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I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my body feeling like a hollowed-out shell. For fifteen years, I had been the "spare part" of the wealthy Kensington family, a foster child kept only as a biological resource for their golden daughter, Jenna. My adoptive mother, Kathryn, walked in with a cold-eyed doctor, discussing me like an old car needing parts. They were planning another bone marrow "harvest" for the next morning, even though the doctor admitted the procedure was risky because my body hadn't recovered from the last extraction. "Passable is fine," Kathryn said, waving away the danger to my life like she was swatting a fly. "Just get it done. It's her only value." Jenna arrived in a wheelchair, putting on a performance of fragile sisterly love while actually glowing with health from the blood I had given her months ago. I watched as the doctor callously jabbed a needle into my arm, missing the vein on purpose, before turning off my pain medication pump as a final act of petty cruelty. They left me there to rot, convinced I was just a dull, submissive girl with nowhere to go. I lay in the silence, feeling the weight of every scrap they’d fed me and every hand-me-down I’d worn while Jenna lived in luxury. I realized I was never a daughter to them; I was an organ farm meant to be drained until I was empty. But as the door clicked shut, the fog of sedation in my brain finally lifted, replaced by a cold, predatory stillness. "Oracle," my mind whispered. "Online." I ripped the IV from my arm and escaped into the night, turning a five-dollar piece of junk into a six-million-dollar fortune in the city's darkest underground markets. By the time I returned to the Kensington Manor, I wasn't the useless foster girl they remembered—I was a predator with a massive bank account and a plan to take back everything they stole from me.

Elara Voss was rejected by her Alpha on the night of the Blood Moon - cast aside as a nobody with no wolf, no rank, and no future. She ran. But fate had other plans. In the human world, she collides with Damien Crest - cold, ruthless billionaire by day, the last living Shadowking by night. He offers her a contract marriage. She has nowhere else to go. But ancient markings are awakening on her skin. A god is whispering her name. And Kael, the fearsome Werewolf High King, has declared across all supernatural realms that she is his fated mate. Two kings. Two worlds. One woman who was never supposed to matter. They all rejected her once. Now they'll burn their empires down to claim her.

The notification pinged on my screen at 11:47 PM, just as I was reviewing tomorrow's strategy notes. A routine team communication update—except nothing about what I saw was routine. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the internal message thread. There it was, buried in the administrative notifications: a bet. A goddamn bet between Marshall and Kyla about my performance metrics. The words blurred as I read them again, my chest tightening with each detail. They'd wagered on whether I'd maintain my current win rate, discussing my strategic calls like I was some experimental variable in their twisted game. But that wasn't the worst part. My resignation letter—formatted, submitted, and officially processed—sat in the management queue with my digital signature forged at the bottom. The timestamp showed it had been filed three days ago, right after our championship celebration.

Revenge they say was to be left for God, what if Madeline could not wait that long? She wanted to get Revenge on her ex-husband and she liked it now. There was nothing she wouldn’t give up to see him and his dear wife pay dearly, in sweat and regret. While she was in jail, she had given birth and her baby was put up for adoption. Now she is consumed with getting back her child and drowning the ones responsible for her pain. What would she do if she finds out that Liam thought she had betrayed him first and so he did worse, he dragged her down to the filthy earth. Could she forgive him? Even when the truth has come to light, would she take him back?

Ariana a young, smart, and beautiful woman who has already achieved great success by the time she's 20. She's proud of the money she makes and believes she's a boss on her own. Hailey is in a loving relationship with her boyfriend, Chris and enjoys a life of luxury of independence. However, her life takes an unexpected turn when she decides to surprise Chris by visiting him at home without informing him. Getting there she met kidwell, a colleague from work who is just as arrogant and proud as she is. The two immediately clash and can't stand each other. Ariana thinks kidwell is too proud of herself, while kidwell thinks Ariana is too full of herself also. They both hate each other to the extent they must not cross path.... They were like cats and rats in the company. But then something happens..... You must be wondering what happened huh?? Get ready for a twist that will leave you hooked!

The morning sun cast long shadows across the Shadowcrest Pack grounds as I stood among the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs. Today was Charles's Alpha ascension ceremony—the moment he'd been training for since we were sixteen. The moment I'd been waiting for since the Moon Goddess first whispered his name to my soul. Seven years. Seven years of secret meetings, stolen glances, and tactical plans I'd crafted in the shadows while he took all the credit. "Attention, pack members!" Charles's voice boomed across the clearing, his newly acquired Alpha aura rippling through the air like a physical force. "Today marks not only my ascension but also a new beginning for Shadowcrest!" I stepped forward, my silver wolf Kiera stirring anxiously within me. *Something's wrong*, she whispered. *This isn't right.* Charles stood tall on the ceremonial platform, his dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. Beside him stood Fernanda Wells, her auburn hair elaborately styled, her hand possessively resting on his arm.

For fifty dollars, I sold a piece of my dignity to the school's golden boy. I was eighteen, starving, and desperate enough to take his bet. That single photo destroyed my life. I became "Fifty-Dollar Ella," the school slut, haunted by whispers and scorn. My stepmother and stepsister reveled in my public humiliation, ensuring my life was a living hell. I spent the next decade clawing my way to the top of Wall Street, but I died alone, filled with the bitter regret of a stolen youth. Until the end, I never understood why they all hated me so much. Then, I opened my eyes. I was eighteen again, back in that classroom, moments before the bet that ruined me. A shadow fell over my desk. It was him. "Meet me after school," Javier Mack whispered, a smug look on his face. But this time, the scared, hungry girl was gone. In her place was a shark. And I was ready to play.

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

My husband looked at the toxicology report proving the daughter of the Chicago Capo had poisoned my mother. Then, without missing a beat, he looked me in the eye and asked if I wanted to discuss the dinner menu for the gala. That was the moment I realized Dante Vitiello wasn't my savior; he was the devil in a bespoke suit. To protect his precious alliance with Chicago, he buried the truth. When my mother died from the arsenic, he didn't offer comfort. Instead, he forced me to sign annulment papers, claiming I was mentally unstable. He stripped me of my title, my home, and my dignity to marry Sofia Moretti—the very woman who killed my mother—all because she claimed to be pregnant with his heir. I stood in the freezing rain, watching a giant screen in Times Square as he proposed to her. He told the press that Sofia was his hero, the one who saved his life during the ambush in Chicago. He lied. Under my soaked hoodie, the jagged scar on my arm throbbed. I was the one who took that bullet for him. I was the one who stitched myself up in silence so he wouldn't feel indebted to me. He erased my sacrifice to build a throne for his mistress. He thought he had broken me. He thought Elena Vitiello would fade away in a crumbling apartment in Queens. But he forgot one thing: I was the one who built his encrypted laundering network. I held the keys to his entire empire. I threw my wedding ring into the trash can and lit a match. Elena Vitiello died that night. And the woman who rose from the ashes didn't want his love anymore. She wanted his ruin.

For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."

Rejected by her fated mate and forced to marry a crippled prince, Lyra expects nothing but misery. But Prince Rowan is hiding something dangerous. He's not broken. He's deadly. And he's been planning a rebellion for years. When assassins hunt her and the king's threats grow lethal, Lyra must become more than the substitute bride everyone overlooks. She trains in secret. Her power awakens. Her wolf grows fierce. But in a palace where everyone wears masks, the deadliest secret might be her own bloodline. She was never just a replacement. She was born to rule.

I came with a mission to kill the Lord of the empire, Mark. "Lara, I am pleased with you." Fireworks bloomed above us as I looked down at Mark kneeling on one knee. The dagger hidden in my sleeve almost slipped from my grasp. "Are you willing to marry me as my wife, from now on, for a lifetime?" "Yes." The system's alarm rang sharply in my mind, urging me to complete my mission, but I still chose to move forward without hesitation. Reality, however, was far crueler than I expected. "Lara, as Mark's wife, you must not leave the palace for three years and, when the time comes, gracefully step down." "Okay," I answered lightly, just as I had agreed to his proposal. That night, flames swallowed my courtyard, the fire blazing high enough to erase everything I had endured. I thought it was my end. But when I opened my eyes, I was back to the day he proposed. The same fireworks. The same man on one knee. Only this time, Mark's eyes were filled with tears as he held my hand and whispered, "Lara, don't go."

I woke with a gasp, my heart pounding against my ribs. Something felt different. The quality of light streaming through my eyelids seemed... clearer somehow. More defined. I opened my eyes slowly, expecting the familiar darkness that had been my companion for three long years. Instead, golden morning sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting prisms across polished marble floors that gleamed like mirrors. My breath caught in my throat. Marble floors? We didn't have marble floors anymore.

The Mediterranean sun had been perfect all week, casting golden light across the pristine beaches of our romantic getaway. I'd been looking forward to this trip for months—Adam and I finally taking time away from our demanding careers, joined by his close-knit group of friends for what was supposed to be the perfect blend of romance and relaxation. But something had felt off since we arrived. Adam seemed distant, constantly checking his phone and exchanging meaningful glances with Saanvi that made my stomach twist with unease. When I tried to bring it up, he'd laugh it off, calling me paranoid, saying I was letting work stress get to me. Today, I'd decided to surprise him. The group had gone to explore some local markets, but I'd feigned a headache to slip away early. I wanted to set up something special in our room—maybe order room service, light some candles, remind us both why we were here together. My keycard beeped softly as I slipped into our hotel room, already imagining Adam's surprised smile when he returned. But the smile died on my lips before it could fully form.

After being unceremoniously dumped in her sophomore year of college, Elizabeth makes the reckless decision to sleep with the elusive Sebastian Gray, who she’d been crushing on for ages. Just one night and she’ll never see him again, she thinks. That decision comes back to bite her in the ass when she returns home for her mother’s wedding a year later and finds out that her soon to be stepfather is none other than Sebastian! Forced to bear the brunt of the consequences while biting her tongue, Elizabeth resolves to avoid Sebastian from now on. But it turns out to be a futile effort as the first person she sees on her list of professors for senior year is HIM! If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he enjoyed torturing her. Because every time he’s close to her, all of her common sense flies out the window. And his touches are becoming far too frequent for it to be coincidental…

⚠️ WARNING: 18+ ADULT CONTENT This novel contains explicit sexual content, dark themes of betrayal, raw primal dominance, and high-heat erotica. Intended for mature audiences who crave a romance that burns as hot as it bruises. THE BLURB She thought she was his Luna. He treated her like a footnote. Jess Whitman is a creature of logic—a brilliant engineer who believed that even a werewolf’s heart could be decoded. But logic dies the moment she walks into her boyfriend’s quarters and finds him knotting her best friend. The scent of betrayal isn’t just heart-breaking; it’s blood-soaked. In a moment of shattered control, a panicked mind-link connects her soul to the one man she’s spent a decade snarling at: Dominic Hale. He is the pack’s golden god—an Alpha-tier warrior, a public icon of icy restraint, and her brothers’ best friend. But behind the cold authority lies a predator who has been starving for Jess since the day she flowered. Dominic doesn't want to comfort her. He wants to consume her. "Snarl at me again, Jess. Give me a reason to pin you down and show you exactly who your wolf bows to." As Jess collapses into Dominic’s dangerous embrace, the heat between them turns from hate to a feverish, erotic obsession. He is the leash she never wanted and the master she can’t resist. But the Moon has a cruel sense of humor. Just as Jess begins to find her strength in Dominic's bed, a jagged secret from her past is weaponized. A rival’s blackmail forces Dominic to make a choice that will shatter Jess all over again: To save her life, he must publicly reject her and claim another. Caught between a brother’s hypocritical laws and a lover’s calculated betrayal, Jess must decide if she will remain a pawn in a game of Alphas—or become the Luna strong enough to burn the whole board to ashes. He tasted her pulse. Now, she’s coming for his throne. Why you need to read this: - Hate-to-Love Heat: Enemies with history who can't keep their hands off each other. - Heart-Wrecking Betrayal: A heroine pushed to her absolute limit. - Weak to Strong: Watch Jess evolve from a heartbroken engineer into a lethal Queen. - Primal Erotica: High-stakes tension, public possession, and raw, 18+ werewolf dynamics.

"MINE!!!!" "What do you want me to do? I caught you kissing! You allow him to kiss you knowing you had a mate!" he said angrily, "You know I am your mate!!" he added. *** Freya is the adoptive daughter of the warrior mated couple of the Midnight Pack. She didn't have a scent, so everyone thought that she didn't have a wolf, just like humans. Matteo Harith is the Lycan prince, soon to be king, who was waiting for his mate. He had smelled her since 9 years ago in the palace, but after that, he never found her, no matter how much he looked for her. When Matteo was assigned by his king's father to look into the case of a pack that had been wiped out, he lived in the Midnight Pack and found Freya. The moment Matteo stepped out of his SUV, Freya found out that he was her mate. But Matteo couldn't smell her at all. A tournament that had been held within the pack made Matteo find Freya to be his mate when their eyes met. When Matteo finally smelled Freya's scent, it was also the time that she remembered what had happened in her childhood and that the palace had refused to help them when they asked, which caused her biological parents' death. What is he going to do when Freya was blaming the royals and wanted to reject him even after they mark each other?

Reborn into this life, I deliberately avoided any entanglement with Blake Nguyen. When he was bullied by arrogant young wolves at the academy, I didn’t step in to stop it. When he achieved the highest rank in the pack and led the ceremonial run, I declined invitations from my friends to watch, choosing instead to stay home. When he brought his widowed sister-in-law, Saoirse Cox, to a pack gathering and faced ridicule, I didn’t intervene to smooth things over. In my past life, he gave our only child to Saoirse to raise. From then on, the boy refused to call me "mother," addressing me only by my full name, Lucille Parker. When he grew older, he even urged me to be "dutiful and understanding," suggesting Blake should honor both lineages. But I never expected Blake, just like in my past life, to reject other mating offers and come to my family with a proposal. That’s when it hit me—Blake must have been reborn too. --- When my father sent for me to meet Blake in the pack hall, I was still reeling from the shock.

For two years, I was the perfect shadow of another woman. I wore the silk robes Brittain Austin bought, styled my hair exactly how he liked, and spoke in a voice pitched half an octave higher than my own. I was a placeholder, a living statue in a minimalist Manhattan penthouse, waiting for a man who looked at me but never actually saw me. Everything shattered when a news alert flashed on my phone: "Caryn Newman Spotted at JFK." The original was back. The woman I was hired to mimic had returned to claim her throne, and my secret two-year contract as her stand-in was set to expire in three days. Brittain didn't even give me the courtesy of a phone call. While he was supposed to be on a business trip, photos surfaced of him shielding Caryn from the paparazzi, his hand on her waist with a tenderness he never showed me. When I walked into his office to return his keys, he didn't look guilty; he just looked annoyed. He pulled out a checkbook and asked, "How much for the hurt feelings?" When I refused his money, he coldly ordered his assistant to freeze every one of my accounts before I even reached the elevator. I stood on the sidewalk with zero dollars, realizing that to him, I wasn't a partner—I was just an expired lease. I had spent two years erasing my soul to fit into his world, only to be tossed out like trash the moment the real thing came home. But Brittain forgot one thing: before I was his doll, I was an actress. I pulled my secret weapon from under the bed—a notebook and a raw film cut he never knew existed. I called my agent and launched a high-profile "showmance" with my co-star that set the internet on fire. As I blocked Brittain's number and moved into a dusty apartment in Queens, I realized the show wasn't over. For the first time, I was the leading lady.

At my father's wedding reception, my new stepmother demanded I give her the sapphire necklace my mother left me when she died. I told her no. So she had her enforcer throw me to the floor in front of two hundred guests. He ripped the chain from my neck, shattering my mother's gemstone on the marble floor. When my childhood maid, Arlene, tried to protect me, he kicked her so hard her head cracked open against a stone pillar. My father, a New York mob boss, saw the whole thing and did nothing but laugh with his new bride. Any love I had for my family bled out on that floor with Arlene. That night, I found Damien Flynn, my father's sworn enemy. I was supposed to be my father's greatest asset-a virgin daughter to be sold for an alliance. I decided to burn that asset to the ground.

After four years of torture in a so-called “rehabilitation center,” I was finally released. My husband, Elliot, was waiting for me. He wasn’t there to save me; he was there to serve me divorce papers. He and my adoptive family were convinced I was a liar. They believed my broken leg, my missing fingernails, and my scarred vocal cords were all part of an elaborate performance for attention. "Still playing the cripple," he sneered, looking at my ruined body with disgust. He tossed a handkerchief at my bleeding hand so I wouldn’t stain the leather seats of his car. Back home, my perfect adoptive sister, Elyse, confessed everything with a smile. She had paid the doctors to torture me, to break my bones, to destroy my voice. When I lunged at her, my own mother called me an animal. My father prepared to sign me back into that hell permanently. They saw my pain as a performance and her cruelty as innocence. When I was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and had months to live, Elliot tore up the medical report, calling it my most pathetic lie yet.

I spent five years acting as the perfect, invisible caretaker for my wealthy family, meticulously managing their health and social standing while they treated me like a ghost. Then, my nightmare became reality when my brother Alon shoved me out of bed, forcing me to apologize to our adopted sister, Fallon, for a jealousy I never felt. My parents and brother stood over me, their eyes filled with unfiltered disgust, demanding I play the servant to a girl who was actively plotting my social destruction. They froze my accounts, stripped me of my dignity, and mocked my existence, fully expecting me to crawl back to them in tears like I did in my other, broken life. I stared at their entitled faces, feeling a cold, sharp clarity wash over me; they were so obsessed with status that they didn't realize they had just handed the keys to their own ruin to a complete amateur. Why was I still playing the martyr for people who would watch me burn without blinking? I stood up, walked away from their chaos, and cut the final tie, leaving them to face the ruthless social elite with a liability they couldn't control.

The morning sunlight streamed through the conservatory windows, casting golden patterns across my collection of geraniums. I moved methodically among them, touching each leaf with gentle fingers, checking for signs of new growth. This ritual had become my sanctuary over the years—a place where life flourished under my care, unlike the tiny lives that had repeatedly failed to take root inside me. I filled the crystal watering can, feeling its familiar weight in my hands. "Just enough," I whispered to the delicate pink blooms. "Not too much, not too little." The same careful balance I'd been trying to maintain in every aspect of my life for the past seven years of marriage. After tending to my plants, I gathered a bouquet of stargazer lilies, their fragrance heavy and sweet. I arranged them in the antique vase Marcus had given me on our third anniversary, just before our second miscarriage. My fingers trembled slightly as I positioned each stem, creating perfect symmetry—a small piece of order I could control in a world that had repeatedly betrayed my deepest hopes. I checked my watch.