His Madness, Her Unforgiving Vengeance
I gave my childhood sweetheart, Kade, ten years of my life and the code that built his empire. I thought we were a team. Then, on the night of our success, I overheard him call me his "unpaid intern" and "beta test."
He publicly discarded me for a strategic marriage, shattering my world. I fled, rebuilt my life from scratch, and found real love with a kind man named Heath.
But Kade came back, obsessed and unhinged. When I refused to take him back, he had his thugs beat Heath bloody in an alley.
He cornered me, begging for another chance, his eyes wild with a twisted love.
"It was always you, Addy! I made a mistake!"
I walked straight into his corporate office, my heart cold as stone. I looked the monster I once loved in the eye and delivered my final promise.
"You will stay away from me and the man I love," I said, my voice lethal. "Or I will expose every last one of your family's secrets and burn your entire empire to the ground."
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Chapter 3
Addison Fitzpatrick POV:
"No, Ava. I need to be alone." I whispered, hitting the 'end call' button.
The words still echoed in my ears, Kade's casual dismissal, his cruel laughter. My body felt hot, then cold, then hot again. The memory of his hands on my skin, his lips on my neck, was an intrusive film playing on a loop in my mind. He had been so convincing, so tender. He had traced the line of my jaw, telling me I was beautiful, that I was unlike anyone he' d ever known.
It was a performance. A lie. A calculated act to extract my work, to drain my emotions.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the images, the memories, out of my head. But they clung to me, insidious tendrils wrapping around my heart, squeezing until it ached. I curled into a fetal position on my bed, pulling the duvet tightly around me, as if its meager warmth could soothe the chill that had settled deep in my bones.
My thoughts were a chaotic swirl. Kade' s past warmth, his present coldness. His possessive whispers versus his public display of affection with Jodi. The contrast was a brutal whiplash. My mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt dull, incapable of processing the magnitude of this betrayal.
Eventually, the exhaustion of battling these tormenting thoughts dragged me into a fitful, shallow sleep. It wasn't rest, just a temporary cessation of conscious pain.
I woke with a start, the dim light of dawn barely filtering through my curtains. My head throbbed. The first thing I noticed was the oppressive silence of my phone. No notifications. No messages. Nothing from Kade.
It was a small thing, but it amplified the gaping void within me. For ten years, Kade and I had a ritual. A goodnight text, a good morning message, a quick call if one of us went silent for too long. He had always been the first to notice, the first to reach out, even when we were kids. He'd shown extreme worry if I disappeared from his radar for more than a few hours.
Our daily rituals, nurtured over a decade, had vanished overnight. Habits, I realized, were fragile things. They could be broken, discarded, as easily as a champagne flute. Maybe this was a good thing. A clean break. No more lingering hope.
The sunlight, when it finally pierced through the gaps in my curtains, felt harsh, intrusive. My eyes burned. I reached for my phone, a reflex, a muscle memory ingrained over years of expecting to see his name on the screen.
Nothing. Just the usual spam emails and a few group chat messages I couldn't bring myself to read.
A profound emptiness settled over me. The silence was deafening. Kade Dalton had been a constant in my life for as long as I could remember. He was the anchor, the north star, the one person I had always believed would be there. Now, his absence was a physical presence, a heavy weight pressing down on me, expanding, consuming everything.
I dragged myself out of bed, each limb feeling impossibly heavy. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was a stranger. Pale, hollow-eyed, my hair a tangled mess. The girl who looked back at me was broken.
I splashed cold water on my face, again and again, trying to numb the ache, to wash away the shame. But the humiliation clung to my skin, an invisible shroud.
My parents would be awake soon. I couldn't let them see me like this. They loved Kade, saw him as a son. The thought of explaining this, of putting words to the gaping wound in my heart, was unbearable. It would make it real, make it undeniable. The pain would be too much.
I walked into the kitchen, the familiar scent of coffee and my mother's baking hanging in the air. My usual seat at the breakfast table was there, but the seat across from me, the one Kade always occupied when he stayed over, was empty. It felt like a monument to his absence. I remembered him here, laughing with my dad, teasing my mom, his hand brushing mine under the table. Those memories, once precious, now felt like cruel taunts.
My phone vibrated violently, startling me. My heart leaped, a flicker of foolish hope igniting in my chest. Kade? A mistake? A desperate apology?
I snatched it up, my fingers fumbling. No. Not Kade. It was a social media notification. My breath hitched. Another blow. Another reminder. And it was about Jodi. I knew it before I even saw the content. This wasn't over. Not yet.
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7.0
Sophia Hayes has perfected the art of control. In the high-pressure world of The Metropolitan, she's the youngest senior journalist ever hired-an achievement built on ruthless discipline, flawless execution, and a reputation that makes even seasoned reporters double-check their facts before speaking to her. She is sharp. Unshakeable. Precise to the bone. Her life runs on deadlines, color-coded calendars, and emotional walls tall enough to withstand anything.
Dean Mercer is everything she isn't-and everything she doesn't have time for. A wildly successful illustrator whose comic series Love Is a Mess has a cult following online, Dean lives in a world where structure is optional and inspiration is everything. His apartment is chaos. His sleep schedule is chaos. His heart is chaos. He creates brilliance in messy strokes but hides his deepest truths behind humor, charm, and a smile that masks more wounds than he lets on.
So when the magazine pairs them for a high-stakes project-a revolutionary feature blending investigative journalism with illustrated storytelling-everyone expects disaster. Sophia expects worse.
Their assignment: explore modern love through real stories across the city. Raw, unfiltered, unpredictable love.
Exactly the kind of assignment that makes Sophia want to run.
Dean arrives late to their first meeting with coffee stains and excuses. Sophia arrives with a binder thick enough to double as a weapon. Dean studies her timeline like it's written in a foreign language. Sophia studies Dean like he's a problem she needs to solve before he derails everything she's built.
Their partnership begins in sparks-sharp, heated, dangerous sparks.
Arguments disguised as discussions.
Discussions disguised as power struggles.
Power struggles disguised as creative differences.
But tension has a habit of twisting into something else when the nights grow long.
As they dive into the city-interviewing strangers whose love stories survived decades, storms, heartbreaks, second chances-something shifts between them. Slowly. Quietly. Against both of their wills.
Sophia begins to see past Dean's easy humor to the man underneath-the one who fears failing the people he cares about, who draws comics because it's the only way he knows how to tell the truth. And Dean sees the cracks in Sophia's armor-the vulnerability she protects like a secret, the softness she doesn't show, the fire in her that the world misunderstands as coldness.
Their conversations deepen. Their arguments soften. Their laughter blends.
And the chemistry-the kind they both pretend not to notice-tightens around them like an invisible thread.
But the closer they get, the heavier the air becomes. Because both of them are hiding something.
Sophia hides her fear of losing control.
Dean hides his fear of being the reason someone gets hurt.
And the feature they're creating-meant to uncover the truth about modern love-begins exposing truths they never meant to reveal. About each other. About themselves.
Their late-night work sessions grow intimate, electric. Their stories blur with the stories they're collecting. Dean sketches Sophia without meaning to-capturing expressions she never lets the world see. Sophia writes notes about him she can't bring herself to delete. Something real starts forming in the space between them, fragile but undeniable.
Until the past they both buried finds them.
A mistake from Dean's life-one he thought he'd left behind-reaches the editorial floor at the worst possible time. A detail with enough weight to derail the feature, shatter their progress, and wound the one person who finally saw him clearly.
Sophia's instinct is survival. Run before she gets hurt. Seal her heart before it cracks open. Dean's instinct is retreat. Protect her from the version of himself he fears is still true.
Deadlines tighten. Trust fractures.
Their work stalls, their communication splinters, and the connection they've been dancing around threatens to snap under the strain.
But desire doesn't listen to logic.
And hearts don't obey deadlines.
Even as they pull away, they keep orbiting each other-drawn back together by an ache neither can extinguish. Their arguments deepen into something rawer, heavier. Their silence holds more meaning than their words.
They must choose:
fight for the story that could define their careers...
or fight for the connection that could rewrite their futures.
And when an unexpected message, a truth revealed too late, and one irreversible decision collide, they're forced to confront the question their feature was meant to answer:
What does love look like today-
and can two people living at opposite rhythms find it before it slips through their fingers?
On the edge of losing their partnership...
their second chance...
and each other...
9.6
She was sold as a broodmare. He was a warrior with no memory. Together, they'll burn down the world.
Lyra has been called many things: half-blood, mongrel, dirty blood. Rejected by every pack she's approached, she's given one final chance-as a bride to Ronan, the cruel Alpha of Red River Pack. But when her wedding night becomes a nightmare, she stabs her new husband and flees into the frozen wilderness.
Stellan remembers nothing. Not his name, not his past, not the ancient tattoos covering his body. He only knows that when he sees a terrified woman falling from a cliff into an icy river, he must save her-even if it kills him.
On the run from a vengeful Alpha and his army of hunters, Lyra and Stellan discover an impossible bond growing between them. The moon has chosen them as mates. But Stellan's memories are returning, and with them, a devastating truth: he's not just any wolf. He's the Alpha of the North Star Pack. And a half-blood can never be his Luna.
Now Ronan's brother has sworn revenge, an ancient prophecy awakens, and three packs prepare for war. Lyra must prove that bloodlines mean nothing-and that the most powerful bond of all is forged in ice and fire.
He lost his memory. She lost her freedom. Together, they'll find everything.
7.5
I run my family's political dynasty with an iron fist. From my father’s Senate votes to my own calculated engagement, every move is mine to control.
Then, in a single evening, my ambitious stepmother made her play. She used our housekeeper as a spy and orchestrated a scandal involving my fiancé and stepsister, designed to shatter my reputation and power.
They thought they could break me. Within twelve hours, the spy was dead on the marble floor of my foyer. My fiancé’s family was blackmailed into silence. My stepsister was exiled to a Swiss boarding school, and I stripped my own father of his authority for his weakness.
As for my stepmother, Bronte, I had her declared mentally unstable and forcibly taken to a remote facility in Montana, completely cut off from the world.
Everyone saw a cold-hearted coup, but they didn't know the secret I held. I had proof that Bronte had systematically orchestrated my brother’s death years ago, all to position her own son to inherit everything. This wasn't about power; it was vengeance.
But winning the war at home has put me on a much deadlier board. Now, I'm preparing for a dinner with Eldridge Marsh—the most dangerous man in Washington—who wants to decide if I'm a player he can use, or a threat he needs to destroy.
9.0
I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires.
Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world.
My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets.
I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her.
The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money.
I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table.
"Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."
9.7
A monotonous, colorless life and dull relationships instantly fade into the background the moment you step into a completely different world-one with its own rules and laws. It looks so much like ours, and yet is radically different, for here live werewolves and countless other incredible beings.
Bring a cursed Alpha King's heart back to life? Ride off into the sunset with one of the handsome guards? Or fall for a dangerous witch and uncover the true face of evil? Wrap it all up for me-I'll take it!
An extraordinary world, vivid characters, blazing emotions, and passionate love with a touch of spice ❤️🔥
18+
"Quite an interesting hall you've got here," Karadeylis said without even glancing around, his steps bringing him dangerously close. "But OURS holds unforgettable memories of the time we unwrapped your restless little ass."
I gasped in outrage at his brazen words-especially with so many people around-but my panties betrayed me, dampening at the memory of exactly what that bastard had reminded me of.
"How dare you?!" I hissed, our faces now only inches apart. Goosebumps ran across my skin at the dangerous nearness. I could feel his hot breath on my lips, the heat of his half-bare body, and that intoxicating scent I knew too well. Our breathing came ragged, as if we had just finished running a marathon, unable to break free from the magnetic pull of each other's gaze.
"No one else dares-only me, Prepedollie!" the scoundrel growled, gripping me firmly by the tail and yanking my face closer to his as his eyes devoured me. "I warned you-once I found you, there would be no mercy!"
7.7
I was dying of cancer when my destructive ex, Brooks Ferguson, returned to Seattle. The first thing he did was demolish my late father's record store.
But his new fiancée, Grace, delivered the final blow. With a vicious smile, she cornered me and poured my mother's ashes onto the filthy street.
I snapped. I rammed my vintage Mustang into her convertible-twice. I woke up in the hospital, coughing up blood, just in time to see Brooks on the news.
"When I find her," he snarled to the cameras, "I' m going to enjoy breaking every single bone in her body."
He had no idea the cancer, accelerated by his cruelty, was already killing me.
He wanted my body? Fine. I refused all treatment and arranged for the hospital to call him. My final revenge wasn't to fight him. It was to die and make him claim the corpse of the woman he destroyed.