The Scars Behind My Golden Dress
I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done.
He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place.
Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out.
I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything.
I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.
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Chapter 7
The flashbulbs were blinding. A wall of photographers lined the red carpet leading into Lincoln Center.
A white stretch limousine pulled up. The crowd cheered. Jackson Floyd stepped out, looking dashing in a tuxedo. He turned and offered his hand to Davida.
Davida emerged. She was wearing a pink dress that looked vaguely familiar to the fashion press-a modified version of an old Sunny design. It pulled awkwardly at the waist. She smiled, waving weakly, playing the role of the fragile genius perfectly.
"Is it true?" a reporter shouted. "Are you Sunny?"
Davida giggled and hid her face in Jackson's shoulder. Jackson smiled at the cameras. "We have a big announcement inside."
They began to walk up the carpet.
Then, the atmosphere changed.
A low hum of an engine cut through the noise. A matte black car, sleek and predatory, rolled to a stop right behind the white limo. It didn't have license plates. It had a small flag on the hood with a crest no one recognized-The Surgeon's mark.
Security started to move forward to block it, but the lead guard saw the driver and froze. He signaled his men to stand down.
The back door opened.
First, a red-soled stiletto hit the red carpet. Then, a leg exposed by a high slit.
Cristina stepped out.
The silence was instantaneous.
She wore gold. The fabric clung to her body like a second skin, shimmering under the lights. The back was completely open, draped only by the finest sheer mesh. Her black bob was sharp as a knife. Her lips were painted a deep, blood red.
She didn't look like the shy, dowdy wife Jackson had hidden away. She looked like a queen.
"Who is that?" someone whispered.
"Is that... is that the ex-wife?"
Jackson turned around. His jaw literally dropped. He stared at her, blinking, as if trying to process the image.
Davida's smile vanished. Her nails dug into Jackson's arm.
Cristina began to walk. She didn't look at the cameras. She looked straight ahead, her eyes locked on the entrance.
The photographers woke up. The sound of shutters clicking became a roar, louder than it had been for Davida.
Click. Click. Click.
She walked right up to where Jackson and Davida were standing, blocking the path.
Jackson found his voice. "Tina? What are you doing here?"
He stepped toward her, trying to use his height to intimidate her. "You need to leave. Now. You're embarrassing yourself."
Cristina stopped. She turned her head slowly to look at him. She didn't blink.
"I have an invitation," she said. Her voice was low, but steady.
"You're trespassing," Davida hissed. "Security!"
A large man in a headset stepped forward, reaching for Cristina's arm.
Before he could touch her, two men in dark suits materialized from the crowd. They didn't draw weapons, but they moved with a lethal fluidity. They stepped between Cristina and the guard. The guard looked at their eyes and backed away, terrified.
Jackson saw the men. He recognized the type. Professional. Dangerous.
"Who are you with?" Jackson asked, his voice shaking slightly.
Cristina smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'm with the future, Jackson. And you're in my way."
She brushed past him. The gold fabric of her dress swished against his tuxedo pants.
She walked alone up the rest of the carpet, the lights reflecting off her like armor.
Jackson watched her go, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach.
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8.2
"They say marriage is a big gamble, and I bet on the wrong man."
***
Victoria Solace was a once beloved Alpha daughter of the Palemane Claws Pack and an heiress to a renowned perfume empire. After her dad died, she married her long-time crush, Elijah Arison, making him a powerful Alpha instead of being it herself.
She thought everything she had given was enough to keep a happy marriage, yet only to get a cruel betrayal.
Being framed to harm his mistress' unborn pup, she was imprisoned in the dungeon. Elijah stomped on all her pride and still tried to suck the last of her worth out of her.
In her darkest hell, she contacted a man who she once thought she'd never cross paths with again. Damien Verlice, Alpha of the Infernal Shadows Pack.
Dealings with the devil always come with a price. But this time, Victoria swore to learn her lesson. She'd keep her heart and be the ultimate winner.
***
My back bowed so high from the bed, and all my muscles were taut. I was too scared to move even a muscle as it would set off my orgasm.
"Who's fcking you, V?" he banged me hard as he looked at me with his burning gaze.
"You. Damien," my voice was hoarse and I knew he wouldn't let me high if I couldn't answer right. "Fck me, Damian. I'm yours."
Cover by @Rainygraphic
8.2
Warning: this book contains strong sexual content, smuts and explicit scenes and is strictly for readers over the age of 18.
Author pov: To my readers who are wondering if bikers men fuck as much as they ride--yes, they do. but these aren't super-heroes or the cute boy next door.They take.They claim and make you beg for more.
For years, Daisy endured the mistreatment from her husband who was the president of the fallen-saints MC but tragedy struck when he got into an accident and lost his life.But even in his death, her husband showed her how much he hated her, he left everything to the hands of his mistress and the secret son they had leaving her hopeless and penniless.
Broken by his hatred for her Daisy took his death as good fate and decided to start afresh, far away from the life she lived with him. but not until she ran into his rival Christian Blackwood.
Christian Blackwood is the President of the hell-hounds motorcycle club and the perfect definition of a devil in human clothing. He is known to be ruthless , cold and most importantly without emotions and her husband sworn enemy.
But somehow Daisy finds herself in the world of the man she was warned never to cross.
The man who suddenly lurks in her shadows and wants her all to himself.
Somehow she finds hers back in the world she vowed to run away from but this time it was just any world it was his world.
Feelings become obsessions and obsession burns into something unthinkable.
Rules are broken and rivalry's are heightened and not just that dark secrets are unveiled.
8.6
Elena who grew up in the countryside was brought back to the city only to be used and abandoned by her very own family. Used in replacement for her sister and finding out the truth from years ago, will Elena seek revenge? What happens when she turns out to be different from what was expected?
Adrian Laurent, crippled and treated like a commodity by his family. Adrian swore to get revenge for everything done to him and his mother in the past. What happens when his new wife finds/finds out he is not crippled?
Will she trust him?
"Don't touch me! You lied to me, I trusted you." Elena remarked tears streaming down from her face, she had been able to handle all forms of betrayers but she would never be able to handle this.
"I didn't mean to lie Elena, you never asked me if it was a lie. I'm sorry Elena, I should have told you sooner, please forgive me.." Adrian drawled...
Elena slowly backed away from there and ran, only to be cornered by her husband once again. She forgot, he could walk now...
9.5
Frances survived a horrific car crash, only to return to a suffocating life. Her wealthy husband, Baron, and his domineering mother were now relentlessly pressuring her to adopt a "poor, distant relative" named Jagger as the heir to their billionaire empire.
But on her way to sign the adoption papers, a violent vision flashed in her mind. The crash wasn't an accident. She saw her car in flames, while Baron watched with cold, calculating eyes. Beside him stood an older Jagger, who calmly muttered the chilling truth.
"The problem is solved."
A private investigator soon confirmed her worst nightmares. Jagger wasn't a charity case; he was Baron's illegitimate son. The family had been illegally funneling offshore money to fund his elite lifestyle. Worse, Baron's ultimate plan was to label Frances mentally unstable, lock her away in a Swiss sanatorium for life, and bring in Jagger's biological mother to take her place.
For years, Frances had played the perfect, obedient wife in their corporate marriage contract. How could they be so ruthlessly evil, plotting her agonizing death just to legitimize their dirty bloodline and steal her trust fund?
But she was no longer the fragile puppet they thought she was. At the high-stakes board meeting, with all eyes expecting her to submit, she put the expensive pen down.
"I refuse."
Instead of adopting their bastard son, she slammed down an SEC whistleblower threat, forced a new will, and introduced her own handpicked heir. The war had just begun.
9.0
Eileen woke up in a trashed hotel room, her head pounding with the pathetic memories of a despised Hollywood actress.
Outside the window, paparazzi were already screaming about her manufactured cheating scandal, but the real nightmare was waiting at her door.
Her paralyzed, billionaire husband, Carlisle Vinson, looked at her with pure disgust while his butler shoved a divorce settlement at her chest.
"Mr. Vinson is offering a severance package of fifty million dollars, provided you sign immediately and vacate the premises."
The original owner had left her an absolute mess.
Her trusted assistant had sold her room number to the press to frame her, and a playboy had scammed her out of her entire two million dollar life savings.
If she signed those papers and lost the Vinson family's protection, the breach of contract fees and her enemies in the industry would swallow her alive in days.
Eileen felt a cold fury override the original owner's lingering panic.
Why should she take the fall and be thrown out on the streets while the parasites who set her up lived out their wealthy fantasies?
She had died once, and she wasn't about to waste her second chance playing the victim.
Eileen slammed the heavy divorce folder shut right against the butler's chest.
"I'm not signing," she said with a terrifying, absolute calm.
She stepped behind her husband's wheelchair, ready to shield him from the cameras, secretly cure his dead legs, and make everyone who betrayed her bleed.
9.8
To secure a drama-free marriage, cold billionaire Lucas Lancaster demands a wife who wants convenience, not love. Heartbroken Sophia Bennett fits his criteria perfectly. After their wedding, Lucas flies to Europe, keeping their relationship strictly professional. But distance changes everything. When a tipsy Sophia accidentally mutters her ex’s name during a rare, passionate embrace, the ice prince completely loses his cool. Consumed by jealousy, Lucas begs her to forget the past and love him. In this captivating billionaire romance novel, he is the first to fall—and he falls hard.