No Divorce, Only Widowhood: His Possession
I went to The Ivy to return a box of scripts and hoodies, hoping to finally bury my past with movie star Harrison Knox. I just wanted to be a good wife to Julian Sterling and keep my family’s business merger intact.
But Harrison had other plans. He staged a paparazzi ambush, pulling me into a fake embrace just as the cameras flashed. By the time I got home to our Bel Air estate, the headline "Harrison Knox Heartbroken? Tearful Reunion with Serena Vance" was already trending worldwide.
The fallout was brutal. My father called, roaring that the stock was in freefall and threatening to stop my mother’s medical payments if I didn't keep Julian happy. My movie funding was pulled, leaving me to pawn my Birkin bags just to pay my staff. Even worse, Julian’s cold indifference turned into a sharp, quiet rage. He heard me tell a friend that our marriage felt like a transaction, and his response was to toss a black Centurion card at my feet like I was something he’d bought at an auction.
I was trapped between a narcissist who wanted to use my trauma for his next script and a father who saw me as nothing but a bargaining chip. Even Julian, the man who secretly bought my movie rights through a shell company to protect me, believed I was still screaming my ex's name in my sleep.
When my family finally demanded I lie and accuse Julian of domestic abuse to secure a settlement, I realized I had nothing left to lose. I walked away from the Vance name, deleted every memory of Harrison, and stood at the edge of the Pacific Ocean ready to let the tide take me.
But Julian didn't come for a divorce. He found me in the dark, his coat heavy on my shoulders and his eyes burning with a possessive fire.
"There is no divorce in the Sterling family," he whispered against my ear.
"There is only widowhood. You are mine, Serena, until one of us is in the ground."
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Chapter 2
The iron gates of the Sterling estate in Bel Air swung open with a silent, hydraulic smoothness that always made Serena feel small. She drove the Porsche up the long, winding driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tires like grinding teeth.
The house loomed ahead, a sprawling French chateau that looked more like a museum than a home. Every window was ablaze with light.
She parked by the fountain. Her hands were still trembling as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her skin was pale, her lipstick bitten off, her eyes wide and frightened. She looked guilty.
Mrs. Higgins was waiting at the front door before Serena even reached the steps. The housekeeper's face was a mask of professional neutrality, but her eyes darted to Serena's disheveled hair.
"Mr. Sterling is in the study, Mrs. Sterling," she said.
Serena nodded, unable to speak. She walked into the foyer, the marble floor clicking sharply under her heels. The house smelled of lemon polish and old money-a scent that was crisp, cold, and intimidating.
Her phone vibrated in her clutch. A long, sustained buzz.
She ducked into the powder room off the hallway and locked the door. She pulled out her phone.
Dad.
She pressed answer and held the phone away from her ear.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Richard Vance's voice was a distortion of rage. "I have Bloomberg on the other line. The Sterling merger covenant has a morality clause, Serena! Our primary investors are already calling to pull their capital. The stock has been in freefall for an hour! Do you know how much money that is?"
"It was a setup, Dad," Serena whispered, leaning her forehead against the cool mirror. "Harrison set me up."
"I don't care if he held a gun to your head!" Richard roared. "You were seen touching him. You were seen crying. The narrative is that you're leaving Julian. If this merger falls through because you can't keep your legs closed to your ex, I will cut you off. Do you hear me? Your mother's care facility-I'll stop the payments tomorrow."
Serena felt a sharp pain in her chest. "You wouldn't."
"Try me. Fix this. The family dinner is this weekend. You bring Julian. You make him smile. You make him hold your hand. Or your mother is on the street."
The line went dead.
Serena stared at her reflection. She looked like a ghost. She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face, ruining what was left of her makeup. She dried her face with a monogrammed towel, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door.
She stepped out and slammed directly into a wall of grey wool.
She gasped, stumbling back.
Julian Sterling stood there. He was tall, looming over her, one hand in the pocket of his tailored trousers. He wasn't looking at her face. He was looking at the phone clutched in her hand like a weapon.
"You're late," he said. His voice was deep, devoid of any inflection. It wasn't angry. It was just... factual. Like he was reading a stock ticker.
Serena hid the phone behind her back. "Traffic," she lied. "On the 405."
Julian's eyes moved up to hers. They were dark, impenetrable. He reached out a hand.
Serena flinched. She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders hunching up defensively.
She felt the brush of his fingertips against her temple. It was a feather-light touch, startlingly gentle.
"You blink when you lie," he said softly.
Serena opened her eyes. Julian was studying her, his expression unreadable. He dropped his hand and turned away, walking toward the dining room.
"Dinner is served."
The dining room table was long enough to seat twenty people. They sat at opposite ends, a vast expanse of mahogany between them. The silence was heavy, broken only by the clinking of silverware against fine china.
Serena pushed a piece of asparagus around her plate. She couldn't eat. Her stomach was in knots. She watched Julian cut his steak with surgical precision. He hadn't mentioned the photos. He hadn't mentioned Harrison. It was torture.
"Julian," she started. Her voice sounded small in the cavernous room.
He didn't look up. "Yes?"
"My father... the Vance family dinner is this Saturday."
Julian took a sip of his wine. "I have a conference call with Tokyo."
"Please," she said. Desperation leaked into her tone. "I need you to go. Just for an hour. Just to show face."
Julian set his wine glass down. He looked at her then, really looked at her, with a gaze that felt like it was stripping the skin off her bones.
"Why?" he asked. "So your father's stock rebounds?"
"Because..." Serena swallowed the lump in her throat. "Because it's important to me."
Julian stood up. He picked up his napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it on the table. He walked down the length of the table, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stopped behind her chair.
Serena froze. She could feel the heat radiating from him. He placed his hands on the back of her chair, leaning down so his mouth was close to her ear.
"You want a favor," he murmured. The vibration of his voice traveled down her spine. "But marriage is a partnership, Serena. An exchange. What are you offering?"
Serena gripped the edge of the table. "I... I don't have anything."
"You have yourself," he said. His voice dropped an octave, rougher now. "Fulfill your obligations as a wife, and I'll consider it."
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9.3
My mate, Theron, was a powerful Alpha, and I, a scentless Omega, was his greatest prize. But beneath his adoring facade was a terrifying, possessive monster, revealed when he dragged me home and forced me into our bed after I was late to his challenge match. His golden eyes burned with chilling control, and he whispered a threat that turned my blood to ice.
I'd been stuck on a forest road, my truck dead, racing to reach his challenge match. His mate bond panic had already frayed my nerves, but nothing prepared me for his rage. He'd publicly broken his opponent's shoulder, then stalked directly to me, ignoring the crowd. He marked my lateness with chilling precision, before dragging me away to our rooms for "punishment."
Later, as he tried to force a ceremonial marking pendant on me, he promised, "If you will not accept my mark willingly, then I will wait for your Heat. I will fuck you until your body begs for it, and my wolf will hold you down while I bite." My gaze fell on his open journal, filled with frantic, scrawled words: "SHE IS MINE. PUNISH. CLAIM. MARK HER. BREED HER. MAKE HER UNDERSTAND SHE IS MINE. MINE. MINE."
The man I loved, my only protection, was a captor in disguise, his devotion a gilded cage. Every gentle touch, every soft word, now felt like a brand of ownership, a tightening leash. The terrifying truth of his pathological obsession finally hit me.
A fragile plan formed in the space between heartbeats: I would de-escalate, redefine, and survive, no matter the cost, before his possessive madness consumed me entirely.
9.1
I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash.
To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars.
I thought it was a clean transaction.
But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me.
My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire.
Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner.
"Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly.
His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand.
"Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler."
They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog.
I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain.
As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth.
But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood.
"She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison."
They murdered my parents.
I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call.
Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell.
9.5
!!WARNING!!
This series will wreck your panties and your soul; no safe words, no apologies.
Expect a possessed woman being exorcised: spiritually and physically by the priest's dick to a high school famous ball player, ramming his hard c*ck into his best friend's mother's soaked c^nt to lesbians cheating on one another for the same throbbing, cum-slicked monster cock and many more.
This collection would be filled with some of the craziest affairs known to be taboos to healthy people but a normal way of life to sex starved CEO's, doctors, divorced women and others.
If "please, Daddy, harder" makes you clutch your pearls... slam this shut and run.
But if the idea of being taken, marked, and filled until you can't think straight has you throbbing already...flip the page, slut. You've been warned.
Grab your sex toys ladies
Cause author Xena is coming with the heat. kisses.
7.7
I've been hiding my face from the world for seven years.
He's been hiding his heart for just as long.
When Grammy-winning musician Dante Rivers offers me $150,000 to be his fake girlfriend for six months, I should say no.
I'm Veil-the anonymous digital artist with millions of fans and a face no one has ever seen. I don't do cameras. I don't do crowds. And I definitely don't do fake relationships with devastatingly private men whose studio walls are covered in my artwork.
But my father's last dream is slipping away-and this contract is the only way to save it.
The rules are simple:
No real feelings.
No crossed boundaries.
No falling for Dante Rivers.
Except nothing about him is simple.
Not the way he shields me from paparazzi like I matter.
Not the way his music sounds like secrets meant only for me.
Not the way he looks at me like he sees through every wall I've built.
What he doesn't know is that I'm already part of his life.
I'm the anonymous artist behind his album covers.
The one he's trusted with his most private thoughts.
The ghost he's been searching for without ever meeting.
And now I'm falling for him twice-
once as the girl in his guesthouse
and once as the mystery he doesn't know he's already holding.
When the truth comes out, it won't just break the contract.
It might break us.
7.6
"I will never carry your child," I spat.
The Alpha's grip on my jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a hunger that wasn't just gold-it was primal. "I don't need you to carry it, Aria. I need you to pretend it's yours. One year as my Luna, or one lifetime in the pens. Choose."
One night, while returning from the clinic where she tended to the sick, Aria sensed she was being followed. Before she could react, three men ambushed her in the shadowed forest, claiming her father had gambled her away. Her desperate pleas went unanswered as she was struck unconscious, only to awaken in the heart of a notorious slave camp. There, she learned she was destined to serve as the breeder for the Alpha of the Hellbound Pack, Draven Darkmoon, a man feared for his cursed bloodline. But when Draven is thrust into Aria's world, her wolf recognizes him as her mate, igniting a dangerous collision of passion, power, and desire that neither can resist.
8.3
I was a ghost in the rafters of Sotheby’s, five floors above the most expensive pavement in New York, clutching a ten-million-dollar ledger hidden inside a drop of blood-red agate. I had the perfect exit planned, but I didn't count on Harding Bishop, a security predator who could track a shadow through a rainstorm.
When the exits were sealed and the tactical teams started swarming, I made a split-second choice to survive. I stepped out of the shadows and looked into the eyes of a billionaire socialite searching for her missing daughter, whispering a single, broken word: "Mom?"
Just like that, I wasn't a thief anymore; I was Cassandra Sterling, the heiress who had been gone for five years. But the homecoming was a nightmare. My new "sister" promised to send me back to the gutter, my "father" held a gold-plated pistol to my knee the moment the limo doors closed, and the family patriarch tried to strike me down with his cane just for breathing his air.
Every second was a high-wire act. I had to play the part of a traumatized victim while a ten-million-dollar stone was literally sewn into the raw, bleeding wound on my shoulder. If I moved wrong, I’d bleed out; if I spoke wrong, I’d be buried in the backyard of the Hamptons estate.
Harding Bishop didn't believe a word of it. He moved into the room next to mine, watching my every breath and checking my hands for gun calluses under the guise of protection. He thinks he’s the warden and I’m his prisoner, but he’s about to find out that a cornered rat is the most dangerous thing in the house.
"Sleep tight, Vesper," he whispered as he locked my door, using my real name for the first time.
He thinks he’s won, but he has no idea that I’m already reaching for the Agate hidden under my pillow, ready to burn his empire to the ground.