CELINE:The Sheikh Dessert Bride

* **One night of betrayal. One night of passion. A lifetime of consequences.** Celine was always the shadow-the reliable twin who worked while her sister, Celeste, basked in the spotlight. But when she finds her boyfriend of five months in her sister's bed, the shadow finally snaps. A reckless night at a dive bar with a hazel-eyed stranger was supposed to be her escape, a way to forget the people who saw her as a spare part. But the stranger wasn't just a face in the crowd. He was **Idris Al-Miraj**, the billionaire Sheikh and the owner of the very hotel where Celine works. When her parents attempt to sell her into a sacrificial marriage to save the family's reputation, Celine finds herself hunted by her past and trapped by her future. Idris doesn't just want her back in his bed; he wants to own every brick of the wall she's built around her heart. Jobless, homeless, and backed into a corner by a family that only needs her when they can use her, Celine prepares to run again. But Idris has other plans. He doesn't want her to run. He doesn't even want her to surrender. He wants her to fight back. **"Use me,"** he says. In a world where power is the only currency, Celine must decide if the man who dismantled her life is her greatest enemy-or the only weapon she has left.

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Chapter 4

O'Malley's Bar was a pressure cooker at midnight-sweat-slick dancers grinding under erratic strobes, bass vibrating bones, air saturated with spilled tequila, cheap cologne, and sizzling fryer grease from the kitchen. Laughter clashed with shouts; a bachelorette party shrieked karaoke in the corner. Celine collapsed onto a scarred barstool, conquest buzzing from her shin-smashing victory over the creep. Tequila tsunami-fifteen shots? Twenty?-swirled her world into euphoric blur. Legs numb as noodles, inhibitions vaporized. Jamal's pencil-dick humiliation? Faded to punchline. Celeste's betrayal? Fuel for her throne.She fanned her neck, crop top damp against curves, jeans riding low-unaware of the spotlight she'd claimed. Until one gaze seared hotter than the rest. From the plush VIP booth shrouded in shadow, he'd tracked her all night: dance-floor domination, bar-fight glory. Now, he unfolded-six-foot-three of coiled power gliding through chaos like smoke. Idris Al-Miraj, 32, enigmatic owner of Al-Miraj Grand Palace, shedding boardroom armor for anonymous thrill after a cutthroat investor call. Black linen shirt molded to broad chest and ripped abs, sleeves rolled exposing veined forearms inked subtle; dark jeans hugged powerful thighs, boots polished lethal. Hazel eyes burned under arched brows, full lips curved knowing, trimmed beard framing a jawline sharp as obsidian. Oud-spiced cologne sliced the dive's funk.He materialized beside her, presence electric, voice a deep timbre laced with exotic lilt. "Mind if I sit?"Celine's head snapped up, drunk haze crystallizing on perfection. Holy shit-god carved from marble. Eyes that undressed, shoulders broad enough to break her fall. "Hell yeah," she slurred, patting stool sloppy. "Sit. Drink. Entertain me."Idris eased in, thigh grazing hers-spark. He nodded to Mick; scotch on rocks materialized, ice clinking seduction. Talk sparked instant: her venomous ex-roasts ("Pencil-dick clowns couldn't find the spot with GPS!"), his laughter rumbling chest-deep, vibrating her bones. "Firecracker like you," he murmured, gaze devouring lips, throat, cleavage, "belongs in spotlights, not shadows."Emboldened, she bantered-hotel hell ("Mopping suites for ghosts; owner's probably a fossil hermit"), twin treachery, eviction threats, kick triumph. Idris leaned closer, questions velvet traps: dreams stifled by grind? Passions buried? His accent wrapped words like cashmere-hints of dunes, mystery. Proximity intoxicated more than booze; knee nudged knee deliberate, fingers brushing hers on glass. Heat pooled low; her laughs turned husky, his smirks promising sin.1:27 AM. Inn alarm blared mental-pre-booked dump to dodge apartment poison. "Peacin' out," she mumbled, lurching up. Vertigo hit; Alicia swallowed by dance horde. Heels betrayed; floor, meet face.Iron arms encircled waist-Idris, steady as rock. "Steady now. I've got you." Warmth seeped through fabric, scent enveloping: spice, leather, man."Fankyou," she garbled, melting into support. He navigated exit gauntlet-dodging grabs, silencing whistles with glare. Night assaulted: cool gust whipping curls, stars spinning carousel. SUV loomed-obsidian beast, tinted void. Gentleman door-open; she tumbled in, leather cradling like throne.Purr of engine soothed as streets blurred neon streaks. "Your address?" Idris queried, one hand wheel, other relaxed potent."Neeearest inn," she yawned, eyes drooping. "Anythin' close. Nigh'..."Oblivion took; Idris stole glances, braking at Starlight Inn's garish glow-budget trap with vacancy neon sputtering. Her face transformed: tension melted, lips bee-stung parted on sighs, lashes fanning golden cheeks, curls riotous halo. Breathtaking vulnerability pierced him. Fingertip ghosted hair from forehead, tracing jaw soft. "Beautiful," he whispered husky, resolve fraying. Carrier instinct surged; he circled, lifting bridal-effortless, her body fitting puzzle-piece against chest. Head nestled crook neck, breaths feathering skin.Lobby reeked bleach/mothballs; pimpled clerk jaw-dropped at Adonis hauling drunk Venus. "Premier suite," Idris commanded crisp, slapping crisp bills-hundred overflow. "Absolute privacy. No knocks." Keyring jingled conquest; stairs conquered two-strides, her weight feather.Room 12 sanctuary: king sleigh bed drowning in starched white, AC whispering chill, motel potpourri battling faint mildew. Idris deposited her reverent-pillow fluffed under head, sheet draped modest. Shrugged jacket; exit stage left. No villain here.Delicate vise snared wrist. Celine roused, gaze foggy fire, hauling insistent. "Spend... night," slurred siren song, nails raking forearm. "Pay top dollar. Pleeease."Throat bobbed; battle internal. "Can't. Drunk haze-morning you'd curse me."Pout lethal weapon. "Regret nothin'." Giggle dissolved to growl, collar fisted, dragging down. "Just. Sex." Palms framed bearded face-electric touch-and lips pulverized his. Tequila-wild, desperate hunger.Restraint shattered. Idris groaned primal, yielding torrent. Fingers knotted curls possessive; he ravaged back, tongue breaching velvet heat, tangling duel savage. Her flavor detonated-lime-sweet, untamed need. Tongues warred slick; hands roamed ravenous: hers shredding shirt buttons, his palming waist flare to thigh.Massive 3500 words

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Forced into a submissive role by a dominant Alpha, a resilient werewolf finds her physical agency stripped away. In a world where power dictates destiny, she refuses to remain a silent victim of her pack leader's tyranny. As she reclaims her strength, a fierce internal and external war erupts. This high-stakes fantasy follows her journey of defiance as she battles to regain control of her body and her future against all odds.

Action Fantasy Werewolf

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After My Groom Defended the Woman Who Almost Killed Me

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On her wedding day, Sarah faces a nightmare when a jealous rival attempts to take her life. Instead of protecting his bride, her groom, Mark, shields the attacker, choosing his past over their future. Devastated and betrayed, Sarah survives the ordeal only to realize her marriage was built on lies. Fueled by a new sense of justice and hidden strength, she abandons her old life to seek retribution against those who discarded her.

Action Modern Romance

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Daddy's Secret Obsession: Falling For The Father

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Love and revenge don't mix well in the dark streets of Milan. When Daisy Fontana stepped into her engagement party at the Marino mansion, she thought she had it all. A handsome fiancé from one of Milan's most powerful families, a bright future ahead, and a perfect life far from her father's reach. But that dream shattered in a single night when her sister Sofia exposed her family's little secret... she wasn't really a Fontana at all. Daisy was humiliated and cast aside by her fiancé Antonio, so she came up with what she thought was the perfect revenge. She'd get close to Antonio's father, the feared Don Vincenzo Marino, by becoming his assistant. In her mind, it was simple: make Antonio jealous by becoming important to his father's empire. Then hopefully that would make him realise he made a mistake by letting her go. But what Daisy didn't know was that Vincenzo had watched her for a while, hoping for a chance. While she plotted her little revenge against the son, she had no idea she was walking straight into the arms of a man who had craved her for a while. She was supposed to get back at the son, but didn't expect she'd be falling for the father.

Action Mystery Romance

9.3

From Asylum to Empire: Her Sweet Revenge

9.3

The scent of lilies still clung to my clothes, a cloying reminder of my daughter Shannon' s tiny casket, yet it was the stench of betrayal that truly choked me. At her graveside, I saw Harlow Faulkner, my closest friend, standing too close to my husband Antonio, her hand possessively on his arm. Then, Antonio hissed, "Francesca, darling, not now," his smile pasted on for onlookers, but his eyes were ice. He' d brought me breakfast in bed, protected me from critics, built an empire with me. Now, he was a stranger. My accusation ripped from me: "You left her alone, Harlow! You left my baby alone, and she died!" Harlow whimpered, "It was SIDS, a tragic accident." Antonio roared, "You're making a scene!" He then revealed the nanny cam was "broken," confirming my darkest fear: he knew. He was part of it. When Antonio' s hand instinctively went to Harlow' s stomach, whispering, "Is the baby alright?" my world shattered. He had a new family. He was erasing Shannon, erasing me. They sent me to an institution, electroshocked and drugged me, then forced me to sign divorce papers. But as I lay broken, a cold, diamond-sharp resolve hardened within me. He thought he could erase me. I would remember everything.

Action Modern Romance

7.8

From Prison Cell To Billionaire's Target

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The freezing rain lashed against my face as I clung to the iron gates of the Hendrix estate, begging for a chance to prove I didn't kill my best friend. I had come here for mercy, but the man I had secretly loved for years had a different plan. He didn't want to hear my truth; he wanted to see me broken. As the sun rose, the estate manager delivered the final blow. He shoved Emery’s phone into my face, showing a forged text message that framed me for her death, then turned his back as the gates slammed shut. My own family didn't offer a lifeline, either. When the police came for me, my parents didn't fight for my innocence; they chose to disown me to save their bank accounts from Alfredo’s wrath. I was thrown into Rikers Island, stripped of my dignity, and subjected to years of calculated, brutal torture paid for by the man who once held my heart. How could the person I loved turn my life into a private slaughterhouse based on a lie? After three years of hell, I walked out of those prison gates with nothing but a scarred body and a hollow soul. The woman who loved Alfredo Hendrix died in that cell. Now, I’m back in the city where it all began, and I’m done hiding.

Action Billionaire Modern

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Make Him Pay: My Ultimate Revenge

7.9

After growing up in an orphanage, Corrine thought marrying billionaire Cristofer Clarke would finally give her a loving family. But her husband didn't care about her; he was busy hosting a late-night pool party with a Hollywood actress while she went into agonizing premature labor. During her emergency C-section, Corrine nearly bled to death alone, and her newborn daughter was sent to the NICU fighting for her tiny life. But nobody told Cristofer the truth about her suffering. A corrupt nanny easily framed Corrine as an unstable mother who starved his unborn heirs. So he ruthlessly ordered his team to lock her in a psychiatric ward, while his aristocratic mother and sister stormed her ICU room, throwing a relinquishment contract onto her bleeding surgical wounds. "We're actually doing you a favor, sweetie. Because honestly? Who knows who the father of those premature freaks really is." After surviving hemorrhagic shock and watching her husband walk in to look at her with pure disgust, her last shred of hope completely shattered. Sitting up with fresh blood soaking her torn stitches, Corrine ripped the contract to shreds and stared dead into his eyes. "That's right. I'm just in it for the money. Get your checkbook ready, Cristofer. I'll see you in court."

Action Modern Romance

CELINE:The Sheikh Dessert Bride

Chapter 4

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