
I Was Kidnapped, He Married His First Love
When the kidnapper pressed a tactical knife to Falon's throat and demanded a one-million-dollar ransom, she was certain her fiancé would pay.
Instead, Jerod's annoyed voice echoed through the speaker. He was busy cutting a cake with his fragile, manipulative mistress, Abby.
"Do whatever you want with her," Jerod told the thug. "I am done."
The call disconnected. Left to die, Falon was injected with a lethal black-market aphrodisiac. She fought her way out, escaping into the freezing rain, and threw herself at the mercy of a stranger in a black Maybach. That stranger was Bell Farrell, a ruthless billionaire and Jerod's biggest corporate rival. To survive the burning drug and shatter the memories of her fiancé's betrayal, she gave herself to the devil that night.
The next morning, Falon woke up in a stranger's bed, staring at her bruised skin. For four years, she had endured her abusive family's cruelty, watching them treat her fake, adopted sister like a princess while using Falon as a corporate pawn. She had compromised everything for Jerod, only to be thrown away like garbage.
Why did she have to suffer while the people who destroyed her played the victims?
Falon took off her five-carat engagement ring and threw it in the trash.
She put on a sharp black suit and crashed her family's elite ballroom gala, ready to burn their high-society facade to the ground.
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Chapter 3
The Maybach descended into the private, underground parking garage of the Tribeca penthouse.
The heavy car doors opened. A blast of cold, subterranean air hit Falon's bare skin. She shivered violently.
Bell did not wait for the driver. He stepped out of the car and pulled Falon into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly.
Falon's arms immediately wrapped around his neck. She buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her hot breath fanned across his pulse point.
Bell carried her to the private elevator. He pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner. The doors slid open.
The elevator shot up to the top floor.
The doors parted, revealing a massive, minimalist penthouse. The interior was a stark contrast of cold black marble, gray steel, and white leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the city below.
Bell walked into the living room. He lowered Falon onto a wide, Italian leather sofa.
He stepped back, intending to go to the kitchen to get her a glass of ice water.
Falon's hand shot out. She grabbed his silk tie. She held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip.
The sudden pull forced Bell to stop. He dropped down onto one knee at the edge of the sofa. He planted his hands on either side of her head to keep from crushing her.
The fire in Falon's blood was consuming her organs. She needed his skin.
She reached up with trembling fingers. She grabbed the top of his dress shirt. She pulled hard, popping the top two buttons.
Her fingertips brushed against the hard, warm muscle of his chest.
Bell's breathing hitched. His chest expanded rapidly.
He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand. He pinned them to her chest. His eyes darkened, turning into black holes that swallowed all the light in the room.
"If we cross this line, there is no going back," Bell warned. His voice was a low, vibrating threat.
Falon did not hear the warning. Her mind was filled with the echoing sound of Jerod's voice on the phone. Do whatever you want with her. I am done.
The absolute devastation of that betrayal mixed with the chemical fire in her veins. She wanted to erase Jerod. She wanted to feel something else. Anything else.
She looked straight into Bell's eyes.
"Save me," Falon whispered. Her voice broke on a sob.
She lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his throat, right over his Adam's apple.
That single touch destroyed the last thread of Bell's control.
He let out a deep, guttural growl. He released her wrists and grabbed her jaw.
He brought his mouth down on hers.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was a violent collision. It was a punishment and a claim. He forced her lips apart and invaded her mouth, taking all her oxygen.
Falon whimpered into his mouth. Her hands flew to his shoulders. Her nails dug into the expensive fabric of his shirt. She arched her back, pressing her body flush against his.
Bell scooped her up into his arms again. He carried her down the dark hallway.
He kicked open the heavy oak door of the master bedroom.
He threw her onto the center of the massive king-sized bed.
Falon bounced against the soft mattress. She sank into the black velvet duvet. Her wet hair spread out like a dark halo. The ruined designer gown hung off one shoulder. She looked shattered and beautiful.
Bell stood at the edge of the bed. He stripped off his suit jacket and threw it onto the floor. He ripped the silk tie from his neck and wrapped it tightly around his right wrist.
He stared down at her. His chest heaved. He looked like a god demanding a sacrifice.
He climbed onto the bed. He pushed her knees apart with his own.
His rough fingertips traced the curve of her waist. The touch sent a violent shock of electricity through her nervous system.
Falon gasped. She arched her spine off the mattress. Her hands blindly grabbed at his broad back, seeking purchase.
Suddenly, the sharp, shrill sound of the penthouse doorbell echoed through the apartment.
The video intercom on the nightstand lit up. Thaddeus's panicked voice filled the room.
"Bell! I have the counteragent. Open up!"
The noise pierced through the thick fog in Falon's brain. For one split second, reality crashed in. She flinched. Her eyes widened in sudden panic.
Bell felt her body tense. He saw the fear flash in her eyes.
A surge of irrational, possessive rage flared in his chest.
He slammed his hand down on the intercom's mute button. The room plunged back into silence.
He leaned down and bit the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Hard.
He left a dark, red mark on her pale skin. A brand.
Falon cried out from the sharp pain, but the pain instantly morphed into a hollow, aching need. She thrust her hips upward, chasing his weight.
Out in the hallway, the front door beeped. Thaddeus had used his emergency medical override code. The heavy door clicked open.
Bell froze.
He grabbed the thick black silk sheet and pulled it up, covering Falon completely up to her neck. He tucked the edges under her body, hiding every inch of her skin.
He stood up from the bed. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing his sculpted torso. His hair was a mess.
He walked out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind him.
Thaddeus rushed into the living room, carrying a silver medical case. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Bell.
The doctor's eyes darted from Bell's unbuttoned shirt to the red scratch marks on his neck. He smelled the heavy, unmistakable scent of arousal in the air.
Thaddeus looked at the closed bedroom door. His jaw dropped.
"Leave the case," Bell ordered. His voice was deadly calm.
"Bell, are you insane?" Thaddeus hissed. "Whoever is in there, she has black market narcotics in her system. This is a massive liability."
Bell walked forward. He snatched the silver case out of Thaddeus's hand.
He grabbed his friend by the shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him toward the front door.
"Get out," Bell said.
He pushed Thaddeus into the hallway and slammed the door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy clunk.
Bell turned around. He walked slowly back to the master bedroom. His eyes burned with a dark, obsessive fire.
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9.7
On the eve of her wedding to a man she doesn't love, Victoria Halstead makes a choice that will change the kingdom forever she runs.
Victoria has spent her entire life being the perfect daughter, the obedient lady, the bride her father selected. But when she discovers her marriage is nothing more than a political transaction to keep her controlled and confined, she does the unthinkable: she escapes into the night with nothing but a hidden trunk and a desperate hope for freedom.
What she doesn't know is that her bodyguard, Rowan, the quiet, brooding man who has been watching over her for months-is not just protecting her. He's been waiting for this moment. Because Victoria's beloved uncle didn't die of natural causes. He was murdered. And the truth he died protecting could shatter the kingdom.
Victoria isn't just a runaway bride. She's the rightful queen of Aveloria.
Her mother was a Keeper one of the legendary bloodline with abilities to sense truth from lies and the last direct descendant of the true royal family. For three generations, the current king's dynasty has ruled on a throne built on murder, lies, and stolen power. And now that Victoria knows the truth, the king will stop at nothing to silence her.
Hunted by her own father, chased by the king's soldiers, and targeted by assassins, Victoria must choose between the safety of obscurity and the dangerous path of reclaiming what was stolen from her family. With Rowan by her side fierce, loyal, and impossibly devoted she begins to gather unlikely allies: a cynical mercenary with a dark past, a former bounty hunter turned believer, and lords who are tired of serving a tyrant.
But claiming a throne requires more than royal blood. It demands strategy, sacrifice, and the willingness to become the leader her people desperately need. As Victoria learns to trust her Keeper abilities, master the art of war, and navigate the deadly politics of rebellion, she discovers that the girl who once feared leaving her room has become a woman capable of leading armies.
Yet danger lurks everywhere. Assassins infiltrate her inner circle. A traitor hides among her most trusted allies. And the dying king's brutal brother waits in the shadows, ready to seize power and drown the kingdom in blood.
With an army marching toward her, time running out, and the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders, Victoria must make an impossible choice: run and save herself, or stand and fight for a crown she never wanted but a kingdom that desperately needs her.

7.2
Clare Lynch thought she was celebrating her fairy-tale engagement. She happily drank the pink cocktail her best friend, Brianna, handed her.
But the drink was laced with a powerful, burning drug. As Clare's legs gave out, she overheard Brianna whispering outside the door. Her best friend had hired two thugs to assault her on camera and completely ruin her life.
Terrified and gasping for air, Clare hid in the VIP room and called her fiancé, Jaren, for help.
"I feel sick. Something is wrong. Please come get me."
But Jaren just sighed impatiently, busy comforting his mistress in the background.
"Stop throwing tantrums for attention. Grow up."
Jaren hung up the phone. When Clare finally escaped and begged her grandmother to cancel the wedding, the matriarch coldly refused. She told Clare that marriage was just a business transaction, and she had to endure Jaren's cheating because their family needed the Bolton's money.
Betrayed by her best friend, abandoned by her fiancé, and sold out by her own blood. Clare's world completely collapsed. She was nothing but a bargaining chip, thrown to the monsters by the people she loved most. The sheer injustice of it burned her soul to ash.
With her last ounce of strength, Clare made a desperate choice. She called Aurthur Bolton—Jaren's ruthless, terrifying uncle. When the most dangerous man in New York kicked down the door to save her, Clare made a silent vow. She was done playing the perfect victim. She would let the devil claim her, as long as he helped her burn her abusers to the ground.

7.3
Jolene flies to Italy broke and desperate for a PA job. She walks into the wrong room and finds a man naked in the shower. She can't stop staring. He notices.
The interview is brutal. Two men, Marco and Enzo, tear her apart, humiliate her, and dismiss her. She thinks she failed.
Then Enzo gets in the car. It was all a test. They wanted to see if she'd break. She didn't. The job is hers.
But they don't want a normal assistant. They want control. They touch her when they want, stand too close, give orders that cross every line.
On her first night, Marco tells her to take off her blouse.
Jolene has to choose: obey or walk away with nothing.
The problem? Part of her doesn't want to leave.

8.4
I stood in front of New York City Hall in my vintage lace wedding dress, my heart pounding with a nervous joy. I was minutes away from marrying Bradford Sterling, a move I thought would finally help me reclaim my mother’s legacy from my family’s crumbling empire.
But as I reached for his arm, he flinched. A black Lincoln Navigator screeched to the curb, and his mother, Victoria, stepped out, slamming a restructuring document against his chest. She didn't even look at me as she delivered the killing blow: my sister, Eden, had just seized every cent of my voting rights and family trust.
"Marrying her is a net negative yield," Victoria said coldly. Bradford didn't fight for me; he didn't even blink. He simply pushed my hand away and adjusted his tie as if I were a junk bond he was ready to offload. Seconds later, my sister Eden arrived in a red Ferrari, wearing her own bridal gown, and stepped into my place by his side.
I was standing on the pavement, humiliated in front of a crowd, while the man I loved for three years treated me like a failed transaction. My sister laughed in my face, calling me a "liability" while she stole my wedding and my life. The grief was instant, but the rage that followed was a white-hot rupture in my chest.
I didn't just walk away; I slapped the life out of Bradford and dove into the first black SUV I saw, desperate to escape. I didn't check the plates, and I didn't see the man in the wheelchair sitting in the shadows of the backseat.
I had just "carjacked" Jefferson Montgomery, the most dangerous billionaire in the city. To save him from a parole violation during a sudden police raid, I agreed to a fake marriage that very night. They wanted to treat me like a negative asset? Fine. They have no idea that they just handed a world-class hacker the keys to the Montgomery fortune, and I’m going to liquidate them all.

8.4
"How can you smile like that when neither of your fathers are here at your own wedding reception?" Pond asked, eyeing Dunk, who stood in the gallery, smiling towards his newly-wedded husband.
Dunk's smile didn't waver, but his eyes darkened. He turned to Pond, voice sharp, "Do you think I don't care? That I'd go against them on purpose?"
Pond responded without hesitation, "Aren't you doing exactly that?"
"No, I'm not," Dunk snapped. His voice dropped lower, colder. "I'm standing here for my pride-the same pride he crushed. I'm not a child who goes crying to his parents. He destroyed me, P'Pond. Now it's my turn. I'm going to destroy his life-completely."
Pond looked shaken. "You can't marry someone for revenge, Dunk. I told you-I'm here for you. I'll never let anyone from the Guthithanan family hurt you again."
Dunk's voice cracked as he exploded, "But he crossed the line that night!" He scanned the room and quickly pulled Pond into a quieter corner.
His voice was low and furious. "He shattered everything I had. And now, with this marriage, I'm going to make him live with the consequences. He's trapped with me now-forever. I won't let him walk away so easily."
His gaze flicked across the room-directly to Joong, who stood beside Sarawat, calmly speaking to a business partner. Joong caught Dunk's stare and instinctively looked his way.
Dunk raised his champagne glass with a mocking smile. A toast to war.
Joong clenched his jaw, returning the gesture coolly-but his burning eyes slid to Pond, full of rage and warning.

9.2
Chelsi was down to her last fourteen dollars. After a humiliating job rejection for being "too low-class," the threat of eviction forced her to try live-streaming. Terrified of her exhausted, tear-stained face, she cranked the AR beauty filter to the max, morphing into a bizarre plastic alien.
She was immediately dragged into a forced streaming battle with Kamron, the platform's most arrogant top streamer. Seeing her distorted filter, Kamron sneered, unleashing fifty thousand fans to flood her chat with toxic insults.
Kamron set a ruthless penalty for her inevitable loss.
"You're going to take a bar of soap, scrub your face completely clean, and shove your bare face right into the camera."
Desperate to keep the fifty dollars she had just earned for rent, Chelsi begged for a different punishment, but Kamron coldly refused. With her heart pounding, she walked to the freezing bathroom, her hands shaking as she scrubbed her skin raw, bracing for the cyberbullying.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling utterly humiliated by the cruelty of the internet. Why did she have to be stripped of her dignity just to survive? She clicked off the filter, waiting for the tidal wave of disgust to destroy her.
But the insults never came. The high-definition camera revealed a breathtakingly delicate, flawless face that no algorithm could ever replicate. The chat went dead silent, Kamron was so stunned he dropped a ten-thousand-dollar virtual yacht, and a silent war between two mysterious billionaires was about to begin.