Too Late For Regret: The Surgeon's Comeback
I was just a struggling actress in Hollywood, desperate for a chance to prove myself.
But the people I trusted most pushed me into hell. My boyfriend, Kole, and my best friend, Brittny, drugged me and handed my hotel room key to an abusive, greasy producer.
They traded my body just so Kole could secure a movie role.
As the producer pinned me to the bed and tore at my clothes, the original me died of sheer, paralyzing terror.
I saw the text message on his phone, a gloating confirmation of my ruin.
"She's all mine. You'll get your part."
I realized the two people I loved most had treated me like a cheap bargaining chip. While I was being assaulted, they were probably celebrating, building their future fame on my absolute destruction.
I didn't understand why they would do this. I gave them all my love and loyalty, only to be betrayed and discarded like trash.
The sickening mix of love, betrayal, and paralyzing fear should have been the end of my pathetic, helpless life.
But instead of breaking, a cold, calculating consciousness awakened inside me.
The soul of "Reaper," a legendary underground doctor and ruthless operative, took over this fragile body.
I snapped the producer's wrist, collected my blackmail evidence, and walked out into the cold Los Angeles night.
This new life is a war, and it's time to make them pay.
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Chapter 6
Arely returned to the dingy apartment carrying shopping bags from brands Brittny only dreamed of wearing. The air of quiet luxury she now exuded was a stark contrast to the peeling paint and stained carpets of the hallway.
Brittny was on the sofa, picking at a container of takeout noodles. She looked up, ready with a sarcastic comment, but the words died when Arely dropped a thick document on the coffee table in front of her. It slapped against the wood.
It was a copy of the lease agreement and a formal eviction notice.
"What the hell is this?" Brittny snapped, her face flushing with anger.
"The lease is in my name. The security deposit was paid from my account," Arely said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "You are a guest. And your visit is over."
Brittny laughed, a high, ugly sound. "You're kicking me out? Don't be ridiculous. As soon as Kole's new movie is announced, he's buying me a condo in Beverly Hills. You'll be begging to be my roommate again."
Arely pulled out her phone and pressed play.
Brittny's own voice filled the small room, tinny and triumphant from the phone's speaker. "...gave Mickey the key card, just like you said, Kole. She didn't suspect a thing..."
The color drained from Brittny's face. She lunged for the phone, her nails like claws.
Arely sidestepped the clumsy attack, catching Brittny's wrist in a grip of steel. She applied a little pressure, and Brittny cried out, sinking to her knees.
"That recording, along with a sworn statement, would be very interesting to the LAPD. Conspiracy to commit assault is a serious charge," Arely said calmly. "Now, you can either pack your things and walk out that door, or I can call them."
Brittny's face crumpled. The anger was replaced by tears. "Arely, please... We've been friends for years. Best friends."
Arely let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a terrifying sound. She kicked an empty suitcase towards Brittny. "You were a parasite."
She walked into Brittny's room and began pulling clothes from the closet, tossing them onto the floor. Designer knock-offs, cheap fast fashion, all of it piling up in a messy heap.
Seeing her possessions being desecrated, Brittny's fear turned back to rage. She grabbed a table lamp and swung it at Arely's head.
Without even turning around, Arely's hand shot back, catching the lamp mid-air. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it flying out the open second-story window.
The sound of shattering glass from the street below finally broke Brittny's spirit. She stared at Arely, her body trembling. This wasn't the weak, pliable girl she had known. This was a monster.
Arely stepped over the pile of clothes and stood over her. "Don't bother calling Kole for help," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He's a little... preoccupied."
"What did you do?" Brittny whimpered.
Arely glanced at the clock on the wall. "You should turn on TMZ." She gave Brittny's suitcase another kick. "You have five minutes. Then I start throwing things out the window again. Starting with you."
The raw menace in her eyes was no act. Brittny scrambled, stuffing her clothes haphazardly into the suitcase, tears and snot running down her face.
As she dragged her belongings to the door, a breaking news alert flashed across the TV screen.
The footage was grainy, shot on a cell phone at a loud industry party. It showed Mickey O'Malley, his face bruised and swollen, screaming in Kole Bowman's face.
"You're a worthless leech!" Mickey roared, his voice slurring. "You think you can use me? You and that little tramp!"
An image flashed on the screen-a crystal-clear screenshot of Mickey's gloating text to Kole: She's all mine. You'll get your part. It was the screenshot Arely had taken from Mickey's phone.
Brittny let out a strangled gasp.
Arely sat on the arm of the sofa, crossing her legs, and watched the beautiful, satisfying implosion of Brittny's life.
The realization dawned on Brittny's face. The quiet, pathetic Arely she had bullied and betrayed had done this. All of it.
She didn't say another word. She yanked the door open and fled, dragging her suitcase behind her like a ball and chain.
The apartment was silent.
Arely stood up, locked the door, and took a deep, cleansing breath. The stench of betrayal was finally gone.
She pulled out her phone and dialed the real estate agent.
"The beachfront property in Malibu," she said. "I'll take it. Cash offer. I want the keys tonight."
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9.3
Alyssa Gregory slept with Benton Steele, a recently disgraced and bankrupt heir, just to humiliate him.
She threw a massive check at his bare chest, treating the former prince of Wall Street like a cheap escort.
But Benton didn't take the charity.
Instead, he manipulated her anger, tricking her into signing an ironclad contract that surrendered absolute control of her entire trust fund to him.
When her abusive mother found out she had funded a penniless outcast, she slapped Alyssa across the face.
Her mother froze all her bank accounts, locked her inside her bedroom, and arranged to sell her off to a degenerate politician.
Desperate to escape, Alyssa climbed down her balcony, falling fifteen feet and shattering her ankle on the stones below.
Stripped of her money and freedom, she dragged her broken body to a VIP club just to publicly declare that Benton belonged to her.
She thought she was the boss, playing a rebellious game with a broken man.
But when Benton effortlessly carried her away from the club and locked her inside his rundown apartment, the terrifying calculation in his dark eyes shattered her illusion.
How could a man stripped of his entire empire still radiate such suffocating, violent power?
"You bought me," Benton whispered, his massive frame trapping her against the sofa. "That means I have to take care of you."
Physically trapped and completely broke, Alyssa stared into his consuming eyes, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tables.
8.9
Seventeen-year-old Nina Storm has spent her life running from her tragic past, her dormant wolf, and the dreams of a mysterious man she can't escape.
Raised by her protective father after her mother's death, she has never stayed in one place long enough to call it home. But everything changed when they return to their home, the Moonlight Pack.
Nina discovers that her mate is Zane, the pack's Alpha... a bond that defies werewolf laws and the pack's expectations. Their undeniable attraction is dangerous, and their bond threatens to disrupt the fragile balance of power within the pack.
When an attack on the pack shatters her world, Nina loses everything, including her life. But death isn't the end.
Reborn, her dormant wolf awakens giving her a newfound strength and powers, Nina must navigate a world of betrayal, love, and vengeance as she unravels the truth about her family, her mate bond, and the danger threatening to destroy everything she holds dear.
7.5
I was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Ruiz family, but the moment their true heir appeared, I was thrown away like trash.
Not long after being kicked out, my adoptive father and uncle hired a hitman to stage a fatal car crash on Mulholland Drive.
Pinned under an overturned Porsche with a shattered leg, I watched the hitman point a suppressed pistol between my eyes.
"The Ruiz family sends their regards."
Before this, my reputation had already been completely destroyed by a director, a pop idol, and a reality TV star, leaving me blacklisted and universally hated.
My adoptive family didn't just want me ruined; they wanted me permanently silenced to tie up loose ends.
The hitman pulled the trigger, and the original Alicia died in despair, tasting only rain and blood.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand.
Why did the family she loved treat her like a disposable object? Why did those three men maliciously frame her and turn the world against her?
Opening my eyes again, the fear was gone, replaced by an ancient, cosmic indifference.
I, the Arbiter, had taken over this deceased vessel.
Moving faster than the human eye, I crushed the hitman's steel gun with my bare hand and turned his soul into dust.
Looking at the memories of those who wronged this girl, I signed a contract for the very reality show they were starring in.
Since I borrowed this body, taking out the trash is a required courtesy.
9.2
For four years, I was the Silvercrest Pack's biggest joke—a scentless, wolfless Omega who somehow became the Alpha's Luna.
I thought I was just naturally defective, until our fourth anniversary, when I overheard my husband Adrian talking to his Beta.
"I’ve been having the kitchens slip a silver-based compound into her meals since the day I marked her."
He confessed the poison was meant to suppress my inner wolf and keep my womb permanently barren. He only married me as a power play to make his highborn mistress, Seraphina, jealous. While I wept over my empty cradle and apologized to his family for my broken body, he was using pack funds to buy her custom luxury goods, tossing me the leftover wrapping paper. When I finally confronted him about the silver and tried to leave, he flew into a feral rage. He violently smashed my head against the marble vanity, leaving me bleeding on the floor, and locked the bedroom door behind him.
I lay there in the cold, staring at the pool of my own blood. My entire life, my endless pain, and my unborn pups were nothing but a cruel, calculated joke to the man who was supposed to be my Mate.
But Adrian didn't know I wasn't just a brainless Omega.
I wiped the blood from my face, climbed down the balcony trellis into the freezing rain, and pulled out an encrypted burner phone.
"The cage is broken. Initiate Phase Two."
8.9
Aubree Hamilton was the top-tier executive assistant to Wall Street's most ruthless titan, Beck Franco. A month ago, she made a catastrophic mistake and spent the night in his bed.
Thinking she had erased the mistake with a morning-after pill, she panicked upon his return and lied about being engaged to push him away.
But Beck, a man who despised disloyalty above all else, immediately suspended her and ordered her escorted out of the building. Her nightmare only escalated when her toxic ex-boyfriend attacked her on the street, tearing her purse open and exposing the empty morning-after pill box to the public—and to Beck, who was watching from his penthouse. After having his security rescue her, Beck trapped her in his car, ruthlessly tearing apart her fake engagement. Later in her apartment, the suffocating tension between them almost ignited into a kiss, but a violent wave of nausea suddenly hit Aubree.
She shoved him away with all her strength and violently threw up in the bathroom.
Beck took it as the ultimate physical disgust. He walked out, deeply humiliated and dangerously obsessed, unleashing his resources to investigate her every move.
Left alone and trembling, Aubree finally checked the crushed white box. The pill she took had expired a month ago.
Staring at the two bright pink lines on the pregnancy test, she made a desperate vow: Beck Franco could never know she was carrying his child, and she had to disappear before he found out.
9.3
"She's mine tonight, asshole, you had her last week." Zack, taller and broader, with those piercing blue eyes, shoved him back hard. "Fuck off, Zade. Her tight little pussy belongs wrapped around my dick." And then there was Mark, my stepdad, looming in the doorway like a goddamn predator, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Both of you back the fuck off. I'm the man of the house and that sweet ass is mine to pound whenever I want."
❤️❤️❤️
Dive into this sizzling erotica collection of taboo tropes where forbidden flames erupt in shadows of power and secrecy. Stepfamily sparks fly between a seductive step sis and stepbrothers under one tense roof. Mythical beasts knot with innocent human girls in primal forest trysts. A mafia kingpin claims a pure-hearted nun in a ruthless game of dominance. Captor hunts prey in a thrilling chase of possession. "Dad's Best Friend" awakens cravings in his ally's daughter, shattering loyalty. "Boss x Stripper" ignites when an executive ensnares his hypnotic dancer in high-stakes control. "Professor X Student," where forbidden mentorship spirals into obsessive bonds in lecture halls after dark. "Coach x Cheerleader," rigorous drills turn into steamy locker room rituals after hours. "Priest x Parishioner," sacred confessions unravel into sinful midnight vows.
Read if you're ready for some heat.