Exposed After Six Failed Assassinations of the Alpha
I'm an assassin for the Snicker pack, cold and relentless. My mission? Kill Alpha Ronan of a rival pack in three months.
Five attempts. Five failures. All thanks to my incompetent partner. One time, he even gave me an overtime drug. Pathetic.
The deadline was here, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill him.
"I won't do it. Just let me die instead," I told my partner.
Silence. Days passed with no reply.
Then, on the final day, I found it-a secret buried deep in the mission......
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Chapter 3
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying in a hospital bed.
Ronan, looking a little worse for wear, was slouched by my side, his head resting on his arm.
I was just about to give him a big slap across the face when-he woke up.
His narrowed eyes immediately locked onto my raised hand.
"Ha..."
I quickly switched gears, awkwardly scratching his scalp instead.
"Uh, I... I was just... just worried your head was itchy. Ha ha ha..."
The sentence stretched for two full minutes.
I was burning with embarrassment, my face as red as a ripe tomato.
Ronan, still half-dazed, slowly reached up with one strong hand, brushing my hair back and gently cupping my face. His touch was unexpectedly tender, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw as he leaned closer. His voice, thick with sleep and something else, rumbled low, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Are you still feeling unwell?" He murmured, his gaze lingering on my flushed face. "Your cheeks are all red..."
I froze.
Is he... seducing me?
No, no. He couldn't be.
But still.
I quickly buried my face under the blankets.
"No... I'm not uncomfortable."
Ronan, clearly not convinced, lifted the blankets with his fingers and leaned down closer to me.
Our faces were so close I could count the feathers of his dark lashes.
I swallowed a nervous gulp.
Before I could keep ogling him like a schoolgirl, Ronan's hand brushed the side of my neck.
His dark eyes were like black holes, his voice cool but sharp.
"So... Stammer, why were you poisoned?"
My heart skipped a beat. Cold sweat broke out on my skin.
Shit.
As I stammered in panic, Ronan's voice cut through the tension.
" Didn't you wash the Wolfberries?"
What?
"Wolfberries?"
Wait, my poison?
While Ronan was distracted by getting me some water, I quickly grabbed my drug powder.
The expiration date on the packet was glaringly marked: May 2024.
Oops. It's expired.
I'd been discharged a whole week ago.
I felt a pang of guilt.
I was a terrible woman.
Even though Ronan had taken care of me in the most comfortable way imaginable, I still had to kill him.
It was either him... or me.
No, no-it was either he dies... or I do.
Shaking the bad thoughts out of my head, I decided to change tactics this time.
A poisoned needle.
After checking the expiry date-again-I set my plan into motion.
"Stammer, how about some red-braised pork today?"
Ronan was in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, cooking.
Since the poisoning incident, he refused to let anyone else handle the food in the house.
Everything was under his direct control.
Watching his broad back, I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
The poisoned needle was pinched tightly between my fingers.
I had already planned the perfect moment. One swift strike, and he'd be out cold before he even felt it.
I silently approached from behind, ready to inject him with precision.
But then-
What the hell?
The needle got caught on his Hermès belt.
Why the hell does he have the hell belt?
Before I could adjust myself, Ronan took a few steps back.
Instinctively, I raised my hands to block him.
"Ha-ha..."
With the needle now in my hand, I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back my irritation.
I moved quickly, yanking at his shirt to see what the hell had just happened.
"Is something wrong, Stammer?"
Ronan's voice was soft now, as he gently tucked my sweaty hair behind my ear.
He leaned down and kissed my forehead.
And I.
I'm paralyzed.
I could barely move, let alone speak. I wanted to ask him to hand me the antidote in my pocket.
But I'd forgotten one crucial thing-when I'm nervous, I stutter.
"Ha... ha..."
Ronan blinked at me, his gaze softening as he smiled.
"Happy birthday?"
"... Thank you, Stammer. You're the only one who remembers my birthday."
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8.0
Trapped 3,000 meters beneath the sea, the submersible I designed was my coffin. The air was turning to poison.
But my fiancé, Jeffery, gave our only long-term life support-a CO2 scrubber I invented-to his social media star mistress.
"You're strong, Elaina," he said. "You can figure something out."
When I tried to use the emergency comms, he broke my wrist and smashed the console.
He and his mistress sealed the hatch, leaving me to die alone in the crushing dark.
He chose his career over my life. He chose her over me. The man I was supposed to marry would rather I suffocate at the bottom of the ocean than face a failed mission.
But as the blackness closed in, I remembered a secret. A tiny, personal emergency pinger I' d built into my glove. With my last bit of strength, I tore the seam with my teeth and slammed my hand against my head. A faint click echoed in the silence. My revenge had just begun.
9.8
When Dawn Collins agrees to marry a stranger, love is the last thing on her mind.
All she wants is to protect her siblings and give them a better life. But fate leads her into the arms of Adam Manchester-a man whose heart belongs to a wife lying in a coma.
As Dawn slowly melts the ice around Adam's heart, she begins to believe that maybe, just maybe, love can bloom from sacrifice.
But on the night she's ready to claim her happiness, Adam's wife wakes up.
Now, caught between guilt, love, and heartbreak, Dawn must decide whether to fight for the man she's grown to love... or walk away from the life she risked everything to build.
Because some hearts never let go-and some love stories were never meant to have an easy ending.
9.2
Five years after my death, the street punk banished by the Mafia family returned to this soil as a highly respected Godfather.
He didn't come back for turf or business. He came for revenge.
He wanted to make me regret the day I "betrayed" him.
He framed my father as a rat.
He locked my mother in a pitch-black basement until she went blind.
He crippled my brother's right arm, stripping away his gift as a top-tier sniper forever.
To find me and exact his vengeance personally, he had turned himself into a monster.
"She’s dead! She’s been dead!" my brother roared. "Five years ago! When The Commission sent hitters after you, she took the fall! She burned to ashes so you could live!"
9.3
I lay on the wet asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. My lungs were heavy, filling with fluid as my life ebbed away. Through swollen eyelids, I saw my lover, Clovis, and my stepsister, Alanna, standing over me with looks of pure triumph.
"Thanks for the trust fund, sister," Alanna whispered, shoving a phone screen in front of my dying eyes. The headline was a jagged blade to my soul: Caesar Williamson, the "tyrant" husband I had fled from, was dead in a multi-car collision. He had died trying to rescue me, thinking I was in danger.
The realization shattered what was left of my heart. The man I had spent years painting as a monster had driven into hell to save me, while the man I thought was my safety was the one who had just crushed my ribs with an iron bar. I had played right into their hands, ruining my reputation and my marriage for a lie. I watched them walk away, leaving me to choke on my own blood in the dark, discarded like a bag of trash.
I wanted to scream, to beg the universe for a rewind button, to tell Caesar I was sorry. The darkness pressed down on me, heavier than the betrayal, as my world finally went black.
Then, I was screaming.
I shot up in bed, gasping for air like a drowning woman breaking the surface. I scrambled at my abdomen—smooth skin, no blood, no tear. I grabbed my phone and saw the date: it was three years ago, the morning of my wedding to the Williamson estate.
I didn't waste a second. I scrubbed the "unstable" makeup from my face, threw on a white silk dress, and blocked the man who would eventually kill me. This time, I wasn't running away from the manor. I was going back to the husband I had once feared, ready to save the only man who had ever truly loved me.
7.0
My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child.
Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby.
To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner.
They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his.
The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused.
But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.
9.2
His sharp intake of breath washed over her. His gaze dragged over her breast to her mound that the thong did a bad job covering. Every part of her body his dark, hungry gaze touched, burned.
His voice was deeper than any she ever heard. "On the couch."
She obeyed without thinking. She made her way to the couch and sank into the plush cushions.
"Spread your legs."
She hesitated, biting down on her lower lip. A frustrated groan left Jason's lips and Anna jumped at the sound. Before she could blink, she was pushed back on the couch, Jason's lips over hers.
His hands grazed her nipples, and he shoved her thighs apart, settling between them. He took her breast into his mouth, biting, sucking, tugging until sparks shot to her core.
"Jason-" she gasped, desperate.
********
Anna was supposed to be enjoying her sister's wedding afterparty, not stuck in a locked car with the groom's infuriating older brother.
Jason Knight-best man, shameless flirt, her personal headache-had been under her skin since they met for rehearsals, and now, in her space.
He wasn't supposed to make her skin heat with one touch.
And she definitely wasn't supposed to end the night tangled in bed with him.
One night. That's all it was meant to be.
But what Anna doesn't know: Jason isn't just her brother-in-law's maddeningly smug brother, he's the boy she once humiliated in high school-the one who never forgot, and he's spent every one of the years after changing everything about himself.
Now, he's back with a grudge, a memory that cuts deep, and a plan.
Twenty-one days. One dangerous game.
Anna is about to learn that some grudges don't fade, they smolder and ignite.
When old wounds collide with white-hot chemistry, will revenge blur into something even more dangerous? or will it be their ruin?