4116 Book(s) Related to please get out of my house gl

At the engagement banquet, I was publicly jilted, publicly humiliated by the vampire viscount, and regarded as a worthless nobody. Everyone thought I was at their mercy.
Little did they know that beneath my cheap suit lay the holy mark of the chief arbiter who had defected from the Vatican .
The moment the holy light appeared, the darkness trembled.

My little sister and I each bear a Heart-Seed Mark etched into our chests.
Inside each seed grow Heartbeat Petals—currency that can trade for anything under the boughs of The Heart-Root, the ancient devouring tree.
At eight years old, I plucked one petal to cure Mom’s terminal cancer.
At ten, I tore out another to mend my older brother’s shattered bones after his brutal fight.
At twenty-four, I sacrificed my third and final petal to wake my husband’s sister from a car-crash-induced vegetative state.
Now, two disasters struck at once: my father died in a horrific car wreck, and my husband’s mistress lost their unborn baby.
Both sides of my family flocked to The Heart-Root, all fixated on stealing my petals for their own wishes.
I tried to step aside and let my younger sister go first to make the trade, but Mom shoved me hard.
“Every bit of love we’ve poured into you these years, every petal came from us! You’d really hold out and refuse to save your own father? Ungrateful girl!” my mom snapped.
My husband’s mom cut in sharp as a knife: “A good wife knows her place. It’s your duty to bring that baby back for your husband. If only you’d given him a son yourself.”
They tied me tight to the tree trunk. I watched a girl standing nearby get torn apart by black, writhing vines when she had no petals left—her flesh dissolved straight into the tree’s roots to feed it.
But my Heart-Seed didn’t have a single petal left either...

For six years I kept the books nobody wanted to touch.
They called me the help. My husband signed my name to a loan I never saw. His mother told the whole family I was the reason there were no grandchildren.
At the anniversary gala, they planned to retire me quietly — and hand my desk to the woman my husband had been paying out of company accounts.
They forgot one thing.
Before I married into this family, I spent six years catching men who move money the way they do. I never stopped keeping a second set of books.
I let them think the game was already over.
It was — for them.

I thought I was the happiest woman in the city.

My husband would gently help me into my shoes, rest his hand on my belly and whisper to our baby. My father would tie on an apron and cook dinner just for me.

Then a video from an unknown number shattered everything.

Inside a chapel, the four of them stood side by side.

My husband holding the hand of my father's mistress's daughter. My father arm in arm with the woman who once knelt before my mother begging for mercy.

And my wedding — the one the whole city had witnessed — had been nothing but a lie from the very beginning.

That evening.

He picked the bones from my fish, tucked a cushion behind my back, kissed my forehead — same as always.

I didn't confront him. I simply handed him a document to sign.

He thought I was still the naive little lamb he'd been deceiving all along. What he didn't realize was that he had just signed away his last card.

After rebirth, I switched wedding engagements with my sister Maya.

In my past life, she was forced to marry the West's most ruthless Alpha—Zane Blackwood. Three years. He never touched her. His "sister" Sienna stole the Luna's position, power, dignity. Maya became a joke. No mark, no status. She froze to death on a snowy night, not even left with a complete body.

And me? Married to someone I didn't love, drifting through life in a daze. When I woke up, Maya was dead.

Then I died trying to avenge her.

After rebirth, I kicked down the door and snatched the engagement: "This time, I'm going."

Rode my bike sixteen hours straight. Got ambushed on the road—cracked skulls with a wrench. Covered in engine oil and blood, I crashed into the Black Moon engagement party.

Sienna screamed: "Psycho!"

Damn right.

I grabbed that stone-faced Alpha, ignoring his death glare, and bit into his neck in front of everyone.

"Listen up," I licked the blood from my lips, "I'm your Luna now. And if that bitch messes with me—"

I leaned close to his ear:

"You're dead first."

My husband Dante's best friend Luigi died three months ago, and with his last breath, he made Dante promise to take care of his pregnant widow, Maggie. From that moment, Maggie invaded our lives, and I was only four months pregnant at the time.

Then Maggie got caught in a gang shootout. She needed an emergency blood transfusion, and she had this rare blood type—Rhnull. Turns out, I'm Rhnull too.

To save Maggie and her baby, Dante forced me to abort mine.

I died on the second Sunday of May.
Mother’s Day.
My biological mother, the top neurologist in the United States, was standing in front of my corpse.
She looked at the bedsores all over my body, at the ribs that had been stomped broken, and explained coldly to hundreds of cameras:
“Trash from the bottom of society, covered in needle marks like this, doesn’t deserve to dirty my dissection table.”
She didn’t know that the “social garbage” she called a pill-seeking self-harmer was the son she had abandoned ten years ago.
When the cold scalpel cut open my chest, an old photograph stained with black blood slipped out.
The moment she saw it, the woman who had stood above everyone else—
went completely insane…

I’m Wren, hidden sole heir of Ravenwood Pack, living as a regular lone wolf at wolf academy. My roommate Brielle steals my exclusive pine pheromone, copies my relics, steals my elite quota and tricks my betrothed Alpha Kane with a fake royal identity. I challenge her to present the unforgeable Lunar Pearl at the ball. When my father, the pack Alpha, exposes her family’s theft, I reject the misled Kane and reclaim everything the imposter stole from me.

For three years, I paid so my sister could rebuild her life — her rent, her lawyers, her hospital bills, the shop she now runs in my name. Lucas, my fiance, always told me it was the right thing to do. I believed him, because believing him was easier than admitting how tired I was. I flew home two days early to surprise him. Instead, I opened my own front door and found my sister in his lap, wearing my robe, laughing in a voice I'd paid to keep happy for years. Ninety-nine empty perfume bottles stood along the wall — quiet witnesses to nights I never knew existed. Lucas didn't apologize. He asked me to be more understanding. My sister cried and called me cruel. I stood in the apartment I bought, surrounded by the people I built a home for, and realized I had never once been the one who got to be loved first.

A madman attacked the concert hall. I threw myself over my son, taking every blow meant for him. My spine shattered in three places.

My husband Arthur subdued the attacker and rushed us to the hospital—the picture of a devoted, loving spouse.

It was only after hearing his conversation with the doctor that I finally saw his true colors.

My crippling injury was merely collateral damage. My son Ethan? Nothing but a living cornea donor for Mia—the cherished daughter he had with his first love.

He treated my child like spare parts, never knowing Mia isn't even his blood.

After my mother remarried, my stepbrother Logan bullied me nonstop every day. I lived in constant agony, isolated and helpless, forced to endure all the abuse alone.
When I was close to giving up, Logan’s best friend Noah reached out to me. He was sweet and caring, bringing me much-needed warmth. I latched onto him blindly, believing he was my only savior and my last ray of hope.
Yet his kindness was all a lie, a cruel trap planned by him and Logan. He gained my trust just to betray and hurt me. My last hope crumbled completely. Broken and devastated by their deception, I cut off all ties and left this painful place for good.

For fifty years, I bathed in blood for my world, only to return home to find my wife dead and my daughter about to be sacrificed.
The High Priest stepped on my daughter’s head, branding me a traitor, and declared he would burn her to ashes. Scarred, broken, and with my magic depleted, I was bound to the pyre alongside her. Tens of thousands cursed us from below as the flames engulfed the stage.
Weeping, my daughter asked me, "Daddy, are you really a hero?"
I crushed the pendant on my chest.
Dragons, Dwarves, Berserkers—the million-strong allied army I had united over those fifty years descended across dimensions.
The High Priest slumped to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. "Who... who exactly are you?"
Staring into his eyes, I said only one thing:
"Dragons have reverse scales; touch them, and you die. You crossed the line!"

Selene thought she'd found true love with Alexander Morrison. She was WRONG—she was just a stand-in for Jessa, the woman he really wanted.

When Alexander and his twin brother Adrian's yacht exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, Alexander came home with Adrian's ashes, claiming to BE Adrian. His goal? To steal Adrian's wife Jessa—the woman he'd always loved.

Selene knew instantly he was lying, but when she told everyone, no one believed her. Alexander called her "crazy from trauma" and locked her away in a mental facility. She was PREGNANT.

They drugged her daily. After she gave birth, Alexander told her the baby died. She broke completely.

Three years later, dying in that white hell, Selene heard Alexander's final confession:

"I always loved Jessa. Adrian just got to her first. YOU? You were just her replacement."

"The kid's alive. I gave him to Jessa. He calls her Mom now."

Selene died full of rage—then woke up reborn, back to the moment Alexander walked in with that urn.

This time, she'd expose his lies and make him PAY.

For six years, I wore Pack silver. I sold my blood. I scrubbed silver out of Pack den floors. I slept on a basement floor — all to pay off my mate's Pack debt and buy my brother's wolfsbane antidote.
Today, with the receipt finally signed, my brother looked at me and said:
"Seren, I was never poisoned. Our parents aren't dead either. The Rogue raid six years ago — I arranged it. The only wolf hurt that night was you."
My mate stepped up behind him: "I never lost my Pack rank either. I've been at the estate the whole time."
Then my parents — the ones I'd buried seven years ago — walked through the door.
The Pack physician had given me forty-eight hours left to live.
They were going to remember every single one.

Ten years ago, my parents worked for the Bellamys. He was their driver. She ran the house.

Then came the crash. I watched them shove Nash Bellamy out of the wreck, and it killed them both.

That's where the claustrophobia came from.

He knew. He knew all of it.

Then at homecoming, I showed up in a dress that matched Camilla's. She was the girl he'd always wanted. So he shoved me into the abandoned supply closet backstage.

The lock turned. On the other side of the door, he and Camilla were laughing like it was nothing.

"I'm pretty sure she's claustrophobic."

"Two hours in there. She'll learn."

I clawed at my own hands until they bled, couldn't get any air, and ended up wetting myself in a closet a dog wouldn't sleep in.

When the door finally opened, he pinched his nose and laughed and said I was disgusting.

I pushed myself up the wall, inch by inch, and looked at the face I'd been looking at for ten years. And I didn't want to cry anymore. Not even a little.

"Nash. I'm done chasing you."

In my last life, my mother-in-law locked me in the attic, and my wife openly cheated on me with the neighbor. Even when I was dying of terminal cancer, they bled me dry until my very last breath! Now that I've been reborn, the extreme-heat apocalypse is just around the corner. In this life, I'm living for myself. I spend every last cent of my savings stockpiling three years' worth of supplies and building a heat-proof survival villa! Now I can sit back and watch my mother-in-law's family struggle to survive in the deadly heat. Beg on their knees for my forgiveness? No! I will never forgive them!

My daughter was murdered on her eleventh birthday during a brutal snuff livestream on the dark web.

The chat was flooded with the sick revelry and obscene tips of twisted buyers.

"Break her legs a little more."
"I want to hear her cry out."

Lying in a pool of blood, my daughter cried out in sheer despair: "Mom... save me... it hurts so much..."

Watching my daughter take her last breath amid violent convulsions, I clawed at my own fingers until they were torn and bloody.

The police told me it was her elegant ballet instructor, Serena, who had sent her to hell. And the one who helped Serena cover her tracks was my husband, David.

In my utter despair, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

When I opened my eyes again, I had been thrown back to the very day I was supposed to take my daughter to her ballet class.

Sitting in the passenger seat, dressed in her ballet tutu, my daughter looked at me with eyes full of anticipation.

"Hurry up, Mom. Ms. Serena said we're rehearsing the solo for Swan Lake today."

The blood in my veins instantly ran cold.

All I wanted was a quiet place to live. I drained my savings and paid eighty thousand extra for the one unit on the row with a private backyard.
On my very first day, I found my neighbor's son beating my new hydrangeas with a stick while his mother stood there filming him and laughing.
Bianca says the yard belongs to everybody. Her husband is vice president of the HOA board, so around here, whatever he says is the law.
I showed them my deed. I called the police. I sent a certified letter. Every single time the answer came back the same. This is a civil matter, ma'am. Maybe try being a better neighbor.
Then her son put a rock through my living room window, and the HOA fined me two hundred and fifty dollars for putting a lock on my own gate.
Fine. They want that gate open? It stays open.
I just made one phone call. A truck is already on its way.

I was forced by my father to fulfill an arranged engagement I'd never met face-to-face.

Pushing open the private room door, I found my fiancé Tristan celebrating his secretary Clara's birthday.

"Security! Get this beggar out of here!" Clara screamed, pointing at me.

When I revealed my identity, Tristan sneered coldly: "What bullshit engagement? I would never marry a woman like you."

Clara poured red wine over my head: "Kneel down and lick it clean!"

When I fought back, Tristan exploded in rage: "How dare you touch my woman? Hold her down!"

Four bodyguards pinned me down as Clara started a live stream: "Let everyone see this delusional bitch who doesn't know her place!"

They tore at my clothes while Tristan watched coldly, even urging them on: "Hurry up, let everyone see her true face."

Just as I was about to be completely humiliated, the door suddenly burst open—

"Do you have any idea whose daughter you're humiliating?

As the only mute player in this horror game, I thought I was screwed.

Turns out the boss knows sign language.

Thank God! Perfect!

Then he gets everything completely wrong.

I sign "help me," he reads it as "you're hot."

I sign "danger," he thinks I'm saying "I like you."

I sign "get lost," and he goes, "You want me to come closer? Okay."

The worst part? I curse him out in sign language, calling him a psycho pervert.

He just smiles and says, "Baby, you're so good at flirting. I can't even bring myself to kill you now."

Me: ...

My teammate whispers to me, "Please stop signing. Every time you do, he stares at you even more like a psycho."

Two years ago, my best friend Maddie knelt in front of me, crying as she borrowed $50,000.
The very next day, she vanished off the face of the earth. No explanation, no apology, not even a single text message.
I was left carrying her toxic debt. I lost my fiancé, and I lost my ability to trust anyone.
Until one late night, a call came in from an unknown number originating in an abandoned mining district in West Virginia.
On the other end of the line, Maddie said she was getting married. She had the money ready—every last cent.
The wedding venue was a ruined church deep in the mountains, abandoned for a decade. The time: Friday, midnight.

My mom runs a laundromat, and that afternoon she had to step out for something urgent.
Before leaving, she made sure to remind me: don't forget to finish the load in machine number seven.
I found the old clunker tucked away in the back room and bent down to reach inside the drum, trying to straighten out the tangled clothes.
That's when my upper body suddenly wedged itself in tight—I couldn't pull back out no matter how hard I tried.
I was stuck there, ass in the air, frozen in the most humiliating position imaginable.
And that's when Matthew Bennett walked in—the college professor who always comes by to pick up his dry cleaning.
To my shock, he mistook me for a sex doll. His hot, thick dick pressed against my thighs...

My best friend Tiffany was obsessed with those novels where a mafia don spoils his woman rotten.

She was convinced she was the type of girl who could make a ruthless boss go soft, so she went after Vincent, the heir of a crime family, and got him.

His bodyguards, his dirty money, even the way he told her not to ask questions and just sit tight. She read all of it as devotion. And of course she had to drag me into it too, always with the same excuse: it was for my own good.

Last time around, her mess got me killed. Vincent's enemies mistook me for one of his people, and I died in a shootout that had nothing to do with me.

The second the blade opened my throat, all I could think about was her holding up a bloody knife, grinning, showing it off to me like a trophy.

"Margot, look. He gave me this. It means we're official now."

I remember feeling disgusted. I never thought that same knife would end up slitting my throat.

Blood pooled across the street while she hid in Vincent's arms, screaming, hands over her eyes. Later I heard her crying to someone, saying it wasn't her fault, that I just had bad luck.

I died inside her little romance fantasy. A nobody side character, wiped off the page without a second thought.

Then I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back to the afternoon it all started.

Five years in hell, my beloved and best friend joined hands to push me into the abyss. The savior I trusted was actually a deadly fraud. Reborn from despair, Vito came through the light. I tore apart the scumbag and the evil woman, settled all debts, broke free from the shadow, stepped into the light, and lived the rest of my life only for myself.

The day my all-powerful wife personally handed me over to the mob's basement, she was shielding my identical twin brother, furiously accusing me of destroying his ability to carry on the family line.
To compensate for my brother's "trauma," my parents stood by and did nothing. Using her influence, my wife pressured me to take his place at a black-market clinic, testing a lethal drug.
They thought I was just going to suffer some physical hardship, that after enduring these two weeks, everything would be happily resolved.
But they didn't know I had already been poisoned by my brother. I was dying.
I died in agony on the cold operating table. As my body was being gnawed and rotted by rats, they were happily vacationing by the sea.
Only when the lies were exposed did my wife kick down the hidden door. Holding my maggot-infested, decaying flesh, she wept until she vomited blood, then went mad and swallowed a bullet. My parents watched their family shattered and wept on their knees.

One of my employees went online and dragged me, claiming I'm making them sacrifice their health for a paycheck and forcing everyone to work over Thanksgiving.

Here's what actually happened. My company gives nine days off for Thanksgiving. Volunteer to work overtime, get triple pay, with a $500 daily meal stipend and a $5,000 bonus. No one gets penalized for not working.

The whole internet's tearing into me for making employees sell their lives for cash. So I give her exactly what she wants and send out a company-wide notice:

To protect employee mental health, the building gets locked and the power gets cut over Thanksgiving. No one is allowed to work for any reason. Anyone who does gets fired.

The minute that email goes out, the employees who were counting on overtime to pay their mortgages lose it. Now they're all crowded outside the building, begging me to open the doors.

"Happy anniversary, darling. Look what I brought you." My husband's snow-white python once felt like proof of his love—until I remembered dying with it wrapped around my throat. In my past life, I doted on that "gift" for an entire year, never once suspecting its true nature, while my husband and daughter quietly counted down the days until I stopped breathing. Reborn on the very night he presents that same box again, I swear this time will be different.

My brother Soren is a figure skating prodigy. Every dollar in our house, every hour, every scrap of attention — all his.
Me? I'm the kid who doesn't need to be seen.
The night before Nationals, I told my mom my stomach hurt so bad I could barely stand. She said I was making trouble. Dad told me to take a painkiller and tough it out. Then they loaded up the car and drove two hundred miles to watch Soren skate.
They didn't come home until Sunday night. By then, I'd been dead for over a day.
I called her. Again and again. She had her phone on airplane mode.
Now I'm a ghost, drifting behind their car on the highway home. They're laughing, complaining I didn't even text Soren a congratulations.
I wonder what their faces will look like when they walk through that door.

My daughter died on her fifth birthday.
Her first real wish—the first one she was old enough to make herself—was to go to the beach with Daddy.
Gideon promised he would take her.
She waited for him all day. She was still asking for him when she took her last breath.
He never came.
I brought her ashes to the beach she'd always dreamed of. Let her finally see the ocean.
That's when I heard it—a woman's moan, low and breathy, coming from behind the rocks.
Then his voice. Then his name on her lips.
"Between me and Lily, who do you love more?"
"You. Obviously."
He was fucking his mistress on our daughter's dream beach—while I stood there holding her ashes.
When I finally confronted them, I didn't get an apology. I got a slap across the face.
And when his mistress caught my eye and smiled, I realized something.
She knew exactly when my daughter would die.

Five years, I bled for Dario. Took a bullet for him. Cleaned up his dirtiest books. Drank myself into the ER just to keep his bosses sweet.
Then he slid divorce papers across the table and told me to sign. His mistress was pregnant; the family needed a "proper" heir, and I was in the way. So I signed—and let him strip me of everything I'd built.
Three hours later, a rival crew ran his car off the bridge. He survived. But he will never father a child again.
Now he's pouring a fortune he can't spare into his mistress's baby, showing off his "heir" to every boss in New York. He thinks his bloodline is finally safe.
He has no idea whose child he's really raising. And I'm the only one who does.

At four, they shattered both my legs. At six, they ruptured my left eardrum. At seven, they took my right eye—said I'd earn more sympathy begging blind.
After twelve years in hell, my billionaire parents finally found me.
The girl who stole my life grabbed my wrist, nails digging into my skin. "Dare take what's mine, and I'll break whatever's left of your legs."
I smiled, unclipping both prosthetics to show empty pant legs. "I don't have legs left."
She was terrified.

My stepmother married my father because she mistakenly believed he was an Alpha, and that was the beginning of my tragedy.
In my past life, I was falsely accused by my stepmother, betrayed by my mate, and abandoned by my father, who refused to believe me and sold me to an elderly Omega. In the end, I died with injustice in my heart.
But heaven has granted me a second chance. I have returned to the very day my stepmother framed me for her miscarriage.
This time, I won’t let them have their way.
I have gathered my entire pack to make meatballs together, waiting to put on a spectacular show—exposing the scandal of my stepmother, Odessa, and my mate, Beta Peregrine.

My Alpha was the one who started the fire—he lit it with his own hands, ready to burn his own children alive, just so his little mistress Beta Sasha could become Luna without a hitch.

I ran into the flames, carrying two unconscious pups on my back, and jumped from the fifth floor. My palms were scorched, skin torn, flesh charred.

I thought saving his “future heirs” with my own life might earn me a word of gratitude.

But when I woke up, the tribe’s medic looked at me coldly and said, “The Alpha is with Beta Sasha. She was... frightened.”

That was the moment I finally understood—I wasn’t his fated mate, not their mother, not even part of the pack.

I was just a vessel on their path to power. A body—if it didn’t burn, it could still be used.

I went for a prenatal check-up, only to catch my beloved Alpha husband gently holding Omega Rosa’s hand through the crack in the door, whispering,
“Our pup looks perfect.”

He’s my husband.
She’s his childhood sweetheart.
And me? I’m the one they decided was expendable.

Later, he stood in the hallway and murmured,
“For the good of the family, I have to claim her pup—not yours.”

Rosa leaned in with a smile:
“Don’t be mad, Isabella. Once you give birth, we can raise your baby… as our adopted son.”

That was the moment I realized—being Luna meant nothing.
To them, I was just a pawn in a game of betrayal.

And the pup in my belly?
He was never meant to survive in a world this cruel.

“One of the best thrillers I have read this year.”--Books and Movie Reviews (re Any Means Necessary)In the much-anticipated debut of a new series by #1 bestseller Jack Mars, when elite Delta Force soldier Luke Stone, 29, joins a secretive government agency, he is dispatched on the mission of a lifetime: a whirlwind race across Europe and the Mid-East to save the President’s daughter before she is beheaded by terrorists.In PRIMARY TARGET (Book #1), we see the forging of one of the world’s toughest—and most lethal—soldiers: Luke Stone. A 29 year old veteran who has seen enough battle to last a lifetime, Luke is tapped by the Special Response Team, a secretive new FBI agency (led by his mentor Don Morris) to tackle the most high-stake terrorism operations in the world.Luke, still haunted by his wartime past and newly married to an expecting Becca, is dispatched on a mission to Iraq, with his new partner Ed Newsam, to bring in a rogue American contractor. But what begins as a routine mission mushrooms into something much, much bigger.When the President’s teenage daughter, kidnapped in Europe, is ransomed by terrorists, Luke may be the only one in the world who can save her before it is too late.PRIMARY TARGET is an un-putdownable military thriller, a wild action ride that will leave you turning pages late into the night. It marks the long-anticipated debut of a riveting new series by #1 bestseller Jack Mars, dubbed “one of the best thriller authors” out there.“Thriller writing at its best.”--Midwest Book Review (re Any Means Necessary)Also available is Jack Mars’ #1 bestselling LUKE STONE THRILLER series (7 books), which begins with Any Means Necessary (Book #1), a free download with over 800 five star reviews!

The day manager Gregg shoved me into the freight elevator shaft, the nuclear winter outside had only just begun. As he slammed the gate shut, he said, "No one will find you dead down there; the insurance payout is enough to cover the shortfall." I died in the darkness at thirty degrees below zero. Then, I woke up. I was back on the afternoon he threw the contract in my face. This time, I didn't sign. I shoved the contract into the paper shredder, snatched the brass key ring from Supervisor Miller, locked every exit of the warehouse, and re-routed the entire building's heating system into my own command bunker. As Gregg licked ice off the frozen floor on the security monitor, I was sitting in the guard room, heating up a can of pork. Outside, the first snowflake fell. And this time, the ones who would be freezing to death were them.

The world thought I was a broken man after rotting in the Abyss for five years. Even Moretti, the wealthiest mogul in Cold Harbor, dared to point a finger at my nose and demand I kneel.
He razed my estate, seized my daughter, and humiliated my past on a city-wide livestream.
What he didn’t know was that the moment his infrared scanners locked onto me, I had already initiated the sequence for a dormant orbital satellite that had been sleeping above us for five years.
When the skyscraper turns to ash, the man kneeling before me won’t be that arrogant tycoon—only a trembling corpse.
After all, in this city, I don’t believe in reason. I only believe in retribution.

I was once the supreme ruler of the global underworld, stepping down from my throne just to cook hot meals for my daughter. Yet, my arrogant brother-in-law mistook my silence for weakness. He smashed my home, tried to hand my wife over to a Mafia Don for his own career, and even stole my Black-Gold Skull Coin as a tribute!
Fine. You want to play? I'll grant your wish.
With a single keystroke, I initiated the DEFCON-1 combat protocol. Instantly, one hundred thousand of the world’s most elite mercenaries went berserk, locking down the entirety of New York City!

In their eyes, my wife Emma—an Ivy League tenured professor in biological sciences—is ruthless, rational, and obsessively clean.
For seven years, even when she washed her hands, she would only ever touch the right-side sink—hers.
Until that night at 3 a.m., when I pulled a strand of sandy-golden short curl—hair that belonged to neither of us—out of my men’s shower loofah.
And around the neck of a pre-med student named Lucas, I saw the antique silver cross my dying father left in my hands.
When I confronted her, my always-icy wife protected the little homewrecker, slapped me across the face, and called me a jealous, controlling chauvinist.
She thought I’d swallow it like a coward.
But she forgot: as a top cardiothoracic chief, the thing I do best is cutting out tumors.

For ten years, I've been the biggest joke in Eden Fortress—a madman who draws a broken bow eight thousand times a day.
Duke, the plutocrat's heir, even uses me as cannon fodder bait.
But when the Crystalline Tyrant tears through the earth, when S-rank "savior" Duke pisses himself in terror before the monster, at that moment when the entire fortress waits in despair for death—I draw back that broken bow that's been mocked for ten years.

My eyes can see through the essence of all things, my empty bow can shoot down any existence.
From the beast's maw, one arrow obliterates the plutocrat's heir! From within the monster's belly, one arrow defeats the Mountain Tyrant! Above the fortress, one arrow disables all weaponry!

From bottom-tier waste and cannon fodder to the uncrowned king who brings an entire fortress to its knees—I use absolute strength to tell this world: True power never needs anyone's validation!

Sean Turner kissed his childhood sweetheart, Mia Moore, right in front of me.
He said he married me for benefits, not love.
He even tried to force me to give Mia my heart.
I agreed.
But after the transplant surgery, he regretted it—while I smiled.

Y

My life had been a nightmare until one accident changed everything.
One moment, I was the girl Ethan Blake rejected without a second glance.
The next, I woke up inside his body.
Ethan Blake.
Captain of the hockey team. King of the campus. The same guy who told me to stop wasting everyone's time and just die.
Now I wore his face, carried his name, and lived his life.
And I remembered every cruel thing he had done to me.
So I started returning the favor.
I smiled in front of his friends while tearing apart his perfect reputation piece by piece. I turned his world upside down while everyone still believed I was him.
But Ethan wasn't gone.
And he wasn't willing to stay silent.
The more I took from him, the more desperate he became to reclaim his body.
Even if it meant coming back to me—
On his knees.
Begging.

A red dragon heir locked me in an iron shed and scorched me with his breath for ten minutes straight.Didn't kill me.He woke a Black Dragon buried under a three-hundred-year curse.The Tri-Dragon Council tore down my home, beat my father, threw me in jail, and live-streamed it all so the whole city could laugh.What they didn't know: every ancestor's soul in the Black Dragon cemetery had fused into me.I smashed through the Council's dome and slammed the dissolution order onto the table.

My target should be terrified of me.
Instead, he's smirking like he already knows I'll never pull the trigger.
My heart races in my chest. This isn't me.
I am born to kill. I am born to take orders.
Yet those eyes, they're killing me.

She was born into power.
Now she chooses revenge.

Valentina Santangelo doesn’t belong in the shadows.
She was raised in them.

Daughter of a legacy built on blood, secrets, and ruthless control, Valentina has spent her life watching empires rise… and enemies fall. She knows the rules of this world. She knows how to survive it.

What she didn’t expect…
was to become its most dangerous player.

When betrayal rips through her family and threatens everything her father built, Valentina is done standing on the side-lines. She steps into the game—cold, calculated, and ready to make them pay.

But revenge has a price.

And the man standing in her way?
He’s not just her enemy…
He’s the one man who sees through every wall she’s built.

Dark. Dangerous. Impossible to resist.

As loyalty turns to obsession and desire collides with vengeance, Valentina must decide how far she’s willing to go—
and whether love is worth the risk of losing everything.

Because in her world…
you don’t fall in love.

You survive it.

“A powerful opener to a series [that] will produce a combination of feisty protagonists and challenging circumstances to thoroughly involve not just young adults, but adult fantasy fans who seek epic stories fueled by powerful friendships and adversaries.”--Midwest Book Review (Diane Donovan) (re A Throne for Sisters)“Morgan Rice's imagination is limitless!”--Books and Movie Reviews (re A Throne for Sisters)From #1 Bestselling fantasy author Morgan Rice comes a new series for middle grade readers—and adults, too! Fans of Harry Potter and Percy Jackson—look no further!In THE ORB OF KANDRA: OLIVER BLUE AND THE SCHOOL FOR SEERS (BOOK TWO), 11 year old Oliver Blue is back in the present day, racing to save Armando before his destined moment to die.But when Oliver learns that the sacred Orb of Kandra has been stolen, he knows it is up to him—and him alone—to save the school. And the only way is to travel back in time, to the England of 1690s, and to save one very important person: Sir Isaac Newton.The Obsidian School, meanwhile, has powerful seers of its own, and all are bent on Oliver’s destruction. And when they enlist and transform Oliver’s bully brother, Chris, it may just mean a fight to the death.An uplifting fantasy, THE ORB OF KANDRA is book #2 in a riveting new series filled with magic, love, humor, heartbreak, tragedy, destiny, and a series of shocking twists. It will make you fall in love with Oliver Blue, and keep you turning pages late into the night.Book #3 in the series (THE OBSIDIANS) is now also available!“The beginnings of something remarkable are there.” --San Francisco Book Review (re A Quest of Heroes)