78 Book(s) Related to libra novel

She’s fire wrapped in silk. He’s ice laced with fangs. And when they collide, the world burns.

In the velvet shadows of Vancouver’s most dangerous secrets, RedLine — an underground club pulsing with magic, blood, and desire — is where vampires come to indulge. But when Katalim, a woman cloaked in mystery, steps into this world, everything changes.

Locked away for years, she’s finally free — but not safe. Katalim isn’t just a witch — she’s a weapon. Her power? The ability to channel raw sexual energy, bending it to her will. It’s intoxicating, addictive… and feared.

Enter Ryder Cornwall — cold, untouchable, and loyal only to the Coven. He’s assigned to protect her. But from the moment he tastes her magic, he wants more. Her scent drives him mad. Her secrets haunt him. And her body? It might just ruin him.

As their chemistry erupts into obsession, enemies close in. Katalim’s past is darker than anyone imagined. And Ryder must decide — break every rule for her, or watch her be claimed by a monster from the shadows.

Twisted Fate is paranormal erotica at its most wicked—dripping with forbidden heat, dangerous magic, and a love so intense it might destroy them both. It is perfect for readers who like their vampires dominant, their witches dangerous, and their romances deliciously dirty.

I was raised with the criminal underground’s most notorious crew turned government-sanctioned mercenaries in Texas and Colorado, known as the Death Kings. My uncle is one of them known as the Gator King. Now I walk in his footsteps, leading a crew of my own with his backing. To my family, my nickname is Seraphim, but in my kingdom, I’m the Viper King. Now the boys who left me, who swore they would stay by my side to protect me, are back in town. They are attempting to become like C.H.A.O.S. who run Palomino Bay, Texas. That will not happen because Grêle, Louisiana, is my stronghold. I have the backing of my father's MC and together along with my Serpents the city is ours. The person they need to protect is themselves because it isn’t me.
…They don’t know my secret, but I know theirs…

Amelia Russo is a weapon of the state. As a military captain and the daughter of a legendary general, her life is governed by duty, honor, and one mission: eliminate "The Shadow," the faceless myth ruling Verona’s bloody underworld.

Lorenzo Ren Moretti is a master of deception. To high society, he is Luca D'Angelo, a charming billionaire CEO. To the streets, he is a cold-blooded monster with icy blue eyes and a past carved in tattoos. He commands fear. He demands absolute loyalty. And he has never met an enemy he couldn't break.

Until he meets her.

When Amelia crosses paths with the enigmatic billionaire Luca, an intoxicating, forbidden game of cat and mouse begins.

"You're going to meet your mate someday." I whispered.
"Olivia."
I forced a smile and lifted my head. "And it's fine. I'll be rooting for you all the way."
He cut me off with a soft "Liv."
I blinked away my tears. "No, listen to me. We need to accept that this won't last forever. You could find her on your next trip out of town, and I'll be forgotten."
I swallowed the lump formed in my throat. "I just hope we'll still be friends."
His face twisted in pain as he rested his forehead against mine, his hands trembling as he cupped my cheeks. "You'll always be my best friend."
"And you'll always be mine."
I pressed my lips against his, needing to taste him, to feel his lips on mine, to know that at this moment, he was mine.
Olivia Martins has always been an outcast in the Nightshade pack.
She's an omega, and the pack she grew up in never failed to remind her that she'd never be one of them.
It wasn't so bad growing up—she had her best friend by her side.
Caspian Storm, son of the alpha of the Nightshade pack, befriended her when they were both little, and they've been inseparable ever since.
Their friendship started out sweet and innocent, but it developed into more.
Olivia knew that it couldn't last forever because Caspian would find his mate—and what they had would come to an end.
Yet, she couldn't guard her heart.
And when her worst fear comes true, she flees.
Will Olivia and Caspian find their way back to each other?
Or will the threat of Caspian finding his mate keep them apart?

“Claudia,” a die-hard fan of the novel Solo Hunter,
is reborn into a powerless and fragile body… even weaker than F-rank!

But wait! He, who was supposed to be a side character doomed to die,
somehow survives thanks to “Alan Miller,”
the gorgeous male lead whose actions are nothing like what the novel described.

To make matters more confusing,
Claudia turns out to be the long-missing heir of the prestigious Heart Family,
gone without a trace for 8 years!
Is this really the same story he once read?

Now that the original plot no longer applies,
how will he survive in this perilous world?
And what exactly… does the novel’s mysterious male lead want from Claudia?!

In their three years of marriage, Stella tried her best to win Clarence’s heart, but sometimes love just isn't there.

As soon as she found out he was cheating on her and even got his mistress pregnant, all her efforts seemed futile so she made the tough decision to let go and vanish from his life.

Little did she know, Clarence went mad after her departure, searching for her everywhere.

Until one day, he spotted the woman he had long sought, now transformed, holding hands with a cute baby.

Unable to contain himself, Clarence grasped Stella’s chin: "Darling, didn't you promise you'd love me only?"

She chuckled, "A second chance is given only if this time we play by my rules."

Is divorce a sign that the couple don't understand each other or that they BEGIN to?

Three years in a loveless marriage with Leo Cox, Mona thought she could win his heart with her unwavering devotion, but Leo showed no love or concern towards her. Eventually she got tired, filed for divorce and left after founding out Leo was cheating on her— but she was already pregnant for him.

Leo assumed Mona was merely playing hard to get-after all, he bet she'd be back, begging for reconciliation. But no one saw it coming; after the divorce, Mona transformed into a confident woman and Leo is stunned by her transformation.

Now, Leo is drowning in regret, desperately chasing after Mona-but by this time, it was already too late.

He started contemplating every day, wondering if breaking a leg or going bankrupt would be enough to capture her attention.

Emily's world shatters when her longtime mate, Jerome, and her best friend, Natalie, cheated on her. Seeking revenge, Emily seduces Jerome's father. But something unexpected happens – Emily and Alpha Jason start to fall for each other, even though Emily only wanted revenge at first. With Jerome trying to win Emily back and Natalie plotting a deadly scheme, things are about to get even more complicated. Who will end up happy, and who will end up heartbroken?

I am Alice, the only heir to the Vampire King. Which means I had a front-row seat to watching my father cheat on my mother with another woman: the very servant paid to be my personal walking blood-bag.

By the third year of their public affair, my mother was handed a death sentence. Terminal Blood Corruption.

Instead of weeping, she ordered the Royal Enchanter to seal her medical records permanently.

"Lokui, are you insane?" the Enchanter slammed her fists on the desk, furious. "Hiding this from him? Dying in silence just to make a cheating man feel guilty is pathetic!"

My mother didn't blink. She calmly wiped the cursed black blood from her lips before turning to look at me.

"I couldn't care less about his guilt," she smiled, her gaze horrifyingly cold and steady. "I am going to use my corpse to build my daughter an unshakable throne."

Word spreads all across the underworld, a running joke everyone whispers: Wanna take down Don Dante?
Don’t waste your time digging up dirt on him—come straight for me instead. But good luck pulling it off.
First you’d have to cut through three layers of snipers posted at my side, blast your way past five full squads of close-quarters bodyguards, and dodge the armed attack helicopter circling overhead 24/7.
Once, I only got a tiny bug bite from a mosquito. That very night, three district capos vanished off the face of the earth without a trace.
And yet this man who’d burn the whole world down to keep me safe shoved me away on our wedding night.
He brought another woman into our elaborately decorated bridal suite and spent the whole night tangled up with her.
For every single minute they spent tangled together inside, I slammed my fists against that door right outside.
I stared at that face etched deep into my bones, watched him speak words that sounded totally foreign, hold another woman close—and I couldn’t wrap my head around any of it.
Where’d the man who once jumped in front of a bullet to shield me go?

They say Mafia Don Luca loves me. He loved me when I was his brother's wife. He loves me now as he locks me in his estate and showers me with blood-bought diamonds.
But his love is a poison.
Four years ago, he put a gun to his temple, forcing me to save his bastard son while my four-year-old daughter was reduced to ashes on the Brooklyn Bridge.
Now, he lets that same mistress smash my baby’s urn. He hands me over to a rival syndicate to keep his fake family safe.
He thinks he's making the hard choices to keep us together.
What he doesn't know is that I've already made mine—and it's going to leave him with nothing but ruins.

I woke up back on the night Rhys’s Blood Tide Frenzy hit.
This time, I wouldn’t offer my blood to calm him. Instead, I sent an urgent Message Crystal to Seraphina—his precious white moonlight.
In my past life, I saw Rhys’s Blood Tide spiraled out of control, threatening to tear his body apart.
In my past life, when he commanded me to call Seraphina, I had let my pathetic, unrequited love blind me.
I offered my own body as the cure, desperately weaving the Origin Blood Seal with him.
Not long after, I fell pregnant with his half-blood child.
He had no choice but to plan our wedding. On the big day, Seraphina was ambushed by blood hunters.
She sent ninety-nine distress blood signals, yet he was tied up with wedding duties and never saw a single one.
After his beloved nearly died, he laid every ounce of blame on me.
When I went into labor, he locked me away in the Blood Dungeon. He drained every drop of my Origin Blood in a ritual meant to resurrect Seraphina, leaving me and our unborn baby to die in agony.
As my life slipped away, his words echoed in my ears: I’d ruined his one true love, and both me and the child deserved to perish.
When I opened my eyes again, I was right back to that night.

"You drive me crazy, Lilith. Just one night... I’ll give you whatever you want. Please let me taste you," my billionaire CEO whimpered, pinning me against the wall, his hot breath brushing my ear.

He is obsessed with my new face, my body, and my ruthless attitude. He is willing to abandon everything just to get into my bed.

If only he knew that the flawless skin he’s kissing right now used to be covered in the acid his mistress poured on me.
If only he knew that I am his dead, naive wife—the one he threw into an ice cellar to die along with our unborn child, just to steal my family's inheritance.

"Anything I want?" I trace his jawline, smiling sweetly as my nail digs into his skin. "Then give me your empire, William. And your life."

I rose from the ashes with a new face and a hidden will. He wants to ruin my lipstick, but I came back to ruin his life.

I gave up MIT for them in my last life.
They paid me back by stealing my lab notes, framing me for misconduct, and choosing her over me when I drowned.
I watched them choose her over me a hundred times
Now I’m 17 again. I block all three and fly to MIT.
They think I’m throwing a tantrum.
Wait till they find out who saved them out of that cave—

Rule #1 of cheating: Always turn off your personal hotspot.
My star-quarterback boyfriend swore he was stuck at practice.
So why did my phone just connect to his iPhone hotspot inside a packed arena?
As fate would have it, the stage spotlight stopped right on my face, and a mic was shoved into my hand.
Instead of playing the lucky fan, I turned the concert into a massive manhunt.
When the cameras exposed his panicked face and the blonde in his arms, I gave him the ultimate send-off in front of a live audience:
"You two deserve each other. Match made in hell. Have a miserable life."

Right after the London Fashion Week, my husband unprecedentedly gave me a vacation, arranging a ten-day trip to New York.
I thought he finally learned to be considerate, until I overheard his conversation with our son.
"Dad, if you are marrying Aunt Barbara, what about Mom?" our son asked innocently.
"It's merely a ceremonial engagement," my husband chuckled. "Be a good boy, Oliver. Keep this a secret from Mom, and I'll buy you that limited-edition model airplane."
My mind went blank. I stood frozen for a long while before stepping out onto the terrace to catch the chilling wind.
If he wants to rewrite his past with his first love.
Then I will reclaim the design dream I threw away for him.
Once I leave for New York, I am never coming back.

My husband hasn't touched me in five years. He claims he has a rare, violent allergy to women.
So when I was slipping off a cliff, he let me fall into a freezing river rather than grab my bare hand.
I lost our baby.
Three days later, I caught him rubbing another woman's ankle with his bare hands. His eyes were full of love.
So much for the rare allergy. It only applies to the woman you don’t love.
I dropped the divorce papers on his desk. "I want out."
He thought I was bluffing. But what happens when the "chaste" billionaire realizes the wife he threw away is the one who found for many years?

Five years ago, the elders offered my husband 99 prime Omegas because I was left barren from saving his life.
He rejected them all. "I only love Ophelia," he vowed.
I gave him my family's mafia empire for that lie.
Today, the doors of my penthouse blew open. A woman strutted in, trailing five little boys. She was one of those 99 Omegas. The one who looked exactly like me.
"Five years, five sons," she smirked, nursing the youngest on my sofa. "Dominic says my lucky babies bring the pack fortune."
When I sentenced his mistress to the underground auction, my "devoted" husband fired three bullets at my feet to save her.
He didn't know I had a positive pregnancy test in my pocket.
I smiled, dialing my doctor. "Cancel the prenatal care. Prep the OR for an abortion tomorrow."

Born beneath Pluto’s ill omen, I was marked a blood curse for the Constantine mafia clan, my twin Cataleya blessed with a fortune chart my parents clung to blindly.
They starved me of warmth, forced me to bear every blade, bullet and crime in her stead, and my husband Rafael, whom I once loved with all I had, sacrificed me without hesitation to soothe her feigned sickness.
I was locked in an underground dungeon lab to serve as her live drug test subject, tormented day and night by lethal experimental serum.
When I finally died alone on that cold steel table, my family brushed off my passing as a childish tantrum—until panicked enforcers crashed in, screaming the Russo crime family was storming the manor to wipe us out.
Only in ruin did they see the truth: they’d guarded catastrophe, and buried their salvation alive.

I was three months pregnant when I found out my husband had been cheating with the cousin I had kindly taken in.

My son said he wanted her to be his mom, then shoved me down the stairs and caused me to miscarry.

The day I lost the baby, my husband sat beside my bed. His voice was gentle, soft enough to lull someone to sleep.

“Relax,” he said. “You’ll forget all this pain.”

I closed my eyes and let him plant layer after layer of hypnotic commands in my ear.

“When you wake up, you’ll be an obedient wife.”

Now I watch them living happily ever after as a family of three.

They think I’m nothing but an empty shell.

They have no idea that I’ve already posted this plea for help online:

[HELP] My cousin is wearing my sexy nightgown to seduce my husband, I caught them cheating, and my son calls her “Mom.” But I just feel numb. What am I supposed to do?

On the day of the clan’s grand sea banquet, my mafia husband Victor took his beloved white moonlight Lilia to race jet skis in restricted sea waters without permission.
She twisted the throttle all the way open, and the jet ski crashed violently into the my luxury yacht.
The yacht quickly flooded and began sinking, yet Victor completely ignored the people screaming for help on board, only clinging tightly to the terrified Lilia and comforting her softly.
"Don’t be afraid. They trespassed into the restricted sea zone of their own accord; they deserve everything that happened to them."
Not until the entire yacht sank deep into the ocean and everyone aboard vanished without a trace did Victor dial my phone unhurriedly.
"Vera, your mom and Dante are gone in the sea."
In an instant, overwhelming terror swallowed me whole.
The very next second, I saw Mom shoving freshly cooked meat into my mouth just as she did when I was a child.
My brother hurried over with a grin to snatch a bite.
"Mom, you always favor my sister."
They are standing right beside me. Then who on earth was trapped inside that sunken yacht?

I was born able to see threads tying certain people to one another. A thin red thread stretched right above Mom and Dad’s heads.
I hurried over to Mom at once. “Mom, why is there a red thread connecting you and Dad?”
Mom laughed when she heard me, booping my nose fondly.
“That’s proof that Daddy loves me.”
Later, at our family gathering, Aunt Celia brought me a present just like she always did.
“Luna? Come see what Auntie brought you.”
I trotted over and found a cloth doll.
Just then, Dad walked up, knelt down beside me, and stroked my head.
“Luna, what do you say?”
I glanced up at Dad, then turned to look at Aunt Celia.
Little me was filled with huge confusion.
“It’s weird. Why is there such a thick red thread connecting Dad and Celia?”

I was vacationing in Miami with my mother when my husband’s female right-hand woman sent me a photo out of the blue. In the picture lay an elderly woman stripped half-naked, her body covered in fresh blood, paired with a cocky voice memo.
The audio blared Gina’s arrogant tone:
[Cecilia, keep your greedy, miserly mother in check!]
[How dare she sneak into the mansion Don Vito just bought for his own mother to mooch off him? She’s got zero shame!]
[I spared her a breath. No need to thank me.]
I froze on the spot and glanced up.
My mother was sitting right across from me, safe and sound.
I zoomed in on the photo without delay, and my heart dropped straight to my stomach.
That woman sprawled on the pavement was my mother-in-law!
I immediately dialed Gina’s number. “Gina, have you lost your mind? That’s Vito’s mother!”
Gina’s tone remained utterly dismissive. “Come on! Vito made it clear. Your mother’s just your mother, his mother’s his own. He’s never once considered your side of the family his real kin.”

“I want you to stage a private jet crash for me. That way I can get away from Elias for good.”
When my best friend Poppy heard my request, her jaw nearly hit the floor. She wondered if she’d misheard.
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Molly?" she deadpanned.
"I’m entirely serious." I said, keeping my voice dead flat.
"Molly, you're married to Elias Blackwood." Poppy stood up, running a hand through her blue hair. "The Elias. The Alpha who swore you were his one true love, fought his entire clan to make you an ordinary human his Luna, and literally threw away his inheritance for you. The guy who shares his live location with you 24/7 and fired every female assistant in his building. Half the internet calls your marriage the modern fairy tale. If you die, he will tear the world apart looking for your body."
I let out a dry, broken laugh. "He won't have to look hard. He already has a replacement."
Poppy froze. "What are you talking about?"
"He has another family, Poppy."

My little sister and I each bear a Heart-Seed Mark etched into our chests.
Inside each seed grow Heartbeat Petals—currency that can trade for anything under the boughs of The Heart-Root, the ancient devouring tree.
At eight years old, I plucked one petal to cure Mom’s terminal cancer.
At ten, I tore out another to mend my older brother’s shattered bones after his brutal fight.
At twenty-four, I sacrificed my third and final petal to wake my husband’s sister from a car-crash-induced vegetative state.
Now, two disasters struck at once: my father died in a horrific car wreck, and my husband’s mistress lost their unborn baby.
Both sides of my family flocked to The Heart-Root, all fixated on stealing my petals for their own wishes.
I tried to step aside and let my younger sister go first to make the trade, but Mom shoved me hard.
“Every bit of love we’ve poured into you these years, every petal came from us! You’d really hold out and refuse to save your own father? Ungrateful girl!” my mom snapped.
My husband’s mom cut in sharp as a knife: “A good wife knows her place. It’s your duty to bring that baby back for your husband. If only you’d given him a son yourself.”
They tied me tight to the tree trunk. I watched a girl standing nearby get torn apart by black, writhing vines when she had no petals left—her flesh dissolved straight into the tree’s roots to feed it.
But my Heart-Seed didn’t have a single petal left either...

On the night of the charity gallery opening, I caught Lucas and Lila tangled together in the storage closet.
He pulled the girl tight against his chest and sneered, “Stella, you’re eight whole years older than me. You’ve controlled my life for five years—when are you gonna realize you can never hold onto me?”
Lila giggled, snuggling deeper into his arms. “You’re past your prime, ma’am. Why cling to someone who was never yours to begin with?”
Snickers and mocking laughter rippled through the onlookers.
I gave a slow, hollow smile.
For five years, I single-handedly kept Scott Enterprises afloat, mopped up every mess he made, and buried every scandal spawned by his endless string of flings.
Still, he hopped from one girl to the next, weaponizing our age gap to mock and hurt me, over and over again.
Then he shoved me hard. I crumpled to the floor in a pool of my own blood, watching him bolt out with another woman in his arms, not a single glance thrown back my way.
I knew right then the baby was gone.
Everyone whispered how pathetically I’d bent over backward for love.
No one ever learned the truth: I endured everything only because his face mirrored my late fiancé, Elias.

"Abort her mutt. Liora is carrying my true pureblood heir."
My Alpha husband’s voice was ice-cold as I bled out on the delivery bed.
The woman he was protecting? My fiercely loyal best friend.
While I was screaming in pain, biting my lips bloody to birth his child, he was in the next room, making her moan. He killed our baby.
When I returned from burying my only family in the freezing rain, his guards threw holy water in my face.
"Wash her," Lachlan ordered coldly. "The stench of death on her will harm Liora's pup."
I stared at the man who once took nine lashes of a barbed whip just to marry me.
In one night, he aborted my baby to save hers. He let my grandmother die of shock. He tossed me a bag of gold like a beggar and told me to stop causing drama.
So, I took the gold, packed my bags, and vanished into his world.

In the seventh year after I broke my fated mate's heart and he went abroad to study, he finally returned home with his new fiancée to meet his parents.
On that exact same day, the hospital finally pronounced my seven-year battle with Core Degeneration a failure. I was sent home to wait for death.
Seeing me sitting in a wheelchair on the street, supported by my mother, a mocking smile appeared on Kaelen's lips.
"It’s been seven years, and you've fallen so low you can't even walk?"
Listening to his disgusted voice and smelling the Alpha pine scent I once loved so much, I panicked, hurriedly yanking down the sleeves of my coat to hide the dense, ugly needle marks on the back of my hand.
"It's nothing. I fell and broke my leg, that's all," I lied quietly.
Kaelen sneered, pulling a beautiful Omega woman,Sloane, closer to his side. She smelled exactly like I used to—vanilla and rain.
"Since you're so free," he drawled, his eyes cold, "I'm getting married soon. Why don't you be Sloane's bridesmaid?"
I just smiled calmly. "No thanks. I'm going somewhere very far away soon."

I've signed five blood-bound annulment contracts with my mafia don husband, Killian.
Each and every time, he fed me the same line: "When this is over, we'll tie the knot again."
But every single one of those "things" was for the same woman: Seraphina Moretti.
We ended our marital bond for the first time, and I sobbed, begging him to tell me if his love for me had ever been real.
He clamped his hold on my jaw hard enough, enunciating every word coldly: "Elara, that doesn't matter."
When the second annulment rolled around, I was mocked openly at the family gala.
I locked myself away in the ensuite bathroom and sliced open my wrists; blood trickled along the tile grout.
My best mate tracked me down to find me trembling.
It wasn't the wound's ache making me shake, though—Killian was somewhere on the estate that very night, yet he never bothered to pop by and check on me once.
By the third split, I'd taught myself never to shed a tear in his presence.
On the fourth occasion, I even took it upon myself to ask him flat-out: "What sham do you need me to play along with now?"
He froze for the longest moment, said nothing at all in the end.
Now we're here for the fifth annulment.
He thought he only needs to click his fingers and I'll trot back to remarry him just as I've done all the previous times. What he did not know is this:
This time, I'm disappearing from his life for good.

"Kiss it for me, sister…"
I had no idea the milk I drank every night was handmade by my foster brother, Luciano.
After I turned down his confession yet again, I stared at the milk he’d brought me so eagerly and knocked it to the floor in disgust.
The boy who’d always been quiet and obedient suddenly snapped.
He pinned me flat to the ground, his face inches from mine, his breath brushing my ear:"I get it. You want to drink fresher milk, don’t you?"
I never imagined the boy I’d raised all these years could spiral this far out of control with his twisted feelings for me.
So the very next day, I put him behind bars with my own two hands, determined to put an end to this messed-up obsession for good.

The son I’d nearly died giving birth to looked me dead in the eye after seven years of calling the woman who ruined my life his mother, and spat: “You’re not even fit to shine Chloe’s shoes.”
My husband Arthur stood right beside him, sneering. “Even your own kid doesn’t believe you. Just accept it.”
I’d always thought if I just humbled myself enough, I might earn even a scrap of pity from this father and son.
I’d fought tooth and nail to get my son back, begged him on my knees to choose me, even when I found out my husband was planning to carve out my kidney alive to keep that woman happy — I still clung to the stupid, desperate hope he’d feel even a flicker of regret.
It broke for good when my seven-year-old son, desperate to please his “new mum”, stuffed the evidence she’d planted to frame me right into the sofa cushions with his own two hands.
That all shattered the night he forced me to kneel and serve for him and that homewrecker while they slept together.
In that moment, I was done being the doormat everyone trampled into the dirt.

I dropped out of Harvard and took on massive debt to save my dying brother.

For five years, I starved. I worked five jobs a day. I let debt collectors break my ribs just so I could afford his "life-saving" meds.

Until I saw him at a VIP club.
No wheelchair. No illness. Just a bespoke suit and a glass of expensive whiskey.

"You've faked this terminal illness for five years," his friend laughed. "Isn't Evelyn punished enough for upsetting your adopted sister?"

My brother smirked. "Almost. I’ll stage a 'miracle recovery' soon. She believes everything I say anyway. I'll make it up to her later."

Standing in the shadows, I wiped the blood from my mouth and walked away.

He his terminal illness is a lie.
But mine is real.

"She’s boring now. Dead eyes. No spark. I’m just pretending my memory is stuck at nineteen so I can punish my wife without her leaving me."
Standing in the shadows, I listened to my mafia husband confess his sick game to the doctor. By day, he played the devoted boy who once took a bullet for me, crying over my scars.
By night, he trapped me in pitch-black elevators, letting his men rip my clothes and take photos—all to make his mistress laugh.
He thought my trauma made me weak. He thought heavy sedatives would make me forget.
He didn't know I spat the pills out the moment he turned his back.
Valentino, you played me again.
But this time, I will never give you another chance. Not in this lifetime. Not ever.

Eighty-eight times.
That was how many times I had put on a white dress, or packed my ID, heading to the registry office to marry Harrison Churchill. And eighty-eight times, I ended up in an ambulance.
The first time, it was a street drive-by. A bullet tore through my shoulder just two blocks from City Hall.
The fifteenth time, a car bomb shattered three of my ribs.
The forty-second time, a steel frame plummeted from a construction site, cracking my skull.
......And this time?
The eighty-eighth time. A massive cargo container "accidentally" slipped from a crane at the docks, crushing my car.
Maybe, it’s time to say goodbye.

On the eve of the wedding, Dante sold me to Alex, a deranged auto mechanic, for two dollars.
His friend confused.
“You’re going to marry Chole, that adult film actress. Just send Lucia away. You two were betrothed as children, and she’s lived with the Costellos for ten years. You must care about her at least a little.”
“That mechanic’s violent and ugly. She’ll suffer terribly if she marries him.”
Dante smirked.
“It’s just a small punishment. Chole comes from the bottom and is riddled with insecurities; all she wants is the title of wife. But Lucia refused to be my mistress, and worse, she made Chole cry.”
“Mark my words. Before half a day passes, she’ll throw a fit, threaten to take her own life, and beg me to let her stay by my side.”
His friend shook his head.
“Aren’t you scared she’ll go through with the marriage out of spite?”
Dante sipped his tea unhurriedly.
“No need to worry. She’s believed since childhood that she’d be my wife. Even if she’s furious for a moment, she’d never give herself to another man. I’ll rescue her after I marry Chole the day after tomorrow, then take her on as my mistress. She’ll only grow more devoted to me afterward.”
I clutched the two dollars tight and turned away without a word.

I used to be a national gold medalist in ballet.
Now I’m the 210-pound laughingstock the whole school gawks at.
I starve myself till I pass out, train so hard my knees bleed, and still the weight keeps piling on like it’s got a personal grudge.
Till the day I hear my best friend cackling in the equipment room, voice shaking with laughter:
“No matter how hard she tries, her weight will always be three-quarters of Bruce’s!”
Bruce is the 280-pound deadbeat loser who sleeps through half his classes. And me? I’m stuck to him, tied by some sick system I can’t break.
She stole my Juilliard audition direct pass. Paid guys to shove me, call me names, film me tripping over my own feet and post the clips all over TikTok.
She watches me flounder like a beached whale in the mud, barely holding back her snickers.
But she forgot one thing: mountains don’t run from streams.
They wait for the water to crash into them. And shatter into a million pieces.
Guess what? The bet’s on.

[My remaining lifespan: 36 Hours]
I didn't cry when my own mother branded a death pact into my chest.
I didn't fight back when my brother kicked me into the mud using the very leg I gave my life force to heal.
But when I opened my bedroom door to find my husband thrashing in our bed with another woman—and he smashed my bleeding head against the floor just to shut me up—something inside me finally snapped.
With 12 hours left, my in-laws shatter my bones.
With 3 hours left, my husband hands me a poisoned drink.
They think they are getting rid of a useless burden by tossing me into the World Rift.
They have no idea they are sending me to the very place where my powers will awaken.
And when I return, hell is coming with me.

The night before graduation, a confession post blew up the school forum:
“Daphne, I’m gonna rip up my Harvard offer onstage during commencement to confess to you—my whole college future as my love token.”
The OP bragged nonstop in the comments that he’d locked down the state’s only full-ride Harvard scholarship, his admission was a done deal, and graduation was nothing but a meaningless formality anyway.
The attached photo showed their interlaced hands. That old burn scar on his forearm—the one he’d claimed he got saving me—stared back like a chain that’s trapped me for ten years straight.
I poured every cent, every spare hour and all my academic resource just to get him into Harvard. I even voluntarily stepped down from the scholarship race and passed the spot to him.
This childhood sweetheart who’d sworn we’d go to Harvard together only hours ago threw every promise out the window for a rich transfer student, willing to gamble both our futures just for a dramatic grand gesture.
I shut the forum tab, pulled up my email to the scholarship committee.
I’m formally taking back the scholarship spot I gave up！

Everyone knew my twin sister wouldn't live past eighteen. So they gave her all the love, leaving me to survive in the shadows.
When I suffered a asthma attack on our birthday, my mother locked me in the basement.
"Stop faking it. Don't ruin your sister's last birthday," my mother hissed.
She thought I was throwing a tantrum for attention.
She was wrong.
I died on the cold concrete floor while they sang Happy Birthday upstairs.
Now, I am just a ghost floating in our living room. I watch my parents complain about my selfishness. I watch them make empty promises to treat me better tomorrow.
They don't know there is no tomorrow for me...

My younger sister scored 8.2. I scored 0.3.
She was the genius. I was the waste-blood Omega.
My parents threw me to the strays.
Said I didn't deserve the Silver Moon name.
Said the slum was where I belonged.
Now I'm awake, with molten gold in my veins.
This time, you'll be the ones begging to take me back.

I and my twin elf sister married at the same day.
She was to marry the the Light Falcon Lord of the Holy Light Kingdom, and I the vicious Lord of the Black Scale Wyrms.
All elves envied her fortunate match.
But on our wedding night, the Falcon Lord left to fight a battle, and sacrificed himself for the realms.
The Serpent Lord later ascended to godhood, his glory outshining the Holy Light Kingdom.
Left widowed in the light court, my sister betrayed her vows with a knight.
The King stripped her elven power and banished her to the cell.
When I visited her, she tricked me into drinking corrosive spring water, erasing my soul entirely.
But I woke to find we had both reborn on the day our betrothals were declared.
This time, my sister fought hard to marry the Lord of Black Scale Wyrms.
I smiled quietly.
How could she cast aside a blessed life revered by all realms for a hollow dark divinity?

The year Caleb loved me more than anything, he cut all ties with the entire Donovan mafia family, gave up his heir title, and ran away from New York with me to live on the lam out of state.
But one day, after hauling contraband and working three side jobs till his heart flared up and he coughed up blood, I took the six-million-dollar check his mom handed me and watched as his family’s guards dragged him onto a private helicopter.
He clung tight to the cabin frame, begging me not to leave like a man losing his mind.
I tossed every last dollar he’d scraped and saved for me right into the freezing pool, sneering that the tiny amount he’d managed to earn would never buy me a Steinway grand—not in a million years.
A dead-broke wreck like him had no right to talk about a future together.
Five years later, we crossed paths at an upscale charity gala.
I swallowed every ounce of my pride and begged him to lend me a sum of cash.
He said yes—on one condition. I’d be the private pianist for his engagement party, forced to sit there and watch him live out his perfect engagement for everyone to see.
I agreed without a second thought.
He’d never have the slightest clue why I was desperate for that money.
It was all to save a little girl.
A little girl who shared his blood.

I was the last of the Holy Bloodline. To the Nocturne Clan, I wasn't a Princess—I was a walking incubator, a terrified blood slave bound by the lowest pact to breed their pureblood heirs.
"I promise you... the next child you bear, I will let you raise yourself," my husband,the Vampire Prince, whispered, holding our newborn son wrapped in his sister-in-law's blanket.
He used my body as a shield against silver blades to protect his sister-in-law.
For nine years, I endured the silver whips, the boiling sunlight, and the agony of watching my babies handed over to another woman.
But when I discovered my husband was the very monster who slaughtered my families, I shattered heart turns to ash.
So, I give him exactly what he deserves—a pile of scorched ashes in a dark prison cell.
By the time the Vampire Prince realizes he cannot live without his wife, I am already “dead”.

I gave up my Harvard Ph.D. and lived in the slums for five years as a corpse restorer, all to save my dying boyfriend.
But when I brought the $72,000 I literally bled for to his VIP ward, I found him drinking champagne.
"Thanks for faking the medical records, Doc," Ethan smirked. "Her sob-story money is paying for my Senate run nicely."
His glamorous campaign manager, Sloane, chimed in: "Just be careful, Ethan. What if she figured out your family background and is just playing the long game? She might be a gold digger climbing the political ladder."
"Please," Ethan scoffed in disgust. "Marry a woman who scrubs dead bodies every night? I'll throw her out the minute the election is over."
A gold digger? Me? Climbing his ladder?
I looked at my calloused hands, then calmly messaged the most terrifying political patriarch in Boston.
"Dad, you were right. I'm coming home, and I'll marry the Federal Prosecutor.”

After I pulled every string to secure Caleb as my exclusive protégé during the faculty-student matching round.
He laid out three terms before agreeing to be my student.
First, cover all his grad school expenses.
Second, blank check for every mess he makes.
Third, no questions asked about his personal life.
The other tutors watching nearby thought his demands were totally absurd.
But I only gave a slow, quiet nod.
“Take good care of that face of yours.”

My labor pains flaring violently the same day my husband’s widowed sister-in-law, Nancy, went into labor.
Nancy tricked everyone into believing I carried a girl while she bore the heir son.
Obsessed with securing the inheritance for Nancy’s fake male child, Rowdy locked me inside a hospital morgue cold storage, transferring all doctors, blood reserves and emergency gear to her VIP ward.
I knelt on icy ground, begging him to spare our baby and swore to renounce all family wealth, yet he kicked me aside and called me a greedy schemer.
His adopted sister Gina sneaked down, beat me brutally and injected a high-dose labor suppressant straight into my womb to stall my delivery.
It was only after Nancy delivered her baby that Rowdy belatedly remembered I was also stuck in labor downstairs.
Before he could head down to the basement, his panicked subordinate rushed in and cried, “Boss, Awful!—your wife and your son are died!”

My boyfriend hated the new freshman, Lila.
She followed him everywhere from day one, and he’d complain to me nonstop.
“Want me to get her kicked out? My dad can write a check and make it happen.”
I laughed it off. “Cocky much?”
He nudged my shoulder. “You really not scared I’ll get taken?”
Please.
We were childhood sweethearts, bound by family and our upcoming competition duet.
Her cheap, desperate act? I never saw it as a threat.
I had no idea how wrong I was.

The night my childhood fiancé humiliated me in front of our entire senior class, I didn't cry.
I just went home and made two decisions.

Lose the 60 pounds.
Secretly reject my Princeton acceptance.
I erased his number, packed my bags, and vanished from his toxic orbit. Nathan thinks he won. He thinks he finally shook off the "burden" his parents forced on him.
But what happens when the girl you spent your whole life running away from... becomes the only woman you can't live without?