3203 Book(s) Related to MY ONLY LOVE

[WARNING: this story contains scenes that turn from fuzzy to spicy hot without warning.]
Powerful magic runs in Aeon’s blood. She whispers in the air, and the universe responds. But in a land where magic is forbidden and painfully suppressed by the ruling Lycaons, she must toe the line and live as best she could without wielding it. Her life takes a dramatic turn when she saves Diego, a man in the brink of death, floating in the marshes. She falls for him, he falls for her, but her ever-after twists and shoves her into the dark arena of the Alpha King’s harem. Her forced submission turns into hot romance once Alexander, the Alpha King, marks her as his mate. And as the tenderness between them grows, so did her belly.
So, who’s the father? Aeon is unsure. But Alexander claims it, and the Queen Mother wants her out of the Alpha King’s life once she gives birth to the royal heir. Aeon won’t allow it. She has given everything she’s got, but no one shall take her baby from her. She runs for the hills. She escapes the Queen Mother’s troops through rain and mud and muck, only to be captured by rogue rebels in the woods.
Relief washes over her as she discovers Diego is their leader, but the look of disdain in his eyes unnerves her, as he stares at the baby bump under what’s left of her dress.
“Pregnant with the Alpha King’s Heir” explores themes of self-discovery, the power of love, and the indomitable spirit of those who dare to challenge the status quo. Through Aeon’s journey, readers witness her transformation from a fearful young woman constrained by society to a formidable force for change, determined to reclaim her freedom and the man she loves, and create a better world for her child.

In my past life, I personally dug up two alien meteorites, handing the blue one that granted "Frost Mastery" to my childhood friend, Mike. He repaid me by sealing me inside an ice wall, cursing me to "die like a piece of trash" in the minus 70-degree blizzard.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the initial blast site.
This time, I didn't even spare him a glance; I stuffed both meteorites into my pocket.
I transformed a missile silo into a doomsday bunker, brought my parents inside, and stockpiled ten years' worth of supplies.
When Mike arrived with a gang of thugs to smash my door down, I stood in the warm command center, watching half his face rot with frostbite on the monitor.
I didn't open the door.
This time, I am sending back the despair of my past life tenfold.

At the Morello family’s Christmas dinner, I stood beside Vincent, waiting for him to announce our engagement.
Instead, in the very next second, he walked in holding a little boy and claimed him as his son.
And the woman he said he was going to marry? Scarlett Morello. The one he had always introduced as his “sister.”
The whole room erupted in applause. I stood there frozen, like a nail hammered into the floor.
Later, in his study, he took my hand and said, “Scarlett is dying. Late-stage breast cancer. She only has six months left. After she’s gone, I’ll marry you.”
But there was no guilt in his eyes. No love, either.
Then he told me to go to his villa that afternoon, to take care of the woman who was supposedly “dying.”
I opened the photo he sent me. Scarlett was lying in a hospital bed, pale-faced, an IV in the back of her hand.
A professional tennis player who had been playing in an exhibition match three weeks ago, and who had dropped three grand at Louis Vuitton on Fifth Avenue just five days ago.
But sure. She was “dying.”
At three in the morning, I was curled up by the front door of my apartment, crying so long I lost track of time.
Then my phone lit up. A text from an unknown number:
[Elena, I’m downstairs. When we were kids, you told me that once I controlled the docks on the East Coast, you’d marry me. The docks are mine now. Does that promise still stand?]
I pulled back the curtain and there he was. Ethan Vitale, my first love, leaning against the door of a black Cadillac, lifting a hand in a lazy wave.
Three years ago, when he left New York, he was only a Capo.
Now, he was the Don of the Vitale family.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t pressure me to come downstairs.
He came for one reason only, to let me know he was back.
I wiped away my tears and texted back:
[It still stands.]
Because I wanted to see for myself just how long that woman could keep up her act.