294 Book(s) Related to noh kyungchan

The multi-million-dollar deal I worked my ass off to win back was handed over by my boss to a clueless new hire who could barely even read the material codes. And that same rookie had the nerve to mock me in public, saying I was nothing but his errand girl.
My boss went even further, tore up every rule in the book, and shoved a termination agreement right at me.
I didn't argue. I didn't make a scene. I took the severance and walked away.
Because I knew one thing better than anyone: without me, they wouldn't even make it through the manufacturers' front doors.
Sure enough, just days after I left, the entire supply chain fell apart, and the company's cash flow completely collapsed.
And when they started scrambling in desperation, running all over New York begging investment executives to save them, they walked straight onto my mother's turf.

I'm the forgotten eldest son of the Cross family.
My parents see me as a walking blood bag for my brother Colin, while my wife views me as a sinner destined to spend my life atoning for my mistakes.
When Audrey pressured me to donate a kidney, I agreed.
Not only did I agree, but I also liquidated all my assets and transferred them to my lab.
They thought I was foolish, that I was still begging for their love.
In reality, I was just tying up loose ends.
The night before the surgery, I coughed up a pool of blood.
Audrey laughed coldly over the phone: "Stop the act, Evan. You just want to dodge responsibility. You'll go to any lengths for attention."
The surgery was a "success."
Colin got the kidney he'd always dreamed of.
And I died in the recovery room.
My soul floated in the air as I watched Audrey push open the hospital door, wearing a smile that dripped with pity, ready to put on a show of "redemption."
"Evan, I know you've been wronged. Let's start over..."
The only response to her was the white sheet covering my lifeless body.

After being brought home by my biological parents, I thought I'd finally get the love I'd been missing.

But no matter what I did, they only blamed me for bullying my adopted sister. My husband would just look at me with disgust.

They thought I was cruel and evil. When my adopted sister was diagnosed with leukemia, they forced me to donate bone marrow to her.

I was forced to eat and exercise, gaining twenty pounds in half a month.

My adopted sister suddenly looked at me and said, "Sis, to tell you the truth, I don't have leukemia at all. I'm just playing with you. When you die on the operating table, I'll be with your husband."

I felt so sick I wanted to die.

But I couldn't die.

I had to survive.

I had to crawl out of this hell alive!

My mother stared at my body, fused to the sofa, and waited forty minutes before calling 911.
She cheerfully told my father the news, deciding they should celebrate with a nice dinner.
Of course.
After all, they could finally be rid of the burden I’d become—no more tormenting me, no more keeping me locked away.
They could go back to being the respectable parents everyone thought they were.
But—
Someone was bound to see the truth.

After months of being bullied at school, things got even worse—the bullies said they wanted to come to my house.
Wanted to see what kind of family a "dog" like me came from.
I begged them, sobbing, not to do it.
Because my dad is a serial killer. My mom is a twisted murderer. And my brother is a full-blown psychopath.
If they come to my house, they will die.

On the day the apocalyptic flood swallowed the city, I died on a fractured overpass.

The man who crushed my fingers under his boot was my brother-in-law, the very man I had sacrificed everything to support. And standing safely out of reach, watching coldly as the muddy torrent swallowed me whole, was my supposedly sweet and devoted fiancée. In her arms, she fiercely clutched her "son"—who was hoarding the last of my survival rations.

In the very last second of my life, she nestled into the arms of her ex-boyfriend and left me with a single, contemptuous sneer: "Let's go. Forget about this useless trash."

It turned out that working my fingers to the bone and emptying my life savings had all been a pathetic joke—a long con orchestrated by a pack of bloodsucking parasites.

But when I opened my eyes again, I had returned to exactly one year before the apocalypse began.

My fiancée was standing there, holding a cup of hot coffee and sweetly begging me to invest another million into her brother's business.

I just smiled, gently pushed her hand away, and turned around to liquidate every single asset to my name. With that money, I secretly constructed a state-of-the-art, deep-sea underground fortress.

Later, when the monstrous floodwaters inevitably tore the city apart, they stood on the balcony of their doomed mansion, desperately falling to their knees and begging my icebreaker for salvation.

Sitting inside my perfectly secure command cabin, I took a leisurely sip of hot coffee and softly gave the order:

"Open fire. Don't let this trash dirty my deck."

On the eve of the apocalypse, magical beasts appeared in our world.
They possessed extraordinary abilities, and humans could master these powers by forming a contract with them.
In my previous life, my adopted brother chose a top-tier Wolf King pup.
But shortly after, the extreme heat apocalypse descended. The low-tier water snake I had contracted possessed the ability to conjure water and lower temperatures, inadvertently making me the envy of everyone.
Meanwhile, my brother’s Wolf King was universally despised for its excruciatingly slow growth and lack of immediate combat power.

Now, I have been reborn to the very day we chose our contracted beasts.
This time, my brother rushed ahead and snatched the water snake.
I know why.
He has been reborn, too.
But this apocalypse is not nearly as simple as he thinks!

My boyfriend's mistress deliberately gave me a strawberry cake that I'm allergic to.
After I went into anaphylactic shock and had a miscarriage, I knew it was all over.
But when I left it all behind and went back to my hometown, he showed up at my door telling me to quit throwing a fit, that he still loved me.
This kind of love full of betrayal?
I don't want it.

For seven years of marriage, I don't dare make a sound around my husband.
All because he can hear everyone's voices—everyone's except mine. He says he's allergic to mine.
I've tried everything to change my voice—even had vocal cord surgery.
But no matter how hard I tried—every time he'd just cover his ears like I was hurting him.
I've cried myself to sleep so many times, feeling guilty.
Until our son's birthday.
Standing by our front door, our little boy grinned up at his dad and asked, "Dad, can I pretend to be allergic to mom's voice too? Just like you?"

After eight years together, my fiancé gave all his affection to the innocent-acting sneaky babysitter at home. Even when I was on the brink of losing my baby, he was busy helping her fulfill her wish to watch shooting stars.
I didn't cry or make a scene; I calmly finished the property notarization, sold my expensive engagement ring, and switched jobs to a top investment bank.
By the time he was frantically searching for me everywhere, I was safely in the arms of a business mogul who had secretly loved me for twenty years. "Late love is cheaper than dirt; your karma is just beginning."

Our female coach was a gorgeous, curvy young married woman.

Fair-skinned and stunning, with a figure that turned heads.

When she ran, her proud fullness bounced with every step.

We could hardly keep our eyes off her.

But one day, her beauty became a weapon that could kill…

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’m Emily, a criminal investigator in Emerald City. After a vice crackdown, I refused a transfer—only to realize someone was tailing me on my way home at night…

A young couple recently moved in right across the hall from us.
The husband, Richard, works as an auditor at City Hall. His wife, Chloe, is the morning show host for a local TV network.
Chloe is about five-foot-three, with curves in all the right places. Her entire being radiates an unignorable, mature housewife charm—she is absolutely gorgeous.
Richard is a serious whiskey enthusiast and often invites me over to the patio for a couple of drinks, so our families quickly grew close. My wife, Sarah, and Chloe, in particular, became like sisters the moment they started talking about Sephora's new releases and luxury bags. They could easily gossip for an entire weekend.
And that... gave me an opportunity.

My grandfather was a thief.

He did not steal money.

He stole my grandmother's name, her return papers, and the life that should have carried her out of the mountains.

Fifty years later, his granddaughter sat across from me in a law firm interview and smiled like the world already belonged to her.

I opened her file, saw the family name, and closed the folder.

"You didn't pass."

Clara Whitman-Harlan had been called graceful because no one had ever seen what it cost her to stay quiet. For ten years, she made Grant Harlan look like a man who had built an empire by discipline and vision. She hosted the dinners, calmed the vendors, moved money before payroll became a headline, and remembered which investor had a daughter with asthma and which supplier hated lilies. She kept every thank-you note, every invoice, and every awkward receipt that proved the Harlan fortune had not grown from Grant's charm alone.

Then a pregnant employee appeared in his calendar. Grant denied the affair. His mother blamed Clara for the child she had never had. The other woman smiled like innocence in a white dress. At a charity gala packed with donors, suppliers, family friends, and investors, they prepared a family trust for Clara to sign, supposedly for an unborn baby, quietly designed to transfer Clara's homes, dividends, and company rights into another woman's hands. They thought Clara would protect their name one last time. They forgot she had spent a decade protecting herself.

t the most expensive medical charity gala in Manhattan, Avery Hale came in through the service corridor because she hated cameras. She wore a black dress without a label, carried her own coat, and kept her name off every donor wall.

That was the point. For seven years, Avery had hidden the money she made from film scores and documentary royalties inside an anonymous foundation that paid for surgeries, trials, and second chances for children whose families had run out of all three. She had built Second Dawn quietly because quiet was the one thing her old family had never been able to take from her.

Then the Mercers saw her.

The parents who had adopted her and discarded her. The golden son they had asked her to fund, praise, and disappear for. The family that once called her selfish for wanting college now called her a fraud for standing in a room she had paid to build.

They thought Avery had slipped into the gala to beg. They thought the powerful man watching from the edge of the ballroom was only another rich stranger. They thought public shame would make her small again.

They were wrong about every part of her.

Married for seven years, I lived my life like an absolute joke.
For the sake of my brother, my wife personally uprooted the roses I had so painstakingly cultivated. To please her uncle, my daughter pointed at my nose and called me a "bad daddy."
The entire family even held a vote to force me to donate my bone marrow. My wife, Elena, raised her hand without a second thought: "You'll just lose a little bone marrow. Liam will die without you."
In that moment, my heart died.
The surgery was a success.
As the anesthesia wore off, Elena was holding my hand tightly. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her voice trembled with remorse: "Aaron, I was a jerk before. As long as you were willing to save Liam, I will love only you for the rest of my life."
She thought I would be as pathetically grateful as a dog, begging for her affection and humbly forgiving her.
But I merely frowned in disgust and pulled my hand back as if shaking off garbage.
In the dead silence, I looked at this tearful woman before me and asked, politely yet confused:
"Excuse me, ma'am... who are you?"

"What the hell, it even has haptic vibration feedback? Are they seriously making these things this realistic now?"

Taking advantage of my roommate being out on a sales call, I tossed this ridiculously expensive "high-end realistic doll" onto my bed.

Watching her body tremble slightly, almost uncontrollably, the twisted fire in my gut burned even hotter.

"Baby, here I come!"

At the company's annual client appreciation dinner, I was the one in charge of booking the venue.
To save the company money, I picked my aunt's upscale restaurant with a skyline view. Since we were family, she only charged us at cost. When I posted the details in our Slack channel to confirm with the team, no one had any objections—except for the intern, who slowly tagged me in the chat:
[Arthur, I don't mean anything by it.]
[I just want to ask—how big a kickback did you get for booking your family's restaurant?]
[After all, the money for this dinner is coming out of our bonus pool.]
[So you should return that money to the rest of us, right?]
The other coworkers started liking the message and chiming in to support him.
So I dropped the whole thing on the spot and handed the task over to that intern, who loved talking about "fixing workplace injustice."
Then the night of the dinner came.
From the CEO all the way down to the investors, everyone was pinned on the deck and searched by armed Coast Guard officers.
The most important client contact collapsed from a heart attack on the spot and was airlifted by helicopter straight to the ICU, costing the company a multimillion-dollar enterprise cybersecurity contract.

I am the nameless corpse dumped in an alley, left without a head or limbs.
My mother is the lead detective on the case.
She stood outside the crime scene tape, pinching her nose in disgust. "Another street rat who got what she deserved. Just like my own useless daughter—always out running wild."
I hovered above, watching her step over my mutilated body, cooing gently into the phone with my stepsister—while the last call I made to her for help, the night I died, went unanswered.
Not until the medical examiner pried the bloodstained birthday necklace from my stiff fingers.
Not until forensics restored the audio file on my phone, and my final desperate plea echoed out: "Mom, help me..."
Only then did Detective Sarah—Chicago's coldest cop—collapse in front of that pile of "trash," her wail of grief tearing through the night.

For seven years of marriage, I've been silent in front of my wife.
It's not that I don't have anything to say; it's just that she can hear everyone's voice—except mine, which seems to trigger her sensitivity.
I've tried everything to change my voice, even going under the knife to fix my vocal cords.
But no matter how hard I try, she just ends up in pain, covering her ears.
I've broken down countless times, feeling like I've let her down.
Until the day of our daughter's birthday.
My daughter stood at the front door, grinning, and said, "Mom, can I pretend to be voice-sensitive like you?"

The year I loved Edward the most, I was envied by everyone in Copper Valley.
They called me the priceless treasure in the palms of my father and my husband.
I was the most precious pregnant woman in the whole Copper Valley.
But before Christmas, when I went to give my husband a surprise, I saw him kissing the cheek of Angela, the daughter of my father's lover.
His friends praised his high-handed means, athat he could actually persuade me to have a fake marriage with him.
"Fake marriage?" I frowned.
Edward told them, "Lucy has everything. Angela has been a bastard for more than twenty years. I should compensate."
I left the club in despair and then replied to the mysterious text message on my phone.
[I can accept you as the nominal father of my child.]

Reunited, I became the “perfect wife” Julian had always dreamed of.
I didn’t ask where he was when he didn’t come home.
When his “one that got away” came to our door to provoke me, I greeted her with a polite smile.
I even caught them in the act, and instead of screaming, I thoughtfully closed the door for them.
The Elara who used to break down in hysterics over his infidelity was dead.

The woman standing here now was nothing more than a shell, existing solely for her daughter.
Finally, Julian began to panic. He knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to curse him, begging me to still love him—or even hate him.
But as I looked down at him, I didn’t just feel nothing. I felt sick.
"Julian, I don't hate you."
I just find every second spent with you utterly disgusting.

My first love was adopted by our family, and he promised he would always be there for me.
But after my dad passed away in a car accident, I found him with another woman in our bedroom.
He told everyone Caroline was his true love—that he only saw me as a sister—and claimed I was the one who was pestering him.
I was shamed by everyone. The stress gave my mother a stroke, and Caroline even had someone run me over, costing me an eye.
Seven years later, holding flowers, I ran into them outside a convenience store.
Arthur's son looked at me pityingly. "Dad, this lady lost an eye… Is she selling flowers? Should we buy some?"

I am the youngest Don of the Obsidian Family.
After an unexpected rest, my opponent sent me a street racing invitation.
I went to my brother's company to retrieve my car, but was drugged with ether by my brother's secretary.
She told me that no one could seduce her man.
She kicked my stomach, threatened me with a paper cutter to make a vow, and said her future sister-in-law is the youngest Don of the Obsidian Family—if I dared to retaliate against her, I would die miserably.
I looked at her coldly.
Really?
But I haven't agreed to be your sister-in-law yet!

"Mmm... Tyler... I can't take it anymore..."

My wife's sexy best friend panted heavily in my private training room, her previous tough talk completely gone.

"Giving up already? We haven't even started." I grabbed her tiny waist, flipped her over, and pushed her back into the set. "Again. We're nowhere near done."

Seven years ago, Mara Vale signed a confession for the man she loved.

Grant Mercer promised it was the only way to save their future. He said the hit-and-run was an accident, that his family would hire the best lawyer, that she would be home before their baby learned to walk. Instead, Mara gave birth in prison, lost her son to Grant's polished lies, and watched him build a new life on the story of being ruined by a criminal ex-fiancee.

Now Mara is free, broke, and trained in the one craft no one in Grant's glittering world respects until they need it: the restoration of damaged photographs, burned paper, and things people thought were too ruined to speak.

When Grant's wealthy new wife hires Mara to save the Hart family archives, Mara steps into a house built on reputation, money, and locked boxes. Inside those boxes are old newspapers, altered confessions, receipts, signatures, and ashes that remember the truth better than any person dared to.

Grant stole Mara's name, her son, and seven years of her life. He is about to learn that some things cannot return to what they were, but they can still be restored.

Seven years of marriage, and I was nothing but a joke.
My husband destroyed the roses I'd spent years nurturing—just to please my sister. My son, desperate for his aunt's approval, pointed at me and called me a "bad mom."
One day, the whole family took a vote to force me into donating bone marrow. Ethan, my husband, didn't hesitate. He raised his hand and said, "Erin, it's just a little bone marrow. Leah will die without you."
That was the moment my heart broke.
The surgery was a success.
When the anesthesia wore off, Ethan was gripping my hand tightly, eyes bloodshot, voice trembling with remorse. "Erin, I was a fool before. If you save Leah, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life loving only you."
He thought I'd grovel, grateful like a dog, desperate for his forgiveness.
But I just frowned in disgust and pulled my hand away as if shaking off trash.
In the dead silence, I looked at the tear-streaked man before me and asked, polite and confused:
"Sir... who are you?"

At the school's field day, my six-year-old son pointed straight at me and shouted for everyone to hear, "I'd rather be alone than with her! She's the worst mom in the world!"
He hated that I couldn't afford expensive toys, hated that we lived in a tiny apartment, hated that I was just a useless woman.
Then he turned and ran straight into the arms of the woman who destroyed my family, calling her name in the sweetest voice, just because she handed him an ice cream.
My ex-husband leaned against his luxury car, sneering, "Nora, if you admit you were wrong, I'll let you come back. We can get married again."
Looking at their smug faces, I finally let go of the hands I'd been gripping tightly for four years.
"All right," I said, smiling as I signed away custody, "Since you two love each other so much, I hope you and your perfect little family enjoy every minute together."
They thought I was playing hard to get, but they had no idea—this time, I really meant it.

"Hey, easy on the thrusts, I can barely stand."

Inside a top-tier nightclub in Los Angeles, the heavy bass was making the floorboards vibrate. I took advantage of the crowd and pressed tightly against the girl in front of me.

She was wearing a strapless, tight little black dress, her hands waving in the air, her perfectly shaped ass shaking wildly to the beat.

God help me, she was completely commando under that dress!

What excited me even more was that she didn't reject my advances at all; instead, she started actively accommodating them.

My buddy Ron had been a miserable wreck for days, whining about how some young girl had scammed him out of his cash.
After pressing him for details, I found out the girl worked at a massage therapy parlor.
Fired up with the idea of getting some payback for my brother, I headed over to this "blind massage" joint...
Only to find myself tumbling headfirst into the very same honey trap.

“Jaden Skye creates a set of characters that are very well developed, and makes you cheer for our heroine on every page. The environment and the overall description of scenes are superb, making you feel the suspense in the air the whole time.”--Books and Movie Reviews (Roberto Mattos) (re No Place to Die)NO PLACE FOR MARRIAGE is book #4 in a new romantic suspense series by #1 bestselling author Jaden Skye, which begins with Book #1, NO PLACE TO DIE, a free download!When Tyron Barr, a rich, old tycoon confined to a wheelchair, is found dead at the bottom of his staircase, his stunning 32 year old wife is immediately suspect. But she protests her innocence—and calls Olivia and Wayne in to prove it.In a world where nothing is as it seems, a world of incredible wealth and charm, of intense greed and jealousy, loneliness and secrets, Olivia discovers, lurk behind the scenes. Perhaps just enough to murder someone.Is the young wife playing Olivia? Or did someone else want him dead?NO PLACE FOR MARRIAGE is book #4 in an explosive new romantic suspense series filled with love, tragedy, heartbreak, betrayal and suspense, one that will leave you turning pages late into the night. Book #5 will be released soon.Jaden is also author of the #1 Bestselling series MURDER IN THE CARIBBEAN, which begins with DEATH BY HONEYMOON (Book #1), a free download with over 200 five star reviews!

Born in the slums, Wendy was heartlessly dumped by her self made boyfriend.
"You're not good enough for me."
She sneered, smashed his Ferrari, then climbed into a limited edition hypercar and drove away.
What her ex never knew was that the "burden" he abandoned was the one who made him successful.
Then her birth mother, who had abandoned her years ago, suddenly returned and demanded that Wendy go home and marry in place of her disabled sister.
Wendy smiled.
"Fine. If you all want me back so badly, I'll come home. And I'll repay every single one of you."

My brother and my fiancée forged evidence of my crimes. They claimed I was guilty of corruption, bribery, and betraying the family—that I was a traitor to the nation. If not for their "mercy," they said, I would have already been sentenced to death.

But that wasn't enough. Three years later, when Father lay dying, my brother and fiancée threw me into the Gulf of Mexico, all to eliminate any chance I might have of competing for the family inheritance.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to three years ago—to the moment they framed me for treason...

Five years into my marriage, I took off my Donna necklace at the Rossi family’s New Year’s Eve banquet and Noah still thought I could never leave him.
He stood by the long table with his mistress, Amelia, and said in front of every capo, “Some people will never measure up to her. Not even close.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I just turned and walked away. On my way out, my cousin Lucas, my fixer, handed me a cup of coffee.
Three days later, he brought me two pieces of news.
Amelia was four months pregnant. And Noah was trading family territory to get his bastard child recognized by the family.
“What are you going to do?” Lucas asked.
I stared out the window, thinking about the red lipstick stain on Noah’s shirt. Thinking about the smug look in his eyes when he told me, “I only helped her because I felt sorry for her.”
“Wait,” I said. “Wait until they think they’ve won.”
What Noah didn’t know was I was still holding one last trump card.

My husband Michael's father and my own father shared the same name—Robert. His was Robert Carter; mine, Robert Smith. I once thought it a sweet coincidence, until that 3 AM phone call turned this quirk of fate into a living nightmare.
The nursing home called to say Robert Carter had died, but when Michael returned from his business trip, he assumed it was my father who had passed. "Old Robert's finally gone," he smirked. "Should've moved him to the cheaper nursing home ages ago." Can you believe it? His own father—the man who'd left him an inheritance—and there he was, helping his medical intern mistress cover up malpractice, dismissing the death as "just some useless old man."
He has no idea he's protecting his father's killer. No clue I've seen through his cold-bloodedness all along.
I wonder, when the truth finally hits him, how will this absurd tragedy end?

Desperate to fulfil her dream of visiting Norway, Daphne agrees to marry the wealthy, smoking-hot Blake Kent Hernandez II—BK—a man she met on a dating app. The catch? She must marry him to reach her destination. Love has nothing to do with it.

They marry, but their relationship is strictly business—until sparks begin to fly.

For BK, the marriage is a perfect arrangement. He’s free to do as he pleases and date anyone he desires—their arrangement is clear: no meddling with each other's lives, no strings attached.

But as time passes, everything changes. BK’s emotions get tangled up in unexpected desire and a growing attachment. What he doesn’t know is that Daphne has slowly become someone he can’t live without.

But what will he do when he wakes up to find Daphne has given up on their marriage? Can he truly let her walk away? And most importantly, can BK save a marriage he never saw coming?

When Amelia Pierce finally admits her marriage is a gilded cage, one shattered glass and a chilling vow—I’ll never divorce you—send her straight into the orbit of Bryson Hearst: her new boss, her oldest secret, and the man who quietly bought a ring for her six years ago and locked it in his safe.

In a world of penthouse boardrooms and whispered scandal, Bryson is the kind of dangerous that feels like safety. He moves her into protection, runs her a jasmine-scented bath instead of crossing a line, and promises to destroy her husband in the daylight and worship her in the dark. But Amelia’s freedom has a price: West Coast deals that turn volatile, an ex-assistant with receipts and a grudge, and a powerful family that believes Pierce women never leave.

As a covert investigation exposes more than a cover-up, and a storage unit full of sins, Amelia signs away every claim to her husband’s fortune—she doesn’t want his money, only her life back. The clock is ticking: four weeks to a court date, four weeks of stolen mornings and velvet-box confessions, four weeks for a man who has loved her from afar to prove he can love her up close without touching her until she’s free.

Lush, addictive, and breathless with restraint, More Than I Knew is a high-heat, high-stakes contemporary romance where consent is the sexiest power move, protection reads like possession, and a woman chooses herself—then the man who’s been choosing her all along.

What seems like another lifetime ago, I was a chubby, wolfless teenager in a pack. But things have changed, my wolf has revealed itself, I have been trained to be a warrior. Forced to return to the largest pack in the United States, The Lunar Pack, I intend to show its inhabitants the new me.
Without forgetting its three alphas, which directs it and which made me undergo a true hell, younger. Caleb, Finn and Theo should be careful because Elena is back and she is not the same as they once knew.

How would you react if you tried to catch your husband in the office wearing nothing but lingerie under your trench coat and found him balls-deep in his colleague?
For Isabella, this is the last straw. After years of being belittled and ignored, she decides to end her marriage.
And she certainly didn't think that when she went to celebrate her divorce she'd meet three men who would change her fate forever and introduce her to pleasures she'd never tasted.
Asher, Jax and Know, three alpha males, heirs to the last werewolf king, will do anything to keep their future queen by their side.
And when I say anything, I really mean... anything. »

“I want you. I want all of you Noah and I want you to mark me.”
He kisses me immediately. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been so sure in my life.”
He kisses me again, then stands up and takes off his trousers and boxers at the same time.
Oh boy, but it’s huge and standing at attention. He leans over me again “If you want me to stop you tell me and I’ll stop.” I nod.
He entered me very slowly and stayed still for a while, allowing my body to get used to his size. He started to move slowly and then gradually increased the pace.
“You’re so fucking tight” he growled.
“Noah don’t stop! Oh my God.” I could feel my orgasm approaching. Noah was coming harder and faster “I’ll never stop. Cum for me baby.”

Amelia is a 21 year old human who has just graduated from university. Her destiny will change when she meets the Alpha Noah. When she met the Greek god like Alpha, when they locked eyes and it was like he can read right through her soul, will her preserved virginity for 21 years be taken away by him in the flames of his love? And after going all this, will she have the courage to face her mother's long-hidden secret?

“I..I’m...” I can’t form sentences but the message is getting through. They both lower themselves as my orgasm shakes me. On either side of my neck I feel their teeth pierce my skin but the pain soon gives way to pleasure, prolonging my orgasm.

Without warning, Adam swears and cums in my mouth as Austin fills me with his seed.

I feel full and not just physically, I feel like I have been given back a part of myself that I had missed. The three of us lie down, me in the middle, with a feeling of fullness that I have never felt.


What would you do if you were told you had two mates? Two completely different alpha males that you are terribly attracted to. They want you to choose but you only dream of one thing... keeping them both.
That's the situation Aria, a young graduate, finds her world turned upside down when she learns that her best friend and roommate is actually a werewolf and has two mates.
Will she be able to choose between Austin and Adam or will she end up keeping them both?