103 Book(s) Related to tu novela ligera

Reborn on the eve of our weddings, my gentle cousin and I made a deal: we swap fiances.
She was too soft for the Boston underworld.
In our last life, she was bullied to death by a mafia boss's 'innocent' little bitch sister while trapped in a loveless marriage.
I was too wild for high society.
My Wall Street husband despised my lack of manners, leading to a bitter divorce and my death on the streets.
Not this time.
“You marry the accountant and live a safe, happy life,” I told her. “I will take the Mafia Boss.”
I grew up fighting in the underworld. Let's see if that boss and his two-faced 'adopted sister' can survive me.

"You drive me crazy, Lilith. Just one night... I’ll give you whatever you want. Please let me taste you," my billionaire CEO whimpered, pinning me against the wall, his hot breath brushing my ear.

He is obsessed with my new face, my body, and my ruthless attitude. He is willing to abandon everything just to get into my bed.

If only he knew that the flawless skin he’s kissing right now used to be covered in the acid his mistress poured on me.
If only he knew that I am his dead, naive wife—the one he threw into an ice cellar to die along with our unborn child, just to steal my family's inheritance.

"Anything I want?" I trace his jawline, smiling sweetly as my nail digs into his skin. "Then give me your empire, William. And your life."

I rose from the ashes with a new face and a hidden will. He wants to ruin my lipstick, but I came back to ruin his life.

I gave up MIT for them in my last life.
They paid me back by stealing my lab notes, framing me for misconduct, and choosing her over me when I drowned.
I watched them choose her over me a hundred times
Now I’m 17 again. I block all three and fly to MIT.
They think I’m throwing a tantrum.
Wait till they find out who saved them out of that cave—

Rule 1 of cheating: Always turn off your personal hotspot.
I was supposed to be at the sold-out Brooklyn concert alone.
Until my phone auto-connected to my boyfriend's Wi-Fi.
When the lead singer randomly handed me the mic to make a wish, I didn't ask for a song. I asked the entire arena to help me hunt him down.
The jumbotron found him instantly—wrapped tightly around another girl.
So I delivered my final words live on the big screen:
"You two deserve each other. Match made in hell. Have a miserable life."

Right after the London Fashion Week, my husband unprecedentedly gave me a vacation, arranging a ten-day trip to New York.
I thought he finally learned to be considerate, until I overheard his conversation with our son.
"Dad, if you are marrying Aunt Barbara, what about Mom?" our son asked innocently.
"It's merely a ceremonial engagement," my husband chuckled. "Be a good boy, Oliver. Keep this a secret from Mom, and I'll buy you that limited-edition model airplane."
My mind went blank. I stood frozen for a long while before stepping out onto the terrace to catch the chilling wind.
If he wants to rewrite his past with his first love.
Then I will reclaim the design dream I threw away for him.
Once I leave for New York, I am never coming back.

My husband hasn't touched me in five years. He claims he has a rare, violent allergy to women.
So when I was slipping off a cliff, he let me fall into a freezing river rather than grab my bare hand.
I lost our baby.
Three days later, I caught him rubbing another woman's ankle with his bare hands. His eyes were full of love.
So much for the rare allergy. It only applies to the woman you don’t love.
I dropped the divorce papers on his desk. "I want out."
He thought I was bluffing. But what happens when the "chaste" billionaire realizes the wife he threw away is the one who found for many years?

"Five years. Five pureblood sons."
My husband's mistress smirked, parading her boys through my private hall.
She was the one who looked the most like me—the best of the 99 breeding Omegas my husband supposedly "rejected" years ago.
"Dominic told me he's disgusted every time he touches your barren, ruined body," she sneered. "I'm the one giving him a real family."
My husband dug up our dead daughter’s urn and let his mistress pour dirty dog blood on it.
"Her dead spirit is cursing my fertility," the mistress whined.
The next day, he cornered me at the hospital, threatening to leak the video of my dungeon torture if I didn't kneel to his mistress.
The sound of my own agonizing screams and the clinking of those heavy chains echoed from the speaker.
"Get on your knees and apologize to my mate," Dominic snarled, shielding his pregnant mistress. "Or I release this video. Everyone will see what a broken, dirty whore you really are."
My vision faded to black, my hands instinctively shielding my slightly aching stomach.
When his frantic hands rush my lifeless body into the emergency room, he’ll find two things in my coat pocket:
A finalized divorce decree.
And a scheduled abortion form for the baby he never knew I was carrying.

"Is lying the only skill you have left? Don't play dead until you actually land in a coffin!"

That was what my billionaire brother roared as he crumpled my stage-four cancer diagnosis and threw it at my face.

To him, I was a spoiled brat who needed a brutal reality check. He engineered a fake DNA test, gave my identity to a manipulative orphan, and watched me get dragged to a disciplinary camp.

Now, he offers me an arrogant ultimatum: Stay quiet and wait half a month, and he’ll graciously allow me to come home.

I clutched my agonizing stomach and laughed until I cried.

Wait half a month?
I can't even guarantee I'll wake up tomorrow.
But I can't wait to see his face when he finally decides to forgive me, only to realize I've already been dead for two weeks.

Born beneath Pluto’s ill omen, I was marked a blood curse for the Constantine mafia clan, my twin Cataleya blessed with a fortune chart my parents clung to blindly.
They starved me of warmth, forced me to bear every blade, bullet and crime in her stead, and my husband Rafael, whom I once loved with all I had, sacrificed me without hesitation to soothe her feigned sickness.
I was locked in an underground dungeon lab to serve as her live drug test subject, tormented day and night by lethal experimental serum.
When I finally died alone on that cold steel table, my family brushed off my passing as a childish tantrum—until panicked enforcers crashed in, screaming the Russo crime family was storming the manor to wipe us out.
Only in ruin did they see the truth: they’d guarded catastrophe, and buried their salvation alive.

I was three months pregnant when I found out my husband had been cheating with the cousin I had kindly taken in.

My son said he wanted her to be his mom, then shoved me down the stairs and caused me to miscarry.

The day I lost the baby, my husband sat beside my bed. His voice was gentle, soft enough to lull someone to sleep.

“Relax,” he said. “You’ll forget all this pain.”

I closed my eyes and let him plant layer after layer of hypnotic commands in my ear.

“When you wake up, you’ll be an obedient wife.”

Now I watch them living happily ever after as a family of three.

They think I’m nothing but an empty shell.

They have no idea that I’ve already posted this plea for help online:

[HELP] My cousin is wearing my sexy nightgown to seduce my husband, I caught them cheating, and my son calls her “Mom.” But I just feel numb. What am I supposed to do?

Oak Creek thinks my brother, Cole, is a saint. He saved the family legacy and adopted the orphaned daughter of a killer out of the goodness of his heart.
What they don’t know is the price of his halo: Me.
To keep his 'good guy' image, he sacrificed his real sister. He gave her my bed, my home, and my parents.
When I was driven out of town, sleeping in a vandalized trailer, he left me a note: Come home and apologize.
I did come back. But not to apologize.
I'm holding the microphone at the town's biggest festival, looking down at the two thousand people who threw trash at me.
I have a stack of receipts, an unedited tape, and the truth about how my parents really died.
Are you ready to meet the real Hale family?

On the day of the clan’s grand sea banquet, my mafia husband Victor took his beloved white moonlight Lilia to race jet skis in restricted sea waters without permission.
She twisted the throttle all the way open, and the jet ski crashed violently into the my luxury yacht.
The yacht quickly flooded and began sinking, yet Victor completely ignored the people screaming for help on board, only clinging tightly to the terrified Lilia and comforting her softly.
"Don’t be afraid. They trespassed into the restricted sea zone of their own accord; they deserve everything that happened to them."
Not until the entire yacht sank deep into the ocean and everyone aboard vanished without a trace did Victor dial my phone unhurriedly.
"Vera, your mom and Dante are gone in the sea."
In an instant, overwhelming terror swallowed me whole.
The very next second, I saw Mom shoving freshly cooked meat into my mouth just as she did when I was a child.
My brother hurried over with a grin to snatch a bite.
"Mom, you always favor my sister."
They are standing right beside me. Then who on earth was trapped inside that sunken yacht?

When Aunt Luna let the AC repairman in, I was five, fast asleep in my bedroom.
By the time I woke up, the police were already bagging evidence. Aunt Luna was wrapped in a blanket, bruised and broken, staring blankly at the wall.
She never smiled again. Instead, she collected scars on her arms.
Her ex-husband Ethan dropped everything to hold her, promising it wasn't her fault. But the PTSD won. Two years later, she swallowed a lethal dose of pills. Ethan followed her in death the very same night.
Every year, my mom would take me to their graves, crying as she whispered: If only I hadn't let your aunt call that repairman.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the summer I was five!
Aunt Luna walked out of the kitchen with her phone, fanning herself.
"Stella, I called a guy to fix the AC. Be a good girl and go take your nap."
The next second, the front doorbell rang.
"Hello! HandyPro AC repair."
My blood ran ice-cold!
I recognized that voice—Jake Dalton.
The rapist who destroyed both our families in my past life!

I was born able to see threads tying certain people to one another. A thin red thread stretched right above Mom and Dad’s heads.
I hurried over to Mom at once. “Mom, why is there a red thread connecting you and Dad?”
Mom laughed when she heard me, booping my nose fondly.
“That’s proof that Daddy loves me.”
Later, at our family gathering, Aunt Celia brought me a present just like she always did.
“Luna? Come see what Auntie brought you.”
I trotted over and found a cloth doll.
Just then, Dad walked up, knelt down beside me, and stroked my head.
“Luna, what do you say?”
I glanced up at Dad, then turned to look at Aunt Celia.
Little me was filled with huge confusion.
“It’s weird. Why is there such a thick red thread connecting Dad and Celia?”

I was vacationing in Miami with my mother when my husband’s female right-hand woman sent me a photo out of the blue. In the picture lay an elderly woman stripped half-naked, her body covered in fresh blood, paired with a cocky voice memo.
The audio blared Gina’s arrogant tone:
[Cecilia, keep your greedy, miserly mother in check!]
[How dare she sneak into the mansion Don Vito just bought for his own mother to mooch off him? She’s got zero shame!]
[I spared her a breath. No need to thank me.]
I froze on the spot and glanced up.
My mother was sitting right across from me, safe and sound.
I zoomed in on the photo without delay, and my heart dropped straight to my stomach.
That woman sprawled on the pavement was my mother-in-law!
I immediately dialed Gina’s number. “Gina, have you lost your mind? That’s Vito’s mother!”
Gina’s tone remained utterly dismissive. “Come on! Vito made it clear. Your mother’s just your mother, his mother’s his own. He’s never once considered your side of the family his real kin.”

“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！

Kael Graham is a cold, unfeeling man driven by a relentless quest for revenge. He is determined to destroy Rachel Mitchell's life and will do anything to achieve his goal. To do so, Kael lures Rachel into a dangerous trap, but, ironically, it is Rachel's sister Sarah who suffers the consequences. Now, who will emerge victorious in this game of revenge and pleasure?

Nivea Del Castano, a girl who often goes against her father's wishes. With her courage, she can always prove that her own choices are not wrong. Honesty is absolute for her, she doesn't care if she has to hurt anyone's feelings with her honesty. Until one day she found out that she was the reincarnated form of a girl who lived hundreds of years ago. Nivea could not escape, because running wherever her destiny would remain the same. Does Nivea still want to run? When her heart is set on Matias Vander Lawrence who makes her life more colorful.

"I'm sorry, Ava, but you can no longer be my mate because you are not up to my level. You are now just a mere human," Caleb said, which made Ava extremely angry.

"After all the sacrifices I have made? My brother gave his life for you! I became a mere human because of you! It's the sacrifice I made! I had to lose my hybrid powers in order to break your curse, and after all that, you reject me?" Ava said, tears streaming down her face.

"Well, that's how you see it!" Alpha Caleb responded before walking away.

If you were in Ava's shoes, what would you do? Not sure? Let's dive in and see what Ava did!

Chosen as one of the Alpha's breeders. Freya is treated unfairly by both the Alpha and her fellow breeders.

She's accused of committing different crimes and does not go unpunished.

She spends a night with the Alpha and he does not seem to want to let her go after that night. This leaves her vulnerable to a lot of enemies who would stop at nothing to make her utterly miserable.

How would Freya scale through and prove herself worthy of being a Luna?

What happens when a deep dark secret is discovered?

Her cousin was convinced that a blind date would finally end her single streak.

Spoiler? It blew up in her face—spectacularly.

Charming, normal, and good-looking? Apparently, that was code for walking red flag. Dorian Delacroix wasn’t just trouble; he was the whole bad-boy danger package—magnetic, secretive, and undeniably lethal. Sure, sparks flew, but there was no easy escape from this mess.

Being under the "protection" of a dangerously gorgeous Special Activities Division leader might have sounded thrilling, but in reality? It meant trading freedom for paranoia, a luxury prison for a home, and a constant threat looming in the shadows. Because the Shinomiya cartel wasn’t just after Dorian—they were after something worse.

And if Vivian was right, their real target might just be the baby she was carrying.

A supportive brother gets to live a new life as one of the main characters in a Boy Love Game as “Gilbert Bedivere,” the son of a duke, who was his family’s pride.

His goal for this life is that he will have a slow living lifestyle, staying far away from problems.

But who would have known that getting too close to the main characters, who are his friends and his younger brother, would lead him away from the goal he has set!

Who are those main characters surrounding him…?

Hareve Lancelot… a white-haired boy with rainbow eyes who makes all the girls go crazy, as expected of the owner of the famous SM route and the user of the light magic. Even though he looks cold on the outside, who would have known he is super hot-tempered!

Nigel Gawain… an adorable-looking boy with silver eyes, the owner of the 3P route, but who would have known that he is just a fluffy boy!

Cass Bedivere… the protagonist of the game, with his golden eyes and hair, appears in the immoral love route. Even though he was born with dark magic, who would have known that he also has interesting relationships with other characters.

Not to mention many other characters that Gilbert has never met,

He now feels the problems lining up for him!

Raella is a struggling waitress hiding from her past; Vincenzo is the ruthless heir to a mafia empire. When Raella crashes his party and accidentally flashes him, she thinks it’s the worst night of her life. She’s wrong. The next day, a sniper shoots up her diner, and Vincenzo is the only one who can save her. His price? A fake marriage. She becomes his wife, his bait, and his obsession. But as the lines between "fake" and "real" blur, Raella realizes the safest place might be in the arms of the monster.

Tearing her clothes into two halves he asked.
"Who did these to you, who hurt you"
His voice rang through her ears,
His voice calm but threatening when he mentioned her name, she looked up at him immediately, the sparks running through her body, as he covered her body with his, preventing the other occupants who was standing, to see what belonged to him. Bella watched as they shivered with fear as her mate, the vampire king growled with anger.
"Him, he hurt me"
Bella said, and with a loud growl, Blade ordered,
"Bring me a dagger!"
Blade shouted, It was not a request, it was an order.
Bella Manchor was the omega to the air winder pack, she was not just an omega, she was a wolf less werewolf. Her life was difficult, but became like hell when she got mated to the most wicked, arrogant, deadly and vile alpha, alpha Lucas, who used her for his sexual pleasures and afterwards, rejected her, but as fate may have it, she ran away from the pack, running into the hands of the vampires.
Blade Hemlock is the vampire king, he is known to be ruthless, dangerous, dark, no regard to any law. The rogues attacking on the vampires, in their lands. Then he sent few of the best men to guard the land, where the rogues mostly attacked. Unfortunately, a girl, a werewolf ran into their lands, and his men took her, as a defiler. But she was not just a werewolf defiler, who had come running into his land, it was his mate, his long awaited mate has ran into his hands, hurt, with so much injuries on her body.
Would Bella accept her mate after what had been done to her, would she want to be loved again.

Sold to Be Loved by the Mafia Prince is a dark, emotionally charged New Adult romance set in a world where power is inherited, trust is a weapon, and love is the most dangerous game of all.

When seventeen-year-old Malia sacrifices her freedom to save her father, she is thrust into the violent world of the Italian Mafia—betrothed to Blaine DeCavalcante, the cold and untouchable Capo Bastone. Held at the luxurious yet haunting Crimson Garden estate, Malia must navigate a new life of control, secrets, and manipulation, all under the watchful eye of her fake fiancé’s double, Marcello.

But Marcello is more than just a stand-in. He’s her shadow, her tormentor, her unexpected comfort—and the one man she can’t figure out. As she battles fear, growing attraction, and the terrifying reality of her arranged future, Malia begins to uncover truths buried beneath Mafia loyalty, violent legacies, and the twisted lines between love and possession.

Told in alternating points of view, Sold to Be Loved by the Mafia Prince blends psychological tension, emotional vulnerability, and slow-burning obsession. It's a story about identity, power, and the impossible choice between surrendering to your fate—or rewriting it from the inside.

This is not a love story.
This is a war.
And the battlefield is her heart.

Monica , a mistreated Omega at the hands of her stepbrother, faces judgment and abandonment from her Alpha mate, Conrad. Seeking solace, she turns to the Governor, finding refuge from the nightmares of her past. Together, they embark on a vengeful mission to make Conrad pay for the pain he caused and seek justice for the Governor's deceased wife. Monica devises a plan to seduce Conrad and earn his trust, but the question remains: will her love triumph? Can she truly make him suffer and face his demise?

As a shocking revelation unfolds, Monica's world is turned upside down, forcing her to question her choices and decisions.

He stared down at me, his dark eyes burning with desire. His touch was electric, sending shivers through my body as his fingers teased me, leaving me breathless and aching for more.

"You want this?" he murmured, his voice rough with need.

I could barely think, barely speak—all I knew was that I needed him. "Yes..." I gasped, arching against him as his touch grew bolder, more demanding.

Every stroke, every whispered word pushed me closer to the edge. I was lost in him, in the way he claimed me without hesitation.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his grip tightening.”

"I am your dirty little slut."

I gasped...

A month after her dad died, she moved to L.A.—to live with his best friend. A man rich enough to own the city, and powerful enough to stay untouchable.

She thought it’d be awkward. Quiet. Maybe even safe. But then came the night.

One mistake. One touch. And everything changed.

Now they’re caught in something they can’t control. It’s wrong. It’s dangerous. And it feels way too good to stop.

She knows this can’t last. He knows it too.

But the more they try to stay away, the harder it gets to breathe without each other. And if anyone finds out— It won’t just break hearts. It’ll ruin lives.

This story is rated 18+...

Gabriella was a poor and innocent girl. She lived alone in a house that's inherited from her parents. Until one day, the house was destroyed by the Quebracha Company. When she met with the CEO to protest, an incident occurred.

"You, lecherous man! Are you not satisfied with destroying my house? So, you took my virginity?"

"Confess it! You purposely held your house to block our project, then now you're tricking me to sleep with you. What's your real intention, huh? Who paid you?"

Max Evans, the successful and handsome young CEO, accused her of being a messenger woman.

What happened next? Could Gabriella earn the CEO's trust? Or even his heart and love? Would those people realize that they were both framed?

WARNING EROTIC CONTENT ONLY MATURE AUDIENCES!

How dare you?”
She fumed in anger.
“How dare I? You really think I don’t understand you. Who you are? What you do?”
He lashed at her.
“No! I don’t Alexander. I must be plain stupid. Do enlighten. Tell me, what you think, you understand about me!”
She growled back throwing her stuff on the table in mad force.
“You chew men up and spit them out like bubblegum. And you don’t seem to have a care in world after you’re done. Don’t you even accuse me of being hypocritical I didn’t nor would ever lead on any poor woman or cruelly fool with her head,” he sneered with fervent contempt.

Blurb

Alexander Forester is a man that women fell to their knees for what with dashing good looks and piercing blue eyes. Not to mention his wealth as a billionaire oil tycoon. Yes, Alexander never had even little trouble conquering any woman. Until, he encountered a curvy, raven haired beauty one morning, a gorgeous NYC Translator, Gina Castello. But, Gina is not impressed by rich arrogant Forester one bit while he's desperately attracted her. Since first glance all Alexander wanted to do was rip the clothes the sexy, feisty brunette.
He thought having her in bed would give him complete satisfaction but Gina she shocked him in so many ways. She was something like had never come across before. An unpredictable maneater, too mysterious and dangerous. And it's so very strange how addicted he was to it and the vivacious vixen.
Dear Lord, what will this billionaire do when his deepest feelings go beyond burning lust?
Alexander wants every inch of Gina; her passion, her fire, her body, her heart. Easier said than done!

I gave Ethan three years. He told his friends I was just a substitute for the woman he really loved. I cooked for him with a fever. I called him twenty-three times from the ER — he blocked every one because he was with her.

So I left my key on the counter and walked out.

He laughed. "She's getting married? I'll send a gift."

He had no idea who my fiancé was. Or who my family was.

So why, when the truth came out, was he the one on his knees?

After surviving three years of kidnapping, I finally escaped—only to find my boyfriend engaged to my younger sister.

My parents' reaction? "They are in love. As the older sister, you should step aside."
My ex's excuse? "Cordelia, you're the one I truly love."

"Go to hell," I sneered. I dumped him and walked away from the toxic Fox family forever.
Furious, he shouted behind me, "You'll regret this! Don't come crawling back!"

Oh, I didn't.

But when he finally came crawling back to me, he was in for a rude awakening. He didn't find me crying. Instead, he found me pinned against a wall, sharing a breathless, heated kiss with the most powerful, untouchable man in the city—his almighty uncle.

Seeing us, my ex lost his mind. "Cordelia! You said you loved me!" he roared in absolute jealousy.

With a wicked smile, I leaned against his uncle's chest and hooked my finger at my pathetic ex.

"Be a good boy," I smirked. "Call me Auntie."