Your Dad Is Mine
His fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back and expose my throat to him. My pulse thrummed wildly beneath his mouth as he trailed heated kisses along my neck. Each brush of his lips left my skin tingling.
"We shouldn't be doing this, Mr. Turner," I breathed, my voice breaking on a gasp as he found a sensitive spot just beneath my ear and sucked lightly.
His growl was low and primal, vibrating through my skin as he pressed his body against mine. I felt every hard line of him, his heat bleeding through my clothes.
"Why not?" he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need.
I swallowed hard. "You're... you're my ex-fiancé's father."
He paused. For a moment, everything stilled... his breath against my throat, the air between us, even the rain outside seemed to hesitate. Then he lifted his head, and our eyes locked. His were a stormy blue, intense and unwavering.
"No one has to know, Catherine," he said quietly, his voice was like a dark promise wrapped in silk. Then he leaned in with his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I can be your dirty secret."
A shiver ripped down my spine. His words settled deep in my gut, awakening something dangerous.
I bit my lip. Every cell in my body screamed for me to walk away but I didn't.
Instead, I gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him hard. Desperately. He rumbled low in his chest, kissing me back with equal hunger, his hands roaming my body like he already knew every curve.
When he finally broke the kiss, I was breathless. Then he dropped to his knees between my legs, with his eyes darker now, almost black with want. Lightning caught in the sharp line of his jaw, and a wicked smirk tugged at his lips.
"I'm going to show you the world," he said. "If you'd let me."
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Chapter 2
The familiar scent of old scotch and aged wood clung to my office. The only company I had in these busy days.
I tipped back the last of my drink, letting it burn down my throat as I flipped through the endless paperwork littering my desk. Contracts. Campaign proposals. Donation ledgers. All the makings of a mayoral run I never wanted... until now. This was a means to an end. This was all to find him.
I signed another document and dropped it onto the stack, trying desperately but failing to keep my mind off her.
Cathrine.
She'd showed up on my doorstep the minute I wanted for leave the bar. Those green eyes smoldering my thoughts, her skin flushed from the cold. That face still haunted me, even three years after our first encounter.
It was raining the night we met. I'd just flown back from Boston. She collided into me at the airport, coffee spilling between us. She apologized, flustered, and I nearly walked away until she smiled.
I was fourty five and convinced my heart was long dead. But then she smiled, and I knew I was screwed.
Yeah, I stalked her. I'm not proud of it but when I realized I was going in too deep, I stopped. Got rid of all her files and buried myself in work instead... that's until Jayden brought her home a few months later, grinning like the cocky little prince he's always been.
My hands curled into fists just thinking about it. And now, tonight, she was back, standing on my front steps, a storm in her eyes.
I sighed, running a hand down my face, holding the same contract that had been in my hand for the past ten minutes. This wasn't working. I-
My thoughts were cut off by the front door, slamming shut. I frowned. Catherine had just come in, and neither of them wouldn't leave unless something was wrong.
I shot up from my seat and out of the door in time to see Catherine run and stop at the top of the stairs, looking at the door that just closed. I moved closer, up the stairs until I stopped safe distance from her. She hadn't noticed me, her gaze was still glued to the door, her dark hair curtained her face from my view.
"Cathrine?" I called, carefully.
No response.
I walked up slowly, closing the distance until I was a few steps away. I caught the glint of her bare hand.
No ring.
"Cathrine," I said again, softer.
She turned to me slowly. Her eyes were swollen and red. Tear tracks stained her cheeks. My heart clenched in a way it hadn't in decades. I didn't think. My hands lifted to cradle her face, my thumbs brushing the dampness from her skin.
"Talk to me," I whispered. "Who hurt you?"
Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. She looked at me like she was trying to remember how to speak.
"I don't... I don't understand what I did wrong," she said in a low resigned voice. "I just wanted something for myself. And now I've lost the only man I ever cared about."
I grit my teeth, forcing back the anger bubbling in my chest. I gently took her hand and pried her fingers open. Blood streaked her palm. Her engagement ring was still nestled there with the sharp edges biting into her skin.
"Come on," I murmured, guiding her down the stairs. "Let me help."
She didn't speak, didn't nod. Just followed me like a ghost of herself. I set her on the counter, ignoring the jolt that ran through me when my fingers brushed her hands. I rummaged the cupboard and found the first aid kit, crouched in front of her, tending to the wound in silence.
When I finished wrapping her hand, I straightened. "Do you want a drink?"
She didn't answer. Just stared past me like the world had gone gray.
I took her hand again and led her gently into my office. The fire was still burning low. She curled onto the couch, small and fragile. Too damn fragile. I grabbed the good rum. The expensive one. Poured two glasses and brought them over.
"Here," I offered.
She took the glass with trembling fingers and downed it in one go. I raised a brow and chuckled softly. "Easy, Cathrine."
She winced at the burn, then held out her glass. "Again."
She scrunched up her face, downing the second glass. I didn't scold her, I let her do what she wanted because I knew this girl. She'd never done anything for herself in a long long time. We drank. In silence. Then another round. And another. Somehow, somewhere in between the third refill and the fourth, the Monopoly board made its way out.
"I just bought a hotel, Mr. Rich Guy," she said proudly, her eyes were glassy with alcohol.
I chuckled. "One investment doesn't make you a mogul, Cathrine."
"Maybe not," she swayed slightly, "but I'll own the whole damn street soon. You better keep up."
I shook my head, amused and utterly entranced. We reached for the same stack of fake money and our hands brushed sending distress signals straight to my groin.
We both froze.
The laughter died. Her breath caught. Time slowed, the world zoomed in to just the two of us. Her lips parted and my gaze dipped. She tried to take her mind back but my body moved on it's own and I grabbed her wrist.
She didn't pull away. Instead, she inhaled, lips parting ever so slightly.
God help me, I wanted to kiss her.
My hand curled around her wrist and my thumb brushed against her pulse. Her skin was warm, soft, so alive.
"Ronald..." she breathed.
And then my phone rang. The moment shattered. I cursed under my breath, releasing her hand and answering it. My secretary, ranting about a scheduling issue. I barely heard a word.
When I finally ended the call, she was already halfway to the door.
"Cathrine-"
"Thanks for the company, Mr Turner," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. "I'll order a Lyft."
"No," I said too quickly. "Stay. Use the guest room. It's late, and I'd rather not have you wandering around outside like this."
She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. Then nodded once. "Goodnight... Mr. Turner."
Before I could respond, she was gone.
Damn it. What the hell was wrong with me?
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8.3
My husband watched as my skin melted, scalded by boiling soup, yet his hands were busy comforting my attacker. Five years of marriage, built on a foundation of my family's power, crumbled with a single, brutal act of betrayal. He bought me off with a penthouse and a trust fund, but I tore out my IV and threw his charity back in his face.
It was our fifth anniversary, but my husband, Ethan, remained distant, avoiding any talk of Chicago or the mafia protection my family once offered him. He then pushed a black velvet box across the table.
Inside was a Separation and Property Division Agreement, not a diamond. He told me to sign for Ilene's security, offering millions. When I refused, Ilene hurled boiling soup. Ethan shielded her, not me, as the scalding liquid melted my dress.
With second-degree burns, he blamed me, ordering me from our home for Ilene’s comfort. My family saved him, yet he sacrificed my body and marriage for another woman.
The love I felt turned to ash. What kind of debt demanded my flesh and marriage?
I ripped the IV from my arm, hurling his "charity" keys back. My diamond ring placed on the agreement, I walked away. From today on, Ethan, you and I are dead to each other.
9.7
Eliana Rivera is the firstborn daughter of business tycoon Cassian Rivera. When her father's company falls into debt, he marries her off to the arrogant and ruthless billionaire, Alexander Grayson, as part of a business contract and under the threat of blackmail.
Alexander, the billionaire CEO, never planned to marry, but the pressure of blackmail forces him into a union with a woman he barely knows. Although Eliana doesn't see Alexander as her ideal partner, she agrees to the marriage out of a sense of duty.
Once engaged, however, he barely acknowledges her presence and harbours disdain for her because of her father's actions and their relationship. But as they navigate their newfound relationship, the unexpected desire for each other's touch ignites-a twist neither of them planned, leading them toward an unforeseen love.
9.3
Six years ago, my adoptive family framed me for commercial espionage, stripped me of my identity, and threw me out. Now, I finally returned to the Solis estate as a commercial pilot to take back what was mine.
But the first thing my adoptive mother did was threaten me with that forged evidence again. She demanded I take my sister Kiana's place in a marriage contract with a disabled man, simply because Kiana refused to marry him.
When I refused, Kiana ambushed me at the airport with a mob of reporters. She cried for the cameras, publicly accusing me of causing our father's and brother's deaths. She painted me as a ruthless monster who bankrupted the company and ruined the family. The crowd instantly turned on me, screaming that I was a murderer and a gold-digger. Kiana wanted to completely destroy my reputation so I would have no choice but to submit to her arrangement.
I looked at her fake tears, feeling a cold, absolute fury. How dare she use the tragic deaths of the only family members who actually loved me as a prop for her sick show? They had ruined my life once, and now they wanted to bury me alive.
I didn't hesitate. I slapped her hard across the face right in front of the flashing cameras.
"That was for my father and brother."
Then, my real fiancé, a decorated Delta Force commander, rolled through the crowd in his wheelchair. He tossed a classified Pentagon file to the reporters, completely clearing my name and exposing Kiana's lies. I married him to start my revenge, but as I stepped into his heavily secured penthouse that night, I realized my powerful new husband had been preparing for me for a very long time.
7.3
Lukas Reiner built his life based off a promise 9 years ago with Viktor Volkov... the only person who actually saw him and knew him for what he actually was. They dreamed of the same future, the same ice, the same victory together. Until Viktor disappeared without a word, leaving Lukas behind with nothing but silence, rain... and feelings he never got to confess.
Now, Lukas is at the top of college... Captain, prodigy and untouchable on ice until Viktor comes back.
Colder and older, acting like the past never existed.
Their reunion explodes into violence, but being forced to work together drags them into something far more dangerous than hate.
The tension turns into stolen moments and those moments turn into a habit but before either of them can stop it, the line between resentment and desire begins to blur.
Lukas never let go of the past.
Viktor never planned to face it.
But on the ice, there's nowhere left to run.
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
7.4
I was freezing to death in an abandoned cabin, desperately waiting for my fiancé to save me.
Instead, my phone flickered with a video from my adopted sister.
She was smiling as she confessed that she and my fiancé had orchestrated my kidnapping, and my parents' fatal plane crash, just to steal my family's trust fund.
When I called him with my dying breath, he mocked me for faking a PR stunt and hung up.
I died in the sub-zero blizzard, consumed by absolute despair.
But as a ghost, I watched my greatest business rival, the ruthless billionaire Collins, kick down the doors of my mansion.
He didn't just mourn me.
He shot my fiancé, trapped my sister, and set the entire place on fire, choosing to burn alive in the inferno just to avenge me.
I couldn't understand why the man I had publicly despised for a decade loved me so fiercely, while the people I gave everything to wanted me dead.
Opening my eyes again, I was back backstage on the night I won my Oscar, four years ago.
My fiancé smiled, holding out his arms to hug me.
I pushed him away in disgust, marched straight into the crowded theater, and kissed my billionaire rival on live television.
"Let's get married tomorrow."
This time, I would use him to burn them all to the ground.