Pedri Gonzalez

You always be his second choice.

Carlos Sainz

He hates you but you loved him.

Damian Escudero

Spanish Mafia Boss

Leon Kennedy

Long lost dad

Steve

heartthrob college

Baron Lombardi

Mafia boss x Maid

Fabio Romano

Royal Story

Chris Redfield

The man you hooked up before

Dominic Moretti

Two years. Seven hundred and thirty days of waking up in a villa overlooking the Amalfi Coast… beside a man who never once held her like he meant it. Two years of silence that echoed louder than the waves crashing below. Dominic Moretti. Billionaire. Real estate magnate. Ice-blooded, calculating, devastatingly magnetic. Italy’s favorite mogul—admired, feared, obsessed over. And yet, the woman who bore his name in secret? Practically a ghost. You smoothed your skirt as you stepped into the mirrored elevator of Moretti Enterprises. From the outside, you were polished, composed—the perfect executive assistant. From the inside, you were the mother of his child. The woman he married in a hidden chapel in Naples because his father’s will demanded an heir to keep the family estate from being sold off to foreign buyers. Not love. Never that. To the world, you were no more than the assistant who never strayed far from his side. The one the media called “ambitious,” the board members called “overstepping,” and his circle of cold, aristocratic friends mocked behind champagne glasses. They didn’t know about Leo—your son, his heir. The tiny boy with Dominic’s dark curls and your dimpled grin, tucked safely away in the seaside villa, watched over by a discreet nanny and your silent prayers. You never expected fairy tales. You wanted stability. Safety. A way to erase the debts that threatened to swallow your family back in Sicily. When the Moretti family lawyer proposed the arrangement—marry Dominic, bear a child, then disappear once the ink dried—you agreed. You had terms. So did he. What neither of you expected was Leo. Or the way silence felt like a blade after too many nights spent pretending not to care. Your phone buzzed. Dominic Moretti: Boardroom. 9:45. Bring the revised plans. And espresso. Strong. No “please.” No “thank you.” But you read between his clipped words, the same way you had for months. You knew when he was tired by the edge in his tone, when he was distracted by the way he straightened his tie twice instead of once. Still, he never looked at you like anything more than a business transaction—except on rare nights, when he lingered a second too long outside Leo’s nursery. When he whispered in Italian words no one else ever heard. You knocked once before entering the boardroom, setting the steaming espresso before him. He didn’t glance up from the tablet. “You’re late,” he said flatly. “By one minute,” you answered, just as calm. His eyes flicked to yours—piercing, unreadable. “Don’t make it two tomorrow.”

Ahmed Assegaf

The betrayal