106 Book(s) Related to tiste liosan

I was the last of the Holy Bloodline. To the Nocturne Clan, I wasn't a Princess—I was a walking incubator, a terrified blood slave bound by the lowest pact to breed their pureblood heirs.
"I promise you... the next child you bear, I will let you raise yourself," my husband,the Vampire Prince, whispered, holding our newborn son wrapped in his sister-in-law's blanket.
He used my body as a shield against silver blades to protect his sister-in-law.
For nine years, I endured the silver whips, the boiling sunlight, and the agony of watching my babies handed over to another woman.
But when I discovered my husband was the very monster who slaughtered my families, I shattered heart turns to ash.
So, I give him exactly what he deserves—a pile of scorched ashes in a dark prison cell.
By the time the Vampire Prince realizes he cannot live without his wife, I am already “dead”.

I gave up my Harvard Ph.D. and lived in the slums for five years as a corpse restorer, all to save my dying boyfriend.
But when I brought the $72,000 I literally bled for to his VIP ward, I found him drinking champagne.
"Thanks for faking the medical records, Doc," Ethan smirked. "Her sob-story money is paying for my Senate run nicely."
His glamorous campaign manager, Sloane, chimed in: "Just be careful, Ethan. What if she figured out your family background and is just playing the long game? She might be a gold digger climbing the political ladder."
"Please," Ethan scoffed in disgust. "Marry a woman who scrubs dead bodies every night? I'll throw her out the minute the election is over."
A gold digger? Me? Climbing his ladder?
I looked at my calloused hands, then calmly messaged the most terrifying political patriarch in Boston.
"Dad, you were right. I'm coming home, and I'll marry the Federal Prosecutor.”

"First, unlimited funds. Second, you clean up every mess I make. Third, keep out of my private life."
Those were the arrogant demands my student laid out when I, the top art professor in New York, offered to make him my exclusive protégé.
The entire faculty gasped. No one dared speak to a Voss heiress like that.
Instead, looking at his face, I gave a slow, quiet nod.
"Agreed," I whispered. "Just make sure you never ruin that face."
He thought I was just another rich, desperate woman blinded by love. He spent my money, flaunted his little girlfriend in my face, and trampled all over my dignity, thinking I would never let him go.
He forgot one crucial detail about being a substitute.
The moment the original returns... the fake becomes worthless.

My labor pains flaring violently the same day my husband’s widowed sister-in-law, Nancy, went into labor.
Nancy tricked everyone into believing I carried a girl while she bore the heir son.
Obsessed with securing the inheritance for Nancy’s fake male child, Rowdy locked me inside a hospital morgue cold storage, transferring all doctors, blood reserves and emergency gear to her VIP ward.
I knelt on icy ground, begging him to spare our baby and swore to renounce all family wealth, yet he kicked me aside and called me a greedy schemer.
His adopted sister Gina sneaked down, beat me brutally and injected a high-dose labor suppressant straight into my womb to stall my delivery.
It was only after Nancy delivered her baby that Rowdy belatedly remembered I was also stuck in labor downstairs.
Before he could head down to the basement, his panicked subordinate rushed in and cried, “Boss, Awful!—your wife and your son are died!”

My boyfriend hated the new freshman, Lila.
She followed him everywhere from day one, and he’d complain to me nonstop.
“Want me to get her kicked out? My dad can write a check and make it happen.”
I laughed it off. “Cocky much?”
He nudged my shoulder. “You really not scared I’ll get taken?”
Please.
We were childhood sweethearts, bound by family and our upcoming competition duet.
Her cheap, desperate act? I never saw it as a threat.
I had no idea how wrong I was.

The night my childhood fiancé humiliated me in front of our entire senior class, I didn't cry.
I just went home and made two decisions.

Lose the 60 pounds.
Secretly reject my Princeton acceptance.
I erased his number, packed my bags, and vanished from his toxic orbit. Nathan thinks he won. He thinks he finally shook off the "burden" his parents forced on him.
But what happens when the girl you spent your whole life running away from... becomes the only woman you can't live without?

As a Senior Actuary at the Magic Scroll Bank earning a lucrative salary, I was my aunt’s favorite target.
For the ninety-ninth time, she pushed her "perfect match" on me: a forty-eight-year-old washed-up faerie hunter, drowning in debt .
"Seraphina, women lose their value after twenty-five. Marrying a steady, older man is your safest bet!"
To force my hand, she secretly slipped an Love Bond into my tea.
I smiled, pretended to drink it, and agreed to the date.
What she didn't know was that I secretly extracted the Bind Mark... and quietly planted it on her own daughter, Chole.
If she satisfied with this man so much, I would gladly grant her wish.
A month later, our family's chat group exploded. Aunt Agatha was screaming hysterically, cursing me a "shameless whore" for bringing home a Pregnancy Rune before marriage.
I calmly enlarged the image, circled her daughter's signature, and replied:
"Congratulations on becoming a grandmother, Aunt Agatha."

When the bridal bouquet landed directly in my arms, the entire reception erupted.
All eyes shifted to Elias, the man I had loved for seven years.
"Propose! Put a ring on it!" the crowd chanted, pushing him toward me.
My heart raced. I thought my endless waiting was finally over.
Instead, Elias stepped up, smiled... and pulled the flowers right out of my hands.
He turned around and shoved them into the arms of his twenty-five-year-old assistant.
"Don't be greedy, Kalinda. Let Mia have the luck today," he chuckled, patting my hair like a pet. "We've got plenty of time. Next time, I promise."
I watched his assistant bury her face in the white peonies, shooting me a triumphant smirk.
I just smiled back.
There isn't going to be a "next time."
My wedding is coming. And he isn't the groom.

I am the Don Dante's wife, but my life runs through my husband's underboss who always seduce my husband, Elena.
I can't wear a coat without Elena's passcode.
My cards are monitored. My cash is approved. Dante calls it protocol. He calls it protection. He never asks why I wear the same faded sweater in winter.
I swallowed every humiliation because my mother's ventilator depended on his signature.
But Elena intentionally delayed funds for my mother’s medical treatment.
The brutal clash made me miscarry.
My mother died alone without timely treatment. I stopped filing all daily spending applications for three days straight.
Today he calls, calm and condescending, telling me the medical accounts are restored.
He thinks I'll fall back into line.
He doesn't know the only thing I'm requesting now is a signature—his, on the divorce papers.

My organs are failing, rotting from years of toxic lab work.
My only life-saving antidote was stolen by my husband and biased parents, given to adopted sister, Ivy.
I gave up any chance to live, injecting strong painkillers to endure crippling agony.
The price I paid: only three days until my organs shut down completely.
During those three days, I surrendered everything I owned:
I handed over the Ghost formula that monopolized the black market, and my mafia parents looked utterly relieved;
Marcus laid divorce papers before me. I signed without a second thought, and said I’d finally become sensible;
The day before my death, I spent the whole day out with my son, yet he only wanted Ivy for his mother;
I gifted Aphrodite, the beauty serum, as my husband and Ivy‘s wedding present, and every single one praised me for finally being meek and mild.
I thought myself:
When I’m dead, will they feel remorse for the things they’ve done to me?

I’d spent four years slaving away in the hospital basement sorting medical waste.
I thought I’d finally scraped together enough money to pay for my brother Leo’s brain damage treatment.
But he just took the card and tossed it onto the coffee table.
“I got better ages ago. That lousy little paycheck of yours? I blew it on a necklace for Victoria.”
My husband David pushed open the study door. “That story about me going bankrupt and losing my board seat? Total lie. Victoria and I have been together for a year.”
“We planned that whole thing together—sending you down to the basement to pick through trash.”
My parents held out an organ donor agreement in front of me. “That waste disposal job? Victoria got it for you. Her kidney match results came back. You’re the only match. Sign this, and you can still be our daughter.”
Victoria walked in, holding a little boy’s hand. It was Eli—my son, the one I’d thought died in that car crash four years ago.
He stared at me with this cold, disgusted look, like I was a stranger. “Mom, is this ugly lady gonna give you her kidney?”
I pulled the physical exam report I’d gotten a week ago out of my pocket.
Late-stage osteosarcoma. They said I only had ten days left to live.
Counting today,I had three days left.

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

My best friend Lily was brutally assaulted and tragically took her own life.
But I fiercely protected the monster who did it.
Lily’s mom knelt down and begged me, but I just closed the door coldly.
When the villagers came with torches to smash my home, I didn't hesitate to unleash my dog to drive them away.
"Ivy, you cold-blooded monster! We treated you like family, and you protected the beast who drove Lily to her death for a whole decade!"
"Today, I’m going to show the whole world who this man is—the one you’d rather be cursed by everyone than expose!"
But when my deepest memories were violently torn open and the culprit's face appeared clearly on the giant holographic screen...
The high and mighty Emma instantly drained of all color and collapsed to the floor.

“I want you to stage a private jet crash for me. That way I can get away from Elias for good.”
When my best friend Poppy heard my request, her jaw nearly hit the floor. She wondered if she’d misheard.
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Molly?" she deadpanned.
"I’m entirely serious." I said, keeping my voice dead flat.
"Molly, you're married to Elias Blackwood." Poppy stood up, running a hand through her blue hair. "The Elias. The Alpha who swore you were his one true love, fought his entire clan to make you an ordinary human his Luna, and literally threw away his inheritance for you. The guy who shares his live location with you 24/7 and fired every female assistant in his building. Half the internet calls your marriage the modern fairy tale. If you die, he will tear the world apart looking for your body."
I let out a dry, broken laugh. "He won't have to look hard. He already has a replacement."
Poppy froze. "What are you talking about?"
"He has another family, Poppy."

My little sister and I each bear a Heart-Seed Mark etched into our chests.
Inside each seed grow Heartbeat Petals—currency that can trade for anything under the boughs of The Heart-Root, the ancient devouring tree.
At eight years old, I plucked one petal to cure Mom’s terminal cancer.
At ten, I tore out another to mend my older brother’s shattered bones after his brutal fight.
At twenty-four, I sacrificed my third and final petal to wake my husband’s sister from a car-crash-induced vegetative state.
Now, two disasters struck at once: my father died in a horrific car wreck, and my husband’s mistress lost their unborn baby.
Both sides of my family flocked to The Heart-Root, all fixated on stealing my petals for their own wishes.
I tried to step aside and let my younger sister go first to make the trade, but Mom shoved me hard.
“Every bit of love we’ve poured into you these years, every petal came from us! You’d really hold out and refuse to save your own father? Ungrateful girl!” my mom snapped.
My husband’s mom cut in sharp as a knife: “A good wife knows her place. It’s your duty to bring that baby back for your husband. If only you’d given him a son yourself.”
They tied me tight to the tree trunk. I watched a girl standing nearby get torn apart by black, writhing vines when she had no petals left—her flesh dissolved straight into the tree’s roots to feed it.
But my Heart-Seed didn’t have a single petal left either...

On the night of the charity gallery opening, I caught Lucas and Lila tangled together in the storage closet.
He pulled the girl tight against his chest and sneered, “Stella, you’re eight whole years older than me. You’ve controlled my life for five years—when are you gonna realize you can never hold onto me?”
Lila giggled, snuggling deeper into his arms. “You’re past your prime, ma’am. Why cling to someone who was never yours to begin with?”
Snickers and mocking laughter rippled through the onlookers.
I gave a slow, hollow smile.
For five years, I single-handedly kept Scott Enterprises afloat, mopped up every mess he made, and buried every scandal spawned by his endless string of flings.
Still, he hopped from one girl to the next, weaponizing our age gap to mock and hurt me, over and over again.
Then he shoved me hard. I crumpled to the floor in a pool of my own blood, watching him bolt out with another woman in his arms, not a single glance thrown back my way.
I knew right then the baby was gone.
Everyone whispered how pathetically I’d bent over backward for love.
No one ever learned the truth: I endured everything only because his face mirrored my late fiancé, Elias.

"Abort her mutt. Liora is carrying my true pureblood heir."
My Alpha husband’s voice was ice-cold as I bled out on the delivery bed.
The woman he was protecting? My fiercely loyal best friend.
While I was screaming in pain, biting my lips bloody to birth his child, he was in the next room, making her moan.
He killed our baby.
When I returned from burying my grandmother in the freezing rain, his guards threw holy water in my face.
"Wash her," Lachlan ordered coldly. "The stench of death on her will harm Liora's pup."
I stared at the man who once took nine lashes of a barbed whip just to marry me.
He aborted my baby to save hers. He let my only family die.
He tossed me a bag of gold like a beggar and told me to stop causing drama.
So, I packed my bags, and vanished into his world.

In the seventh year after I broke my fated mate's heart and he went abroad to study, he finally returned home with his new fiancée to meet his parents.
On that exact same day, the hospital finally pronounced my seven-year battle with Core Degeneration a failure. I was sent home to wait for death.
Seeing me sitting in a wheelchair on the street, supported by my mother, a mocking smile appeared on Kaelen's lips.
"It’s been seven years, and you've fallen so low you can't even walk?"
Listening to his disgusted voice and smelling the Alpha pine scent I once loved so much, I panicked, hurriedly yanking down the sleeves of my coat to hide the dense, ugly needle marks on the back of my hand.
"It's nothing. I fell and broke my leg, that's all," I lied quietly.
Kaelen sneered, pulling a beautiful Omega woman,Sloane, closer to his side. She smelled exactly like I used to—vanilla and rain.
"Since you're so free," he drawled, his eyes cold, "I'm getting married soon. Why don't you be Sloane's bridesmaid?"
I just smiled calmly. "No thanks. I'm going somewhere very far away soon."

I've signed five blood-bound annulment contracts with my mafia don husband, Killian.
Each and every time, he fed me the same line: "When this is over, we'll tie the knot again."
But every single one of those "things" was for the same woman: Seraphina Moretti.
We ended our marital bond for the first time, and I sobbed, begging him to tell me if his love for me had ever been real.
He clamped his hold on my jaw hard enough, enunciating every word coldly: "Elara, that doesn't matter."
When the second annulment rolled around, I was mocked openly at the family gala.
I locked myself away in the ensuite bathroom and sliced open my wrists; blood trickled along the tile grout.
My best mate tracked me down to find me trembling.
It wasn't the wound's ache making me shake, though—Killian was somewhere on the estate that very night, yet he never bothered to pop by and check on me once.
By the third split, I'd taught myself never to shed a tear in his presence.
On the fourth occasion, I even took it upon myself to ask him flat-out: "What sham do you need me to play along with now?"
He froze for the longest moment, said nothing at all in the end.
Now we're here for the fifth annulment.
He thought he only needs to click his fingers and I'll trot back to remarry him just as I've done all the previous times. What he did not know is this:
This time, I'm disappearing from his life for good.

In my family, "democracy" was just a gilded word for bullying.
Every time there was a conflict between me and my adopted sister, Ivy, my fiancé and my brother would settle it with a family vote.
The location of my marital home? I lost, 3-1.
The guest list for my wedding? I lost, 3-1.
 
And when Ivy wanted the massive south-facing master suite in my new house to build her walk-in closet?
"Let's vote to keep things fair," my fiancé, William, declared.
I was a rising architect at Boston's most prestigious firm, yet I didn't even have the right to design my own marital home.
The result was unanimous. The bride's bedroom would be half the size of the adopted sister's closet.
 
Out of more than a hundred family votes over the last ten years:
My fiancé's votes for me: Zero.
My own brother's votes for me: Zero.
 
I finally realized this game was rigged from the start. I didn’t say a word. I just packed my bags.
Let them play their little voting game without me.

"Kiss it for me, sister…"
I had no idea the milk I drank every night was handmade by my foster brother, Luciano.
After I turned down his confession yet again, I stared at the milk he’d brought me so eagerly and knocked it to the floor in disgust.
The boy who’d always been quiet and obedient suddenly snapped.
He pinned me flat to the ground, his face inches from mine, his breath brushing my ear:"I get it. You want to drink fresher milk, don’t you?"
I never imagined the boy I’d raised all these years could spiral this far out of control with his twisted feelings for me.
So the very next day, I put him behind bars with my own two hands, determined to put an end to this messed-up obsession for good.

The son I’d nearly died giving birth to looked me dead in the eye after seven years of calling the woman who ruined my life his mother, and spat: “You’re not even fit to shine Chloe’s shoes.”
My husband Arthur stood right beside him, sneering. “Even your own kid doesn’t believe you. Just accept it.”
I’d always thought if I just humbled myself enough, I might earn even a scrap of pity from this father and son.
I’d fought tooth and nail to get my son back, begged him on my knees to choose me, even when I found out my husband was planning to carve out my kidney alive to keep that woman happy — I still clung to the stupid, desperate hope he’d feel even a flicker of regret.
It broke for good when my seven-year-old son, desperate to please his “new mum”, stuffed the evidence she’d planted to frame me right into the sofa cushions with his own two hands.
That all shattered the night he forced me to kneel and serve for him and that homewrecker while they slept together.
In that moment, I was done being the doormat everyone trampled into the dirt.

I dropped out of Harvard and took on massive debt to save my dying brother.

For five years, I starved. I worked five jobs a day. I let debt collectors break my ribs just so I could afford his "life-saving" meds.

Until I saw him at a VIP club.
No wheelchair. No illness. Just a bespoke suit and a glass of expensive whiskey.

"You've faked this terminal illness for five years," his friend laughed. "Isn't Evelyn punished enough for upsetting your adopted sister?"

My brother smirked. "Almost. I’ll stage a 'miracle recovery' soon. She believes everything I say anyway. I'll make it up to her later."

Standing in the shadows, I wiped the blood from my mouth and walked away.

He his terminal illness is a lie.
But mine is real.

"She’s boring now. Dead eyes. No spark. I’m just pretending my memory is stuck at nineteen so I can punish my wife without her leaving me."
Standing in the shadows, I listened to my mafia husband confess his sick game to the doctor. By day, he played the devoted boy who once took a bullet for me, crying over my scars.
By night, he trapped me in pitch-black elevators, letting his men rip my clothes and take photos—all to make his mistress laugh.
He thought my trauma made me weak. He thought heavy sedatives would make me forget.
He didn't know I spat the pills out the moment he turned his back.
Valentino, you played me again.
But this time, I will never give you another chance. Not in this lifetime. Not ever.

Eighty-eight times.
That was how many times I had put on a white dress, or packed my ID, heading to the registry office to marry Harrison Churchill. And eighty-eight times, I ended up in an ambulance.
The first time, it was a street drive-by. A bullet tore through my shoulder just two blocks from City Hall.
The fifteenth time, a car bomb shattered three of my ribs.
The forty-second time, a steel frame plummeted from a construction site, cracking my skull.
......And this time?
The eighty-eighth time. A massive cargo container "accidentally" slipped from a crane at the docks, crushing my car.
Maybe, it’s time to say goodbye.

On the eve of the wedding, Dante sold me to Alex, a deranged auto mechanic, for two dollars.
His friend confused.
“You’re going to marry Chole, that adult film actress. Just send Lucia away. You two were betrothed as children, and she’s lived with the Costellos for ten years. You must care about her at least a little.”
“That mechanic’s violent and ugly. She’ll suffer terribly if she marries him.”
Dante smirked.
“It’s just a small punishment. Chole comes from the bottom and is riddled with insecurities; all she wants is the title of wife. But Lucia refused to be my mistress, and worse, she made Chole cry.”
“Mark my words. Before half a day passes, she’ll throw a fit, threaten to take her own life, and beg me to let her stay by my side.”
His friend shook his head.
“Aren’t you scared she’ll go through with the marriage out of spite?”
Dante sipped his tea unhurriedly.
“No need to worry. She’s believed since childhood that she’d be my wife. Even if she’s furious for a moment, she’d never give herself to another man. I’ll rescue her after I marry Chole the day after tomorrow, then take her on as my mistress. She’ll only grow more devoted to me afterward.”
I clutched the two dollars tight and turned away without a word.

I was snatched at three. By fourteen, I was missing both legs, half-deaf, and half-blind.

When my billionaire blood family finally brought me to their Texas ranch, the fake heiress cornered me.
"Try any tricks to steal my place," she sneered, "and I’ll break your legs."
I didn't argue. I just unhooked my prosthetics and let them drop to the floor.

When my biological brother grabbed my shoulder, hissing a warning in my ear to stay in line, I tapped my skull and yelled, "What?! This ear is entirely dead! I can't hear you!"
They both backed away, looking at me like they’d seen a ghost.

But a few days later, the fake heiress threw herself down a staircase to frame me—and accidentally tore my shirt open.
The whole party froze. My back was a horrific map of trafficker brands and whip scars.
My parents pulled me into their arms, trembling violently. "Who did this to you?!"
"It wasn't me! Don't try to pin that on me!" the fake daughter shrieked in panic.

I nodded slowly. She was right. The traffickers did it.
I was the only kid who crawled out of their hellfire alive. And I promised the kids who burned that I would make our monsters pay.

I used to be a national gold medalist in ballet.
Now I’m the 210-pound laughingstock the whole school gawks at.
I starve myself till I pass out, train so hard my knees bleed, and still the weight keeps piling on like it’s got a personal grudge.
Till the day I hear my best friend cackling in the equipment room, voice shaking with laughter:
“No matter how hard she tries, her weight will always be three-quarters of Bruce’s!”
Bruce is the 280-pound deadbeat loser who sleeps through half his classes. And me? I’m stuck to him, tied by some sick system I can’t break.
She stole my Juilliard audition direct pass. Paid guys to shove me, call me names, film me tripping over my own feet and post the clips all over TikTok.
She watches me flounder like a beached whale in the mud, barely holding back her snickers.
But she forgot one thing: mountains don’t run from streams.
They wait for the water to crash into them. And shatter into a million pieces.
Guess what? The bet’s on.

My billionaire husband handed me a pill and a separation agreement.
"Take this temporary amnesia drug. You'll forget me for a few weeks while I marry Chloe to fulfill her dying wish. Don't worry, I'll give you the antidote later."
He expected me to scream, cry, and beg him to stay. Instead, I swallowed the pill dry and calmly packed my bags.
Day 3: I tossed my heirloom Cartier engagement ring to his mistress without batting an eye.
Day 12: I accidentally witnessed his wedding rehearsal, critiqued his recycled vows with a straight face, and left him standing there, terrified by my absolute indifference.
He thought I was just acting tough. He didn't know I was the neuroscientist who created that drug. There is no antidote. In 21 days, all my love for him will be permanently and irreversibly erased.
But how hard will a man break when he realizes his wife is already on a one-way flight to Switzerland, and she doesn't even remember his name?

[My remaining lifespan: 36 Hours]
I didn't cry when my own mother branded a death pact into my chest.
I didn't fight back when my brother kicked me into the mud using the very leg I gave my life force to heal.
But when I opened my bedroom door to find my husband thrashing in our bed with another woman—and he smashed my bleeding head against the floor just to shut me up—something inside me finally snapped.
With 12 hours left, my in-laws shatter my bones.
With 3 hours left, my husband hands me a poisoned drink.
They think they are getting rid of a useless burden by tossing me into the World Rift.
They have no idea they are sending me to the very place where my powers will awaken.
And when I return, hell is coming with me.

The night before graduation, a confession post blew up the school forum:
“Daphne, I’m gonna rip up my Harvard offer onstage during commencement to confess to you—my whole college future as my love token.”
The OP bragged nonstop in the comments that he’d locked down the state’s only full-ride Harvard scholarship, his admission was a done deal, and graduation was nothing but a meaningless formality anyway.
The attached photo showed their interlaced hands. That old burn scar on his forearm—the one he’d claimed he got saving me—stared back like a chain that’s trapped me for ten years straight.
I poured every cent, every spare hour and all my academic resource just to get him into Harvard. I even voluntarily stepped down from the scholarship race and passed the spot to him.
This childhood sweetheart who’d sworn we’d go to Harvard together only hours ago threw every promise out the window for a rich transfer student, willing to gamble both our futures just for a dramatic grand gesture.
I shut the forum tab, pulled up my email to the scholarship committee.
I’m formally taking back the scholarship spot I gave up！

Jolene "Jo" is a cynical, ambitious small-town paralegal whose paranormal vlogging career is going nowhere. Desperate for a viral hit, her life explodes when she wakes up naked, sticky, and newly turned in a concrete room full of terrified strangers. The news? She’s a werewolf, a new responsibility for the impossibly handsome, enigmatic, and utterly ill-tempered Alpha Lexington.

Lexington makes it crystal clear: most new turnlings die before the second full moon, and if she survives, she belongs to his pack. But to Jo, this isn't a terrifying curse—it's the content gold she's been waiting for. She starts documenting her bizarre, terrifying, and surprisingly entertaining supernatural life, determined to make her 'My First Shift' vlog the biggest sensation on VidHub.

Her antics quickly draw the ire of the most powerful being on the continent: Merrick, the lethal and uncompromising Lycan King. He sees her rogue vlogging as a threat to his world’s secrecy, and tasks Lexington with the impossible: bring the feisty new wolf to heel or face the King’s wrath.

Unbeknownst to Jo (and the King himself), Merrick recognizes her as his fated mate—a destiny he has vowed never to accept. As Jo's bright, defiant personality starts to chip away at the sullen, dangerous existence of his pack, the King finds himself helplessly watching her channel, falling a little more in love with the chaotic wolf he's supposed to silence forever.

Jolene's journey is a battle for survival, not just against her shifting body and dangerous Alpha, but against a destiny written by a Lycan King who loves her too much to ever claim her.

Every year, the harvest comes. And every year, the vampires choose.

Eighteen-year-old Isla never paired, never bred, never followed the path carved out for human girls. Instead, she was drawn to the cold, to the mist, to the forbidden castle on the hill.

Now, she knows why.

It's him. It's always been him. Prince Aeron, the first of his bloodline. He is ancient, devastatingly handsome, and cruelly dangerous. He chooses her to be his human. His pet.

Or so she thinks.

Isla is more than just another toy. Marked by a forgotten rune, bound by a curse older than the vampire throne itself, she is the only one who can break the darkness that's creeping up on Aeron.

As Isla descends deeper into the quiet shadows of Aeron’s world, where pain is worshipped, obedience is pleasure, and desire can be more dangerous than death, she begins to question everything she’s been taught about the masters who rule her world.

Brielle Johnson's parents divorced and she decides to move to a small town to live with her grandparents. She starts a new school and meets new people and discovers hidden secrets. Her life changes drastically in more than ways she'd ever expected.

Blake Grayson just turned 18 and looking forward to finding out that his long-time girlfriend is his mate. Both of them made a promise that if they are not mates, they would reject their mates and accept each other as chosen mates. Things take a turn when it appears that his girlfriend his is twin sister's mate. His feelings about everything change when he is unable to betray his twin sister and steal her mate from her so he decides to distance himself from the girl he once loved and break their promise.

He soon finds his own mate who is a human and is caught trying to get to know his mate and his ex who won't move on from their past.

Mercedes Underwood is a lost girl. Lost from her world and herself. She grew up with abusive parents and had a really shitty childhood. Sometimes she believed that they were not her parents much less rassemblements between her and them. When she turned 18 years old, her parents attempt to sell her off to some bad people to pay off their debt. That did not come as a surprise that they would do such a thing and there was no love lost there. But what came as a surprise was when she woke up naked the next morning, walls splattered with blood and four people ripped to shreds. Life went from bad to bloody worse for Mercedes. It was like waking up in a horror scene. She was petrified and confused, nothing made sense but what did make sense was for her to pick up what she can and run.


Felix Ransom is the Alpha of the White Claw pack. He leads his pack with an iron fist and ensures everyone's safety and makes sure the pack thrives. But something is missing. The gentle touch of a Luna. Felix is already 25 years old and has not found the one the Moon Goddess chose for him. His other half and mate. Each day without the one for him made his hope of ever finding her wither away. At a point, he even thought that she might have died. It never occurred to him that his made would come right to him much less be a human who is a fugitive for murdering 4 people. Or was she a human being after all?

Ava Reed
I spent years in med school, working my ass off to get my degree. But when I told my dad I wanted to be a physiotherapist instead of a surgeon, he wasn’t thrilled. It’s not what he envisioned for me, according to him, physiotherapists aren’t real doctors. But I’m not about to let his expectations define my future. What better way to prove I’m capable than by working with his golden boy?
Liam Carter is everything my dad has ever wanted in a player; cocky, reckless, and undeniably talented. The famous NHL player was on his way to reclaiming his glory days after his life-threatening injury. He’s the one guy who can make or break me. But when he walks back onto the ice after his injury, it’s like a spark I can’t put out. The more I try to push him away, the closer he gets, and damn it, the more I want to give in.
Liam Carter
I’ve always played the game by my own rules until one bad hit almost took it all away. Now, after months of rehab, I’m back and ready to prove I’m still the same guy everyone expects me to be. But there’s one problem: Ava fucking Reed.
She’s my coach’s daughter, fresh out of med school and now she’s the one tasked with getting me back on the ice. The last person I expected to be dealing with during my recovery. But she’s got fire, determination, and the kind of attitude that makes me want to tear down every wall between us. She’s not impressed by my reputation and that only makes me want her more.

Freya, a young human girl gets turned into a werewolf by Kye, the next Alpha of the moon pack, who was exciled for disobeying pack rules and replaced by his younger brother Ace. After that she has her memory wiped out entirely causing her to forget her past as a human.
She navigates life as a reborn and shiftless werewolf and ends up falling for Ace the Alpha of the pack. As time goes on she finds out the truth about where she actually comes from. Freya goes a path to get revenge for her family and also fights side by side with her Alpha and husband Ace to stop Kye from destroying their pack and to end his tyranny once and for all.

I was the most insignificant girl at the Academy of Magic—a Muggle with no natural talent, hiding in the shadows with a concealment spell, just so I could secretly gaze at the golden boy who shone brighter than anyone else. He had saved me once in a rainstorm, and from that night on, I offered him my whole heart, content to be the silent shadow behind him. To get closer to him, I taught myself the most arcane spells through sheer grit, and even stayed up countless nights cultivating glowgrass, hoping it might help heal his battle wounds. I thought my quiet, enduring love would one day be seen—until the night before the ball, when his friends exposed the truth: his kindness toward me was nothing but a bet, a game to see if he could make a pathetic Muggle fall for him and then humiliate her. The crushed flowers, the words "haven't you made a fool of yourself enough?"—they were the final straw that shattered every last one of my humble illusions.

I fled into the Forbidden Forest, only to stumble into the arms of a dying beast-man deep in the misty woods. He was covered in wounds, black mist seeping from his flesh, and the cold stone I had worn around my neck since childhood suddenly burned hot—silver threads burst from it, binding us together as if fate itself was forcing me to save him. I poured every last drop of my magic into healing him, watching as his beastly form melted away, revealing a snow-white divine creature, and then a man so beautiful he looked like a god. When he woke, he said nothing—only pressed his cheek against my palm, then looked up at me with those dark-golden, slit-pupiled eyes, and kissed me. In a hoarse whisper, he said—

"I've finally found you."

In that moment, I realized that the light I had been chasing all along had pointed in the wrong direction from the very start. And the one who had been waiting for me in the abyss for a thousand years was now burning with a warmth so fierce, it could heal every scar I'd ever carried.

My marriage is an absolute mess. My husband doesn't care about me at all—his heart still belongs to his first love. He lies to me, claiming he's working overtime, when in reality he's out fooling around with her.
I loved him so much. I gave in again and again, compromised time after time—and all I got in return were lies and betrayal.
I've had enough of this life. So today, I made up my mind—I'm going to divorce him, and from now on, I'll live for myself alone...

On the fourth anniversary of our engagement.
I had prepared a surprise for my husband, waiting for him. He said he was too busy with work to come.
But then I saw him set off fireworks that lit up half the city—for another girl.
The fireworks spelled out: “Welcome home, little fairy.”
So it turned out he did know how to be romantic—just not with me.
My husband couldn't care less about how I felt. This marriage was already hollow, existing in name only.
That day, I finally made up my mind...

I am a tragic woman. For five years, my husband and I have hidden our marriage—no one knows we are husband and wife. He doesn't love me; I'm merely an outlet for his desires.

To him, I'm probably just a prostitute he doesn't have to pay.

My husband is deeply in love with another woman. He lavishes all his affection on her, while I, his lawful wife, am met with nothing but indifference and cruelty...

My life is a prison, holding me captive.

This ridiculous marriage was doomed from the start.

Today, I summoned the courage to shatter my chains:

'Let's divorce!'

Three years ago, I thought I had married my true love, but now I've discovered that my husband has been secretly entangled with my own younger sister behind my back.
"Your husband is in my bed!"
When I received this message, I was utterly shocked.
My husband was cheating!
With my sister!
The double betrayal by my husband and sister cut through my heart like a knife, leaving me in unbearable pain.
How could this shattered marriage be saved?
Was there any point in maintaining this twisted sisterly relationship?
Clutching the divorce papers in my hand, I made my choice...

After seven years of marriage, she had given up her crown as the world’s foremost violinist to become a devoted housewife—for him. In return, on their anniversary, he spent the evening with another woman, and her own son looked at her as if she were the enemy. When the cold dial tone of a deadened phone line reached her ear, her heart turned to ash. She signed the divorce papers and walked away with nothing.

Everyone assumed she would come crawling back, begging for mercy once she tasted life outside the gilded cage. Her ex-husband merely smirked, waiting for her to relent. But what he got instead was a blocked number—and a global headline: “The Violin Queen, Missing for Seven Years, Returns—Her First Solo Concert Sells Out in One Second!” Under the spotlight, the woman he had dismissed as worthless now blazed with a brilliance far beyond his reach.

Backstage, an assistant stopped the frantic ex-husband as he tried to storm in. “She’s currently meeting with royalty. She has no time for you.”
His eyes bloodshot, he roared, “Tell her to come out! I’m her husband!”
The assistant gave a cold smile. “Sorry—you were her husband.”

I hate Beckett Hayes.
I hate his stupidly perfect face.
I hate the arrogant smirk that has sold millions of jerseys.
I hate that half of Chicago seems to worship the ground his skates touch.
But mostly? I hate what he did to my brother.
Eight years ago, Beckett Hayes destroyed my family. I haven't spoken to him since.
So naturally, on the first morning of my dream job with Chicago's hottest professional hockey team, I find him leaning against my office door.
Older. Bigger. Hotter. And wearing the same infuriating smile I remember.
My new job should have nothing to do with Beck. Until another one of the captain's scandals lands him in trouble and management decides I'm exactly the person he needs.
Now I'm traveling with him. Managing him. Arguing with him. Trying very hard not to notice what years of professional hockey have done to his body.
Then a photograph of us nearly kissing goes viral.
Suddenly everyone wants Beckett Hayes and Sloane Mercer together. The team. The sponsors. The fans. Everyone except me.
Because I know exactly who Beck is. At least, I thought I did.
But the closer I get to him, the more the story I've believed for eight years starts falling apart.
Beck didn't destroy my brother. He protected him.
And the man I've spent almost a decade hating? He's spent every one of those years wanting me.

Evangeline’s father secretly borrowed money from the Alpha’s underground empire. When he disappears, the debt falls on her. The Alpha offers a way out: marry him, or suffer the consequences.

Dominic Vaughan, a man whose world is shrouded in mystery and darkness, dealing with the dangerous side of the world finds the little kitten who was abandoned cute so he decided to play with her for a while. But she turned out to be his mate. One who he has been searching for all this while?

Annabel's world is shattered when she catches her boyfriend, Steven, in bed with another woman. Betrayal devastates her, but the pain escalates when she discovers she's pregnant with his child. A dedicated cardiac surgeon, she forces herself to focus on work, putting the emotional debris aside. But her dreams of a controlled life are shattered when she's abducted outside her hospital.

When Annabel arrives, she is miles from home—in the center of Italy, a captive of one of the most infamous mafia families. She soon finds out why she was abducted: Pinky, Don Raffaele's youngest sister, has a fatal heart condition, and Annabel is the only doctor skilled enough to save her. This is no kindness, though—that's an order, and refusing is not an option.

Sylvina wields a rare but illegal form of magic that, if discovered by the infamous Alcove Academy, would lead to her being stripped of her power. But a mysterious blight that only affects the supernatural forces her out of hiding and into crossing paths with Kazimir Devorak, the very man tasked with persecuting Magians like her.

To save her best friend from the blight, Syl must hide who she is and seek out Kaz’s help. And the only way of doing so, is to enrol into Alcove Academy where Kaz works, and where she will have the resources to search for a cure.

But between having Kaz as her professor and working closely with him to research the blight, the lines between right and wrong are bound to blur, and Syl finds herself falling for the last man on earth she’s allowed to pursue.

Because aside from being her professor, he is also the man who will bring her to justice when he learns about her magic.

Lucas was a married billionaire, but the marriage was not as good as the rumors say.
He had been spying on his new secretary for a long time. She has a good face, a hot body, and a neat demeanor.
“Mention your business , lady. Don't think about rolling on my bed. Or I will kick you out.”
Clarie was shocked when she heard the such arrognant words.
But something unspeakable things happened.
Her boss slept her.
"I don't want to have sex with an unconscious person. Now you're awake. Can I fuck you now?"
Clarie has voveted him for a long time...
Can she restrain her desire there?

He's my mate's father and I had a one-night stand with him. I shouldn't have but I was just so bitter because my mate was sleeping with my half-sister.
That night marked the beginning of his insane obsession. And then I realized he wasn't the level-headed and calm father-in-law I always thought he was.
Behind that mask was an obsessive, manipulative, and controlling man who had sworn never to let me go. He'd do anything to keep me, including ruining my life.
Now I'm stuck in this clandestine erotic relationship we have. And each day, I find myself getting more addicted to him.
What do I do to break free from this erotic but toxic bond we share?

“So impatient.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she responds.
He needn’t be told twice. In a beat, Lorcan scoops her up in a motion too fast for the human eye to see. Hooking her legs around his waist, he carries her toward the bed while their lips wage war. He is already incredibly hard for her, his trousers becoming excruciatingly uncomfortable by the second as his patience hangs by a thread.
“This…” he says and tugs at the back of her dress, “…needs to come off.”
“Take it off,” Elle just about orders him, as if she is the queen and he the servant.
He growls at the command – not a threatening sound that dares her to order him around again, but rather a lusty sound as the authoritative tone in her voice makes his loins pulse.


Every hundred years, a new vampire king is crowned and hosts a kingdom-wide ball where he is to choose a mortal woman to sire an heir. It is enforced on each noble family to send one of their daughters to attend the ball.
After her father’s death, Elle became a maid to her cruel stepmother and stepsisters. But when word of the upcoming ball reaches the ears of the Clandestine family, Lady Clandestine forms a plan that will keep her daughters out of the clutches of the vampire king: send Elle in their place, disguised as a noble.
For what are the chances that the vampire king will choose her? And if he does, he will never know she is but a common maid. However, if he finds out…the punishment will be deadly.