8009 Book(s) Related to the nanny they never wanted

In my past life, I was ruined by the transfer student at the werewolf academy. My fated mates were the triplets, the most popular figures at school, yet they all stood by her side.

The eldest of the triplets, Kai, my combat instructor who had always guided and cared for me, shielded her behind him.

The middle one was Jack, the campus heartthrob. We used to be inseparable, but now he ran errands for her.

The youngest was Leo, a musical prodigy who had been pursuing me, now obeying her every command.

Three men who once favored me above all else forced me to kneel and apologize for that transfer student.

Unable to defend myself, I was locked in an abandoned training room to reflect, and ultimately pushed off a cliff by the transfer student to my death.

Reborn, I vowed to stay far away from them and never participate in this ridiculous game again.

But when they learned I was about to transfer to the top-tier "Silver Moon Academy" for advanced studies, all three men panicked.

In the Faewild, pureblooded elves are born to rule. We wolves are nothing but savage beasts bred for war.
I was sent to the Elven Court as a hostage—a living pledge of my pack's surrender. For five years, I bled for King Othlan. Seven times I bore curses meant to kill him. Slaughtered countless horrors in his name.
All for the soul mark he promised me. The only thing that could mend what he'd broken in me.
But when I dragged myself back from the abyss, body shattered and poisoned, I found him binding that mark—the one meant for eternal mates—to another woman.
A pureblooded elf. Of course.
I swallowed the blood rising in my throat and crushed the dragon stone hidden in my palm.
He wanted me gone? I'd give him exactly that. Permanently.

I remember that frost-covered train door like it was the last thing I ever saw. Because it was.
The escape spot I’d spent three years scraping together? My fiancée was sitting in it, wearing my parka. Her brother had my hiking boots on his feet. Her mother clutched the medical kit I’d carried six miles through ash-covered roads. And Caleb Frost—the ex she’d sworn was just “someone from the past”—stood in the seat that should have been mine, lifting my silver emergency flask in a toast.
While I froze out in the subzero ash storm, my lungs burning like they were filled with shards of broken glass, they turned their backs to me under the warm yellow light inside.
Then I woke up.
The calendar read May 3, 2041. Exactly one year before the Yellowstone chain eruption would turn the northern hemisphere into a frozen grave.
On the TV, experts were still downplaying the volcanic tremors, insisting there was no immediate risk to the public. My fiancée walked into the bedroom wearing one of my white shirts, carrying coffee in the blue mug she’d bought with my card. She reached for my forehead, asking if I’d had a bad dream.
None of them know I’ve already died once.
They’re still plotting how to make me pay for her brother’s failed investments, how to sneak texts to her old boyfriend, how to use me as their most obedient, most useful doormat until the world ends. I’ve sold the downtown office towers, mortgaged the lakefront house, bought the abandoned geothermal station no one wanted in the dead mountains, and signed a stack of engineering contracts they’ll never bother to read.
They still smile and thank me, tell me I’m the best fiancé in the world.
They have no idea who will be holding the key to the door, when the sky goes dark forever and the snow never stops falling.

“Be careful with that, Emma," my boss at the high-end courier service warned, handing me the velvet-lined case. "That bottle is worth more than your life. It’s for the penthouse gala at the Sterling Heights. If it breaks, don't bother coming back.”

I clutched the case to my chest like it was a newborn child.

The soles of my shoes were so thin I could feel every jagged pebble on the pavement. My feet ached, a dull, throbbing reminder of the sixteen-hour shifts I’d been pulling for the last three months.

But every time I felt like collapsing, I thought of Liam. He met with an accident five years ago and could not work.

So, I became the bread-earner in our family.

Today was our wedding anniversary. And this last expensive delivery could earn me a decent gift for him.

"The host is on the terrace," a waiter whispered as I reached the penthouse, eyeing my worn-out sneakers with disdain. "Hurry up. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

I walked toward the terrace, my heart hammering. I just wanted to drop this off, get my signature, and run to Liam. I pushed through the crowd, dodging silk gowns and tailored tuxedos.

Then, I stopped.

The man standing at the edge of the terrace looked familiar.

He was wearing a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo that cost more than our three years of rent. His hair was slicked back, his posture commanding and regal. He was way too rich to cross paths with me in my entire life.

But, my heart skipped a beat as he turned back to look at his friends.

It was Liam. My Liam. With other woman, offering the world to her.

After months of being bullied at school, things got even worse—the bullies said they wanted to come to my house.
Wanted to see what kind of family a "dog" like me came from.
I begged them, sobbing, not to do it.
Because my dad is a serial killer. My mom is a twisted murderer. And my brother is a full-blown psychopath.
If they come to my house, they will die.

"Unless you bring 100 gold coins and the Alpha's blood, the half-breed dies in the cellar."

Those words broke what little was left of my soul. Three years ago, I was the proud Luna of the Blackwood Pack—until my fated mate, Alpha Valen, branded me a traitor, burned our sacred mark from my neck, and locked me in the Ice Crypt.

Now, I am nothing but a despised outcast. But I don't care about my pride anymore. My four-year-old daughter, Nyra, is freezing to death in a damp cage, succumbing to a fatal disease. To save her, I need the ultimate cure: Valen's Alpha blood.

The tragic irony? He refuses to claim her. Tricked by the woman who framed me, Valen believes my tiny, innocent pup is the filthy product of betrayal. He would rather watch me crawl on my hands and knees over corrosive silver powder than offer a single drop of his blood.

With my daughter's breaths fading, the woman who framed me offers a dark, irreversible trade.

I will pay the price. I will give away the last piece of myself to save my pup.

But when Valen finally discovers whose bloodline he left to die... it will be entirely too late.

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...

In my past life, the glorious "Son of the Sun" drained my divine blood until I died a broken shell.
Reborn, my twin sister eagerly steals my fiancé, shoving me toward the exiled, "crippled" King of the Shadow Crows.
As she flaunts her stolen glory, desperate to birth the sky's future ruler, I can only smile.
She doesn't know her golden prince is functionally sterile—and the "heir" she's destroying herself to conceive will be a nightmare.
And she certainly has no idea that my featherless, outcast husband is actually the ancient Abyssal Phoenix.
Let her drown in the hell she stole. This time, I’ll let the very abyss she cursed crown me as a True God.

My younger sister was tortured to the brink of death by the young heir of a newly minted mafia family.
 
His older sister stood on her high horse and threw a check at me.
 
"Take this half a million, grab your half-dead sister, and get the hell out of New York."
 
I tore the check into shreds and screamed at her, "In your dreams! I want him dead!"
 
She let out a contemptuous scoff.
 
"Around here, my family is the law! Half a million is enough for bottom-feeders like you to scrape by for three lifetimes. If it's not enough, consider it money for a nice cemetery plot. How about I throw in another two million?"
 
As she spoke, she raised her hand, flaunting it. "Otherwise... take a good look at this signet ring. Who exactly do you think you're talking to?"
 
My eyes locked onto the ring on her finger. The ancient crest engraved on the gold was all too familiar—it was the custom wedding gift I had commissioned for my mafia boss husband ten years ago.
 
Instantly, my glare turned absolutely lethal.
 
"I said, I want your brother's life."

"We can only take one more person! Any heavier and we ALL go down!"

In the middle of a raging forest fire, my fiancé Carter Hayes was piloting a fuel-leaking helicopter, forced to choose between me and my cousin Lily Sterling.

He chose me.

Lily was left behind in the inferno. She burned.

I thought surviving made me lucky — until my parents slapped me across the face at my wedding. "Why wasn't it YOU who died?"

Turns out, I was never the one they wanted to save.

Carter married me, then spent five years making me wish I'd died in that fire instead. He and my parents worked together, systematically stripping away my dignity, my career, and every reason I had to keep living.

Three years into my depression, I jumped from the top floor of the Hayes estate.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself back before the fire — before the helicopter took off, before Carter made his choice.

This time, I spoke first. "Take Lily."

If they all wanted me dead, then I'd give them exactly what they wanted.

"Did you bring one back?" My mom, Siobhan, urged.
I pushed my half-empty mug to the center of the cafe table. The campus buzzed around me, students stressing over minor things like finals.
"I’m still at school, Mom."
"The Summer Solstice is in exactly one month, Maeve." The line crackled.
"If you cross that water empty-handed, Finn is going to the pens. Are you going to let your own brother be taken?"

One hundred years married to Everett, and I've learned one thing: whenever he wants to push me into a corner, he throws the mate bond dissolution agreement in my face. Whenever my parents want me to cave, they hold the family name over my head.

They've always wanted the same thing — for me to hand over everything I have to my twin sister Rosalie, who's been sick her whole life.

I've fought it. I've grieved over it.

But when the doctor slid the diagnosis across the desk — Blood Depletion Syndrome, late stage, less than two weeks left — something in me just went quiet.

What's the point of fighting when you're already dead?

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.

Jennifer suddenly announced in the sorority common room: "Everything's on me tonight, ladies—oceanview cabana at The Pearl!"
The whole room cheered. I kept my eyes on my textbook.
Yesterday she borrowed twenty bucks from me for a salad. Now she's booking a five-thousand-dollar minimum venue? She wanted the black card in my bag.
"Teresa, just lend me your card to get us in the door. I'll cover everything myself." I stared at her for three seconds, then handed it over. Her face lit up.
I stepped away and called the club manager. "Lock my account, highest security tier. Without my verification code, not a single charge goes through."
She took my card and rounded up five girls, headed straight to the club. Champagne, caviar, Wagyu, Louis XIII—she ordered all of it.
When the check came, it totaled fifty-two thousand, three hundred and eighty dollars.
And the card wouldn't go through.

Every time my fated mate strayed, his guilt bought me a moon-forged ring.

For four years, I collected ninety-nine rings. I swallowed his betrayals ninety-nine times to keep our pack stable.

Recently, while he claimed to be at a three-day border summit, I miscarried our heir. The shock of our fraying mate-bond killed the pup the exact moment I realized he was actually buying a secret territory for his childhood sweetheart.

When he finally walked through our door, holding out the hundredth ring—a priceless, ancient artifact—to buy my silence one last time, he expected his Luna to fall in line.

But he doesn't know the pup is gone.

And he has no idea I'm about to reject him in front of the entire pack.

Aurelia, princess of the Light Fae Clan, sacrificed everything to save Caleb, a young noble cursed with blood plague. She fed him her golden life‑blood, bound herself with a silence spell to hide imperial secrets, and swore to protect him forever—even if it cost her freedom.
Blinded by false accusations and manipulated by a cruel dark witch, Caleb turned on the woman who gave him life. He chained her with deadly cold iron, tore out her Life Core, imprisoned her in a freezing basement, and watched his beloved’s younger brother die by his own hand.
When Aurelia unleashes the forbidden stardust self‑destruction curse and fades into glowing ashes, Caleb finally uncovers the terrible truth. Drowning in endless regret and self‑loathing, he embarks on a brutal path of atonement—punishing the witch, saving the last surviving Fae, and torturing himself for years.
But some sins can never be washed away.Some saviors never return.And the noble who killed his Fae savior will pay with his life.

The Apocalypse Descended. Zombies Slaughtered the City.

I was the first to awaken a top-tier ability — and I used it to flip half a street's worth of zombies like ragdolls.

I led a ragged band of survivors through the siege, carved a path out with blood and fire, and seized an abandoned military factory on the east side of the city. We turned it into a fortress.

I was the name that made everything within miles tremble — the Devil King, they called me.

The government base sent envoys three times to bring me into the fold. All three times, I threw their people and their vehicles right back out the gates.

A research lab came looking for cooperation. I torched their sample truck on the spot.

The rules inside this base? Mine. Anyone who didn't like it got tossed over the wall to feed the dead.

Every grain of rice, every pill, every night of safety — all of it was bought with blood. My blood. My people's blood. Clawed back from the jaws of a million rotting corpses.

Everyone respected me. Everyone feared me.

The only softness I ever allowed myself was for Xu Qinghe — the woman who'd crawled out of that mountain of corpses right beside me. My girlfriend. My one exception.


Then the lab dropped a bombshell: among the Awakened, one in ten thousand could evolve into an Ability King. The mark of this savior? A crimson blood-line on the inner forearm.

The whole world lost its mind.

Overnight, everyone stopped. No one manned the walls. No one scavenged for supplies. They just knelt there, day after day, praying for their Ability King to descend.

Then my girlfriend brought back a pretty-faced boy with a red line on his forearm.

The entire base fell to their knees before him like he was a living god.

And me — the man who'd bled for this base for three years, who'd held the line when no one else would — I was shoved out beyond the city gates.

Left for the dead.


A tide of a million zombies crashed against the walls. Their so-called god collapsed on the ground, sobbing and screaming for mercy.

Everyone inside waited to die.

That's when I looked down at my own forearm — at the crimson line I'd kept hidden all along.

And I smiled.

This time, it's my turn.

My son died on his fifth birthday, waiting for a father who never showed up.
I found out why at the lake—Cole had his mistress pinned against the boathouse wall while our five-year-old took his last breath alone in a clinic bed.
Selene was pregnant. Selene was Grayridge. And Selene knew exactly what she'd done to my son before I ever said a word about a curse.
Cole hit me for defending myself. Then he threatened to strip my title if I touched her again.
Fine. He wants to protect his mistress? He can do it broke.
Every dollar that rebuilt this town came from my family—and I'm taking it all back, starting with the ranch he thinks is his.
But the bone shard I found in my son's jacket says this isn't over.
It says someone wanted him dead before he turned five.

At twenty-nine, Dominic Brooks owns this city's underworld.

This year, I'm pregnant again. Finally.

But on our daughter's death anniversary, he doesn't show. Five hours. Nothing.

I find him at our casino with some girl draped all over him. The same girl I pulled out of a trafficking ring two years ago.

She's laughing loud enough for everyone to hear. "His wife won't stop crying about that dead kid. God, he's so over it."

He kisses her. Right in front of me.

Three days later, he tears up our daughter's grave. His mistress wants a swimming pool.

The shovel comes down. My unborn baby goes with it.

Years ago, Dominic taught me the rules of our world. How we handle traitors.

Time for a reminder.

As the sole heir to one of America’s wealthiest families, I had always known the Harrington rule: every heir had to go through all four years of high school under an assumed identity, without using a single dollar of the family fortune.

So I wore thick black-framed glasses and secondhand sneakers and worked part-time jobs to support myself.

Everyone at school mocked me for being poor. They said my face was the only thing I had going for me.

Only Nolan, the top-ranked student in our grade, never looked down on me. Once, he slid half an eraser across the library table to me and told me that education could change a person’s life.

The day we started dating, he held my hand and promised me:

“Georgie, I’ll hold your hand through all of it. No matter how hard things get, I won’t let go.”

I believed him.

But during the outdoor club’s final hiking trip before my four-year disguise was over, a storm rolled in. Savannah, his childhood sweetheart, complained that her ankle hurt.

Nolan immediately let go of me and knocked me into the mud as he rushed to her.

Everyone gathered around Savannah to make sure she was okay. Then they laughed at me for thinking a poor girl like me could ever belong with someone like Nolan.

I didn’t cry.

I took off my glasses and placed my muddy, bloodstained hand in the palm of Holden, the Upper East Side heir who had spent the past two years trying to get me to go out with him.

“If you take my hand, you’re agreeing to be my girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

My brother's first day on the job, and the new intern, Ashley Pratt, accuses him of trying something with her in the break room.

In my last life, I panicked under all those judging stares and my father screaming at me over the phone. I grabbed my brother by the shoulder and forced him to bow and apologize to her, tried to pay her off to make it go away.

She turned around and leaked the wire transfer online instead, twisted it into a story about rich people paying to buy back their good name. The backlash spiraled out of control. My brother couldn't take the flood of hate anymore and jumped from the roof. He hit the ground and there was nothing left of him to recognize.

My father used my failure to handle it as an excuse to push me off the board. I ended up watching the woman responsible climb over my brother's grave and take the CEO seat at Merritt Industries.

Fate is giving me a second shot.

My brother reaches for me, eyes rimmed red. "Camille, I swear I didn't do anything."

I pull him behind me and look down at the woman crying on the floor.

"She's saying you assaulted her? Fine. Let's call the cops."

In my previous life, when the extreme cold apocalypse arrived, I was drained of all value and heartlessly kicked into an ice pit by my ex-girlfriend.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the time before the apocalypse erupted!

On my phone screen, my girlfriend was still arrogantly issuing ultimatums: "If you don't deliver that eight-thousand-dollar Chanel bag to me today, don't even think about touching me ever again!"

I sneered coldly, decisively blocking this gold-digger who was prepared to devour me alive on all platforms. Then I immediately unlocked the seven-million-dollar trust fund my grandfather had left me and went on a shopping spree for the city's top-tier extreme survival supplies!

A few hours later, an unprecedented extreme polar vortex swept across North America.

When my ex-girlfriend and street thugs frantically pounded on my half-meter-thick reinforced steel blast door, what greeted them wasn't just the aroma of fireplace-grilled steak, but also me and my hardcore parents holding heavy firearms.

Six months ago, my parents started fostering a girl named Lila Mercer.
Six months ago, Mom repainted the guest room and strung fairy lights over the bed. My room still has the same furniture I've had since I was twelve.
Six months ago, Dad started coming home for Sunday dinner. Not for me. I'd been eating alone at the counter for years by then.
Six months ago, Mom posted a photo of the two of them at the farmers market. Caption: our family is growing. I saw it during third period and locked my phone hard enough to crack the case.
So when I picked up the family iPad tonight and a notification popped up from an app I didn't recognize, I wasn't shocked. Just tired of being right.
The app was called Beacon.

As the top heiress of a multi-billion-dollar empire, I hid my identity to marry Silas for love. Yet, on the night of our third anniversary, he trapped me in a restaurant with a frozen bank card, leaving me looking like a deadbeat who couldn't pay a $500,000 bill.
Immediately after, he swaggered in with his heavily pregnant mistress, Brielle.
When I questioned him, he mercilessly slapped me to the ground. He even allowed a room full of wealthy businessmen to hurl insults at me, trying to force me to kneel and apologize to his mistress.
Looking at his distorted, ego-inflated face, I didn't get angry; instead, I laughed.
Silas smugly believed he had completely crushed the dignity of a weak housewife.
But this fool still didn't know that with just one phone call, the billionaire empire he was so proud of would be reduced to ashes in half an hour.

My name is Junie. I'm six years old, a half-werewolf. My mom Juliet is a human witch, the gentlest woman alive.

A month ago, Mom was eight months pregnant. We were walking by the river when Dad's childhood friend Melody shoved her straight into the rushing current. The cold water took my unborn brother. When they pulled Mom out, she was covered in blood, her magic all but gone.

Dad, Maxwell, is the youngest Alpha of the Silver Wolf pack and runs a family conglomerate. That day in the hospital hallway, his eyes went red and he swore through gritted teeth that whoever did this would pay for it, hard, in front of the Tribunal.

Mom believed him.

Then came the trial. The second Dad saw that the woman sitting in the defendant's seat was Melody, he went quiet.

Right there in front of the judge, he took it back. He said Melody never meant to push her, that Mom's magic had gone haywire from the pregnancy and she'd slipped into the river on her own.

Melody walked free. Mom got community service.

The day we left the courthouse, Melody buried her face in Dad's chest and sobbed, but the second no one else could see, she shot Mom a cold little smirk. Dad kissed her forehead like her tears were breaking his heart.

Mom just watched them, one hand over her empty belly. Those eyes that used to be so full of love were calm now.

She let out a slow breath. "Maxwell, let's break the mate bond."

"I saved you. Now you're mine."

Five years ago, Matteo De Luca took a bullet for me. Ever since, I willingly stayed hidden as the secret lover of New York's most ruthless Mafia heir.

He claimed the shadows were the only way to protect me from rival families. I believed him—right up until his former flame, Serena, returned to the city.

Suddenly, his protective instincts shifted. He left me alone with an IV in my arm just to rush to her side for a mild stomachache.

But the real wake-up call came when I accidentally opened the locked attic he never let me enter. It wasn't full of syndicate weapons or secrets. It was covered wall-to-wall with intimate photographs of him and Serena.

Staring at the shrine he kept for her, my five years of devotion felt like a pathetic joke.

I didn't scream or cry. I just pulled out my phone and dialed Sicily.

"Papa," I said steadily, staring at the empty room. "Tell the Ferraro family I've changed my mind. Set the wedding date."

On the day of the Bonding Pact, my sister and I stood in the grand hall to choose our husbands.

She snatched Malik of the Water Snakes, throwing Raven—the last heir of the Leviathans—to me.

In our past life, we married on the same day, but our grooms were reversed.

She married Raven and birthed a patricidal monster. I married Malik, using my healing magic to cleanse the madness from his blood, and gave birth to a divine heir worshiped by all.

In the end, driven mad by jealousy over her ruin, she murdered me.

In this life, pointing at Malik's token, she declared she would marry Malik .

I lowered my head, hiding my eyes. "Then I wish you exactly what you desire, Sister."

My family ignored my calls while I was dying in our basement. They thought I was trying to ruin my younger sister's graduation.
That night, my brother finally came looking for me. My sister wanted the cookies I used to bake for her.
I was right beside him when he demanded that I come home.
He couldn't hear me. My body was still downstairs.

"Economy? For me?" I stared at the boarding pass while my boyfriend's new "business partner" got first class instead. "You're just my plus-one," Cedric said. "The sponsor won't cover you." I said nothing and boarded the plane. What he didn't know was that if I wanted to, I could buy the entire airline.

My entire family betrayed me.

My husband Keith threatened divorce to force me into donating bone marrow to save my sister Berenice's life.

My parents slapped me across the face, screaming I owed her everything.

Thirty days in an underground lab, Keith wined and dined Berenice while I got steel needles driven through my spine daily.

When I begged Keith for help through the agony, he texted back: "Stop playing victim. Disgusting."

I died alone on day thirty. Keith arrived with divorce papers, ready for one final insult, but received a decomposing corpse crawling with maggots.

But when the truth came out, why did my loving family completely lose their minds?

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 was dead, and the whole world was celebrating for my sister.

For twenty-two years, I had been the hardest-working but most invisible daughter in the Sterling family, forever living in the shadow of my gymnastics prodigy sister.

Running a high fever, I begged my family to take me to the hospital, only to hear: "Don't you DARE ruin Bella's award ceremony!"

When I was tricked into the abandoned equipment room and used my last breath to call my boyfriend while lying in a pool of blood, all I heard was: "Grace, quit the drama! Bella's accepting her award on stage!"

On stage, thunderous applause erupted as Bella lifted the "Young Gymnast of the Year" trophy.

And I drew my final breath.

When they returned home triumphant, thinking I had run away in a tantrum, they had no idea I was already dead right under their noses.

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.

My stepsister and I tumbled down the stairs together. As someone with a blood clotting disorder, my spleen ruptured—I was bleeding internally, desperate for surgery to stop it.
But my mother—the renowned chief of surgery—pulled every specialist from the ER. To consult on my stepsister's condition.
All she had was a sprained ankle. Not even a scratch. Yet mom insisted on running every test in the book. And me? Left alone on that cold floor, bleeding out, half my body already soaked in blood.
I clutched at her pants, begging her to save me. But she kicked my hand away and looked at me with pure disgust.
"Lily, are you really so desperate for a man's attention that you'd pull a cheap stunt like this? Your sister's foot is swollen—and you have the nerve to fake your death here?"
In the end, I died alone in a corner of that ignored ER.
But when they wheeled my cold body out of the morgue—and they finally learned about my clotting disorder—
That mother who claimed to hate me completely lost her mind.

My sister ran away the night before her wedding, so I had to take her place and marry Damian Kovac, the city's most feared don.
I figured he'd throw me in the harbor out of pure rage. Instead, the man wouldn't even touch me.
A month in, still sleeping in the guest room.
I wasn't my sister's level of charming, but I wasn't hard to look at either. And this man couldn't spare me a single glance?
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I grabbed the divorce papers I'd already drawn up and stormed toward his study.
Right as I raised my hand to knock, I caught his childhood friend's voice through the door.
"You moved heaven and earth to get the woman you've been hung up on, and now you're icing her out? Didn't think I'd live to see the day."
My hand froze.
The woman he'd been hung up on? Me?

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.

I found the thirteenth piece of evidence of Reid's affair today.

Black lace panties, shoved deep between his car seats.

The first time, it was designer lipstick in his glove box. "Oh, that's mine," my friend Mia shrugged. "Must've fallen out when Reid gave me a ride."

The sixth time, a hotel key card in his console. "I borrowed his car for a business trip," my brother Owen explained calmly. "Stop being so paranoid, Nadia."

Thirteen times. Thirteen perfect excuses.

When I confront Reid with the panties, he just makes a phone call.

On speaker, Mia and Owen claim the underwear is theirs—some late-night hookup in my fiancé's back seat. "You're being ridiculous, Nadia," they snap in unison. "You're getting married. Start acting like it. Trust him."

I watch Reid's face, that innocent mask he wears so well.

Then I smile.

Because I bought those panties myself. I planted them there.

And now I finally know who's been his accomplice all along.

I hid in my best friend's closet to catch my fiancé cheating.
Through the gap in the door, I saw them on the bed. Tessa was blindfolded, wrists tied to the headboard with silk scarves. Callum's hands wrapped around her throat—some kind of breath play, I guessed.
Then her moaning turned to choking.
Her body convulsed. Her bound hands clawed at nothing. Her legs kicked against the mattress.
Then stopped.
Callum released her throat. Checked her pulse. Sighed.
And lit a cigarette.
He sat there scrolling his phone next to her body. No panic. No CPR. No 911.
Like this wasn't his first time watching someone die.
I bit my hand to keep from screaming. Blood seeped across the floor toward my bare feet.
Then he walked toward the closet.
I escaped that night. Barely. Ran three floors up to my neighbor's apartment—Dr. Neve Ashton, a trauma therapist. Beautiful. Warm. The kind of woman who made you feel safe just by existing.
She pulled me inside, locked the door, handed me tea.
"I called the police," she said. "They're on their way."
An hour passed. No sirens.
I looked at her. She smiled.

"Knock on this door over the noise one more time, and you're dead!"
Calling the cops was useless, and I was too broke to move.
Driven practically insane, I recklessly tore open the black box from the dark web—the seller promised that if I just followed the instructions, it would "eliminate the noise at the source."
Less than half an hour later, the deafening rager upstairs completely stopped.
Three mornings later, a homicide detective pounded furiously on my door.
"The father and son upstairs are dead."

Lana Moore wakes up from an accident that changed her life with memories that are full of holes and the name of a stranger on her lips. Adrian.
It's cold. Strong and untouchable.
And somehow connected to everything she can't remember.

Lana is taken to Paris under the pretense of safety, but she has to live next to a man whose eyes show both rage and desire. Adrian Blackwood is a billionaire with secrets that go deeper than the Seine and feelings he won't talk about. Lana finds old letters, hidden pictures, and a kiss from the past that she can't deny anymore, and their fragile truce is broken.

Lana starts to see the truth as rumours of betrayal spread and new enemies close in:

Adrian might have loved her at one time.
He might still love her now.
But he could also be the one who wanted her to leave.

Lana has to find out the truth about the man who protects and hurts her on the glittering streets of Paris, where there are rooftop confessions, masked desires, and storms that break both the sky and the heart.

Is he the love of her life?
Or the reason her life fell apart?

Danger comes back when memory comes back.
And the truth could destroy them both.

Corinne Baxter's father was an accountant. Quiet, careful, the kind of man who alphabetized the spice rack. Then someone puts a bullet in him and calls it a robbery. The only thing he leaves her is a claim ticket for a safety deposit box registered under a name she's never heard: Sorrentino.
To open that box, she needs Griffin Sorrentino, heir to the family half the city is afraid of, and the man everyone says ordered the hit. Griffin agrees to help her. He also refuses to explain why. Every answer he gives creates two more questions, and every night she spends inside his house convinces her a little more that the danger isn't coming from him.
It's coming from the one person she trusted enough to call for help.

My organs are failing, rotting from years of toxic lab work.
My only life-saving antidote was stolen by my husband and biased parents, given to adopted sister, Ivy.
I gave up any chance to live, injecting strong painkillers to endure crippling agony.
The price I paid: only three days until my organs shut down completely.
During those three days, I surrendered everything I owned:
I handed over the Ghost formula that monopolized the black market, and my mafia parents looked utterly relieved;
Marcus laid divorce papers before me. I signed without a second thought, and said I’d finally become sensible;
The day before my death, I spent the whole day out with my son, yet he only wanted Ivy for his mother;
I gifted Aphrodite, the beauty serum, as my husband and Ivy‘s wedding present, and every single one praised me for finally being meek and mild.
I thought myself:
When I’m dead, will they feel remorse for the things they’ve done to me?

I always thought if I just held on a little longer, I could still keep this family together.
But my mate Ethan and my brother William poured all their favoritism onto Ava and her mother, and left me nothing but coldness and humiliation.
They could even look me in the eye and say, “She’s your sister too,” like that was enough to make me bless them.
That night, I did something so insane it bordered on self-destruction: I dragged my suitcase out the door and let the house that held all my memories get swallowed by flames.
The news exploded, our villa became ruins. The security footage showed “no one leaves,” and the police made a preliminary judgment that the person inside was “highly likely deceased.”
Ethan didn’t believe it.
Not until he and William were handed that bag of belongings at the police station, a diamond, a Blood Moonstone, the things I treasured most, did they finally understand: I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was really, truly done with them.
Too bad.

My squadmates falsely accused me of being a vampire. They poured scalding water over me claiming it was "holy water," spiked my meals with garlic extract, and even splashed me with stinking goat blood. In the end, their madness drove them to plunge a sharpened cross straight into my heart...

At the family banquet, a power-hungry male special assistant projected a dimly lit bed photo onto the massive screen. He claimed he had slept with my wife—the heiress to the family—and demanded I walk away from the marriage with nothing.
While all the relatives were waiting for me to become the laughingstock, my eyes landed on a red rose burn scar in the corner of the photo. I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He hadn't even turned on the bedside lamp. He had no idea that the woman he had just slept with was actually the wife of a psychopathic serial killer.

Betrayed to death by my own brother, I was reborn before the apocalypse descended.
He rushed to seize the god-tier [Copy] talent first, leaving the trash [Purification] talent for me.
He thought that with this talent, he'd have no worries and reign supreme in the apocalypse.
Meanwhile, I quietly closed the last door of my fortress.
He didn't know that his prized copying ability had a fatal flaw.

Over the past three years of dating with my boyfriend, everything was perfect. 
My first time meeting his parents at their Sunday Roast went better than I ever dreamed. His mother smiled warmly, serving me mountains of food, excitedly discussing which city we should settle in after graduation. It felt like they were practically picking out wedding dates.
But that illusion shattered over a single spoonful of apple pie.
The moment I took a single bite of the homemade apple pie, his mother's smile vanished. She slammed her spoon onto the fine china with a deafening CRACK. 
"My son must be cursed to have brought home a woman like you!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at my face.
Totally bewildered, I froze. Did I miss the dinner prayer? Did I use the wrong fork? Desperate, I looked to my boyfriend of three years for help. 
But he didn't defend me. He just looked at me with this strange, cold disgust.
"We're done, Sloane," he said, his voice like ice. "Let's break up."
I completelt froze.

For eighteen years, Ethan Caldwell was the person I trusted most. Then, on the night meant to celebrate my future, he handed me another woman's hotel key and asked me to protect her reputation.

I gave him one final chance: meet me at the airport and choose our promised trip. Instead, he lied about a car accident while I watched him wrap a matching scarf around Vanessa Reed's neck.

By the time Ethan understood that I was truly gone, I had already chosen a life where love would never mean waiting to come second.