202 Book(s) Related to rwby jaune fanfic

She was scared of being caged up in her home where no one acknowledged her.

April seek for freedom and to be free comes with a great price

Eloping with her lover wasn't the best option but only option and answer to the very thing she desired most, freedom.

Her fears came rushing back in a strange city with no one to run to when the very person she trusted turns out to be a monster

Just when she was about to accept the scary fate staring at her, light came shining on her dark part. Philip, a handsome billionaire fell in love with her and she was ready to hold onto him as her only saving grace, April kept a huge secret from Phil which Louise threaten to expose if she does not do his evil biddings.

April was thrown into a dilemma when Louise gave her few days to meet his demand or she will be exposed and thrown back to the slum where she belongs, unknown to Louise that April was cooking up a plan of her own but if her plans fail she may loose everything including Phil, and that was the very thing she was afraid off.

Earth is in turmoil from frequent attacks from strange creatures when brilliant but insecure researcher Jane, her boyfriend Paul, and her team capture a supernatural being; it is a merman. Allen, the merman, called himself the last Dragon King. Jane, Paul, and her team wonder why a merman would want to be called a dragon and are putting him through a series of tests. Allen vows to destroy humanity’s experiments of his kind.
Jane and Paul were in the facility being romantic when there was crisis once again in the world as dragons attacked their facility and it seemed that Allen would die in his test chamber.
Unknown to Jane, Allen summoned for the dragons to come and rescue him but Elara defies her team and their laws putting herself at great risk to set him free only to see him morph into a dragon and fly away
He gives her a mark, which she doesn't understand.
She was having terrible dreams seeing herself in a different world when she realized Allen marked her as his mate.
Now she is in trouble with her team on Earth as she released the dragon and was about to face punishment when Allen returned and took her to his own world, leaving Paul brokenhearted. A world she spent all her life debating whether was real or not, studying from a distance.
She learns the true reason behind the research on the non-humans. It wasn't to understand them. It was to kill them.
Would she accept her true fate as the mate of the dragon king and conquer the earth before humanity's greed consumes them all?

I just bought my daughter a ruby choker. But the moment I fastened it around her neck, my world came crashing down.
The shopkeeper called me a sick freak. My loving husband demanded an instant divorce. My best friend called me a monster.
Why? It’s just a piece of jewelry... right?

Ruby Steele, 30, beautiful, fit, seems just like any other ex-pat hiding out in the Bahamas and playing local bartender. But unruly patrons find out the hard way: Ruby is a mixed-martial-arts pro, and not one you’d want to cross.In fact, Ruby would be a champion if she hadn’t been forced to walk away and hide out in the Bahamas.Because Ruby knows too much. She knows where the bodies are buried. And she knows when it’s time to get out of town.But what Ruby doesn’t know is why there is a dead tourist in the dumpster behind her seedy bar.Or why, she, of all people, had to find it.Or why this guy was out at 3am when he had a pretty fiancé waiting in a hotel room a mile away.Or why the local cops are pinning her.Or why she’s gonna be forced into a choice: find the killer, or do hard time herself.For Ruby, good choices have never been her strong point.And this one’s definitely not going to be good…Welcome to the Bahamian world of Ruby Steele, replete with her local dive bar, her wily pet monkey, her major drinking problem, her (way) too many fights, her inability to get herself out of trouble, and her fists made of stone. Ruby’s life is a complete wreck. But there’s one thing she’s good at: capturing your heart.ON THE ROCKS (A RUBY STEELE COZY MYSTERY) is the debut novel in a page-turning cozy mystery/thriller series, one that will linger with you long after the last page is read. Books #2 (EXTRA DIRTY) and #3 (FULL-BODIED) in the series are also available.

Livia Life has always been a waking nightmare, shackled in the shadows of her own home and blamed for a crime she never committed the death of her mother. For seventeen years, she lived as a prisoner, surviving off scraps and abuse, until the night of her eighteenth birthday changed everything. In a shocking twist of fate, a powerful alpha prince named Leonardo arrives, revealing that she is the long-lost daughter of the Alpha King and, more importantly, his destined mate.

Swept into a royal world she never imagined, Livia is forced to navigate the complexities of love, revenge, and rediscovering her true self. As passion sparks between them, old enemies rise, secrets unfold, and the trauma of her past claws its way into her present.

Leonardo’s love offers a sanctuary, but also comes with dangerous expectations, political threats, and the haunting fear of losing everything all over again. Torn between a brutal past and an uncertain future ,Livia must find the strength to choose who she wants to become. Can an abused soul truly find healing in the arms of an alpha prince, or is love alone not enough to rewrite a fate forged in pain?

🔞 READER ADVISORY 🔞

THIS BOOK CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR ADULTS 18 AND OVER.

What happens when desire whispers your name in the silence of the night? Do you answer?

In this scorching anthology, each story is an intimate game where the stakes are high and the reward is climax. Secrets are revealed not with words, but with lips, hands, and the universal language of pleasure. Through casual encounters that become unforgettable and forbidden affairs that defy all reason, the characters discover the transformative power of a simple caress in the right place, at the right time.

Let yourself be swept away by these stories. Your next whisper of pleasure is waiting on the next page.

"You think I'll have anything serious to do with a wolfless omega?" Those words destroyed me.
But when my dormant wolf awakened with impossible power, suddenly everyone wanted a piece of me.
Mary Hart spent 22 years believing she was a worthless wolfless omega, enduring her boyfriend's betrayal and the hospital's mockery.
But when she mysteriously performs impossible surgeries, the truth emerges: her wolf was magically bound to hide her identity as the last surviving Healer Alpha, a bloodline hunted to extinction.
As her power awakens, so does her connection to Dr. Owen Prescott, the brooding Alpha surgeon who fights his attraction to her. But enemies close in, desperate to finish what they started when they murdered her parents.
Between deadly conspiracies, forbidden love, and a ex-boyfriend who suddenly wants her back, Mary must embrace her destiny or die trying. Some bonds are meant to be broken. Others are worth fighting for. And some secrets are buried in blood.

BLURB

Eli Morgan had spent years trying to survive Noah Carter.

Unfortunately, Noah Carter seemed determined to ruin his life.

As The College’s swim captain, campus heartthrob, and his older brother’s best friend, Noah had made teasing Eli his personal hobby, touching him too casually, acting possessive whenever Eli liked someone, and somehow inserting himself into every part of Eli’s life.

And somehow?

Nobody else thought it was weird.

Not even Ethan, Eli’s perfect older brother.

But when Eli finally starts dating someone seriously, Noah’s behavior changes from annoying to dangerous. The teasing becomes jealousy. The casual touches become possessive. And the tension between them becomes impossible to ignore.

I'm Sophie White, an orphan who was arranged to marry Bay City's most powerful devil—the ruthless, dangerous, and devastatingly handsome Adam Foster.

"Adam, please..." I whimpered as his touch set my body aflame. From the bathroom to his massive bed, he claimed me relentlessly until dawn, leaving me breathless and burning with desire.

But beneath our passionate nights lurked a terrifying reality. My fairy tale marriage became a nightmare of obsession and control. He monitored my every move, threatened my unborn child, and kept me prisoner in his golden cage.

Everything changed the night he led me to his secret basement—a chamber of horrors where his own father had tortured him for five years. As I stared at the chains and shadows of his past, I finally glimpsed the broken soul behind those cold eyes.

Was this vulnerability real? Or was I falling deeper into the trap of Bay City's most dangerous predator?

Just when I thought I knew all his secrets, I discovered something that would shatter both our worlds forever...

"Please, no—stop!" I begged, but Alexander just snarled, pinning my wrists above my head as he rammed his throbbing cock into my slick, unwilling pussy, stretching me wide with brutal force. "Fuck, you're so tight, you dirty little whore—take every thick inch!"

I'm Nora Frost—wait, Nora Traynor—sold like a cheap commodity by my greedy parents for $100 million to Alexander Claflin, Kingsley City's savage billionaire beast. Post-wedding, he uncovered my secret pregnancy and detonated: labeling me a cum-slut, and snarling demands to slaughter the "bastard spawn" in my womb.

The bombshell? That baby was his—conceived in our filthy, passion-fueled one-night fuckfest. He melted, worshipping me with desperate love, vowing an eternal family... until a car crash erased only me from his memory—every trace of Nora, our child, our love—while he recalled everyone else. Cue his manipulative ex, Vivian Brooks, slinking in like a venomous snake.

And I caught them mid-fuck: "Oh fuck, Alexander, pound me harder—deeper!" she wailed, "Yes! Fill me up, baby—make me scream!" "FUCK YES! I'M CUMMING!" she shrieked, his roaring climax spilling into her as they collapsed in tangled ecstasy.

Devastated, I fled. Five years later, I return with our son—a mini-Alexander, with piercing green eyes and dark hair. When he spots the boy, realization dawns: this isn't simple. As buried truths erupt and Alexander hunts me with obsessive fury, one scorching question ignites: Will our rekindled fire heal us... or destroy everything?

The most humiliating moment of my early life was when my father drove my mother and me out of our home. From a pampered heiress, I fell to the depths of a bar hostess. It was there that I encountered a man I would never forget for the rest of my life. After a one-night stand, I accepted his proposal—who could refuse someone they had admired for so long?

I thought I'd found redemption, but it turned out the pregnancy was a misdiagnosis! From then on, Raymond offered me nothing but money and sex. In this loveless marriage, I endured five years. Just when I thought my life would remain this way forever, he brought a little boy home.

Watching my stepsister's smug smile, my world crumbled. "Raymond, let's get a divorce!"

Three years ago, as Luna Gray, I secretly seduced Gabriel Ashford—heir to a powerhouse family—luring him into a scorching underground fling during our college days in Vale City. For three wild months, our passion burned hot and hidden, until I dumped him cold, leaving him reeling.

Now, I'm engaged to the Anderson family's polished gentleman—a strategic move that ignites Gabriel's explosive return from London. He's back in Vale City, transformed into a ruthless financial kingpin with the infamous "Big Cannon" nickname (earned from his handsome, towering build and the swirling rumors of his enormous dick—though only I know the truth: it's huge, and it wrecked me every time, pushing me to the brink of ecstasy I could barely endure).

Our secret past detonates, shocking Vale City's elite circles. Everyone braces for revenge from the ice-veined CEO, popcorn in hand. Instead, a viral video leaks: me straddling him in his top-tier ride on a foggy roadside, his dark eyes stormy as he grips my hips, slamming me against the steering wheel. We're grinding hard, my nails digging into his shoulders while he growls, "Feel how you own this cock, Luna? Beg for it." But in a heartbeat, he crumbles—eyes red, voice breaking: "Baby, I fucked up. Please, love me again?"

On a storm-stranded island villa, Clara Hayes wakes after a vicious bachelorette party to find four women dead—among them her former best friend, bride-to-be Vivian Sterling. Branded the obvious killer, the discarded ex must fight a locked-room mystery, class prejudice, and a carefully staged narrative as buried trauma, betrayal, and revenge surface through rain-soaked glass, shattered flutes, burned letters, and one untouched bottle of soda.

Everyone knew Kieran Blackwood was the most dangerous man in this city—mafia boss, hands stained with blood.

And I, Aurelia Fairmont, the rebellious heiress, was his dirty little secret.

Every night, he'd pin me beneath him, claiming me with that rough whisper against my ear: "You're mine. Always." That possessive hunger made me believe I meant something to him.

Until she came back.

When danger struck, he didn't hesitate for a second. He dove for her, shielding her body with his own.

I was just his plaything while he waited for her return. A toy that could moan.

When she stole my mother's heirloom, he didn't just refuse to help—he locked me in his basement and tortured me for seven days and nights. That's when I finally saw the truth.

The day I left, I didn't look back.

What I didn't know was that after I left, the man went insane...

"I love you, Caitlin," he murmurs against my neck, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts as his hands explore my body, setting every nerve alight with raw, desperate need. But which one is it tonight—Daniel with his soft, lingering touches, Ryan's brutal grip that leaves bruises blooming on my hips, or Patrick's powerful thrusts that own me completely?

I'm Caitlin Morrison, a cutthroat lawyer juggling three men who thought they had the upper hand. At first, they treated me like a toy: Daniel, my old friend, turning our cozy mornings into no-strings convenience; Ryan, the wild rocker, owning my body in sweaty, primal nights of pure animal lust; and Patrick, my domineering boss, turning illicit office hookups into his private thrill, leaving me spent and craving more. They figured they could fuck me and forget the feelings, tossing them aside like yesterday's trash.

But I turned the tables, hooking them deep until they were the ones obsessed, realizing too late—they were my playthings, addicted and pleading for my mercy.

I stayed in this city for Dorian, pushed my way into his company, and saved every penny for three years just so we could build a home together.
But an anonymous flash drive shoved a video of him cheating in our bed right into my face. The next day, a promotion announcement handed the position I’d bled for to the very woman who seduced him.
With my dignity crushed to dust, I had only one person left to rely on—my gentle, almost obsessively devoted stepbrother, Ambrose.
He promised to make those scumbags tear each other apart. He promised Dorian would crawl back to my feet like a dog.
He offered me a "secret recipe" with immediate results.
I expected a deeply satisfying revenge. I never imagined what that so-called recipe actually was...

The remote vacation villa was saturated with suffocating male testosterone.
Deep in the night, my life-saving suppressants inexplicably vanished. The moment the drugs wore off, my unspeakable secret—my sex addiction—unleashed its most violent, lethal backlash in history.
What was even more fatal was that, through a twisted twist of fate, the man I was forced to share a room with tonight was my stepbrother, renowned for his absolute abstinence and cold, iron-fisted ruthlessness.
I thought that once my embarrassingly out-of-control, in-heat state was exposed, he would treat me like a monster and kick me away in disgust.
But I never expected—
This aloof man, who usually wouldn't even spare me a glance, now carried an irresistible, scorching aggression, ruthlessly sliding his large, rough hand straight up my thoroughly soaked panties...

My mad mother, in her final moments, pressed a set of Russian nesting dolls into my arms.
"These cost me thirty years of my life. In return, they'll give you three ways out of death."
The first doll told me to go to a bar and bring home the third strange man I met.
The second doll, she said to open on the eve of my wedding. There was no note inside. Only a photograph — my groom, killing a woman wearing the exact same wedding dress as mine.
Three years later, on the eve of another wedding, I opened the last doll. I read the note, smiled, and dropped it in the trash.
It was only later that I understood —
This mad woman saw more clearly than anyone sane in this world.
Mom, I'm sorry.

In the southern summer, the air hung heavy with the scent of overripe peaches.
Yet that cloying sweetness couldn't mask the near-frenzied hunger of women crowding Grandma's shop—pushing, shoving, desperate for a slice of peach pie priced at ten thousand dollars.
I never understood why this tiny shop drove countless women into such frenzy, even to their knees, begging.
Until that summer night, when Auntie slipped into the basement.
Through the darkness came her muffled moans, mingled with strange wet sounds...

I've been reborn, transported back to the day I gave birth to my daughter.

In my past life, I humbled myself for love, only to be betrayed by my husband Caspian and his mistress Serafina.

They disfigured me, murdered my little girl, and threw me in prison.

This time around, I'm divorcing him without a second thought, holding my daughter close, and escaping this living hell!

I divorced the same man nine times.
The first eight times, I was the one sobbing, begging him not to go.
The ninth time, I was the one who slid the papers across the table.
He signed them, then told me we'd remarry once she left.
I said okay.
What he didn't know was that my flight was already booked.
This time, I was leaving for good.

My name is Nora Monroe. Thirty-two weeks pregnant, ready to pop anytime.
This morning, my husband Everett left town, leaving me and my cat, Piper, alone at home.
Deep into the night, a strange woman called. Her voice was gentle, apologetic—she said my cat Piper had somehow wandered downstairs. She was severely allergic to cat dander and couldn't bring her up to me. I grabbed my coat, ready to head down, when the baby suddenly gave me a vicious kick. The pain sent me collapsing back onto the sofa, unable to move.
The woman on the phone urged me over and over. I looked up, my eyes falling on the corner of the living room.
Piper was sitting right there, staring unblinkingly at me...

The day I risked my life to give birth to my daughter, there was not a single cry in the delivery room.
There was only a note left behind: "This is to pay for the child you killed in Sera's womb. Giving up your own daughter is exactly what you owe her!"
Sera—Seraphine—was my husband Soren’s unforgettable first love, and the legally wedded wife of his older brother.
I used to think that when he broke ties with his entire family to protect me back then, it was out of true love. That was until he gripped my jaw tightly and shattered all my illusions with a cold sneer: "I was just jealous that my brother married Sera. I used you as an excuse to piss off my parents. You’ve always been nothing but a tool."
Seeing through all the lies, I let go of all my obsessions and walked away without looking back...

Married to Declan Hargrove for three years, I kept my past locked away tight. I let no one near Greybell, and I never, ever mentioned the name Calloway.
Until Piper excitedly dug up the "incest scandal" between me and my own brother. The Hargrove family booked their flights that very night, vowing to fly to Greybell and tear my "white-trash" parents to shreds.
I knelt on the carpet, shaking and sobbing.
But hiding behind the curtain of my long hair, no one saw the truth. I wasn’t begging for my own life.
I was begging for theirs.
Because my brother, Reid, had already gotten the news. He was in Greybell right now, preparing an unforgettable "feast" for our arrogant guests.

I inherited my mother’s breathtaking beauty, while my sister was cursed with our father’s plain, vulgar looks.
Consumed by jealousy, she married early and settled into a mundane life, while I was kept entirely imprisoned by our mother—forbidden to date, forbidden to marry.
Whenever I brought a boyfriend home, my mother would take him into that mysterious locked bathroom.
Every single man who walked out of there would have glazed eyes and a flushed look of utter ecstasy. Then, without fail, they would coldly abandon me. Even the man who swore to marry me completely succumbed—to the point where he was having sex with my mother in the garden in broad daylight!
What’s even more bizarre is that whenever any female relative stepped into that bathroom, they came out looking at me with vicious hatred, joining forces to spit on me.
Betrayed by everyone and pushed to the brink, I decided to flee this demonic house in the dead of night.
But the moment I peeked through the crack of the door and finally caught a glimpse inside that bathroom, the blood in my veins turned to ice.
Only then did I horrifyingly realize the true reason my mother was willing to destroy my entire life...

During routine rounds, I never gave Linus Crewe a second thought. Nineteen years old, diagnosed with persistent hallucinatory disorder, just another trust fund kid tossed into the psych ward like garbage by his own family.
But that day, he locked eyes with me and claimed that the moment his skin touched someone else's, he could see their deepest, darkest secrets.
I scoffed. As a female doctor who married into money, harbored a thirst for revenge, and kept a secret lover on the side, someone seeing through my facade was my ultimate nightmare.
I thought he was just playing mind games.
Until he recounted, word for word, things even my husband didn't know. He just smiled and said: Then tell me, Dr. Hollister... why is your heart racing when you look at me?

Dorian, my boyfriend of three years, was a partner at a top-tier Boston law firm. He was gentle, refined, and absolutely flawless.
A week ago, he buried his face in my neck late at night, whispering that the city was suffocating him. He wanted to take me back to his hometown to meet Octavia, the grandmother who had single-handedly raised him.
I agreed without hesitation.
But on Crane Island, every night Dorian would slip out of our bed, using Octavia's gout as an excuse.
Until that night. I crept barefoot to Octavia’s door and pressed my ear against the wood.
What I heard wasn’t a sick old woman. It was Dorian’s heavy panting, mixed with the shameless, breathy moans of a young woman...

I got off work two hours early, hoping to surprise my boyfriend whom I had just bailed out for $30,000.
I pushed the bedroom door open. The surprise was on me—my stepsister Chloe was straddling Dorian. The same man who, just three days ago, sat crying on the police station floor swearing "I only have you," now slowly lit a cigarette and asked if I wanted to join them.
I thought that was the worst moment of my life.
I was wrong.
When the hand that had just been caressing Chloe gripped my throat and hoisted me into the air, I finally saw the truth. Dorian Vane, the guy who humiliated me at our high school prom ten years ago, hadn't changed at all.

In my first life, blinded by greed, I claimed to be that mysterious woman. Silas glanced at my left shoulder and said coldly, "No butterfly tattoo." His bodyguards dragged me to the backyard and shattered my ribs with a baseball bat.
In my second life, Cleo learned from my mistake. She got the butterfly tattoo at an underground parlor. But Silas lifted her skirt and sneered, "No birthmark on her inner thigh." We were thrown into the frozen lake behind the mountain.
"Find her. She's in the West Wing." Silas Brennan's cold command echoed through the Brennan Estate again. Cleo and I locked eyes, terror gripping us.
We were the only maids in the West Wing.

As the heiress to the Sinclair family, I inherited billions, yet a car crash left my legs completely paralyzed, confining me to a cold wheelchair for the rest of my life.
My husband, Dashiell, spent three years meticulously caring for me—pushing my chair, feeding me my meds, and holding me as I slept.
That evening, while I was soaking in a warm bath, he pushed the door open. His handsome face carried that familiar smile: "Honey, can I... have you in the tub?"
"I'm a bit tired today," I rubbed my temples and softly declined. "Carry me out."
The moment the words left my lips, his smile twisted hideously. With a vicious sneer, he grabbed my neck and shoved my head brutally underwater...

I was taking six-year-old Arabella to fit her dress for the theater's grand opening.
As we crossed the intersection, a truck suddenly lost control and T-boned our car.
When I opened my eyes again, an agonizing pain ripped through me. I opened my mouth to call out Everett's name, only to hear his hushed voice seeping through the crack in the door—
"Staging an unavoidable accident was the only way to use the emergency room as a cover for the drug trial."
"Now that Ophelia's treatment is a success, there's naturally no need for that little bastard to live."
My Arabella. She was secretly wheeled into the operating room by him, used as a human guinea pig for his mistress Delilah's daughter, who had bone cancer. Her sweet, bell-like vocal cords were cruelly carved out and transplanted into another child's throat.
In that defining moment, I realized he had never loved my daughter.
But what he didn't know—the child he just murdered with his own hands was his one and only flesh and blood.

Eight years of marriage. Fluent in seven languages. Yet I never dared speak a word in front of my husband.

He claimed to be allergic to my voice—hearing me talk gave him headaches, ringing ears, made his whole body ache.

To change my voice, I underwent four vocal cord surgeries. My voice became hoarse, rough as sandpaper scraping concrete. But no matter how hard I tried, he still clutched his ears in pain.

For eight years, I blamed myself. I thought I was the one dragging him down.

Until our anniversary, when our daughter casually yanked off his "hearing aid" and tossed it on the couch.

I picked it up and put it in my ear. What I heard was my cousin Freya's flirtatious voice, and his tender response.

That moment, I finally understood—

No matter what I did, all this man ever wanted from me was silence.

I thought Auden was the most devoted husband in the world—until the day I regained my sight and recognized him on the front page: a serial killer who had murdered eight blonde women.
I had to play blind. I swallowed the liquid the maid brought me—a brew soaked in dead people's eyeballs. I chewed on a human molar in my dinner. I sat perfectly still as I watched him fuck our maid right in front of me, not daring to let a single expression slip.
Because the exact second my vision returned, an anonymous text had popped up on my phone: Don't let Auden know you can see.

Siren's Reef only breeds women.
On this isolated island, Henrietta's orphanage takes in all fatherless girls. She raises us until our eighteenth birthday—the night of the "Coral Crowning," an annual coming-of-age ritual that supposedly earns the Sea God's blessing.
My sister Saffron and I are identical twins, raised wearing the exact same face.
But on this island, the same face doesn't spell the same fate. She was the one Henrietta spoiled from birth; I was the one allowed to trail behind her.
I thought it would always be this way. Until she died. Henrietta claimed Saffron broke the rules and was flayed alive by the serrated edges of the reef. But that day, I saw it with my own eyes: Saffron's signature dimple had appeared on Henrietta's cheek—where none had been before.

My billionaire lover brought out a bespoke mermaid gown, declaring he would marry whoever could fit into it.
But in my past four lives, every woman who tried it on—whether an ambitious imposter or me, his true love—was brutally tortured and murdered by him.
In my fifth rebirth, the butler knocked on our door with a polite smile, "Mr. Voss says his true love is among you."
Since we four women would die no matter who wore it...
We exchanged a look in the dead silence, turned our heads in perfect unison, and locked our eyes onto the only man in the room.

Our clan worships the Spider Goddess.
To keep this face, every girl in our bloodline must sacrifice a truly evil man every ten years.
Just two weeks before my twentieth birthday, my mom asked me again over the phone:
"Sweetie, is it really that hard to find a sufficiently bad guy in a place like Ashfield?"
Right now, I’m looking at my boyfriend, who just handcuffed me to a bed. He’s laughing, negotiating a price with a buyer, thinking I’m tonight’s merchandise.
I think to myself—
Mom, I can answer your question now. This guy’s wickedness easily rivals your husband's—my father.

Three years of marriage. Three pregnancies.

Every time I confirmed I was pregnant, my sister-in-law Ophelia would walk into the chapel behind the manor.

Then my in-laws would drag me to the hospital and force me to abort the healthy baby.

The night after my third miscarriage, I dragged my weakened body to follow her into the chapel.

The moment I pushed open that door, my blood ran cold.

In that instant, I finally understood why my three children had to die.

Trapped in a lifelong obsession with my flawed face, I found solace only behind beauty filters.
Seraphine, the undisputed beauty of our town, had not only stolen Cillian—the boy I liked—but made a habit of publicly humiliating me.
When I signed up for the Magnolia Queen pageant, I knew I didn't stand a chance. But one foggy morning, while fetching the paper, I found a mysterious silver compact mirror inside my mailbox.
With just a light dab of the powder, my lifelong acne scars vanished entirely. But engraved inside the lid was a list of previous owners, and Seraphine's name was glaringly present.
The faceless shadow that briefly flashed in the mirror was a grim reminder: this perfect skin didn't belong to me.
Who secretly delivered this curse to my doorstep?

When the dismissal bell rings, the night resets.
I'm Zoe, a high school sophomore living on campus, isolated by my entire family and the whole school. My "crime"? I reported my own little brother for campus violence.
The first time, I died in the dark by the track. The second time, shut inside the equipment room. But every time I opened my eyes, I was dragged back to the exact same starting point. Only the number on my arm—the countdown of how many lives I had left—dropped by one.
The man in the black mask always seemed to know exactly where I’d run and where I’d hide. But what truly sent shivers down my spine was this: every single time, my mother stood just a few steps away, quietly watching me take my last breath.
Once the number hits zero, there is no coming back. What do I have to do to survive this night?

"Swallow it all, baby. Be my good girl," Carson groans, his grip tightening in my hair as I kneel between his legs in the Rolls-Royce.

I'm Leah Walker, once a Stanford-educated heiress, daughter of Bayford's mayor. But when my mom was framed and imprisoned by corrupt bastards like Matthew Cole, I lost everything. To survive and plot revenge, I became the city's most expensive call girl—gathering secrets, leverage, and cash from powerful men who thought they controlled me.

Now, with a fake pregnancy, a staged murder, and alliances forged in the shadows, I'm dismantling the Cole empire piece by piece. Carson, the clueless son, is my pawn; Ethan, the dangerous casino king, my unexpected ally. But as bodies drop and truths ignite, will my quest for vengeance consume me—or set me free? In this twisted game of sex, lies, and power, I'm nobody's whore anymore.

After her mother’s funeral, Lena Ward returns to a small town and a house built on silence: a sealed sunroom, a will that forbids witnesses, and a sister blamed on a storm fifteen years ago. As buried records, sedatives, and a hidden trust fracture the family’s righteous facade, a chilling truth begins to surface beneath concrete and grief. Dark, tense, and emotionally sharp, this is a cold-case family thriller of rain-soaked memory, courtroom reckoning, and a child’s toy waiting under the floor.

They say true love makes a woman radiant. Noble. Beautiful.

But my marriage? It was a prison.

For seven years, I wore the shackles of "the perfect wife." I endured. I yielded. I bent over backward to keep the peace. Even when my husband banished me to the back row on our anniversary. Even when I watched him fawn over another woman right in front of me—I stayed silent.

I wanted to break free. I just didn't know how.

Then the yacht swayed, and my arm brushed against Theodore Sinclair.

He didn't pull away.

Neither did I.

When his fingers found mine beneath the blanket... when his voice dropped low against my ear and murmured, *"When we reach shore, I'll give you exactly what you want"*—

I was lost.

They say a woman who strays has no shame.

But when his lips met mine, I couldn't help wondering:

Is this it? Is this where my new life finally begins?

When I was nine months pregnant, my husband, Torin, forced doctors to extract my baby's cord blood to save his ex-wife's son. My baby died of suffocation ten minutes after birth, right before my eyes.
Instigated by his biological mother, my stepson sneaked into my room late at night and poured silver powder all over me. My skin rotted; the scars would last forever.
Later, the hospital ward caught fire, cutting off my escape. On the brink of life and death, Torin glanced back at me, scooped up his ex-wife, and walked into the safe zone without looking back.
Even later, he knelt in the ruins, hands dripping with blood, digging through the rubble brick by brick.
Until his subordinate stepped up behind him and choked out, "Alpha... we found the Luna's body."

My name is Alessia Vitale, and I'm the unloved twin.

From the moment I was born, I was the "curse" while my sister Chiara was the "treasure." My parents' love, the family's pride—it all belonged to her. Until two years ago, when Rocco Benedetti, the most powerful man in Valentia, chose me. That was the only light in my life.

Then my sister came back from Europe.

She claimed I hired thugs to rape her, destroying her dream of motherhood. Rocco forced me to test deadly drugs in her place. I was sent to a mob boss's basement, taking her beatings, her burns, her broken ribs. My family shipped me off to an unmarked clinic, then left for a beach vacation.

No one knew I'd been poisoned—that I only had a month to live.

And no one knew that by the time they discovered the truth...

It would all be too late.

When he was alive, Owen loved me so much he’d give his life for me. Yet, as for his death, I was as cold as a mere bystander.
At the funeral, his family slapped me, clawed at my throat, called me a man-eating black widow. Every last one of them turned on me, eyes red, demanding the same thing: Who killed Owen?
I didn't say a word.
My ten-year-old son went into cardiac arrest right there and was rushed to the ER — and still I said nothing.
Not until that voice cut through the crowd.
"I killed Owen."
I slowly raised my eyes.
After staying silent for so long… maybe it was finally time to tell the truth.

Growing up, my parents and brother favored only me, treating my sister Della like a burden. They locked her in the basement and fled overnight with me to Aldermere.
Twenty years later, for the sake of my upcoming wedding, they brought me back to that old house to erase the last traces of her existence.
But none of us expected that Della wasn't dead. Decades had passed, yet she still looked exactly as she did back then. She even followed us to our new home—and right now, she’s sitting quietly on our living room sofa, slowly turning her head to smile at us...

My adopted sister, Adriana, hit and injured Hadley Brooks—the prized mistress of Hartwell’s mafia boss, Dario Salvatore—and fled the scene.
Don Salvatore gave us exactly three days. And so, my husband and my parents all turned their eyes to me: Go take the fall for her. You always know how to fix things.
I agreed.
What they didn't know was that on that very same day, my doctor had given me my own deadline: I had, at most, three days left to live.

I ranked first and snagged the most prestigious job offer in the city. Yet, not a single person congratulated me.
Because for the past twenty years, every top student who received this offer from the medical school "committed suicide" that very night.
Reporters blocked the school gates, grinning as they asked if I planned to jump off a building or swallow a bullet. My roommate grabbed my collar, screaming curses, wishing me dead.
Too bad they all completely miscalculated. I come from a filthy rich family, I’m perfectly sane, and top psychologists have signed off that I have zero suicidal tendencies. I have no reason to die.
So, I looked straight into the live cameras and declared: "If my body is found tomorrow morning, it’s not suicide. It’s murder!"
After all, for that final exam, I turned in a blank paper.

I snapped photos of pale yellow baby clothes I’d bought at Target, posted them on Instagram captioned “Juno's wardrobe.”
Right after I put my phone away, my mother-in-law Genevieve called and berated me. She claimed I’d lost my mind after our stillbirth, insisted I wasn’t pregnant, and demanded I delete the post.
As soon as we hung up, my water broke.
Six hours later, I woke up worn out on a hospital delivery bed at Devereux Memorial Hospital. No baby cried anywhere.
My husband Elias sat beside me with bloodshot eyes. He pulled a lifelike silicone fake pregnancy belly out and set it on my lap, begging me to accept I wasn’t actually carrying a child. I screamed that I’d given birth and demanded to know where my baby Juno was.
Dr. Beckett and a team of doctors walked in, diagnosing me with pseudocyesis—phantom pregnancy. They said I’d only worn a silicone pad to fake a belly. My parents stood nearby, staring at me with shameful pity.
They forced me onto a psychiatric ambulance. I was locked in a windowless ward, drugged nonstop, tormented by the loss of my daughter, until every ounce of my will faded away...

I spent five years waiting for a wedding, only to watch his first love move in—pregnant, sleeping in our master bedroom, wearing my wedding dress.

She said the baby was his. He believed her.

She said I pushed her. He believed her.

She said I was eaten up with jealousy. He believed her.

But me? He didn't believe a single word I said.

The day I tried on my wedding gown, gunfire erupted. My fiancé shielded her and ran, never once looking back. He forgot that the woman left behind in the line of fire was the one he was supposed to marry. In that moment, my heart turned to ash.

Then came the report from his men—

"Boss, we couldn't find Miss Celeste..."

And so, this cold-blooded mafia king finally learned what it felt like to lose something.

Too bad. Some things, once lost, are gone forever.