Yes, sir."
Drake turned to leave.
"One more thing." Dominic's voice came from behind him. "East side of the third floor. Add a camera."
Drake didn't ask why. He acknowledged the order and left.
After she got Dorothea settled and asleep, Avery walked to Dominic's door with heavy steps. She checked the time. 9:59.
Her fingertips hovered over the door. She hesitated. Before she could knock, the door opened.
Dominic stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He wore a dark grey cotton set, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
He didn't say anything. He just looked at her, like he had been waiting a long time. Or like he had known all along she wouldn't have the nerve to knock.
"Lock it," he said. Then he turned and walked inside.
Avery did as she was told. She followed him to the center of the room.
When she caught sight of the oversized bed, her fists clenched without thinking.
She watched Dominic's eyes slide from her face down to her clenched fists. He paused for a moment. Then his gaze moved up to her lips.
And then the devil smiled. A slow, dark smile.
By instinct, she turned and bolted. A muffled explosion erupted behind her.
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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.