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Loving your best friend is not for the weak... But neither is falling for the bad boy.


Paris's life has never been the same since a 13-year-old blackmailed her into friendship with a doughnut four years ago. Colton and Paris have been best friends ever since. But when her feelings develop into something more—something deeper than their casual bickering, she confesses her love to him and is left broken when he dismisses her advances.

Just as her world seems to be taking a toll for the worst, Paris finds herself falling into the arms of a certain mystery boy, Fabian Smith. He didn't just save her from what could’ve been a hell of a concussion that night, he also saved her heart.

Thrown into a whirlwind of emotions, Paris learns to navigate the clash of their worlds, while trying to understand her best friend's sudden jolts of interest. But despite her former dream of having Colton see her as more than a friend, she can't deny the new-found attraction that she has towards Fabian. Things are going to get too messy, too soon.

And she doesn't know if she's ready for it.

After dying betrayed and heartbroken, Sydney Carter wakes up on the very day her downfall began.
Only this time, she’s not the naïve, love-struck wife desperate to please everyone. She’s reborn—with a sharp mind, a colder heart, and a single mission: revenge.

Her ex-husband has no idea what's coming, and Sydney intends to shatter the world he so carefully built—piece by piece. But when a strategic marriage of convenience pulls her into the orbit of a powerful man connected to her husband’s empire, things take an unexpected turn.
He’s arrogant, infuriating, and entirely off-limits… yet the more she resists him, the more she starts to feel something she didn’t plan for. She came back to break hearts—not risk hers again.

Now, caught between vengeance and a love she never expected, Sydney must decide: will she burn them all… or let herself rise from the ashes anew?

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