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 6
Elana Gomez POV:
Dr. Evans's professional mask faltered. Just for a second. His eyes flickered to Ayla, a silent, awkward question passing between them. Ayla's face, already tight with grief, hardened into a mask of pure contempt.
The doctor cleared his throat, his gaze returning to me, carefully avoiding my eyes. “Mr. Thomas has not been here,” he said, his tone meticulously neutral. “His assistant handled all the admission procedures and costs.”
*Has not been here.*
The words didn't just land; they pierced. It wasn't “he came and left.” It wasn't “he was called away on an emergency.” It was a definitive, brutal absence. He was never here. The last, faint spark of hope I didn't even know I was holding died, and the void inside me turned to ice.
Dr. Evans saw the change in my expression. He gave a curt nod and slipped out of the room, the nurse following close behind, leaving a thick, suffocating silence in their wake.
The moment the door clicked shut, Ayla's control shattered. She slammed her fist against the wall, a dull thud that echoed in the quiet room. “Assistant?” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “He sent an ASSISTANT? Is he even human?”
As if on cue, a sharp, polite knock sounded at the door.
Before Ayla could say anything, the door opened, and Emilio's chief assistant, Mark, stepped inside. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his expression as cold and sterile as the hospital room.
He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Mrs. Thomas,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “I hope you are feeling better. Mr. Thomas is in a very important meeting. He sends his regards.”
Behind him, two men carried in several large, beautifully wrapped gift boxes, placing them on the table by the window. I could see the labels. Premium bird's nest. Wild-caught fish maw. The most expensive, most useless tonics money could buy.
Ayla saw them too. Something inside her snapped. With a cry of pure fury, she launched herself at the table, sweeping the entire collection of expensive apologies onto the floor.
The sound of shattering glass and porcelain was deafening. Thick, syrupy liquids pooled on the pristine floor.
“Get this garbage out of here!” Ayla screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Mark. “You tell Emilio Thomas his wife and his dead child don't need his blood money!”
Mark's composure barely cracked. A flicker of alarm, quickly suppressed. “Ms. Ayla, please calm down,” he said, his tone infuriatingly level. “This will only make things difficult.”
Through it all, I didn't move. I didn't even look at him. My gaze was fixed on the sliver of gray light peeking through the blinds. My heart was a dead thing in my chest. A dead thing feels no anger.
My silence seemed to unnerve Mark more than Ayla's rage. He gave a stiff, formal bow. “I will take my leave.” He and his men retreated, closing the door on the wreckage.
Ayla's anger deflated as quickly as it had erupted, replaced by a wave of concern. She rushed to my side, her voice soft and broken. “Elana, don't be like this… Talk to me, please.”
I slowly turned my head, my eyes meeting hers. There were no tears left. Just a desolate wasteland.
“Ayla,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it held a new, chilling resolve. “Help me get my phone.”
She stared at me, confused.
I met her gaze, and for the first time, a flicker of something sharp and dangerous lit my eyes. “And don't let anyone know.”
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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.