162 Book(s) Related to 990 past lives

She doesn't want to rely on a man because she believes all men are jerks.

She does literally anything as far as it would generate more income to her account, What she doesn't do is stealing, killing and kidnapping. But anything else apart from those three she will do it.

She signed a 90 days contract marriage with a billionaire.

He is the heir of Rainbow Company and the CEO of one of the biggest businesses.

On his grandmother's death bed she makes him promise to get married.

What will transpire when they cross paths? Will there be a spark between them?

Haunted by a past she can’t outrun, Kaia is forced into an impossible bargain: deceive a ruthless mafia don and bring about his downfall within sixty days or lose the one thing she loves most, her son.
What begins as a deadly con turns into a dangerous game of desire, as Kaia finds herself drawn to the very man she’s meant to destroy. With every lie, every touch of heart, the lines blur.
Ninety days. One heart. A choice between survival and surrender.
Will Kaia finish the job she was sent to do… or will love rewrite the rules of the game?

Ninety-nine times.

I was sent to the punishment chamber ninety-nine times by my mafia don fiancé.

Each time, he watched through bulletproof glass with cold, detached eyes—watching me being deprived of sleep, injected with drugs, tortured until I was barely clinging to life.

"Elara, you're paying for what you did to the Mancuso family."

For the sake of sweet, innocent Yvette—his precious savior—he personally destroyed everything I had.

After the ninety-ninth time, the doctor handed me a critical condition notice. I stopped begging, signed the confession, and vanished completely with my broken body.

The result? When the truth finally came to light, the ruthless don went completely insane.

I was the only top-tier Healer in the entire pack.
The blind witch in the Black Forest told me that if I hid my true bloodline and used my Healer gift to save one hundred dying wolves — no payment, no recognition — my mother's spirit would break free of the curse and find peace with the Moon Goddess.
For twenty years, I'd kept my bloodline a secret, saving ninety-nine wolves on the brink of death. Just one more, and it would all be over.
Then the call came. A six-year-old boy. The Alpha's only son. Dying from bloodline backlash. I was the only one who could save him.
I said no.
The whole pack turned on me. My fiancé called me a cold-blooded monster. The Alpha threatened me with treason. They offered gold, titles, everything — even got on their knees.
None of them knew why I refused. None of them knew what that Alpha took from me twenty years ago.
Save his precious heir? He should've thought about that before he destroyed everything I loved.

Reborn one year before the zombie outbreak, I awakened a supernatural storage space. I stocked massive daily supplies and transformed a secret mountain cave into an impenetrable fortress. I protect my grandma, take revenge on greedy relatives, fight mutated beasts and intelligent zombie monsters, and wait for the rebirth of human civilization in the end times.

Krystal Hunter died with a broken heart, a knife in her back, and one regret—she finally won the damn lottery right before she died. Ten million dollars, untouched, deposited in the bank… wasted.
Or so she thought.
Because when Krystal wakes up in a hospital bed—very much not dead—the world has gone to economic hell. The global economy has collapsed, the dollar has depreciated into dust... and her forgotten bank account?
Now worth one hundred billion.
With the world burning and billionaires falling like flies, Krystal is no longer the girl they betrayed. She’s richer than empires, hungrier than ever, and back to collect what she’s owed—with interest.
Ex-lovers, fake friends, and bloodthirsty siblings beware:
She died once. She’s not dying quietly again.

A deliciously savage romantic revenge comedy about wealth, power, payback, and kissing someone hot while the economy collapses.

I am a hero. The saint's husband.
A country boy chosen by the temple.
I fight, I fight, I fight.
All for the saint, for the temple.
But it wasn't until I was drained of blood and dying on the altar that I finally heard clearly what the saint and her childhood sweetheart were saying:
"If you become a hero and marry the saint, you'll have to surrender your soul to the temple. I don't want you to lose your soul."
"Then let's just find some country boy to be the hero. It won't matter if he dies."
Oh, so that's how it is.
You should have said so earlier.
I can defeat the Demon Lord just fine without the saint.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the wedding ceremony.
This time, someone else should be on the altar.

My wife is upstairs with another man—her first love.
But I don't want to fight about it.
I'm not staying here because of her.
Her father once saved my father's life. I'm here to repay that debt.
So they pushed even further.
She wants me to give way to her first love.
Give up my seat at dinner, my trust fund eligibility, my position as family consigliere, even our couple's travel tickets.
Fine. Have it your way.
I'm leaving to go back to being the Don I was meant to be.
Hope your family can survive the mafia wars without me.

At the Jones family’s political marriage gala, the New York mafia’s most public “celebration”, I, Isabella Rossi, who was a bargaining chip, had been Donovan Jones’s wife for five years.
He was the world’s top perfumer, the kind of man who could coax a scent from his fingertips that made people go mad-and yet, to him, I was a flower with no fragrance at all.
Five years of this marriage, and he had never touched me. The villa’s master bedroom was always his alone, while I was nothing but the “Mrs. Jones” in name-a decorative prop trapped in a luxury cage, so insignificant that even the servants dared to look down on me in secret.
When both sets of parents pressured us for a baby, he wrapped an arm around a famous model and sneered,
“A woman raised off a template like you is only good for taking care of a kid, not for sleeping with.”
He left me behind in the bridal suite-with his younger brother.
Then he took his new fling out street-racing.
That same night, a video of him and the model hooking up in a car shot straight to the top of the entertainment headlines.
And I became New York media’s favorite punchline: the “DISCARDED TROPHY WIFE.”
Just when everyone thought I’d spend the night alone, guarding an empty bed,
I crooked a finger at that eight-pack, absurdly good-looking brother-in-law of mine.
Donovan, you’re right-I am pretty suited to “taking care of a kid.”
Just not a baby. A 6'2", baby-faced college boy.

You don’t marry the devil and expect to walk away…

Two years ago, I made the most reckless decision of my life. I married a stranger — a dangerously sharp Russian with eyes like winter storms and a voice that curled around your spine.

It was supposed to be fake.
A quick, quiet wedding on a borrowed yacht.
A loophole to stop my billionaire father from selling me off to some corporate puppet in a boardroom marriage.

But the stranger-the man I begged for help—wasn’t just some wealthy businessman in an expensive suit. He was Mikhail Volkov. A Bratva king. Cold. Ruthless. Calculating.

I left him divorce papers and two million dollars on his bed the next morning… and vanished.

But the past doesn’t stay buried. And men like him don’t forget unfinished business.

Two years later, under a new name and a quiet life halfway across the world, I thought I was safe. Until my new company gets bought out. By him.

Mikhail Volkov.

He came for me.

And this time, running isn’t an option.

“Why the hell are you calling me your wife?” I snap, shoving the contract across his desk. “I paid you off. I left divorce papers. Signed.”

He steps closer, all tailored dominance and lethal calm, his voice low enough to scrape against my bones.
"You don’t end things with me unless I say so, moya zhena. And I don’t marry… to divorce."

I’m not free. I’m his unfinished business. And now? I belong to him… whether I want to or not.

PROLOGUE

In the fanciest nightclub of La Nostra Terra, Italy, a girl is seen with a group of other girls, dancing and swaying their hips to the raucous rock beats.

She’s the center of attention, commanding every man’s center with each sway of her curvaceous hips. Every man in the nightclub wants a moment with her, but at the same time, they’re terrified to go close to her. So they just watch from a distance, wondering what she is doing in a nightclub, as she never comes to one.

When the night ends, the girl takes one last drink, and it gets her intoxicated. She excuses herself and heads for the restroom but loses her way and winds up in the suites.

Helplessly, she clings to the walls, fighting to pull herself together. But her head is thumping so hard, and it feels like it’s going to explode. She takes off her heels and squats in the hallway, hoping one of her friends will come to her rescue. She prays that her sister finds her here and takes her home. But no one comes to her rescue.

She feels frightened by the ogling of the men that pass the hallways. Tears trickle down her eyes as she regrets coming to the nightclub. She shouldn’t have let them convince her to come here. But then, she needed to celebrate her graduation. Still, coming here clearly isn’t worth it.

Slowly, she picks herself up and staggers into one of the rooms to rest for the night. Maybe tomorrow, she’ll feel better, and this night will be a forgotten nightmare. Maybe, or maybe not.