Please, Kiss Me, Sir!

David, my fiancé and the man I loved, threw me out like trash seven days before the wedding. He chose his pregnant mistress, who was none other than her ex. "She's carrying my child, Rose. I have to take responsibility." Rejected and betrayed right in front of the triumphant, smiling homewrecker, I fled to a nightclub to drown my sorrows. However, I accidentally crashed into a man with a dangerously dominant aura. A mysterious figure with an intoxicating scent awakened a primal longing within me. One accidental kiss didn't just ignite sparks in my body. It awoke something that had never stirred before, not even with David. But that mysterious scent succeeded, making me want to submit to the heat and strength of his powerful body. "Alpha... can you kiss me again?"

Chapters

Chapter 3

The Grand Ballroom of The Sterling shimmered under the glow of magnificent crystal chandeliers. The scent of lilies and roses filled the air, a luxury that should have been mine tonight.

I stepped inside, letting my high heels click a steady, confident rhythm against the marble floor.

Gwen had indeed performed incredible feats. I wore a sleek, deep black silk dress that hugged my frame perfectly—a color symbolizing mourning for my past and a bold statement for my new self. My hair fell in elegant waves, and my makeup was sharp, making it clear I wasn't here to mourn.

"Rose?"

The voice made me turn. David stood there, wearing the tuxedo I knew so well because I had helped him pick it out weeks ago. David appeared stunned, his gaze scrutinizing every aspect of my appearance.

"You actually came," he said, his voice slightly trembling.

"Of course, David," I replied with a thin smile, the kind that didn't reach my eyes. "I wouldn't want to miss the happiest day of your life."

Sarah appeared beside him, wearing a white wedding dress that looked a bit snug around her midsection. Her face paled when she saw me. "Rose... thank you for coming." Her polite smile was visibly strained.

"You're welcome, Sarah. You two look very... compatible," I said calmly.

I could feel the guests' eyes beginning to focus on us. The majority of them were the same friends I had expected to attend my wedding.

"Rose, I'm glad you're being the bigger person," David whispered, a note of smugness slipping into his tone, as if he was proud of having left me.

I just gave a small laugh. "Don't get too confident, David. I'm here to deliver your wedding gift."

"Gift? You didn't have to—" Sarah tried to interject, but I cut her off.

"Oh, but I prepared something very special. You'll love it. Consider it my appreciation for your honesty," I said before turning and leaving the confused couple behind.

I melted back into the crowd, took a glass of champagne, and positioned myself strategically. My heart pounded, not from fear, but from adrenaline. As a werewolf, my senses suddenly picked up something incredibly strong.

I stiffened. That scent again. My gaze swept across the crowded room, searching for the man from the nightclub. How could he be here? However, the emcee's speech diverted my attention.

"And now, let's witness the beautiful journey of this happy couple through a short video."

The lights dimmed. The giant screen behind the stage lit up.

At first, it showed photos of David and Sarah. But then, abruptly, the image changed. David's voice echoed through the entire room via the speakers.

"Rose, I love you. Will you be my wife?"

On the screen, a recording played of David kneeling to propose to me in a flower garden a year ago. My figure was neatly blurred, but those who knew us recognized me. The shocking part was when the camera slowly panned sideways, revealing Sarah standing in the distance, watching the moment with a face full of hatred.

Murmurs began to ripple through the guests. David and Sarah froze on the stage.

Then, the video cut to footage from a week ago—CCTV footage from my apartment, with the audio enhanced and cleaned up.

"She's pregnant with my child. I want to call off our wedding, Rose." David's cold voice rang out with perfect clarity.

"I'm going to marry Sarah soon, before her belly starts to show."

The screen showed David standing tall and unapologetic, while Sarah stood beside him, looking down and holding her still-flat stomach. Although my face remained blurred, the heartbreak in that scene was palpable throughout the room.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" David yelled, his voice shrill with humiliation.

His face was crimson. Sarah began to sob, covering her face with her hands.

The guests' whispers grew into a loud buzz, some openly sneering.

"How cruel to steal your friend's fiancé."

"Pregnant already? What a cheap woman."

I stood in the middle of the crowd, raising my champagne glass high toward a frantic David on the stage. He glared at me with eyes full of rage and shame, but I only returned a cold stare and a small, knowing smile.

"Congratulations on your wedding, David and Sarah," I murmured softly, then finished my champagne in one gulp.

I turned to leave the room. My task was complete; I had given them a surprise they would remember for years in their social circles.

However, just as I reached the dimly lit exit, a large, warm hand gently yet possessively caught my arm.

I jolted, coming face-to-face—or rather, face-to-chest—with a powerful, broad torso. I looked up, and there he stood. He was the man with the intoxicating golden eyes.

"A remarkable performance, Rose," he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending an electric jolt through my entire body.

"You... what are you doing here?" I asked, my breath catching.

He didn't answer. Instead, he lowered his head, bringing his face close to my neck, inhaling my scent deeply as if worshipping something there.

"I said we'd meet again, didn't I?" he murmured. His other hand now rested on my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. "And now that you're finished with that trash... can we talk about this incredibly sweet scent of yours?"

I found myself immobile. He knew. He knew I wasn't entirely human.

"Who are you, really?" I whispered, my hands unconsciously gripping his shirt.

“Xavier.”

***

Continue to next part

I woke up with a smile on my face, the morning light filtering through our bedroom curtains. Today marked three years since I had become Mrs. Christina Hughes, and my heart fluttered with the same excitement I'd felt on our wedding day. Dante was still asleep beside me, his dark hair tousled against the pillow, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Quietly, I slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen. I wanted everything to be perfect for our anniversary. I prepared his favorite breakfast—blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and freshly brewed coffee. The dress he'd bought me for our first anniversary—a simple blue sundress that he said matched my eyes—hung in the bathroom where I'd placed it last night. As I whisked the pancake batter, my mind wandered to the small white stick hidden in my purse. I'd taken the test yesterday, hands trembling as two pink lines appeared.

Modern Romance

8.9

Contract Bride: Rising From The Shadows

8.9

I was hired to be the "cure" for the Stuart family’s reputation, a wife whose only job was to manage the emotional risks of Casper Stuart’s cold-blooded empire. My life was governed by spreadsheets and compliance reports, and my value was measured solely by my ability to remain a silent, perfect asset. On our second anniversary, Casper didn't come home for dinner; instead, a Page Six alert showed him with a Victoria's Secret model at Soho House, his hand possessively on her back. When he finally returned, he didn't offer an apology, but a clinical reminder of my "obligations." I soon discovered he had given my three-million-dollar anniversary bonus—a pink diamond necklace—to his mistress, while tossing me a cheap bracelet his assistant had picked out. When his mother offered me a two-hundred-million-dollar settlement to disappear, Casper tore the contract to shreds in front of me. He whispered that he had bought up every cent of my family’s medical and gambling debts, turning my marriage into a life sentence of indentured servitude. To prove his power, he kicked me out of his car in a rainstorm twenty miles from the city, leaving me to walk home barefoot while he drove off with my dog. "Tell her you want to stay," he had commanded in front of his mother, using my mother’s life as leverage to keep his "portfolio" intact. I stood in the mud, shivering as the rain washed away the mask of the supportive wife, realizing that to the Stuarts, I wasn't a human being—I was a line item that could be liquidated or crushed at will. But Casper forgot one thing: I am an actress, and I’ve finally landed the role of a lifetime. I’m done managing his risks; I’m about to become his greatest liability.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.7

Just like the evening breeze leaves no trace

9.7

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.8

Justice for the Humiliated

7.8

The crystal chandelier cast dancing shadows across Margaret Griffin's opulent dining room as fifty of the city's elite mingled beneath its light. I stood near the mahogany sideboard, watching Harrison hold court by the fireplace, his voice carrying that familiar tone of superiority that had grated against my nerves for ten years. "Cassandra chose this necktie for me tonight," Harrison announced, his fingers plucking at the silk fabric around his throat with theatrical disgust. "Can you believe it? Navy blue with silver stripes to my mother's birthday party." The laughter that rippled through the crowd felt like ice water in my veins. Margaret Griffin, resplendent in her emerald gown and diamond tiara, shook her head with practiced disappointment. "Oh, Harrison," she sighed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You really must start dressing yourself. Poor dear Cassandra simply doesn't understand these things." My fingers tightened around my champagne flute. The necktie was Hermès, worth more than most people's monthly salary, and it complemented his charcoal suit perfectly.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.5

Mistress's Costly Affair

8.5

The familiar scent of turpentine and oil paint should have comforted me as I pushed open the door to Adrian's studio. Instead, my stomach twisted into knots as the scene before me registered in my mind. I'd spent the morning preparing his favorite lunch—smoked salmon sandwiches with the crusts removed, just as he liked them—and tucked a pregnancy test into my pocket. After three years of trying, the faint second line had appeared this morning. I wanted to surprise him, to see his face light up with the news we'd waited so long to receive. But the woman draped across Adrian's chaise lounge wasn't me. "Adrian?" My voice sounded small, even to my own ears. He didn't startle. Didn't even pause the sweep of his brush across the canvas. The afternoon light streamed through the skylights, illuminating the scene with a clarity I wished I could escape.

Modern Mystery Romance

8.7

Rejected Luna's Ultimate Vengeance

8.7

The weekend arrived, and with it, the annual pack gathering—a grand event where the Blue Moon Pack showcased its strength and unity. As the Luna of the pack, I was expected to attend, though the tension between Julian, our Alpha, and me had been simmering for weeks. The gathering was held in the grand hall of our pack’s territory, a modern, sprawling building that blended seamlessly with the city around us. The air buzzed with the energy of werewolves mingling, their auras clashing and mingling in a dance of dominance and submission. Julian stood at the center of it all, his broad shoulders and imposing frame commanding attention. His dark eyes scanned the room, lingering on Aleyna Price, his Beta, who stood at his side like a shadow. Aleyna was young, ambitious, and utterly convinced of her own importance. She smirked when she caught my eye, her gaze filled with a challenge I had no intention of backing down from. The auction was the highlight of the evening, a tradition meant to raise funds for the pack’s warriors and healers. The painting up for bidding was a stunning piece, a depiction of a lone wolf howling at the moon, its symbolism impossible to ignore.

Modern Romance Werewolf

Please, Kiss Me, Sir!

Chapter 3

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