2nd Hand Lyrics Novels & Stories

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

As the year’s end approached, the city of Portlas’ high society joked that there was no need to worship Lady Fortuna. They only had to worship me instead. That was because, after our remarriage, I became the most materialistic husband in all of Portlas. I no longer cared how much Lana Gable doted on that man. Even when my daughter called him “Daddy,” I turned a blind eye. There was just one new rule in the house. Every time they mentioned Eliot Speke’s name, they had to give me one hundred thousand dollars. Thanks to that, I saved up thirty million dollars in less than two weeks. On our wedding anniversary, Lana and my daughter mentioned Eliot once again. The two of them looked stiff, while I simply held out my hand with practiced ease. “One hundred thousand dollars. Transfer it to my account.” My daughter finally could not hold back any longer and looked at me with utter contempt. “Daddy, you’re so vulgar. Is money the only thing on your mind? You’d even demand money for such a trivial matter. You can’t even compare to a speck of dust on Uncle Speke’s shoes.” I did not argue. I simply held out my hand to my daughter as well. “One hundred thousand dollars. Since you brought it up first, you have to pay too.”

I set fire to my painting in front of the entire academy. Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd as everyone thinks it's some kind of performance art. Unlike them, Willow Laurent is distraught. She rushes up and grabs my hand, questioning in a shrill voice, "Cassidy Seymour, have you gone mad? This is your only chance to prove yourself!" I shake her hand off me coldly. My only chance? No… What she means is that it's her chance. In my past life, I created this masterpiece with all my heart and soul. But she stole it from me and submitted it as her entry first. Whether it was the composition, the colors, or even my original dot-stippling technique… She replicated every detail flawlessly. Then, she won the National Young Artists Gold Award, signed with a top gallery, and became a rising star. And what about me? I was condemned as a shameless plagiarist. Insults and curses gradually drowned me. "You shouldn't be an artist!" "Plagiarists are scum! They should just die!" Her fans stormed into my studio, smashed my art supplies, and broke my right hand. As I saw no end to the hell that I was living in, I jumped down from the top floor of my studio. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the very day she first accuses me of plagiarism.

Three years after our breakup, I ran into my ex-girlfriend, and she had her new boyfriend by her side. "Hey, isn't that Henry the expert?" Diego Stanley taunted with a smirk. "Three years post-breakup, and you're slumming it here playing with clay?" I furrowed my brow, ignored them, and carefully moved the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine onto its preset base in the display case. When I wasn't biting, he reached out to grab the figurine from my arms. "What's this junk you're treating like gold? Let me take a look." Cynthia Wyatt frowned, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "Henry, I've given you three years to shape up, and you're still the same loser? Come on, hand over that clay doll to Diego. Don't kill the vibe. If you play nice, I might even reconsider our old engagement." As Diego's hand neared the figurine, I dodged quickly and barked, "Hands off! It's a historical artifact!" Diego got pissed off and shoved me hard. "Some flea market find, and you're acting all high and mighty?" In the ensuing scuffle, I lost my balance, and the figurine slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. That sealed their fate. This entitled pair was about to go bankrupt trying to fix it.

A soft gasp escaped her lips when Tobias’ hand slipped into her gown and caught one breast. She tried her best to suppress her emotions but her eyes just involuntarily shut due to a pleasurable sensation brought by his warm touch. She blinked her eyes open when he detached his hand from her breast. Tobias distanced himself from her, however, the rage in his eyes was still there as he watched her. “I almost forgot. You told me a few years back, only I can touch you unless I pay you.” Minah's brows furrowed, her eyes fixed on him. Tobias pulled himself away from her, composing himself before he took his wallet out of his pocket. He then pulled out some paper bills and threw them on her. Her eyes darted to the money that he tossed right in front of her. Six violet-colored paper bills. Her mouth was left agape. Six hundred pesos! Minah could feel her blood rushing to her face as insult, rage, and humiliation stirred inside her. She lifted her face once again and threw daggers at Tobias. “I am no whore, you son of a bitch!” His expression grew ominous. “You are filthier than a whore, Damara,” he said firmly, his voice sounding displeased.

The contractions were ripping me in two. My vision was going dark. My husband, Don Vittorio, the man who ruled Chicago, squeezed my hand. His dark eyes burned with love. "Just a little longer, mia cara. You'll meet our baby soon." Sweat poured down my face. I still found the strength to smile for him. Then a nurse walked in. She held a syringe. I thought it was to stop the pain. But Vittorio’s hand fell away. He took a single step back. The needle sank into my arm. I heard Vittorio’s voice. It was cold steel. "Dose her carefully. She holds on until midnight. Not a minute sooner. Not until after Ornella delivers." And then I knew. He thought I married him for the money. He was stopping my labor. All for a sick Falcone family rule: the first son born is the next heir. Pain tore through me. I reached for him. Tears streamed down my face. I begged him to stop. He bit his lip. His voice was pure ice. "My brother is dead. Ornella carries his only heir. You will do as you are told. You and your child will not steal his birthright." The drug hit my veins. The violent squeeze in my belly, like some invisible hand, just… stopped.

“If you want your freedom, you must be willing to pay a heavy price for it, Amelia.” Ashton brought me back to reality with his words. For a moment, it was like I was absorbed into his blue eyes. I turned away to hide my blush. ** Amelia thought she could live a different life after receiving an inheritance from her father. Still, she was caught in a situation that required her to accept a marriage arranged by her father long ago with the Romano family, one of the largest mafia clans that control various international business networks. To claim her full inheritance, Amelia must be willing to marry Ashton Romano, the adopted son of Alessandro Romano, who is her mother’s new husband. Amelia has no choice but to accept the marriage. Ashton’s charm slowly makes Amelia want to involve her feelings in their marriage. Still, on the other hand, Amelia finally knows the true identity of her mother’s new family. Amelia also feels her goal of having a life free from anyone is getting slimmer. Her distrust of her husband hinders her feelings for Ashton. On the other hand, her ex-boyfriend Mattew Albano returns to give Amelia hope for a life of happiness and freedom. Amelia’s trust and care are at stake between the two men, heirs to two of the biggest mafia clan families ever. Will Amelia choose to stay with her marriage with Ashton, or will Mattew’s presence be enough to make Amelia believe in the man’s promise that was delayed for her?

"Come this way." A man forward his hand towards the girl who looked confused over what was happening. She looked at his hand and then at him. "We need to go back." She took a deep breath and pleaded to him knowing what ever she will do he is not going to change his mind. The man smiled and took a step towards her closing their distance and cupped her face. "My Luna, you need to listen to your alpha, not to care about the pack. Now, should we go or you want me to you until the sun rises." The girl turned red and hit on the of the man who chuckled and pulled her closer, quickly leaving a peck on her lips. "Let me shift first." He winked at her and freed her arms.The girl turned her head towards the opposite side as a shy smile appeared on her face. Soon a t shirt fell on her head and she heard a chuckle.  "Stop teasing me." She pouted and folded the shirt in her hands. She hugged the t-shirt and waited for sometime to get the remaining clothes but there was silence around her. "Gavin." She softly called her husband's name but didn't get any reply. There was something wrong. This wasn't how this all happened. She quickly turned and saw her husband lying on the ground in a pool of blood. His eyes were lifeless and blood was still ozing out of the sharp wound on his .

At the class reunion, Grace Sullivan grabs me and tears into me with vicious lies. "She's an exiled Rogue who slept her way to the top with the director, Damian Pierce! My father's bed at the clinic? She spread her legs for it!" She slaps me across the face, rallying others to join the beating. Finally, she stomps down hard on my hand, the one gripping the scalpel, crushing the bones. Ethan Carter just stands there watching, cold and unmoved. He doesn't lift a finger to stop her. The pain sends tremors through my entire body, but I scream right back at her. "You're just jealous that I'm the better healer, that Ethan chose me over you, so you made up filthy lies to destroy me! "I'm a healer. Right now, your father is dying, and I'm the one who can save him. You want to stop me? Then get ready to plan his funeral." That's when my father, Damian, storms in and roars the truth for everyone to hear. "She's my daughter! Everything she has, she earned!" With my shattered hand, I push through the pain and charge into the operating room anyway. I'm not just saving a life tonight. I'm making sure the liar and the traitor both pay the price they deserve.

London was supposed to be freedom. A clean start far from the bruises, the shouting, and the father who made my childhood a nightmare. For two quiet years, I built a small, safe life with books, cold nights, and nobody to fear. But safety ends the moment danger knocks on my door. One unforgivable mistake. And suddenly I'm not just found by the devil in a suit-I'm sold. Straight into the hands of Antonio Rosa, the ruthless Don of New York. Antonio Ruling New York with iron fist, blood, and zero mercy has always been therapeutic. People don't hand me their daughters on a whim-they hand me their fear. But when a useless man tries to buy his life with a trembling girl, I take the deal... if only to teach him a final lesson. Daisy Harrison is supposed to be my warning to him. The man who couldn't care less about her. My leverage. My future wife in name only. Something pretty to destroy while the world watches and does nothing. But the moment she lifts her chin at me, all fire and defiance, I know I've made the most dangerous mistake of my life. Because I don't fall. I don't feel. I don't love. Yet here I am... losing control over the one woman I was never meant to keep.