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 8
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Before Avery could react, a hand shoved her head down. She was yanked into someone's chest, hard.
The bullet hit the spot where she had been standing. Wall chips scattered everywhere.
She looked up. It was Dominic.
His chin pressed against the top of her head. His gun was already in his hand. He fired at the dark figure on the windowsill.
His arm locked around her waist, so tight it almost crushed her bones. His other hand moved fast to the gun at his hip. In the span of a turn, he had already fired.
The figure grunted. The bullet grazed his arm. He stumbled but didn't back off. He pulled a smoke grenade from his pocket and slammed it to the ground. White smoke billowed everywhere, stinging their eyes.
When the smoke cleared, only a few drops of blood remained on the windowsill. Dr. Greene was gone too.
Avery gasped for air. The sting on her cheek grew sharper.
Dominic looked down at her. "Are you hurt?"
"Just a glass cut."
Her eyes landed on the floor. A small metal pin lay among the glass shards.
She bent down and picked it up.
It was the logo from her parents' lab.
Something that should have disappeared seven years ago.
"What is that?" Dominic's voice came from beside her.
"The logo from my parents' lab." Her voice tightened. "It was all destroyed seven years ago."
Dominic took the pin, looked at it, and put it in his pocket. He pulled out his phone.
"Drake. Track down the figure who just escaped. And take a team to the hospital's underground storage. Get Julian out."
A pause on the other end.
"Boss. We already went to the storage. It's empty. Just a pen and a note. 'If you want Julian, meet at the abandoned pier.'"
"Got it. Get the car ready."
He hung up.
Avery's fingers clenched. That pen was the adult birthday gift she had given Julian. He never went anywhere without it.
She said she was going with him to the pier. Dominic looked at her and said coldly, "Don't slow me down."
The abandoned pier. The air smelled of rust and seawater. Shipping containers formed a maze.
Drake kept his voice low. "Boss. Target is in warehouse three. Six men. Armed."
Warehouse three. The door was open. Inside was dark.
Julian sat on a chair. His hands were tied. Tape covered his mouth. A man stood next to him, his back to them.
"Finally." The man turned around.
Dominic moved half a step in front of Avery.
"Let him go."
The man smiled. "Mr. Kessler. You came alone?"
"My men are outside."
"You brought them, but you won't let them in." He stepped forward. "Because you know that if you start shooting, this woman's brother dies."
Dominic didn't answer. His gun stayed fixed on the man.
"Leave her here." The man looked at Dominic. "You take your people and go. She stays. The kid lives."
"No."
"Then the kid dies here today." He pressed the gun against Julian's temple and looked at Avery. "Your choice."
Avery's fingers tightened.
Dominic lowered his voice, close to her ear. "Don't move."
The man waited a few seconds. He pressed the gun harder. "I'll count to three—"
"Let him go." Dominic's voice cut in. "You want her, not him. He's useless to you."
They stood frozen. Neither moved.
Dominic kept his gun raised.
"Your men are in the warehouse. Mine are outside. You can't get out. Right now, you only have one card to play."
He paused. "But if you play it, you're not getting out either."
The man stared at him. He didn't speak.
Outside the warehouse, footsteps closed in from all sides. Then a gunshot rang out from above. Short. Precise.
The man's wrist took the bullet. The gun flew from his hand and hit the ground.
He grunted. Julian broke free.
Julian stumbled. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud. He didn't cry out. He just pushed himself up and crawled toward Avery with everything he had.
His hands were still tied. He moved on his knees, one push at a time.
Dominic lunged forward, kicked the gun away, and pressed his own against the back of the man's neck.
"Mr. Kessler." The man clutched his wrist and looked up. "You're slower on the trigger than you were seven years ago."
Dominic's finger hesitated.
"Seven years ago on that boat, you weren't like this."
The man glanced at the smoke, then back at Dominic. "Wenger said you were broken. Looks like he was right."
Drake's men flooded in. They pinned the man down.
Dominic holstered his gun. He didn't say anything. His right hand hung at his side. The bandage was completely red.
"Take him away."
Avery knelt beside Julian. She tore the tape off his mouth and cut the ropes.
The moment Julian's hands were free, he started scratching the inside of his left arm. His nails dug into his skin. Avery grabbed his hands. He didn't react. His eyes stared at nothing.
"Let's go." Dominic had already called his men to take Julian. "We'll talk back at the villa."
Back at the villa, Avery helped Julian inside and sat him on the couch.
As soon as his hands were free, he started scratching his left arm again. Avery held him down. He didn't react. His eyes were empty.
Dominic crouched down. He turned Julian's left arm over and looked at it.
The scar wasn't long. Its edges were clean. Not from an accident.
Raised lines marked the surface, like someone had used a fine tool to carve into the skin.
"That's not from a needle," Dominic said, frowning.
"Someone carved it on purpose. Wenger's people like to mark their subjects. 030. That was the project number for your parents' lab subjects."
Avery stared at the scar. Project 030 again.
But she never expected to see it carved into Julian's skin.
Julian's hands slowly stopped. They dropped to his sides. His eyes were still vacant, but his lips moved. No sound came out.
Then Dorothea walked over. She quietly slipped her hand into Julian's.
Julian's fingers twitched. Then they slowly opened.
In his palm was something. Crumpled. Damp. But still whole. A folded piece of paper.
Dorothea looked down at it, then handed the paper to Avery. She didn't say anything.
Avery unfolded it.
It was letterhead from Dr. Greene's office. A line of unfinished writing, the ink messy, like it had been left in a hurry.
"D—the next target isn't her. It's—"
The rest was torn off.
She stared at the line. Her fingers tightened.
Dominic took the paper from her and looked at it. "Greene's handwriting. He ran before he could finish."
"Who's the next target?" Avery's voice wasn't a question.
Dominic didn't answer. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "I'll find out."
He turned and walked quickly toward the study. But Avery noticed him brace himself against the hallway wall. His knuckles went white. Then he let go just as fast.
Julian fell asleep. The doctor gave him a sedative.
Avery sat on the couch, clutching the pin in her hand. Her mind was a mess.
She thought about everything at the warehouse. The scar on Julian's arm. The fire that killed her parents.
A crackling sound filled her ears. Flames.
Smoke poured through the crack in the door. Her father stood in front of her. His mouth moved. She couldn't hear what he said.
She curled up in the corner of the couch, holding her head. Her whole body shook.
A sharp clink came from the coffee table.
Dominic had set a glass of water in front of her. He crouched down so his eyes were level with hers.
"Done crying?"
She didn't answer. Tears were still on her face.
"Wenger is still out there. The truth about your parents is still buried." He looked at her. "You're just going to curl up here and cry?"
"I've been carrying Wenger's drug, watching his backer, for three years without breaking. What about you?"
Avery looked at him. His eyes were cold. No warmth at all. But the hand at his side was clenched into a tight fist.
She picked up the glass and took a sip.
"I'm not wallowing." Her voice was still hoarse. "But you're right. I have people to protect."
Dominic stood up. He gave a small nod.
Avery stood too. She looked at the bandage on his hand.
"Tomorrow, we start real treatment. We're throwing out Wenger's methods. We do it my way. No toughing it out. No stopping the meds."
He looked at her. "Fine. Your way."
He paused. "We're even."
Avery looked at him and smiled. "Even."
Just then, the doctor walked down the stairs. He held a lab report in his hand.
"There are traces of a neuro inhibitor in the patient's blood. Not standard medication. The kind that interferes with short term memory and subtly controls behavior. This doesn't look like normal treatment. It looks like the continuation of a long term experiment."
Dominic looked at Avery. "Is this connected to what Wenger gave me?"
"The ingredients are similar, but this one is more targeted. Designed specifically for adolescent nervous systems."
After the doctor left, Avery opened the USB drive. She pulled up the numbered list.
"You're 047. Julian is 030. I'm Candidate A," she said.
"I've been going through my parents' records these past few days. This project started as legitimate research. Trauma intervention for C-PTSD. It could have saved so many people."
She paused.
"But someone turned it into something else. Wenger was just the executor. The person behind him wants the experiment to continue."
Dominic looked at the screen. He didn't say anything.
"They don't want a treatment plan," he said. "They want a tool to control people."
Just then, a noise came from upstairs.
Avery ran up and pushed the door open. Dorothea sat on the carpet, drawing. Nothing seemed wrong.
But the drawing showed a long, narrow hallway. At the end, a closed door. A star shaped mark sat on the door.
Next to it, a string of numbers. 030.
"Dorothea. What are you drawing?"
Dorothea looked up. Her eyes didn't blink.
"Mommy. When 030 doesn't behave, he gets locked up."
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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.