167 Book(s) Related to cress marissa meyer

"I need an heir, would you like to have a baby with me, my mate?"

***Keegan Suzy Madison was trying to do is raise money for her father's kidney surgery. She was on her way home to sell the last of her properties to pay for her dad's oxygen when a car ran into her.

Cruise Tyson White is the Alpha of the Dark-Cross Moon Pack. He is the most feared Alpha and has made his pack the most powerful in the whole of Virginia.

After the death of his father, Cruise is set to pick up his inheritance and return to Washington where his multimillion wine company and girlfriend were. To get the inheritance, he would have to bring forth an heir.

Some legacies are written in blood. Hers was forged in fire.

When Natalia Thorne returns from exile to reclaim her birthright, she doesn’t expect her greatest threat to come not from the battlefield—but from the enemy heir sent to destroy her. Kael Varyn, the ruthless son of the Night Walker Alpha, was raised to hate everything she is. But when fate binds them with a bond neither of them chose, loyalty becomes a deadly question.

As war brews between rival wolf clans, secrets buried with the dead begin to rise. Natalia must decide whether to lead with vengeance or mercy—especially when her heart begins to betray her cause.

Torn between love and legacy, Natalia and Kael must choose: destroy each other to save their people… or destroy centuries of hatred to save themselves.

A story of enemies fated to love, of thrones built on ash, and of a girl who dared to rewrite the prophecy written in her blood.

Suspense/Romance.
Rachael Sinclair is a half Native American (Lakota) Police officer with Red Ridge PD in a tiny town in Montana with a new identity because her father was the nation's first native American serial killer.
She is 30 years old and because of the disappearance of her mother, the abuse suffered by her father and the things she was subjected to seeing in his cellar, and testifying against him at his trial, Rachael has become a depressed alcoholic, attempting to self-medicate her pain away.

She has questionable behaviors for someone that is law enforcement and a stalker.

When one body found on her patrol route turns into another, each in the same manner as her father. The FBI is called in to assist with the manhunt for the copycat killer.

Enter Roman Hanshaw, The FBI agent assigned to help Rachael find the truth behind these murders.

Their relationship takes an erotic turn when Roman realizes he sees the real her and he could be exactly who she needs to help her heal.
One reckless decision helps Roman make his mind up about wanting Rachael, but will she feel the same way?
Who is the killer?
Why are they targeting Rachel?
Can Roman and Rachael uncover the truth in time?
Can Rachael handle the twists and turns life throws her while uncovering this truth?

Tropes and Triggers (minimum)
Depression
Suicidal ideology
Child abuse (mentioned)
Death and dismemberment
Abuse of a corpse (eyes cut out, chest marked)
Police officer FMC
FBI MMC
Twists and turns
Erotic novel, 5 chili peppers
Bullying (co-worker and mentioned childhood off page)
Snarky, minority FMC
He falls first
Breath play
Dirty talk
handcuffs
Slow burn
Slight enemies to lovers
He breaks down her walls
Betrayal
secrets
Stalker
serial killer
touch her and die
one bed

I retired for three years, restraining my edge, thinking compromise could bring peace.

But what I got in return was my sister's abduction, my family's estate seized, and my benefactor hanged from the city gates!

Even the Council turned a blind eye, mocking me as bottom-tier trash without even a shred of magic.

Since mortal reasoning won't work, then I'll shatter the rules of this world myself!

Ashley, just turning thirty, is stuck with a string of bad dates that keep getting worse. The last of her group of friends to be single, she’s quickly becoming hopeless about finding The One. When a friend convinces her to attend a new-age workshop on making your dreams come true, she gets onto a roller coaster she can’t get off of. The poignant and hilarious comedy of errors begins. The workshop sweeps through her life like a tornado and turns her reality upside down. She is told: visualize it, and he will come. But Ashley takes it seriously, and before she knows it, she’s planning a wedding. There’s only one problem: there’s no groom. Things quickly spiral out of control as one misunderstanding after another occurs, and Ashley’s friends and family find out a wedding is happening, and want to know who the groom is. Backed into a corner, she finds herself having to lie, and to make her wedding planning more and more a reality. Things intensify as Ashley chooses her bridesmaids and is caught in a whirlwind of looking for dresses, choosing a venue, finding a band, and everything else. Soon a date is set, invitations are sent out, and there is no backing out! In the meantime, Ashley is desperately dating, hoping for The One to show up in time! In a shocking ending with a twist, Ashley draws true love into her life in the most unexpected way.

I used to bring him chocolates every morning. Handwritten letters. Smiles he never returned.
Kristoff Ricafort didn’t just break my heart—he threw it in the trash. Literally.

“Stop forcing things that aren’t there,” he said.
So I did.

I stopped showing up. Stopped hoping. Started choosing myself instead.
But now? He won’t stop staring. He follows me home. He even showed up on my bus, in my part of town—where the streets are cracked and my uniform doesn’t fit the same way.

He saw my bruises. My art. The sketchbook full of him.
And instead of walking away… he stayed.

But I’m not the same girl who used to beg for scraps of his attention.
Let him chase. Let him wonder.
Because this time—I’m the one who gets to walk away.

He brought his first love home. My son said, "I want her to be my mommy."
That was the moment I realized—I had been nothing but a fool for five years.
I gave up my dream of becoming an architect. I became a full-time wife and mother. I loved him with everything I had. But he never looked at me. Not once.
When his first love returned, he brought her into our home. My son adored her. My husband defended her. And I became the outsider in my own family.
So I signed the divorce papers. I took back my dreams. I said yes to a new job offer.
Now he's chasing after me, begging me to stay. But it's too late.
I'm done being invisible. This time, I'm choosing me.

The letter arrived while I was fighting a burnt piece of toast.
There was no name on the envelope, but I knew where it came from—Star Ring Academy. A place I thought only existed in my mother's diary. A place that could teach me to control my magic. A place where I wouldn't have to keep pretending to be "normal."
What I didn't expect was that this place had its own marked person too.
Kain Ashworth. Every student and teacher avoided him. They said he was a curse. Dangerous. That everyone who got close would disappear.
So when he sat alone in the last row, I walked over and sat down next to him.
Everyone thought I'd lost my mind. But they didn't know that I understood loneliness—the kind where the whole world turns its back on you—better than anyone.
Then, out of nowhere, he recognized my last name. And he said to me: "You and I are the same kind of people."
I didn't quite understand. Was he saying he knew my secret?

He married me because I look like her.
For three years, I played the role. I cooked his meals. I warmed his bed. I smiled when he forgot my birthday. I stayed quiet when he left in the middle of the night to hold her hand.
I told myself it was enough. I told myself I didn't need his love.
Then I got pregnant.
He said he hated children. So I didn't tell him. I was going to keep it. Our baby. The only thing that was truly mine.
But my body had other plans.
When I called him from the hospital floor, bleeding out, begging for help—he didn't come. He said I was lying. He was too busy with her.
That night, I lost everything.
The baby. The hope. The lie I'd been living.
Now he's calling me. Again and again.
But the substitute wife? She's not picking up.

My husband swore I was the only woman he would ever love.
Then my half-sister handed me her ultrasound. His baby. Growing inside her.
Three years of marriage. Three years of building everything together. Gone in one moment.
I should have thrown the proof in his face.
But my doctor gave me news that made his betrayal feel like nothing.
So I did something he will never expect.
I disappeared.
Let him search. Let him lose his mind.
He will never find me.

Six years ago, my half-sister drugged me and locked me in a room with a stranger. I fled New York overnight—only to discover I was pregnant with triplets.
Six years later, I return as "Jane," an internationally acclaimed designer. My mission: reclaim my late mother's brand. But Ethan Blackwood—that cold, powerful CEO—keeps getting in my way.
He doesn't know that the three genius children who call someone else "Mom" are actually his. He doesn't know that his trusted "girlfriend" was the one who set me up.
He thinks I'm the villain. He has no idea who he's messing with.
This time? I'm not running anywhere.

I loved him for seven years. I gave up my career as a genius designer, supported his rise, and gave him everything. But he betrayed me in the worst way possible.
He gave my only family—my beloved dog—to his so-called white moonlight and watched her torture it to death. He let her wear my wedding dress, take my ring, and destroy everything I cherished.
When I was hurt and broken, he never defended me. He chose her lies over my pain.
In that moment, I woke up. I ended our engagement, walked away, and returned to reclaim my throne as a top designer. I will make them regret every cruel thing they’ve done.
You lost me when you betrayed me. And you will never get me back.

WARNING; THIS BOOK CONTAINS XTREME MATURE CONTENTS
Read at your own discretion!!!
This book comprises of short XXX stories
BDSM, threesome, orgy, sex fight, bisexual, lesbian, gay etc. All these in one place to make you anticipate for what's in the next chapter.
Enjoy!

Maddie finds out that her fiancé was sleeping with her best friend at the night before her wedding. She hid in the closet and watched them have s3x in her bed. Hurt and betrayed, Maddie formulate a plan to get revenge. She took a video of them and planned to play it on her exact wedding day.

She went to the bar and drowned herself in alcohol, hoping it would ease the pain. Then she met the most gorgeous man she ever laid her eyes on. With only revenge playing on her head, she slept with the man on the bar to get even only to find out the next morning on her wedding day that the man she slept with was her fiancé's uncle, Hades Atticus Grant.

To make the matters worst, Maddie found out that her father was on the verge of bankrupt and she has no choice but to marry Wyatt to save her families business.

It was a complete rollercoaster ride when Hades suddenly announced that they just got married!

Maddie doesn't know Hades reason for doing that, but she had no choice but to go along and pretend to his wife.

A crime. A love from the past. A woman torn between guilt and the truth.

Fernanda seems to live a perfect life: she is the wife of a powerful real estate mogul. But when he is brutally murdered, she becomes the prime suspect.

The detective assigned to the case?
Hermes—her unforgettable, passionate love from the past.

They once shared an intense romance that neither could forget. But fate tore them apart. Now, they meet again under the shadow of a crime with dark motives and buried secrets.

Is Fernanda a cold-blooded killer, capable of eliminating her own husband?
Or is she the victim of a cruel conspiracy?

Amid twists, long-hidden truths, and desires that never died, Hermes will have to face both his feelings—and the truth.

NOVEL ONLY FOR 18+ AGEIf you are not into Adult and Mature Romance/Hot Erotica then please don't open this book.
Carina is a proud rose who hides her thorns to marry Eric just so she can give her unrequited love a happy ending.
She works hard by Eric's side for two years, and after a night of craziness, she accidentally gets pregnant with Eric's child. When she thinks her beautiful dream will finally come true, Carina hears that Eric's first love, Karen, has returned home after living abroad.
It is not until Eric throws the divorce papers in front of her that Carina realizes that she has already lost the game before Karen shows up.
The most painful thing is not the return of Eric’s first love, but Eric's preference to other woman in front of Carina to maintain the beauty of his first love in his memory.
The scandal of her father's incest, two car accidents, jumping into the sea to survive...
How many ups and downs does Carina have to go through before she gets happiness?
Who is the girl in Eric's heart, and who can really be with him till the end?

"I didn’t drug your drink," I said, my voice shaking in the dark.

"Liar," he spat. "You're just like your precious Stewart family. Deception runs in your blood, doesn't it?"

"Believe what you want," I fired back, lifting my chin. "I'm done with all of this. Done with you. I’m not going back anymore!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously in an instant , and he stepped closer, backing me against the wall until I could feel his breath on my face.

"Go ahead and leave," he growled. "But I'll always find you Elena. You're mine."


Elena, married to Reginald through her parents' ruthless machinations, naively believed she could wait for true love, only to be met with his betrayal with his first love Vivian.

Reginald, the ruthless heir to the Vanderbilt empire, thought he could control everything. Until Elena decided on divorce and disappeared, his control twisted into something he couldn't believe.

Five years later, Elena returns with twins in tow, and a bombshell revelation stuns everyone - she is the mysterious CEO of the Phoenix Group, rising from nothing to Vanderbilt's top rival in just two years.

With Reginald claiming her as his and the twins revealed as his, Elena must decide: give in to him or keep fighting for her freedom.

"You're beautiful when you're dangerous," he murmured, ice-blue eyes burning into mine as shadows writhed around my feet.
"I don't need another Alpha who thinks he owns me," I snapped, yet stepped closer, drawn by his raw power.
His hand caught my wrist, thumb tracing the silver chain marks Magnus had left. "Who dared mark what's mine?"
Heat pooled low in my stomach at his possessive words. "I'm not yours."
"Your racing pulse says otherwise." His thumb found my heartbeat, and I couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped.
"Let go," I breathed, even as I leaned into his touch.
"Make me." His other hand slid to my waist, pulling me against his hard chest. "Tell me you don't want this."
The lie died on my lips as his scent made my head spin with need.


Nephele survived two years as Magnus's captive Luna, believing she was wolfless trash. While enduring his brutality, her blood was secretly harvested by Ophelia—the woman who raised her. When she finally escapes, she learns the truth: she's the last Shadow Wolf princess, stolen as a baby. Now both want their valuable weapon back.
Half-dead in the forest, she's saved by Kaedan—the boy who once gave her an apple, now the ruthless Frost King. She won't trade one prison for another, but his touch sets her on fire and his protection feels dangerously like home.
Can a broken girl trust the king who could destroy her completely?

Small town girl Giana works hard and doesn’t depend on anyone for help. She struggles with family problems and copes by Riding her horse to her family’s lake to enjoy the peace and quiet. While at work one day she meets a her new student Gloriana. After an eye opening day at work Giana goes back and forth with her emotions but while learning to heal she end up finds what could be her first real love.. But little does she know the man she falls in love with is hiding a huge secret from her.

“Good Evening Madam. I’m Carlos and this is Jose. Is this your home?” said the taller of the two young men.
“Yes, this is my family's home. Can I help you?” Giana spoke softly.
“We are here to deliver this invitation to the Ortega family” Carlos held out an envelope.

Giana wasn’t sure if she should take it but she was Giana Ortega so she carefully took the envelope and thanked them. She watched as both men turned and returned to their vehicle. Giana went back inside and opened the envelope. Her mouth fell open as she read the contents of the envelope.

Who sent the invitation and where’s it to? What is Gianas love interest hiding from her?

A soccer star and a kind-hearted artist find themselves on the same team, but love is a game they never planned on playing.Lucy Martin left her small hometown behind after her divorce. Now she's back, caring for her soccer-crazed nephew while his parents are deployed. She'd do anything to make him happy—including approaching her high school crush and current soccer superstar, Ryker James, for a favor.Nursing an injury, Ryker is laying low at his parents' house until he can rejoin his club and prove he has reformed his bad boy ways. When the sister of an old friend asks him to coach her nephew's soccer team, he should decline. But Lucy intrigues him, and he finds himself unable to disappoint her.Coaching forces them together and sparks fly—on and off the field. Lucy is wary of romance, and Ryker can’t afford a distraction. Before the final whistle blows, will they take a shot at love or forfeit the match?

She needs a fiancé—for only one night.Cassandra Daniels’ parents want to meet her fiancé. They’ve driven hours to have dinner with the man who stole their daughter’s heart. The only problem—he doesn’t exist. She made him up because her mom and dad are concerned about her. Cassandra could tell the truth, but she’s tired of always disappointing her family. Now, she must find a handsome, respectable-looking guy to be her fake fiancé.Troy McKnight can’t believe a gorgeous blonde wants to pretend to be engaged for the night. Why him? She’s his total opposite—impulsive, adventurous, and a risk-taker. He should say no. He’s not the type to go along with crazy schemes and drama, yet he can’t deny her pull. Giving into his attraction, he agrees to be her fiancé. What’s the worst thing that can happen?Turns out Cassandra’s father is a powerful venture capitalist who could make or break Troy's career, so they continue the ruse. But as their fake engagement spirals, their attempts to stop the madness fail. Troy wants to spend more time with Cassandra, but she fears losing her heart…to him. The charade must end, even if she wishes her fiancé for the night could be her perfect husband for life.One Night to Forever series:Book 1: Fiancé for the NightBook 2: The Wedding LullabyBook 3: A Little Bit EngagedBook 4: Love on the Slopes

She’s been a proper princess—but she wants to rebel.After the death of her fiancé, Princess Madeleine knows a loveless, arranged marriage awaits her. She’s resigned to her fate until she meets her intended husband. Crown Prince Enrique is gorgeous, but he comes on way too strong, says the wrong things, and fumbles with apologies. He’s more court jester than Prince Charming. How can she marry him?Enrique might be self-centered and lack social skills, but he’s trying to do better—for himself, his country, and his future wife. Despite their royal union being a political necessity, he wants his marriage with the captivating Madeleine to be a love match. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to woo her. How hard can it be to win his princess bride’s heart?Nearly impossible, he discovers, because Madeleine seems unwilling—or unable—to give him her heart. On their wedding day, instead of exchanging vows, will the royal couple say goodbye?

He was my father's best friend and my legal guardian. I mistook his obsessive control for protection—until the night of my eighteenth birthday, when he shattered that illusion in his study. For eight long years, I lived a double life: his pure, adopted daughter by day, and his dirty little secret by night.
I thought it was love. Then today, a Wall Street alert announced his engagement to a media heiress. While the world celebrated, I finally understood: he was capable of love; he just couldn't marry me.
Now, I've deleted every trace of our eight years together. Standing at the window, I held up my newly ringed finger to the surveillance car he sent to watch me.
"The game is over," I texted him. "P.S. I got married today. And you… you're the last to know."

For eighteen months, I was Adam Sterling’s secret lover.
By day, I taught his seven-year-old daughter French. By night, I warmed his bed.
He gave me a luxury apartment, expensive jewelry—everything but a commitment.
I thought I was his woman… until his ex-wife came back. That’s when I understood—I was just a high-end toy.

Used in front of her, then thrown away like trash.

I fled to Paris, carrying his child.
Now he says he loves me, that it’s real this time.
But the girl who used to get wet from just one look from him?
She's gone.

I died betrayed on my wedding altar.
The silver blade in my sister's hand felt colder than our shared childhood. My "fated mate" Kaelen held me down as she carved out my heart—a sacrifice for his ambition.
In my final breath, I saw him: Fenrir, the half-blood guard I'd scorned, breaking through a wall of spears to reach me. Silver arrows pierced his chest mid-leap, but his dying eyes held no blame—only a loyalty that followed me into darkness.
The Moon Goddess heard my dying vow.
Now I'm back, standing where it all began—the mate choosing ceremony. Kaelen expects me to declare him again. My sister waits to play her victim.
But this time, I walk past the golden Alpha and kneel before the broken slave.
"Rise," I whisper, lifting his chin. "The real Luna has come home."
And when they laugh at my choice, they don't see what I do: the ancient power stirring beneath his skin, the king waiting to be awakened.
Let them call him monster. Let them call me mad.
We'll show them what happens when a betrayed Luna and a fallen king unite.
The altar awaits its true sacrifice—and it won't be me this time.

When Noah betrayed me for fresher meat, he thought the only cost was our eight-year relationship. He never imagined I'd take with me the very soul of his commercial empire—and a secret he would never uncover.
For three years, he hunted for me like a madman, from Los Angeles to Reykjavik, until he finally knelt at my doorstep in Lagos.
"Give me a chance," he begged, "for the sake of our past."
I looked down at the once-unyielding man, our daughter in my arms.
"You lost us," I whispered, my voice calm yet final. "And now your redemption stands right before you, forever out of your reach."

My wedding day was twenty-four hours away. Then, I hacked into my fiancé's messages.
"The father first. Then the bride."
With my life on the line, I made a deal with the devil they call the Ghost—the lethal outcast my own family betrayed.
"Marry me," I offered, "and the Corleone empire is yours."
I walked down the aisle in black. He stood waiting, a promise of vengeance in his eyes. When the bullets flew, he slid a ring onto my finger—still warm from the gun. "Our contract begins now, Isabella. Let's show them what happens when you cross us."
This marriage was supposed to be a lie. But as blood mixes with vows, I'm left wondering… did I just sign a deal for salvation, or a one-way ticket to hell?

After pulling back-to-back graveyard shifts, I dragged myself to my twin brother's place to mooch his washer. One look at his biohazard of a bed, and I crashed on the clean bunk across the room instead.
Big mistake. It belonged to Jensen—the baseball team's untouchable ice king.
He lost his mind over the sweet peach scent someone left in his sheets, then discovered it was the first thing in two years that let him actually sleep. My desperate brother, hunting for free rent, conned me into playing Jensen's "replacement sleep aid" and locked the damn door behind me.
Jensen caught on instantly. But instead of throwing me out, he offered me cash to stick around as his contract girlfriend. After he handled some thugs threatening my brother, this guy who never lets anyone close pressed his face into my neck, voice raw and possessive:
"Your brother sold you to clear his debt. You're mine now. And I don't do returns."

The night Julian Wright orchestrated his "rose ceremony," everyone expected a full meltdown.
They were taking bets—would I show up sobbing, or would I skip straight to the roof? After all, everyone knew I was broke. Without Julian's money, I'd be out on my ass.
But when Julian handed that rose to campus queen Chloe Miller, the ballroom doors never opened. No crying. No scene. The whole party lost its main event.
What nobody knew was that while Julian was busy playing bachelor, I was sitting on his half-brother's leather couch in nothing but an oversized white dress shirt. Bare legs tucked under me.
I glanced up at Vincent, catching my lower lip between my teeth. "Your couch is soaked. Where exactly are you planning to sleep tonight?"
Vincent Wright's throat worked. Hard. He dragged his gaze away like it physically hurt. When he spoke, his voice came out wrecked: "Stay put. I'll grab a towel."
A beat. Then rougher: "Need to get you dry."

For six years, I stood by Xavier Sterling through fifty-one failed proposals. Every single time, even with the ring in his hand, one phone call from his "fragile" foster sister was all it took for him to leave me standing alone.
On our six-year anniversary—the night of the fifty-second attempt—he abandoned me at the altar of our dinner table once again. His apology? A glass of strawberry champagne sent to my table. It was her favorite drink. For me, it was anaphylactic poison.
Staring at those pink bubbles, the love finally died.
I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't used in six years.
"Send the jet," I said. "I'm done playing peasant."
Weeks later, Xavier found himself on his knees, begging the legendary heiress of the Verlin dynasty to save his crumbling company. That's when the horror hit him:
The untouchable queen looking down at him was the same "obedient" girl he had left behind.
I tightened my grip on my new fiancé’s arm and offered Xavier a cold smile.
"Mr. Sterling, your love was always cheap. But your regret? That's a luxury you can no longer afford."

I gave birth to three children for my ruthless mafia husband. And every single time, he tore the newborns from my blood-soaked sheets and handed them straight to my barren sister.
For seven years, I endured electroshock therapy and brutal captivity, reduced to nothing but a breeding vessel to complete their "picture-perfect" family.
He thought he had broken my spirit long ago. That’s why, when the assassins struck, he didn't hesitate to shove me into the line of fire as a human shield.
To protect his true love, he threw my bleeding, wounded body into a freezing water cell as their perfect scapegoat.
He thought tossing me a few scraps of mercy would have me crawling back to him, begging like a dog.
But he was dead wrong.
When the bone-chilling water swallowed me, I didn't panic or thrash. I simply smiled, letting the black depths drag me under.
Domenico could never have imagined that the cold, lifeless corpse he personally sent to the morgue was my perfect escape, seven agonizing years in the making.
He stole my babies. He stripped away every last ounce of my dignity.
So now, I’m going to take away everything he holds dear, piece by agonizing piece: his empire, his power, and the love he arrogantly thought he could control forever.

"911, what's your emergency?"
What came through wasn't words—it was raw, desperate sobbing.
In Oak Creek, a well-respected couple called to report their daughter had died. But when officers stepped through the door, what they found made a veteran sheriff drop to his knees and retch—
Their 36-year-old daughter had become part of the couch.
Her body had fused with decomposing foam, waste, and writhing maggots. Skin adhered to cracked leather. Her stomach contained couch padding and her own feces. She weighed 65 pounds.
Through tears, her parents explained: "She had severe autism... wouldn't let anyone touch her..."
But neighbors told a different story: Nobody had laid eyes on this girl in twelve years.
Then investigators found something beneath the couch—freshly used cleaning wipes.
Someone had crouched beside her decomposing body and methodically cleaned her. For days.
Then who stays that composed in hell?
Grief—or guilt?

As the undisputed queen of the CS department, my world used to consist of nothing but the absolute rationality of zeros and ones.
Until Corbin Hawke, hockey captain with his star-athlete entitlement, bulldozed past my firewall with his Academy Award-worthy act and a "love algorithm" he supposedly pulled all-nighters to write.
I naively believed it was the upgrade I'd been waiting for.
Until this moment.
The shower ran in the bathroom, his carefree humming drifting out, while my iPad lit up beside me. Thirsty texts from some cheerleader flashed across the screen, followed by him running his mouth in the team group chat:
"Easy, fellas. Dumping this frigid nerd at the championship party tomorrow and collecting that five-hundred-dollar bet. That script I copied off Stack Overflow for 200 bucks? She ate that shit up."
Staring at those vile messages, whatever naive warmth I'd stupidly let myself feel got deleted from my system in one clean swipe, leaving nothing but cold, pure logic.
Pissing off a top-tier hacker would be the most catastrophic mistake he'd ever executed.

After Frederick—my guardian, eleven years older—saw the confession I'd posted meant only for him, he announced his engagement the next day.
Out of spite, I faked a hickey and stumbled home past midnight to find him waiting on the couch.
The second his eyes hit my neck, his face went dark:
"Dating someone?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sleeping with him?"
I twisted my dress between shaking fingers. "You don't get to ask me that anymore."
He pressed two fingers to his temple. The silence was suffocating.
I'd expected him to explode—this man who used to go ballistic if another guy came near me. Instead, his voice came out cold and flat:
"You're eighteen. I can't stop you. Just cover that up before you go out. It looks cheap."
Later, I finally gave up. Right under his second-floor window, I kissed another guy, planning not to come back.
That's when the composed law professor completely lost it.
That storm night, he dragged me to an isolated mountain house and pinned me beneath him. Seven years of control shattered:
"You have no idea how many pills I take every night just to keep my hands off you."
His eyes were wild, his voice destroyed:
"If you need someone that badly... I've been right here for seven years."

When Dorian Falco’s stepsister and secret lover was found brutally violated in a slum alleyway, the Mafia Don lost his fucking mind.
And he blamed me.
He dragged me into the manor's dungeon, throwing me to a dozen of his most depraved enforcers.
"Whatever Camilla suffered, you'll pay back a thousand times over."
I collapsed on the freezing floor, sobbing as I desperately clutched his pant leg. "I love you! I would never hurt her! Please, Dorian, believe me!"
Dorian only offered his cruelest sneer.
"Jealous that she gets the real thing? Fine. I'll make you filthier than she ever was."
He locked me in that blood-stained cell for seven days and nights.
His thugs, given carte blanche by the Don, whipped me with chains and violated me without restraint. I screamed Dorian's name in the darkness until my throat shredded.
Seven days later, Dorian returned with a recovering Camilla.
He stood outside the heavy iron door, his voice dripping with mock generosity.
"Crawl out here, Saoirse. Get on your knees, kiss Camilla's shoes, and maybe—just maybe—I'll let you live."
Silence. No answer.
Because three days ago, I had already died in that cell.

I thought I just had a high sex drive.
Until that night, I dumped another premature loser and downloaded an app called MythosMatch.
Silver-haired Elandil appeared at the bar downstairs. His kiss was laced with deadly danger, his fingers gave me my first real orgasm, his damn size nearly split me apart—
Then I saw his pointed ears.
Turns out human men couldn't satisfy me, not because I was too demanding.
But because I was never fully human to begin with.

In my past life, my twin Phaedra and I were both married off to the Dragon Clan on the same day.
I was given to the eldest son Magnus, while she went to the second son Drakon.
A year later, Phaedra gave birth to a small white dragon with scales like fresh snow. Meanwhile, I delivered nine children—all of them deformed monsters, bearing not a trace of dragon lineage.
Dragon King Typhon, a tyrant obsessed with bloodline purity and beauty, immediately stripped his eldest son of the inheritance rights and decided to pass the throne to his second son, Drakon.
Consumed by rage and humiliation, my husband Magnus descended into madness.
He ordered my nine children dragged into the Shadow Abyss and thrown into boiling blood pools as sacrificial offerings. Then he bound me tightly to the frozen altar pillar.
As the crimson winds howled from the blood pool, he mercilessly cut open my chest and carved out my nine-tailed heart while I was still breathing. I drew my last breath drowning in endless despair and blood.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in the Dragon Clan's towering hall—at the mate selection ceremony that had sealed our fates.
In my daze, Magnus walked straight past me. His eyes brimmed with disgust as he unhesitatingly reached for Phaedra's hand instead. The same woman who had birthed that perfect white dragon in my past life.
But the fool had no idea my children's deformities had nothing to do with me—they came from his own cursed, rotting bloodline.

Six months ago, a yacht explosion consumed everyone I loved: my husband Leonard, my parents, and my brother.
I escaped only because of stomach pain that kept me from boarding. My adopted sister Claire became the sole survivor.
Since then, I've become an empty shell.
Even after being diagnosed with terminal uterine cancer, even while carrying my late husband's child, I've endured the agony of chemotherapy alone, exhausting what little strength remains to scrape together money for Claire—who hides away in a private care facility, claiming severe PTSD.
Until this winter day, with a blizzard approaching.
Dragging my dying body to my husband's memorial to pay respects, I discovered a credit card statement—charges made three months after his death.
Following the address on that receipt, I pushed open the door of a luxurious suburban villa.
Inside, it was warm as spring. My parents and brother, who should have been at the bottom of the ocean, stood there perfectly alive.
At the center of the room, my husband—the man I'd grieved for day and night—was kissing my adopted sister, his lips tender against hers.
The whole family was celebrating, raising glasses to toast the infant cradled in Claire's arms—barely a month old.
There had never been any disaster at sea.
It was all a meticulously planned hoax—their twisted way to erase me from their lives forever.

In my previous life, on the night of our wedding anniversary, my husband Bryan brought his pregnant mistress, Victoria, into our home. Driven to the edge, I slashed my wrists to force him to kick her out.
No one could have predicted her blood sugar would suddenly crash in the freezing storm outside. She collapsed into a flooded ditch and froze to death before anyone found her.
Everyone ruled it a tragic accident, but Bryan decided her blood was on my hands.
Months later, when I went into labor, he abused his position as my doctor to deliberately delay my care. He left me to writhe through dozens of hours of agonizing contractions and severe hemorrhaging until I bled out.
When, with hands slick with my own blood, I begged him to save our baby, he calmly peeled off his soiled surgical gloves. The look in his eyes was merciless.
"Heartbroken?" he sneered. "Good. Take the brat down to hell with you to keep Victoria company."
An icy, suffocating darkness swallowed me whole.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact night of our anniversary—the very moment Bryan, bringing the freezing rain in with him, protectively guided Victoria through my front door.

I took a submachine gun bullet for Mafia Don Vincenzo Lombardi. I drank poisoned wine for him and bore his heir. To the the entire syndicate, I was his loyal cleaner and lucky talisman.
But the moment he seized ultimate power, he brought her home—my "pure and fragile" adopted sister, Vanessa.
For her, Vincenzo shattered my knees, handed over my title as Donna, and turned my own son against me. He dismissed my broken heart, claiming I was being petty and that she was merely "joining the family."
Yet, the innocent Vanessa was a monster in disguise. She ruthlessly slit her own mother’s throat—the woman who raised me—and locked me in a sub-zero freezer.
When Vincenzo finally pried the heavy iron door open, there was no pity in his eyes. He only offered a cold command: crawl and beg his pregnant new Donna for forgiveness.
Wiping the bloody ice crystals from my lips, I looked at the man I had loved with my life, and rasped my final words: "Vincenzo... I'm dying."

Left at the altar, I married his uncle instead—an icy, untouchable Wall Street titan.
For a full year, he stonewalled my every advance.
Even when I cornered him in sheer lace, his jaw merely tightened. With chilling indifference, he pulled out a sterile latex finger cot:
"If you simply need a release, I can accommodate you."
Humiliated, I drew up divorce papers to end the sham.
But right before I left, I stumbled into a hidden vault beneath his study.
There, laid out on black velvet, was all my "missing" lingerie.
Beside it, pinned under a psychiatric diagnosis for Severe Obsessive Fixation, was a diary filled with frantic scrawl:
[I finally manipulated everything to steal her.]
[But the obsession is eating me alive. I don't dare touch her without gloves. If our bare skin meets, I'll lose my goddamn mind. I'll tear her apart like a rabid dog and lock her in this windowless room where no one else can ever look at her!]

The day I gave birth, I wasn't handed my crying baby, but a tight swaddle of blood-stained cash.
To secure his seat as the new Don, my husband had traded our newborn to Agatha—my own flesh-and-blood aunt, and the young wife of his paralyzed father.
Reduced to nothing more than a convenient incubator, I spent the next four years as a prisoner in my own home.
Ronald issued a ruthless order to his men: if I ever took a single step toward Agatha’s heavily guarded wing to see my son, I was to be shot on sight.
But a mother's desperation knows no bounds.
When my boy's fever spiked dangerously high, I blasted through armed guards and walked through a blazing inferno just to save his life.
Yet, the most fatal wound didn't come from the flames or the shattered glass.
It happened in the ER, when the four-year-old boy I nearly died to save woke up, shoved away my severely burned hands, and screamed for Agatha. He begged me to leave, crying that he just wanted to be a "real family" with his dad and the woman who stole my life.
Staring at the twisted family my husband and aunt had built upon my stolen motherhood, a sudden, icy numbness quieted my shattered world.
"Call me Mom one last time," I whispered through the ash and tears, "and I promise I'll never bother you again."

Three torturous years hauling bodies on the mortuary night shift, and I'd finally scraped together the cash for my brother Charles's heart transplant.
He just waved it off.
"My heart is fine. Mom and Dad didn't die in that gang war, either. I orchestrated the hit. You were the only casualty."
Nearby, my husband, Gerald, casually lit a cigar to deliver his own confession. "I never went bankrupt. 'Laying low' was just my excuse to avoid squeezing into that dingy funeral home dorm with you. I've been at the Long Island estate."
"I was going to punish you for another three years," Charles added, "but the stench of formaldehyde on you is nauseating. We couldn't take it anymore."
I froze, still clutching the credit card. Charles plucked the plastic from my numb fingers and shoved his phone screen in my face. A banking app stared back at me.
Balance: exactly zero.
"My name is still on the joint account," he sneered, tossing the card into the trash. "I drained it this morning. That blood money you made bagging stiffs is being handed out to street junkies as we speak. We'd never touch that filth."
Before the sheer absurdity of it could suffocate me, my parents walked in. Flanked by bodyguards, they kept their distance, eyeing me like a plague rat.
"You thought being the biological daughter gave you the right to ruthlessly bully Violet. We simply wanted to put you in your place."
"Swear you'll never cross Violet again, and you can remain a Falcone," my mother added coolly. "Otherwise, you're dead to us."
In the stifling silence that followed, my phone buzzed. A text from my oncologist.
[Mrs. Castello, the results are back. It's terminal. Do you consent to initiating the hospice and DNR protocols we discussed?]

For five years of secret marriage to Sebastian Hawthorne—one of New York's most powerful attorneys—he still refused to let our son Quinn call him "Daddy" in public.
At the firm, I was his on-call senior associate, the invisible workhorse cleaning up his messes and handling his impossible cases. At home, I was the single mother who stopped waiting up for a husband who never came home for dinner.
Everyone knew the new intern, Delilah Vance, was his favorite—a federal judge's daughter, his hand-picked "rising star."
I used to believe that if I worked hard enough, if Quinn behaved perfectly, the heart beneath all that arrogance would eventually soften.
Until that rainy night when he threw his wife of five years and their son out of their own home to comfort Delilah over some fabricated stalker scare.
And while Quinn collapsed in my arms, gasping through a severe allergic reaction, Sebastian was raising champagne with that woman at an impossible-to-book French restaurant, celebrating her win in a pointless mock trial.
Watching my son's pale face and the hope slowly dying in his eyes, five years of one-sided devotion finally reached its verdict.
The case is closed, Sebastian. I'm done.

The kidnapper's boot sent the briefcase flying. Thirty million in cash scattered across the floor.
He pointed at me, then at the unconscious Camilla. "Not enough money. So you pick one to take home. The other stays."
Lorenzo stood among the bills, his face drained of color.
"I'm sorry. Camilla has a heart condition—she won't make it through the night here." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "You've always been the strong one. Once I get her to the hospital and pull together the rest of the ransom, I swear I'll come back for you."
The next second, Lorenzo gathered Camilla in his arms and walked out without a backward glance. The heavy iron door slammed shut with a boom that echoed through the space.
In the cavernous abandoned factory, it was just me and five thugs with brutal faces.
The leader dragged the flat of his blade across my cheek, his eyes dark with sick intent. "Well, well. Looks like your rich boyfriend just chose her over you. But hey, don't feel too bad, sweetheart—we're gonna keep you company."
Watching the twisted hunger in their eyes, I didn't scream or beg. I just glanced at the locked door. "Lorenzo's gone, right? Far enough away?"
"That p**y's probably halfway across the county by now." The leader grinned, reaching for my collar.
"Good." I let out a breath.
Snap.
The zip tie around my wrists gave way like thread. A massive shadow swallowed him whole.
In less than two seconds, a dragon nearly sixty feet long filled every inch of space.
I lowered my massive head, molten slitted eyes locked on the five frozen insects below.
Then I opened my fang-lined jaws and snapped them up one by one.

The agony of flesh being torn apart still burned in my memory.
But I had been reborn.
I tremblingly touched the face in the mirror. Whole, unmarked. Was this real?
Just moments ago I had been struggling on death's edge, and now I stood in an 18-year-old body. Everything felt too surreal.
The entire pack still thought I was that naive Elena, forever living in the shadow of my pureblood sister Sarah. They didn't know I had seen the darkest truth.
The door suddenly burst open, and Sarah walked in carrying a cup of hot tea.
"Elena, don't stress yourself." Her voice carried an air of superiority. "Given your... situation, the Moon Goddess would be more forgiving."
Looking at her flawless smile, I was nearly sick to my stomach. This face, this expression—I had witnessed it countless times in my past life.
"About fated mates and all..." Sarah gently stroked my shoulder. "It's not something you absolutely have to follow. If you find Alpha Lucas too domineering, choosing a gentler Alpha would be a good option too. I'll stand by you either way."
Stand by me? I nearly laughed out loud.
In my past life, I had been blinded by these very words. I had given up other opportunities and chosen my fated mate Alpha Lucas, only to become a tool to mask his true feelings.
The truth hadn't surfaced until Sarah's birthday celebration. When the rogue wolves' claws had targeted her, that man who had claimed to love me for years hadn't hesitated to push me toward the pack.
As I collapsed in a pool of my own blood, the wolf claws having torn deep gashes across my flesh, I watched Lucas cradling Sarah protectively while she clutched her belly in panic.
"Save Sarah! Quickly, save her! The child in her belly..." Lucas had immediately rushed her to the medical room.
No one had paid attention to me lying in a pool of blood. In everyone's eyes, only Sarah had mattered.
"It's all my fault," Sarah had said weakly. "If I hadn't gotten pregnant, Elena wouldn't have been lashing out in jealousy..."
What? She had actually claimed I was lashing out in jealousy?
"Elena, I'm sorry... I'll make it up to you in the next life." Lucas had given me one last look, his eyes full of guilt.
Next life?
You got me killed, and you still wanted me to give you a chance in the next life? Dream on!

On the eve of my mating ceremony, my twin sister and I were abducted by rogues.
My Alpha fiancé and my parents drained our territory's wealth, but only bought back my sister Elara's life.
Upon her safe return, Elara seamlessly took my place, claiming my marking ceremony to become his Luna.
Meanwhile, left to rot in the rogue camp, a wolfsbane-laced blade violently carved out my wolf's essence.
Tossed into the wilderness like rotting meat, stripped of my ability to shift and bear pups, I became the Crescent Pack's ultimate disgrace.
Forsaken by my pack, Silas—Alpha of the Obsidian Pack and my childhood friend—defied the Council’s fury. Under the Moon Goddess, he publicly marked me, sheltering me like an absolute treasure.
But now, in the third year of our bond, I accidentally knocked over a half-sealed Memory crystal in his study.
It projected a hidden dark magic ritual into mid-air, tearing the lie of that kidnapping to shreds in an instant.
In the projection, Silas held my sister's hand, his eyes brimming with a sickening devotion.
"Don't be afraid, Elara. Aria's twin essence is a perfect match. With this, you'll safely carry pups with the strongest Alpha bloodline."
A heartbeat later, Silas approached my blindfolded, bound body.
With zero mercy or numbing agents, he carved out my essence with his own hands, drowning out my agonizing howls.

When I took my last breath, my boyfriend of five years was busy pulling strings to get his new model fling a runway spot.
Nobody knew he used to be a desperate stray I bought out of a dark alley. It started as a three-year contract. I burned millions to pave his way into the fashion elite, handing him top-tier campaigns until he became a global supermodel.
I stayed his dirty little secret so nothing would ruin his shot at "Model of the Year." He swore going public would kill his career, yet he had no problem parading around with young starlets—and letting them humiliate me behind closed doors.
His newest fling even smugly played a recording of him mocking me: "She’s just an ATM for brand deals. How could an uptight, older control freak ever compete with you?"
That was when I finally accepted it: love bought with money is just a transaction.
So, holding my terminal diagnosis, I signed over the last of my assets and quietly bowed out of his glamorous life forever.
I just don't understand one thing: if he was so sick of me, why did he completely lose his mind when he saw my death certificate? Why did he throw away everything he'd built, tearing the world apart to find me like a feral, abandoned dog?

Two months after Derek Prescott blindsided me with a breakup, I ran into him at the Alpha Xi annual formal at St. Jude University.
I'd been about to leave when Blair Covington—his new girlfriend and daughter of a Winthrop Holdings executive—waved me over with a smile that promised trouble.
The table was mid-round of Truth or Dare, everyone half-drunk and looking for blood.
Derek raised his champagne flute with theatrical flair, his arm draped around Blair—apparently his golden ticket to finally belonging.
"The smartest thing I ever did in my last relationship? Cutting loose the dead weight—some townie girl who was only dragging me down. Now I'm with someone who actually understands what it means to have standards."
Snickers rippled around the table. Every set of eyes swiveled toward me—the nobody ex-girlfriend with no family name to drop.
I didn't flinch. Just rattled the ice in my glass and gestured lazily for the game to continue.
When it was finally my turn, someone threw out a loaded question, voice dripping with fake sweetness: "So Cordelia, did you ever hide anything from your ex?"
"Actually, yes." I met Derek's eyes without blinking.
"Oh? What was it?"
"I hid where I really come from." My voice was flat, bored. "My family's old money. Serious old money."