His Stolen Kiss, Her Lethal Cure
Elia was an orphan from the rust belt, taken in by the wealthy Chapman family in New York.
To them, she was just a shameful charity case.
The parents shoved her into a dusty storage closet, treating their other daughter Geri like a delicate princess, and mocked Elia as uneducated trash.
When Elia secured her own admission to Manhattan Elite Prep, Geri's jealousy turned vicious.
Geri orchestrated a massive smear campaign, posting anonymously on the school forum that Elia was a violent dropout who sold her body to a sugar daddy to pay tuition.
In the cafeteria, the school's elite dumped dirty milk on Elia's food.
They called her a whore and told her to go back to the streets, while Geri watched from afar with a victorious, innocent smile.
They thought she was just a helpless stray dog who would easily break under their high-society cruelty.
They had no idea she was actually "L", the dark web's most feared hacker, and "The Surgeon", a genius medical anomaly.
They also didn't know she was currently tracking a dying Wall Street billionaire who had stolen her only necklace in a dark alley.
What made these arrogant rich kids think they could destroy a girl who played with international firewalls for fun?
Instead of crying, Elia calmly pulled out her phone.
Within seconds, she breached the school's server, locking every screen in the building onto a blood-red skull.
As Geri's own recorded voice plotting the fake rumors blasted through the PA system, Elia grabbed her bag, stepping back into the shadows to reclaim what was hers.
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Chapter 3
The next morning, the Chapman dining room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the early sun.
The long mahogany table was set with fine china and crystal glasses.
Elia walked in. She wore a plain white T-shirt and faded denim jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. She looked completely out of place against the backdrop of silk drapes and oil paintings.
Mavis was sitting near the head of the table, delicately slicing a French crepe for Geri.
When Mavis saw Elia, her smile vanished. The silver knife scraped harshly against the china plate.
She pointed her fork toward the very end of the long table, the seat farthest away from the family.
Elia walked to the end of the table. She pulled out the heavy wooden chair. The legs scraped loudly against the hardwood floor, making Mavis flinch.
Elia sat down. She picked up a piece of dry, unbuttered toast from a basket. She took a bite. The crunch was loud in the quiet room.
Gorge lowered his copy of the Wall Street Journal. He cleared his throat, adjusting his silk tie.
"I assume you looked at the file I gave you last night," Gorge said, not looking directly at Elia. "The driver will take you to Queens. It's a public school. Given your... lack of academic history in the Midwest, it was the best I could do."
Mavis scoffed, taking a sip of her coffee. "Best you could do? It's a charity. With her middle-school dropout record, she's lucky any school in New York took her."
Geri took a delicate bite of her crepe. She looked at Elia with wide, innocent eyes.
"I heard the security at that school is really bad, Elia," Geri said softly. "There are metal detectors at the doors. Will you be okay? I mean, you're probably used to rough crowds, but still..."
"She'll fit right in," Mavis sneered. "Trash belongs with trash."
Elia chewed the dry toast. It scratched the back of her throat as she swallowed.
She didn't look at Mavis. She didn't look at Geri.
"I don't want you anywhere near Geri's social circles," Gorge continued, his tone hardening. "Geri is at Manhattan Elite Prep. She has an image to maintain. I will not have you dragging her down with your rust-belt habits."
Geri straightened her posture, a smug, victorious gleam in her eyes.
Elia swallowed the last piece of toast. She reached for a linen napkin and wiped the crumbs from her lips. Her movements were slow, precise, and completely unbothered.
She placed the napkin on the table.
She lifted her eyes and locked onto Gorge.
"I'm not going," Elia said.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a scalpel.
The dining room fell dead silent.
Mavis slammed her coffee cup onto the saucer. The dark liquid sloshed over the rim.
"Excuse me?" Mavis hissed, her face turning red. "You ungrateful little brat. Do you know how much money Gorge spent bribing the principal just to look at your blank transcripts?"
Gorge's face darkened. The veins in his neck bulged.
"You don't have a choice in this house," Gorge warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "This is New York. You are a nobody. You will do exactly as I say."
Geri's lower lip trembled. She looked at Gorge, playing the victim. "Dad, maybe she just feels bad that she can't go to a good school like me. Don't be too mad at her."
Elia watched Geri's performance. A flicker of pure disgust crossed her cold eyes.
Elia pushed her chair back and stood up.
She placed both hands flat on the mahogany table. She leaned forward slightly.
The physical shift in her posture changed the gravity in the room. The air suddenly felt too thin to breathe.
"I handle my own affairs," Elia said, her voice dropping an octave. "I already enrolled myself in a school."
Mavis let out a loud, theatrical bark of laughter.
"You? Enrolled yourself?" Mavis mocked, waving her hand dismissively. "Where? A community college for dropouts? A vocational school for mechanics?"
Gorge crossed his arms, staring at Elia with heavy contempt. "Enlighten us. Where are you going?"
Elia looked down at him.
"Manhattan Elite Prep."
The name dropped like a bomb.
Geri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her juice glass tipped over, spilling orange liquid across the white tablecloth.
Mavis froze, her laughter dying in her throat. She stared at Elia as if she had grown a second head.
"That is the most ridiculous lie I have ever heard," Mavis spat, her voice shaking with sudden rage. "Elite Prep requires a massive endowment, perfect test scores, and a legacy interview. You are a stray dog we picked up from the Midwest!"
Gorge slammed his hand on the table. The silverware rattled.
"Enough!" Gorge roared. "I will not tolerate pathological lying in my house. You are embarrassing yourself, Elia."
Elia didn't blink. She didn't raise her voice.
She reached into the back pocket of her jeans. She pulled out her phone.
She tapped the screen twice, opening a PDF document.
She slid the phone across the long, polished table. It stopped precisely in front of Gorge.
Gorge glared at her, then looked down at the glowing screen.
His eyes locked onto the crimson crest of Manhattan Elite Prep at the top of the page.
His gaze moved down to the bold text.
Official Letter of Acceptance.
Student: Elia Chapman.
At the bottom of the page, glowing in digital ink, was the personal, verified electronic signature of the Headmaster.
Gorge's pupils dilated. His breathing stopped.
The color drained from his face, leaving him looking sick.
The silence in the dining room was absolute, broken only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
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7.9
One night of deception.
A lifetime of consequences.
A bond that cannot be broken.
Nadia Williams is an Omega living in the shadows of the pack she once called home.
Since her father's death, she and her mother, Estelle, have been treated as outcasts by her ruthless uncle, Alpha Edwards. When her mother is framed for theft, Nadia is forced into a deal with the devil.
To save her mother's life, she must become a virgin substitute for her cousin, Danielle.
Her aunt, Katerina, offers a devil's bargain to set her mother free: Nadia must spend one night in the bed of the most powerful man in the country, the billionaire; Alpha Conrad Bradley.
The catch?
She must swap places with her spiteful cousin.
Conrad demands a virgin bride to secure his royal bloodline, and Danielle, Nadia's cruel cousin, has already forfeited her purity.
What begins as a desperate night of passion in the dark spirals into a web of hidden identities and betrayal.
Nadia survives the night and disappears, hoping to bury the shame of the encounter forever.
But fate has a different plan.
Desperate for a fresh start away from her uncle's shadow, Nadia secures a high-level position at Bradley Group of Industries.
As Alpha Conrad unknowingly hires Nadia at his company, an undeniable connection sparks between them.
Conrad is haunted by the scent of the woman from that night-a scent that doesn't match his fiancée, Danielle, but seems to cling to his new, brilliant employee.
As they work side-by-side, Nadia finds an unexpected and beautiful second chance at a life she thought was lost.
Yet, buried secrets threaten to destroy everything.
When the Alpha discovers the woman he truly bonded with, the fallout will be legendary.
8.4
Ayleen Avery was just a struggling hotel worker trying to survive her shift. But during a sudden blackout, she accidentally stumbled into the pitch-black VIP suite of a ruthless billionaire driven mad by chronic insomnia.
Calmed only by her unique natural scent of roses and rain, the terrifying man attacked her from the shadows and forced himself on her. Terrified and broken, Ayleen fled at dawn, unknowingly leaving behind her late mother's antique rose necklace in his bed.
Her greedy coworker found the necklace, claimed to be the woman from that night, and was instantly swept into a life of luxury. Meanwhile, Ayleen was blackmailed into a forced marriage with her attacker—Cassius Doyle—to save her adoptive father from prison. Deceived by the stolen necklace, Cassius believed Ayleen was a manipulative spy. He brought the coworker into their home and paraded her around the master bedroom.
"In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes."
He choked Ayleen, forced her to sleep in a damp storage room, and treated her with violent disgust while pampering the thief.
Ayleen was suffocating in absolute despair. She had lost her innocence, her freedom, and her mother's only relic to a vicious liar. She couldn't understand how this all-powerful man could be so completely blind. Why couldn't he recognize the very scent that had cured his agonizing madness?
Staring at the dark bruises he had just left on her neck, Ayleen wiped the blood from her lip. She would endure this three-month marriage to secure her family's safety, but once the contract ended, she would expose the truth and tear down the fake savior he cherished so much.
7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
9.6
Haylie waited nervously at the Wall Street charity gala for her boyfriend Bryan, but a spiked drink hit her hard, leaving her stumbling into a VIP lounge.
There, Chester Steele, the ruthless CEO of Steele Industrial, found her—drugged and vulnerable. What started as a frantic claiming in the shadows ended with him whispering she was his.
But moments later, a security alert shattered everything: data breach traced to Haylie's terminal. Chester's fury exploded. He saw her brush past a Logan Group rival on footage and dumped her in the rain, firing her as a corporate spy.
Bryan answered her desperate call with ice: "It's over." Reporters swarmed her door, branding her a traitor. Arrested at the office by FBI agents, she watched smug coworker Erin wave goodbye.
Thrown in a cell, chained and grilled with fake evidence—offshore accounts in her name—Haylie learned the worst: charges now included her sick father, Ernest, framed for laundering the leak money. Plead guilty or he dies in prison.
Innocent and raging, she couldn't fathom who planted it all—the gala bump, the logs, the forgeries. Why her? Who hated her enough to destroy her life?
Chester burst in, posting unlimited bail but forcing her signature on a slave contract: live in his penthouse, serve him 24/7. As she collapsed in his arms, trapped in his gilded cage, Haylie vowed silently—she'd uncover the real traitor and make them pay.
8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
8.5
I was rushed to the emergency room with a bleeding head after a horrific car crash.
But while the doctor was stitching my forehead, I heard the nurses whispering.
"The CEO of the Finley Group is upstairs right now, playing nurse to that pregnant actress."
My heart stopped. I ripped out my IV and dragged my battered body to the VIP suite, only to watch my billionaire husband tenderly wipe away his mistress's tears.
I filed for divorce that night and left his penthouse with nothing but a basic suitcase.
Carter was furious. He tracked me down, completely ignoring my injuries, and mocked me relentlessly.
"You're nothing but a breeding tool. You won't survive a week without my money."
When I later collapsed from severe stomach cramps, he abandoned me on the floor because his mistress faked a panic attack over the phone. He even nearly ran me over in the freezing rain as he sped back to her side.
I had loved him in secret for ten agonizing years, pouring my bleeding heart into a novel about my unrequited love. I couldn't understand how a man could be so incredibly cold-blooded to his own wife.
But Carter didn't know I was the anonymous author of that global bestselling book.
So when he tried to use his massive wealth to buy the film rights and give his mistress the lead role, I walked straight into his boardroom, slammed my contractual veto on the table, and finally fought back.