Branded By The Devil's Cruel Kiss
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
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Chapter 8
Mortimer's face was covered in blood. His nose was completely flattened. He stared at Ebert with wide, terrified eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.
"Mr... Mr. Ewing..." Mortimer stammered, spitting blood.
Ebert didn't say a single word. He pulled his right fist back. The muscles in his forearm corded with tension. He drove his fist forward with the speed of a bullet, smashing it directly into the center of Mortimer's face.
A sickening, wet crunch echoed in the hallway. Mortimer's nose shattered completely. Blood sprayed through the air, splattering against the expensive wallpaper.
Mortimer screamed in agony. He flailed his arms, weakly trying to push Ebert away.
Ebert's left hand shot out, grabbing Mortimer's right wrist. Ebert had snapped Mortimer's arm with a brutal, practiced twist that spoke of a dark, ruthlessly efficient violence.
The loud, crisp sound of bone breaking was unmistakable.
Elie shrank back into the corner of the wall. Her hands trembled violently as she held the torn silk against her chest. She stared at the bloody, brutal scene unfolding inches away from her. The sickening crunch of bone and the metallic stench of warm blood made her stomach churn violently. She shrank back against the wall, a scream trapped in her raw throat.
She had never seen Ebert lose control like this. Even three years ago, on that terrible rainy night, he had been cold and calculating. Now, he was a rabid beast, tearing his prey apart.
Mortimer collapsed onto the floor like a pile of bloody mud. He curled into a ball, sobbing and begging for mercy.
"Please! Please!" Mortimer wailed. "Didn't you... didn't you give her to me as a gift?"
That single sentence hit the absolute core of Ebert's rage.
Ebert raised his leather shoe. He brought it down hard, stomping directly onto Mortimer's fat, bloody cheek. He ground his heel into the man's face.
Ebert leaned down. His eyes were so dark they looked like endless voids. The muscles in his jaw ticked violently. He spoke through clenched teeth, every word dripping with lethal venom.
"She is my property," Ebert growled, his voice vibrating with rage. "Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
The words hit Elie like a physical blow to the chest. It was in this haze of visceral terror that his declaration cut through, colder and sharper than any physical blow.
Trash that I threw away.
The tiny, pathetic spark of hope that had ignited when he saved her was instantly extinguished. It turned into a block of solid ice in her stomach.
He didn't save her because he cared. He saved her because of his twisted, psychotic sense of ownership. She was just an object.
The music in the main room abruptly cut off. Davin, followed by four massive bodyguards in black suits, rushed into the hallway.
Davin sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the blood covering the walls and floor. He quickly raised his hand, signaling the bodyguards to step forward.
Ebert slowly removed his foot from Mortimer's face. He turned around. Davin immediately handed him a pristine white handkerchief.
Ebert took it and slowly, methodically wiped the blood from his knuckles.
"Get rid of him," Ebert ordered coldly, not looking at the whimpering man on the floor. "By tomorrow morning, I do not want to see the name Finch Capital anywhere on Wall Street."
Hearing that sentence, Mortimer's eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out from pure terror. The bodyguards grabbed him by his broken arms and dragged him out of the suite like a bag of garbage.
The hallway fell dead silent again. The heavy, metallic smell of blood hung thick in the air.
Ebert dropped the bloody handkerchief onto the floor. He turned slowly and looked down at Elie.
She was shivering uncontrollably. She was missing a shoe. Her red dress was ripped open. The side of her face was swollen and red, and a thin trail of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth.
Ebert's eyes swept over her bruised face. For a fraction of a second, a flash of intense, agonizing pain cracked through his cold facade. But he blinked, and the ice returned instantly.
He reached up and unbuttoned his white dress shirt, stripping it off, leaving him in only a black tailored vest. He threw the white shirt roughly. It landed over Elie's head.
"Put it on," Ebert snapped. His voice was filled with irritation and disgust, as if looking at her made him sick.
Elie fumbled blindly with the fabric. She shoved her arms through the sleeves of the oversized shirt, pulling it tight around her body to hide her exposed skin.
Ebert didn't offer his hand to help her up. He turned on his heel and walked toward the exit. "Follow me," he ordered.
Elie bit down on her bleeding lip. She placed her hand against the wall and forced herself to stand. Her right ankle was swollen to the size of a baseball. Every step sent a blinding spike of pain up her leg.
She limped after him, dragging her injured foot. She looked like a broken ragdoll that had been thrown away, only to be dragged back by its cruel master.
They walked out of the club doors. The freezing night wind hit Elie, making her teeth chatter.
The Maybach was waiting. Ebert stood by the open door, his eyes cold and impatient as he watched her painfully drag herself toward the car.
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9.3
Halie woke up to a sharp pain and a terrifying reality. She was in a new body, her face covered in a hideous web of scars, and her spiritual power reduced to a pathetic D-Class.
Before she could even process the memories of being framed, her bedroom doors were violently kicked open.
Her sister Seraphina sauntered in with a venomous sneer, followed closely by Halie's S-Class fiancé, Jett.
"Look at the disgrace of the Avila family. What a waste," Seraphina mocked, throwing a mirror at her bed.
"I can't be tied to a cripple. As an S-Class, I have to break our engagement," Jett added, his gaze full of disgust.
The nightmare didn't stop there. Her father called, screaming about how she had shamed the family name. He officially stripped her of her inheritance, froze all her accounts, and exiled her to the decaying Southern District to rot.
To make matters worse, a cold, mechanical voice suddenly echoed in her skull, warning her of an impending genetic collapse. Without an immediate energy infusion, she would face total organ failure in thirty days.
A ruined face, a treacherous family, a world that wanted her dead, and a literal death clock ticking in her brain. The original owner had died in absolute despair, a tragic victim of sheer cruelty.
But if they thought she would just sit there and die, they were severely mistaken.
Armed with a mysterious system and her brilliant scientist mind from her past life, Halie packed her bags. She chose the craziest survival quest: head to the slums, find the exiled, sterile S-Class "madman" Coleman, and cure him to harvest his life energy. It was time to start her counterattack.
9.3
The first sign I was going to die wasn't the blizzard. It wasn't the bone-deep cold. It was the look in my fiancé's eyes when he told me he had given my life's work-our only guarantee of survival-to another woman.
"Kelsi was freezing," he said, as if I were being unreasonable. "You're the expert, you can handle it."
He then took my satellite phone, shoved me into a hastily dug snow pit, and left me to die.
His new girlfriend, Kelsi, appeared, wrapped snugly in my shimmering smart blanket. She smiled as she used my own ice axe to slash my suit, my last layer of protection against the storm.
"Stop being so dramatic," he told me, his voice full of contempt as I lay there freezing to death.
They thought they had taken everything. They thought they had won.
But they didn't know about the secret emergency beacon I had stitched into my sleeve. And with my last ounce of strength, I activated it.
7.1
The captain is dead to the world. And I'm the only one holding the kill switch.
Ethan Carter, the "Glacier of Silvercrest," was the most feared Alpha to ever step onto the ice. Now, he's nothing but a shell-a broken, comatose legend trapped in his own body.
My life? It was supposed to be simple. Graduate, survive the pack's bottom-tier status, and pay off my father's ruinous blood-debts. Instead, the pack elders handed me a contract soaked in cold, hard malice: I am the designated "Stabilizer." My only job is to touch him, scent him, and keep his wolf from flatlining.
I thought I was just a glorified nurse. I didn't realize the Alpha was listening.
When Ethan finally wakes, he isn't the hero the Kingdom of Valeria remembers. He's a starving predator with amber eyes that burn holes through my defenses and a temperament that makes the frost in the mansion seem warm. He hates the bargain, he hates the pack, and-most dangerously-he hates the way his scent turns wild whenever I'm near.
He wants me out of his sight. I want to be out of his reach.
But in a pack built on secrets, someone is still trying to finish the job they started on his life. Now, the man who wants me gone is the only one who can protect me. And as the rink turns into a battlefield, I'm realizing the most dangerous thing about the Alpha isn't his temper... it's the fact that once he claims a mate, he doesn't know how to let go.
Frozen hearts are meant to shatter. But in the fire of this pack, we're both going to burn.
9.5
He was born from the void between stars - a being of immense power, forged from cosmic origins.
For thousands of years, he walked among humanity, protecting them and keeping his true strength hidden. After losing the only family he had, grief led him to seek his own end... only to wake up in a world entirely unlike his own.
Here, cultivation is the main path to power. Those who master spirit qi gain superhuman strength, speed, and abilities that place them far above ordinary people. Four great sects rule the land, competing for resources, secrets, and dominance over each other.
Icaros joined the Li Sect, where he found companions he came to trust and care for: the capable and easygoing Li Han, the sharp and composed Su Yan, and the spirited Nelly. For a time, he felt he had found a place to belong, even as he kept his true nature hidden and wondered whether he could ever learn to cultivate like those around him.
Everything changed when their voyage was suddenly attacked. A powerful figure floating in the sky cut their ship apart with sharp, devastating energy strikes, leaving only destruction in his wake. Believing his friends had been lost in the disaster, Icaros chose to stop holding back any longer.
> "I am done hiding!"
He unleashed his full power: golden light blazed from his eyes, he flew at incredible speed, and he broke through every barrier and enemy in his way. On the shores ahead, he tore through hordes of powerful jade monsters, destroying them completely before flying deep into the interior of the island.
Meanwhile, survivors washed up scattered and alone. One young cultivator found himself on the shores of Jade Island - a place most cultivators avoid, as it holds no treasures or useful materials, only danger and endless deposits of ordinary jade. Yet despite the risks, ordinary people have built settlements here, finding safety from the conflicts and power struggles of the outside world.
This island works by different rules. Spirit qi is scarce and unstable, making cultivation far less effective than elsewhere. Instead, the people here rely on advanced technology - weapons and explosives that can injure or even defeat those with great physical strength. Here, skill and preparation can be just as powerful as raw strength, and even the strongest cultivators must move with caution.
Now, Icaros has vanished deep into the island. His companions are lost somewhere across this dangerous land. And the mysterious swordsman who destroyed their ship has already arrived here, searching for an ancient map said to lead to the legacy of a being from another world.
Will they find each other again? And can anyone survive in a place where the usual rules of power no longer hold true?
✅ Chapters 1–19: FREE
🔒 Chapters 20 onwards: PAID
(Continue the journey of power, friendship, and discovery!)
9.7
Charity woke up in a hellish, acid-rain-soaked slum, trapped inside a bloated body covered in festering, toxic sores. She was the exiled Grand Princess of the Empire.
But the real nightmare wasn't her ruined body. It was the fact that the original owner had used her royal authority to force genetic marriage contracts onto four top-tier, powerful men.
Now, she was bound to them, and they absolutely loathed her.
Hjalmar, chained to a bed in her filthy room, smiled like a feral beast and promised to rip her head off the second his chains snapped.
Braden, a ruthless military officer, saved her from a mutated rat only to look at her with pure disgust.
"If you want to die, go die somewhere else. Don't dirty my patrol sector."
Even the locals mocked her fallen status, and a wealthy heiress publicly framed her for stealing a hundred-thousand-coin energy core just to see her rot in a dark cell.
She was universally despised, physically repulsive, and a lethal biological toxin gave her exactly 59 days left to live. How was she supposed to survive this absolute hell when her starting affection with her partners was at negative 100?
Then, a mechanical voice echoed in her skull, activating a survival system. To purge the poison, she had to harvest emotional energy by making these four men fall for her. Charity accepted the mandate, unlocked a top-tier culinary skill, and grabbed a rusted meat cleaver to start her counterattack.
8.0
Twenty-one-year-old Hazel has always lived in a safe, comfortable bubble, meticulously guarded by her fiercely protective older brother. Her life is predictable, quiet, and perfectly ordinary. Until he steps into it.
Silas is twenty-four, dangerously captivating, and her brother's best friend. He brings with him an aura of dark secrets, ink-stained skin, and a predatory gaze that strips away all her carefully built defenses. He is everything she has been taught to avoid, yet living under the same roof makes him impossible to escape.
What starts as a temporary living arrangement quickly spirals into a suffocating web of stolen glances, unspoken desires, and a dangerous obsession. Silas isn't just looking for a place to crash; he's looking at her. And once he pins her in his sights, the thorns of their forbidden attraction will bind them together in ways that could destroy them both.
In a house where walls have ears and her brother is always watching, giving in to the madness is a risk. But Silas is a temptation she might not survive.