His Broken Angel's Dying Secret
I was a ghost haunting the halls of Port Sterling High, pretending to be alive. My only goal was to live like a normal teenager, even as the cancer eating me from the inside was a secret I guarded with my life.
Then the school's resident psycho, Bishop Dalton, decided I was his to protect.
He mistook my chemo-induced weakness for fragility and my nausea for nerves. He fought my battles, took detention for me, and glared at anyone who looked at me wrong, ready to tear the world apart for me. He was trying to save me from the monsters he understood, never guessing the real monster was in my own blood.
Then one day, he saw it: the horrific, black-and-purple bruise on my arm from a blown IV.
The fury in his eyes was terrifying. He was ready to kill whoever had dared to touch me. He grabbed my wrist, his voice shaking as he demanded a name. "Who did this to you?"
I couldn't tell him the truth. The pity would have been a sentence worse than death.
So I looked that beautiful, broken boy in the eye and gave him a lie far more cruel. "I did it to myself," I whispered, letting the tears fall.
I watched the fire in his soul die out, replaced by a devastating pity. I had saved my secret, but in doing so, I had just become the tragedy he would try to fix.
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Chapter 1
The heavy rubber doors of the yellow school bus folded open with a loud hiss.
Claire Hansen stepped down onto the concrete of the Port Sterling High parking lot.
The crisp autumn wind hit her instantly. She shivered and pulled the edges of her oversized knit sweater tightly across her chest.
She used the motion of adjusting her heavy backpack to press the heel of her hand hard against her stomach.
A dull, throbbing ache radiated behind her ribs.
She swallowed hard. The metallic taste of the anti-cancer medication she took that morning rose in the back of her throat.
She forced the nausea down. She could not throw up on her first day.
Claire caught her reflection in the dark glass of the bus window. She paused.
She checked her cheeks in the reflection. She had carefully blended a soft, subtle layer of peach blush across her cheekbones. It was just enough artificial color to successfully hide the dead, translucent pallor of her skin without drawing any unwanted attention to her face.
She took a slow, shallow breath. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a sweet, harmless smile.
She turned and walked toward the loud, crowded brick building.
The main hallway was a chaotic tunnel of slamming metal locker doors and shouting teenagers.
Claire kept her head down and her smile fixed. She pushed through the crowd until she found the main office.
The secretary behind the desk took one look at her transfer papers and smiled warmly.
"Straight A's across the board," the secretary said, handing over a printed schedule and a locker combination. "We love having model students like you at Port Sterling, Claire."
"Thank you," Claire said softly.
She turned to leave. A sudden wave of dizziness hit the back of her skull.
Her vision blurred for a fraction of a second. She reached out and gripped the wooden doorframe to steady herself.
She waited for the hallway to stop spinning. Then she let go and walked to her locker.
Her fingers trembled slightly from weakness as she spun the metal dial. The lock clicked, but the old door stuck.
A girl with bright blonde hair leaned over and smacked the top of the locker with the base of her palm. The door popped open.
"You have to hit it right on the hinge," the girl said. "I'm Willow Carpenter."
"Claire," she replied, placing her notebooks inside.
Willow immediately launched into a rapid-fire breakdown of the school's social hierarchy. She pointed out the football players, the cheerleaders, and the kids to avoid.
The loud, shrill sound of the warning bell cut Willow off mid-sentence.
"I have to get to AP Literature," Claire said.
She navigated the crowded halls until she found room 204.
Claire pushed the wooden door open. The loud chatter inside the classroom died instantly.
Every head turned to look at her.
Mr. Cecil York, an older man with a gray beard, stood at the front of the room. He motioned for her to stand next to his podium.
"Class, this is our new transfer student, Claire Hansen," Mr. York announced.
The boys stared at her with obvious interest. The girls looked her up and down with sharp, calculating eyes.
Claire kept her hands folded in front of her. She maintained her perfect, quiet smile.
Mr. York scanned the room for an empty desk. His eyes landed on the very back corner of the classroom.
A boy in a black leather jacket sat there. He was slumped forward, his head resting on his crossed arms on the desk.
He radiated a dark, hostile energy. The desks immediately surrounding him were pushed slightly away, creating a visible dead zone.
Mr. York cleared his throat. He pointed to the single empty chair right next to the boy.
"Take the seat next to Mr. Dalton," York instructed.
A collective, sharp intake of breath echoed through the room.
A few rows away, Willow caught Claire's eye. Willow shook her head frantically and mouthed the word 'no'.
Claire pretended not to see her. She kept her steps even and steady as she walked down the aisle toward the back corner.
She pulled the metal chair out. She tried to be quiet, but the legs scraped against the linoleum floor.
She sat down and placed her heavy backpack on the floor.
The slight noise was enough. The boy slowly lifted his head from his arms.
Bishop Dalton turned his face toward her.
His jaw was clenched tight. His dark eyes were cold, sharp, and filled with a violent irritation at being disturbed.
He stared at her like she was a disease.
Claire did not look away. She met his brutal gaze head-on.
"Hi," she whispered.
Bishop blinked. A flicker of surprise crossed his features. No one ever looked him directly in the eye.
A boy sitting in the row ahead of them, Jax Adler, turned around.
"Hey, new girl," Jax whispered harshly. "Stay away from the psycho."
Bishop let out a low, humorless scoff. He didn't say a word to Claire.
He simply turned his head, dropped his face back onto his arms, and gave her the back of his head.
Claire opened her notebook.
Another sharp, twisting cramp hit her stomach.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She gripped her plastic pen so tightly her knuckles turned bone-white, using all her strength to hide the violent trembling in her hands.
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8.1
I spent forty hours hand-beading a gown for a woman who was currently sleeping with my husband. My fingers were raw, my vision blurred, and the needle had just driven deep into my index finger, leaving a drop of blood on the silk.
Braxton walked into our penthouse, rain dripping from his suit, and didn't even look at me. But the scent hit me instantly—Bulgarian rose and white musk. It was the custom perfume Griselda, my own sister, commissioned in Paris.
I had spent three years as a ghost in my own marriage, sewing costumes for the woman who had haunted my vows since day one. Braxton didn't bother to hide it anymore; there was a smudge of her coral lipstick on his collar. He didn't offer an explanation, only a command to finish the gown for the Met Gala so I wouldn't embarrass them.
My mother called moments later, her voice sharp with the usual dismissal. She didn't care that I was bleeding or that my husband was cheating with my sister. She only cared that I was "falling behind" on Griselda's gown.
I sat in the silence of that cold, marble cage, staring at the needle in my hand. For years, I had swallowed every insult and stitched every lie, believing I was the capable one who had to make them happy.
But as the clock ticked, a door inside me finally clicked shut. I wasn't just tired; I was finished. I set the needle down, picked up my phone, and dialed my sister’s number to tell her she’d have to find someone else to bleed for her.
8.7
Explicit 18+ | Reader Discretion Strongly Advised
Dark themes, noncon/dubcon, extreme kink, power imbalance, group dynamics, knotting, overstimulation, and possessive claiming ahead.
A brutal omegaverse world. Warring packs. Rare silver-eyed omega Kai Voss lives hidden until a midnight raid destroys his safety.
The most feared triad captures him: Thorne Blackwood, a pierced sadist who pushes limits; Aurelius Voss, the volatile second, his knot pulsing with hunger; Cassian Reyes, the silent, amber-eyed observer whose fixation vows complete ownership. Dragged to their mountain den, Kai becomes their prize.
Defiant and sharp-tongued, Kai resists every command. His body betrays him with slick, aching need. On the first night, the alphas take him, one by one, then together. They stretch him past reason. Knot him impossibly. Fill him until his rim thins visibly. Slick eases the searing burn into shattering pleasure.
"Room for one more?" Thorne growls, forcing his pierced length beside the two already locked inside. He drags across sensitive spots until Kai arches, tears falling, his body yielding as omega instincts beg for more.
Three cocks locked and throbbing, owning him entirely.
"Fuck, he's taking us all," Aurelius groans.
Cassian watches silently, eyes blazing, plotting the next step to remake Kai forever.
Raw conquest becomes unbreakable obsession: relentless heats, punishments blending pain and ecstasy, jealous rivalries over cries, rare tenderness binding possession deeper.
Three ruthless alphas pursue the forbidden, shattering their defiant omega until he is stretched wide, ruined, reborn in their image. Relentless desire shows no mercy: tight entrances forced open, rimmed raw by impossible girths, slick-soaked and pulsing under unyielding ownership.
Hide and read in secret. Once the story begins, escape is impossible. Squirm. Ache. Hunger for every page.
DON'T BLAME ME WHEN YOU CAN'T STOP READING ALL 150 CHAPTERS ⚠️🔞‼️
8.6
Amara's life has always been predictable-until the shadows start watching her. Footsteps follow her on empty streets, strange chills scrape down her spine, and something ancient tracks her every move from the dark.
Everything changes the night a terrifying wolf-like creature lunges out of the darkness and leaves her fighting for her life. Just when all hope slips away, a mysterious man steps in-sleek, powerful, and gone before she can speak his name.
Haunted by the memory of his golden eyes, Amara begins to unravel a truth she never imagined. A creature in the night. A man in the shadows. A bond that defies logic. Her search for answers leads her to a hidden library and a forgotten article that exposes a world she was never meant to discover, one of magic, danger, and beings who walk between realms.
From the veil of the other world, Kael watches her. Her guardian. Her burden. The one fate bound to her long before she was born. And every day, the pull between them grows stronger... and harder for him to fight.
As enemies gather in both realms, Amara must face the darkness hunting her and the bond tying her to Kael. Because when shadow meets destiny, survival demands trust, courage,
and a heart willing to walk into the dark.
7.7
I've been hiding my face from the world for seven years.
He's been hiding his heart for just as long.
When Grammy-winning musician Dante Rivers offers me $150,000 to be his fake girlfriend for six months, I should say no.
I'm Veil-the anonymous digital artist with millions of fans and a face no one has ever seen. I don't do cameras. I don't do crowds. And I definitely don't do fake relationships with devastatingly private men whose studio walls are covered in my artwork.
But my father's last dream is slipping away-and this contract is the only way to save it.
The rules are simple:
No real feelings.
No crossed boundaries.
No falling for Dante Rivers.
Except nothing about him is simple.
Not the way he shields me from paparazzi like I matter.
Not the way his music sounds like secrets meant only for me.
Not the way he looks at me like he sees through every wall I've built.
What he doesn't know is that I'm already part of his life.
I'm the anonymous artist behind his album covers.
The one he's trusted with his most private thoughts.
The ghost he's been searching for without ever meeting.
And now I'm falling for him twice-
once as the girl in his guesthouse
and once as the mystery he doesn't know he's already holding.
When the truth comes out, it won't just break the contract.
It might break us.
9.0
Elena Hart survived the crash.
Her memories didn't.
When she wakes in a pristine suburban home with a diamond on her finger and a man gripping her hand like she might disappear, she's told a simple truth:
He's her husband.
They've been married for two years.
They're deeply in love.
Caleb knows everything about her-how she takes her coffee, the scar on her thigh, the way she hums when she's anxious. The photos lining the walls prove their life together. The neighbours confirm it. Her doctor insists memory loss after trauma is common.
So why does her body recoil when he kisses her?
And why, every night, does another man visit her in dreams-bleeding, desperate, whispering:
You promised you'd run.
The dreams aren't romantic. They're frantic. Urgent. As if time is running out.
Then Elena finds something she was never meant to see.
A locked drawer in Caleb's office.
A second wedding ring.
A newspaper clipping about her accident-dated three weeks before the crash she remembers.
The more she questions, the more Caleb tightens his grip. His patience becomes surveillance. His affection becomes control. Doors begin locking. Her phone disappears. The neighbours stop meeting her eyes.
And the dreams start happening while she's awake.
A reflection in a window that isn't hers.
Footsteps behind her when no one is there.
A voice that says, He changed it. He changed everything.
What if she wasn't supposed to survive that crash?
What if the accident wasn't an accident?
As fractured memories return in violent flashes-running through rain, screaming in a dark parking lot, a different man's blood on her hands-Elena is forced to confront a horrifying possibility:
She wasn't stolen.
She was rewritten.
And the man who calls himself her husband didn't just save her life.
He erased it.
Now she must decide who the real ghost is-
The man haunting her dreams...
Or the one sleeping beside her.
Because this time, if she remembers the truth...
One of them won't let her live to tell it.
9.3
My mother had been dead for four years, and my father, the Alpha of our pack, was now a hollow shell controlled by his new wife, Marley. I was a ghost in my own home, watching from the shadows as they celebrated a wedding that felt more like my execution.
During the reception, Marley cornered me and demanded my mother's last heirloom-a blood-red ruby-to pay off her family's secret gambling debts. When I refused, her guards pinned me down, and in the struggle, the ancient stone hit the marble floor and shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
Framed for grand larceny by my own stepmother, I fled to a dive bar and sought refuge with Caleb Sterling, a rival Alpha who radiated power and danger. We spent a night of soul-shattering passion that I was certain was our mate bond, but the next morning, he tossed an envelope of cash at me and called me a high-end escort. When the police arrived to arrest me, he simply stepped aside and watched them drag me away in handcuffs, cold and indifferent to my screams.
"Do what you have to do," he had told the officers, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
I was a fugitive, stripped of my title, and discovered I was carrying Caleb's child-a baby cursed by his bloodline to never survive the womb. I couldn't understand why my father had abandoned me to a monster, or why the man I was destined for had sold me out just to save his own reputation.
After a brutal ambush that left my only friend in a burning wreck, I stood at the border of the forbidden North. I clutched the jagged shards of my mother's ruby and looked the Northern Warlord in the eye, ready to trigger a war that would burn my father's legacy to the ground.