Love and hate intertwined
I had loved Silas for ten years.
But on the very day I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, his first love returned home.
I loved him. Whether he loved me in return, I didn't know—I couldn't feel it. But I was certain he would never cheat.
In the final days of my life, I flawlessly played the role of the perfect wife.
After I died, he found my diary. And when he finished reading it, he broke down and wept with a gut-wrenching, soul-crushing agony.
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Chapter 19
I was on the hundredth entry in my diary.
Today was August 25th, our fourth wedding anniversary.
A few weeks ago, I casually mentioned a recipe from an Italian restaurant in Florence, saying I missed it. Silas had actually remembered. He came home at 3 PM, took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and spent hours in our kitchen.
When I came back from taking Nova to the park, the penthouse had been transformed. The lights were dimmed, soft jazz floated from the speakers, and the dining table was covered in red roses and flickering candles. The air smelled of perfectly seared steak and truffles.
Silas stood by the bar, pouring two glasses of expensive vintage champagne. When I walked in, he looked up, his eyes incredibly tender.
"Welcome home, Nina."
It was a cliché romantic setup, but it was flawless.
Underneath my champagne flute were two first-class plane tickets.
Departure date: the day after tomorrow. Destination: Maui, Hawaii.
I looked at Silas, then down at the tickets, and offered a soft smile.
The antique clock on the wall chimed 8 PM. The atmosphere was perfect.
And then, his phone, resting on the marble counter, buzzed.
The caller ID was Serena.
Silas hesitated, but he picked it up anyway. In the quiet room, I could hear her frantic, choked voice.
"Si... I feel so sick," she sobbed, using the very nickname I had just given back to him. "I'm in so much pain, and I don't know anyone else in the city anymore. Please... can you come help me? Si, please."
The romantic music seemed to screech to a halt.
Silas looked up at me.
In that split second, I saw his decision. I knew exactly how tonight would end.
"Nina... I'm sorry," he said, his voice torn. "I'll take her to the ER and come right back. It'll be quick."
I stood perfectly still by the table. I looked at the roses, the champagne, the tickets.
"Could you... not go?" I asked softly.
Silas looked at me, his jaw tight. He didn't say a word.
The air in the room froze. His apologetic expression vanished, replaced by the cold, unapproachable CEO I had married four years ago.
He looked away. "I'll be right back. I promise I won't miss our anniversary dinner."
We were locked in a standoff. Eventually, I surrendered.
"Okay," I murmured.
He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. I stood in the middle of the living room, watching his retreating back.
Just as his hand touched the doorknob, he turned to look at me.
I offered a gentle, submissive smile. What a perfect, understanding wife.
"Drive safely," I said.
"I will," he replied, and walked out into the night.
The heavy door clicked shut. The jazz music continued to play, as if mocking my empty apartment.
I picked up the crystal champagne flute and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, leaving a wet, jagged stain on the expensive wallpaper.
I turned and walked toward the bedroom. Silas wasn't coming back tonight. I knew that.
Serena had won the bet.
But I hadn't lost.
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9.6
In the two years after I married Daniel Carter, my private photos had gone viral nine times, and Daniel had been taken into custody ten times.
Because every time his mistress, Emily Morgan, was unhappy, she would leak my private photos all over the internet.
I, Claire Parker, never let it slide. I reported every shady business Daniel was involved in and personally sent him behind bars.
That lasted until an unexpected kidnapping. I took a bullet for him, one aimed straight at his heart, and he shielded me beneath his body, taking the brunt of the explosion for me.
After we survived, the man who had always been so cold-blooded knelt before me, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"Honey, let's leave the drama behind. I just want a peaceful life with you."
Right in front of me, he ordered his men to send his mistress out of Northhaven and never let her appear before him again.
In the third year after we reconciled, I carried my eight-month pregnant belly and brought him lunch.
But on the way there, I was hit by a car. The hospital issued three critical condition notices, yet they still could not save the baby.
Daniel rushed over, but he did not even spare me a glance. Instead, he pulled the woman who had hit me and her child into his arms, soothing her in a low voice.
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you and the child."
Only then did I realize that the woman who had hit me was the very mistress he had sent away three years ago.
When I demanded an explanation, Daniel brushed it off as if it were nothing. "She didn't do it on purpose. Don't take it out on her and her son. You can have a baby another time."
At that moment, I finally understood. They had gotten back together long ago.
I looked at him and nodded. "Don't worry, this will never happen again."
9.0
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.
7.1
I never should have let my mother hold my future hostage.
She paid my tuition with his father's money. Locked my birth certificate, my transcripts, every scrap of paper I need to survive in a safe I'll never open. And the one thing I had left of my dad, his old watch, she dangled like a noose.
Run, and I lose my education. Fight, and I lose the last piece of the man who actually loved me.
So I moved into the Hunters' mansion. Into the lair of the boy who spent years making my life hell.
Chase Hunter. Six-foot-five of pure venom wrapped in muscle and money. The senior who cornered me in empty hallways, who whispered filth in my ear just to watch me flinch, who smiled that sharp, cruel smile every time I broke a little more.
I thought graduation meant freedom from him.
I was wrong.
Now he's my stepbrother.
He hates that I'm here. Hates my mother for sinking her claws into his father. Hates me most of all, for breathing his air, for walking his halls, for daring to exist where he can reach me.
But hate isn't clean anymore.
It's tangled up in heat. In the way his grey eyes strip me bare every time they land on me. In the way his hand closes around my throat, not to hurt, but to own. In the way he punishes me over his lap, in his car, against walls, until I'm shaking and soaked and furious at myself for wanting more.
He calls me Little Lamb like it's poison on his tongue.
I call him every name I can think of under my breath.
How long until we stop fighting the deadly inferno raging between us and finally let it consume us both?
7.2
Five years ago, Elena Moretti walked away from Dominic Russo without explanation-leaving him to face the collapse of his father's empire alone.
Now Dominic is no longer the reckless man she once loved. He's a ruthless billionaire CEO with power, influence... and a memory that hasn't forgotten betrayal.
When he acquires the company Elena works for, he offers her a deal she can't refuse: work under him for six months-or watch her family's name be dragged through a financial scandal from the past.
Forced into close proximity, old wounds reopen and buried secrets threaten to surface. But the more time they spend together, the more dangerous the tension becomes.
Because hatred is easier than forgiveness.
And love?
Love is guilty as sin.
9.7
[{EXCERPT}]
"Are you trying to seduce me?"
Alana froze.
Roman's gaze dragged slowly over her body, dark and deliberate.
"The contract explicitly states that you are not allowed to seduce me," he said calmly. "You did read it... didn't you?"
Confusion flickered across her face.
Then his eyes dropped again.
"You do realize," he added, voice lowering, "that you're half naked right now?"
Alana's breath caught as she looked down at herself.
.......
After escaping the suffocating grip of her abusive family, Alana believes she's finally free. But freedom comes at a price.
Roman Ashford is everything she should avoid. A cunning billionaire. New York's most eligible bachelor. A man whose name alone unsettles the entire business world.
One unexpected encounter pulls her into his orbit, binding her to him in a dangerous arrangement as his fake girlfriend for thirty-one days.
But just as she begins to find her footing, her past comes back to choke her.
To secure the inheritance her late father left behind before her mother claims it, Alana has only one option.
She needs a husband, and fast.
With time running out, she makes a reckless decision and turns to the one man she should never trust.
Will Roman accept her proposal...
or will stepping into his world be her utter ruin?
8.3
I was picked up by Rylan Lloyd, and everyone knew that I loved him uncontrollably.
When his one true love, Madeline Yates, was injured, I donated blood to her until I was completely exhausted.
When he and Madeline were having sex, I provided them with condoms.
When Madeline returned from abroad, he made me wait for him in the snow for three hours wearing only a thin dress, and I ended up getting pneumonia and falling into a coma.
Upon waking, I had lost my memory and stared blankly at Rylan, who stood by my hospital bed with a frosty stare.
"Who are you?"
His icy demeanor suddenly softened as he touched my head and said, "I'm your brother."
Rylan then called my long-time rival, Aydan Baxter, claiming he was my fiancé.
Later, as he wished, I married Aydan, and Rylan regretted it...