79 Book(s) Related to jupiter drops lyrics

“If you are looking for a town to fall in love with, then you can't go wrong with the Jupiter Point series.” Welcome to charming Jupiter Point, where a sexy new crew of wildfire fighters is taking the town by storm. SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE Crew leader Sean Marcus is out to prove he’s no longer the troubled boy who left Jupiter Point after a night of violence. All he wants is to clear his name. Falling in love isn’t the plan, but everything changes when he sets eyes on his best friend’s sister Evie, all grown up and more gorgeous than ever. He’s the only one who knows her secret—but will she trust him to help heal her heart? BURN SO BRIGHT Josh Marshall is all about fun, firefighting and flirting. But there’s one woman who keeps him at arm’s length--honeymoon-planner extraordinaire Suzanne Finnegan. Her life plan has no room for someone she thinks is a player—until he’s injured rescuing a crewmate in a wildfire. Then she can’t resist a hometown hero who needs her help. Besides, if they’re so wrong for each other, why do the sparks between them burn so bright? INTO THE FLAMES His hotshot crew knows him as Rollo, but to his family he’s Rollington Wareham III, a banking heir with responsibilities he can’t escape. His days of freedom are almost over, which means it’s the worst time to realize how sexy and adorable his friend Brianna is. Besides, Brianna’s comfort zone is with plants, not high society. But a limited-time fling can’t hurt, can it? Especially when they’re both sure it can’t possibly lead to anything… This box set includes Books 1-3 of the Jupiter Point series. Each book can easily be read alone, but you will find familiar characters and settings as you go. “Jennifer Bernard is an author who knows how to write the perfect yummy alpha hero and a kickass modern heroine.” Harlequin Junkie “The dialogue in Bernard’s stories is always, always quick, fun, and super smart & sexy.” HJ “Jennifer’s writing is so realistic and descriptive you feel like you are part of this community, that these are your friends and family. I was emotionally invested with these characters, their lives, their stories, the battles they had to overcome.” “I can’t wait to see what Jupiter Point has to offer next!”

"Say, who sent you?"
"I... I just want to..." get my money back.
Before Vichy can finish her sentence, Makino interrupts. "Want to be my woman?"
Sure enough, this is another woman who drugs him and tries to get into his bed.
"If you want to die, I will let you get what you want."
"Asshole, you let me go!
"Drugs dare to take, now play with me sex so even..."****

Vichy Colman saved a man, and it turns out to be Makino Field, the richest man in Iugi City.
He is hearsay ruthless, unscrupulous...His has only profit in his eyes without any other thing even his family. When Vichy rescued him, he promised $100 million in reward.

But when that $100 million turns into a pride price to marry her, Vichy shouts, "I only want the $100 million reward, not you!" "You give your life to save me, I can only repay you with my own life."

"Why? Did you ask my opinion about marrying you?"
"So will you marry me?" 'No!
"Then I might as well condescend to marry to your family."
"Makino Field, you has no face."
"Face is worth less than a wife."

"So... I don't want the money then."
"The money has been transferred to your account already. Now it's too late to change your mind."

Vichy is about to crying. She saved a person, and now she needs to devote all of her, TO HIM!

Warning: Explicit content
"How do you feel?" He asked as he played with my breast.
"I feel... I feel like I'm addicted to you...."I hissed in pleasure as he bit on my nipple.
"Go on I want to hear it," he said in a low tone that made my skin heat up again.
"You're a sin I can't fight against. You make me want more of you even when it's not right and it's toxic." I said almost whispering still trying to catch my breath.
"And you love it even if it feels forbidden."
" S-scott we shouldn't...."
"Shhh...." He ordered as he stroked my wet clit with his fingers making me moan. "I don't want to hear more of your guilty confessions, I want you..." He paused and drew his face closer to my ears to whisper to it. "I want you to forget everything and just think about you and me and the feelings that come with our body bonding in each other's heat."


She is a stripper, entangled in the men's world. All she ever wanted was to have lots of money, a successful career, and lots of men to satisfy her sinful desires. Her name is Thea, flip through the pages of this book to find out how she lives out her erotic fantasies and the lifestyle of guns and men.

Triffany never expected her life will change after an unpleasant encounter with a
stranger she never knew, this wasn't the life she dreamt of, force into a marriage she did not
sign up for but will things really go well for her after getting married to a wealthy man who
has no love for her.

Triffany never expected her life will change after an unpleasant encounter with a stranger she never knew, this wasn't the life she dreamt of, and force into a marriage she did not sign up for, but will things really go well for her after getting married to a wealthy man who has no love for her.

Orphan Fae was fostered by the wealthy Eastons ‘til she’s handed her modest inheritance. Carl, the Easton’s heir, is her childhood friend and all-time crush. A few years later, she's an uninvited guest to his wedding to her bestfriend, in an island resort owned by his Best Man Jigo.

That night, drunk and reeling from a heart break, she did the unthinkable and begs Jigo, the ultimate snob, to help her forget.

Well, he’s the most gorgeous, sexiest man she’s ever met. Stoic and ruthless, she thinks he's only ever seen her as a love-sick fool and his nonchalance is disguised disdain for her behavior. But not only did he oblige, he’s amazingly the sweetest teddy bear behind closed doors!

And so, after that weekend—she runs. She was in need of a short distraction, not another obsession that will break her heart again! But her perfect rebound appears in her door, slips inside her condo, her bed and into her life seamlessly. Next thing she knew, they're married.

That leaves their families and friends—and the just gotten back from his honeymoon Carl—spinning with either joy or dismay. He thinks she needs saving. Sarah, his wife, isn't happy that he's meddling. But when Sarah’s dirty past gets exposed, her crumbling marriage and Carl’s new feelings for Fae threaten his friendship with Jigo.

While that’s how Fae finds herself—again—in the crosshairs of Sarah’s vindictive machinations.

I'm a folklorist. Folk traditions are my field.
At first, I thought it was just an ordinary rhyme, a scrap of oral history set to a tune.
"A rag doll in the mire, swinging high up to the sky..."
We all thought it was just a prank.
Until the first person drowned in the bog. Then the second fell from a tower crane. Then the third somehow drowned in a bathtub.
I stared at the black symbol surfacing on the back of my hand.
And then I saw the dean—the one who was supposed to be dead—standing outside my dorm window in a long black dress, smiling at me with impossible tenderness...

Three years ago, I was the sole surviving legendary mage of Ash Valley. To fulfill my comrade's dying wish, I married into the Robert family, becoming a despised and bullied son-in-law . For three years, I endured torment and humiliation; my entire family treated me like trash . My wife handed me divorce papers , then accepted the marriage proposal of a nobleman. On my wedding day, I walked into the hall in old clothes, and everyone laughed, thinking I was crazy. Until I shattered all magic with a wave of my hand, my legendary presence overwhelming everyone present, the woman who had once despised me finally cried and asked me: Why did you lie to me?

Clutching her thighs and hitching her up on the vanity. Dragging her legs over his waist. Her hands over her head held by his as he closed the gap between them. Taking her lips fully in his. Hungry for her. His body had ached and yearned for her for so long. Running his tongue up her neck before biting her earlobe. Her nails in her chest. Moans in his ear.


The Wild's of Nakuru is a realm tucked away hidden in plain sight on the Hawaii Islands of Kauai. It's said to be a place the gods created long ago. A place of magic, rare supernatural beings, and peace.

Ruled by Lelani the Enchanted Goddess. Soon to be married to the Lycan King Montai also known as the protector of the realm. A marriage that would bond the most powerful beings together. A marriage that would keep earth and its people safe. However, when things take a turn and Lelani is separated from Montai before their bonding ritual could be complete Nakuru lands slowly die, dangerous creatures of the night start to roam the earth, and Montai is in a mad rage no longer connected with the Queen.

A romantic, mysterious adventure. A journey that must be taken. Get lost in the realm of Nakuru, the magical beings, and the heated lustful romance between Montai and Lelani all in The Wilds of Nakuru.

Quick Note: Story does start off jumping between different time eras. Bold Italic captions will be placed whenever the time setting changes. The story does have romance and explicit scenes but is also meant to be an adventure mystery.

"Louis, what are you—oh fuck!"

He was thrusting into me while I was still coming, and the sensation was incredible. My body was hypersensitive, every movement sending shockwaves through me.

"Can't stop," he growled against my throat. "Need more."

Holy shit, he's not done. He's actually getting harder.

I couldn't form words anymore. He was fucking me through my orgasm, and I was already building toward another one. My nails dug into his shoulders as he moved with renewed intensity.

"So good," I gasped, my legs wrapping around his waist. "Don't stop, don't fucking stop."

Louis was like a man possessed, his movements becoming more desperate and hungry. When I came again, even harder this time, he followed with a roar.

We collapsed together, both of us breathing hard, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. I felt completely wrung out, like I'd been turned inside out and put back together.


Sloane, a birthmarked outcast from her werewolf pack, saves a dying stranger with no memory. For three months, they find love in their hidden world where her birthmark don't matter. But when black-ops soldiers take him away, she discovers he's far more dangerous than she knew, and she's developing strange powers.

To survive, Sloane assumes a dead woman's identity, living her life and wearing her face. When she finally sees him again, he's changed, no longer the gentle man who called her beautiful. She's changed too, hidden behind another's identity.

Now they're both different people than when they fell in love. Will he recognize the woman who saved him when she's disguised as someone else?

Zeke and I always said we’d be best friends forever since we were pups. Everyone always assumed we’d end up as mates but we laughed it off. So when we both turned 18 and the string of destiny snapped into place tying us together, I was over the moon. But why is Zeke looking at me like I have two heads? Why is he telling me he’d never mate with a mutt like me? What happened…to best friends forever?

A hundred years after the war where werewolves lost against humans, Kaiya finds herself imprisoned in an island park where they are hunted weekly for human entertainment. However, when the ownership of the island park changes, she finds her mate, who coincidentally, is the new park owner.


“You are the first freed werewolf. It does not mean that you will be the last,” he says.

“Is that why you freed me? To set an example?”

“No. I freed you because you will be my woman.”

My breathing stops. The way he puts a claim on me makes me want to claim him too. “I—”

“Ah! Don’t worry about answering me now. I will give you time to consider me.”

I look at the table and entwine my fingers together. I take a deep breath and look back at him. “I want that too,” I whisper. “I want to become your woman, too.”

I answer the surprise on his face by flushing scarlet. Then, he looks away and I can see a blush creeping on his face, too.

“So, starting now, are we together?” he asks.

“Before that, we need to do a promise.”

“A promise?”

I take his hand to mine and say, “You are my mate, whom I promise to love and cherish forever, until the gods and fate separate us.”

He squeezes my hand and answers, “You are my mate, whom I promise to love and cherish forever, even if the gods and fate may try to separate us.”

When Cassie discovered that her boyfriend of six months was cheating on her with a married younger woman, she looked for the cheating woman's husband and insisted to have sex with him. However, after the deed, she found out that she got the wrong person and had a tryst with the billionaire Liam Chapman instead.

Soon, her life spirals out of control—Liam's expelled son enrolls in her school. Her ex-boyfriend’s cheating goes out. Students complain about her teaching methods. And her co-teachers think that she is having an affair with the education minister because of the speed of her promotion and the number of her awards.

Wanting to escape the drama, she resigns and goes to another city, only to meet Liam Chapman again. This time, he has an offer she can't reject. A contract marriage of three years. He will provide all her needs, but in return, she will provide his, and that includes focusing on his little monster of a son who hates studying because he thinks it's very uncool.

However, as she stays with husband and son, she falls more and more for Liam and loves his kid as if he is her own. But, time is running out. Soon the contract will end, and she will need to leave the life she learned to love.

On his deathbed, my husband Marcus confessed he'd swapped our baby with his mistress Chloe's seventeen years ago. Staring at his tearful, repentant face, I barely held back a laugh—I'd uncovered this secret sixteen years prior. I'd quietly swapped my real daughter back, sending his bastard to her cruel biological mother. Seventeen years of patience wasn't weakness, but waiting for the perfect moment. Now he's dying, Chloe's panicking, and my half-lifetime revenge? It's only just starting…

That December night, his first love and I were both rushed to the ER.
Two pregnant women. One operating room.
My doctor husband took three seconds to decide.
"She's an athlete. She can handle it," he told the nurse, then wheeled Sienna into surgery.
Leaving me—eight months pregnant with his baby—bleeding alone in the hallway.
When the nurse called begging him to come back, he said: "I'm at the pharmacy getting supplies for Sienna. Twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes later, I'm still alive.
He wishes I wasn't.

After being reborn, my cousin and I swapped mates.
Last life, she married Kaelen Thornfield — the coldest Alpha in the West. Fifty years together and he never marked her. Not once. His childhood "friend," an Omega with a PhD in crying on command, made sure of that. My cousin faded into nothing. Unmarked. Unloved. Invisible.
Me? I married a man who couldn't stand the sound of my voice. Eleven months. Done.
This time, I took the western contract. Drove three days across the country in a beat-up truck, blew a radiator in the middle of nowhere, and rolled into his pack's territory covered in engine grease and smelling like a gas station.
His little Omega took one look at me and wrinkled her nose.
She has no idea what's coming.
I don't do tears. I don't do subtle. And when some girl sobbed at my mating ceremony about how jealous she was of me — I grabbed my Alpha by the collar and sank my teeth into his neck.
In front of the entire pack.
Without asking.

The Blood Moon Festival ended the night Caelan Voss stood up in front of every faction in Aurevael and announced he only wanted one person.
Her name wasn't mine.
The other consorts took their gold and went home. The Ironpact warriors headed back to their barracks. The Sylvari delegation slipped out before the second toast. The Covenant scholars packed their notes. Reunions. Celebrations. The kind of night the holiday was made for.
I had nowhere to go.
The mark on my inner wrist had always been warm. Just a low, steady pulse—easy to ignore after a few years, like a clock you stop hearing. I pressed my fingers over it out of habit.
Cold.
The contract was over. Twenty-one years, four failed routes, and now this. The ancient binding that had pulled me into this world had made its verdict.
I went to find a rope.

My pack's golden girl—my adopted sister—vanished. On my eighteenth birthday—the day my wolf should have awakened—my parents dragged me to a witch.
"Show us what you did to her."
Fine. Let them look.
Let them see who drugged me the day I came home. Who stole credit while I bled. Who smiled while planning my destruction.
They chose their precious Rosalie over me for three years.
They wanted the truth?
They were about to choke on it.

The new member posted a yacht contract to the club group chat on her first day in. The caption read: Thanks for the birthday present, Dad 🥂
Ten seconds later she deleted it. Breezy apology. Oops, wrong group.
I looked at the photo one more time before it disappeared. I didn't check the numbers. I looked at the name painted across the bow.
It was my mother's name.
The boat was mine. My father had told me about it a week ago.
The chat didn't care. Which family is she from? Ninety-six feet of custom teak. Sienna, you dark horse.
I asked, quietly, if she'd share the registration number. I wanted to hear what she'd say.
My own husband stood up from two desks over and tore into me in front of every member in the room. Told me I was jealous. Told me I was an embarrassment. Told me to know my place.
Later that week, he broke into my safe. Took the diamond my father had given me for my mother — and put it around her neck.
That night my father's encrypted voice memo came in from somewhere at sea. One minute long. The last line was this:
"Find your mother's necklace. I can't wear her myself. I need you to wear her for me."

I waited five years for a heart transplant.
My mother—the Luna of our Pack, the healer everyone worships—gave it to someone else.
An orphan girl she took in. A girl who now calls her "Mom."
Ivy got my heart. She got a wolf. She got a mate and a wedding so grand the whole Pack attended.
Me? I watched from the corner, still dying, while my mother smiled for the cameras and accepted praise for her "selfless sacrifice."
When I finally snapped at the ceremony, she slapped me. Told me to apologize. Said I was embarrassing the family.
I'm her actual daughter. I'm the one who can't shift, can't feel a mate bond, can't survive another six months.
But sure. I'm the problem.
They wanted me to stay quiet and die gracefully.
I chose to make sure everyone sees who their perfect Luna really is.

My husband used my cottage to cheat on me. Fine. I found out, I drove three hours, and I walked into my own house to find his mistress wearing my dead grandmother's sweater.
She told me to leave.
He showed up, kissed her in front of me, then grabbed my arm and shoved me into the door frame.
That's when I had the asthma attack. He's known about my asthma for five years.
My inhaler rolled across the porch floor. His mistress picked it up, held it out, and told me to sign a statement saying I'd caused all of this. Then she'd give it back.
He looked at me on the ground and said: She's performing.
I'm sitting on the floor of my own grandmother's house, gasping, and my husband is telling the neighbors I'm acting.
Nobody thought to ask whose family manages every property on this coastline.

My foster brother Caelan swore he'd only ever marry me. Even though I'm the only human in a pack of wolves, for eighteen years he and his brother Ronan made me feel like I belonged.
Then Mira showed up—and suddenly she was his "fated mate."
I watched him bond with her while I choked on poisoned incense and collapsed. No one caught me. They were too busy wiping her tears.
Within a week, she had my room. My job. Eighteen years of memories—trashed.
They said I could never leave them.
They forgot about the vampire prince who's been waiting at the border for three months.
He never forgot me.

I'm Nora. Size 18. Transferred to my fourth school in four years. And on my very first day, the hottest guy in class leaned over and told me my seat had a weight limit.
That was Ethan Cross. Lacrosse captain, sharp jaw, zero empathy. He made it his personal mission to remind me I was fat — in the hallway, at lunch, in gym class, wherever he could get a laugh.
Then I found his sketchbook.
He'd left it open in the art room. I should've walked away. I didn't. I turned the page, and there I was — my body, my face, my hands — drawn over and over like he couldn't stop.
None of it was a joke. None of it was ugly.
So what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

My ex-husband found me selling hair clips at a flea market. Rosie was asleep in her stroller.
"Come home. She's too young for this."
I said yes.
After that, I stopped checking his phone.
Rosie stopped crying when the other girl took her toys.
He spent the night at Simone's—we didn't call.
We ran into them at the mall—we walked the other way.
We finally became what he always wanted. Easy. Quiet. No drama.
So why is he the one who can't sleep now?
"Why don't you get mad anymore?"
"Rosie, why won't you ask me to stay?"

My chosen mate used his Beta authority to give the entire moonbloom compound to his fated mate's daughter.
The healer had said to split it—half for each child. Both would live. He overrode her. Gave the full dose to Rosalie Blackwell.
He wanted a full recovery. Just not for ours.
Three days later, my daughter Wren's organs shut down. She died on her birthday, still asking why Daddy wasn't there. The dress I'd made her—white with little silver wolves along the hem—she never got to put it on.
That same day, his fated's daughter walked out of the healing hall completely cured. He even threw a feast for the whole pack.
I collapsed at the border of Thornecrest territory. The healers told me it was cancer. Late-stage. Nothing left to treat.
Now I sat alone in our empty house with Wren's unworn birthday dress across my lap and drafted the dissolution papers.

I was four months pregnant when the truck hit my car.
I woke up on a gurney outside the OR, bleeding, half-conscious, thinking my husband was saving my life. Then I heard him through the door.
"The baby's gone. Her right hand is finished—her career's over either way. Just take her kidney now and put it in Mia."
My mother agreed. My father told him to switch my architectural draft to Mia's name before Friday.
Mia. The sister they'd raised for twenty years while I was missing. The sister whose body was failing. The sister my husband had apparently been in love with the whole time I was married to him.
I was supposed to die on that table. I wasn't supposed to hear anything.
But my phone was in my coat pocket, and the voice memo app had never stopped recording.
And now I had a choice to make.

I spent three hundred years winning Varen Ashworth's war. Bled for him. Handed him my army, my secrets, the healing blood from my own chest. He'd be nothing without me.
On his coronation day, he announced his queen—and it wasn't me. It was Elara. Some trembling, doe-eyed girl he'd pulled out of a Demon camp. He told me I could stay on as her handmaid.
I laughed, voided the contract, and walked out.
Because I've lived this life before. Last time, I exposed Elara. Saved his throne. He thanked me—then slaughtered my entire bloodline.
This time, I'm not saving anyone.
This time, I'll watch him figure out exactly what kind of woman he picked over me. And when his whole world comes apart—he'll be on his knees, begging the one person who could've stopped it.
I won't be listening.

My cousin stole thirty thousand dollars from our dying grandmother.
Not for an emergency. Not for bills.
For liposuction.
Then she told everyone I did it. Said I was jealous of her figure — that I'd drained Grandma's cardiac surgery fund because I wanted to look different. And the terrible part is, everyone believed her. My boyfriend. My uncle and aunt. Every single person who'd watched me grow up in that house — eating their leftovers standing at the kitchen counter, wearing my aunt's old coat with the broken zipper through every winter — turned around and decided I was the thief.
I couldn't prove otherwise. I couldn't get anyone to listen.
Last time this happened, I didn't survive it.
Then I opened my eyes. I was back in the hospital corridor. My aunt's hand raised, ready to swing.

Ambushed by a rival syndicate. My mafia husband had to choose — save me, or save his childhood sweetheart.
I was five months pregnant with his heir. She was the love of his life.
He chose me. She died.
He said it was fine. Took time off work. Bought out every baby store in the city. Made me warm milk every night.
I thought I'd finally won his heart.
Until the day our son was born. He carried our baby to her grave.
My son never came back.
"You thought you won? The day she died, you were already dead to me. I just needed the heir first."
Then he had me beaten to death beside her tombstone.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that ambush.
This time, I let go of his sleeve.
Go save your sweetheart. I'm done begging.

Married to the head of the Valenti family for five years. Kidnapped on our anniversary. Pregnant a month later.
Five paternity tests said the baby wasn't his. My husband got a vasectomy and swore he'd raise the child as his own.
I believed him.
Then came the therapy. The drugs. Nightmares where I was pinned down by multiple men, so real I could feel their hands hours after waking. I scrubbed my skin raw. Tried to end it six times.
He saved me every time. Held my hand. Told me no one would ever hurt me again.
Until the night I heard him laughing about it in his study.
The kidnapping was staged. The nightmares were chemicals. The DNA reports were forged. All of it — designed by my own husband to protect another woman.
Now I have a recording, a divorce agreement, and a very small box of ashes.
He's marrying her next week. I'll make sure he gets my wedding gift on time.

Five years ago, I stepped in front of a crossbow bolt for Lucian Vael, and he turned me into a vampire before I had the chance to say no.
He told me I was the first person he'd loved in six hundred years. He bought a castle and named it after me. He reserved a spot for me in his family's crypt so we'd lie there together when the time came—right beside his parents, in the inner ring where only blood and the most beloved go.
While I spent four years bleeding myself dry over ancient rites, trying to carry his child, he was across the city watching another woman do it on her first try. Using my research to get there.
He named one of the twins Soren. That was the name I'd chosen.
The night I found out, I was seven weeks pregnant.
I didn't tell him.
I called Mira and said: I need him to think I'm dead.

I got paid to test-sleep an heiress's fiancé.
One problem: he's my boss.
Bigger problem: I've been catfishing him online for six months—as his fiancée.
Now I'm pregnant. And he just called my real name.

I got paid to test-sleep an heiress's fiancé.
One problem: he's my boss.
Bigger problem: I've been catfishing him online for six months—as his fiancée.
Now I'm pregnant. And he just called my real name.

Three years ago, my fiance Marco Ferrante walked out on our engagement for his mistress Vivienne Salas — and now they're both back, kicking in my door and screaming that my baby isn't his.
He's right. It's not his.
It belongs to the most dangerous man in Verrano.
And Marco just put his boot through the Devil's only heir.

I'm a siren. Every fifty years, I need to eat a heart. Not just any heart—it has to be rotten to the core. The more evil, the better it feeds.
So when Arthur Pendleton, billionaire marine philanthropist and secret trafficking kingpin, spotted a helpless blind girl sitting alone at his charity gala, he thought he'd hit the jackpot.
He took me to his cliffside villa. Cooked me dinner. Drugged my milk.
Cute.
The drugs broke down the second they hit my stomach. His guard found out about the restraints the hard way—right before I snapped his neck.
Now Arthur is steering his yacht into open water, chasing a sunken treasure that doesn't exist, too drunk on greed to notice the strange singing in the fog, or that the blind girl in his passenger seat can see him perfectly fine.
He has no idea what's waiting in the deep.

Rye: I'm out for revenge. I just saw Lauren Blakewell on national TV. Twelve years after she and her con woman mother scammed my father and ruined our lives, there she was. Looking like a goddess. Engaged to the son of a U.S. senator. She and her evil mother never paid for what they did. But I’ve never forgotten. Now I’m going to DC and I’m out for justice. I’m Rye McAllister, heir to the former McAllister fortune, and I’m going to stand up for my family. Lauren will pay. One way or another, I’ll get her back. Lauren: I’m so close to freedom. So close. One more job, and Bliss will let me go. That’s why the sight of Rye McAllister is such a shock. Not because he was the subject of all my childhood fantasies. Not because he looks like a tough and sexy cowboy now. But because he can ruin everything for me. I have to stop him. Whatever it takes. I have to make him an offer he can’t refuse. A proposition he can’t resist. If I enjoy it too…that’ll be my secret. And I have more secrets than Rye can ever imagine.

Eight times. That's how many boyfriends my best friend Sera has "tested" for me. Eight times she's proven they weren't good enough by stealing them away with her perfect smile and fake concern.
"I'm just looking out for you, Lia," she always says. "If he really loved you, he wouldn't be tempted by me."
But this time is different. This time, it's Ryan—my boss, my almost-something, the first man who's ever made me believe I might be worth loving. When Sera comes back to town asking about my love life, I panic and lie. There's no one, I tell her. Nothing happening at all.
Big mistake.
Now she's got her sights set on him, and I'm watching her work her magic all over again. The late-night texts, the red lace lingerie, the hotel room invitation. I should just accept it like I always do. Let her prove once again that I'm not worth fighting for.
But I'm done being the girl who hands over everything she wants. This time, I'm fighting back.

"Baby, lend me Stella for the movie."
When my fiancé Damon said this, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. My guide dog starring in his Oscar-worthy film—what a perfect love story.
I'm Aria Sinclair, 26-year-old blind film producer with perfect pitch and endless money, but no eyes. So when he said "The press will go crazy for our story," I stupidly agreed.
Three weeks later, in the editing room:
01:47:23—Dull impact.
01:47:31—Familiar whimper.
01:47:35—Silence.
My perfect pitch never lies. That wasn't CGI—that was real impact. Worse, I knew that whimper. That was Stella, my guide dog, my eyes, my most loyal companion.
They killed her. For a goddamn trophy.
On premiere night, when Damon walked the red carpet with a strange German Shepherd, when I touched her paw and found no white star-shaped mark—
"This is not my dog!"
I broke down in front of hundreds of reporters.
"Honey, you're under too much stress," Damon said gently. "Maybe you need rest."
Whispers from the audience: "Poor blind girl..." "She really needs help..."
Just like that, I became the crazy one.
Abandoned by the world.
Betrayed by the man I loved most.
But they made one fatal mistake—they thought stealing my eyes would silence me.
Now it's time to let them hear what despair sounds like...
[Click to watch me destroy them both...]

"Where is my son?"
My husband wouldn't look at me.
I had just come out of anesthesia. The bassinet next to my hospital bed was empty — except for a stack of cash, a christening card, and a ring pinned to the corner of the card.
The card had another woman's name in the godmother box.
That woman walked in behind my husband. She picked up the ring and slid it onto her own finger.
"He's safe, sweetheart. We've been talking about this for months."
My husband is Damiano Marchetti. He runs the family that runs this city. The woman wearing the ring is his father's young widow.
The baby on that card is my son.
For four years now I have been the woman this house pretends not to see. The wife told to use the servants' entrance. The mother of a boy who calls another woman Mommy.
Last night I asked my husband for a divorce.
He laughed in my face.
He has no idea how much that's going to cost him.

I woke up the morning the contract was due, picked up the pen, and crossed out my own name.
Wrote my sister's instead.
Last time, I packed away every leather jacket I owned and let Stefano Mastroianni's stylist dress me in things that needed dry cleaning. I sat straight at his family dinners and smiled until my face hurt. I let him correct my posture in front of his mother like I was something he hadn't finished training.
I did all of it, and I still ended up in the ground.
So this time I gave him Chiara. Took Pier Nine from my father as the price, and got out.
He thought he was getting his perfect bride.
On the wedding day, he reached for her hands—and felt it immediately. Smooth palms. Not a mark on them. Not the hands of a woman who'd been gripping a steering wheel since she was sixteen.
He pulled the veil up.
Chiara looked back at him, flushed with triumph.
Stefano stripped the Mastroianni ring off her finger in front of every powerful family in the city, kicked over the altar, and put one question through the cathedral walls:
"Where is Tessa."

The night Declan Ashford announces his chosen mate, everyone in the pack expects me to show up and fall apart.
I don't go.
What I do instead: I'm sitting on the floor of Cael Voss's dorm room in a training jacket that isn't mine, asking whether his mattress is filled with rocks. Cael is Declan's packmate at the academy. His equal in rank. His roommate. The last person I had any reason to call tonight.
I called him anyway.
Here's what he doesn't know: I'm not actually Beta. My real rank was sold before I was old enough to understand what that meant. I've been suppressing it for years.
Here's what I don't know: he's had something of mine under his pillow for two years. Something small. Something I spent three days looking for before I gave up.
Neither of us has said anything about it yet.

My roommate put a Blood Binding Curse on me — my own bloodline power, along with every resource I receive, gets automatically rerouted straight to her.
My ex helped her set it up. For six months she lived off my bloodline playing noble princess, him always on her arm, while I walked around hollow. The harder I fought to prove myself, the more I fed her.
Then I died. Came back knowing everything.
Here's what I figured out: the curse reroutes everything I receive.
Including debt.
I went to a guild and borrowed a batch of elixirs. Opened the contract.
The debtor on the line wasn't me.

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.

I just got out of prison after three years, and my family wants me to go back in.
"It's only three days," they said. "You survived three years—what's three more days?"
What they don't know: I'm dying. The only thing keeping me alive is my mate bond. Three days away from Everett means death.
For three years in prison, someone sent me food every week. No note, no name. I thought it meant my family still loved me.
I was so grateful.
I didn't know it was my twin sister. I didn't know what was inside.

I spent five years loving Beckett Calloway.
When his ex-girlfriend died saving his life, I held him through every nightmare. When he said he "wasn't ready" for marriage, I waited. When he whispered "soon," I believed him.
Then her sister showed up. Crying about some terminal illness. Begging him to take care of her.
He let her move onto our private island—the one he promised would only ever belong to us.
He introduced her at the gala where he was supposed to announce our engagement.
He got her pregnant.
And when I told him she was lying about everything, he looked at me like I was the monster.
Then came our wedding rehearsal. She walked down the aisle in my dress. He slid his ring onto her finger. The chapel caught fire. I collapsed, bleeding.
He scooped her up and ran. Didn't even glance back.
So I burned my vows, deleted every trace of myself, and vanished.
This time, I wasn't coming back.

There are no unmated males in our pack.
Every she-wolf in Hollowfen is promised to someone when she turns eighteen. We just don't get to know who until we walk into the Choosing Hall.
Girls go in wearing white. They come out flushed, shaking, barely able to stand. Some laugh. Some cry. None of them talk about what happens inside.
My sister Thessaly turned eighteen this spring. Gran told her she couldn't attend the Choosing.
She went anyway. She came back on shaking legs, with blood between her thighs and a smile she couldn't wipe off her face.

I took a bullet for my husband five years ago. He married me in the ICU before the anesthesia wore off.
Raffaele Santoro—heir to the most powerful mafia family in Italy—told me I was his everything. He bought a castle and named it after me. He reserved a grave beside his parents so we'd lie together for eternity.
While I was pumping my body full of hormones for our fourth round of IVF, he was across town watching his childhood sweetheart give birth to twin boys.
He named one of them Dante—the name I'd chosen for our future son.
The night I found out, I was seven weeks pregnant with his child.
I didn't tell him.
I called my best friend and said: I need everyone to think I'm dead.

The ultrasound photo caught fire slowly, curling at the edges before the flame swallowed it whole.
I watched it burn in front of my mother's grave.
Eight weeks. That was how far along I had been.
Three days ago, on the anniversary of her death, I came here to talk to her. To tell her she was going to be a grandmother.
Instead, I found my husband fucking his ex-girlfriend against the oak tree twenty feet from her headstone.
I lost the baby that night.

My husband never wore condoms with me. Said they ruined it for him. So I swallowed birth control pills for four years until they made me sick.
Then I found a half-empty box in his glove compartment. And a thong under his backseat.
That wasn't even the worst part.
The necklace I'd made from my mother's ashes—the one I'd been grieving over losing for a year—was dangling between his twenty-three-year-old trainee's tits. He stole it from our bedroom and gave it to her.
She caught me staring. She smiled.
When I confronted him, he slapped me. Then drove off with her crying in his passenger seat.
Her friends came to my hospital with a livestream, demanding I apologize for "bullying" her.
I led them straight to the parking garage.
They found her on a stretcher. Legs wrapped around my husband. No condom.
The whole internet watched.