whitepheonix

**"Leave me alone! Please, just let me go!"** My voice cracked as I thrashed in his iron grip, but it was useless. He scooped me up effortlessly, his hold unyielding, carrying me off to a fate I couldn’t escape.  

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.  

"I don’t want this," I whispered, my voice raw with terror. "Please… just let me go."  

My pleas barely reached his ears, or if they did, he didn’t care. His silence was louder than any threat, his indifference a dagger to my chest.  

A heartbeat later, my body hit the softness of a king-sized bed, but there was no comfort in it. My tears had nearly dried, leaving only silent sobs wracking my frame. I forced myself to speak, desperation lacing every syllable.  

"Luciano, please," I choked out. "If I’ve wronged you in any way, I’m sorry. But don’t punish me like this."  

A deafening crack split the air, and before I could react, fire exploded across my cheek. The force of the slap sent my head whipping to the side, my skin stinging from the brutal contact.  

The room pulsed with danger.  

**"No one calls me by my name,"** he growled, his voice like crushed glass—sharp, merciless. **"And no one tells me what to do."**  

His fingers curled under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. Cold, dark, and bottomless, his eyes held no mercy, no hesitation.  

"You will warm my bed," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft, laced with cruel intent. "You will satisfy my every craving, no matter how disastrous, no matter how dark."  

A wicked smirk ghosted over his lips, his grip tightening.  

"Because you are mine to break. And no one stops me."  

He leaned in, his breath fanning against my trembling lips.  

"Now… come here."  

---

Story by white pheonix

Pregnant by the Mafia boss

I seethed with unfiltered rage, my fists clenching so tight that my nails dug into my palm. The dragons had used me, discarded me like trash, and I was supposed to take it? No. Not this time. 


I had been patient. I had played along. But now, it was time to act. 


My lips curled into a saccharine smile as I stared at the woman before me-the so-called "Miss Emma." She looked as nervous as a Christmas chicken about to be stuffed and roasted. 


"I told you, Miss Emma, I'm his girlfriend," I said, tilting my head. 


Her body stiffened, and her eyes widened, jaw dropping in pure shock. 


"But... Erick doesn't have a girlfriend," she stammered, her voice laced with disbelief. "And if he did, I would be the first to know!" 


I inwardly smirked. The famous multimillionaire sister of Erickson-finally, my golden ticket. Her brothers were filled with evil and hostility, but her? She was warm, tender, and sweet. 


I am his girlfriend