1411 Book(s) Related to cursed by marissa meyer

I'm Ophelia, a design student about to graduate.
I've been pulling all-nighters at my aunt Millicent's adult store, frantically working on my graduation project.
Aunt Millicent's shop sells all sorts of bizarre stuff - from massage chairs to aromatherapy products, the works. The demo area is constantly busy with customers wanting to try out the newest items.
Seeing me looking like a complete zombie from exhaustion, my aunt handed me a bottle of sleep aromatherapy and a matching eye mask, swearing they'd have me out like a light till morning.
Well, that sleep did more than knock me out cold - it landed me in the biggest mess of my life! A mortifyingly embarrassing situation was about to hit me out of nowhere!

Aston Whitmore thought I loved him. Truth is, his mother bought a year of my life for a million dollars.
He thought those 3 AM study sessions were about redemption and romance across class lines. He didn't know I was never watching his pretty face—I was watching the countdown to my mother's kidney transplant payment.
I froze this trust fund prince's credit cards, cut his internet, and nailed him to that desk until his eyes went bloodshot cramming calculus.
When he turned into a guard dog in front of the whole cafeteria, publicly staking his claim on me, all I was calculating was the date that final payment would clear.
Today, he burst through the mansion door clutching his Yale acceptance letter, ready to give me some grand confession.
I was already thirty thousand feet up on a flight to Zurich, staring at that million-dollar deposit notification, face blank as I pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the trash.
No note. No goodbye.
Just one notarized Service Completion Certificate sitting on that empty desk. Terms fulfilled. Transaction closed.

When I accepted the Global War Photography Award at the ceremony, a reality TV crew crashed through the velvet ropes, their cameras flashing like strobes at a crime scene.
"Ms. Evelyn Vance!"
The host shoved a microphone in my face. "After twenty years of silence, are you still holding a grudge against your father? Just because he saved the neighbor's orphaned child first and left you in that burning building?"
I looked up, past the blinding lights, toward the figure at the edge of the crowd. Robert Bennett.
He pushed through and stepped forward, his calloused hands trembling as they closed around my cold fingers.
"Nora, Kayla's parents didn't make it out. Under those circumstances, I had to get that newly orphaned child to safety first."
His eyes pleaded with me. "You're my daughter. You understand, don't you?"
I stared at those hands imprisoning mine, then pulled my lips into a cold smile and wrenched free.
"You've got the wrong person," my voice was ice. "There's no Nora here. My name is Evelyn Vance."

He was supposed to be my way out, but he was the one who pushed me into the pit all along.
I used to think Carter was the one good thing in this hellhole of a high school. He'd stand up for me when the whole class mocked my stutter. He'd hand me a clean jacket when my locker got stuffed with dead rats.
For him, I gave up my Ivy League dreams, willingly settling for some mediocre state university.
Until that Friday outside the locker room, when I heard him brag to his teammates and the head cheerleader—the same girl who'd led the charge in tormenting me—about his "conquest" in the most casual tone imaginable.
Turns out, I was just the prize in their sick bet.
In that moment, everything I'd believed in shattered.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just quietly changed my college application, and then, at the height of their triumph, I watched with cold eyes as they destroyed themselves.

Lunar Depletion Syndrome. Seven days.
That was my death countdown. And my Alpha mate Kael was still threatening me, demanding I use the last of my life force to save my sister.
On our third anniversary, he had given me a surgical consent form and dissolution papers as gifts.
How laughable.
Three years ago he had said my eyes sparkled like stars. Three years later he wanted me to close them forever.
They all said I had finally matured, learned the spirit of sacrifice expected of an older sister. The joke was, I hadn't been moved by love.
I was just tired.
Why struggle when death was inevitable?
Rather than dying alone in the wilderness, it was better to die on the operating table and become the perfect sacrifice in their story.

My family was born from the abyss, with ancient siren blood in our veins. Our nature demands that every so often, we must feed on a human heart.
So when Caius, playing the perfect lover, slid that spiked martini across the table, I didn't refuse.
The wedding ring he'd slipped off ten minutes ago still sat warm in his suit pocket. As he leaned closer, expensive pregnancy oil—the kind his wife slathered on—mixed with the sour reek of betrayal.
I played along, letting myself collapse against the table as he eagerly pulled out his phone:
"Got her. Delivery to the island tonight. Line up someone hot for me—those stretch marks on my wife are turning my stomach."
He thought he'd made the perfect play, bagged a prize to trade for whatever he wanted.
What he didn't know: we creatures from the deep crave one thing above all—hearts steeped in filthy lies taste sweetest.

I was the undefeated queen of the underground octagon—a body held together by broken bones and spilled blood, all to build Dorian's fighting empire from the ground up.
But when he'd made it to the top in his tailored suits and polished shoes, suddenly my scars made me too crude, too ugly to stand beside him.
He ordered me to throw my title defense—told me to take a dive for some rich girl whose daddy bought her a spot in the cage. And when that woman shattered both my legs with an illegal knee strike, he just stood there and watched.
I clawed my way out of that wreckage—barely breathing. Left him a blood-stained divorce decree and vanished.
While he mourned over what he thought were my ashes, I was already training alongside the legendary king of the octagon, rebuilding myself from the ground up.
Now I'm back—stronger than ever.
This time, I'm going to break that princess's pretty face and crush his pathetic ego underfoot.

This was the thirteenth time I'd tried to earn their love—and my last.
For months, I'd worked myself to exhaustion, five months pregnant, hand-sewing thousands of pearls onto what I'd hoped would become the dress of my dreams.
But moments before the ceremony, my fiancé and his family burst into the bridal suite and tore it off me. They gave it to her—the girl they'd raised, the one they'd always loved more.
They stole my wedding. They stole my groom. And when I collapsed, bleeding, they made sure the ambulance took her instead—all because she'd fainted from the drama.
Watching those sirens fade, I finally understood: I was never the daughter they wanted to save.

My name is Evelyn. I grew up in the slums. Now, I'm the wife of Victor De Luca, head of New York's most feared mafia family.
Outsiders say I left him for money when he had nothing, then shamelessly came crawling back once he rose to power.
Only Victor and I know the truth. He paid five million dollars to drag me back, chain me here like a dog, and lock me away.
He married me, trapped me in this estate, and found new ways to break me every day.
He brought his mistress into our bed. He used his power to grind what was left of my dignity into dust.
But there's one thing he doesn't know.
I'm dying.
I have an inherited bone marrow failure disorder. The same disease that drained my mother dry. Now it's my turn.
Five years ago, I took the money and walked away. I let everyone call me every name they wanted because I couldn't make him watch me waste away.
I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of pain.
But it doesn't matter anymore.
This long, slow torture is almost over.

"Fuck a whale like that? Dude, I'd need a goddamn forklift to dig through the rolls and find the hole. You could pay me a thousand bucks and I still wouldn't touch it. This isn't a date—this is a fear factor challenge."
Three months ago, those words boomed through the speakers at the frat party, filling every corner of the house.
That night, I was the joke. The fattest pig in their twisted little hunting game.
Three months later, I'm at the podium running for student body president. My waist dropped from 38 inches to 24, and this custom suit fits like a weapon.
Down below, the same people who laughed are staring up at me now. And that asshole who needed the forklift? He's face-down in the dirt like a kicked dog, waiting for me to end him.
My name is Leona. This isn't some crying fat girl's diary anymore. This is how I crushed every bastard who ever stepped on me—and clawed my way to the crown with blood and sweat.

I spent fifteen years taking beatings in the Bronx hellhole — beatings meant for my mother.
She's a Manhattan heiress now. Chanel suits, a daughter on her arm, and eyes full of disgust whenever they land on my hollowed-out frame.
"You're just like your disgusting father. A sewer rat. You've always reeked of something rotten."
What she doesn't know: on that rainy night fifteen years ago, I wrapped my arms around that man's legs and let him kick me half to death, so she could run.
What she also doesn't know: the tumor in my stomach has spread. I won't survive the winter.
I'd made my peace with dying alone, quietly, so I wouldn't disturb the perfect life she'd built. I swallowed the blood rising in my throat and started walking toward the dark.
Then came the dinner party, a few months later. Her daughter shoved me off a second-floor balcony.
I hit the ground at her feet like a broken doll. Dark red blood flooded across her white heels.
I watched the color drain from her face. With the last breath I had, I apologized.
"Don't be scared. This piece of garbage won't dirty your eyes anymore."

Five years into living with my stepbrother Gideon, the scholarship girl he sponsored moved into our house.
To repay his "generosity," she made a habit of slipping into his bed at night. By day, she took it upon herself to "fix" my antisocial, withdrawn personality.
Three days before St. George Prep's graduation ceremony, she brought me a glass of juice wearing that nauseating sugar-sweet smile.
"You know, Charlotte, your peanut allergy is probably psychosomatic. You just need some exposure therapy. Let me help you get over it."
That night, my throat closed completely. She'd deliberately laced my drink with concentrated peanut extract.
I convulsed on the cold hardwood floor, vision tunneling as oxygen fled my lungs.
In the last second before darkness swallowed me whole, I clawed desperately toward the half-open door.
Standing in the hallway were my boyfriend Dylan and my stepbrother Gideon.
They simply watched me suffocate. Then Gideon calmly reached out and shut the door.
I died from anaphylactic shock.
Three months later, as a ghost tethered to this world, I watched her stride onto Stanford's campus. Wearing my clothes. Carrying my acceptance letter. Burning through my trust fund.
Through the crowd, I saw Gideon—my ice-cold, unreachable stepbrother—gently cradle her face and press his lips to hers.
Then I gasped awake.
I was back. Three days before graduation.

I had just pulled the teddy bear cookies from the oven when my daughter Dora ran into the kitchen.
"Dora, sweetheart! Mommy's special cookies are ready!"
But the moment she saw the cookies, her face went white as a sheet. She screamed "Get away! Get away!" and bolted from the room.
I was completely stunned. Just then, Herbert walked through the door.
"Try one and tell me what's wrong," I said, pointing at the cookies.
Herbert was about to comfort me, but when he learned I'd made these cookies for Dora, his expression turned absolutely bizarre. "You really made these? If you did, I want a divorce. Immediately!"
"What?"
My mother-in-law Athena heard the commotion and came to console me, but the moment she heard these were cookies I'd made for my daughter, she slapped the entire tray out of my hands. "What kind of mother are you?!"
Cookie crumbs scattered across the floor. I stood there in shock, completely bewildered by what was happening.

I survived 100 underground death matches just to keep my brother alive.
My reward? A rusted coffee can holding his ashes.
When I knelt in the pouring rain, desperately scraping his ash out of the black mud, Cassian—the mafia boss I'd bled for ten years—kicked the can away.
He pulled a gun and pressed it to my head. All because his innocent fiancée felt "scared" by my look.
"Apologize to her," he commanded.
Looking at the gun I had engraved with his name years ago, I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I just laughed.
Clutching the battered, empty tin can to my chest, I turned and stepped off the cliff into the raging Black Sea.
Only then did the great Cassian panic, his desperate screams swallowed by the dark waves.

I am the only daughter of the Lycan King, the future queen destined to rule all packs. Yet my wolf, Nyx, is abnormally weak—like a stunted pup that never grew.
My parents told me that Lycan blood runs too strong, that I need to find my fated mate. Only through the mate bond can the seal be fully broken.
Ten days ago, Nyx suddenly whimpered in my mind, guiding my gaze toward Silvercrown Academy.
To find him, I concealed my identity as the Lycan King's heir and enrolled here as an ordinary transfer student.
I came here expecting a fairytale. Instead, what waited for me was brutal humiliation.

"Stop—Daniel, the fk are you doing! I came here to learn to swim, not get fked!"
In the pool, because my kicks were all wrong, Daniel—my husband's cousin—told me to wrap my legs around his waist to "feel the rhythm."
Except I was wearing that scarlet bikini Vincent shoved me into—practically nothing. Even worse, Daniel's rk-hard ck in those thin trunks was jammed right up against my py.
Every time he kicked, that thing dragged right over my ct, like it was about to shove straight inside.

"Three years, and you still haven't taken a mate. You're obviously waiting for me to come back."
Three years ago, my delusional ex-Alpha threw me out of the pack like garbage—all for some so-called "prime Omega." Overnight I became a rogue, with nothing and no one.
Now he actually thought I'd spent all that time pining for him?
He'd never know I hadn't taken another Alpha because I was already bonded to the Lycan King himself—with pups already tearing across the estate on their chubby little legs.
I figured I'd never have to smell this expired trash again.
But today, he decided to show up and beg for death.
Fine by me. I'd grind that pathetic Alpha ego of his into dust myself.

The Solarien family had two daughters.
Aurelia, the younger, was their pride and joy, soon to marry Duke Lysander beneath a reputation she had never earned: the so-called genius enchantress.
I, Vespera, was nothing more than the family's hidden workhorse, locked in a basement and valued only for what I could produce.
For years, I churned out enchanted gear to fund their lavish life while they used me as a stepping stone for Aurelia without a trace of guilt.
I let them bleed me dry, clinging to the faint hope that they might someday treat me like family.
Then, on the eve of my wedding, my parents stole the gown I had spent three years pouring my blood and sweat into, all so Aurelia could make a grand impression.
They threatened my fiancé's life and forced me to cut my wrist, using my blood to reverse the runes and attune the enchantment to her instead of me—even though the backlash could cripple my magic for life.
The moment I watched my blood soak into that gown, I gave up on my family for good.
For all the family pride they fought so desperately to protect, there had never been room for me.

For five years, I had turned Preston Tanner from a broke kid who could barely afford tuition into one of Silicon Valley's hottest young founders.
I thought we would do exactly what we had promised back in that garage—take our AI healthcare startup public, ring the opening bell together, and get married.
Until today.
At the product launch that would determine whether we landed our Series A, Preston stood before the press and credited the core algorithm patent I had spent seventy-two sleepless hours developing to a girl who couldn't even write Python.
"Sloane, you're already my fiancée," he said. "Willow needs this patent to strengthen her green-card application."
Staring at his utterly self-righteous face, I felt sick.
I didn't know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, he had rotted from the inside out.
And if he was rotten, it was time to throw him away.

I am the sole heir to the Hartwell fortune.
But this birthday dinner — the one meant to sign the family trust into my hands on my twenty-second year — was being ruined by the housekeeper's daughter.
Brianna had done it on purpose. She'd stolen the archival couture gown my late mother left behind, then thrown herself into the champagne tower and pinned it on me.
"Oh God, Audrey, why did you push me?" She was already crying, her voice pitched for the crowd. "I know you hate seeing me in this dress, but your father was the one who insisted I wear it. Please don't make me leave."
In my last life, I'd stood there sobbing, waving my hands, trying to explain.
For that, I'd been stripped of my inheritance on the spot, committed to a psychiatric ward, and in the end, every fingernail torn out one by one, I'd died in agony.
But I'd been reborn.
Now I looked down at Brianna crumpled among the shattered crystal, playing the victim, and I didn't waste a word.
I crossed the floor, stood over her, drew my arm back, and slapped her across the face as hard as I could.
"Shut your mouth."

Experience love when it’s least expected with four full-length, heartwarming sweet romances in the One Night to Forever box set by USA TODAY Bestselling Author Melissa McClone.Fiancé for the Night: When a fake engagement spirals out of control, Cassandra fears losing her heart. Will she end the fake engagement, or could Troy be her perfect husband for life?The Wedding Lullaby: After an impromptu wedding that was just for fun, Laurel discovers she’s pregnant. Will she get the marriage and family she dreams of having with Brett?A Little Bit Engaged: A PR nightmare drags Cara into a fake engagement with A-list actor—and former crush—Brody. What will it take for her to survive the ruse with her heart intact?Love on the Slopes: The one person who can help her is the last person she’d ever trust…again. Can Ryland and Brynn overcome their painful pasts and make their dreams come true—together?With fake engagements, a surprise pregnancy, friendship to love, and hate to love storylines, these four novels will take you from San Francisco to Portland to Sun Valley. Treat yourself and find out how one night can lead to forever…

Visit the quaint coastal town of Indigo Bay where love is always in the air…From vacation romances to second chances, you’ll find sigh-worthy, small-town romance in this complete collection of Melissa McClone’s stories from the multi-author Indigo Bay Sweet Romance series. These four stories form their own miniseries, so find a cozy reading spot, and escape to Indigo Bay, South Carolina where happily ever afters are guaranteed. Also included is Jenny, the prequel to the rest of the books. This set includes:Jenny (prequel): Jenny Hanford never expects anything to happen the night she whimsically throws her requirements for true love into the ocean. Thirteen months later, however, she hears back from the man who found her bottle. Could he be her dream hero come to life?Sweet Holiday Wishes: Frequent deployments and training exercises kept Army Ranger Staff Sergeant Mitch Hamilton away from home, and he had no idea how taken for granted Lizzy felt until she asked him for a divorce. He'll do whatever It takes to save his marriage. But will it be enough?Sweet Beginnings: Josh Cooper's journey to sobriety inspires Hope Ryan to take charge of her own life. But as their relationship straddles the line between friendship and romance, can Hope and Josh find the strength to overcome their pasts and build a life together?Sweet Do-Over: When architect Marley Patterson turns down Von Ryan's marriage proposal, she realizes too late she made a huge mistake. She wants a second chance, but after breaking his heart once, will he give her a do-over?Sweet Yuletide: Two strangers end up how housesitting together over the holidays. A sprig of mistletoe makes Sheridan DeMarco and Mikey Patterson forget their plans to stay away from each other. But will their happily ever after get tossed out along with the discarded wrapping paper and tinsel?If you enjoy romance and beach reads, you’ll love these stories set in the quaint, coastal town of Indigo Bay!

Duty requires her to marry—but she’s having second thoughts.Princess Julianna dreams of marrying for love, but no one cares what she wants. The future of her kingdom—and countrywomen—depends on her arranged marriage. Too bad, her intended’s brother is the one who captures her interest with his good looks and sailing skills. She’ll just have to push aside her attraction and do what’s right for everyone else, if not herself…Prince Alejandro wants nothing more than to relinquish his title. He can’t wait for his older brother to marry and have a child. That is, until he meets the beautiful princess destined to be his country’s future queen. Julianna holds the key to his freedom, yet he recognizes a kindred spirit—someone trapped by the demands of being royalty—and finds her utterly irresistible.Knowing the royal wedding must occur for the sake of their countries doesn’t stop them from wanting to be together. A happy ending could be theirs if they are willing to accept the consequences of following their hearts. Will duty or love reign supreme?

One little public scandal—and now they’re engaged…sort of.When Cara O’Neal finds herself dragged into a PR nightmare with A-list actor—and former crush—Brody Simmons, a pretend engagement seems to be the only way to stop the madness. But she’s not an actress, and faking anything with Brody has epic failure written all over it. It’ll take nothing short of an Oscar-worthy performance to survive with her heart intact.Brody enjoys playing the role of Cara’s adoring fiancé way more than he should. Acting like he’s in love with the pretty bookworm isn’t exactly a chore. She’s always been a good friend, but he can imagine her as more, which complicates their charade. When the lines between make-believe and reality blur, can Cara and Brody turn their fake relationship into a true happily ever after?* Parts of this 51,000 word novel were previously published in a Kindle World novella called The Wedding Charade. *One Night to Forever series:Book 1: Fiancé for the NightBook 2: The Wedding LullabyBook 3: A Little Bit EngagedBook 4: Love on the Slopes

A little hope changes everything...Artist Hope Ryan dreams of seeing her artwork displayed in top galleries again, but a devastating betrayal left her unable to paint as she once did. Instead, she settles for creating unique items for tourists and wedding couples in her hometown. Although Hope longs for more, she refuses to venture outside her comfort zone, fearing the heartbreak and disappointment of failing again.Highly paid sportscaster Josh Cooper never overcame his bitterness after an injury on the football field sidelined him for good. Finding his solace in alcohol and women only made matters worse until he finally hit rock bottom. Now, he’s looking for redemption. When he’s asked to fly a wedding gown across the country for one of the victims of his wrongs, he doesn't hesitate.Arriving in Indigo Bay, Josh finds himself captivated by the artist creating the wedding favors. He knows exactly what he wants—Hope—even though she deserves someone better. Can Josh prove he’s more than a broken has-been? Or will he not only lose Hope but also lose himself?

The only thing more awkward than falling in love on national television, is having your heart broken in front of millions of viewers.When public school teacher Millie Kincaid signed up for the popular dating show, The Groom, falling in love was always a possibility. But then Jace proposes to someone else on the season finale, and her hurt and humiliation leave her desperate to escape the glare of Hollywood's spotlight...until a new reality TV show provides her a shot at money that her school desperately needs.Former star of The Groom, Jace Westfall, went from fan favorite to villain overnight. Hurting the sweet and shy Millie cost him everything: his reputation, his endorsements, and his heart. It was the last thing Jace wanted to do, but he had his reasons. Now on the verge of financial ruin, Jace finds himself left with no choice but to do another reality show.Neither expected to face each other again, but both need the money. As they race from country to country, trying to put the past behind them, it quickly becomes clear they have a real shot at the million dollar prize…and a second chance at love.But only if Millie and Jace can overcome the biggest obstacle that stands in their way: each other.

I used to think the most embarrassing moment of my life was when my neighbor called the cops on me for testing "special" game sound effects.
That was before the door opened to reveal a devastatingly handsome police officer who accused me of hiding someone in my apartment—and casually informed me he was my husband of three months. A husband I'd never actually met.
The worst part? He had proof.
Now this impossibly attractive stranger isn't just forcing his way into my life—he's become the unwitting inspiration for my new game's male lead.

When I got a second chance at life, the first thing I did was swap arranged marriages with my twin sister.
In our past life, she was pawned off to Daryl Forrester—the cold-blooded Prez of the Iron Riders Motorcycle Club. In all those suffocating years, he never once had her back in front of his crew.
His fragile adopted sister played the "blood debt" card daily, weaponizing her tears to hijack everything that rightfully belonged to my twin. My sister withered into a ghost on his turf. No status, no dignity, completely erased.
And me? I got hitched to a pretentious cellist who hated my rough edges. Eleven months later, we were done.
This time around, I took the MC deal. I hopped on my Harley, rode straight through a twenty-four-hour storm, and rolled up to his outlaw compound reeking of mud and motor oil.
His precious little saint pinched her nose in disgust at my scent.
She had no idea what was coming.
I don't cry. I don't swallow my pride. And I sure as hell wasn't going to stand at my own wedding and watch another woman shed pitiful tears about how "jealous" she is—
I grabbed the ruthless biker boss by the front of his leather cut, yanked him down to my level, and bit his lower lip until it bled, right in front of dozens of patched members.
Then, I followed it up with a brutal knee to his gut.

In the Dragon Empire, bloodline determined everything. Only a female capable of hatching royal-grade golden dragons could wear the crown.
In my past life, I was nothing but a Red Drake—bottom of the food chain, not even blessed with wings. Yet after marrying into the royal family, I miraculously hatched a pureblooded Golden Hatchling.
But when my husband Valerius ascended to the Dragon Throne, his first act as king was to rip out my dragon crystal with his bare claws.
My own son Draken then ordered my body hacked to pieces and fed to the Abyssal Carrion Wolf-Lions in the depths below.
All of this because my half-sister had faked a bloodline awakening, transforming herself overnight into a so-called "Sacred Crystal Dragon."
My cruel husband had looked down at me with utter contempt: "Without my noble genes, how could something like you possibly birth such a gifted golden pureblood? Your filthy swamp bloodline has no right to the Queen's throne."
My son's disgust cut even deeper: "I don't want a flightless cripple for a mother. You make me sick. Only someone as noble and beautiful as Seraphina deserves to be my mother—she'd never force me to practice boring magic like you did."
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the Empire's quinquennial Bonding Ceremony.
My husband wasted no time choosing my sister as his mate. My son, Draken, eagerly dove his soul into her womb, ready to be reborn.
But this time, what crawled out of that egg was a Blind Mud Runt.

Seven months pregnant, I watched the thugs Vivian hired drag us both into the warehouse.
I didn't fight for that phone. I let Vivian—Sean's ex, the woman he never stopped loving—make the call herself.
Because in my past life, I'd begged desperately for Sean to save me from this carefully orchestrated nightmare.
And he did come. He chose me over her.
Vivian was left behind. Raped. Tortured. Murdered—by the very men she'd paid to stage this.
Afterward, Sean said he didn't blame me. He took care of me through the entire pregnancy. Never missed a single appointment.
Then on the day I went into labor, he handed me over to another pack of monsters.
Everything Vivian endured—the gang rape, the abuse, the humiliation—became mine.
Before burning me alive, he threw our dead baby at my feet, his face twisted with rage:
"You wanted to survive, didn't you? This is the price. I'm going to make you feel everything Vivian felt. Not just you—this bastard that should never have existed."
Those months of tenderness were all an act. Carefully orchestrated torture designed to make my suffering absolute.
When I opened my eyes, I was back in that warehouse—watching Vivian's hired thugs hold up the phone, forcing us to choose who gets saved

Lizzy Hamilton wants to skip Christmas this year. Working as a nurse while holding her marriage to an Army Ranger together has drained her energy and joy. She’s a pro at caring for others, but she needs someone to look out for her, too. However, when her soon-to-be ex-husband, Mitch, asks if she’ll spend the holidays with him—just as friends—so he won’t be alone, she can’t say no because, other than his platoon, she’s the only family he has.Staff Sergeant Mitchell Hamilton wants only one Christmas gift—his wife. Frequent deployments and training exercises sent him away from home, and he had no idea how taken for granted Lizzy felt until she asked him for a divorce two months ago. Now his mission is to show his wife he’ll do anything to save their marriage. He only hopes his plan to win her back with a holiday vacation to Indigo Bay, a coastal resort town, works. He can’t—won’t—lose Lizzy forever.This is a short, sweet holiday romance set in the Indigo Bay world and can be read as a standalone.

The doctors gave me three days. And my husband Donald used that time to beg me to give my uterus to Hailey, the "sister" I'd rescued from the streets.
"Her need is greater," he said.
So I smiled and signed over the design empire I'd spent fifteen years building to the girl who once shivered in my doorway.
My daughter Flora curled in Hailey's lap. "I love Hailey Mommy best!"
I nodded. "Be good for Mommy Hailey."
My parents squeezed Hailey's hands. "Sometimes, she feels more like a daughter to us than you ever did."
Even Donald looked at me with soft eyes. "This is the Audrey I always hoped you could be."
Dying, I had finally become their perfect woman—quiet, generous, and uncomplaining.
With the clock ticking down, I stitched the final thread into a wedding gown. Let them have their perfect ending. They'll discover, when the last breath leaves my body, that some gifts are curses in disguise.
Was it a devoted wife's final sacrifice... or a dead woman's ultimate revenge? The answer will unravel in the silence after my heart stops.

The red carpet to Adrian Thorne's side was never paved with flowers. It was a killing floor, meticulously designed.
Two years. Nineteen wedding attempts. And every single one ended in blood.
The fifth attempt: brake failure on the bridal car. I spent three months in the ER with a shattered left arm.
The twelfth: botulism at the menu tasting. I had my stomach pumped and nearly asphyxiated on the table.
The eighteenth... that remains my waking nightmare. I fell down a marble staircase polished to a lethal shine, losing the child I never even got to hold.
Everyone called me the "Thorne Curse." For a long time, even I believed it—that bad luck was just etched into my bones.
Time and again, I crawled out of pools of my own blood. I did it for a decade-old promise of repayment. I did it for the man I had loved for ten years.
Then came the nineteenth attempt. A floral arch weighing hundreds of pounds collapsed during our vows, crushing me into the ICU.
Ribs snapped, organs bleeding, I fought for three days just to claw my way back to the living.
But the moment I woke, through the crack in the door, I heard Adrian’s voice.
"Mr. Thorne, that was too close. If Elinor had actually died..."
"I didn't have a choice." Adrian’s tone was so cold it felt foreign. "Her father died saving me. I’m shackled by that debt. But I love Serena. She is the only one I want to marry."
His voice dropped, lethal and precise. "To clear the path for Serena, I don’t care if I have to stage nineteen accidents or ruin Elinor beyond repair. I will do whatever it takes."
Lying there, staring at the map of scars on my body, something inside me finally shattered.
I realized my suffering wasn't a twisted joke of fate. It was a love letter to another woman—his devotion to her, carved into my very skin.
Since his "debt of honor" kept him from kicking me out, I decided to play the villain and cut the cord myself.

Seven years of marriage turned to ash the moment I discovered my husband had arranged for his sister-in-law to carry his dead brother's child—using his own sperm to continue the family bloodline.
Lorenzo Corvino—New York's most ruthless don—would drive three hours through a storm just to get me imported cherries. He held me at my mother's funeral, crying until dawn. He hospitalized a man for disrespecting me at a charity gala.
I thought I was the center of his world.
Until the private investigator's flash drive revealed the truth: Lorenzo at the clinic for Claudia's prenatal appointments, his hand on her pregnant belly, whispering "Marco would be so proud."
In the end, on the Corvino family's scale of priorities, continuing his dead brother's bloodline would always outweigh his infertile wife.
The night the yacht exploded, the New York sky burned red. The news reported the mafia don's wife had perished in the flames. He collapsed on the dock, clutching the charred wreckage, breaking down completely.
But he didn't know—
That "dead" woman was across the Atlantic on the Amalfi Coast, one hand on her seven-week baby bump, protecting the secret he'd never discover.
Seven months later, when he stepped into my new life and saw the infant with his deep brown eyes cradled in my arms—
This man who'd built an empire on violence and fear finally understood what he'd truly lost.
And I'll spend the rest of my life making sure he knows: some betrayals are so deep, even "I'm sorry" is more than he'll ever deserve.

I was hospitalized with a high fever, and my boyfriend stayed by my side 24/7.
The nurses all praised him as the "perfect boyfriend," and 5 million live stream viewers were green with envy.
He looked into the camera and poured his heart out: "She's my entire world. I could never leave her, not in this lifetime."
Tears streamed down my face as I felt like the luckiest woman alive.
Until 2 AM, when his phone buzzed with a message:
"Miss you 💋"
He thought I was fast asleep.
I wished I was just dreaming.

Noah, usually inseparable from his father, had spent the entire week insisting that only I take him camping. His declared mission: mastering "real survival skills"—a not-so-subtle jab at his dad's preference for cushy glamping.
Liam played along, hamming it up as he swung our son goodbye. But beneath the teasing jealousy, something felt off. He packed the trunk too fast. Checked the gas without being asked. Almost assembly-line efficiency.
And that line about a last-minute client flying in from Chicago? Didn't sound like bad luck. Sounded like an excuse.
All week, he never pushed back. Just quietly, almost eagerly, waited for us to leave.
I figured he wanted the house to himself: scotch, cigars, silence.
Then the call came—and I got it.
He hadn’t cleared the house for peace and quiet.
He’d cleared it for her.

I was once the most exquisite rose in New York's underworld.
Leander Castello's wife. The mafia godfather's treasured queen. The woman everyone envied.
I thought he would be my salvation, my forever.
Until he snapped me in half with his own hands and threw me into the filthiest pit like trash.
He said he needed to teach me what betrayal costs.
So I was handed over to the Mexican cartel boss, Carlos.
Six months later, when he kicked down that iron door, I was on my knees in a pool of blood, crawling toward his feet like a beaten dog.
I thought he was just another client.
I opened my mouth, revealing my shattered teeth, forcing sounds like grinding metal through vocal cords destroyed by industrial acid.
I mechanically unbuttoned my shirt, displaying the crisscrossing cigarette burns and brands covering my skin.
I knocked my forehead against his shoe, silently begging him not to use the hose on me today.
He stared at my mutilated right leg, at my vacant eyes, and finally understood—
That rose had rotted away on the cartel's operating table, along with our child.
What's left now is just a living corpse.

In the Faewild, pureblooded elves are born to rule. We wolves are nothing but savage beasts bred for war.
I was sent to the Elven Court as a hostage—a living pledge of my pack's surrender. For five years, I bled for King Othlan. Seven times I bore curses meant to kill him. Slaughtered countless horrors in his name.
All for the soul mark he promised me. The only thing that could mend what he'd broken in me.
But when I dragged myself back from the abyss, body shattered and poisoned, I found him binding that mark—the one meant for eternal mates—to another woman.
A pureblooded elf. Of course.
I swallowed the blood rising in my throat and crushed the dragon stone hidden in my palm.
He wanted me gone? I'd give him exactly that. Permanently.

"What gives a scarred freak like you the right to stand next to him?"
Four years ago, a brutal attack left a hideous burn scar across the left side of my face. Ever since, I've hidden behind a black mask, fading into the darkest corners of St. Oak High. I thought if I just stayed perfectly invisible, I could survive high school in peace.
Then Michael came back.
He's the President of Model UN, an Ivy-League-bound genius, and the golden boy everyone revolves around. And me? I’m just a damaged outcast too terrified to show my own face.
The harder I pushed him away, the closer he got.
But when a video from four years ago surfaces—showing him throwing a punch just to defend me—his flawless future is suddenly on the line. That's when I knew I couldn't hide in the shadows anymore.
This time, even if it means exposing my ugliest scars to the harsh light of day, I will do whatever it takes to protect him.

Halfway through my wedding, five months pregnant in a custom gown, waiting to say "I do."
A woman stood up and stopped everything.
"I'm so moved seeing you both live in the house I designed." She raised her champagne, smiling like she owned the place. "The architecture, the interiors, the gardens—all mine."
My fiancé Dorian didn't even explain. Just helped her out, left me standing there in front of a hundred guests.
That's when it hit me: I'd been living in his ex-girlfriend's custom-built dream house for three years.
I found the blueprints later. Every page in her handwriting: "S loves morning light," "island height for S," "bathtub sized for two."
Date stamp: March 2019—a year before we met.
I confronted him. He shoved me, impatient.
I fell down the stairs. Lost the baby.
He was in the hospital hallway on his phone: "Don't worry, I'm coming over. We can't let rumors destroy Seraphina's career."
I lay there touching my empty stomach, and something clicked.
I was going to take that house back. Then tear it down myself.
Brick by brick. Smash it all.

"Aveline, a world without you means nothing to me."
The dragon's scalding blood splattered across my tombstone, melting the thick blanket of snow.
Five minutes ago, he had severed the crimson fox's head—vengeance for me.
I died at the hands of my most cherished companion, died in a carefully orchestrated betrayal. I'd wielded the full power of the Court to elevate that pitiful low-born wretch to godhood, only for him to join forces with my dear sister and plunge a blade into my heart from behind.
And the dragon war god I had scorned—the one I'd humiliated and treated as nothing more than a beast slave—defied imperial decree, razed an entire city, and severed his own life force. All for me.
I watched his dragonfire extinguish completely in the bitter cold. My soul reached out to embrace him, but passed through nothing but endless snow.
Until a blinding light pierced through my vision.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring up at the familiar domed ceiling of the Celestial Hall.
I had returned to three years ago, to the Binding Ceremony that sealed my fate.
Reborn into a second chance, those vermin who climbed to power on dragon bones will finally get the hell they deserve.

It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones.
In my past life, I was locked in the abandoned freezer beneath St. Jude Preparatory Academy.
Outside the door stood my biological brother Spencer, along with Landon—my boyfriend of three years. And between them, wearing Landon's oversized football jacket, was my stepsister Lacey.
"Blythe, just admit you bullied me. Post an apology video to the whole school, and Spencer will let you out." Lacey's voice trembled, fake tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.
Spencer's voice cut through the metal door like ice:
"Blythe, you brought this on yourself. You've been terrorizing Lacey at school, pushed her to the edge. Maybe some time in there will teach you what decency looks like."
Landon's voice dripped with disappointment: "Jesus, Blythe. I thought I knew you. This isn't who you are."
I pounded on the iron door until my fists were raw, screaming until my voice gave out.
I told them the truth—that I never touched Lacey. That she was the one forcing girls to their knees in the bathroom. That she stole my exam. That every shred of "evidence" was manufactured.
No one believed me.
I froze to death in that sub-zero hellhole.
As the cold claimed me, staring at my blue-purple fingers, all I felt was pure, burning hate.
Then I opened my eyes again—back to the day it all began.

In my past life, I was a wild, pureblood witch who tamed my own nature for love, willingly playing the submissive, perfect Luna for my fated Alpha.
But to him, I was just a savage that "needed to be brought to heel." When enemy wolves ambushed us, he held my manipulative, magicless adopted sister tight, leaving me to be ripped apart.
When I opened my eyes, I had been thrust back in time to the day of our Mating Ceremony.
Staring at the white gown that symbolized nothing but my submission, I slapped a thirty-million-dollar price tag on my "fated mate" and sold him right to my sister.
Using a pureblood glamour, I sent her to the altar in my place. Then I hopped on my motorcycle and rode straight into forbidden territory—right into the arms of the ruthless, unhinged "Mad Wolf" Alpha. He didn't want an obedient pet; he wanted a lethal queen to rule the wild by his side.
That night, when my arrogant ex sealed the irreversible mate bond, lifted the bridal veil, and realized the woman eternally bound to his soul wasn't me...
The icy, untouchable Alpha who spent a lifetime trying to break me completely lost his damn mind.

After the catastrophic war between the four great races ended in ceasefire, the Supernatural Council established an ironclad law—the Pact of Heirs.
Every hundred years, a Mating Season would open, where eligible heirs would compete to determine who would rule the world for the next century.
In my previous life, I chose to marry the wolf prince Darius, desperate to escape my status as a black-feathered orphan in the eagle clan.
The wolf clan's rule was brutally simple: whoever bore the first child carrying the matrilineal eagle-eye bloodline would claim dominion over all. I gave Darius that child. My son secured his throne and granted him absolute power.
My sister Cecily—the chieftain's true daughter—had set her sights on the vampire heir, drawn by their ancient nobility and dark allure. She married into their clan willingly.
But vampire bonds were cold as death itself. Her human-adjacent body couldn't sustain their offspring. She lost her fertility and became a cautionary tale whispered at every gathering.
Twisted by jealousy and shame, she decided I was to blame for her failures. She drugged my wine at a feast, then hurled me off Storm Cliff while I was too weak to spread my wings.
As I plummeted toward the rocks, someone tried to catch me—Kade, the exiled wingless dragon, his dark-scaled hand reaching desperately from a ledge.
But above us, Cecily stood at the cliff's edge, smiling as she cut through the safety rope he'd thrown. I hit the stones and everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, I could still feel the phantom warmth of Kade's hand and the venom in Cecily's smile.
But somehow, impossibly, I was back—returned to the very day the Mating Season began.
Through the one-way scrying glass at the Observation Altar, I looked down at the moonlit sacrificial platform below. Cecily was already there. And she wasn't alone.
She'd been reborn too. I was certain of it.
But she didn't know what I knew—that Darius was a monster to his lovers.
During the full moon, when the wolf took over completely, he'd killed more than one partner in his bed.

During the Yearbook photoshoot, the photographer smiled and gestured for the couples to move closer together.
But Daniel pressed his hand against my shoulder and pushed me straight to the edge of the group, then turned and pulled Harper to his side.
"Harper and I are this year's Valedictorian and Salutatorian. It makes sense for us to stand together—it'll look better for the Yearbook spread."
This wasn't the first time he'd pushed me away.
When I brought him my AP Calculus mistakes, he barely glanced at them before saying my foundation was too weak—don't waste his time.
But when Harper, ranked second in our class, brought him basic algebra questions and played dumb, he didn't notice a thing.
He'd even FaceTime with her until two in the morning, patiently breaking down every single step.
When I wanted to study with him at the library, he'd frown and say I was breaking his focus.
But when Harper dropped just two points on a quiz, he'd skip track practice entirely to take her to the beach and cheer her up.
Right before the photographer pressed the shutter, he couldn't help teasing, "You two are a couple, right? You look like prom king and queen material!"
Daniel looked at Harper, his smile proud and tender. "We're always on the same wavelength."
Harper blushed and ducked her head as the guys from the team whistled and hollered around them.
I stood outside the noise, gripping my phone so hard my knuckles went white. The camera app I'd opened hours ago had already timed out.
The dark screen reflected the dress I'd tried on for hours last night, and the curls I'd ironed over and over again.
God, how stupid of me.
The spot beside him was never meant for me.
And now? I don't want it anymore.

The agony of dragonfire tearing through my flesh still seared my memory.
But I had been reborn.
I touched my reflection. No scorch marks. No melted skin. My eighteen-year-old face stared back.
The door burst open. Zephyra swept in, her dragonfire pendant gleaming.
"Megan, don't be nervous." Her voice dripped honey-sweet. "Even if you can't sense dragonfire, the Dragon God won't judge you harshly."
My father's legitimate daughter. Pure dragonblood. The family's pride.
And me? The bastard. A half-blood who couldn't even conjure a spark.
"The prophecy bond isn't set in stone." Her hand landed on my shoulder, grip too tight. "If Lord Roran feels overwhelming, bond with a lower-tier knight. I'll support whatever you choose."
Support me? The word tasted like ash.
Roran was the empire's youngest Dragon Knight Commander. In my past life, I'd believed her lies and married him.
I thought it was salvation. Instead, I became his shield while he slept with Zephyra.
At Zephyra's ascension ceremony, when a wyvern lunged for her, he shoved me into the beast's path.
The wyvern's claws tore into my abdomen. My unborn child died inside me.
Then came the dragonfire.
Roran unleashed it to save Zephyra. The flames swallowed everything: the beast, me, and the dragon egg I'd carried for months.
Through the agony, I watched him scoop Zephyra up. "Save Zephyra! The child—"
My child was already ash. He mourned hers.
"If I hadn't been pregnant, Megan wouldn't be so jealous..." Zephyra whispered.
"If there's a next life, I'll make this right." Roran's hollow guilt.
Next life?
Your dragonfire burned my child alive. You let me bleed out. And now you want redemption?
Not a chance.

The day I found out Quinn Prescott had pulled strings to give away my Ivy League recommendation to some transfer student, I packed up everything he'd ever given me and dumped it on his doorstep.
The next day, I found that same box in the dumpster outside my building.
Quinn's face was twisted with irritation.
"Drop it. So what if we don't go to the same college? You can get a full ride anywhere on your own, but Paula can't even afford tuition without that recommendation letter."
He let out a cold laugh. "And if this actually blows up, I promise you—it won't be me walking away with regrets."
I pressed the UCL acceptance letter tighter against my back, looking at him one last time with perfect calm.
He looked exactly like he always did when he knew he'd already won—like the outcome wasn't even a question.
But Quinn, I don't need you either.
My one-way ticket to London was already booked. We never had to see each other again.

Three days after I died, the morgue called my husband Sebastian to collect my ashes.
He was kissing another woman when he hit speaker, his voice cold and dismissive: "She's dead? Cremate her. Don't call me again."
And just like that, my body was wheeled into the cremation chamber.
When he finally showed up to collect my remains, he smashed the urn on the floor and ground every fragment of my ashes into the tile with his shoe.
"Playing dead? What a pathetic stunt," he sneered. "Tell her the anniversary of my mother's death is coming up. She'd better show up at the cemetery on her knees, or even if she really is dead, I'll scatter her ashes in the sewer myself."
But he didn't know—I truly was dead.
My soul was bound to him, forced to drift at his side as he planned a lavish wedding with his adopted sister Claire—his mother's true killer.
By the time he discovered the truth and exposed Claire at the altar, I had already vanished.
He lost his mind, racing to the ocean to search for my ashes.
Never knowing that the remains he'd crushed like garbage under his shoe—the "fake ashes" he'd dismissed as part of my act—
Were all that was left of me.

When my boyfriend of three years won the student body presidency, I rented out the entire bar to celebrate. But when I came back with the cake, I heard deafening jeers from the private room.
"I bet ten grand I can get her to ditch the engagement her family arranged and elope with me before graduation."
"That uptight bookworm? Sweet-talk her a little and she's wrapped around your finger."
"Guess what would happen if she found out—even the money for my off-campus apartment with Marie came from her part-time jobs. Think she'd go ballistic?"
The cake box slipped from my hands. Cream splashed onto my white sneakers—the ones I'd worked three part-time jobs to afford, the ones he said he loved because I looked so "pure" in them.
Turns out what he loved wasn't my purity, but how cheap and controllable I was.
I didn't storm in and confront him. I simply turned around, stepped over the mess, and walked away.
Everyone seemed to forget—Calvin and I were never equals.
I am Athena Stavros, only heir to one of Europe's old money families.
And this three-year charade of being just another student was about to end.

Ice slammed through my veins.
My throat locked up, crushed by an invisible fist. My body convulsed violently, mouth gaping open and shut, but no air came.
Through blurring vision, I saw my polished stepbrother Damien standing there, watching his watch—counting down the seconds I had left.
And Sophie—that scholarship kid who used to sob over dead ants—stood holding the empty syringe, her smile twisted and ugly. "Don't worry, Charlotte. I'll take real good care of your Ivy spot and your boyfriend."
The darkness swallowed me whole.