78 Book(s) Related to larry bird corrie bird

My husband Dante's best friend Luigi died three months ago, and with his last breath, he made Dante promise to take care of his pregnant widow, Maggie. From that moment, Maggie invaded our lives, and I was only four months pregnant at the time.

Then Maggie got caught in a gang shootout. She needed an emergency blood transfusion, and she had this rare blood type—Rhnull. Turns out, I'm Rhnull too.

To save Maggie and her baby, Dante forced me to abort mine.

Five yeas ago, we were hosting a family dinner when I walked into the study and found my father with his mistress.

He looked at me, voice flat and cold: "Alice Russo, you don't tell your mother about this. Trust me, you can't handle the fallout."

I didn't listen. Ran straight to my mother in tears and told her everything.

That night, Mother had her people remove the woman from the property.

The next morning, the woman's daughter Anya ran my mother down with her car at the docks.

That's when I realized, I was completely alone. Because my dad is taking his bastard daughter's side.

I called Victor Castro, my husband, 99 times. He never answered once.

I had a breakdown at the family tribunal. They physically removed me and had me committed to a psychiatric facility in Sicily, the worst kind of place you can imagine.

Five years later, Victor finally spoke to me.

The transport stopped outside the facility that day. Sunlight hit my eyes.

Two guards helped me to the car. My father stood there with a line of his men behind him.

In the crowd, I recognized Peter Thompson, one of my mother's most loyal people.

He gave me the smallest nod. Something flickered in his eyes.

I kept my expression neutral and got in the car.

The door closed. Victor sat across from me.

He lit a cigar and said it without any preamble:

"The day Anya ran your mother down at the docks? I paid for her legal team. I provided the witnesses. I signed the autopsy report myself."

Louis and I missed each other for five years before we finally reconciled.

But after only three years together, he passed away from cancer.

When I opened my eyes again, I had traveled back to the year when he hated me most.

Louis was saying harsh words to me, decisively breaking up:

"Emily. I never want to see you again."

I grabbed his collar and kissed him, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

Louis: ???

I said: "Even if we break up, we can still be friends with benefits, can't we?"

I was born a princess of the Dragon Realm, destined for greatness.
In my past life, I married an amethyst dragon, Damien. Our union should have produced heirs worthy of legend. Instead, I bore him a Wingless One, the ultimate shame.
He didn't hesitate. One swing of his blade, and our child's cries were silenced forever. Then he dragged me, still bleeding from childbirth, to the Dragon's Maw. Threw me into the molten lava, my screams echoing as the flames consumed my flesh.
Meanwhile, my half-sister Isadora, a mere Bronze Dragon, married another Bronze, equally unremarkable. Yet somehow, she gave birth to an Amethyst Dragon.
She became our new Dragon Queen. I became carrion.
But death wasn't my end.
I opened my eyes on the day of the Choosing Ceremony. Damien stood before me. Then, with cold calculation in his eyes, he turned away. He chose Isadora.
He remembers too.
A smile curved my lips. Let him play his game. Because I know the truth now, a truth that will shatter everything.
How could a dragon who needs dark magic to maintain his wing color possibly father a dragon of true noble bloodline?

My ribs are the hottest thing in town—there’s always a line out the door—but they’ve got no idea the secret that makes them so damn good is…

I used to think I had the perfect family.
My husband Nico started coming home less and less, always saying he had a meeting. But the truth was, he had another woman, Alessia. And it had been going on for a while.
The affair I could've handled. What really killed me was that my son Leo and my daughter Mia had known all along. They'd even started calling his mistress "Mom."
They thought I was clueless. But I'd known for months, his assistant had told me everything.
I tried so hard to win them back. I did more for them, cared more, tried harder. But they kept choosing Alessia.
That day, I stopped trying.
They could all have each other—Nico, Alessia, Leo, Mia.
I hoped they'd be happy together.

I heard that recording and couldn't believe it. My husband had been having an affair for a whole year, and my six-year-old Jerry had been covering for him this whole time.

Later, at Jerry's birthday party, I overheard his friends: "That's Jerry's nanny. His real mom works overseas."

My son told everyone I was just the nanny.

That day, standing in the hotel hallway, Jerry looked at me and said: "Can you promise to never come find me again? So Michelle can officially be my mom?"

My blood ran cold.

I'm Jennifer, a stay-at-home mom. I gave up my art career eight years ago to take care of my family. My husband Julian and my son Garry, they're my whole world.

But lately, I've noticed them getting closer to Mia, Julian's secretary. Little things. Garry asking where "Miss Mia" is. Julian mentioning her at dinner. I told myself it was nothing. I kept quiet. I put up with it.

Until last week, when Garry broke his arm playing hockey. The school called Mia, not me. She was listed as his emergency contact.

That's when I knew I was done.

Three years ago, I saved the life of Alessandro Gambino, New York's most powerful mafia boss.

He fell in love with me, a bartender.

His family was dead set against us, but his love won out. We got married.

After we married, he disappeared every month for "punishment day," claiming his family beat him with sixty-six lashes for breaking their rules by staying with me. Watching him suffer tore me apart.

Actully, I'm Sloane Lucchese, sole heir to the largest arms empire on the East Coast, hiding from a family war. I decided to reclaim my family name as soon as possible, so his family would finally accept me.

Finally, on our fifth wedding anniversary, I found out I was pregnant, and my father called to say they'd announce my return in two weeks.

I was going to tell Alessandro everything that night, both pieces of good news.

But that same day, I stumbled onto a secret—one that would destroy me completely.

My husband, Arthur, forced me to take private training sessions with his buddy Marcus, saying my body wasn’t good enough for him to really enjoy himself in bed. But on the very first day, Marcus started getting handsy with me.

“Coach, stop. I’m here to work out, not have an affair,” I bit back a moan, trying to push away the “help” he was giving me with my squats.

What I didn’t expect was for him to start rubbing his thing against my pussy.

“Not so fast, carrot head. The party just started,” Alex said. “You're like a little pest… why are we always drawn to you?” Austin asked.
“I sure am,” Alex smiled. Now I was sandwiched between them, my heart racing so fast I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Leave me alone!” I screamed and tried to run. But I was trapped. Before I realized it, Austin crashed his lips into mine. My mind almost exploded. I had never kissed anyone before.
I felt Alex, who was behind me, shove his hand beneath my chest, cupping my breast with his large hand while he moaned. I fought with all my might.
What was going on? Why were they doing this? Didn't they hate me?


Stormi, once a nobody-wants omega, found herself at the center of a tale spun by the moon goddess.Four notorious wolves known for their bad-boy antics and her bullies, were destined to be her mates.

"You fucking still love her!" I yelled, holding back my tears. "All you do is see what she wants you to see" I poked his chest.

"Vanessa, I don't..."

"You don't what?" I dared him.

"I don't... I don't know what you're saying" He stuttered.

"You're not even sure." I shook my head. "Would you choose me over her?"

"Vanessa..." Richard called out

"Answer me!" I yelled

"I don't know okay? I don't know!" He yelled back.

"That's what I thought" I laughed painfully, grabbing my things and running out of the house.


Vanessa Willow, a well known event planner in her city crossed path with Richard Blackwood, a CEO of a Tech Invention Company. They didn't start on good footing since Richard portrayed himself initially as an egoistical, perverted and annoying client. All Vanessa wanted was to be done with the project that brought them to be together but Richard wanted more.

A night together leads to a tragic event in the life of Vanessa. Vanessa lost everything including herself but she had only one reason to keep pushing. She knew she wouldn't have trusted the Rich Billionaire. She thought she knew him better but it turned out she didn't. Where does she go from here? Will there be a light at the end of the tunnel? Will she be able to heal? Will she overcome this phase? Is she willing to forgive despite the fact that she has forgotten?

But first of all, What exactly happened between them?

I guess we'll read to find out.

My daughter was taken by rogues, and my husband didn't care.

But when his childhood friend went missing in another attack, he spared no expense searching for her.

I searched for our daughter alone. When I died in the wilderness, I'd been looking for fifty years.

As I bled out that day, I had only one thought—I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry I couldn't find you.

Then I opened my eyes and found myself fifty years in the past, the night before the nightmare began.

I found my husband's vasectomy certificate while sorting medical bills. The procedure was done a year ago. But I was six months pregnant now.

I stared at the date on the paper and my hand just... stopped. I kept checking it again and again, but it was still the same. I was freaking out. I looked down at my bump showing through this baggy sweater, and my hands started shaking.

I got in my car and drove straight to my husband's private club. I needed answers about this, now.

A month before my boyfriend Samuel and I were supposed to get married, he asked me to let another woman wear my wedding dress and move into my house.

It all started three months ago when his "old friend" Dahlia returned from overseas, supposedly with less than a year to live. A week ago, Samuel told me that Dahlia's dying wish was to become a bride before she passed away, and he was the chosen groom.

I kept saying no. But he brought it up every single day, insisting he had to help Dahlia because she had helped him when his company was in crisis three years ago, and he needed to fulfill her wish.

I was furious.

But in the end, I gave up the house and left him.

"I need you to erase Elena Cavalli completely," I said, sliding an untraceable check across the table.

People say my husband Vito Cavalli broke every mafia code for me. The heir who knelt before all five family bosses and named an ordinary woman his godmother.

For three years, he convinced the world we were in love. He told the press I was why he went legitimate, why he gave up the gun.

But devotion has an expiration date.

While I basked in his affection, believing I was cherished, he was climbing into another woman's bed.

So I walked away.

When I disappeared, he shattered.

He tore through every corner of the globe hunting for me. But the woman he'd once traded his empire for didn't love him enough to turn around.

Everyone knows how much Gideon Moretti loves his wife Isabella.

We built this empire together—from street enforcers to rulers of all five boroughs of New York. He promised me the world.

I believed him.

For five years, I took bullets for him. Bled for him. Sacrificed everything so he could become the king of this city.

Then, just days before our fifth anniversary—on the same day I found out I was pregnant—I saw a video.

Gideon, in a bridal boutique, his hand on another woman's waist. Helping her choose a wedding dress.

Daisy. His first love.

Turns out, she's been back for two months. Every "business trip" he took? He was with her.

I made my decision that night. I would leave. Take our baby and disappear.

My child would not grow up in a house built on lies.

I was at my favorite artist's concert, phone up, recording the Kiss Cam segment. My boyfriend Mason said he was three hours away having dinner at his parents' house and couldn't make it, even sent me a selfie as proof.

Then the Kiss Cam found him.

On the giant screen, Mason wore the exact same gray vintage rock tee and black ripped jeans from his "family dinner photo," his arm around a blonde girl with her head on his shoulder.

The arena erupted: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

He looked like he'd seen a ghost, frantically trying to block the camera.

My phone's location alert read: "Mason is nearby (0.1 miles)."

Three years of us, exposed as a massive lie in front of thousands of cheering strangers.

Seven years ago, Alpha Matthew's fiancée Elvira ran off with another alpha. I was just his assistant back then, harboring a secret crush but never imagining we could be together.

That night I picked him up from the bar. He was drunk and had been drugged. One night later I was pregnant, and Matthew became convinced I was the one who drugged him, that I'd schemed my way into becoming his luna. He hated me, but still gave me the title of secret mate. No mating ceremony, just a contract. My son and I lived in the guest wing of his estate for seven years.

Last night he drunkenly spun Liam around in circles. My son thought he was finally being accepted. But I heard the name Matthew was murmuring—Elvira. She was coming back, with her son.

I held my transfer request to the Eastern Region. This time, we're done waiting.

Humans aren't supposed to survive carrying a vampire's child. The immortal blood drains you dry.

Valentine was a pureblood vampire Duke. I was just a mortal. But I was stupid enough to think love was stronger than biology.

Four years ago, I tore myself apart on the birthing bed to bring a half-blood into this world, only to wake up staring at Valentine’s back.

His late father’s favorite concubine, Cecilia, had already snatched my baby from the cradle. And my husband acquiesced to it all.

"He looks just like me," Cecilia purred, tracing my newborn's cheek. "Thank you for giving birth to my son."

Then she tossed a blood jade onto my sheets, like I was some cheap baby-making machine.

I didn't take the payoff. I grabbed the heavy stone and hurled it straight at Valentine’s face.

For four agonizing years, I fought to get my baby back. I hired mercenaries, rogues, and shadow-smugglers, bleeding myself dry to breach the Duke’s estate. Every single attempt failed.

Until tonight. A terrified servant smuggled out a whisper that stopped my heart: Cecilia had fed my son "diluted holy water"—a twisted sacrament meant to literally burn the human half out of his organs.

I didn't hire anyone this time. I tore through the gates myself. I took a guard’s spear through the shoulder and let cursed brambles shred my arms to the bone, just to drag my dying boy out of a burning greenhouse.

But when the agonizing pain of the holy water woke him, Luke looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust.

"It’s your fault! It’s your filthy human blood!" My four-year-old son spat the words like venom. "Mother Cecilia says if we just burn out this curse, I can be the true heir! If it weren't for you, Father would have claimed me by now! I hate you!"

I froze.

When I finally spoke, my voice was a raw, inhuman scrape. "Call me Mom one last time, and I'll walk out of your life forever."

The biggest mistake of my life was falling in love with my childhood best friend, Cole Blackwood.

I grew up with Cole. He was my childhood best friend. When my mom died in a car accident in high school, his mother Lillian, my mom's best friend, saw that my stepmother didn't like me and took me in. She arranged our engagement. Cole protected me from bullies in high school. I fell for him. We secretly married at eighteen.

Shortly after the wedding, he was kidnapped. That's when everything fell apart. I threw myself off a cliff to draw the kidnappers away and save him. I was in a coma for three months. But when I came back to him, weak and broken, he thought some woman named Sophia Vanderbilt had saved him instead. He started hating me for "abandoning him" and grew cold. I tried to explain. He only believed what Sophia told him. My words meant nothing. 

Cole wanted to divorce me, but his parents refused to allow it. I refused too. Sophia drugged him to get pregnant and trap him into marriage, but he stumbled into the wrong room. He slept with me instead. I got pregnant. She faked videos to make him think they'd been together. She forged evidence that I'd cheated. He wouldn't listen to a word I said. 

Then we were both kidnapped and held hostage on a rooftop. Cole chose to save Sophia. I fell. I lost the baby. After Sophia was rescued, she went to the hospital for a checkup. They found leukemia. She needed a bone marrow transplant. I was the only match, but after everything, my body was too weak. Cole used the "debt" I owed his family to force me to donate. 

I refused. Sophia "died." Cole locked me in a psychiatric hospital and tortured me until I died. 

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he demanded my bone marrow. This time, looking at his desperate eyes, I said yes and decided to divorce him and leave him for good.

In my past life, just one day before the national evaluation camp that would make or break his career, my hockey-prodigy best friend faked an illness. He was ready to throw away his entire future just to go party in Chicago with a cheerleader.

Thinking I was doing him a favor, I stepped in. I tipped off his coach, saved his career.

Years later, he became a multimillion-dollar superstar. His way of thanking me? Framing me with doctored charity records and sending me to federal prison. He even smiled as he delivered the final, crushing blow:

"I planned that crash on the icy road, Kassia. Your parents' lives were just the price you had to pay for sticking your nose where it didn't belong."

Now, my eyes snap open to the deafening cheers of our high school hockey arena.

Sitting right next to me, that same cheerleader is eagerly plotting how to corner him after the game.

I died the night I refused to postpone the engagement party.

The morning after my death, my parents were still having breakfast with my sister Blair, excitedly planning her award ceremony.

Before I died, the only person who answered my desperate call was my mother. I was being chased by kidnappers at the time, and I begged her to save me, telling her I was dying. But she said, "Stop being so dramatic! You're just trying to get our attention. If you want to die so badly, then go ahead and die."

That was my last call for help before the line went dead, and then I was struck by a car.

I lay on that dark road, bleeding profusely. They thought I was just sulking, hiding away to get attention. They thought if they ignored me, I would come back and apologize to them.

They didn't know I was already dead.

I saved a dying mobster three years ago. Vincent Ricci—New York's most feared Godfather.

He decided I was his. Private jets, five-million-dollar proposals, the whole nine yards. I fell for it.

The night before our wedding, his enemies took me. Three days of torture left me blind. Everyone said he'd never marry damaged goods. He married me anyway and spent three years treating me like a queen.

Yesterday I fell down the stairs and my sight came back.

But that's when I found out about my perfect husband's dirty secret.

I've been with Michael for five years, stood by him as he clawed his way up from nobody to mafia boss.

He promised me we'd get to city hall and make it official once he made it to the top, and today's supposed to be the day we finally register our marriage.

He's already postponed our registration eight times before because of his first love, Yvaine Price.

This is attempt number nine, and I'm not giving him a tenth.

In my past life, the night before the National Cheerleading Championship finals, my "best friend" Lily, the scholarship student I'd been sponsoring, handed me a brownie she claimed she'd "baked herself."

She knew I had a deadly peanut allergy. Yet she'd loaded it with concentrated peanut butter.

When I collapsed on the locker room floor, hives erupting across my skin, my throat swelling shut until I couldn't make a sound, Lily just covered her mouth and nestled into my boyfriend Liam's arms, whimpering: "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm such an idiot. I mixed up the peanut butter with chocolate... you won't blame me, right?"

Of course I blamed you.

The quarterback I'd loved for three years didn't call 911. Instead, he frowned down at me convulsing on the ground.

"Chloe, stop faking, okay?" Liam's voice dripped with annoyance. "Lily already apologized. Why do you have to put on this dramatic show to scare her? You're always so controlling."

Controlling?

My airway was closing. My lungs were on fire. I was dying, and I couldn't force out a single word to tell him.

They didn’t call an ambulance until I stopped moving, but by the time it got there, it was too late. I was already dead.

When the police questioned him, Liam gave false testimony to protect Lily. He claimed I was afraid of losing the competition, so I tried to use an allergic reaction to avoid competing, but accidentally ingested too much of the allergen and died.

The man who said he loved me let me die with the reputation of a coward.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on that day.

When my CEO husband threatens divorce for the 99th time, this time trying to force me to hand over a million-dollar project to his assistant Chloe, I finally stop fighting.
I give him the project without a word.
He's thrilled. Thinks I've finally accepted my place. To reward me, he announces we'll throw a grand celebration for our fifth wedding anniversary.
Chloe finds out and falls apart. Locks herself in the supply closet. Can't bear the thought of watching us celebrate five years of marriage.
Arthur panics. Suddenly the anniversary party becomes a "client dinner" he can't reschedule. He'll take Chloe instead—she's been handling that account, after all.
"You understand how business works," he tells me. "We can celebrate privately later."
I see the photo she posts: Chloe in the restaurant he booked for us, wearing the dress he picked out, his hand covering hers across the table.
I tell him I understand.
He's satisfied. Promises we'll do something even better next month.
He doesn't know I've resigned. Doesn't know he signed the divorce papers three days ago when I slipped them into his contract stack.
We don't have a next month.

Arabelle, a 20 year old girl was born into poverty along with her sister and her single mother. As the eldest, she has been juggling in between jobs to support her family. Her sick mother can't do anything about it but to accept their fate. They have to live from the mercy of other people just to get by. She knows that their lives will never change unless she gets a job with good compensation. That's why when she saw the job ad as a maid in a mansion, she didn’t hesitate to go and apply for it.

Little that she knows her employer will be a vampire. Ralph is almost 200 years old and lives amongst humans. He hires maids just to make sure that he will not be discovered. After all, having a human around is like having an emergency snack. Every maid who has been to the mansion has mysteriously disappeared. As if they never existed since there is no body that has been found. Arabelle didn’t know about it. She will soon find out the mystery about the missing people from the mansion.

Amidst the mystery, she will find herself falling for Ralph. After all, it 's hard to resist his vampire charm whenever she looks at him straight to his eyes. As if he always has something to tell her. While Ralph seems to be drawn to her because of his past. Arabelle doesn't have a clue since he's being careful not to show her. They are both trying to hide their feelings from each other. But the more they hide it, the more their feelings for one another shows. As if betraying both of them in the process.