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Eleonora woke up in the hospital, still feeling the terrifying weightlessness of her own suicide. She realized her chilling nightmare was actually a prophecy: she was destined to be the tragic, disposable villain, while her adopted sister Addisyn was the beloved protagonist. On the day of her discharge, her father abandoned her to celebrate Addisyn's eighteenth birthday. When Eleonora dragged her recovering body back to her family estate, she found her biometric access wiped and her home turned into a chaotic nightclub. Addisyn had taken over the master bedroom and was wearing Eleonora's late mother's priceless sapphire necklace. When Eleonora coldly demanded her property back, Addisyn squeezed out fake tears and played the pitiful victim. Instantly, Eleonora's childhood fiancé and lifelong friends stepped up to shield Addisyn. They scolded Eleonora for being cruel and classless, demanding she sleep in the guest room so she wouldn't ruin the party. Downstairs, the elite guests mocked her as a crazy, jealous freak who was bullying her sweet sister. In her nightmare, their blind devotion to this manipulative parasite had driven Eleonora to jump off a skyscraper. She was the sole legal heir to the Carlisle estate, yet they expected her to quietly hand over her home, her mother's legacy, and her life to a thief. But Eleonora was no longer a victim. She pulled out the irrevocable trust documents, proving her absolute ownership, and looked at her loyal butler. "Cut the power," she ordered coldly. "Throw every single trespasser out the gates."

My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family. Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb. When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump. "You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly. To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding. I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded. But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot. When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony. Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number. "You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."

When Sarah discovers her husband’s betrayal runs deeper than infidelity—entangling her family, friends, and very identity—her world shatters. But from devastation comes a dangerous rebirth. The Billionaire’s Secret Affair is a tale of heartbreak, vengeance, and a woman forged in the fire of betrayal.

To ensure Maisy would triumph in the school singing competition, my boyfriend locked me in a basement. "Anastasia," he said, his expression torn, "your family's comfortable enough to send you to any school." "But Maisy’s situation is different. This competition is her only shot to continue her music career." That day, I was disqualified for not showing up, while Maisy claimed the victory she desperately wanted. Later, Brody knelt before me, tears in his eyes, pleading for my forgiveness. I relented, deciding to give him another chance. But never could I have predicted he'd become even more ruthless. To secure Maisy a place in a prestigious music academy abroad, he forced me to drink throat-numbing poison on my birthday, leaving me utterly voiceless. --- "I was wrong, Brody, please let me go..." "I can't afford to let the opportunity slip by again..." Tomorrow is the music competition. Winning could be my ticket to the Royal Academy of Music for graduate studies. I've practiced endlessly, yearning to fulfill my dream and live up to my parents' hopes for me.

I sat on the bathroom floor, legs crossed, staring at the plastic stick in my hand. Two pink lines. Clear. Unmistakable. Pregnant. The word felt too big for my mouth. I pressed my palm against my stomach, flat and unchanged, and started crying. Not sad crying. The kind that comes when something you've wanted so badly it hurt finally happens. Two years.

ADULT CONTENT. READERS' DISCRETION She was an outcast in her own home, the weakest of any supernatural being. She was neither a werewolf, witch, nor vampire, yet she lived amongst them. She was bullied by everyone, including her family, and finally banished into the human world as she was seen as a disgrace to supernatural beings. Cruella had hoped her life would change for the better outside Greenville, but it only took a wild turn. Betrayed by her human friends and left to die in a burning building, she cursed the moon goddess and every other goddess for giving her such cruel faith. To everyone, she had died in the fire, but instead, she rose from the ashes to put her enemies to the ground. Not only did she discover her true origin, she also discovered her powers. She was no ordinary being, but the strongest of them all. A Tribrid, prophesied to save Greenville, but now she knows only one word: vengeance! Vengeance on everyone who hurt her in the past, including the human she had fallen in love with. But to acquire this, there's a price—one she's not willing to pay. What could it be? Will she go through with it or remain a weak outcast forever? Will she accept being the savior of Greenville or burn it to the ground?

Everyone in the city knows that Gael Foster, the Alpha of our pack, has a wandering eye. Beautiful women flow into his chambers like a river, only to be sent away just as quickly. Each time one disappears, Gael's status in the werewolf community rises. I, too, would have been sent away. But I am mute. ============================== My mother, Kaeli Payne, died in the third year after she was brought into Gael's house. She was chosen by Gael as his temporary mate, a title that held no real significance. But when she passed, there wasn’t even enough to give her a proper farewell. Gael didn’t come when she died. Only Mabel, the Alpha Queen, sent her attendant to take a look, and then called for some pack members to take my mother’s body away.

The pack house glowed with warm golden light, every corner decorated with silver ribbons and moonflowers to celebrate our fifth mating anniversary. The feast had been magnificent—roasted venison, honey cakes, and wine that sparkled like starlight. Pack members had toasted our renewed bond, their faces bright with joy as Jude and I had performed the marking ceremony again, his teeth grazing my neck in the sacred ritual that was supposed to strengthen our connection. Now, in the quiet aftermath, I sat on our bed watching Jude shower through the partially open bathroom door. Steam curled around his broad shoulders, and I should have felt content, blessed even. The Moon Goddess had given us five beautiful years as mates, and tonight we had renewed our sacred bond before the entire pack. But something felt wrong. A hollow ache had settled in my chest during the ceremony, as if the Moon Goddess herself was trying to tell me something. Jude's phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a message notification. Without thinking, I reached for it—we had never kept secrets from each other.

Once the God of War comes out, who can compete! This god of war is dedicated to fighting all n, winning all battles and various kinds of beauty. People give him the title of "rogue god of war"!

After a seven-year relationship, my fiancé Bennett abandoned me on our marriage license day for a "marriage of convenience" with another woman. Heartbroken, I married the reclusive billionaire Damon Levy and disappeared. Three years later, I returned, pregnant with our second child. The first person I saw was Bennett, now working as a driver, holding a sign for "Mrs. Levy." He and his new wife didn't recognize me. They publicly humiliated me, mocking my simple dress and calling the priceless diamond bracelet from my husband a cheap fake. At a gala, their cruelty escalated. They tripped me, stomped on my hand, and shattered my bracelet. Bennett slapped me across the face, hissing at me to stop lying. Surrounded by their laughter, with my lip bleeding, I saw the man I once loved for the hollow, cruel person he truly was. But then, the room went silent. My husband, Damon, walked in, holding our son. And my little boy pointed a finger straight at Bennett and shouted, "Papa! That bad man hit Mommy!"

He broke her heart and married her enemy. Now she's back... with his pups. Melissa gave Derek everything-her heart, her loyalty, and her trust. But on the night she finds out she was pregnant, he left her for another woman. The worst part? He believed a lie and never gave her a chance to speak. Years later, Melissa returns, not for revenge... but for her children. The secret twins Derek never knew about. But things are no longer simple. Lies run deep. Secrets are buried. And the people Melissa once trusted are hiding things darker than betrayal. Derek wants answers. Melissa wants the truth. And someone else wants them both destroyed. Can love survive when the past is built on lies? Or will the truth tear them apart for good?

For two years, I lived as a ghost in the Horn manor, a world built on blood money where my every breath was monitored. Fulton Horn, my stepfather’s nephew and the executor of my life, held the golden leash around my neck, forcing me to play the role of his secret mistress while he paraded a socialite as his fiancée. Everything shattered at a high-society gala when the scent of raw seafood made me vomit at the feet of Fulton’s future bride. The ballroom erupted in whispers of a secret pregnancy, but Fulton’s reaction wasn't concern—it was cold, predatory calculation. He immediately forced me into a clinical "inspection" to ensure his "merchandise" was sound, then destroyed my only chance at escape by framing my friend in a scandal and blacklisting my credit. He dragged me to his penthouse, ripped my clothes, and told me I was nothing but a "placeholder" for his dead first love, Arlena. I was drowning in his obsession, forced to model his fiancée’s engagement gown while he claimed he was the only one who could "protect" me. "You are what I say you are," he whispered, "and you belong where I say you belong." I didn't understand how he could be so cruel, or why he was so determined to keep me in a cage of secrets. But when I looked closer at the photo of the "original" girl he loved, my blood turned to ice. It wasn't a girl named Arlena. It was a picture of me from six years ago, smiling and unbroken. I realized then that Fulton hadn't just found a replacement—he had spent years carefully destroying the girl I used to be so he could keep the broken pieces for himself. Reaching for the hidden keycard, I finally made a choice: I would find a way to kill the ghost he loved before he finished killing the woman I had become.

I got myself a boyfriend—tall, hot, quiet, exactly what I was looking for. Until that one random run-in off campus. Suddenly he turned all passionate and clingy, and in that department? No restraint whatsoever—new tricks every single time. I was in heaven and hell at the same time. But today, two identical boyfriends are standing right in front of me, throwing punches over whose girlfriend I actually am. Holy shit—they're twins.

Aurora Vale was trained to be a weapon beautiful, precise, and disposable. Recruited as a teenager into a covert intelligence division that officially doesn't exist, Aurora has spent her life seducing secrets out of powerful men and destroying targets without ever pulling a trigger. Cold. Calculated. Untouchable. Inside the agency, she is known as The Steel Heart an operative who never fails and never feels. Until her latest mission. Her target is Valerio Blackthorn, an untouchable crime lord feared even by governments brilliant, disciplined, and impossible to trap. Assigned as his personal bodyguard, Aurora is meant to get close, extract information, and deliver him to a massive takedown operation. What she doesn't know is that Valerio has already seen the trap. Instead of exposing her, he lets her stay watching, testing, dismantling her carefully crafted tactics with unsettling calm. As the line between hunter and prey blurs, Aurora begins to realize the truth: Valerio is not the monster she was sent to destroy. And the government she serves is far more corrupt than the criminal world she was trained to infiltrate. When Aurora discovers that the mission is not about justice but about silencing a former ally who refused to be controlled she makes an impossible choice. She betrays the agency. She saves the man she was meant to destroy. Now branded a rogue agent with a kill on sight order, Aurora is forced into the shadows alongside Valerio. Hunted by her own government and by a ruthless international syndicate seeking revenge, the two must survive a war where trust is dangerous, love is lethal, and freedom comes at a devastating price. As bullets fly and secrets explode onto the global stage, Aurora must decide who she truly is a weapon, a traitor, or a woman reclaiming her soul. In a world ruled by lies and power, love may be the most dangerous rebellion of all.

Finley's stepfather gave her a sickening ultimatum: marry her predatory stepbrother Shane tonight, or he would throw her fragile mother out on the street. To escape this hell, she used a matchmaking agency and hastily married a complete stranger. Garrison Strickland claimed to be an ordinary data analyst making $95,000 a year, driving a beat-up Honda Civic, and needing a wife in name only. They got their marriage license at City Hall that very afternoon. But when Finley returned home to pack her bags and threw the certificate on the table, her family just laughed. Dozier ordered Shane to drag her into the bedroom to "teach her a lesson" and trap her forever. "Come on, little sister," Shane crooned, lunging at her. "Don't fight it." Finley's own mother just stared at the floor, blaming Finley for ruining the family, watching blindly as Shane cornered her. Terrified and desperate, Finley smashed an ashtray over Shane's head and frantically dialed her new husband's number. Shane snatched the phone, mocking the "imaginary husband" before the line went dead. Finley felt a bottomless despair. Garrison was just a normal guy; he would never risk his life against her violent family. She was completely on her own, waiting for the end. Suddenly, deafening bangs echoed through the house, and Garrison stepped into the living room radiating a cold, terrifying fury. This supposedly "frugal data analyst" effortlessly snapped Shane's wrist, leveled a ruthless death threat that made Dozier tremble, and whisked Finley away in a waiting Bentley. Looking at the powerful man beside her, Finley's heart raced: just who exactly had she married today?

“All he wanted was the woman he could never have - my sister. So he and his family treated me like nothing. Now the tables have turned and revenge they say, is a drink best served cold.” *** One year ago, Brianna Page escaped the suffocating grip of her marriage to Nico Armani, a union that had reduced her to a mere shadow of her former self. Treated like a nobody by her husband and maltreated by his family, Brianna's almost nonexistent spark had been all but extinguished, snuffed out and scattered like the autumn leaves in gusts of wind. Now, she is a different woman altogether, a force to be reckoned with. The timid, submissive bride is gone, replaced by a confident, powerful entrepreneur who's built a small empire of her own. As the owner of a thriving company, Brianna has finally found her voice and her freedom. Just as she is savoring her newfound independence, Nico shows up and drops a bombshell: their divorce couldn’t go through and they are required to live under the same roof for half of a year before it is official. Now she is hell-bent on exacting revenge on her husband and his family for all the pain they’ve caused her. She is determined, ready, and resolute in her revenge plan and it doesn’t matter now that Nico is willing to do whatever it takes to win her back, to prove his love and devotion. She has moved on, and she's not about to let him dictate her life again. The question is: can Nico convince Brianna to give him another chance, or has she truly closed the door on their tumultuous past? One thing's for sure - Brianna's not going to let anyone, including her ex-husband, undermine her newfound happiness and success.

When Katty Lockwood wakes up three years before her tragic death—after witnessing her husband Orion with his secret family—she's given a second chance to rewrite her fate. Armed with painful knowledge of Orion's double life with mistress Carol Sweeney and their child, Katty navigates a web of IVF heartbreak and calculated revenge.

On the day I was crowned the national college entrance exam champion, the father I’d hardly ever met appeared at our door. He offered four million and an ultimatum: leave my mother and return with him to his family. I only smiled, then tossed the check onto the floor of the cramped rental apartment that had been our home for more than ten years. “I’m done being poor with you,” I told my mother. “From now on, just pretend you never had a daughter.” Watching her tremble and sob left me cold—so cold that I took the initiative to draft a formal document severing all family ties. But no one knew about the blister pack of painkillers hidden in my pocket, each tablet a silent countdown to the three months I had left.

The call came while I was sorting through charity proposals in my home office, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across my desk. The cruise company's cheerful ringtone felt jarring against the stack of grant applications I'd been reviewing all morning. "Mrs. Coleman? This is Marcus from Royal Caribbean Guest Services. I'm calling to confirm the dining modification your husband requested for your upcoming anniversary cruise." I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder, still scanning the budget proposal before me. "Modification? I wasn't aware of any changes." "Yes, ma'am. Mr. Coleman called this morning to increase your lunch reservations from two to three persons for all dates.

Curiosity led me to the local fair, where I decided to indulge in a fortune reading. As I handed over a photo of my mate, seeking insight into our future, the fortune teller—an Omega from the local pack—surprised me with an unexpected admonishment. "You’re clever, yet you’re letting yourself be played like a fiddle," he said, his voice low and tinged with urgency. Feeling increasingly unsettled, I left the fair and requested surveillance footage from the pack’s Gamma warriors. I planned to confront the fortune teller the next day. To my shock, the footage revealed my mate, Baylor Williamson, Beta of the Williamson Pack, and his assistant, Dakota Rivera, a Delta warrior from the same pack, engrossed in a passionate kiss right at that fortune teller’s booth. The following day, I approached the fortune teller again, tossing a thick stack of cash in front of him. "Did you catch any of their conversation?" His eyes widened at the sight of the money, greed evident in his gaze. "They talked about you being the heir to the Cruz Pack. He intends to become Alpha of your pack through the mate bond and then reject you for her." I was staggered.

I died during the winter of my fiftieth wedding anniversary. In the ICU, the monitors screamed a relentless, piercing alarm. Through the glass, I saw the man I’d spent half a century with—Gabriel. Once hailed as the most promising engineer at the machinery plant, he now had hair gone stark white. Beside him stood our son, Joseph. A doctor was speaking to them. I read the man’s lips: “…there’s no point anymore.” Gabriel nodded without hesitation. In that moment, I felt no pain, no cold—just a vast, hollow absurdity. I watched him pick up a pen to sign the DNR form. He paused, brow furrowed, as if wrestling with some monumental problem. Finally, with a look of impatience and utter confusion, he turned to our son. “What… what was your mother’s name again?” … What was my name? My name was Brenda. A name he’d never carried in his heart, a name he’d replaced for fifty years with “hey” or “the boy’s mother.” As my soul finally tore free, I saw him—prompted by our son—tremble as he finally wrote those three characters. And beside him, Sophia—the “girl next door” he’d spent a lifetime tending to—gently patted his back in silent comfort. How utterly pathetic. My whole life, I’d kept his house and cooked his meals. I’d abandoned my family’s legacy for him, endured the sneers for marrying beneath my station, borne his children, and kept his home for half a century. And in the end, in his heart, I was nobody. A nameless ghost. If there is a next life… no. I don’t want a next life. Let it all end. Let it be swallowed by this endless dark. The sharp scent of disinfectant flooded my nostrils. I jolted, eyes flying open. Above me hung a mottled, yellowing ceiling; an ancient ceiling fan squeaked in persistent rhythm. This wasn’t the ICU. I sat up sharply. A dull ache radiated from my lower abdomen—a raw reminder of the birth I’d just endured. Looking down at my own body, weak yet vibrantly alive, my mind went blank. “You’re awake? Good. Get up. Gabriel’s been waiting outside forever. Need to go register the baby.” That sharp, familiar voice cut through the silence. My mother-in-law. The woman who’d never offered me a kind look or word. Gabriel… Gabriel. I turned my head stiffly, eyes finding the calendar by the bed. July 12, 1981. I was back. I had come back to the third day after giving birth to my son, Joseph—back to another pivotal moment in my tragic life. My heart hammered against my ribs, not with joy, but with a tidal wave of hatred and dread. The scene from my deathbed—my husband’s voice asking, *What was your mother’s name again?*—remained, a poisoned blade twisted in my soul.

I was the daughter of the East Coast's most powerful mob boss. For six months, I was blackmailed into being the secret lover and informant for the FBI's golden boy, Kaiden Walter. But just as I fell for him, he announced his engagement to a senator's daughter on national news. He called our relationship a "political arrangement" and told me I was just collateral to keep my father in line. His new fiancée then publicly humiliated me, calling me "trash." I had sacrificed everything for him, even the secret child we might have had, only to be used and discarded like a toy he got tired of. Was I ever anything more than a job to him? The shame of my public disgrace killed my grandmother. My father, seeing my world destroyed, took his own life to give me a new one. He faked my death, gave me a new identity, and left me a fortune. Anya Chambers was dead, but Anna Russo was just beginning her revenge.

For five years, I was married to a man the world adored. I told myself he wasn't a monster, just incapable of love. I learned the truth when his men dragged me from a hospital bed to bake a cake for the spoiled lover he cherished more than life. He let that man, Cinnamon, carve a painting into my back with a needle. He had me thrown into a walk-in freezer when I refused to cook. He even made me crawl through a swimming pool filled with broken glass, all to appease Cinnamon's cruel whims. I finally understood. My husband wasn't incapable of love; he was just incapable of loving me. He was a monster, but only for him. The day I walked out of that pool, bleeding and broken, my love for him was dead. The next morning, I finalized our divorce and bought every billboard in the city with my last dollar. My message was simple: "I, Adelaide Atkinson, am officially divorced from Alonzo Taylor. Best wishes for his future with Mr. Cinnamon Webster."

My husband Dorian and I clawed our way out of the foster system together, building a software empire from scratch. He was my hero, the man who swore he' d always protect me. But he became obsessed with "saving" a manipulative single mother, draining our accounts and our marriage. I thought the baby I was secretly carrying could be the bridge to bring him back to me. Then, at my first prenatal appointment, her son attacked me. He rammed his head into my stomach, and a universe of pain exploded inside me as I collapsed, bleeding on the cold hospital floor. I begged Dorian for help. He looked from my pale face to the wailing child, and made his choice. "You need to get a grip," he said coldly, scooping the boy into his arms and walking away, leaving me to lose our child alone. He let our first baby die, and now our second. His love was a lie. So I sent him a final gift to remember me by-the divorce papers, and a small jar containing the body of the son he abandoned.