I AM THE LUNA QUEEN
went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.
One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn't. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don't remember, and the King I'm bound to doesn't love me-he loathes me.
They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.
Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.
I am not her.
And if this King thinks I'll kneel, he's about to learn what a true Queen is made of.
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Chapter 6
Hazel's POV
Before I could blink, he pulled me to him.
One second, I was glaring at him; the next, my back hit the bed with a soft thud that sent a tremor through my spine. My gasp filled the silence. The silk sheets were cold against my skin, but his body hovering above me burned like fire.
"What the hell-"
My voice broke off when his hand gripped my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. His blue eyes were darker-stormy, dangerous, and full of something I couldn't name.
"You've always wanted this," he said through clenched teeth. "And now that I'm giving it to you, you're fighting me?"
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. His words didn't make sense. None of this did.
I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, to push him away-but before I could even think, his lips crashed against mine.
The world tilted.
Every rational thought vanished. My mind went blank.
It felt like someone had hit a switch inside me-like my brain stopped working and my body took over. His lips were rough, demanding, desperate. The kiss wasn't gentle; it was war. And somehow, my body responded like it had been waiting for it all along.
No.
No, no, no.
This was insane.
I didn't want this. I didn't even fucking know this man.
But my body... betrayed me.
My hands pressed against his chest, not to push but to feel. My spine arched off the bed, heat crawling up my neck. A sound slipped from my lips-a soft, broken moan that didn't even sound like me.
Oh God.
That didn't come from me.
I wanted to deny it, to bury it somewhere in the back of my mind, but his mouth moved against mine again, stealing the air from my lungs. I could taste him-bitterness and heat-and my thoughts blurred until all that existed was the weight of his body and the rhythm of our uneven breaths.
"Stop," I tried to say, but it came out as another breathless sound.
His hand moved to the side of my face, then lower, tracing the edge of my jaw before sliding down the curve of my neck. My pulse leapt beneath his touch. I hated it-how my body reacted, how it trembled like it recognized him.
He groaned against my mouth, the sound low and rough, like he was fighting something too. His lips trailed down my throat, and my breath caught when his teeth grazed my skin.
No. This wasn't right.
This wasn't my professor. This was the dumb ass King.
The same cruel man who treated his queen like shit.
So why did it feel like every nerve in my body had caught fire?
His breath was hot against my collarbone. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to snap myself out of it, but then his hand moved again-down my arm, down my side, until it found the edge of my robe.
"Don't-" I started, but he didn't listen.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room.
He ripped the robe off me in one brutal motion and threw it somewhere behind him. Cool air brushed my bare skin, and I gasped, arms instinctively flying up to cover myself.
"Stop!" I said, breathless.
He didn't stop.
His eyes flicked down, dark and hungry, and then he tore at the thin nightgown beneath, shredding it like paper until I was left trembling under his gaze.
He didn't even give me a second to breathe before his mouth was on me again-lower this time. The heat of his lips burned against my skin, and when I felt the rough drag of his tongue on my nipple, my body jolted.
I should have fought. I should have screamed. I should have pushed him off.
But instead, my hands grabbed his shoulders. Not to shove him away-but to hold on.
He groaned again, the sound vibrating against me as his lips found the sensitive spot on my chest. My breath hitched. My mind screamed stop, but my body melted deeper into the bed, every inch of me trembling from the confusion of it all.
"You're so wet for me," he growled against my skin, his voice low, primal.
My eyes flew open.
I shook my head, denial crashing through me. "No," I whispered, but the word was weak, shaky, a lie my body refused to believe.
Then he kissed me again, harder this time, swallowing the sound that escaped me. The world spun. I didn't know what was happening anymore-where I ended and he began.
My heart was pounding out of control. I could feel every beat in my throat, in my chest, between my legs.
When had I lost control?
His hand slid down, fingers brushing places that made my whole body tense and shiver at once. A choked sound left my lips-half protest, half something else entirely.
He lifted his head, eyes locking onto mine, dark and unreadable. For a moment, I thought I saw something there-pain? Desire? Anger? I couldn't tell.
Then his mouth was back on mine, urgent, consuming.
Somewhere in the haze, I realized his body pressed closer, harder. I felt the roughness of him against my skin-and then something else.
Something hot. Heavy. Hard.
My breath caught. My eyes flew open.
When the hell did he take his pants off?
His hips pressed forward slightly, and I felt it-him-rub against my stomach, sending a shiver straight through me. My pulse roared in my ears, a warning, a plea, a thousand thoughts tangled together.
No. This couldn't be happening.
I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear-but I couldn't move.
Then I felt him shift, his hand sliding down, guiding himself lower, until I felt the hard length of him brush between my legs.
And in that instant-everything stopped.
My breath. My heartbeat. The world itself.
I froze.
And before I could stop myself, my hand landed on his face with a hard slap.
"You fucking bastard!"
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9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."
8.7
My little brother's heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I'd saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team.
"I'm handling an emergency," he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead.
I found out what Dante's "emergency" was from his mistress's social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat's kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats.
When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed.
This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery.
I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in."
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
8.6
The Maybach glided through rain, Dante's cold cedar cologne a familiar comfort. Seven years, my life revolved around him, my fingers on his suit cuff, a silent promise. But tonight, our normal shattered with a single phone call.
He answered, speaking rapid Italian – a language he thought I didn't understand. Every word: a death knell. Confirming his engagement to Sofia Moretti, dismissing me as a 'consolation prize.'
Seven years of loyalty vanished. His loving mask back, he left for his fiancée. I stumbled into freezing rain, recalling my foster past. My numb fingers dialed his mother, Isabella, demanding fifty million for my silence. Her insults didn't sting.
The true gut punch: Sofia's Instagram, a prenup on Dante's desk, proudly showing *my* watch, captioned: 'Fourteen days left.' This wasn't their celebration; it was my death sentence.
I wouldn't stay another day in this gilded cage. My old duffel bag, packed, waited. The Australia brochure, a childhood dream, in my pocket. This time, I would live for myself, and they would all pay.
9.1
I walked into the wrong hotel room...
To a naked man fresh out of the shower.
Now, I'm pregnant with his baby.
I should've left as soon as I saw him.
He was too beautiful to be real.
I got halfway to the door...
And then he saw exactly what I was trying to hide.
"Who hurt you?" he said when he glimpsed the bruises. "Let me fix it."
I should've said no.
But honestly? I deserve a little luck from the universe.
And if it wants to provide that luck in the form of a gorgeous, six-foot angel of darkness...
Well, I won't turn my nose up at that.
But nothing in this life comes without strings attached.
My angel gives me a night from heaven...
When morning comes, though, he turns into a devil.
And not just any devil.
This devil knows where I'm from.
Who I am.
What I've done.
And he's determined to make me pay for all of it.