156 Book(s) Related to melinda owens

I loved Dominic for seven years, believing we were meant to be—until the day I watched him strip my name off the emergency protocol I'd worked myself to the bone on and replace it with his mistress's.
He looked down at me with that condescending stare and said, "Evelyn, you're my wife. Helping me out is just what you do. Don't make such a big deal about whose name is on it."
In that moment, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just stared at him—at that smug, self-righteous expression—and felt nothing but disgust.
He thought deleting my name would make my work hers. But he forgot one crucial detail: I built that system from the ground up.
The code doesn't lie.
When I stood on stage at the National Aviation Safety Conference and pulled up the digital trail he couldn't delete—every timestamp, every commit, every single keystroke—the look on his face was priceless.
That's when he finally understood: my parting words—"I will destroy you both"—were never just an empty threat.

"Sandra, we're a modern couple. Keeping our finances separate is the greatest respect I can show you."
Seven years into our marriage, my husband Howard Mercer had taken "fifty-fifty" to its absolute extreme.
The mortgage was split down the middle. Utility bills were calculated to the penny.
Even for our six-year-old daughter Anna's birthday cake, he'd remind me to Venmo him forty dollars right after paying at the register.
I used to think he'd just brought his Wall Street spreadsheets home with him.
Then Anna had an asthma attack and ended up in the ER, and after that first exchange, he gave me the silent treatment for three days over the ER bill.
That's when I caught a glimpse of the credit card statement he'd been hiding.
Twenty thousand dollars. A private helicopter. A ski trip to Aspen.
All for another woman. And her son.
So he wasn't broke. And he wasn't incapable of love. He'd just been spending it all on someone else.
In that moment, I didn't shed a single tear.
If he wanted to run our marriage like a business, fine. I'd play along, right up until I bled him dry.

The day the promotion list went public, a photo popped up in the company's all-staff Slack channel.
In the photo, my profile nearly overlapped with a scantily dressed girl, the background a dimly lit Manhattan nightclub.
Immediately after, Brad added a caption:
[No wonder Harper landed Richard's M&A deal. Last night's 'overtime' must have been rough, huh?]
Less than ten seconds after he sent it, the message still hung there in the channel. No retraction.
The chat that had just been flooding with "congrats Harper" messages went dead silent.
In my past life, my head buzzed. I thought no one would take such a cheap joke seriously.
But within two days, the company's internal anonymous forum exploded with accusations, complete with photos and "proof."
They said I slept with clients to win the merger deal. That I secured my full-time offer by sleeping my way up. That my personal life was a mess, that I was trash.
My mother collapsed from a heart attack when she heard. She never woke up.
Later, my promotion was revoked. HR suspended me for "damaging company reputation."
I was slut-shamed, radioactive across the entire finance industry — no firm on the Street would touch me.
Within a month, I spiraled from depression to sleepless nights, and finally jumped from the rooftop of my Brooklyn apartment.
Before I lost consciousness, my phone was still buzzing.
"Did they fire her yet? People like that don't belong on Wall Street."
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the blinking Slack messages on my screen.

I downloaded a mysterious app that promised to "silence noisy neighbors for good." 
With one tap, I became the 48th and final voter—and the raging party upstairs went dead quiet.
Three days later, detectives told me the family upstairs had died in perfect silence.
And they found a sonic weapon hidden in my bedroom, registered only to me.
Outside the interrogation room, my neighbors watched me with knowing smiles. 
"Welcome to the jury," one whispered. "Your vote made it unanimous."
Now a new trial has begun on the app. A red number glows over my apartment.
This time, I'm the one being judged.

"Let me mark you as mine." He says rubbing his fangs on my neck.
“I want everyone to see and smell that you are mine and that if someone dares to get close to you, he will suffer in unimaginable ways.”
I decided that my future is at his side so there is nothing that prevents me from letting him mark me as his and the truth is what I want the most.
“Do it,” I say barely in a whisper.

After our lands were attacked by a group of vampires, taking us by surprise and leaving everything in ruins. My father as Alpha of our community, asked for help from the Loone Moon community and their Alpha.

Dalton Black.

At only 18 years old I met my life partner, the other part of my being, the one who would protect me forever.

My mate.

A/N: Just a simple easy to read sweet story, no bully, no hurt, and you will also find a vampire Rowan will appear in the latter plot who is obsessed with Blair, but Blair and Dalton never doubt their love for each other.

He is a boastful, conceited, rough, abusive, unromantic, arrogant boxer.
And she is pure calm, pure tenderness, organized, respectful, intelligent, hardworking, with very high aspirations, but with the perfect character to put anyone in their place.
Their lives collide unexpectedly, and everything spirals out of control. What are you waiting for to find out what will happen between these two?