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My husband Michael's father and my own father shared the same name—Robert. His was Robert Carter; mine, Robert Smith. I once thought it a sweet coincidence, until that 3 AM phone call turned this quirk of fate into a living nightmare.
The nursing home called to say Robert Carter had died, but when Michael returned from his business trip, he assumed it was my father who had passed. "Old Robert's finally gone," he smirked. "Should've moved him to the cheaper nursing home ages ago." Can you believe it? His own father—the man who'd left him an inheritance—and there he was, helping his medical intern mistress cover up malpractice, dismissing the death as "just some useless old man."
He has no idea he's protecting his father's killer. No clue I've seen through his cold-bloodedness all along.
I wonder, when the truth finally hits him, how will this absurd tragedy end?

At the Morello family’s Christmas dinner, I stood beside Vincent, waiting for him to announce our engagement.
Instead, in the very next second, he walked in holding a little boy and claimed him as his son.
And the woman he said he was going to marry? Scarlett Morello. The one he had always introduced as his “sister.”
The whole room erupted in applause. I stood there frozen, like a nail hammered into the floor.
Later, in his study, he took my hand and said, “Scarlett is dying. Late-stage breast cancer. She only has six months left. After she’s gone, I’ll marry you.”
But there was no guilt in his eyes. No love, either.
Then he told me to go to his villa that afternoon, to take care of the woman who was supposedly “dying.”
I opened the photo he sent me. Scarlett was lying in a hospital bed, pale-faced, an IV in the back of her hand.
A professional tennis player who had been playing in an exhibition match three weeks ago, and who had dropped three grand at Louis Vuitton on Fifth Avenue just five days ago.
But sure. She was “dying.”
At three in the morning, I was curled up by the front door of my apartment, crying so long I lost track of time.
Then my phone lit up. A text from an unknown number:
[Elena, I’m downstairs. When we were kids, you told me that once I controlled the docks on the East Coast, you’d marry me. The docks are mine now. Does that promise still stand?]
I pulled back the curtain and there he was. Ethan Vitale, my first love, leaning against the door of a black Cadillac, lifting a hand in a lazy wave.
Three years ago, when he left New York, he was only a Capo.
Now, he was the Don of the Vitale family.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t pressure me to come downstairs.
He came for one reason only, to let me know he was back.
I wiped away my tears and texted back:
[It still stands.]
Because I wanted to see for myself just how long that woman could keep up her act.

When Amelia Pierce finally admits her marriage is a gilded cage, one shattered glass and a chilling vow—I’ll never divorce you—send her straight into the orbit of Bryson Hearst: her new boss, her oldest secret, and the man who quietly bought a ring for her six years ago and locked it in his safe.

In a world of penthouse boardrooms and whispered scandal, Bryson is the kind of dangerous that feels like safety. He moves her into protection, runs her a jasmine-scented bath instead of crossing a line, and promises to destroy her husband in the daylight and worship her in the dark. But Amelia’s freedom has a price: West Coast deals that turn volatile, an ex-assistant with receipts and a grudge, and a powerful family that believes Pierce women never leave.

As a covert investigation exposes more than a cover-up, and a storage unit full of sins, Amelia signs away every claim to her husband’s fortune—she doesn’t want his money, only her life back. The clock is ticking: four weeks to a court date, four weeks of stolen mornings and velvet-box confessions, four weeks for a man who has loved her from afar to prove he can love her up close without touching her until she’s free.

Lush, addictive, and breathless with restraint, More Than I Knew is a high-heat, high-stakes contemporary romance where consent is the sexiest power move, protection reads like possession, and a woman chooses herself—then the man who’s been choosing her all along.

He was once the supreme commander who guarded the frontier for five long years.

When he finally returned home, he discovered a nightmare waiting for him.

His young daughter had been brutally tortured by the mafia, her blood nearly drained from her body.

His wife had suffered endless humiliation at the hands of a ruthless crime lord.

In her darkest moment, the little girl cried out in despair:

"Daddy, where are you? Please save me!"

The moment he heard her plea, his fury became unstoppable.

Alone, he stormed through the enemy's territory and wiped out the entire criminal syndicate.

When powerful families and elite assassin organizations joined forces to crush him, he sent only a single message.

Within hours, armies, mercenaries, and loyal allies from every corner of the world answered his call.

Those who dare harm his daughter will pay with their lives.

The king has returned.

And this time, there will be no mercy.

I used to be an ordinary person — until one day, my younger brother killed someone.
Everyone got down on their knees, begging me to save him. So I took his place and went to prison.
On the day I was released, my fiancée Teresa publicly broke off the engagement: "A convict like you doesn't deserve me!"
My adoptive parents disowned me on the spot and kicked me out: "You're a murderer. We don't care if you live or die!"
I agreed to everything right then and there.
But when they found out who I really was, they regretted it.

I am the leader of the world's largest mercenary group. After retiring, I went to work as a bodyguard at the home of the woman who saved my life.
I hid my identity, wanting only to protect the woman who had saved me — until one day, her family fell into crisis. Everyone came to bully her, take everything she had, and even force her out onto the streets.
I stopped hiding and stepped forward. Anyone who dares to harm her will pay the price!

Three years ago, I gave up everything and went to prison in my younger brother's place. After getting out, they humiliated me and even made me sleep in the storage room. Everyone mocked me as a murderer, called me trash. My fiancée's parents also looked down on me.
But they didn't know that during those three years in prison, with the help of a mysterious old man, I had already awakened as an alpha werewolf...