The Christening That Broke My World
My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage.
Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer.
An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss.
They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them?
The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind?
I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."
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Chapter 4
When I got home, a team of stylists and makeup artists was waiting for me. Emilio had arranged everything. They fussed over me, transforming my grief-stricken face into a mask of polished elegance, dressing me in a gown of midnight blue silk.
At dusk, Emilio arrived, his own tuxedo perfectly tailored. His eyes lit up when he saw me, a look of genuine awe on his face.
"You look breathtaking, Elana."
I just gave him a cool, detached glance and let him lead me to the car.
The gala was at the museum, in the very wing I had spent two years of my life designing. We walked in to a ripple of applause, our entrance met with smiles and envious glances.
"You're so lucky," a woman I knew whispered as we passed. "To have a man who adores you so much."
I used to revel in that envy. I used to feel a thrill of pride, knowing I had what every woman wanted. Tonight, I knew the beautiful surface was just a cover for the dark, rotting abyss beneath.
Emilio played his part perfectly, his hand possessively on the small of my back, his eyes full of a love that was a lie. He presented his gift, a heavy box from a famous jeweler. Inside was a diamond watch from a brand I had once told him I disliked.
He had forgotten. Or perhaps, he was remembering someone else's favorite.
"I don't..." I started to say, but I was cut off as a small body collided with my legs.
I stumbled back, catching myself on a table.
"Daddy!" a child's voice cried out.
My heart seized. It was Leo. He was clinging to Emilio' s leg, his face buried in the expensive fabric of his trousers, sobbing.
"You're too close to my daddy!" he wailed, pointing an accusing finger at me. "Are you going to make him leave me and Mommy?"
The entire hall fell silent. Every eye was on us.
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. The child looked so much like Emilio, the resemblance was undeniable.
Whispers erupted around the room. "Is that... his son?" "Who is she, then?"
My carefully constructed world, the one I had fought so hard to maintain, was shattering in public, under the bright lights of my own celebration.
Emilio' s face was a mask of controlled panic. He knelt, his voice patient. "Whose little boy are you? Where are your parents?"
This only made the child cry harder.
Then, Hayden Cleveland pushed through the crowd, her face a picture of maternal distress. "Oh, I am so, so sorry! Leo, honey, come to Mommy."
She tried to pull the boy away, but he clung to Emilio, his little face a mess of tears and accusations.
I recognized her from the church, from the photos online. She was even more beautiful in person, her performance of the flustered, apologetic mother flawless. But I could see the calculation in her eyes.
"Daddy, don't let her take me away!" Leo screamed, his voice echoing in the silent room. He glared at me, his eyes filled with a pure, childish hatred. "It's her! She's the one trying to steal you from us!"
I was frozen, stunned into silence.
My eyes fell to the child's wrist. He was wearing a small string of sandalwood beads, a miniature version of the one I had spent a week on a pilgrimage to a remote temple to get for Emilio, for his protection, for his peace of mind.
He had given my gift to his son.
A surge of rage, hot and powerful, broke through my shock. I took a step forward, my hand outstretched, needing to see, to confirm. "That bracelet..."
"Elana, don't!"
A powerful force slammed into my chest. It was Emilio. He had shoved me, hard. His face was twisted in a panic I had never seen before, his eyes wild as he shielded his son.
My high heels caught on the plush carpet. I fell backwards, my body clumsy and out of control.
My head hit the sharp corner of a glass table with a sickening crack.
The world exploded in a shower of splintering glass and searing pain. Shards from a broken wine glass sliced into my arm. I gasped, the air knocked from my lungs.
I looked up, my vision blurring. Emilio wasn't looking at me. He was fussing over Leo, who had a tiny scratch on his knee.
"Are you okay, son? Did the bad woman hurt you?" he murmured, his voice thick with concern. He scooped the boy into his arms and pushed through the crowd toward the exit, Hayden following closely behind.
She glanced back at me, a flicker of pure, triumphant malice in her eyes. It was a look that confirmed everything. This was all her plan.
Emilio left without a single look back. He left me bleeding on the floor of the room built to honor me.
The pain in my head and my arm was sharp, but a new, deeper, more terrifying cramp was seizing my abdomen.
The whispers around me grew louder, turning into a tide of judgment.
"Did you see that? She tried to grab the little boy."
"She must be the other woman. How shameless, to cause a scene like this."
"Emilio Thomas is such a good man, protecting his son like that."
The words were a physical assault, each one a new wound.
The pain in my stomach intensified, a brutal, tearing sensation. I looked down. The midnight blue of my dress was stained with a spreading patch of dark, wet crimson.
My baby.
The last thread of my strength snapped. The room tilted, the lights blurring into streaks as the world faded to black.
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8.0
BLURB
She had fought so hard to be able to bear her husband a child for years but all her efforts proved abortive and just when she thought that all her problems were finally over.
She was faced with a brutal betrayal from her husband, taking away her family company, cheating on her and most especially tied her in the marriage.
But everything takes a drastic turn when she realizes the baby she is carrying doesn't belong to her husband, rather a cursed werewolf who could never have a child.
Thrown into the world of the werewolves, Daisy realizes she is more than she thinks, but will she be able to navigate the challenges that awaits her?
8.0
"Just watch... I'll take you away from that deceitful woman."
Yvette whispered softly, but the resolve in her heart was unshakable.
Her heart shattered as she witnessed the wedding of Aaron-the man she had loved for so long, the very same adoptive brother who once gave her a sense of home-to another woman.
It was no secret.
Aaron knew how she felt.
And yet, he still chose to marry someone else... as if Yvette's love had never meant a thing.
Just when she tried to accept that painful reality, she uncovered a truth far more devastating.
Belinda... was not as kind as she seemed.
The cunning hidden behind her gentle smile only made it harder for Yvette to let go-only strengthened her belief that the man she loved had fallen into the wrong hands.
The love she had once buried deep within her heart had now twisted into something far darker.
An obsession.
Yvette no longer wished to surrender.
She would take back what was meant to be hers... by any means necessary.
Even if it meant destroying their marriage.
8.5
Warning! 18 and above, contains explicit sexual content to invade your lustful desires.
This is unfiltered, it is forbidden, it's stories that will keep you up at night.
******************
"Ever had sex before?" he asks as he begins to take off his pants. There's a huge bulge in his boxer already.
"Ye..yes," I stutter. He closes the distance between us and grabs my right boob in his palm.
"Good, cause i'm going to fuck your little cunt till you beg me to stop." I clench my thighs to ease the ache building up down there.
"Bend over, princess."
*************************
This collection of erotica contains BDSM, REVERSE HAREM, SEXUAL TERMS YOU DIDN'T KNOW EVEN EXISTED.
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
This is a collection of every lustful desires you've ever had. Grab a wine and a pleasure toy, YOU WILL NEED IT!
8.2
At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south.
But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband.
In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire.
His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach.
"We're terminating this complication," she said coldly.
As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.
9.3
My husband Hudson had kept me a medicated ghost for three years, convinced I was unstable. But a cheap pink hair clip, tangled with golden blonde hair in his car, ripped through the chemical haze. The bitter pill he forced me to take wouldn't numb the burning truth, only fuel my awakening.
I was an architect once, but now I was just Cora, a docile wife trapped in his suffocating world. When he saw my shock, his concern was sickeningly sweet as he offered another Xanax. I pretended to swallow the poison, letting it dissolve under my tongue, a constant reminder of my awakening.
Back at the mansion, his massive car deliberately blocked mine, a crude barricade confirming his control. Then, a message from an old intern confirmed my darkest fears: this was domestic abuse. He urged me to check Hudson’s closet, to record everything.
I knew then I was living with a dangerous monster, and my denial shattered. The anger burned, fueled by the bitter taste of that undissolved pill.
That night, Hudson walked in, wearing a hideous, sloppily tied red polka-dot tie. It was a clear, undeniable sign of another woman. My architect’s mind was awake, cold and calculating. "Game on, Hudson." I would make him taste this bitterness back a thousand times.
9.3
Charlene was locked in a Swiss asylum by the wealthy Gay family, force-fed antipsychotics until her hands shook violently.
Her adoptive brother, Columbus, dragged her out of the psych ward merely to parade her as a prop for the paparazzi.
He had locked her up to get a psychiatric evaluation, ensuring she was declared legally insane and unable to claim her massive trust fund.
The moment she returned to the estate, the torment worsened.
Her other brother, Antwan, kicked her to the ground and shattered her wrist on the gravel.
"You lost your legal rights, you stupid bitch," he sneered, while the staff blindly ignored her agony.
Her childhood bedroom was completely gutted and given to a distant cousin.
Worse, she discovered Columbus was secretly sleeping with Isabela—the fake heiress who had framed Charlene in the first place.
Every trace of her existence in the family was being violently scrubbed away.
She had lost her dignity, her health, and the baby the doctors claimed had died in the delivery room.
She couldn't understand why the family she loved hated her so viciously, stripping away everything she had.
That was until she saw a little boy in the hospital hallway, a perfect, miniature replica of her own face.
Clutching the gold-crested cufflink he dropped, she realized the asylum's doctor had stolen him.
Her baby was alive.
With her heart turned to stone, Charlene made a silent vow to crawl out of hell and burn the Gay family to the ground.