155 Book(s) Related to christine lauren

Twins Ellsa and Ellie are completely different in character, personality, taste and interests. Apart from the striking resemblance to each other, they share the one thing siblings shouldn’t. The same taste in men.
Carson is interested in only one of them. He is pulled by Ellie’s passion for love and art, and most importantly, him. What starts as a sexual chase, ends with his permanent retirement from bachelorhood.
But their love story is not a smooth one.
Ellie is implicated in the brutal murders of her ex-boyfriends, and Carson is faced with the horror of arresting the love of his life.

After a hot weekend with a mysterious woman, Damien Chan did not expect to get a frightened phone call from her, begging him to save-what? who? The call is cut before she says it. The next thing he knows, he's become obsessed with finding her and saving her from the man that had led to their first meeting. But he never expected to find her in his cousin Dale Carson's house... as his wife! She finds out her nightmares are actually memories of her past life... the life of a murderer. Could she truly be the deranged Ellsa Jabari who'd almost added her own sister Ellie to the list of people she's killed? Amnesia can be a real bitch!

"Just this once." Ethan's huge cock thrust hard into me.
He lifted one of my legs and hung it over his shoulder, thrusting so hard I moaned uncontrollably. "God, you're so tight..."
I tried to escape, but he grabbed my ankles and pulled me towards him.
I begged, "Let go of me...I'm dying..."

A year ago, Lucy was imprisoned after being framed for intentionally injuring Ivy, her husband Ethan's first love. After being granted family leave, she rushes to visit her ailing grandmother, but Ethan fucks her against her will. He mercilessly make her give a blood transfusion to Ivy, causing her to miss her grandmother’s dying words. Jailed, the only family dead, and her dreams shattered, Lucy is desperate for a divorce from this man who doesn't love her, but Ethan coldly proclaims, "There's only widowhood in the Storm family, not divorce."

"Look how wet you are," he roughly flipped me over, his fingers cruelly invading my pussy. "Your cunt is desperate for it, isn't it? You were born to be fucked by me, dear sister."

His thick cock thrust into me mercilessly. My walls stretched forcefully, pain and pleasure intertwining.

"Fuck... it's too big!" I screamed, gripping the sheets as I felt each savage thrust. "Alexander... please..."

"Call me brother," his teeth bit down hard on my neck. "Say you're my Omega."

When Omega wolf Erin loses her job for refusing her boss's harassment, a chance encounter in an alley leads to a night of passion with powerful Alpha Alexander. In a cruel twist of fate, she discovers her one-night stand is not only the heir to the Black Stone pack but also her stepbrother.

Caught in a whirlwind of pack politics, Erin is torn between Alexander's almost manic possessiveness and the cold machinations of his betrothed and her family. As the mystery of her origins unfolds, a shocking secret of blood vengeance rises to the surface.

In this forbidden affair where lust and hatred intertwine, where will their path lead?

To save my stepsister's life, I accepted a contract marriage with a stranger—$100,000 for one year.

Sebastian Sterling, the mysterious billionaire from Manhattan's Upper East Side, a devastatingly handsome bachelor. He needed a wife in name only, I needed money—a perfect arrangement.

But as I lost myself in his tender gaze and caring touch, his ex-girlfriend's return shattered everything. Behind this mail-order bride arrangement lay a shocking secret—

My true identity was the only key to his billion-dollar inheritance.

Lyra was hopelessly in love with her stepfather Magnus—the handsome, powerful Alpha—but could only watch helplessly as he bedded other women.

When she tried to distance herself with a shattered heart, fate dealt her a devastating blow. An accident left Magnus out of control, and he brutally claimed her.

Though she was the victim of rape, she was branded as the whore who "seduced her stepfather"!

Silver whips tore through her flesh, leaving her bloodied and broken. When Lyra knelt in her own blood, begging for mercy, the man who once vowed to protect her for life coldly commanded—

"Continue the punishment."

Four years later, just when she thought she had finally escaped her past, Magnus reappeared. Seeing her pregnant with another man's child, his eyes burned with insane possessiveness:

"You can never leave me."

I was the most pathetic existence on campus.

Thick glasses, baggy sweaters, walking through the cafeteria like crossing a minefield. Albert, my childhood crush of three years, publicly mocked me as "a pathetic little dog following him around." Campus queen Madison crushed me under her heel. That rainy night, I gave up completely and swore to make them all pay.

Three months later, I returned.

Bronze skin, perfect curves, stunning hair—the entire campus was buzzing about this "mystery goddess." No one recognized that I was once the pathetic Molly Baker.

When Albert discovered the truth, it was too late. The man standing beside me shocked the entire school.

When debt-ridden Wendy Chen hits rock bottom, an unexpected "job" becomes her lifeline—a contract marriage with veteran Jason Morrison, paying $100,000 a year for one year, with a single assignment: being a "mom" to his fourteen-year-old son Liam.

This should have been the perfect business arrangement. Jason needs someone to care for his stepmother-resistant son, while Wendy needs money to escape the crushing gambling debts her ex-husband left behind. No love, no expectations—just cold contractual terms.

But when Liam "welcomes" her with a bucket of ice water, when Jason struggles through PTSD episodes during thunderstorms, when her dangerous ex-husband resurfaces to threaten her new life... Wendy finds herself caught in a deadly trap: she's genuinely falling in love with this broken family.

Until fourteen-year-old Liam accidentally discovers the contract.

Everything falls apart.

My husband Eric couldn't speak after a car accident three years ago. Three years of silence. Not one word.

To pay for his rehab, I worked four jobs at once—worked until I was coughing up blood, until I collapsed. Winter nights, Leo and I huddled under one threadbare blanket. When my son spiked a fever and I had no money for medicine, I stayed up all night pressing wet rags to his burning forehead.

Eric? His only communication was cold texts, ordering me around. When Leo reached for a hug, he'd push him away like our son didn't exist.

I endured it all. Because deep down, I believed the accident was my fault.

Until that night.

I was hauling equipment at Selena's concert—Selena, the pop star everyone knew—when a mystery guest in a mask stepped on stage. They sang together, voices blending like they'd done this a thousand times.

That voice. That lightning-shaped scar on his elbow.

My "mute" husband of three years.

I followed him backstage. Through the door, I heard Selena's laugh: "Congrats, Eric. Your mute act is almost over—you won the bet."

Three years of sacrifice.

All of it just a game. A bet with his first love.

Running for my life, I tumble straight into a hidden underground palace of nightmares.

The Bride-Selection slaughter is underway—no girl has survived in ten years. Bodies torn apart, blood everywhere.

Then the monstrous black dragon lowers its massive head… and gently nuzzles my palm like a lovesick puppy.

The man on the throne stares down with violet eyes.

"You don't get to run anymore. You're my queen now."

That same night he rips away every scrap of silk, pins me to the freezing dragon-sized bed, and shoves his thick, burning cock so deep I scream until my voice breaks.

"Try escaping again," he growls against my ear, hips slamming into me without mercy, "and I'll chain you to this bed and fuck you until you can't even crawl."

This terrifyingly beautiful monster—what deadly secrets is he hiding?

And me, the runaway bride his dragon picked… will I ever break free from his cage?

Before I died, I married mob boss Dante in my sister's place.

Five years of marriage, and I was nothing but her replacement. He hated me for stealing her spot. My parents were ashamed I couldn't make him love me. Everyone just waited for her to come back.

Christmas Eve—fire tore through the mountain estate. Dante's first move? Sprint straight to my sister, fresh off the plane. My parents escaped right behind him. Nobody remembered the pregnant wife locked in the dressing room. Smoke and flames took me and my baby while they held each other outside, celebrating they'd made it out alive.

I opened my eyes on the day they cornered me with divorce papers.

My parents threw the documents at me. My sister stood there smirking, ready to slide into my place. This time? I didn't cry. Didn't beg. I picked up the pen and signed.

They wanted me gone? Done.

On what should have been the happiest night of my life, I discovered a brutal truth—my fiancé Asher, whom I'd loved for seven years, was having an affair with my sister Janet in a storage room. Even worse, they were plotting to take everything from me!

"That idiot still thinks I'm the helpless little wolf pup from the orphanage who needed her protection... She has no idea I now prefer cunning women like you."

Hearing those words from their own mouths, my heart shattered completely. In my rage, I decided to fight fire with fire, rescuing the mysterious werewolf Eric from a dangerous containment facility just before his execution. I thought I'd found my weapon for revenge, never knowing this "dangerous" wolf harbored an even greater secret.

I'd been married to Nikolai Konstantin for three years. In that time, I'd miscarried six times for him—nearly died on the operating table once.

Every time I woke up, this cold-blooded mafia boss would hold my hand and say, "I'm sorry you had to go through this. Should we try again?"

I thought he loved me.

Until my seventh pregnancy, when I saw that video—

My sister Scarlett curled up in his arms, crying: "Nik, she's had six miscarriages... what if something happens to her? It's all my fault. My heart condition won't let me carry a baby..."

Nikolai kissed the top of her head: "Don't worry, baby. Her body can handle a few more tries. I promised you a child, and I always keep my promises."

That was when I finally understood—

The child in my womb had NEVER been ours.

The night I was reborn, my adoptive brother—Viktor Konstantin, the Don of the Chicago Outfit—was poisoned during a negotiation.

In my past life, I loved him desperately. So when the aphrodisiac took hold and he gasped for me to call Liliya, I made a selfish choice. I stayed. I gave myself to him.

She arrived too late. When she saw us together, she ran. Her plane crashed over the Atlantic that same night.

Viktor married me without a word of blame. Until a turf war when our enemies captured me—seven months pregnant, chained up, beaten bloody. I called him, begging for help through my tears.

His answer shattered me: "You want to live? After killing Liliya? You and that bastard don't deserve to breathe. Go to hell, Eve."

I died in that cell. Our daughter died with me.

Now I'm staring into those same drugged eyes again.

This time, I'm making the call.

"We can only take one more person! Any heavier and we ALL go down!"

In the middle of a raging forest fire, my fiancé Carter Hayes was piloting a fuel-leaking helicopter, forced to choose between me and my cousin Lily Sterling.

He chose me.

Lily was left behind in the inferno. She burned.

I thought surviving made me lucky — until my parents slapped me across the face at my wedding. "Why wasn't it YOU who died?"

Turns out, I was never the one they wanted to save.

Carter married me, then spent five years making me wish I'd died in that fire instead. He and my parents worked together, systematically stripping away my dignity, my career, and every reason I had to keep living.

Three years into my depression, I jumped from the top floor of the Hayes estate.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself back before the fire — before the helicopter took off, before Carter made his choice.

This time, I spoke first. "Take Lily."

If they all wanted me dead, then I'd give them exactly what they wanted.

The night I almost drank myself to death at a client dinner, my husband Alexander bought his first love a luxury yacht.

Maya posted it on Instagram that same night: "Best birthday gift EVER! You know who you are 💕🛥️~"

In the photo, she was in a bikini, champagne in hand, glowing with joy.

Then came the credit card alert—our joint account had been maxed out.

Before I could even confront him, Alexander called.

"Are you serious right now? Why'd you lock the card? Maya's been struggling with her depression—she needs to go sailing to clear her head! Why can't you show some compassion?"

I wanted to tell him that last night, I'd nearly killed myself closing a deal for his company.

But he'd already hung up.

Later that evening, Maya posted again—an extravagant jewelry set. The caption: "When someone truly GETS you 💎✨"

In the photo, she wore a diamond ring I never got, not even on my wedding day.

But by then, I was done caring.

Because I'd made my decision—to disappear completely.

They said I killed them all.

My father. My daughter. My brother's legs. One explosion, one moment of selfishness, and I became the family murderer.

My husband Dominic—the most feared mafia boss in the city—drowned himself in whiskey. I drowned myself in something worse.

Three years on the pole. Three years with strangers' cash stuffed in my bra, their cocks shoved down my throat, their fists in back alleys, their cameras catching every degradation. Three years swallowing cum and shame to scrape together half a million for my brother's surgery.

Then the doctors found the tumor. Three months left.

One last show, I told myself. A blindfolded performance. Enough to pay off Ethan's debt before I died.

That's when someone ripped off my blindfold.

Dominic.

Behind him stood my very-alive father. And Ethan—on two perfect legs, kicking aside an empty wheelchair. And my adopted sister Vanessa, draped over my husband, flashing a diamond ring.

This whole performance? Her birthday present.

"Surprise, sweetheart." Dominic smiled. "The explosion was fake. We just needed to put you in your place."

Ethan laughed. "Three years of stripper money made one hell of a party, sis."

My father still wouldn't look at me. "Learn to treat Vanessa right, or you're no daughter of mine."

The room exploded in laughter.

I stood there, diagnosis crumpled in my fist.

The explosion was fake. The crippled legs were fake. Everything was fake.

But the cancer eating my brain?

That was real.

Twenty-one times.

I've signed the mate bond with Kael Nightshade, Lord of the Black Panther Clan, twenty-one times.

And dissolved it twenty-one times.

Not because we didn't love each other.

But because every few months, she comes back.

Seraphine. His first love. The angel who shattered her wings saving him, leaving her mind fractured and fragile.

"Seeing the mate mark sends her into psychotic breaks," he'd say, burning the bond from my skin. "I owe her my life."

So I'd erase the mark. Burn the contract. Pretend we were never bound.

The first time, I cried and begged. He backhanded me: "Cut the bullshit. We'll rebond once she's back in the sanatorium."

The thirteenth time, I followed them to a tavern and watched him tenderly kiss the scarred stumps where her wings used to be. When I confronted them, he knocked me down and locked me in enchanted restraints for seven days straight.

Sign. Burn. Erase. An endless cycle I couldn't escape.

Until the twenty-first time.

Fire engulfed the manor. Seraphine and I were trapped in different wings. Kael could only save one of us.

"Kael!" I collapsed at the window, smoke choking my lungs. "I'm pregnant—please—"

He shifted into his panther form and bolted toward her room.

The guards dragged me out thirty minutes later. Third-degree burns across my back, lungs filled with ash, blood pooling beneath me.

No heartbeat.

Kael stood in the safe zone, holding an unscathed Seraphine in his arms. From the moment the flames erupted until they pulled me from the rubble, he never looked back.

Not once.

The twenty-first dissolution was my choice.

There won't be a twenty-second.

Three years ago, my brother left me with his most trusted friend, Kaden.

That "trustworthy" Alpha had me pinned beneath him on my third night in the Shadow Pack.

Since then, I played his obedient little "sister" by day and spread my legs for him by night. Three years of sneaking around—I was done.

My ultimatum: make it official or we're done.

Hours ago, with me pressed into the mattress, he swore between thrusts, "Tomorrow. I'll tell everyone tomorrow."

Then his first love Chloe came back.

He dropped everything and ran to her. I followed. Watched him gently wipe her tears—the same hands that had gripped my throat just hours before.

"Kaden, you promised—"

"Shut up." He turned on me, voice lethal. "Don't say another word in front of Chloe. There's nothing between us. I'm doing Seth a favor, looking after his bratty sister. Clear?"
My hands trembled. Three years. All of it—a fucking joke.

I pulled out my phone and texted my brother: "The Silver Moon marriage. I accept."

At a three-day yacht party, my suppressants went missing.

Without them, my heat—that humiliating, consuming need my body couldn't control—hit me like a sledgehammer.

Worse—as I stumbled out of the bathroom, I collided with him.

Victor Sterling. My father's best friend. My boss. The one man I had no business fantasizing about every night when I touched myself.

This man, infamous for never touching women and his ice-cold control, never came to parties like this. Yet here he was.

And the worst part? Thanks to the storm, I'm trapped in a room with him tonight.

A year ago, Sophia was recalled from overseas medical school. Her father announced she must marry Ethan Sullivan, head of the Sullivan crime family, to save their bankruptcy.

Ethan Sullivan—uncrowned king of New York's underworld, cold-blooded killer. Complete opposite of her life-saving profession.

She fought desperately—humiliated him at their engagement, sabotaged business meetings, even escaped at midnight. Ethan never got angry, just quietly cleaned up, growing more gentle and devoted.

Until rival families shot at them. He shielded her with his body, blood soaking his white shirt, still comforting her: "It's okay. I'm here."

Sophia fell completely.

"I'll marry you," she told him in his hospital bed, "but tell me—do you really love me?"

Ethan nodded without hesitation: "I love you. You're the first and only one."

After marriage, Sophia enjoyed sweet life as a mafia wife. Until she learned Ethan's "sister" Isabella had leukemia. When her bone marrow matched, she donated without hesitation, thinking this proved their love.

Until tonight's party. A drunk lieutenant asked: "Boss, what's your biggest regret in life?"

Ethan was silent for a long moment: "Giving up the woman I loved."

When my mother-in-law and I went undercover on our own yacht, a woman in a bikini pointed at us and screamed, "Broke trash!"

She ordered the bodyguards to throw us into the sea.

"This is the VIP section! You freeloading scum snuck on board for free food and drinks—get lost!"

She pinched her nose, looking at my mother-in-law and me with complete disgust.

I said coldly, "This is a public area. We have the right to be here."

"Public area?" She burst into shrill laughter, dripping with arrogance. "Do you even know whose yacht this is? My boyfriend's! The most powerful man in this city!"

Victoria and I exchanged confused looks—this yacht, the Poseidon, was clearly being managed by my husband Alexander.

When did he become someone else's boyfriend?!

Five years ago, on my wedding day, my fiancé Vincent fucked my best friend in the bridal suite.

Five years later, I returned to New York with my husband—the most powerful Mafia boss in Naples. At Atelier Milano, my former best friend Bianca circled my custom gown like a vulture, pestering the staff about meeting the legendary Mrs. Salvatore.

She had no idea the woman she pitied as a pathetic nobody was the very person she was dying to impress.

A year ago, my ex abandoned me when I was broke and buried in debt, choosing the Russo family heiress instead.

On the day of his engagement party, he sent me a vicious text: "Wear a wedding dress to Plaza Hotel. Changed my mind. You're marrying me."

I showed up in white.

Luca and his crew waited at the entrance, ready to watch me humiliate myself.

He thought this was my degradation.

But what he didn't know was—I was getting married.

Just not to him.

To Dante Valentino—the most dangerous man in this godforsaken city.

At the Academy's Beast Hunt Competition, I killed a high-tier Shadow Wraith and carved out its core.

My sister Seraphine stole it and claimed first place.

That core eased the brutal dragon prince Draven's chronic migraines. He demanded to marry the mage who presented it.

My fiancé Kelvin soul-bound himself to Seraphine overnight to "save" her. Done deal.

Someone had to fulfill the dragon marriage contract. That someone was me.

Seraphine draped herself over Kelvin, smirking. "Sister, your fiancé's MINE now. Draven arrives in three days—better find some random dragon to marry, or he'll tear you apart."

I looked at her smug face and smiled slowly.

"What makes you think I won't marry him?"

Three years ago, I nearly died giving birth to my son.

My husband Elias wasn't by my side—he was outside, ready to rip my baby from my arms and hand him to his dead brother's widow.

"We owe her this."

As I screamed and bled, Elias made his decree: "Aria stays away from the boy. She comes near him, she gets the silver whip."

They gave my son to Vivienne. I wasn't even allowed to see his face.

For three years, I tried everything to reach him.

Scaled walls—got twenty-three scars across my back. Snuck in as a maid—starved for seven days. Crashed his third birthday—thrown in ice water until I couldn't feel my legs.

Every time, worse punishment. Elias started looking at me like I'd lost my mind.

Then yesterday, fire ripped through the house. Flames swallowed the nursery.

Everyone screamed, including Vivienne—but she didn't move.

Only I ran in.

I pulled Asher out, barely breathing.

When he woke up, he shoved me away and clung to Vivienne, sobbing: "Mommy! She's here again! Make her GO! You said she'd leave if I was good!"

Three years of lies had erased me completely.

I dropped to my knees, voice breaking: "Call me 'Mom' just once. Then I'll disappear forever."

The day I went into labor, my husband threw me into Dragon's Pyre.

Draven was the Dragon King. I was carrying his child. Should've been the happiest day of our lives. Instead, it became hell.

Why? His dead brother Kael's widow, Seraphina, was about to pop too. And Ashwing law was crystal clear: first male heir takes the throne.

Our due dates? One day apart.

So he picked her over me. Because apparently, I OWED them.

Dragon's Pyre—where they roast criminals alive with dragonflame. Hot enough to turn flesh to ash in seconds. But that wasn't enough for them. They shoved some potion down my throat that would keep my body from going into labor, even though my baby was clawing to get OUT.

I was curled up on that scorching stone slab, feeling my child die inside me.

All because I'd been stupid enough to fall in love with him.

To marry Damian Thorne, I almost died thirteen times.

Over three years, I planned twelve weddings. Each one left me bleeding.

The first time: a runaway truck crashed into the bridal boutique, crushing my right leg.

The second time: the church ceiling collapsed during rehearsal, leaving me broken and bloodied.

The third time: poisoned champagne at the reception nearly killed me as I foamed at the mouth.

...

Manhattan's elite whispered that I was cursed.

But I still loved him desperately.

Until the thirteenth time. That bloody rainy night, three thugs cornered me in an alley and stabbed me seven times—two to the chest, three to the abdomen, two to the back. I lay dying in my own blood, yet somehow survived.

After I healed, I accidentally overheard Damian talking to his assistant.

"Mr. Thorne, she almost really died this time... Maybe we should stop? If your grandfather finds out..."

"We can't stop," Damian said wearily. "Her father saved my life. Grandfather is hell-bent on me marrying her. But DAMN IT, I love Selena, not her."

"As long as she won't give up, these accidents have to continue until she gets the message and leaves on her own."

I trembled as I touched the bandages covering my wounds, tears falling silently.

All these years, the man I desperately loved had been meticulously planning my death.

But he didn't know that this time, he really wouldn't have to marry me anymore.

I fell in love with my stepbrother.

He chose someone else.

So I did what any smart wolf would do—I disappeared into the most brutal academy in the North, where weakness means death and emotions are a luxury I couldn't afford.

Four years later, he's on his knees outside my door, begging me to come back.

"Sia, please. I made a mistake. I need you—"

But before I can answer, a hand fists in my hair from behind. The new Alpha pins me against the wall, his cock already hard against my ass.

"You're not going anywhere," Kaelan growls, his fingers sliding between my thighs. "This pussy belongs to me now."

Cain's still begging outside.

And I'm coming apart under Kaelan's hands, realizing too late—

I never escaped anything. I just traded one obsession for another.

When I called my husband with trembling hands, clutching my cancer diagnosis, all I heard was his sweet laughter with his young, hot influencer girlfriend. Ten years of marriage, and when I needed him most, he chose betrayal.

In divorce court, I was painted as the "crazy ex-wife" while the entire internet mocked me. Everyone took their side. No one knew I was fighting for my life.

Until the day he finally learned the truth.

Ten years ago, eight-year-old him nearly died under wolf claws trying to save me. Ten years later, when I gathered the courage to return to this town, that little hero had become a dangerous man.

"We're strangers, remember?" The eyes that used to be gentle only for me now looked at me with cold indifference.

But why does he hold me tight every time I'm in trouble? Why is his skin burning hot and his muscles hard like iron? Why do I tremble when his breath hits my neck?

When blood scented the rainy night and red-eyed beasts showed their fangs, I discovered the truth—my childhood sweetheart Logan was no longer human.

After rebirth, I switched wedding engagements with my sister Maya.

In my past life, she was forced to marry the West's most ruthless Alpha—Zane Blackwood. Three years. He never touched her. His "sister" Sienna stole the Luna's position, power, dignity. Maya became a joke. No mark, no status. She froze to death on a snowy night, not even left with a complete body.

And me? Married to someone I didn't love, drifting through life in a daze. When I woke up, Maya was dead.

Then I died trying to avenge her.

After rebirth, I kicked down the door and snatched the engagement: "This time, I'm going."

Rode my bike sixteen hours straight. Got ambushed on the road—cracked skulls with a wrench. Covered in engine oil and blood, I crashed into the Black Moon engagement party.

Sienna screamed: "Psycho!"

Damn right.

I grabbed that stone-faced Alpha, ignoring his death glare, and bit into his neck in front of everyone.

"Listen up," I licked the blood from my lips, "I'm your Luna now. And if that bitch messes with me—"

I leaned close to his ear:

"You're dead first."

Seven years ago, he gave me 52 love letters, promising to prove his love through each of the 52 weeks of a year.

Seven years later, I burned them one by one—each betrayal claiming another letter.

Layla thought she had married her fairy tale—the coffee-stained graduate student working late nights in the lab, the tender man who wrote her love letters every single day. She used her mother's inheritance to fund his education, stayed by his side through countless sleepless nights, even sacrificed her own Harvard opportunity for his dreams.

But everything changed when Mia appeared—young, beautiful, and brilliant.

The public humiliation, the ruthless betrayal, the cold calculation... With each heartbreak, she burned another letter he had written with his own hand. From 52 to 51, from hope to despair, from deep love to complete devastation.

When the last love letter turned to ash, the man finally realized—he had lost her completely.

I was supposed to be the avenger who would kill Vincenzo Romano, head of the Romano family, to settle the blood debt for my deceased lover Matteo. But I never expected to suffer a severe head injury at the crucial moment, losing my memory completely.

When I woke up, this "enemy" told me he was my fiancé and showered me with tender love and devotion during my amnesiac state.

But when my memory returned, the truth cut through my heart like a blade—I had actually fallen in love with the man who murdered my beloved! Even more terrifying, I was carrying his child in my womb...

I'm Riley. Orphan. Motorcycle mechanic. And the biggest fool in Texas.

For ten years, I thought oil tycoon Colt loved me. His adopted daughter by day, his woman by night. I actually believed his whispered promises in the dark.

Then I watched him announce his engagement to someone else.

"Your father saved my life. You're my responsibility," he said when I confronted him. Like I was some charity case. Like everything between us meant nothing.

I was never his girlfriend. I was his guilt.

But here's the thing—I never asked to be anyone's debt.

So I'm packing my tools, starting my bike, and getting the hell out of here.

Eight years ago, I was forced to marry Sicily's most dangerous man.

Louis De Santis, heir to the Santis crime family, decided he wanted me. Right in front of me, he brutally tortured and killed my fiancé Alessandro, then dumped the body in the ocean for the sharks. He used Alessandro's blood to write threats on the wall to my parents—I had no choice but to walk into that fortress he called home.

Louis was obsessed with me to the point of madness. He took bullets for me during family wars, got down on his knees and begged the family elders when they questioned his choice. Under that twisted kind of love, I gradually fell for him and gave him a son—Marco.

For five years, I thought I'd found happiness.

Until year eight, when the Corleone family sent their "peace offering"—Angelina Corleone. This innocent-looking woman effortlessly stole Louis's heart. He had the nerve to announce: "You two are going to get along."

I couldn't stand the betrayal, so I secretly reached out to other families to try getting rid of Angelina.

I got caught.

In his rage, Louis strung up 5-year-old Marco above the blast furnace at the steel mill.

"NO! Please! He's just a child!" I rushed toward Louis frantically, but his men held me back.

Molten steel roared inside the furnace at 2912°F. Scorching heat blasted upward as little Marco dangled just ten feet above the flames.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Mommy! Help me! It's so hot! So hot!" Marco screamed in terror.

"Put him down! Please!" I fell to my knees, begging desperately, "Kill me! Kill me instead! Don't hurt Marco!"

"Nod and let her stay, and I'll let him down." Louis coldly began counting down: "TEN!"

I watched Marco's little body writhing in agony from the heat.

"NINE!"

Sweat and tears blurred my vision.

"EIGHT!"

"I agree! I AGREE!" I broke down screaming, "She can stay! Please let Marco down!"

Louis smiled with satisfaction and stopped counting, about to signal his men.

Then—

"SNAP!"

The rope suddenly broke!

"NOOO—!"

Time seemed to freeze. I watched helplessly as Marco's tiny body plummeted.

"THUD!"

He fell into the furnace.

In an instant, he was gone.

I completely shattered, blood spurting from my mouth as I collapsed.

When I opened my eyes again, I'd gone back to the day Louis first brought Angelina home.

This time, I'm going to make him pay!

I gave my Alpha fiancé to my stepsister.

My mother's face lit up. "You're giving Damon to Maya? Don't come crying later, Kira. That man is the most powerful Alpha alive."

I won't. Never again.

Last life, I married him. Suffocated for three years.

He wanted a perfect Luna. I showed up to the full moon gala in a mini skirt. The elite ladies circled in—*"Shameless. Like a bitch in heat."* Damon walked over, draped his jacket over my shoulders.

I thought he was protecting me.

"Must you embarrass me like this?" His voice cut like ice. "Every damn time."

That's when I knew: he loved the perfect Luna. Not me.

Then came the conservative gowns, endless etiquette training, and every time I fought back—*"Pack law, Kira. Obey."*

Until the flames took me, I swore: If I ever got another chance, I would never marry that man.

I woke the night before our engagement and pushed the contract away. "Let Maya be his perfect Luna. I just want my freedom."

But I didn't expect—

When Damon discovered the switch, the cold Alpha completely lost it.

I used to think I was the luckiest woman in the world.

Married to my first love, Matteo Rossi—mafia boss—with an adorable son.

Until that afternoon. Luca was running a fever, whining for cake from that shop across town—a four-hour round trip.

I hesitated.

Matteo immediately chimed in: "Go ahead, babe. Don't worry, I got him."

I grabbed the car keys and turned. Before leaving, I glanced back—he was kneeling beside Luca's bed, his large hand gently stroking our son's burning forehead.

What a perfect fucking picture.

Until I heard that GODDAMN surveillance recording.

My husband bought a necklace for the woman who killed my mother.

When I saw my foster sister Rebecca Rebecca wearing that emerald necklace with Aaron at the party, I knew history would repeat itself. Seven years ago, my mother lost everything the same way—her husband, her dignity, and finally her life.

I wouldn't follow in her footsteps.

So after slapping Rebecca across the face, I told everyone I was divorcing him and walked out with my suitcase.

Rebecca thought she'd won again. Aaron thought I was just being hysterical.

Neither of them saw it coming—

This time, I'd make them pay.

Born into the most powerful mafia family in the city, I've had seven bodyguards since I was ten years old.

Seven heirs from allied families. Seven men trained to protect me. Seven potential husbands.

On my eighteenth birthday, I had to pick one and marry him.

Everyone knew I'd choose Dante Lucchese. How could I not? I'd been stupidly in love with that arrogant bastard since I was seven.

But I'll never choose him again.

Because I've already lived through what happens when I do.

The wedding. The explosion. Flames devouring my dress as I clawed at Dante's sleeve, begging him to help me.

He ripped his arm away.

And ran straight to Isabella—the pathetic little charity case my family took in, who always played the victim so perfectly.

"Serena, stop being selfish!" he shouted over the roar of the fire. "Isabella's hurt worse than you! I have to save her first!"

I screamed his name as he disappeared into the smoke with her in his arms.

The last thing I heard was Isabella crying. The last thing I felt was my skin burning.

Then—nothing.

Until I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the calendar on my bedroom wall.

Six months before the wedding.

The morning my father called me into his study to tell me it was time to choose.

This time, I crossed Dante's name off the list first.

This time, I chose Enzo Corleone—the quiet one who never said much, who everyone underestimated.

The one who died trying to pull me out of that fire.

So why the hell is Dante on his knees at my wedding to Enzo, tears streaming down his face, begging me to marry him instead?

I nearly died in the freezing ocean at my adopted sister Jane's birthday party.

When the yacht started tilting and alarms shrieked through the corridors, Dad grabbed Jane and bolted for the deck without looking back. Mom clutched Jane's ragdoll cat in her arms, following close behind under the bodyguards' protection.

They saved the cat.

But left their biological daughter to drown.

Three days later, I staggered home covered in wounds. The living room was decorated with scented candles and a three-tier birthday cake. Light piano music mingled with laughter—they were throwing Jane a makeup birthday party, celebrating how "the whole family" survived the disaster.

Julian and I played house for five years—minus the actual marriage certificate. Because he bailed on me at the registry office twelve times. All for Mia, some intern.

First time: Mia screwed up her pitch.

Sixth time: Mia had the flu.

Twelfth time: Mia's ex showed up at our architecture firm throwing punches. Julian had to play knight in shining armor. I got knocked into a desk, cracked my head open—he didn't spare me a glance before whisking her off to the ER.

Before, I would've lost it. Screamed. Sobbed. Begged him to tell me who the hell he was actually planning to marry. And every single time, Julian would sigh and say, "Chloe, really? She's just an intern. Practically a child."

This time, all I said was: "Go ahead."

Then I turned around and took that job overseas.

When his thirteenth text came through—yet another registry office reschedule—I was already at the gate for my London flight.

This time? I'm choosing me.

My parents ruined my wedding six times.

Every single time, right at the moment the ring was about to slip onto my finger—the first time, Mom knocked over the champagne tower. The second time, Dad drove his pickup truck straight through the floral arch... Either the groom wasn't good enough, or the wedding was too cheap. Each time was more batshit crazy than the last. The sixth time, Mom even held a knife to her own throat, threatening me not to put on the ring.

It made no sense to me—why push me to get married while doing everything to stop me from wearing that ring?

So for the seventh wedding, I chose a small chapel in a remote mountain area, went completely off-grid, dead certain they'd never track me down.

Just as Ethan was about to slide the ring onto my finger—

The chapel doors burst open.

Two figures stumbled in, gasping for air, faces streaked with tears.

My parents.

Selene thought she'd found true love with Alexander Morrison. She was WRONG—she was just a stand-in for Jessa, the woman he really wanted.

When Alexander and his twin brother Adrian's yacht exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, Alexander came home with Adrian's ashes, claiming to BE Adrian. His goal? To steal Adrian's wife Jessa—the woman he'd always loved.

Selene knew instantly he was lying, but when she told everyone, no one believed her. Alexander called her "crazy from trauma" and locked her away in a mental facility. She was PREGNANT.

They drugged her daily. After she gave birth, Alexander told her the baby died. She broke completely.

Three years later, dying in that white hell, Selene heard Alexander's final confession:

"I always loved Jessa. Adrian just got to her first. YOU? You were just her replacement."

"The kid's alive. I gave him to Jessa. He calls her Mom now."

Selene died full of rage—then woke up reborn, back to the moment Alexander walked in with that urn.

This time, she'd expose his lies and make him PAY.

To marry me, my fiancé Sebastian Knight said he wanted his childhood friend Isabella to be our surrogate.

I agreed. Because I couldn't have children, and the Knight family desperately needed an heir.

After Isabella "successfully" got pregnant, Sebastian became a completely different person. He started making her nutritious meals, accompanying her to prenatal appointments, even memorizing every food she disliked.

Yet he couldn't even remember my birthday.

Two weeks before our wedding, I received an anonymous email.

The video on the screen made me understand everything in an instant—Sebastian and Isabella were in bed together.

So this was his "surrogacy plan."

I, his fiancée, was just the last fool to find out.

I canceled all the wedding arrangements, tore up the wedding dress, and threw away the ring.

On our original wedding day, Isabella gave birth to his son in the delivery room, while I was already sitting in first class on a flight abroad.

Sebastian, this time I'M the one leaving YOU.

My best friend murdered me.

Before the team tryouts, Mia handed me a pink energy drink. I didn't know it was laced with sleeping pills.

Thirty feet in the air. Top of the pyramid. My body went limp, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.

I can still hear my bones shattering.

Mia threw herself into my fiancé Carter's arms, sobbing: "Oh God, I grabbed the wrong bottle! The vitamins and sleeping pills got mixed up! Vic will forgive me, right?"

Carter held her tight, not even glancing at me lying in a pool of blood. "Stop crying. It was just an accident."

An accident? My spine snapped in three places.

He lied to the police, saying I was under too much stress and took the pills myself. Packaged my death as the suicide of someone who couldn't handle the pressure.

When I died, the whole school treated me like a joke.

But now I'd opened my eyes. I was back on that day.

He hung up on me while the killer's knife plunged into my body.

Seventeen seconds. That was our final call after seven years of marriage.

He was at the hospital with my "depressed" stepsister, convinced I was just being dramatic again. He didn't even let me finish.

I died that rainy night, taking a secret with me he'll never know.

Three days later, my husband—the city's chief medical examiner—caught a brutal case: female victim, face destroyed by acid.

He worked the autopsy with his usual precision. Methodical. Clinical. Until the facial reconstruction software completed its rendering.

When he recognized my face on that screen, blood exploded from his mouth.

He hit the floor hard.

The werewolf world has one brutal rule: whoever can first produce a powerful Alpha heir gets to claim the throne and become the new Alpha King.

My sister Bella and I are daughters of the Red Moon Pack Alpha, born with the rare ability to bear Alpha-level offspring. This made countless Packs fight tooth and nail to claim us.

In my past life, I was fooled by Rex's handsome appearance—the Steel Fang heir. I married him and successfully bore him an Alpha bloodline pup, helping him ascend to the throne.

But fate played a deadly joke on me. Bella, consumed by jealousy after her own marriage failed, pushed me off a cliff during my postpartum weakness and took everything that was mine.

Now I've opened my eyes again, back at the mate selection ceremony. What shocked me was that Bella had also been reborn, and she'd already seduced Rex before I could.

But that's fine. My naive sister has no idea what kind of devil she's chosen.

On my due date, my husband Matteo locked me in an underground freezer at minus ten degrees.

The Torrino family's unbreakable rule: the first-born male inherits the entire mafia empire. My sister-in-law Jennifer and I were both pregnant, our due dates only one day apart. To ensure his brother's child was born first, Matteo made this insane decision.

"My brother and Jennifer's baby has to come first—this is what you owe them!" He ignored my desperate pleas and violent contractions, coldly shoving me into the freezer.

But that wasn't enough. They forcibly injected me with labor-delaying drugs. I curled up in agony on the freezing concrete floor, feeling my baby slowly slipping away, tears of despair streaming down my face.

My baby, Mommy is so sorry...

I was dead, and the whole world was celebrating for my sister.

For twenty-two years, I had been the hardest-working but most invisible daughter in the Sterling family, forever living in the shadow of my gymnastics prodigy sister.

Running a high fever, I begged my family to take me to the hospital, only to hear: "Don't you DARE ruin Bella's award ceremony!"

When I was tricked into the abandoned equipment room and used my last breath to call my boyfriend while lying in a pool of blood, all I heard was: "Grace, quit the drama! Bella's accepting her award on stage!"

On stage, thunderous applause erupted as Bella lifted the "Young Gymnast of the Year" trophy.

And I drew my final breath.

When they returned home triumphant, thinking I had run away in a tantrum, they had no idea I was already dead right under their noses.