The Stoic Nurse's Obsession: My Secret Queen
At St. Jude’s Prep, I was the "scholarship waste" in a sea of navy blue blazers and old money. I purposely handed in a blank placement exam, accepting a spot in the remedial track just to gain access to the school's high-speed server backbone.
While my teachers mocked my "inevitable failure," I was secretly fighting a digital war. I intercepted a high-level breach by the notorious hacker Black Eagle, bricking his hardware and neutralizing the threat before he could touch the school’s financial records.
But at home, the victory tasted like ash. My socialite mother, Inger, called me a "useless stain" and a "waste of space" over a dinner of roast beef and expensive wine. My stepsister Erika mocked my lack of talent, never realizing that the "freak" she despised had just earned a $50,000 bounty for a single hour of work.
I lived as a ghost, hiding my genius behind a frayed gray hoodie and a mask of indifference. I thought I was invisible, but the school nurse, Fielding Pickett, saw through my cover, tracing my pulse and my code with predatory precision.
"Nice code, Ruiz," he whispered, a warning that my sanctuary was crumbling.
The pressure finally broke me. I collapsed in the infirmary with a 103-degree fever, my secret identity hanging by a thread. As I lay half-conscious on the cot, the IT administrator burst in, screaming that the Dark Web had just put a million-dollar bounty on the head of a hacker named "Q."
Fielding leaned over me, his eyes dark and knowing, as the world outside began hunting for my life.
"I've got you, Q," he whispered, just as the darkness took me.
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Chapter 3
The cafeteria at St. Jude's was a study in social stratification. The athletes claimed the round tables in the center. The socialites took the booths by the windows. The academics huddled near the kitchen doors.
And the outcasts... they floated.
Dallas held her tray. It was light. A bowl of wilted lettuce, an apple that looked bruised, and a glass of water. She moved through the aisles, her eyes scanning for a gap, a space where she could disappear.
She was passing the table where the football team sat. Jett Sterling was there. He was the son of a billionaire tech mogul, loud, brash, and currently leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out into the walkway.
Dallas saw the leg. She knew he saw her coming.
She didn't stop. She didn't walk around.
She kept her pace steady. Just as her boot was about to make contact with his shin, Jett shifted his foot, trying to trip her.
It was a clumsy move. Amateur.
Dallas didn't trip. She adjusted her center of gravity in mid-stride. She brought her heavy combat boot down. Hard.
Right on the toe of his limited edition Air Jordans.
Gah! Jett yelped. He jerked his leg back, nearly tipping his chair over. He grabbed his foot, his face twisting in pain.
The cafeteria went silent. The chatter died instantly.
Whitney, who was sitting next to him, jumped up. Are you blind? You just stepped on Sterling! Do you know how much those shoes cost?
Dallas stopped. She turned slowly. She looked down at Jett, who was rubbing his sneaker.
Apologies, Dallas said. Her voice was flat. Your legs were obstructing the flow of traffic. I assumed they were detachable, given how little you seem to use the brain connected to them.
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room.
Jett looked up. His eyes were wide. Shock replaced the pain.
Did you just call me stupid? he asked. He sounded genuinely baffled.
I called you anatomically inefficient, Dallas corrected.
Whitney shrieked. You little freak!
She lunged. It was a telegraphed move. Whitney reached for Dallas's tray, intending to flip it onto her.
Dallas didn't dodge. She simply rotated her wrist. A subtle, fluid motion.
As Whitney's hand hit the edge of the tray, the glass of ice water didn't fall toward Dallas. It launched forward. A perfect arc.
Splash.
The water hit Whitney square in the chest. It soaked her white blouse instantly, rendering it transparent. The ice cubes slid down into her cleavage.
Whitney screamed. It was a sound that shattered glass. She looked down at herself, horrified.
My hand slipped, Dallas said.
Jett Sterling stared at Dallas. He looked at Whitney, dripping wet and hysterical. Then he looked back at Dallas.
A slow grin spread across his face.
Damn, Jett said. He let out a low whistle.
Boone Faulkner was watching from the table over. He had a sandwich halfway to his mouth. He lowered it. He looked at Erika, who was sitting beside him, her face pale with embarrassment.
Your sister has aim, Boone murmured.
She's an animal, Erika hissed, gripping her fork until her knuckles turned white. A feral animal.
Mr. Henderson, the Dean of Discipline, came running. What is going on here? Ruiz!
Whitney was sobbing now, pointing a shaking finger at Dallas. She threw water on me! She attacked Jett!
Henderson turned on Dallas, his face purple. Is this true?
Jett stood up. He towered over Dallas. He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. He was looking for fear. He found none.
Actually, Sir, Jett drawled. Whitney bumped into her. It was an accident. Gravity, you know?
Whitney stopped crying. She stared at Jett, betrayed.
Dallas didn't say thank you. She held Jett's gaze for a second longer, her expression unreadable.
Dean Henderson looked confused. Well... clean this up. Ruiz, go to the nurse's office and get an ice pack for Miss Whitney. Now.
It was a punishment disguised as an errand.
Dallas put her tray down on the nearest table. She turned and walked out of the cafeteria.
As she passed Jett, he leaned in.
Nice vocabulary, trash, he whispered.
Dallas didn't break stride.
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7.7
In their first year of marriage, Melinda's husband never shared her bed, and the loneliness became a craving.
She understood why after catching him kissing her sister-she was just a stand-in.
When that restless craving finally sharpened into an ailment, she went to the hospital and met a doctor whose steady hands almost unraveled her.
The next day, he showed up as the company's new CEO and made her his assistant.
"Sir, I have a husband. Stop hitting on me." She had tried to resist, but eventually, she still became his girlfriend.
Her ex begged tearfully, "Melinda, let's start over. Don't leave me."
Melinda huffed, "Sorry. I'm not interested in a man who couldn't perform in bed."
9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
8.3
" let that wetness drip. I want to see what I do to you without even touching You "
He stared at her trembling fragile figure who stood naked in front of him with wetness dripping down her thighs making her cheeks burn in shame and embarrassment and he just sat there, staring at her.
" Please ...... daddy "
----------
He was my father's best friend and a very close family friend. I had been in love with him since I was fifteen. He was the man of my dreams but Also a man I could never have. A man who could make me feel tingles.
One night and It changed everything.
I was in bed, letting my hand satisfy the needs and desires of my dark fantasies when he had just walked in, catching me disheveled and messed up. That night he had helped me and that was the first time I had gotten off.
I thought it was a step closer to our relationship but He made it clear, he wanted to be a father figure to me. But his body opposed his words. I knew Luciano Morelli wanted me just as much as I did or maybe more.
9.8
Raven Lopez, the estranged heiress of a powerful family, sacrifices her fortune and her pride to save her husband Viktor's collapsing empire.
She raises his children as her own and builds his success from the ground up only for his former lover to return and her world to fall apart.
Blinded in a hospital accident and abandoned by the man she gave everything to, Raven is forced to depend on an arrogant doctor, Killian....the one man she should never trust. As she regains her sight, she uncovers shattering truths.
Her amnesia, her failed marriage, and even her blindness were all part of a twisted plan set in motion by the two brothers who claimed to love her or rather three brothers.
The last brother had always been a mystery,lurking in the dark and waiting for her to be most vulnerable before he possesses her. Now that she's been divorce,he returns to claim what has always been his.
One brother wanted her wealth. One wanted to own her completely. One loved her, but broke her first to make her his.
Torn between three brothers,Raven must submit to one of them or they all ruin her.
____________________
WARNING ⚠️ ?
For the girls that take interest in books with trigger warnings,May God help us. :-)
This book is not for the faint of heart. It's dark,contains stalking,forced proximity,sexual situations (quite a lot),violence , kidnapping, gory scenes,non/dub con, manipulation etc
7.7
I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon.
The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat.
I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant.
"Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive."
There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission.
For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment.
When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself.
"Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."
7.3
Clara came home from a fourteen-hour board meeting to the sound of a piercing scream in the playroom.
When she rushed in, she found her husband, Chadwick, kneeling on the floor in a panic.
But he wasn't looking at their five-year-old son, Leo, who had a massive bleeding welt on his forehead.
Instead, Chadwick was trembling as he held the nanny's daughter, Autumn, who barely had a microscopic scratch.
"She needs ice. And antibacterial ointment," Chadwick snapped, carrying the nanny's daughter away and leaving his bleeding son behind.
From that moment, the nightmare only escalated.
Chadwick ordered Clara to cook a three-hour meal for the nanny's kid, threw away Leo's favorite toys because Autumn sneezed, and even secretly took the nanny and her daughter on Leo's promised Disney trip.
The final humiliation came at the Met Gala.
Right before their sponsor speech, Chadwick received a frantic call from the nanny claiming Autumn was having a panic attack.
He abandoned Clara in front of hundreds of flashing cameras, sprinting out of the ballroom.
Clara stood completely alone, the humiliation eating through her veins like acid.
She couldn't understand how a father could call the nanny's kid his "little princess" while watching his own son cry.
Why was he treating his own flesh and blood like garbage just to play savior to another woman's child?
Suddenly, the blinding camera flashes were blocked by a massive shadow.
Erasmo Chase, the heir to New York's largest financial dynasty, stepped out of the darkness and shielded her.
"A man like that is unworthy of your grief, Ms. Best," he whispered, pressing a silk handkerchief into her trembling hand.
Looking at the sharp profile of the powerful man beside her, Clara's shock hardened into a lethal, cold fury.
She was going to dump her family's shares, crash the board, and make Chadwick lose absolutely everything.