94 Book(s) Related to semblance rwby

Two years ago, my best friend Maddie knelt in front of me, crying as she borrowed $50,000.
The very next day, she vanished off the face of the earth. No explanation, no apology, not even a single text message.
I was left carrying her toxic debt. I lost my fiancé, and I lost my ability to trust anyone.
Until one late night, a call came in from an unknown number originating in an abandoned mining district in West Virginia.
On the other end of the line, Maddie said she was getting married. She had the money ready—every last cent.
The wedding venue was a ruined church deep in the mountains, abandoned for a decade. The time: Friday, midnight.

My world fell apart the day I got scratched by my best friend Coralie’s cat, and she handed me that "miracle" ointment.
Rosalind, the mentor I had respected for years, suddenly turned on me, cutting all ties in a fit of rage that landed her in the hospital.
My mother, Adrienne, transformed overnight, screaming abuse and kicking me out of her house.
And Dorian, my fiancé, publicly humiliated me at our engagement party, viciously calling off the wedding.
Driven to despair, I wandered into the street and was nearly killed by a car. In the shocking clarity of that near-death moment, I finally realized the twisted truth behind everyone’s sudden, violent disgust for me...

When he found out I’d injured my leg and couldn't scrub in to deliver the billionaire's baby tomorrow, my boyfriend’s first reaction wasn't concern. He gritted his teeth and snapped, "Hannah, you did this on purpose, didn't you? Why today of all days? Are you really throwing away your entire career just to spite me?!"
I didn't argue. I just stared at the medical chart labeled Eleanor Whitlock, my fingers trembling.
In my past life, I took this assignment. I was drugged and locked in a supply closet. A few hours later, the mother and baby were dead—and the security footage showed a nurse with my face poisoning them. I died in a damp prison cell, branded a murderer.
Reborn into this life, I just wanted to escape this fatal trap.
But somehow, the security cameras had once again captured "me" walking into that delivery room.

On the day I gave birth to my daughter, Iris, my husband Hollis pushed open the hospital room door, dragging a four-year-old boy by the arm. Eyes red and welling with tears, he said, "Look who I brought home."
My mother-in-law wept tears of joy. My son, Felix—who supposedly died in the winery fire five months ago—had returned "from the dead."
The whole room was crying over this miracle, but my blood ran cold: since the second he walked through that door, Hollis hadn't spared a single glance at our newborn daughter.
I secretly collected a DNA sample from the boy and sent it for expedited testing. The results confirmed it: this wasn't my son at all. He was Hollis’s illegitimate child with another woman.
That same night, I pulled up the nursery's hidden camera footage and watched with my own eyes as this man injected poison into Iris’s breast milk. Soon after, he brazenly moved his mistress—my personal assistant—into my home.
A towering wave of hatred consumed me. I swore I would make them pay in blood...

I am the Seer of the wolf pack, the Alpha’s wife, yet I have never truly known love.

My parents called me a bastard; my sister stole everything from me, even my husband’s heart.

Now, she blinds herself and frames me, forcing me to give up my own eyes.

No one knows that when a Seer loses her sight, she dies.

I thought that making the ultimate sacrifice would finally earn me a shred of affection. But even as I lay dying on the operating table, they gathered around my sister, laughing.

Only when the truth came out did they realize—I was their real daughter, and my sister was the one who schemed to take everything from me.

But by then, it was far too late.

Married for five years, my husband, Reid, constantly played the poverty card. He’d blame crashing company revenues, claiming we couldn't even afford to upgrade to a house with a small yard. His favorite excuse was that we had to subsidize his chronically ill, adopted sister, Vivienne.
Yet, he frequently went out late at night, his phone practically glued to his hand. I suspected he was having an affair, but I couldn't find a single shred of evidence.
So, for our fifth anniversary, I gifted him a custom leather belt with a micro-GPS tracker hidden inside.
At 2:00 AM, the tracker pinned him at a private suburban farm—while he claimed to be pulling an all-nighter at the office.
Furious, I drove out to the middle of nowhere, my head full of scenarios where I’d catch him in bed with another woman. But when I arrived, the entire farm was locked down by the police.
A grim-faced detective stopped me and asked coldly, "Ma'am, are you the family of the deceased?"

On our sixth wedding anniversary, my husband Jonathan brought his dead ex-girlfriend's sister into our home — despite my objections.

"Beatrice, are you even human? You can't even show compassion to a dying woman! How could someone so cold-hearted be a role model for Oliver!"

My son — the boy I'd raised for six years — swung his little fists at me and screamed: "Beatrice! If you don't let Isadora stay, I'll never speak to you again!"

That was the moment my heart turned to stone.

I signed the divorce papers and walked straight back into the courtroom — clawing my way back to the top.

Then they discovered her lies. Every. Single. One.

Jonathan fell to his knees before me, eyes red and brimming with tears: "Beatrice, do six years of marriage mean nothing to you anymore?"

My son clung to my legs, sobbing: "Mommy! Mommy, don't go! I know I was wrong! Mommy—"

I looked down at them. I felt nothing.

"Now take your mistress and your son — and get out of my life."

I turned and walked away without looking back.

"Who would want a woman like Hazel?"
On the night before our wedding, my fiancé Randy said this in front of everyone.
I stood outside, listening silently before walking away.
Sure enough, at the wedding, he abandoned me to save my sister who was jumping from a building.
"The wedding continues!"
I said with a smile, turning to embrace my disabled husband.
Afterward, I did exactly as they wished, ensuring they would never be apart.
Half a month later, I looked at my ex-fiancé with contempt.
"Compared to my husband, are you even worth mentioning?"

Three years. He worshipped me by day and bedded her by night.
I saw everything. I felt everything—she made sure of that.
So on the night of his coronation, I severed our bond and walked away.
He bled. He knelt. He begged.
Too late.
When I wore white again, it wasn't for him.

In my past life, I replaced my runaway sister Beatrice and was forced to marry mob enforcer Rowan Sinclair.
She thought he was poor with no future, so she ran. My parents didn't even tell me before sending me in her place.
Rowan knew the truth. He carried it like shame, never truly seeing me—only cold stares and silent contempt. I spent years beside him like an unwanted ghost, carefully managing his world while he rose from despised smuggler to feared godfather.
Then his attitude began to change.
Just when I thought we might have a real future, Beatrice returned with tears and lies, claiming I'd stolen her place. Rowan believed her. My parents betrayed me. Everyone chose her.
When a rival family captured us both, guns to our heads, only one could survive.
Rowan pulled Beatrice into his arms and abandoned me without a glance.
They tortured me for three days. The baby in my womb died first. Its father never knew it existed.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back to that afternoon before it all began.

In a secluded modern villa, painter Iris Vale begins to suspect the pills hidden in her meals are stealing more than her sleep. As fragments of a buried night resurface—bleached kitchens, a locked basement, shattered glass on a staircase, and the shadow of her dead sister Nora—family protection curdles into psychological captivity. Dark, tense, and intimate, this is a memory-thriller of guilt, control, and the terror of facing what was done in the name of love.

"I want to break off this engagement!" I stormed into his office, slamming the letter on his desk, my heart pounding with fury after being humiliated by his family's staff. Little did I know, the devastatingly handsome man staring back at me wasn't my fiancé at all—he was his uncle, Rex Sterling, who'd lied about being my betrothed to win me over.

What started as a forced arrangement exploded into a whirlwind of passion: lavish gifts, stolen kisses, and a secret wedding that made me Mrs. Sterling. But when the truth shattered our fairy tale at a family gathering—complete with a punch-throwing nephew and scandalized elite—I had to confront the beautiful lie that built our love.

After being reborn, the first thing my sister and I did was swap our grooms.
In our past life, my gentle sister Elara married Felix Hawthorne, the mafia godfather of Marconi City. Surrounded by a domineering sister-in-law and a scheming, manipulative other woman, she was slowly driven into a corner and died of a broken heart.
Meanwhile, I married the polite, illegitimate son of the Graves family. He was a perfect gentleman, but he just didn't love me. Our marriage lasted three years, and we were separated for two and a half of them.
Then one day, Elara and I woke up at the exact same moment—we had been reborn, back to the very morning we were supposed to sign our marriage agreements...

My six-year-old daughter Emily blurted, "I'm getting a new mommy!" while my son Jacob smirked.

"Oh my God, Nate—your sister? Pregnant with your kid? You sick bastard!" I screamed across the restaurant, my voice cracking like thunder as heads snapped around.

For eight years, I'd slaved like a nanny in our home—cooking, cleaning, raising Jacob and Emily—while he dismissed me as worthless. My own kids sneered, calling me lazy and saying I'd never measure up to their Aunt Chloe. Even his venomous mother Barbara spat insults, grinding me under her heel like dirt. Betrayed by them all, I finally snapped.

Little did they know, my mom's $100 million inheritance unlocked the second I divorced that cheat. From doormat wife to billionaire, I rose—exposing their lies, reclaiming my life.

Game over, asshole. Time to watch you beg.

I tricked my billionaire husband into signing divorce papers—he had no idea.

"Exam documents," I lied.

His ex-wife laughed. "Boring paperwork. Don't bother reading it."

He signed without even looking.

Three years of marriage. I thought he'd learn to love me. Ever since she came back, my dinners grew cold while I reheated them alone. I waited in our bed, night after night. I watched him drop everything and run to her with every phone call.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

That same day, I saw him at the hospital—holding her hand, asking about her baby.

I finally stopped waiting.

I left the estate at dawn. Left behind the jewelry, the designer clothes, the empty promises.

Then he showed up at my door.

"I know about the baby," his voice was raw. "I know about the accident. I know everything."

He looked at me like I was his entire world.

Three years too late? Or just in time?

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

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

That night, I was dragged into a parking lot and beaten until my hands could never hold a scalpel again.

I thought it was random. Until I heard my own brother and fiancé talking—

"Those thugs went too far, but the result works out, doesn't it? This time, the award will go to Charlotte."

Charlotte. The "poor orphan" my family adopted.

For twelve years, she stole my papers, my opportunities, my glory. And the two men I trusted most handed her everything on a silver platter.

They called me spoiled. Selfish. Difficult.

They even believed I started the fire that killed our parents twelve years ago.

But here's the truth: Charlotte started that fire. I was the one who dragged them out.

They thanked the wrong sister. For twelve years.

Now they want me dead.

Fine. Let Penelope Ashworth die.

I died on the day I was supposed to marry Grayson.
Because my sister Delilah had her heart "broken," my family decided to bring her to our farm in Ashwood to heal through horseback riding. The wedding was postponed.
I lay in the stable at the Clarke family farm, dialing my mother's number with blood-covered fingers.
All she said was: "What kind of game are you playing now? You think if you act pitiful we'll come running? Vivienne, enough!"
My fiancé Grayson was even more brutal: "It's just a postponement, not a cancellation. If you can't handle that, then let's just call the whole thing off—I'll marry Delilah instead."
This was the last time they would disappoint me.
And the last time I would call for help.
I lay in my own pool of blood, already without breath. They thought I was just throwing a tantrum, hiding somewhere to sulk. They thought if they ignored me long enough, I'd come crawling back to apologize.
But they didn't know.
I was already dead.

They pulled my husband Beckett’s car out of the Avery River at four in the morning.
I was sitting in the reception area of the Ardenvale police station, having waited all night. Everyone thought I was just the pathetic wife—the one who had been humiliated at her mother-in-law’s birthday banquet, went home early, and panicked when her husband never returned.
No one knew that from the moment I dialed 911, this was exactly the news I had been waiting for.
He was dead. And I was the one who made it happen.

Everyone says I married the perfect husband—considerate, devoted, loving.
I thought I had happiness too, until my neighbor told me she'd seen "me" having sex with Declan multiple times over the summer, even against the floor-to-ceiling windows. But during those two months, I'd been with my son out of town the entire time.
I rushed home and heard 8-year-old Beckett on the phone, bragging to his father: "Dad, I got Mom out of the way for two whole months. Did you make up with your sweetheart? Where's my allowance?"
I pulled up the security footage and saw a woman wearing my nightgown, with my husband, in every corner of our home... I spent eight years building this family, and they betrayed me together.

My adopted sister, Cordelia, conspired with her biological mother to harvest my organs alive, yet she had the audacity to claim I paid thugs to rape her.
My biological parents didn't bother to ask for the truth. They cursed me, calling me a vicious bastard, and threatened to break my legs.
My fiancé, Caspian, coldly announced the cancellation of our engagement, declaring he would marry the very murderer who killed me.
I had been dead for exactly three days. No one cared. My body was rotting back in a moldy storage room.
Through it all, my soul was trapped in the manor, forced to witness this absurd farce.
But what they didn't expect was that when they finally learned of my death—
Everyone went completely insane.

My mother had no medical license, yet wealthy socialites lined up to hand her fat checks.
I often saw her lead those women into the treatment room, where agonizing screams would pierce through the locked door.
But strangely, those same women emerged radiant, as if they'd shed twenty or thirty years overnight, pressing stacks of cash into her hands with tearful gratitude.
What baffled me more was how she doted on the hired girls like her own daughters.
Yet toward me, her actual daughter, she was nothing but cold—always quick to criticize or strike.
Finally one day, curiosity won. I mustered the courage to peek through that door crack and saw what really happened inside...

I've been to four weddings. I never made it through a single one.
Not because I didn't love enough. Not because they weren't good enough. It was because every time — right at the moment I was supposed to say I do — my parents would appear on cue, fall apart on cue, and burn everything to the ground on cue.
For years I thought they hated me. Thought they'd given all their love to my dead sister, Claudia, and had nothing left. Then my brother-in-law said something that cracked me open: Any one of those three men — if you'd married him, you wouldn't be alive today.
So which is it? Were they protecting me, or destroying me?

To end two years of a long-distance marriage with my husband, Sutton Brennan, I quit my job and moved halfway across the state to join his top-tier medical center.
But from the moment I clocked in on day one, a nightmare awaited me.
IV pain pumps violently popped open in my hands, medication cabinets rejected my fingerprints, coffee machines sprayed me with boiling water, microwaves exploded in public, and the employee lockers locked me out entirely.
My colleagues laughed at me, calling me a walking disaster. The head nurse publicly berated me for being incompetent. And my husband, the man I trusted most, simply smiled his gentle smile and said, "You're just tense. Give it a few more days."
In my past life, I believed him. I gritted my teeth and held on until the bitter end—and ultimately died inside this very hospital.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my first day of work.

I was murdered. My body was dumped on the riverbank.
The detective leading the case is Brennan Carter — my husband. He has sworn to find the killer of this "unidentified female." He doesn't know the victim is me.
I've been missing for seven days. My colleagues and supervisors keep calling Brennan to ask where I am. Dismissing it as a tantrum, he's spent the week doing one thing: celebrating his mistress Tessa's birthday.
It wasn't until my phone turned up at the crime scene that it finally hit him — the wife he'd wished would disappear might actually be gone.

Four years ago, Giovanni dumped me in front of everyone at an upscale restaurant. Two weeks later, he was engaged to Rosanna. I made a fool of myself begging on his doorstep, became the laughingstock of Ferro City.
Four years later, he runs into me at Casa Valentino, assumes I'm destitute, and offers me a job as a cleaner for him.
What he doesn't know is that the plainly dressed woman standing before him is the wife of Don Alessandro Valentino—the man the entire underworld bows to.

36 weeks pregnant, I was thrown into the dungeon by my own husband.

When my water broke, I desperately reached out through the mate bond, calling for him—only to discover that he had severed it with his own hands.

They lashed my swollen belly with leather whips. They injected wolfsbane into my veins. And when my baby's head began to crown, they shoved her back inside me.

All because his sister-in-law Genevieve was also in labor today—and her child had to be born as the pack's heir.

I crawled out of that dungeon, drenched in my own blood, only to find him blocking the doorway.

I knelt at his feet, clutching at his trousers, begging. "The baby is innocent. Please... just let me deliver her..."

He kicked me away in disgust. "Wait until Genevieve is done."

Later, fireworks lit up the sky. The entire pack celebrated the birth of Genevieve's heir.

I was dumped in a water cell, watching my blood slowly turn the ice-cold water crimson, feeling my daughter grow still inside me.

Only after he'd gazed adoringly at the newborn in Genevieve's arms did he finally remember me. He sent someone to fetch me from the dungeon.

But his servant returned white-faced, voice trembling:

"Alpha! The Luna... she and the baby... they're both dead!"

I was the best student, the most obedient, the most compliant—yet the only unloved child in our family.

When my brother got into fights, I took his punishment. When my sister snuck out with boys, I bore the consequences. Mom force-fed me pills and made me get my stomach pumped just to scare my brother away from smoking. Dad dressed ten-year-old me like a prostitute and threw me into a bar to warn my sister against going astray.

In the end, they sold me to a gambler for a few hundred dollars.

I died in a dark pond, and no one heard me calling for help.

But when my spirit drifted home, they were gathered around the dinner table, laughing and talking as if nothing was wrong.

It wasn't until the police knocked on their door that they realized—I had been missing for seven whole days.

Later, my brother clutched the chocolate he never got to give me, crying every day. My sister dreamed every night of ten-year-old me struggling and screaming in that bar. Dad knelt at my grave daily, consumed by guilt. And Mom, after killing that gambler, threw herself into the same pond where I had drowned.

Finally, they loved me.

But I was already dead.

On the night of Reeve’s birthday, I drove to his family’s coastal estate with a premium ribeye and a bottle of Pinot Noir, ready to give him a romantic surprise.
But the rug was shifted three inches, and a single drop of dark blood hid in the floorboards. Before I could run, a gun barrel pressed against the back of my head.
The man was impeccably dressed and terrifyingly calm. Upstairs in my bathtub lay the corpse of his pregnant wife.
He ordered me to help him dispose of the body and cover up the crime. My only thought was to stall until my husband got home.
That is, until he spoke—and revealed the root of this massacre. Everything was my husband's fault.

I was Alessandro Romano's wife in name only—the mafia godfather of Belluno City.
We had the most extravagant wedding this city had ever seen: three thousand guests, flowers lining every street. Everything except a legal marriage certificate.
Over three years, he promised to sign the papers twenty-two times. He canceled every single one.
He would buy two identical necklaces, hanging one around my neck and the other around his mistress's, trading a night spent comforting her for a dismissive apology to me.
After the twenty-one broken promise, I stopped waiting.
I packed my bags and left for the one city he vowed never to enter.
What I didn't know: after I left, the man who ruled the underworld completely lost control.

To marry Vincent Romano, I survived twenty-eight near-death experiences over five years.
The first: city hall's foundation collapsed — three broken ribs. The second: a truck rollover — my right leg nearly amputated. The twenty-seventh: a chandelier in the bridal shop, three days unconscious.
All of Seren City laughed at me. Romano's most cursed bride-to-be. Yet I loved him still.
Until the twenty-eighth time.
When the bomb detonated outside city hall, I threw myself over Vincent on instinct. The blast shifted my organs and shredded my back. The day my stitches came out, I felt no relief at having survived.
Because I stood outside the study and heard his voice.
"Her organs were badly damaged. She almost actually died." Antonio's horror was audible. "Vincent, you used to treat her so well—"
"People change." A pause, then quieter: "I did want to marry her once. But before Amelia, I had no idea what it meant to truly want someone. I acknowledge the debt — I just can't spend my life repaying it." Another pause. "Father won't agree, and she won't let go easily."
"So." His voice turned to ice. "The only clean way out is to make her give up on her own. As long as Cassandra refuses to break the engagement, the accidents must continue. Until she walks away."

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

Four months pregnant, I walked into the OB-GYN clinic filled with joy—this was the child Archer and I had waited three years for.
But the moment the ultrasound report was handed to him, his gentle gray eyes twisted violently.
"Abort it. We absolutely cannot keep this child."
My stepfather watched coldly. The stepbrother who doted on me most slapped me hard across the face. My own mother wielded the scalpel and removed my uterus.
Half a month later, they picked me up from the hospital with roses, only to turn around and lock me away, feeding me psychiatric drugs until I died.
Reborn, I thought that as long as I hid the report, I could save my baby.
But they forced me onto the operating table once again.
It wasn't until I saw the report with my own eyes—
That I finally understood why my child had to die.

Following Aunt Helen’s sudden death and the exhausting funeral arrangements, strange things began happening at home.
A lingering warmth on an empty sofa. Faint footsteps echoing in the hallway late at night.
I couldn't shake the creeping certainty that a third person was hiding in the house with my husband and me.
My husband brushed it off, insisting it was nothing more than grief and severe insomnia playing tricks on my mind, and told me not to overthink it.
Then, one morning, he walked through the front door, briefcase in hand, his eyes heavy from an obvious all-nighter. "The institute's data was a total disaster," he explained with a tired sigh. "I was stuck at the lab all night."
I froze, completely at a loss.
"But you came home last night," I stared at him, my voice trembling. "We were in bed, making love for half the night."
He frowned, looking at me with the cold, clinical detachment of a doctor examining a patient. "Maeve, I didn't set foot in this house last night. You need to stop imagining things..."

The anonymous post’s warning came true. I was trapped in an endless loop of death.
In my first life, I took on a high-risk surgery, only to be brutally stabbed by a grieving family member afterward. Thirteen fatal wounds left me bleeding out on the floor.
In my second life, I faked an injury to avoid the operation, only to be shoved down a steep flight of stairs, resulting in extreme head trauma and a snapped neck.
In my third life, I performed the surgery alone. My reward was a cold gunshot straight through the skull.
In my fourth life, I live-streamed the entire procedure. The surgery went flawlessly, yet my throat was still slit, and my skull was crushed by a heavy blunt object.
On my deathbed, I finally glimpsed the horrifying secret hidden within the patient...

They called her the weakest wolf.

The runt, the reject. The girl with a wolf too small to ever fight.

But when Jolie Rys runs away from her pack, fate delivers her into the arms of Ryder Kane, the ruthless alpha of the Iron Fang biker wolves.

Ryder is everything she's been taught to fear: leather-clad, ink-stained, and dangerous enough to kill without hesitation. Yet his wolf claims her the second their eyes meet. His pack wants strength, and she is anything but strong. Still, Ryder refuses to let her go.

In a world where wolves live and die by power, can the weakest wolf become the mate of the most feared alpha alive? Or will Ryder's enemies destroy her before she learns the truth about her own hidden strength?

One thing is certain: once Ryder calls her his, no one touches her and lives.

Moonlight shined over the ancient altar as Kael spread her wide, his scarred body caging hers.

Lira’s thighs trembled against his hips, her slick heat already swollen and aching from hours of his relentless claiming, yet still greedy for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled, voice shredded with wolf, the thick head of his cock dragging through her soaked folds, teasing her entrance until she sobbed.

“I can’t—fuck—I won’t stop until you’re ruined for anyone else.”

She arched, nails carving red lines down his back. “Then ruin me.”

He slammed into her in one brutal thrust, stretching her virgin-tight walls until she screamed his name into the ruined temple. Every inch of him burned inside her.

“Feel that?” he snarled against her throat, pulling out only to drive deeper, harder, the wet slap of their bodies echoing off stone. “This cunt was made for me.

Twenty years they kept you locked away—now I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly you’ll feel me for days.”

Her legs locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him impossibly deeper.
“Kael—gods—please—”

They called her cursed, wolfless and broken. They were wrong.

For twenty years, Lira Ashborne has been locked beneath Darkfang fortress, she was fed scraps and forced into silence.

The scars that bind her wrists are proof of the pack's cruelty. But an ancient wolf stirs in her blood, carrying secrets that could save or destroy them all.

When Alpha Kael Thorn returns from eleven years of exile, ruthless and hungry for revenge. He marks her as his own, expecting the same broken girl who only knew how to bow. But the Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes.

When enemies attack and buried truths explode into light, they'll discover that some bonds are forged in blood.

He left Aurora Anderson with a ring that meant nothing and a promise that broke everything.
Four years later, Levi Kingston, the ruthless Alpha who traded his pack for power and built an empire in glass and gold, returns with a proposition that reopens every wound she buried.
A ninety-day marriage contract.
His terms: protect her twins from the enemies his rise created.
Her condition: never fall for him again.
She’s human, or at least that’s what she tells the world. He’s the heir to the city’s hidden packs, a man forged in dominance and secrets. Between them lies a history of rejection, desire, and a bond that refused to die even when they did.
In a world where loyalty is currency and love is leverage, Aurora must decide whether to guard her heart or the truth that could bring Levi Kingston’s entire empire to its knees. proposition that reopens every wound she buried.
Alpha, Billionaire, Strong FL, Fated Mates, Rejected Mates, Secret babies, Twins, A Marriage of Convenience,

"You want me Alexa," He whispered, his lips trailed hot kisses down her neck, and his other hand trailed to the band of her soaked panties. "Why can't you just accept that?"She moaned out loud as his hand found her wetness, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "I would never accept you, Zade. Return back to the hell you were cast out from." Torn and broken and newly divorced, she walked in a club, where her sights landed on a man, sexy as sin.After a wild night of passion, he claims her as his queen, but she wants nothing to do with him since he took her from her life forcefully. But he would never let his salvation go, even if it kills him.Would she submit to the pleasure he was going to give her after being hurt before? He was her kidnapper, after all.And how would they navigate through challenges that prove to be bigger than her as she finds out the King of death is her second chance mate?


Alexa is the long awaited mate of Zade, a cursed Lycan God who was banished from heaven after he was framed by his brothers for killing his mother's wolves. Selene, the moon goddess and his mother, decided to give him redemption, by sending a mate. She was unable to identify him as her mate so he took her to his kingdom, not wanting to let her out of his sight. In this story, Zade tries his best to win Alexa’s love while they try to over come all external challenges from long enemies of Zade, and the secret of Alexa’s true identity is discovered. The story is a dark, drama filled romance that ends well, and is filled various themes like romance, second chance and evil ex.

“Now tell me who you belong to?” Rael rasped, our breaths mingling together. Fuck! He was my sister's fiancé, yet here he was, fucking me like he owned me.

The feeling of being on the bed of the man she plans on marrying next month brought a sense of accomplishment to my being.

“I'm yours, Rael. Fuck! I'm yours!” I almost screamed with another hard jab of his waist.

“Wrong answer.” he muttered, pulling out of me just as I'd almost reached my peak. Fuck!

...

After being reborn, I was out to get revenge on my family. And the first step was possessing the man my sister loved.

In the gleaming werewolf capital of Silverbourne, power is currency and loyalty is illusion.
When nineteen-year-old Evie Hart, daughter of the disgraced Beta, marries Grayson Knight, heir to the ruling Alpha line, she believes she finally has the man of her dreams, but her dreams are shattered on her mating night when she finds out Grayson only married her for revenge for the death of his beloved, Chloe Vance. Beneath the vows lies a deeper web of betrayal, only she didn't know
Bound by oath and vengeance, their union ignites a war of secrets that will shake the Silverbourne packs to their core. As love twists into punishment and truth claws its way free, Evie must decide whether to rebuild the world that broke her or burn it down under a blood moon.

Adriano Moretti rules the city’s underworld in smoke-filled rooms and blood-soaked streets. In the daylight, he’s the king of the tech world—tailored suits, sharp smiles, every inch the respectable billionaire. But to those who cross him, he’s the executioner they never see coming.

Some confessions are meant to heal.
Others are meant to be hunted.

The Service was never supposed to be justice.
Disguised as anonymous therapy, it became a place where millions confessed their darkest sins—believing no one was listening.

They were wrong.

He built The Service to find the truth behind the fire that killed the woman he loved.

It was never about power.
It was never about control.
It was about hearing her name spoken by the person responsible.

Then Isabella returns.

Very much alive and changed. Carrying a child he never knew existed.

Six years after the fire, the ghost he buried walks back into his life, and Adriano refuses to let her disappear again. What begins as control turns into confrontation. Old wounds reopen. Secrets surface. And love—sharper, angrier, and more dangerous than before—demands to be reckoned with.

But the past isn’t finished with them.

A rogue system, born from betrayal and grief, resurfaces—one that can turn the city itself into a weapon. And the truth about the night that tore them apart finally comes to light.

Adriano must choose between the man he became in the ashes…
and the family he never knew he could still have.

Livia Life has always been a waking nightmare, shackled in the shadows of her own home and blamed for a crime she never committed the death of her mother. For seventeen years, she lived as a prisoner, surviving off scraps and abuse, until the night of her eighteenth birthday changed everything. In a shocking twist of fate, a powerful alpha prince named Leonardo arrives, revealing that she is the long-lost daughter of the Alpha King and, more importantly, his destined mate.

Swept into a royal world she never imagined, Livia is forced to navigate the complexities of love, revenge, and rediscovering her true self. As passion sparks between them, old enemies rise, secrets unfold, and the trauma of her past claws its way into her present.

Leonardo’s love offers a sanctuary, but also comes with dangerous expectations, political threats, and the haunting fear of losing everything all over again. Torn between a brutal past and an uncertain future ,Livia must find the strength to choose who she wants to become. Can an abused soul truly find healing in the arms of an alpha prince, or is love alone not enough to rewrite a fate forged in pain?