358 Book(s) Related to melina eye open

A wild party night leaves me with fuzzy memories and a mortifying encounter I can't quite piece together. Then I meet Marco—the quiet basketball player who just transferred for training—and there's an instant spark I can't explain.

As the team's benchwarmer, Marco practices harder than anyone, though few seems to notice. There's something about his quiet determination that draws me in, and I find myself falling for the underdog.

But when Marco's true story starts unraveling—about that first night, about who he really is, about the future he's destined for—I realize I might have gotten in way over my head.

And there's another problem: this was always meant to be temporary. His training program has an end date, and we're both fighting against a reality that seems determined to pull us apart.

When everything is on the line, how far are we willing to go for love?

My eyes traced the curve of Cedar's porcelain skin, and something primal ignited deep in my chest. Before I could stop myself, I was moving toward the bed—drawn by an instinct I didn't recognize.

She pressed herself against the wall, eyes wide with fear.

But when my fingers closed around her delicate ankle, all rational thought abandoned me. Her skin was impossibly soft beneath my calloused hands, and the way she trembled sent heat coursing through my veins.

"Mr. Sterling... please... let me go..." Her whispered plea cut through the haze like a blade.

Christ. What was I doing?

I released her as if burned, my jaw clenching as reality crashed back. I'd crossed a line I never cross—touched her without permission, without reason. The moment her restraints were gone, she clutched the sheets to her chest, those doe eyes watching my every move.

The air between us crackled with something dangerous. Something I couldn't afford to explore.

But as I turned to leave, one thought echoed in my mind: I wanted to touch her again.


I'm Cedar Wright, raised by adoptive parents who seemed to value me more for what I could do for them than for who I am. As I struggle to break free from their toxic hold, a six-year-old boy suddenly enters my life, calling me "Mommy." It's surreal—I'm still a virgin! Yet his presence brings warmth and hope to my otherwise mundane existence.

Soon, two more children come into my life, each wanting me to be their "Mommy" too. They're like little Cupids, bringing an unexpected romance into my life—one that involves their domineering father. I find myself drawn to him, despite my better judgment, but our relationship is fraught with uncertainty.

Just when I've completely fallen for him, he starts pulling away. Is it because his first love has resurfaced, or is his true nature finally emerging?

What type of love could possibly come after trying to seduce an handsome stranger at the club in order to escape your abusive relationship?

How does it work?

What happens if you fall in love with the country's most eligible bachelor before you know it?

Do you run away or do you wait for him to accept you?

"Aurora, you can't keep running from who you are. You're a Stormwolf. The pack needs you."
Aurora Stormwolf, heiress of the Stormwolf clan and the Silver Wolf Pack, flees a tumultuous past following a conflict with her father and settles in a secluded village where she becomes a doctor. Hiding her true identity as a werewolf and the Stormwolf clan's heiress under the name Lyra Darkwood, she mastered her powers after a car accident triggered her transformation.
When she meets Alaric, Alpha of the Dark Shadow Pack and CEO of Bloodhowl Corporation, their connection is immediate. However, a three-year contract marriage binds them together. While Aurora loves him, Alaric is obsessed with Celia Grimwood, a manipulative and deceitful woman. After three years of marriage, Alaric files for divorce, leaving Aurora alone and heartbroken.
Taking over her family's business, Aurora transforms into a ruthless CEO, concealing her true nature beneath power-driven strategies. Meanwhile, Alaric, realizing too late that he loves Aurora, attempts to win her back. Their relationship takes a dramatic turn as they cross paths again in social and professional events, facing numerous challenges, including rival suitors and hidden secrets from the past.
Aurora's four brothers, each with unique powers, tirelessly watch over her. United by an unbreakable bond, they protect their sister with unwavering devotion. Yet Aurora, while grateful, remains independent and determined to make her own choices, even if it means standing against them.
Will reconciliation with Alaric be possible? Can a marriage rise again from the ashes of past betrayals?

"You're beautiful when you're dangerous," he murmured, ice-blue eyes burning into mine as shadows writhed around my feet.
"I don't need another Alpha who thinks he owns me," I snapped, yet stepped closer, drawn by his raw power.
His hand caught my wrist, thumb tracing the silver chain marks Magnus had left. "Who dared mark what's mine?"
Heat pooled low in my stomach at his possessive words. "I'm not yours."
"Your racing pulse says otherwise." His thumb found my heartbeat, and I couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped.
"Let go," I breathed, even as I leaned into his touch.
"Make me." His other hand slid to my waist, pulling me against his hard chest. "Tell me you don't want this."
The lie died on my lips as his scent made my head spin with need.


Nephele survived two years as Magnus's captive Luna, believing she was wolfless trash. While enduring his brutality, her blood was secretly harvested by Ophelia—the woman who raised her. When she finally escapes, she learns the truth: she's the last Shadow Wolf princess, stolen as a baby. Now both want their valuable weapon back.
Half-dead in the forest, she's saved by Kaedan—the boy who once gave her an apple, now the ruthless Frost King. She won't trade one prison for another, but his touch sets her on fire and his protection feels dangerously like home.
Can a broken girl trust the king who could destroy her completely?

Small town girl Giana works hard and doesn’t depend on anyone for help. She struggles with family problems and copes by Riding her horse to her family’s lake to enjoy the peace and quiet. While at work one day she meets a her new student Gloriana. After an eye opening day at work Giana goes back and forth with her emotions but while learning to heal she end up finds what could be her first real love.. But little does she know the man she falls in love with is hiding a huge secret from her.

“Good Evening Madam. I’m Carlos and this is Jose. Is this your home?” said the taller of the two young men.
“Yes, this is my family's home. Can I help you?” Giana spoke softly.
“We are here to deliver this invitation to the Ortega family” Carlos held out an envelope.

Giana wasn’t sure if she should take it but she was Giana Ortega so she carefully took the envelope and thanked them. She watched as both men turned and returned to their vehicle. Giana went back inside and opened the envelope. Her mouth fell open as she read the contents of the envelope.

Who sent the invitation and where’s it to? What is Gianas love interest hiding from her?

A soccer star and a kind-hearted artist find themselves on the same team, but love is a game they never planned on playing.Lucy Martin left her small hometown behind after her divorce. Now she's back, caring for her soccer-crazed nephew while his parents are deployed. She'd do anything to make him happy—including approaching her high school crush and current soccer superstar, Ryker James, for a favor.Nursing an injury, Ryker is laying low at his parents' house until he can rejoin his club and prove he has reformed his bad boy ways. When the sister of an old friend asks him to coach her nephew's soccer team, he should decline. But Lucy intrigues him, and he finds himself unable to disappoint her.Coaching forces them together and sparks fly—on and off the field. Lucy is wary of romance, and Ryker can’t afford a distraction. Before the final whistle blows, will they take a shot at love or forfeit the match?

She needs a fiancé—for only one night.Cassandra Daniels’ parents want to meet her fiancé. They’ve driven hours to have dinner with the man who stole their daughter’s heart. The only problem—he doesn’t exist. She made him up because her mom and dad are concerned about her. Cassandra could tell the truth, but she’s tired of always disappointing her family. Now, she must find a handsome, respectable-looking guy to be her fake fiancé.Troy McKnight can’t believe a gorgeous blonde wants to pretend to be engaged for the night. Why him? She’s his total opposite—impulsive, adventurous, and a risk-taker. He should say no. He’s not the type to go along with crazy schemes and drama, yet he can’t deny her pull. Giving into his attraction, he agrees to be her fiancé. What’s the worst thing that can happen?Turns out Cassandra’s father is a powerful venture capitalist who could make or break Troy's career, so they continue the ruse. But as their fake engagement spirals, their attempts to stop the madness fail. Troy wants to spend more time with Cassandra, but she fears losing her heart…to him. The charade must end, even if she wishes her fiancé for the night could be her perfect husband for life.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

She’s been a proper princess—but she wants to rebel.After the death of her fiancé, Princess Madeleine knows a loveless, arranged marriage awaits her. She’s resigned to her fate until she meets her intended husband. Crown Prince Enrique is gorgeous, but he comes on way too strong, says the wrong things, and fumbles with apologies. He’s more court jester than Prince Charming. How can she marry him?Enrique might be self-centered and lack social skills, but he’s trying to do better—for himself, his country, and his future wife. Despite their royal union being a political necessity, he wants his marriage with the captivating Madeleine to be a love match. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to woo her. How hard can it be to win his princess bride’s heart?Nearly impossible, he discovers, because Madeleine seems unwilling—or unable—to give him her heart. On their wedding day, instead of exchanging vows, will the royal couple say goodbye?

"Didn't know a clumsy girl would be sent to me?" He said, and I felt a ripple go through me.

His voice!

It was the deepest one I have ever heard. His aura screams power but I don't know why I kept on looking at his face as if I was under a love spell.

"You keep looking at me, did you find me too pretty?" He asked, and his deep voice jolted me awake, goosebumps traveling down my skin when I realized he grabbed my ass cheek.

Fuck!

Now, I wasn't expecting that.

"Sorry, I don't think I heard you well," I said in a calm voice, averting my gaze. And thanks to the mask, he would have seen my cheeks red with blush.

"What music would you want me to dance to?" I said as I stood upright, my heart beating wildly against my chest.

"I think another person should be brought in, don't you think?" He asked, his head cocked to one side and I swear, his words hit a nerve in me.

No client has ever belittled me before and his rude remark felt like a blow to me.

"I don't think you will be needing another girl," I said and touched the collar of his shirt.


Valeria seems like a regular omega on the surface but beneath that perfect smile lies a great secret. Driven by vengeance and revenge, she works as a stripper at night to find her parents' killer.

Her thirst for vengeance ultimately makes her cross paths with a mysterious masked man she feels holds the answers she seeks.

But what will happen when Valeria is arranged to marry the Lycan King, who seeks an open marriage? She is forced to live a double life to keep her secrets.

He was my father's best friend and my legal guardian. I mistook his obsessive control for protection—until the night of my eighteenth birthday, when he shattered that illusion in his study. For eight long years, I lived a double life: his pure, adopted daughter by day, and his dirty little secret by night.
I thought it was love. Then today, a Wall Street alert announced his engagement to a media heiress. While the world celebrated, I finally understood: he was capable of love; he just couldn't marry me.
Now, I've deleted every trace of our eight years together. Standing at the window, I held up my newly ringed finger to the surveillance car he sent to watch me.
"The game is over," I texted him. "P.S. I got married today. And you… you're the last to know."

For eighteen months, I was Adam Sterling’s secret lover.
By day, I taught his seven-year-old daughter French. By night, I warmed his bed.
He gave me a luxury apartment, expensive jewelry—everything but a commitment.
I thought I was his woman… until his ex-wife came back. That’s when I understood—I was just a high-end toy.

Used in front of her, then thrown away like trash.

I fled to Paris, carrying his child.
Now he says he loves me, that it’s real this time.
But the girl who used to get wet from just one look from him?
She's gone.

I died betrayed on my wedding altar.
The silver blade in my sister's hand felt colder than our shared childhood. My "fated mate" Kaelen held me down as she carved out my heart—a sacrifice for his ambition.
In my final breath, I saw him: Fenrir, the half-blood guard I'd scorned, breaking through a wall of spears to reach me. Silver arrows pierced his chest mid-leap, but his dying eyes held no blame—only a loyalty that followed me into darkness.
The Moon Goddess heard my dying vow.
Now I'm back, standing where it all began—the mate choosing ceremony. Kaelen expects me to declare him again. My sister waits to play her victim.
But this time, I walk past the golden Alpha and kneel before the broken slave.
"Rise," I whisper, lifting his chin. "The real Luna has come home."
And when they laugh at my choice, they don't see what I do: the ancient power stirring beneath his skin, the king waiting to be awakened.
Let them call him monster. Let them call me mad.
We'll show them what happens when a betrayed Luna and a fallen king unite.
The altar awaits its true sacrifice—and it won't be me this time.

When Noah betrayed me for fresher meat, he thought the only cost was our eight-year relationship. He never imagined I'd take with me the very soul of his commercial empire—and a secret he would never uncover.
For three years, he hunted for me like a madman, from Los Angeles to Reykjavik, until he finally knelt at my doorstep in Lagos.
"Give me a chance," he begged, "for the sake of our past."
I looked down at the once-unyielding man, our daughter in my arms.
"You lost us," I whispered, my voice calm yet final. "And now your redemption stands right before you, forever out of your reach."

My wedding day was twenty-four hours away. Then, I hacked into my fiancé's messages.
"The father first. Then the bride."
With my life on the line, I made a deal with the devil they call the Ghost—the lethal outcast my own family betrayed.
"Marry me," I offered, "and the Corleone empire is yours."
I walked down the aisle in black. He stood waiting, a promise of vengeance in his eyes. When the bullets flew, he slid a ring onto my finger—still warm from the gun. "Our contract begins now, Isabella. Let's show them what happens when you cross us."
This marriage was supposed to be a lie. But as blood mixes with vows, I'm left wondering… did I just sign a deal for salvation, or a one-way ticket to hell?

After pulling back-to-back graveyard shifts, I dragged myself to my twin brother's place to mooch his washer. One look at his biohazard of a bed, and I crashed on the clean bunk across the room instead.
Big mistake. It belonged to Jensen—the baseball team's untouchable ice king.
He lost his mind over the sweet peach scent someone left in his sheets, then discovered it was the first thing in two years that let him actually sleep. My desperate brother, hunting for free rent, conned me into playing Jensen's "replacement sleep aid" and locked the damn door behind me.
Jensen caught on instantly. But instead of throwing me out, he offered me cash to stick around as his contract girlfriend. After he handled some thugs threatening my brother, this guy who never lets anyone close pressed his face into my neck, voice raw and possessive:
"Your brother sold you to clear his debt. You're mine now. And I don't do returns."

The night Julian Wright orchestrated his "rose ceremony," everyone expected a full meltdown.
They were taking bets—would I show up sobbing, or would I skip straight to the roof? After all, everyone knew I was broke. Without Julian's money, I'd be out on my ass.
But when Julian handed that rose to campus queen Chloe Miller, the ballroom doors never opened. No crying. No scene. The whole party lost its main event.
What nobody knew was that while Julian was busy playing bachelor, I was sitting on his half-brother's leather couch in nothing but an oversized white dress shirt. Bare legs tucked under me.
I glanced up at Vincent, catching my lower lip between my teeth. "Your couch is soaked. Where exactly are you planning to sleep tonight?"
Vincent Wright's throat worked. Hard. He dragged his gaze away like it physically hurt. When he spoke, his voice came out wrecked: "Stay put. I'll grab a towel."
A beat. Then rougher: "Need to get you dry."

Fifteen years ago, my fourteen-year-old sister Elise died on her way to the town flea market. She'd been raped. Her legs sawed cleanly off.
Our mother—perpetually drunk—didn't even look at the body. She just tore at the frozen mud with her bare hands, nails splitting, blood mixing with slush.
"The dolls! Where are the dolls she had? Where are they?"
Fifteen years later, I'm a child welfare caseworker.
Today, a girl we'd just pulled from an abusive home handed me a broken porcelain doll.
"Sloane," she whispered, "I found this in the trash. Its legs are broken. Can you fix it?"
The moment I took that doll, I froze. Tears came without warning.
Fifteen years. I finally understood where to start looking.

As the undisputed queen of the CS department, my world used to consist of nothing but the absolute rationality of zeros and ones.
Until Corbin Hawke, hockey captain with his star-athlete entitlement, bulldozed past my firewall with his Academy Award-worthy act and a "love algorithm" he supposedly pulled all-nighters to write.
I naively believed it was the upgrade I'd been waiting for.
Until this moment.
The shower ran in the bathroom, his carefree humming drifting out, while my iPad lit up beside me. Thirsty texts from some cheerleader flashed across the screen, followed by him running his mouth in the team group chat:
"Easy, fellas. Dumping this frigid nerd at the championship party tomorrow and collecting that five-hundred-dollar bet. That script I copied off Stack Overflow for 200 bucks? She ate that shit up."
Staring at those vile messages, whatever naive warmth I'd stupidly let myself feel got deleted from my system in one clean swipe, leaving nothing but cold, pure logic.
Pissing off a top-tier hacker would be the most catastrophic mistake he'd ever executed.

For six years, I stood by Xavier Sterling through fifty-one failed proposals. Every single time, even with the ring in his hand, one phone call from his "fragile" foster sister was all it took for him to leave me standing alone.
On our six-year anniversary—the night of the fifty-second attempt—he abandoned me at the altar of our dinner table once again. His apology? A glass of strawberry champagne sent to my table. It was her favorite drink. For me, it was anaphylactic poison.
Staring at those pink bubbles, the love finally died.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in six years.
"Send the jet," I said. "I'm done playing peasant."
Weeks later, Xavier found himself on his knees, begging the legendary heiress of the Verlin dynasty to save his crumbling company. That's when the horror hit him:
The untouchable queen looking down at him was the same "obedient" girl he had left behind.
I tightened my grip on my new fiancé’s arm and offered Xavier a cold smile.
"Mr. Sterling, your love was always cheap. But your regret? That's a luxury you can no longer afford."

I gave birth to three children for my ruthless mafia husband. And every single time, he tore the newborns from my blood-soaked sheets and handed them straight to my barren sister.
For seven years, I endured electroshock therapy and brutal captivity, reduced to nothing but a breeding vessel to complete their "picture-perfect" family.
He thought he had broken my spirit long ago. That’s why, when the assassins struck, he didn't hesitate to shove me into the line of fire as a human shield.
To protect his true love, he threw my bleeding, wounded body into a freezing water cell as their perfect scapegoat.
He thought tossing me a few scraps of mercy would have me crawling back to him, begging like a dog.
But he was dead wrong.
When the bone-chilling water swallowed me, I didn't panic or thrash. I simply smiled, letting the black depths drag me under.
Domenico could never have imagined that the cold, lifeless corpse he personally sent to the morgue was my perfect escape, seven agonizing years in the making.
He stole my babies. He stripped away every last ounce of my dignity.
So now, I’m going to take away everything he holds dear, piece by agonizing piece: his empire, his power, and the love he arrogantly thought he could control forever.

"911, what's your emergency?"
What came through wasn't words—it was raw, desperate sobbing.
In Oak Creek, a well-respected couple called to report their daughter had died. But when officers stepped through the door, what they found made a veteran sheriff drop to his knees and retch—
Their 36-year-old daughter had become part of the couch.
Her body had fused with decomposing foam, waste, and writhing maggots. Skin adhered to cracked leather. Her stomach contained couch padding and her own feces. She weighed 65 pounds.
Through tears, her parents explained: "She had severe autism... wouldn't let anyone touch her..."
But neighbors told a different story: Nobody had laid eyes on this girl in twelve years.
Then investigators found something beneath the couch—freshly used cleaning wipes.
Someone had crouched beside her decomposing body and methodically cleaned her. For days.
Then who stays that composed in hell?
Grief—or guilt?

After Frederick—my guardian, eleven years older—saw the confession I'd posted meant only for him, he announced his engagement the next day.
Out of spite, I faked a hickey and stumbled home past midnight to find him waiting on the couch.
The second his eyes hit my neck, his face went dark:
"Dating someone?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sleeping with him?"
I twisted my dress between shaking fingers. "You don't get to ask me that anymore."
He pressed two fingers to his temple. The silence was suffocating.
I'd expected him to explode—this man who used to go ballistic if another guy came near me. Instead, his voice came out cold and flat:
"You're eighteen. I can't stop you. Just cover that up before you go out. It looks cheap."
Later, I finally gave up. Right under his second-floor window, I kissed another guy, planning not to come back.
That's when the composed law professor completely lost it.
That storm night, he dragged me to an isolated mountain house and pinned me beneath him. Seven years of control shattered:
"You have no idea how many pills I take every night just to keep my hands off you."
His eyes were wild, his voice destroyed:
"If you need someone that badly... I've been right here for seven years."

When Dorian Falco’s stepsister and secret lover was found brutally violated in a slum alleyway, the Mafia Don lost his fucking mind.
And he blamed me.
He dragged me into the manor's dungeon, throwing me to a dozen of his most depraved enforcers.
"Whatever Camilla suffered, you'll pay back a thousand times over."
I collapsed on the freezing floor, sobbing as I desperately clutched his pant leg. "I love you! I would never hurt her! Please, Dorian, believe me!"
Dorian only offered his cruelest sneer.
"Jealous that she gets the real thing? Fine. I'll make you filthier than she ever was."
He locked me in that blood-stained cell for seven days and nights.
His thugs, given carte blanche by the Don, whipped me with chains and violated me without restraint. I screamed Dorian's name in the darkness until my throat shredded.
Seven days later, Dorian returned with a recovering Camilla.
He stood outside the heavy iron door, his voice dripping with mock generosity.
"Crawl out here, Saoirse. Get on your knees, kiss Camilla's shoes, and maybe—just maybe—I'll let you live."
Silence. No answer.
Because three days ago, I had already died in that cell.

I thought I just had a high sex drive.
Until that night, I dumped another premature loser and downloaded an app called MythosMatch.
Silver-haired Elandil appeared at the bar downstairs. His kiss was laced with deadly danger, his fingers gave me my first real orgasm, his damn size nearly split me apart—
Then I saw his pointed ears.
Turns out human men couldn't satisfy me, not because I was too demanding.
But because I was never fully human to begin with.

I broke the track record. My ex showed up with my best friend—his new fiancée—to humiliate me. Three years of betrayal, lies, and a career-ending crash that was never really an accident.
So I lied: told everyone I'm marrying Lorenzo Vitali, the man every driver fears and respects.
Problem? He heard everything. And he's not denying it.
Now my ex is spiraling, desperate to prove I'm still the broken girl he destroyed. My former best friend's perfect mask is cracking. And Lorenzo just stopped pretending this is fake.
They thought I'd crawl back. Instead, they're about to learn what happens when you push the wrong woman too far.

In my past life, my twin Phaedra and I were both married off to the Dragon Clan on the same day.
I was given to the eldest son Magnus, while she went to the second son Drakon.
A year later, Phaedra gave birth to a small white dragon with scales like fresh snow. Meanwhile, I delivered nine children—all of them deformed monsters, bearing not a trace of dragon lineage.
Dragon King Typhon, a tyrant obsessed with bloodline purity and beauty, immediately stripped his eldest son of the inheritance rights and decided to pass the throne to his second son, Drakon.
Consumed by rage and humiliation, my husband Magnus descended into madness.
He ordered my nine children dragged into the Shadow Abyss and thrown into boiling blood pools as sacrificial offerings. Then he bound me tightly to the frozen altar pillar.
As the crimson winds howled from the blood pool, he mercilessly cut open my chest and carved out my nine-tailed heart while I was still breathing. I drew my last breath drowning in endless despair and blood.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in the Dragon Clan's towering hall—at the mate selection ceremony that had sealed our fates.
In my daze, Magnus walked straight past me. His eyes brimmed with disgust as he unhesitatingly reached for Phaedra's hand instead. The same woman who had birthed that perfect white dragon in my past life.
But the fool had no idea my children's deformities had nothing to do with me—they came from his own cursed, rotting bloodline.

Six months ago, a yacht explosion consumed everyone I loved: my husband Leonard, my parents, and my brother.
I escaped only because of stomach pain that kept me from boarding. My adopted sister Claire became the sole survivor.
Since then, I've become an empty shell.
Even after being diagnosed with terminal uterine cancer, even while carrying my late husband's child, I've endured the agony of chemotherapy alone, exhausting what little strength remains to scrape together money for Claire—who hides away in a private care facility, claiming severe PTSD.
Until this winter day, with a blizzard approaching.
Dragging my dying body to my husband's memorial to pay respects, I discovered a credit card statement—charges made three months after his death.
Following the address on that receipt, I pushed open the door of a luxurious suburban villa.
Inside, it was warm as spring. My parents and brother, who should have been at the bottom of the ocean, stood there perfectly alive.
At the center of the room, my husband—the man I'd grieved for day and night—was kissing my adopted sister, his lips tender against hers.
The whole family was celebrating, raising glasses to toast the infant cradled in Claire's arms—barely a month old.
There had never been any disaster at sea.
It was all a meticulously planned hoax—their twisted way to erase me from their lives forever.

In my previous life, on the night of our wedding anniversary, my husband Bryan brought his pregnant mistress, Victoria, into our home. Driven to the edge, I slashed my wrists to force him to kick her out.
No one could have predicted her blood sugar would suddenly crash in the freezing storm outside. She collapsed into a flooded ditch and froze to death before anyone found her.
Everyone ruled it a tragic accident, but Bryan decided her blood was on my hands.
Months later, when I went into labor, he abused his position as my doctor to deliberately delay my care. He left me to writhe through dozens of hours of agonizing contractions and severe hemorrhaging until I bled out.
When, with hands slick with my own blood, I begged him to save our baby, he calmly peeled off his soiled surgical gloves. The look in his eyes was merciless.
"Heartbroken?" he sneered. "Good. Take the brat down to hell with you to keep Victoria company."
An icy, suffocating darkness swallowed me whole.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact night of our anniversary—the very moment Bryan, bringing the freezing rain in with him, protectively guided Victoria through my front door.

I took a submachine gun bullet for Mafia Don Vincenzo Lombardi. I drank poisoned wine for him and bore his heir. To the the entire syndicate, I was his loyal cleaner and lucky talisman.
But the moment he seized ultimate power, he brought her home—my "pure and fragile" adopted sister, Vanessa.
For her, Vincenzo shattered my knees, handed over my title as Donna, and turned my own son against me. He dismissed my broken heart, claiming I was being petty and that she was merely "joining the family."
Yet, the innocent Vanessa was a monster in disguise. She ruthlessly slit her own mother’s throat—the woman who raised me—and locked me in a sub-zero freezer.
When Vincenzo finally pried the heavy iron door open, there was no pity in his eyes. He only offered a cold command: crawl and beg his pregnant new Donna for forgiveness.
Wiping the bloody ice crystals from my lips, I looked at the man I had loved with my life, and rasped my final words: "Vincenzo... I'm dying."

In Heaven, there exists an iron law: during the Ascension Ceremony, if a bride fails nine times to complete the bonding flight with her groom's Divine Cloak, her soul is deemed tainted, and she will be cast into the Abyss for seven centuries of penance.
I was once Heaven's greatest warrior, until I threw myself before the hellfire meant for Archangel Gabriel—and lost my wings forever.
I endured eight Ascension ceremonies. Each time, Gabriel found a reason to delay.
Then came the ninth. My last chance. One flight bound to his Divine Cloak, and I would soar again—my name cleared, my honor restored.
But atop the ceremonial tower, he unclasped the cloak from his own shoulders and wrapped it around Irene, the trembling Healing Angel.
"Cecilia, Irene needs this more. You're strong—you'll survive the fall."
He'd forgotten one thing: without wings, this height would kill me.
I didn't beg. I simply met his eyes—and stepped off the edge.
I woke in the arms of the Demon Lord I'd once shown mercy.
He spread ten pairs of wings that blotted out the heavens and carried me back to Heaven as his queen.
And Gabriel—that proud Archangel—knelt at my feet, tears streaming, begging me to look at him just once more.

Left at the altar, I married his uncle instead—an icy, untouchable Wall Street titan.
For a full year, he stonewalled my every advance.
Even when I cornered him in sheer lace, his jaw merely tightened. With chilling indifference, he pulled out a sterile latex finger cot:
"If you simply need a release, I can accommodate you."
Humiliated, I drew up divorce papers to end the sham.
But right before I left, I stumbled into a hidden vault beneath his study.
There, laid out on black velvet, was all my "missing" lingerie.
Beside it, pinned under a psychiatric diagnosis for Severe Obsessive Fixation, was a diary filled with frantic scrawl:
[I finally manipulated everything to steal her.]
[But the obsession is eating me alive. I don't dare touch her without gloves. If our bare skin meets, I'll lose my goddamn mind. I'll tear her apart like a rabid dog and lock her in this windowless room where no one else can ever look at her!]

To piss off my ex-husband, I ordered a companion android from his company—one with his exact face. I've been breaking it in every night for a month.
Then Genesis Bionics customer service sent me an email:
[Dear Ms. Rachel Knight, your custom order has not yet shipped. Please be patient.]
I looked up at the android buttering toast in my kitchen, my mind going completely blank.
Then who the hell is in my house?

The day I gave birth, I wasn't handed my crying baby, but a tight swaddle of blood-stained cash.
To secure his seat as the new Don, my husband had traded our newborn to Agatha—my own flesh-and-blood aunt, and the young wife of his paralyzed father.
Reduced to nothing more than a convenient incubator, I spent the next four years as a prisoner in my own home.
Ronald issued a ruthless order to his men: if I ever took a single step toward Agatha’s heavily guarded wing to see my son, I was to be shot on sight.
But a mother's desperation knows no bounds.
When my boy's fever spiked dangerously high, I blasted through armed guards and walked through a blazing inferno just to save his life.
Yet, the most fatal wound didn't come from the flames or the shattered glass.
It happened in the ER, when the four-year-old boy I nearly died to save woke up, shoved away my severely burned hands, and screamed for Agatha. He begged me to leave, crying that he just wanted to be a "real family" with his dad and the woman who stole my life.
Staring at the twisted family my husband and aunt had built upon my stolen motherhood, a sudden, icy numbness quieted my shattered world.
"Call me Mom one last time," I whispered through the ash and tears, "and I promise I'll never bother you again."

Three torturous years hauling bodies on the mortuary night shift, and I'd finally scraped together the cash for my brother Charles's heart transplant.
He just waved it off.
"My heart is fine. Mom and Dad didn't die in that gang war, either. I orchestrated the hit. You were the only casualty."
Nearby, my husband, Gerald, casually lit a cigar to deliver his own confession. "I never went bankrupt. 'Laying low' was just my excuse to avoid squeezing into that dingy funeral home dorm with you. I've been at the Long Island estate."
"I was going to punish you for another three years," Charles added, "but the stench of formaldehyde on you is nauseating. We couldn't take it anymore."
I froze, still clutching the credit card. Charles plucked the plastic from my numb fingers and shoved his phone screen in my face. A banking app stared back at me.
Balance: exactly zero.
"My name is still on the joint account," he sneered, tossing the card into the trash. "I drained it this morning. That blood money you made bagging stiffs is being handed out to street junkies as we speak. We'd never touch that filth."
Before the sheer absurdity of it could suffocate me, my parents walked in. Flanked by bodyguards, they kept their distance, eyeing me like a plague rat.
"You thought being the biological daughter gave you the right to ruthlessly bully Violet. We simply wanted to put you in your place."
"Swear you'll never cross Violet again, and you can remain a Falcone," my mother added coolly. "Otherwise, you're dead to us."
In the stifling silence that followed, my phone buzzed. A text from my oncologist.
[Mrs. Castello, the results are back. It's terminal. Do you consent to initiating the hospice and DNR protocols we discussed?]

My flame-red dragon Theodore, the one I'd raised for seven years, had become wrong.
Normally, if I left for more than a day, he'd slam into me the second I walked through the door—tail coiled around my arm, head nuzzling my neck, acting like a hatchling fresh out of the shell.
This time I pushed open the door and Theodore didn't even look at me.
I reached out to touch his scales. He shook my hand off, irritated.
That night I tried to let him coil around my arm to sleep like always. He actually whipped me with his tail, then flew up to the top of the cabinet with pure disgust on his face.
I stared up at that arrogant dragon head perched on the cabinet, something tight and cold coiling in my chest.
Finally, I'd had enough. I pulled the crystal orb from my sleeve.

For five years of secret marriage to Sebastian Hawthorne—one of New York's most powerful attorneys—he still refused to let our son Quinn call him "Daddy" in public.
At the firm, I was his on-call senior associate, the invisible workhorse cleaning up his messes and handling his impossible cases. At home, I was the single mother who stopped waiting up for a husband who never came home for dinner.
Everyone knew the new intern, Delilah Vance, was his favorite—a federal judge's daughter, his hand-picked "rising star."
I used to believe that if I worked hard enough, if Quinn behaved perfectly, the heart beneath all that arrogance would eventually soften.
Until that rainy night when he threw his wife of five years and their son out of their own home to comfort Delilah over some fabricated stalker scare.
And while Quinn collapsed in my arms, gasping through a severe allergic reaction, Sebastian was raising champagne with that woman at an impossible-to-book French restaurant, celebrating her win in a pointless mock trial.
Watching my son's pale face and the hope slowly dying in his eyes, five years of one-sided devotion finally reached its verdict.
The case is closed, Sebastian. I'm done.

The kidnapper's boot sent the briefcase flying. Thirty million in cash scattered across the floor.
He pointed at me, then at the unconscious Camilla. "Not enough money. So you pick one to take home. The other stays."
Lorenzo stood among the bills, his face drained of color.
"I'm sorry. Camilla has a heart condition—she won't make it through the night here." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "You've always been the strong one. Once I get her to the hospital and pull together the rest of the ransom, I swear I'll come back for you."
The next second, Lorenzo gathered Camilla in his arms and walked out without a backward glance. The heavy iron door slammed shut with a boom that echoed through the space.
In the cavernous abandoned factory, it was just me and five thugs with brutal faces.
The leader dragged the flat of his blade across my cheek, his eyes dark with sick intent. "Well, well. Looks like your rich boyfriend just chose her over you. But hey, don't feel too bad, sweetheart—we're gonna keep you company."
Watching the twisted hunger in their eyes, I didn't scream or beg. I just glanced at the locked door. "Lorenzo's gone, right? Far enough away?"
"That p**y's probably halfway across the county by now." The leader grinned, reaching for my collar.
"Good." I let out a breath.
Snap.
The zip tie around my wrists gave way like thread. A massive shadow swallowed him whole.
In less than two seconds, a dragon nearly sixty feet long filled every inch of space.
I lowered my massive head, molten slitted eyes locked on the five frozen insects below.
Then I opened my fang-lined jaws and snapped them up one by one.

The agony of flesh being torn apart still burned in my memory.
But I had been reborn.
I tremblingly touched the face in the mirror. Whole, unmarked. Was this real?
Just moments ago I had been struggling on death's edge, and now I stood in an 18-year-old body. Everything felt too surreal.
The entire pack still thought I was that naive Elena, forever living in the shadow of my pureblood sister Sarah. They didn't know I had seen the darkest truth.
The door suddenly burst open, and Sarah walked in carrying a cup of hot tea.
"Elena, don't stress yourself." Her voice carried an air of superiority. "Given your... situation, the Moon Goddess would be more forgiving."
Looking at her flawless smile, I was nearly sick to my stomach. This face, this expression—I had witnessed it countless times in my past life.
"About fated mates and all..." Sarah gently stroked my shoulder. "It's not something you absolutely have to follow. If you find Alpha Lucas too domineering, choosing a gentler Alpha would be a good option too. I'll stand by you either way."
Stand by me? I nearly laughed out loud.
In my past life, I had been blinded by these very words. I had given up other opportunities and chosen my fated mate Alpha Lucas, only to become a tool to mask his true feelings.
The truth hadn't surfaced until Sarah's birthday celebration. When the rogue wolves' claws had targeted her, that man who had claimed to love me for years hadn't hesitated to push me toward the pack.
As I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, the wolf claws having torn deep gashes across my flesh, I watched Lucas cradling Sarah protectively while she clutched her belly in panic.
"Save Sarah! Quickly, save her! The child in her belly..." Lucas had immediately rushed her to the medical room.
No one had paid attention to me lying in a pool of blood. In everyone's eyes, only Sarah had mattered.
"It's all my fault," Sarah had said weakly. "If I hadn't gotten pregnant, Elena wouldn't have been lashing out in jealousy..."
What? She had actually claimed I was lashing out in jealousy?
"Elena, I'm sorry... I'll make it up to you in the next life." Lucas had given me one last look, his eyes full of guilt.
Next life?
You got me killed, and you still wanted me to give you a chance in the next life? Dream on!

When the debate is evenly matched, it's called discourse.
When you drag a socially anxious mess who can barely string together a coherent sentence onto the judgment platform of Ivy League elites—that's public execution.
My name is Scarlett Hayes. Ten minutes ago, if anyone had told me I'd be standing in a two-thousand-seat auditorium, pointing at Arthur—the nation's debate king—and shredding his logic to ribbons, I would've told them to see a shrink.
But right now, that sketchy pink energy shot I slammed down is surging through my bloodstream like molten adrenaline.
And that logic engine—the one that's been dead for twenty years, paralyzed by fear—just roared back to life.

On the eve of my mating ceremony, my twin sister and I were abducted by rogues.
My Alpha fiancé and my parents drained our territory's wealth, but only bought back my sister Elara's life.
Upon her safe return, Elara seamlessly took my place, claiming my marking ceremony to become his Luna.
Meanwhile, left to rot in the rogue camp, a wolfsbane-laced blade violently carved out my wolf's essence.
Tossed into the wilderness like rotting meat, stripped of my ability to shift and bear pups, I became the Crescent Pack's ultimate disgrace.
Forsaken by my pack, Silas—Alpha of the Obsidian Pack and my childhood friend—defied the Council’s fury. Under the Moon Goddess, he publicly marked me, sheltering me like an absolute treasure.
But now, in the third year of our bond, I accidentally knocked over a half-sealed Memory crystal in his study.
It projected a hidden dark magic ritual into mid-air, tearing the lie of that kidnapping to shreds in an instant.
In the projection, Silas held my sister's hand, his eyes brimming with a sickening devotion.
"Don't be afraid, Elara. Aria's twin essence is a perfect match. With this, you'll safely carry pups with the strongest Alpha bloodline."
A heartbeat later, Silas approached my blindfolded, bound body.
With zero mercy or numbing agents, he carved out my essence with his own hands, drowning out my agonizing howls.

Turns out, for five years, all Callum ever saw when he looked at me — the wolfless one — was a stain on his Alpha reputation.
Everyone knew he was about to marry Elvira, the pureblooded heiress of the Silverfang pack. The entire Blood Moon pack was already gearing up for their bonding ceremony.
My best friend Tessa, a Beta, fed them updates on my every move in their group chat, laughing along as I made healing broths for Callum like I was a joke to them.
They figured as long as they dangled my brother's medical care over my head, I'd swallow my pride and stay their dirty little secret forever.
Until the day Elvira decided to prove who was in charge, and threw my brother into a pit lined with silver spikes.
Watching Callum shield blood-soaked Elvira behind him, I didn't cry. I didn't scream.
I just pulled a knife and drove it into the bond mark on my neck.

A family traitor had me and my five-year-old son chained up in an abandoned shipyard.
C-4 was strapped to my boy’s chest.
With ten minutes left, the kidnapper delivered his ultimatum:
“Bring Alessandro here, or I’ll send you both home in body bags.”
I tried accessing my hidden accounts to hire an extraction team, but the passwords had been changed.
I offered everything I owned for our lives, only to learn that my husband had drained every account to pay off a beachfront estate—for another woman.
I bit my lip until I called him. More than a dozen times before he answered.
All I got was Alessandro’s cold laugh.
“You’d really fake a kidnapping for attention?”
“The helicopter isn’t coming. Vivian’s shaken up. I’m taking her to buy a new dress. I don’t have time for your theatrics.”
Vivian’s soft voice drifted through the phone.
“Sandro, the thunder… I’m scared.”
He hung up.
In the bomb’s angry red glow, something inside me went still.
I dragged my wrist across a jagged edge until it split, tore off my wedding ring, and dropped it into the blood pooling at my feet.
Alessandro. Your wife and son are done waiting.
Seconds later, the explosion tore the night apart.
Alessandro stumbled from his Maybach and fell to his knees before the flames, screaming himself hoarse.

When I took my last breath, my boyfriend of five years was busy pulling strings to get his new model fling a runway spot.
Nobody knew he used to be a desperate stray I bought out of a dark alley. It started as a three-year contract. I burned millions to pave his way into the fashion elite, handing him top-tier campaigns until he became a global supermodel.
I stayed his dirty little secret so nothing would ruin his shot at "Model of the Year." He swore going public would kill his career, yet he had no problem parading around with young starlets—and letting them humiliate me behind closed doors.
His newest fling even smugly played a recording of him mocking me: "She’s just an ATM for brand deals. How could an uptight, older control freak ever compete with you?"
That was when I finally accepted it: love bought with money is just a transaction.
So, holding my terminal diagnosis, I signed over the last of my assets and quietly bowed out of his glamorous life forever.
I just don't understand one thing: if he was so sick of me, why did he completely lose his mind when he saw my death certificate? Why did he throw away everything he'd built, tearing the world apart to find me like a feral, abandoned dog?

I shattered my knee in a blizzard getting our hockey captain Carter the wristguard he demanded.
Everyone on campus knew I was his desperate little errand girl. I told myself he was just testing my loyalty because the injury left him scared to let people in—until I stood outside the locker room and heard him say while the guys were losing their shit laughing:
"Luke's sister? Her brother destroyed my leg. She gets to be my punching bag. Fair trade."
"This weekend at the party, round thirteen—I'm dumping her in front of everyone and kicking her to the curb."
My hand found the paper in my pocket—my diagnosis from three years ago: permanent nerve damage, right hand. The souvenir I got from saving his life.
Suddenly the whole thing felt obscene.
If he wanted to play games so badly, I was more than happy to blow up his final round myself.

Two months after Derek Prescott blindsided me with a breakup, I ran into him at the Alpha Xi annual formal at St. Jude University.
I'd been about to leave when Blair Covington—his new girlfriend and daughter of a Winthrop Holdings executive—waved me over with a smile that promised trouble.
The table was mid-round of Truth or Dare, everyone half-drunk and looking for blood.
Derek raised his champagne flute with theatrical flair, his arm draped around Blair—apparently his golden ticket to finally belonging.
"The smartest thing I ever did in my last relationship? Cutting loose the dead weight—some townie girl who was only dragging me down. Now I'm with someone who actually understands what it means to have standards."
Snickers rippled around the table. Every set of eyes swiveled toward me—the nobody ex-girlfriend with no family name to drop.
I didn't flinch. Just rattled the ice in my glass and gestured lazily for the game to continue.
When it was finally my turn, someone threw out a loaded question, voice dripping with fake sweetness: "So Cordelia, did you ever hide anything from your ex?"
"Actually, yes." I met Derek's eyes without blinking.
"Oh? What was it?"
"I hid where I really come from." My voice was flat, bored. "My family's old money. Serious old money."

My husband's body moved over Celeste's, driving into her with brutal force.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning like she did for her three million followers—except this performance was just for him.
I was her assistant. Her best friend, supposedly. Which is how I knew her passcode.
Now I was wedged in the back of her bedroom closet, phone aimed through the gap in the slats, ready to catch the bastard in the act.
Then Celeste's moans ripped into a scream. The mattress lurched violently. Blood poured down the sheets in thick rivers.
Her head hit the floor. Rolled. Stopped right in front of the closet.
Those wide eyes met mine through the darkness.

Becky and I had been best friends since elementary school—inseparable until we both got into this top university and became roommates.
We used to lie in our dorm beds, staring at the ceiling, and swear an oath: when we got married, the gap between our weddings would never exceed one week.
I waited for Steven for four full years.
From freshman year to senior spring, I ghostwrote his papers, nursed his drunk stomach, and endured the rotating cast of girls who always seemed to need him.
Until the night Becky got proposed to—when the whole crowd egged Steven on to drop a knee too, he flung my hand away without a second thought, all because Claire, some sophomore, let out a shriek.
"Not now, Rachel. Claire's hurt. Can you not make this about you for once?"
That was all he left me with before he scooped her up and melted into the crowd.
What he didn't know was that there would never be a "not now" again.
In seven days, I'd be walking down the aisle in a wedding dress, just as promised.
Only the groom—wouldn't be him.

I died on the barren wasteland in a raging blizzard.
Before my death, many from the pack came to say goodbye.
Even Seraphina, my lifelong rival, came.
Only Kael, my Alpha mate of five years, was absent.
He was with that rogue Jennifer, watching the moon's reflection in Silver Moon Falls.
In my final moments, I received his mind-link.
"When the Moon Goddess guided me to find you as my fated mate, you were just a Beta. To inherit the Alpha position, I had no choice but to choose you. All these years I've been giving you suppressants, forbidding you from getting pregnant, and you agreed to it all. You've been a competent Luna."
"If there's a next life, I'll still choose you. In this life, rest in peace. I'll personally arrange your funeral."
Sensing this mind-link, my rival Seraphina sneered mockingly: "Karolyn, you really weren't cut out to be a Luna."
"In the next life, don't compete with me anymore."
Her words proved prophetic. When I opened my eyes again, we had both returned to the day of the Darkwood family's mate selection ceremony.
Kael said coldly: "Karolyn, the Moon Goddess has chosen you as my fated mate. You will be Darkwood's Luna."
Without hesitation, I stepped back and pointed to Seraphina.
"I think the Luna position is better suited for Seraphina."

In that luxury cruise ship fire that shocked the world, my husband Gordon Mercer—the ship's captain—pried open my bloodied fingers and fastened the last intact life vest onto his first love.
In my past life, he locked me inside the blazing cabin. First, the flames devoured me. Then, as the ship broke apart, the icy ocean swallowed me whole. I drowned in the depths.
When I opened my eyes again, I'd returned to that life-or-death moment—the ship about to sink, alarms tearing through the night.
Watching Gordon clutch that trembling woman in his arms, I didn't break down sobbing like before. I didn't beg.
Instead, I laughed coldly and threw the life vest at their feet.
"Since you two are so desperate to die together, go right ahead."