1002 Book(s) Related to ride me dirty audiobook

"Take your things and leave, Mira. I never want to see you again. The guard will bring the divorce papers. Sign them. I have already done my part. Now it is your turn."
Mira, a princess of the Silver Claw Pack, was labeled a weak omega and abandoned by her father when her wolf never appeared. Heartbroken and humiliated, she ran away and found love in the arms of Alpha Adrien of another pack. Their marriage fell apart when Mira could not conceive, and Adrien's betrayal cut deeper than any wound.
Framed, banished, and left to hit rock bottom, Mira's suffering awakened the powerful, long-dormant wolf within her. Now stronger, fiercer, and unrecognizable, she returns to her home pack not as a broken princess but as a force to be reckoned with.
At the homecoming celebration organized by her father, Adrien, the man who once discarded her, is stunned. The woman he betrayed now commands respect and fear as a dominant leader. He begs for her back, but Mira is no longer the woman he left behind. This time, she is taking everything he once stole from her and more.

Aubrey Carver, a young heiress of the wealthiest family in the country, left her fortune to marry her first love, Dario Fowler. To avoid overshadowing him with her wealth, she posed as a poor countryside girl. Dario, however, only married her to secure his inheritance, planning to divorce her once his true love returned.
Aubrey endured years of insults and hardships from the Fowler family, her love for Dario unwavering. But when Dario handed her divorce papers, she realized he never loved her. Heartbroken, she returned to her family, who welcomed her with open arms.
Months later, Aubrey dazzled everyone at a grand ball, hosted by her grandfather to announce her as the chairwoman of Carver's Corp. Her true identity revealed, the once poor girl was now a powerful heiress.
Dario, realizing his mistake, now faces a crumbling empire and must win Aubrey back to save his business. But will she forgive him and take him back? Or will she choose a new path? The decision is hers to make.

"I've always thought the human mind is its own heaven, and it's own hell. Until the day she came into my life. She is the precise point where my sanity fractures, and God help me, I never wanted to fall into the abyss more."

AN ISOLATED ISLAND. AN INCOMING WORLD WAR. AND TWO MONSTERS TIED TO THE SAME LEASH.

Miles away from human civilisation lies Sector 9—The White Room. It isn't a facility; it's a subterranean graveyard for the most dangerous anomalies on the planet. The apex killers. The unhinged. The biological nightmares too lethal for regular prisons. Here, the world's worst aren't just contained, they are brocken, experimented on, and forged into soulless weapons for the impending World War III.

Cleo is a ghost of a girl drowning in her own trauma, fighting every single day just to keep her internal demons at bay. Then she's tethered at the neck of Kenji Sato—the Island's infuriating class clown who could walk off the Island anytime he pleases, but chooses to stay. While Cleo fights to quiet the madness in her head, Kenji wants to meet her demons. He doesn't want her body or trust—he wants to rule her mind, and he'll tear everything apart just to kneel for her in her dark space.

[Stand Alone Book: I Dare You sequel]
( DISCLAIMER‼️: Not your regular Romance!!! 🔞 proceed with caution <3
You do not need to read book one to read this book but I advice you start with book 1 in order to understand the narrative better.)

*******Rated 18+ (MATURE AUDIENCE) ****************
This book is for adults only: It contains explicit content, mature themes ad strong language

"My turn," he growled, voice dripping with hunger. He stroked his long, curved length, smearing the bead of precum at the tip.
Instead of guiding his cock to my mouth, Shawn pressed his tip against my tight, puckered hole. He slicked himself with my own arousal before pushing forward, breaching my ass with a firm thrust. "You can take it," he urged, sinking his thick shaft deeper into my back passage.
The overwhelming fullness of the triple penetration hit me all at once. Leo's and Axel's throbbing cocks pounded into my pussy, stretching me beyond what I thought possible, while Shawn's hard length plunged deep into my ass.

This electrifying collection brings together tangled sheets, stolen glances, and the kind of slow-burning tension that makes your skin buzz. Each story dives into a different shade of passion — from step siblings with secrets to a bride having revenge sex with her fiancé’s groomsmen.

When Scarlett Monroe entered her new house, she didn't expect a dangerously handsome stepbrother who despised her no reason and her irresistibly charming best friend who was dead set in winning her.

Asher Callahan was Scarlett's stepbrother. With arrogance, coldness and mysteries that surrounded him, Scarlett feels an unexplainable pulls towards him.

Bring in Ethan Kingsley, Asher's best-friend, the charming boy with a pleasant smile on his face. When Asher's nonchalance and coldness pushed Scarlett away, Ethan's charm pulled her closer.

Torn between choosing between illicit relationship and calmness, Scarlett must make a choice.

"Choosing you would ruin everything for me, Asher." I said, looking into his dark eyes, and he took another step forward, leaving barely any space between us.

"But losing you would ruin me far more, Scarlett." And with that, he captured my lips with his, kissing me like I had never been before.

"Speak not a word to her. Let none of you lay your hands or eyes on her. She is mine to deal with. This is my only warning. Defy it, and the consequences will make you beg for death, yet death will not come."
MIRA
When Ken hurt me, I shattered.
But I never gave in. I refused to feel. I refused to love.
Then my father, who hates me, and my mother, too afraid to protect me, send me away.
I expected peace. What I got was the White Lion.
The mafia king of the continent. A legend soaked in blood.
He claims me with no mercy. Protects me with no kindness.
Says I belong to him. Proves it with every threat and every body he leaves behind.
I swore I would never surrender.
But how do you fight a devil who looks like salvation
and kisses like sin?
SCAR
After my mother died from my father’s recklessness, I made myself a promise.
No love. No women in the mafia. No weakness.
Then I saw Mira.
Too proud to beg. Too pure to touch.
I made her a game. A test. A punishment.
But now she is the obsession I never expected.

Rosemary Decker, a 27-year-old marketing executive fleeing corporate burnout in Seattle, inherits her great-aunt's mysterious bookshop in Thornwick Hollow just as her life crumbles. But the inheritance comes with a chilling countdown—twenty-eight days until a crimson eclipse that occurs once per generation. Holden Ashworth, a devastatingly compelling stranger with secrets older than the mountain town itself, seems to know intimate details about her family history that she's never heard before. As Rosemary discovers the horrifying truth about an ancient covenant that has claimed six generations of women from her bloodline, she realizes Holden isn't courting her—he's preparing her for a ritual that will grant him immortality while consuming her life essence. But some family legacies are worth fighting for, and in Thornwick Hollow, the hunted might just become the hunter when the crimson eclipse rises and old debts written in blood come due.

I’ve had the Sight for as long as I can remember.
Born into a matrilineal line of Salem witches, I can pierce the veil of the dead. I see the wandering souls and the lingering traces of magic left behind in the mortal world.
I always assumed this gift was nothing more than my own harmless little secret.
Until the night of our fifth wedding anniversary.
I lit the final taper candle on the long dining table. As the flame flickered, my Sight instinctively slipped open, my gaze drifting toward the deep shadows by the fireplace.
A spirit was huddled there in the dark.
It was my husband—Silas Blackwood.
Ice flooded my veins. What the hell is going on? Is Silas... dead?!
My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, stumbling back in a frantic rush to dial his number.
But before my thumb could hit the call button—before my lips could even form the words of a banishing spell—
Click.
The front door opened.
Silas strode in, bringing the damp, fresh scent of the rain with him.
"Sorry I'm late, Evie."
My breath caught. If Silas was dead... then who the hell was standing right in front of me, wearing his skin?

In the apocalypse, during my escape, I awakened a useless superpower: reset .
My girlfriend, despising me as a burden who only creates junk, conspired with the mercenary captain to kick me into a horde of zombies.
She had planned everything, except for one thing.
My superpower wasn't "creating junk," but a conceptual-level divine skill !
A zombie bites my heart? Reset my body's state, instantly revived!
A rabid mutant attacks? Reset its hunger nerve, making it instantly kneel like a dog!
I single-handedly fought my way through the zombie horde and knocked on the shelter's door.
Beside the captain's shattered neck, I held my desperately begging ex-girlfriend upside down, smiling as I suspended her directly above the zombie horde.
"You were right, useless people should be zombie food. Now, it's your turn to prove your worth."
Then, I released her.

“Be careful with that, Emma," my boss at the high-end courier service warned, handing me the velvet-lined case. "That bottle is worth more than your life. It’s for the penthouse gala at the Sterling Heights. If it breaks, don't bother coming back.”

I clutched the case to my chest like it was a newborn child.

The soles of my shoes were so thin I could feel every jagged pebble on the pavement. My feet ached, a dull, throbbing reminder of the sixteen-hour shifts I’d been pulling for the last three months.

But every time I felt like collapsing, I thought of Liam. He met with an accident five years ago and could not work.

So, I became the bread-earner in our family.

Today was our wedding anniversary. And this last expensive delivery could earn me a decent gift for him.

"The host is on the terrace," a waiter whispered as I reached the penthouse, eyeing my worn-out sneakers with disdain. "Hurry up. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

I walked toward the terrace, my heart hammering. I just wanted to drop this off, get my signature, and run to Liam. I pushed through the crowd, dodging silk gowns and tailored tuxedos.

Then, I stopped.

The man standing at the edge of the terrace looked familiar.

He was wearing a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo that cost more than our three years of rent. His hair was slicked back, his posture commanding and regal. He was way too rich to cross paths with me in my entire life.

But, my heart skipped a beat as he turned back to look at his friends.

It was Liam. My Liam. With other woman, offering the world to her.

In my past life , I was delivering supplies in the scorching heat of the apocalypse , only to have my ex-wife 's lover smash my head with a stick.
daughter, whom I've spoiled for sixteen years, looked at me with disgust: "Pretending to be a good girl is disgusting. Kill him and take his supplies."
When she opened her eyes again, her daughter had been reborn.
She cried and clung to my legs, begging to be taken in, all to trick me into believing she was building a shelter.
I decided to play along, spending all my savings to build her a top-of-the-line temperature-controlled fortress, and then "meticulously" teaching her the secrets of switching on the electric grid.
As the apocalypse arrives, the ex-wife and her lover launch a night raid on the high wall.
my daughter pressed the switch, trying to let her father in and kick me out the door.
The next second, with a loud "boom," the multi-million-volt high-voltage power grid was instantly activated !
The daughter collapsed in the control room, trembling : "Why is the switch upside down?!"

Everyone says I’m crazy.
My husband, Adrien, is Ashmont College’s most esteemed professor—suave, composed, and highly logical. I, on the other hand, am an investigative journalist whose nerves are fried by looming deadlines and too much caffeine. Yet, I insist there’s a woman who shares my exact face, who crawls out of our bedroom mirror every night and slips into my husband’s bed.
Our security cameras always "happen" to glitch at the crucial moments. My son avoids me like I’m a monster, and my neighbors claim they cheerfully greeted "me" in the driveway a few days ago—even though I don't even own a vintage pink dress.
Adrien has started dropping phrases like "psych evaluation" and "sole custody." If I let this drag on any longer, he’s going to personally commit me to a psych ward.
So tonight, I lied about flying to Chicago. Instead, I’m hiding in my own study—waiting for that identical face to crawl out of the mirror one more time.

The day he proposed, Atticus knelt before me, holding the Hale family's heirloom necklace.
I thought I had finally survived the ordeal.
After eight years of unrequited love, being humiliated by his sister, nitpicked by his mother, and mocked by the city's socialites for being unworthy of the Hales... Until this very moment, when he personally fastened the heirloom around my neck. Everyone saw it. I, Clara, was finally accepted by the Hale family.
Tears in my eyes, I said yes, thinking it was the happiest moment of my life.
But just days after putting on that necklace, bizarre red rashes crawled up my neck. My pale skin rotted away piece by piece, and my internal organs went into irreversible failure.
The most absurd part? The exact same day I started rotting, his dying mother miraculously cured her terminal illness, and his sister's half-destroyed face was restored to flawless perfection.
Disfigured and barely looking human, I threw myself off the Harbour Bridge—
I opened my eyes, and I was back on the day of the proposal.

In a sleek design world split between polished appearances and buried cruelty, Mara Ellison has spent years trapped behind a voice no one wanted to hear. While her family rewrites her illness and her fiancé speaks over her in the name of love, stolen records, public humiliation, and old betrayals force her to reclaim her life. Quiet but cutting, this is a story of emotional abuse, identity theft, and hard-won selfhood—framed by rain-soaked streets, hospital corridors, cold glass conference rooms, and a woman finally stepping into the light with her own voice.

The day college decisions came out, my parents bought my twin sister a Porsche.
It was my eighteenth birthday too. Nobody brought it up. I stood in the doorway in my diner uniform while the whole room sang her name.
That night the four of them went out to dinner to celebrate her. The car only sat four, so my father handed me a hundred dollars and told me to order myself something at home.
Four days later, six thousand four hundred dollars vanished from my account. Two years of washing dishes, gone to her sorority dues. My mother's name was on the account, so it wasn't even illegal.
I didn't scream and I didn't beg. I went upstairs and clicked Accept on the full ride to MIT that had been sitting in my inbox for three days.
Nobody in that house ever wanted me. So I booked a one-way ticket, cut myself out of the family photo, and left my key on the shoe rack.
I wasn't coming back. Not for graduation. Not for any of them.

Five years into living with my stepbrother Gideon, the scholarship girl he sponsored moved into our house.
To repay his "generosity," she made a habit of slipping into his bed at night. By day, she took it upon herself to "fix" my antisocial, withdrawn personality.
Three days before St. George Prep's graduation ceremony, she brought me a glass of juice wearing that nauseating sugar-sweet smile.
"You know, Charlotte, your peanut allergy is probably psychosomatic. You just need some exposure therapy. Let me help you get over it."
That night, my throat closed completely. She'd deliberately laced my drink with concentrated peanut extract.
I convulsed on the cold hardwood floor, vision tunneling as oxygen fled my lungs.
In the last second before darkness swallowed me whole, I clawed desperately toward the half-open door.
Standing in the hallway were my boyfriend Dylan and my stepbrother Gideon.
They simply watched me suffocate. Then Gideon calmly reached out and shut the door.
I died from anaphylactic shock.
Three months later, as a ghost tethered to this world, I watched her stride onto Stanford's campus. Wearing my clothes. Carrying my acceptance letter. Burning through my trust fund.
Through the crowd, I saw Gideon—my ice-cold, unreachable stepbrother—gently cradle her face and press his lips to hers.
Then I gasped awake.
I was back. Three days before graduation.

I was here because of missed periods and abnormal bleeding—a suspected threatened miscarriage.

When asked about our relationship, my boyfriend didn't even look at me.

"We're just classmates," he told the nurse.

He thought he was cutting ties with a worthless nobody so he could chase after a billionaire's daughter.

What he didn't know was... I was the heiress he was desperately looking for.

Six months ago, my parents started fostering a girl named Lila Mercer.
Six months ago, Mom repainted the guest room and strung fairy lights over the bed. My room still has the same furniture I've had since I was twelve.
Six months ago, Dad started coming home for Sunday dinner. Not for me. I'd been eating alone at the counter for years by then.
Six months ago, Mom posted a photo of the two of them at the farmers market. Caption: our family is growing. I saw it during third period and locked my phone hard enough to crack the case.
So when I picked up the family iPad tonight and a notification popped up from an app I didn't recognize, I wasn't shocked. Just tired of being right.
The app was called Beacon.

My father chose two vampires as marriage prospects for my sister and me.

One was an immensely powerful pureblood aristocrat.

The other was Cassian, crippled by a silver curse. Confined to a wheelchair, he was a laughingstock—wracked by phantom pains and constantly on the verge of madness.

In my past life, I chose Cassian.

I drained my own blood to ease his agonizing curse. I shielded him from the relentless mockery of the Vampire Court. I even gambled my life in werewolf territory to beg for his cure.

But he never seemed to get better.

I didn't care. I remember holding his hand and telling him, "It doesn't matter. No matter what happens to you, I will always stay by your side."

Until the accident. A pack of rogue werewolves ambushed us.

Cassian shoved me precisely into the path of their claws.

Just to shield my sister, Serena, from the fatal blow.

Silver claws completely shredded my throat.

Through my fading vision, I watched Cassian stand up from his wheelchair.

The terrifying aura of a Vampire Lord erupted from him, crushing the werewolves instantly. Countless night-thralls emerged from the shadows, dropping to their knees at his feet.

That was when I understood. He was never paralyzed, and he was never mad.

Because Serena hadn't chosen him, and because he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, he faked the illness to disgust me for years.

Then, he used my life to save his true love.

"I'm sorry for deceiving you. But I couldn't just watch Serena die."

"Elara... whatever I owe you, I'll repay in the next life."

In the bone-piercing cold, I took my last breath.

When I opened my eyes, I was back on the exact day my father forced us to make our choice.

I waited five years for a heart transplant.
My mother—the Luna of our Pack, the healer everyone worships—gave it to someone else.
An orphan girl she took in. A girl who now calls her "Mom."
Ivy got my heart. She got a wolf. She got a mate and a wedding so grand the whole Pack attended.
Me? I watched from the corner, still dying, while my mother smiled for the cameras and accepted praise for her "selfless sacrifice."
When I finally snapped at the ceremony, she slapped me. Told me to apologize. Said I was embarrassing the family.
I'm her actual daughter. I'm the one who can't shift, can't feel a mate bond, can't survive another six months.
But sure. I'm the problem.
They wanted me to stay quiet and die gracefully.
I chose to make sure everyone sees who their perfect Luna really is.

My husband used my cottage to cheat on me. Fine. I found out, I drove three hours, and I walked into my own house to find his mistress wearing my dead grandmother's sweater.
She told me to leave.
He showed up, kissed her in front of me, then grabbed my arm and shoved me into the door frame.
That's when I had the asthma attack. He's known about my asthma for five years.
My inhaler rolled across the porch floor. His mistress picked it up, held it out, and told me to sign a statement saying I'd caused all of this. Then she'd give it back.
He looked at me on the ground and said: She's performing.
I'm sitting on the floor of my own grandmother's house, gasping, and my husband is telling the neighbors I'm acting.
Nobody thought to ask whose family manages every property on this coastline.

My childhood sweetheart, Henry, gave me a glass of milk the night before my Harvard interview.
I thought he cared.
Until I woke up with my waist-length hair hacked off and my brain drowning in sedatives.
Later, I found him at a cafe, laughing with the prettiest girl, Madison, in our class.
"You actually cut her hair? You're insane, Henry!" she giggled.
"Truth or dare, babe," I heard him. "She's fat anyway. But you need that Harvard spot, Madison."
The boy who promised to marry me traded my dream to impress someone else.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
Let him have his joke. I'm taking my life back.

On the night of my 28th birthday, my husband was stuck in the OR.
The man sitting across from me at dinner was his best friend, Ronan.
I got drunk. Half-asleep, I pulled a man who smelled exactly like Nate into my bed.
When morning broke, the truth did too—the man pinning me down was Ronan. He’d used my husband’s cologne.
"From the first time I saw you, I wanted to steal you from him."
Crying, I confessed everything to Nate over the phone. Dead silence for three seconds, then he hung up.
By the time I rushed home, Ronan was dragging two suspiciously heavy black suitcases out the door. And my husband... vanished off the face of the earth.

I was four months pregnant when the truck hit my car.
I woke up on a gurney outside the OR, bleeding, half-conscious, thinking my husband was saving my life. Then I heard him through the door.
"The baby's gone. Her right hand is finished—her career's over either way. Just take her kidney now and put it in Mia."
My mother agreed. My father told him to switch my architectural draft to Mia's name before Friday.
Mia. The sister they'd raised for twenty years while I was missing. The sister whose body was failing. The sister my husband had apparently been in love with the whole time I was married to him.
I was supposed to die on that table. I wasn't supposed to hear anything.
But my phone was in my coat pocket, and the voice memo app had never stopped recording.
And now I had a choice to make.

"I agree." I signed away my life to save the girl who framed me. My mate didn't even look up from her tears to notice I was dying. "Stop pretending. This much blood loss won't kill you," he said, storming out with her in his arms. What he didn't know? That contract wasn't a healing pact—it was an execution order. And I'd just started my 72-hour countdown to burn his entire kingdom down with me.

“Dad… please… help me…” I pleaded, my shattered ribs piercing my lungs, blood soaking the stretcher.
But Richard, the hospital's top surgeon and my biological father, didn't even glance at me. Instead, he rushed to the next bed.
“Don't be afraid, Chloe. I'm here,” he cooed to his stepdaughter, who merely had a tiny scratch on her arm. “Get the best equipment over here now!” he roared.
As the heart monitor flatlined and my soul left my broken body, I realized the chilling truth: in the choice between life and death, my father gladly let me die.

In order to rush to comfort his assistant whose apartment was leaking, Richard signed his name hastily without even glancing at the documents on the table.
I put away the divorce agreement with a wry smile.
When he and my son completely disappeared, he finally panicked.
Three months later .
He knelt down on the streets of Chicago in despair, begging me to remarry him.
My six-year-old son looked coldly at his biological father and said, "Get lost, you bad uncle! You don't deserve to be my dad!"

To Alpha Damien, Sophia was never a Luna—merely a breathing womb.
For years, she bore the weight of his cold indifference, trapped in a marriage where he only touched her on the "fertility days" his mother decreed.
While he flaunted his mistress Tiffany through the kingdom, Sophia was given a brutal ultimatum--
Return only when you carry a son.
She nearly lost her life giving birth to their daughter. But her suffering meant nothing—not to Damien, not to his vicious mother, and certainly not to a pack that saw her as nothing more than disposable breeding stock.
Now, pregnant again, Sophia overhears Damien's callous words:
She can handle the risks better than Tiffany.
In that moment, something in her snaps.
She's done being the obedient Luna.
Done enduring endless humiliation.
Done watching Tiffany poison their daughter's mind and steal the motherhood that should have been hers.
But escaping an Alpha is no easy feat—not when their bond refuses to break… and dark enemies lie in wait, hungry to seize control of her unborn heir.
Will Sophia reclaim her life, her daughter, and the wolf that’s been dormant inside her for far too long?
Or will the man she once loved burn every last thing she holds dear to the ground?

A forced marriage: Aurora, masquerading as her sister, married the city's most ruthless business tycoon—"From today, you are Bella Moretti."
On their wedding night, her husband Gael left her alone in the empty room, leaving her trapped behind the walls of their marriage.
The pressure from her family to have a child was relentless, and she was married to a man who didn't love her. Just as they were finally starting to grow closer, her sister Bella, who had been in a coma, suddenly woke up—right at the most intimate moment!
"Everything you thought was an accident was my plan!" Her sister's cold laughter shattered all illusions, revealing that Aurora had been a pawn all along. And could Aurora still believe Gael's words, "I never wanted Bella"?

I hid my identity and pretended to be a country bumpkin by Christopher's side, caring for him and healing him. I never expected that the first thing Christopher would do after his recovery was dump me.

On the day my half-sister and I shared our birthday, he made a grand appearance at her party while leaving me to be mocked and ridiculed by everyone: "A country bumpkin doesn't deserve to be Christopher's wife. Go back to the countryside where you belong."

I just smiled. If not for repaying the debt I owed Christopher, I would never have stayed here in the first place. Any one of my hidden identities was someone they could only look up to.

No one expected I'd have the backbone to throw the divorce papers in Christopher's face, declaring that I was the one leaving him!

What happens when Kyrah Bailey falls in love with the son of a tycoon, Blake Dawson and later finds out that he has strings attached with his neighbor Sabrina Johnson? Will Kyrah be able to dig out Blake's past? Will she forgive Blake or not? Torn between her boyfriend, Blake and her best friend, Scott Stone, her world crumbles down as she tries to fight for her lover forgetting about her friends and family. Will she realize her mistakes and who will she end up falling for?

"Let’s divorce."

After three years of marriage, my husband’s true love has returned. He ended our three-year marriage with his own lips. Just like that, I was ruthlessly abandoned, and everyone is laughing at my misery.

I hid the news of my pregnancy and vanished from his world completely. I thought my sacrifice would give him the happiness he wanted. I never expected that when we met again, my ex-husband would confront me with bloodshot eyes.

"Whose child is this?"

——

As for the story after I left, I heard a different version. From the moment I disappeared, my ex-husband went insane searching for me all over the world...

Maya froze when the man who drew every eye in the room walked in. Her ex-boyfriend, who‘d vanished five years ago, was now one of Boston’s richest tycoons. Back then, he’d never hinted at his identity—then he’d disappeared without a trace. Seeing his cold gaze now, she could only assume he’d hidden the truth to test her, decided she was vain, and left in disappointment.

Outside the ballroom, she went to him as he smoked by the door, wanting to at least explain herself.

“Are you still angry with me?”

He flicked the cigarette away and looked at her with open contempt. “Angry? You think I’m angry? Let me guess—Maya finally finds out who I am and now she wants to ‘reconnect.’ Another chance now that she knows my last name comes with money.”

When she tried to deny it, he cut in. “You were a blip. A footnote. If you hadn’t shown up tonight, I wouldn’t have remembered you.”

Tears stung her eyes. She almost told him about his daughter, but stopped. He’d only think she was using the child to trap him and get his money.

Maya swallowed everything back and left, certain they would never cross paths again—only for him to keep appearing in her life, until he was the one lowering himself, humbly begging her to take him back.

At twelve, I lost my parents and was taken in by the Brooks—our families had a marriage pact. For a decade, everyone expected me to marry their son Conner, a future I'd accepted as duty.
Then Conner's tabloid scandal with another woman destroyed the engagement. Chaos hit our family businesses—until Dylan, Conner's uncle who barely spoke to me, offered: Marry me instead.
It was the only way to save everything. I said yes, no time to fear marrying a stranger.
What stunned me? The wild side of Uncle Dylan I never saw. It hit fast, hot—pulling me in until I was hopelessly falling.
And my best friend? She's about to find a chaotic, twisty romance of her own. Turns out, life's best gifts are the ones you never see coming—even if they start with a marriage of convenience.

"Violet Goldcrest," Daemon's voice was thunder, vibrating through the wet ground and into my bones. "You have failed as Luna."
I knelt in the mud, the agony of rejection tearing through me as I watched him walk away with pregnant Celeste.
"I, Daemon Blackwood," he intoned coldly, "reject you as my mate."
I had loved him for ten years—until he humiliated me in a public Rejection Ceremony, abandoned me for another woman, and waged war on my pack. My parents died protecting me. I died alone, broken by his betrayal.
Then I woke up... three years earlier.
This time, I'm done begging for his love.
"I'll make you a bet, Daemon," I say when he dismisses my offer to break our bond. "Soon, you won't just accept this rejection—you'll beg for it."
He stares at me with icy disdain. "I. Don't. Beg."
I sigh. As the one who's lived this before, I know what's coming. Daemon will meet his true mate, fall madly for her, and finally set me free. All I have to do is wait.
But then... things get weird.
The man who once spent months away from me now watches my every move. He interrogates me about other males. And when he does meet Celeste, he doesn't reject me like he's supposed to.
He rejects her instead.

“How cruel of you! You were the one who left when I was ready to fight for you. I searched the world for you, and now that I found you, you were betrothed to another man. Tell me how! How do I unlove you?”
Tears fall from both our eyes and the next thing we know, we are kissing each other, deeply and passionately, as if the two years of longingness for each other has finally been released.
_
Avery Anderson called "Ava" who is still a virgin in her early thirties is a career-oriented woman. She puts up her own business through her hard work and is envied by a lot of women because of her seven-year-long relationship with Seigfried Cohen, a hot bachelor in an accounting firm. Their relationship starts to fall apart as they get into a heated argument because of Ava's unfathomable sexual drive.
Determined to lose her virginity, she travels to Austria to unwind and get laid to whoever finds her attractive. There, she encounters a guy named Dmitri, a gorgeous sexy billionaire: an encounter that shouldn't have happened in the first place.
She will then, know a world, that she never expects to get addicted to.

"What is the meaning of this?" I questioned still in disbelief. Where had it all gone wrong? We were happy, he respected me and so did I...I even fell in love with him so how could he do this to me?
"It's exactly what it says in the paper, Ciara"
"And what is that?" I stubbornly inquired.
Ryan had uttered those words I so desperately dreaded,"I want a divorce, Ciara"
Ciara is the heiress to her father's company but she left all of that to be in a contract marriage with Ryan. It was supposed to be a 'no-strings-attached' kind of feeling but, she couldn't help but fall in love with him. Just when she wanted to start a clean slate on their first anniversary, she was handed a divorce paper.
Ryan is a billionaire and a man with a hardened heart. He never saw Ciara as something more than just a 'fake wife' who was willing to help him out with a case. Deciding that he had had enough, Ryan hands Ciara a divorce paper setting himself free from her but 5 years later, he seems to have a change on heart and wants to win Ciara back at all cost.
But on his way to the office of the new investor of his company he is overcomed by a welling shock that the name of his new investor was Ciara. The same Ciara he'd known and once loved.
What happens when this two dual meets for the first time since their rough divorce? Would they rekindle their feelings or would they leave it at that?
Could second chance love prevail?

"You're going to run on the count of three, Janice Cross," He whisper. "And make sure you don't let us find you."
"No… Lucian."
I moved my gaze to the men at either side of him, willing—begging them to say something.
Help me. "Calder, please… Aiden…"
Both turned their heads to the side. They couldn't even look me in the eyes as they chose their brother.
"One."
"Lucian…"
"Two."
"I didn't mean to."
"Three."


After losing the man she believed she would marry and her parents within a week, Janice just wants to care for her sick sister. She doesn't want a man. She doesn't want three men.
But one night is enough to change her life and point her in a new direction.
Aiden Grant. Calder Vaughn. Lucian Graves.
She doesn't expect the line to blur when it comes to these older men.
And when it comes to an end, she does not expect these men to continue wanting her as badly as she wants them.

"Please, Lydia, give me a second chance. I swear, let me love you again." "Too late, Nathaniel, I have someone else now."
In a twisted tale of deceit and sacrifice, Lydia Milan, who hid her identity and family, endures a loveless marriage to handsome, wealthy Nathaniel King, who views her only as a blood source for his ailing ex.
Struggling against mistreatment, Lydia Milan finally demands a divorce and leaves the marriage, and that was when Nathaniel King discovered that she was the only daughter of the richest man in the country, whom he had been trying to have an audience with since.
A suspenseful journey unfolds, revealing the complexities of love, betrayal, and redemption in this gripping novel where hidden identities and vengeful schemes entwine in a web of secrets.

On their third wedding anniversary, Ava's life takes a heartbreaking turn when she discovers her husband's shocking betrayal: he’s been having an affair with her stepsister, Autumn. Devastated and feeling lost, Ava realizes the love she gave him was met with betrayal and deceit.
Now pregnant and facing heartbreak, she decides to file for divorce. Just when she thinks she can finally move on, Jerome, her ex-husband, returns, begging for a second chance and claiming he was just a pawn in Autumn's cruel game. Will Ava take a leap of faith and give love another shot, or is it time to close the door on the past for good?

Iris Quinn had a life worth having—until her father’s arrest stripped it all away.
The charges are a lie, orchestrated by the one family she’s always loathed: the Laurents. When Caesar Laurent offers a cold-blooded trade—her hand in marriage for her father's freedom, Iris realizes exactly who she’s dealing with.
The contract arrives before she's finished being angry. Two years minimum. No escape clause.
Caesar doesn't want her heart; he doesn't even pretend to. But he underestimated one thing: Iris Quinn has spent her life refusing to be controlled, and she isn't about to start now.
Caesar is used to winning. Iris is used to surviving. Neither expected the other to be quite this good at the game. She was supposed to be his prisoner—he wasn't supposed to lose sleep over her.

I once believed that if I was obedient enough, my birth family would finally love me. Instead, they gave everything to Anna, the fake heiress—my competition spot, my reputation, even my kidney.
Then I opened my eyes and returned to the year it all began.
This time, I won’t beg. I won’t yield. My achievements, my dignity, and my life belong to me.
When everyone called me vicious, Damian Sterling draped his jacket over my shoulders and asked in a low voice, “Am I an outsider?”
I leaned into him and smiled. “Of course not.”
But soon I discovered he was being slowly poisoned—and the culprit might be someone closest to him. Worse, the truth behind my death in my previous life may be darker than I ever imagined…

1

The night before the engagement, Rosaline was tricked by her cousin. She was drunk and sent to a stranger’s room. She broke free from their control, went to the next room through the window, and had a one-night stand with a mysterious man.

She didn't want to have anything to do with him, so she matched wits with him and finally escaped. The man stared at silhouette with a smile: "You will never escape from me."

It was five years later when they met again. Neither of them recognized each other, but she was stopped by him in a dramatic way,
"Sir, anything can I do for you?"
"Yes."
"So, what's the matter?"
"I need a wife." He looked at her, and his lips twitching slightly.
"Sir, I don't quite understand what you mean."
"I needed a wife, and you are just the right one for me."
"What! Why?"
"I don't like women who are too beautiful or too smart."
“...”
"I'll see you at the Bureau House at ten a.m. tomorrow."
“...”
What?Was she proposed by the richest bachelor in this City!

I am the fearsome godfather of the Mafia.
For the woman I love, I sheathed my fangs and willingly became a despised commoner son-in-law.
In the horrific car accident, I shielded her with my own flesh and blood, and steel bars pierced through my chest.
Faced with the only life-saving machine in the entire hospital, she did not hesitate to save her lightly injured "white moonlight" brother-in-law, leaving me to die in the basement.
She thought that as long as I bled to death, she could naturally embrace perfect love.
But she didn't know—
Without my protection, her proud, century-old family wouldn't even last a month ...

I remember that frost-covered train door like it was the last thing I ever saw. Because it was.
The escape spot I’d spent three years scraping together? My fiancée was sitting in it, wearing my parka. Her brother had my hiking boots on his feet. Her mother clutched the medical kit I’d carried six miles through ash-covered roads. And Caleb Frost—the ex she’d sworn was just “someone from the past”—stood in the seat that should have been mine, lifting my silver emergency flask in a toast.
While I froze out in the subzero ash storm, my lungs burning like they were filled with shards of broken glass, they turned their backs to me under the warm yellow light inside.
Then I woke up.
The calendar read May 3, 2041. Exactly one year before the Yellowstone chain eruption would turn the northern hemisphere into a frozen grave.
On the TV, experts were still downplaying the volcanic tremors, insisting there was no immediate risk to the public. My fiancée walked into the bedroom wearing one of my white shirts, carrying coffee in the blue mug she’d bought with my card. She reached for my forehead, asking if I’d had a bad dream.
None of them know I’ve already died once.
They’re still plotting how to make me pay for her brother’s failed investments, how to sneak texts to her old boyfriend, how to use me as their most obedient, most useful doormat until the world ends. I’ve sold the downtown office towers, mortgaged the lakefront house, bought the abandoned geothermal station no one wanted in the dead mountains, and signed a stack of engineering contracts they’ll never bother to read.
They still smile and thank me, tell me I’m the best fiancé in the world.
They have no idea who will be holding the key to the door, when the sky goes dark forever and the snow never stops falling.

"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.
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 packed my bags, and vanished into his world.

Every night, dragging noises come from the floor above.
The neighbor claims he just can’t sleep, yet he stares at my window and grins in the dead of night.
Later, he dies.
But at two in the morning, I still get a text message from him.
Someone else warns me: Don’t go to the sixth floor.
The police say this building doesn’t even have a sixth floor.
Yet I’ve seen people go up there with my own eyes.
Where exactly does this so-called sixth floor lead?
Who really died?
And who on earth is the one texting me?

Three torturous years hauling bodies on the mortuary night shift, and I'd finally scraped together the cash for my brother Charles's heart transplant.
He just waved it off.
"My heart is fine. Mom and Dad didn't die in that gang war, either. I orchestrated the hit. You were the only casualty."
Nearby, my husband, Gerald, casually lit a cigar to deliver his own confession. "I never went bankrupt. 'Laying low' was just my excuse to avoid squeezing into that dingy funeral home dorm with you. I've been at the Long Island estate."
"I was going to punish you for another three years," Charles added, "but the stench of formaldehyde on you is nauseating. We couldn't take it anymore."
I froze, still clutching the credit card. Charles plucked the plastic from my numb fingers and shoved his phone screen in my face. A banking app stared back at me.
Balance: exactly zero.
"My name is still on the joint account," he sneered, tossing the card into the trash. "I drained it this morning. That blood money you made bagging stiffs is being handed out to street junkies as we speak. We'd never touch that filth."
Before the sheer absurdity of it could suffocate me, my parents walked in. Flanked by bodyguards, they kept their distance, eyeing me like a plague rat.
"You thought being the biological daughter gave you the right to ruthlessly bully Violet. We simply wanted to put you in your place."
"Swear you'll never cross Violet again, and you can remain a Falcone," my mother added coolly. "Otherwise, you're dead to us."
In the stifling silence that followed, my phone buzzed. A text from my oncologist.
[Mrs. Castello, the results are back. It's terminal. Do you consent to initiating the hospice and DNR protocols we discussed?]