91 Book(s) Related to sect leader yao

When the apocalypse came, I became one of the military's failed experiments—defective, useless, a waste of space who only knew how to fix machines.
My so-called brother Kane used the camp leader access I got for him to trade away the comms gear I nearly died to secure for a bottle of whiskey. He drained my bone marrow dry to keep me in the dark, then dumped me out in the wasteland to die.
After that, he pinned every bit of luxury and waste on me—
while my little sister didn't even have the medicine she needed to stay alive.
That night, dragging my crippled body behind me, I reached into the substation.
Kane, do you remember what kind of genes were in those five hundred milliliters of bone marrow?

Dante Ashford is my stepbrother, and the one person I should never have fallen in love with.

When I was ten, my parents died saving his family. The Ashfords took me in. He was good to me back then. Somewhere along the way, I fell for him.

When I was eighteen, he nearly died in an ambush. I donated blood, then a kidney to save him. I was unconscious for three days. When I woke up, Vivian Ross sat by his bed—and he believed she was his savior.

After that, he pushed me away. Vivian became his fiancée.

In my past life, Vivian's crimes brought disaster to our family. Dante got on his knees and begged me to take her punishment. I refused. She died anyway. Then he pretended to love me, planned our wedding—and on that day, his assistant announced to everyone: "This wedding was a lesson to show Miss Elena Hayes what it feels like to be abandoned by the whole world."

I jumped from the church balcony.

When I opened my eyes, I was back at that moment—him on his knees, begging.

This time, I said yes.

Dante, from now on, we're done.

Alex Lee has spent three months watching Elias Reed from across library aisles and lecture halls, too terrified to speak. When the campus launches an anonymous Valentine’s letter program, Alex finally finds the courage to tell Elias everything he’s been feeling, one unsigned letter at a time.
Elias Reed is weeks away from graduation and convinced he’s better off alone. After a devastating breakup left him feeling like he was too much to love, he’s built walls nobody can climb. Until anonymous letters start arriving in his mailbox, letters that see him in ways nobody else does, letters that make him feel found.
As February unfolds in a blur of snow and roses and secret confessions, Alex and Elias build an intimacy through words that neither has found in person. They pass each other on campus, strangers separated by fear and time and the carefully constructed distance Alex maintains. But the closer they get on paper, the harder it becomes to hide in the safety of anonymous ink.
When Valentine’s Day forces Alex to choose between revealing himself and losing Elias forever, he discovers that the hardest part of love isn’t finding it. It’s being brave enough to let yourself be seen.
A story about the words we write when we’re too afraid to speak. About loving someone from a distance and learning that sometimes the person you’ve been searching for has been watching you all along.

I took a bullet for my husband five years ago. He married me in the ICU before the anesthesia wore off.
Raffaele Santoro—heir to the most powerful mafia family in Italy—told me I was his everything. He bought a castle and named it after me. He reserved a grave beside his parents so we'd lie together for eternity.
While I was pumping my body full of hormones for our fourth round of IVF, he was across town watching his childhood sweetheart give birth to twin boys.
He named one of them Dante—the name I'd chosen for our future son.
The night I found out, I was seven weeks pregnant with his child.
I didn't tell him.
I called my best friend and said: I need everyone to think I'm dead.

"I married you only to destroy you."

That was the only reason FBI agent Sophia Carter accepted a new identity as Evelyn Russo and married Lorenzo Moretti, the most dangerous mafia boss in Italy.

Her mission was to infiltrate, gather evidence, drag Lorenzo to prison, and save the children and women that Lorenzo Moretti had kidnapped for trafficking.

But life as a Don's wife was never as simple as she had imagined. Behind the luxurious mansion, the armed men, and the secrets of the Moretti family, Sophia found herself trapped in a game she did not understand.
The closer she got to Lorenzo, the harder it became to distinguish lies from reality.
But one thing never changed. If her identity as an FBI agent was exposed, then at that very moment, she would die at her own husband's hands.

She sacrificed a brilliant career to be his secret wife. But on their anniversary, he gifted his precious first love a $15M piano, while tossing her a dog-eared cookbook. In that moment, seven years of silent devotion died. The countdown began.

For thirty days, she watched his other woman move in. For thirty days, she endured his neglect and cruelty. She let them believe they had won. All while quietly securing the world-class career she once walked away from.

When the clock struck zero, she boarded the flight without a look back. He was left holding the empty life she built, finally screaming a name he never truly valued—into a silence she no longer cared to hear.

She loved him with all her three lives, only to be used and hurt repeatedly. When she returned to the wedding day for the fourth time, the phoenix refused to be trapped any longer. Betrayal ended, revenge arrived, and her destined dragon finally came to take her home.

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.

I caught my husband sleeping with my sister, so I burned it all down.
The fire burned fierce, swallowing that abandoned cabin in the woods, along with my shattered marriage.
With the stench of gasoline still lingering on my fingertips, I thought I had finally buried the man who betrayed me.
Until the next morning, when he walked through the front door without a single scratch.
My mind reeled.
If he was still alive... then who the hell did I burn to a crisp last night?

My fiancée accused me of not caring about family.
To make it up to her, I planned a luxury vacation for all of us.
But the night before we left, she told me she'd given my first-class seat to her childhood best friend.
Instead, she booked me a seat in economy—on a flight with a recent terror threat advisory.
The whole family thought I should just go along with it.
That's when I finally woke up.
I tore up the itinerary and rerouted to Hawaii instead.
I turned off my phone, leaving them to deal with the $20,000 bill.
It wasn't until their hotel reservations got canceled that they started to panic.

Morwenna de Lacy awakens inside the bestselling romance novel she hates most—and discovers she has become the villainess fiancée destined to die before the story even reaches its midpoint. Her only hope for survival lies in the mysterious Audience Satisfaction System, which assigns increasingly impossible missions: make the cold Duke Corwin Winterveil fall in love, outshine the beloved heroine, and avoid every death flag written into the original plot. In a glittering empire of noble scandals, royal engagements, magical aristocrats, and ancient gods, one wrong move could cost her everything.

But the more Morwenna changes the story, the stranger the world becomes. The heroine seems to know the future, unseen spectators begin commenting on her life, and the gods watching from above grow obsessed with the drama unfolding before them. Trapped in a story where fate has already decided the ending, Morwenna must choose whether to follow the script or rewrite it entirely. But if the world itself was never meant to belong to its characters, can she steal the male lead before fate steals her freedom first?

When I was nine months pregnant, my husband, Torin, forced doctors to extract my baby's cord blood to save his ex-wife's son. My baby died of suffocation ten minutes after birth, right before my eyes.
Instigated by his biological mother, my stepson sneaked into my room late at night and poured silver powder all over me. My skin rotted; the scars would last forever.
Later, the hospital ward caught fire, cutting off my escape. On the brink of life and death, Torin glanced back at me, scooped up his ex-wife, and walked into the safe zone without looking back.
Even later, he knelt in the ruins, hands dripping with blood, digging through the rubble brick by brick.
Until his subordinate stepped up behind him and choked out, "Alpha... we found the Luna's body."

Ten years ago, my parents worked for the Bellamys. He was their driver. She ran the house.

Then came the crash. I watched them shove Nash Bellamy out of the wreck, and it killed them both.

That's where the claustrophobia came from.

He knew. He knew all of it.

Then at homecoming, I showed up in a dress that matched Camilla's. She was the girl he'd always wanted. So he shoved me into the abandoned supply closet backstage.

The lock turned. On the other side of the door, he and Camilla were laughing like it was nothing.

"I'm pretty sure she's claustrophobic."

"Two hours in there. She'll learn."

I clawed at my own hands until they bled, couldn't get any air, and ended up wetting myself in a closet a dog wouldn't sleep in.

When the door finally opened, he pinched his nose and laughed and said I was disgusting.

I pushed myself up the wall, inch by inch, and looked at the face I'd been looking at for ten years. And I didn't want to cry anymore. Not even a little.

"Nash. I'm done chasing you."

After my mother remarried, my stepbrother Logan bullied me nonstop every day. I lived in constant agony, isolated and helpless, forced to endure all the abuse alone.
When I was close to giving up, Logan’s best friend Noah reached out to me. He was sweet and caring, bringing me much-needed warmth. I latched onto him blindly, believing he was my only savior and my last ray of hope.
Yet his kindness was all a lie, a cruel trap planned by him and Logan. He gained my trust just to betray and hurt me. My last hope crumbled completely. Broken and devastated by their deception, I cut off all ties and left this painful place for good.

Fourteen years ago, Isabella Winston died.

At least, that's what everyone believed.

One moment, she was trapped inside a sinking car beneath the icy waters of the Hudson River. The next, she woke up in her own bathtub and somehow fourteen years in the future.

Her husband is no longer the warm, easygoing man she remembers.

Her five-year-old son is now a nineteen-year-old stranger who looks at her with suspicion.

Her twins barely remember the mother they lost—one forever chasing affection, the other keeping the entire world at arm's length.

And the family she left behind has become something broken, distant, and unrecognizable.

Now Isabella faces an impossible challenge: rebuilding a family that never truly recovered from losing her.

Fourteen years have left scars on everyone.

Unfortunately for those causing the damage, Isabella Winston has returned to set things right.

“You don’t love me, do you?” Luke whispered, pinning my wrists above my head.

His body pressed mine into the bed, hot, heavy, inescapable. His mouth brushed my ear, gentle enough to feel like a kiss, cruel enough to feel like punishment.

“It’s okay,” he murmured.“Your body is mine.”

I left Luke Morrison unconscious in an ICU eight years ago and rebuilt myself in London—elite auctioneer, an ocean between me and the past.

Then my brother's condition crashed. I'm back in Pennsylvania, standing behind an auction podium at his company's charity gala.

A little boy runs through the crowd and wraps his arms around me: "Mama, you came back."

"Daddy shows me pictures every day," Asher says.

Every. Single. Day. How long has this been going on?

Luke's watching with ice-cold eyes. The bullied boy I left behind? Gone. Replaced by a tech billionaire who makes predators look soft.

"Get in," he says. Not a request.

Then he takes me back to his home.

His penthouse is frozen in time—the art I chose, the books I organized. Our past preserved like he's been waiting.

"You owe me eight years, Mia," he says, showing me the scar. "The girl who watched them destroy me and did nothing. This time, you don't run."

When he fucks me, it's worship and punishment. Making me pay for every day I was gone.

"I've waited eight years for this. Every breath you take belongs to me."

He's not just possessive. He's broken. And Asher is the perfect weapon to keep me trapped.

Six years. No love. No children. No complications.
That was the deal Orlena Stewart signed with billionaire Brent Caldwell. A contract marriage to save her dying father, raise his adopted nephew Eli, and disappear quietly when their time was up.
She followed every rule.
Until she broke the only one that mattered.
With six months left on their marriage contract, Orlena discovers she is pregnant with Brent's child. The baby he never wanted, conceived with a man who never loved her and who has just welcomed back his first love.
She can't tell him. She can't stay.
So she decides to leave.
"I want to end the contract," Orlena says calmly, even as her heart falls apart. "Let's get divorced tomorrow. I'll leave."
But she can't walk away when Eli, the little boy she raised as her own, is diagnosed with leukemia and cries for the only mother he has ever known.
For Eli, she stays.
She hides her pregnancy and endures betrayal, threats, and a vicious scheme designed to destroy her.
Until she has no choice but to disappear.
Brent Caldwell has always known how to control everything except the emptiness she leaves behind.
And when the truth about their child finally reaches him, the billionaire who never wanted love will realize he has lost the only woman who ever truly loved him.

The room went deadly silent. Christopher, the CEO of Sullivan Group, looked at me with pure disgust. "Get this crazy girl out of here! My grandfather is dying, and you're playing sick games?"

But the old man on the bed... his eyes flew open. He stared at me—not at my young, beautiful face, but into my soul. He saw the sketch in my hand. A secret only a mother and her six-year-old son would know.

"Jimmy," I said softly, using the nickname no one had spoken in decades. "Do you remember the thunderstorms?"

Tears streamed down the old man's wrinkled cheeks. The most powerful man in Boston, reached out his frail hand to grasp mine. "Mama?" he choked out, his voice breaking like a small child's. "You came back?"

Christopher froze. The doctors froze. I climbed onto the bed and pulled my 80-year-old son into my arms. "I'm here, baby. Mommy's home."

I bled to death on a cold hospital bed, my unborn child gone, all because I took a shift for my coworker.
Heaven granted me a second chance. I opened my eyes, sitting safely at my office desk. Before I could shake off the nightmare, Vanessa clicked her heels toward me.
"Claire, can you cover for me at the investor party tonight? It’s my anniversary with my boyfriend."
In my past life, I agreed, only to be locked in a private room by monsters and tortured to death. This time, I looked her in the eye. "No."
Vanessa was stunned. Because of my refusal, she missed the crucial meeting and was mercilessly fired by the director.
I thought I had escaped hell and saved her life too. But when I got home to my loving husband, I realized the true nightmare had just begun...

I’m a billionaire heir, and I used to say yes to my girlfriend no matter what.

She swiped my card like it was hers, partied until sunrise, and while I lay in a hospital bed, I was still cleaning up her messes.

She never visited me once—yet I couldn’t let her go. I would have given her everything.

Until an accident made me realize the truth: my love wasn’t real. It was hypnosis.

Her father wanted control. He bribed my psychiatrist and rigged my treatment—so the moment I saw her face, I’d lose control, give in, and hand over whatever they wanted.

All that devotion was manufactured.

Now the hypnosis is gone. She thinks I’ll keep being her ATM.

She has no idea that the first thing I did after waking up was make her—and her father—pay.

Everyone says I'm the woman Jasper loves most.

But only I know that in his heart, I've always come second to Sadie.

Seven years ago, I shoved him out from under a collapsing rig and shattered my right ankle. I never skated competitively again.

He held me and swore that the day he won the Grand Slam, he'd marry me in front of the whole world.

I believed him. So I learned to be his support crew. I sharpened his blades, hand-sewed his costumes, dragged my bad leg around everywhere he went. I turned myself into the shadow that followed him.

Then Sadie came along. Young, healthy, able to do things I could never do again.

Tonight, Jasper wins the Grand Slam. The cameras circle him, the whole arena chanting for him to propose.

But he looks down at Sadie in his arms and smiles.

"Out of everyone, she's the one I want to thank most for this medal. I wouldn't have made it here without her."

That's the moment I stop wanting to stay.

The elite circles all whisper that David Ashcroft is the ideal fiancé—cold, untouchable, repulsed by even a woman's fingertips.

Yet when my most intimate photos, leaked by his own hands, flood the internet, I'm left curled on the bathroom floor retching in agony—while my so-called "gynophobic" fiancé toasts with his white moonlight, Celia Davis, at their private club.

My phone lights up with his icy message: ["Remember—never dare to touch me again."]

Then Celia's text stabs through: ["Thanks for the 'portfolio,' dear fiancée. My boyfriend's skills are far more impressive than you imagined~"]

The attached screenshot freezes my blood—David's chat logs, where my photos are auctioned with the caption: ["Just a plaything. Highest bidder wins."]

So this is the truth behind his "disgust for women"—a carefully crafted mask for this long-planned humiliation.

Five years ago, I knelt on marble floors, cleaning wine with my own dress while they laughed.

Five years later, they knelt before me, begging for forgiveness while I walked away.

They thought three hundred thousand dollars could buy my soul. They thought I was just another disposable substitute, another broken girl desperate enough to sell her dignity for her dying mother's medical bills.

Caspian Ashford wanted a replacement for his precious Scarlett. The Hampton elite wanted a servant to humiliate. They all wanted me to disappear quietly when they were done with me.

They got their wish—I did disappear.

But the girl who drowned in that yacht "accident" five years ago? She was weak, desperate, powerless.

The woman who returned as Elena Whitman?

I'm their worst fucking nightmare.

BLURB

“I don’t love Selena anymore. All I see is a broken shell…a barren woman.”

Those words, spoken by my husband behind the closed door of his study, were the jagged shards of glass that finally shattered my world.

For years, I endured the physical agony of ten miscarriages and five failed IVFs, believing Franklin was the anchor holding me together. I didn’t know I was actually the anchor dragging him down.

He wants a divorce.

He wants a woman who can give him the family I couldn't.

He wants to be free of the burden of a wife who is falling apart.

But Franklin doesn't know my biggest secret. It isn't just my womb that is failing; it’s my entire body.

I am dying.

Stage four cancer is aggressive, and my time is measured in hours, not years.

I could tell him the truth.

I could watch him stay out of pity, trapped by guilt for the rest of my numbered days, but I love him too much to let him become my martyr.

So, I’ve made him a deal.

I will sign the divorce papers and walk out of his life forever but first, I want twenty-one hours.

One hour for every year we’ve known each other.

One last day to pretend we are still the awkward intern and the protective man who fell in love.

He thinks he’s spending these hours saying goodbye to a woman he no longer wants.

He has no idea he’s actually saying goodbye to a woman who will be dead before the ink on our divorce papers is even dry.

Twenty-one hours of lies.

Twenty-one hours of love.

And then, I’ll let him go.

Forever

On my wedding night, I discovered the man in my bed wasn't my husband.
It was his twin brother—the one the family had exiled.
In my previous life, I exposed them in a rage.
My cheating husband came back, smashed my head open, and threw me into the ocean to be fed to the sharks.
But this time, reborn with a second chance, I cupped the face of the man in front of me—the face identical to my husband's—and slowly untied my wedding dress.
"Since he personally delivered you to my bed, then from now on... you're the husband."
This time, I'm going to raise up the loyal stand-in, and take everything from that bastard.

Every night when my daughter comes home, she looks different.
On the first night, a little of her hair was gone.
On the second night, she was missing one hand.
On the third night, half of her body had vanished.
I jolted awake in a sudden start, thankful it had only been a nightmare.
Right then, my daughter came back home.
A patch of her hair was missing.

My first love was adopted by our family, and he promised he would always be there for me.
But after my dad passed away in a car accident, I found him with another woman in our bedroom.
He told everyone Caroline was his true love—that he only saw me as a sister—and claimed I was the one who was pestering him.
I was shamed by everyone. The stress gave my mother a stroke, and Caroline even had someone run me over, costing me an eye.
Seven years later, holding flowers, I ran into them outside a convenience store.
Arthur's son looked at me pityingly. "Dad, this lady lost an eye… Is she selling flowers? Should we buy some?"

"Evelyn Drake, are you truly set on joining the FBI as an undercover agent?"
The senior officer Garrett stared intently at the elegantly dressed woman before him, his gaze laced with inquiry and faint doubt.
It was his occupational habit, even a special knack, to categorize everyone he met into distinct social ranks—and he was exceptionally good at it, never once misjudging anyone.
In his eyes, Evelyn Drake, with her flawless makeup and platinum-blonde hair all the way down to the roots, was far from cut out to be an agent.
He had seen countless such pampered wealthy wives throwing petty tantrums. Most would make a scene at the front desk, only to be coaxed home meekly by their rich husbands soon after.
If such a delicate lady were admitted into the FBI, he suspected even the Kevlar bulletproof vest alone would chafe her soft skin raw.
Lost in these thoughts, Garrett let out a disdainful chuckle, his tone brimming with scorn. "Are you really sure? You'd give up your lavish lifestyle to become an FBI agent?"
Sensing his contempt, Evelyn took off her expensive wristwatch and slipped it into her handbag, then nodded firmly at him. "I am absolutely certain."

For five years, my marriage was nothing but a lie, a perfect show Aiden staged for the entire family.
I loved him for more than a decade. And for his lover, he threw our five-year-old daughter, Chloe, into the basement to be fed to his Dobermans.
All because Chloe accidentally shattered an antique crystal cup, a so-called love token between Aiden and his precious Sophia.
I dropped to my knees and begged. He looked at me like I was nothing and said Family rules matter more than blood.
When I carried my daughter’s mutilated body out of that basement, fireworks were exploding on the rooftop above, celebrating his grand confession of love to Sophia.
He froze my accounts. And on the day of Chloe’s funeral, he took her to a concert.
I was holding my daughter’s ashes, trapped, desperate, with nowhere left to go when a message from an unknown number appeared. A car was waiting at the side gate. It was Daniel, my childhood friend.
Only after I disappeared with my daughter’s ashes did Aiden finally realize the truth—that the “sweet, innocent” Sophia was the real killer of his own child.

"In name only."

That's what Flora Smith declared, her tone unwavering.

Matthew Charles met her gaze, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Indeed. Legally, we're just husband and wife."

The way he effortlessly spoke the phrase "just husband and wife" caught her off guard. A hint of mischief twinkled in his eyes as he teased, "All we have between us is this marriage certificate. You can have it anytime you choose. I'll be right behind you."

From an unexpected one-night stand born out of a twist of fate to the struggles of single parenthood, Flora has journeyed alone. But now, her child is inexplicably drawn to Matthew, refusing to let go. As it turns out, when it comes to fatherhood, only the real thing will do.

Five years into my marriage, I took off my Donna necklace at the Rossi family’s New Year’s Eve banquet and Noah still thought I could never leave him.
He stood by the long table with his mistress, Amelia, and said in front of every capo, “Some people will never measure up to her. Not even close.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I just turned and walked away. On my way out, my cousin Lucas, my fixer, handed me a cup of coffee.
Three days later, he brought me two pieces of news.
Amelia was four months pregnant. And Noah was trading family territory to get his bastard child recognized by the family.
“What are you going to do?” Lucas asked.
I stared out the window, thinking about the red lipstick stain on Noah’s shirt. Thinking about the smug look in his eyes when he told me, “I only helped her because I felt sorry for her.”
“Wait,” I said. “Wait until they think they’ve won.”
What Noah didn’t know was I was still holding one last trump card.

In their eyes, my wife Emma—an Ivy League tenured professor in biological sciences—is ruthless, rational, and obsessively clean.
For seven years, even when she washed her hands, she would only ever touch the right-side sink—hers.
Until that night at 3 a.m., when I pulled a strand of sandy-golden short curl—hair that belonged to neither of us—out of my men’s shower loofah.
And around the neck of a pre-med student named Lucas, I saw the antique silver cross my dying father left in my hands.
When I confronted her, my always-icy wife protected the little homewrecker, slapped me across the face, and called me a jealous, controlling chauvinist.
She thought I’d swallow it like a coward.
But she forgot: as a top cardiothoracic chief, the thing I do best is cutting out tumors.

Shantel Leaster is twenty-five and, to put it simply, a mess. She’s clumsy, spoiled, and never on time. Her parents, tired of her careless ways, cut her off and force her to survive on her own. After hopping from one failed job to another, Shantel finds herself desperate, with nothing but her small car, a pile of rejection letters, and a growing sense that life is passing her by.

That’s when she crosses paths with Kelvin Zee. He is everything she’s not: disciplined, powerful, respected, and blind. At first, Shantel doesn’t know how to feel about him. He’s cold and intimidating, but there’s something magnetic about him, something that makes her want to stay. Kelvin offers her a job as his personal chef, and though she doubts herself, she takes it.

I bite down on my lip to try and control my hatred for him as my stomach flips with contempt. "You aren't comfortable to sit on," I argue. "I won't be able to fall asleep on you." "Oh, but you are quite comfortable for me," He says, pleasure evident in his voice. His hands keep me pressed against his solid chest, sealing his command. "It is my bed that you sleep in, remember? You will sleep where I tell you to."


In the realm of the Fae, humans have two purposes when they are stolen; They are either bought as pets for the nobles, as my sister and I were, or they are kept as children for those who could not bear their own. Alice is lucky- she was purchased by a Seelie noble, who typically adopt human children as their own. I, however, was purchased as a pet by the bastard son of the Unseelie court, who find little other use for human children.

Angela currently plunges into poverty that forces her to went into prostitution where she sells her body to keep her two younger siblings alive, paying their school fees and put food on their table at least twice a day.

Despite experiencing the whip of life, she didn't lose hope. She believes one day she will be freed from prostitution, she will feel loved, respected and cared for. She still believes there's someone who will come to hold her hand and help her to get out of the mud. And the person who's going to save her is her childhood friend who went abroad to study way back seven years ago.

What if her childhood friend came back all of the sudden? Is she will going to reveal her secret as a prostitute just to make her save by him? Or hide it just to make her man stay in her life?

Is it possible for a prostitute like her to have a happy ever after to a knight shimmering shining armor like in books and fairytales?

Let's find out in The Prostitute.

FABIO VITTORIO the cold, ruthless, and emotionless alpha. The sight of him makes people around him to tremble in fear. His pack members feel safe yet threatened around him. Even his father doesn’t have a leash around his own son. No one has looked him in the eyes and confronted him or touch him.

Well, expect HER
HIS SINFUL DESIRE
HIS MATE
HIS ONLY SISTER


REBECCA STEPHEN the jovial, lovely, and kind redhaired human. Everything was going well with her, not until her mother announced she has gotten married and they have to leave their old home. Still trying to process the fact that her mother married another man, she collided with a cold, tattooed man, and that was when everything changed.

He became HER RUIN.
HER BLACKMAILER
HER STEPBROTHER

.......................................
WARNING ⚠️
This story contains morally grey, explicit sexual content and graphic violence. Readers under the age of 18 should please skip this book. For the readers who love spicy dark romance, You Are Welcome.

Lydia Loveday is forced to transfer colleges mid-semester due to a traumatic event at her dream school. Little does she know, this school is exclusive to Werewolves, Vampires, and Magic-Users, and she's the only human amongst the student body... or so she thinks.
She is met by a BodyGuard that her wealthy father employed to keep history from repeating itself, except Adrian is much more than he seems. Aside from being a sexy Korean millionaire, Adrian is a Werewolf. Not just any Werewolf, however, but the rising Alpha of the largest Wolf Pack in North America. And, he isn't just her BodyGuard. It turns out that Adrian and Lydia are SoulMates, though it serves as a surprise to both of them.
As Lydia begins uncovering the truth about this College for the Supernatural, she also discovers hidden aspects of her own lineage that was kept secret, such as her father being an Alumni for a college that is hidden away in the mountains of Montana. Adrian keeps her plenty busy on top of all of her new discoveries, so her grades are the least of her concerns.