1472 Book(s) Related to xavier knight and angela carson book

Five years ago, my fiancée and a chaebol heir broke my ribs and threw me into the sewer like trash.

Five years later, they implanted a neurotoxin bomb into the back of my sister's neck, forcing me on all fours to crawl between the security guards' legs into their engagement banquet at a Manhattan penthouse hotel.

My ex-fiancée poured champagne over my wounds, while the chaebol heir ground caviar into the muddy water with his leather shoes, forcing me to lick it clean like a dog.

The room full of Wall Street elites laughed at my humiliation, thinking I was still the same bottom-tier temp worker from back then.

They had no idea that through my micro-earpiece, a heavy armored division was already on standby under the cover of night.

When the confirmation came that the bomb had been defused, I slowly stood up straight.

Outside the window, engines roared. Ten heavy Black Hawk helicopters tore through the curtain of rain, their heavy machine guns instantly shattering the banquet hall's reinforced glass.

Looking down at the chaebol heir who was now slumped in the muddy water, I drew my sidearm: "The debt from five years ago—today, I'm collecting it with your family's lives."

Seven years ago, betrayed by my closest friend and my fiancée, I was thrown into the lightless Black Sea Death Prison and tortured mercilessly.

Seven years later, I returned through a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, only to find my crippled little sister being trampled in the mud by my former "brother," forcing her to sign a humiliating organ extraction contract.

"A worthless ghost who just crawled out of death row—what makes you think you can fight a billionaire tycoon like me?"

At a grand banquet at the Peninsula Hotel, the treacherous couple threw a bloody dog bone at my feet. They mobilized hundreds of heavily armed SWAT officers to surround me, demanding I kneel, kowtow, and call them master.

They thought their wealth and power made them untouchable on the West Coast, assuming I was still the same spineless weakling from years ago.

That was until an EMP tore through the night sky. Three military stealth fighter jets hovered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and hundreds of laser sights from the nation's most classified special forces locked dead center on the foreheads of every elite in the room.

Under the horrified gazes of the city's high society, a four-star general crashed through the window and gave me the highest military salute:

"Tier Zero Task Force assembled! Supreme Commander, please give the order to purge!"

At that moment, the high-and-mighty tycoons finally remembered the terror of being dominated by the abyss.

When the apocalypse arrived, my girlfriend, driven by vanity, exposed my unlimited resource space and incited starving people to kill me and feed me to the zombies, while she herself stepped on my flesh and blood to become the "savior goddess".
But she didn't know that I mutated amidst the pile of corpses and awakened into the only zombie tyrant.
I corrupted the space, cut off food supplies, led a horde of tens of thousands of zombies to besiege the city, and threw a bounty at the starving mob: "Use her flesh and blood to exchange for a bite to eat."
Watching the once-lofty Mother Teresa torn to pieces, kneeling at my feet weeping and begging for mercy, I laughed. Moral blackmail? Sorry, I'm the Zombie King now.

In the seventh year of being a stay-at-home husband, I discovered the son I cherished as the most precious treasure in my life was actually the illegitimate child of my wife and her male best friend.
To conceal the scandal of her infidelity, my CEO wife, worth millions, joined forces with her male best friend in a grand deception. They single-handedly destroyed my artistic career, transforming me into a free nanny raising their illegitimate child.
Upon learning the truth, I didn't lose my composure.
I calmly presented the divorce papers and the paternity test report proving no biological relation, then turned and walked away without looking back.
Later, that ever-lofty wife, the one who had once publicly doused me with ice water for her male best friend, was utterly consumed by regret and fury.
She kicked the scoundrel to the curb. In front of a crowd, she pressed a switchblade to her own throat, casting aside all dignity to kneel on the ground, crying and begging me to look at her just once more.
I didn't even blink. My voice was as cold as ice. "If you want to die, do it outside. Don't ruin my mood for coffee."

I lived as the Smiths’ daughter for seventeen years, only to find out one day that I was never really one of them—a fake heiress from the start. I didn’t hesitate. I cut all ties with the Smith family and returned to the struggling Johnsons. I didn’t even bother to pack—just took my phone and left.
People said I was in for a rough time. After all, I’d never gotten along with the Smith brothers, and now that I’d lost everything, they thought things could only get worse.
But what they didn’t know was this: the world-famous designer is my friend, the legendary doctor is my mentor, and the CEO of a major company is my childhood friend.
As for me, I’m a hit composer, a mysterious sculptor, and a young entrepreneur.
My classmates say I’m neither Ms. Smith nor Ms. Johnson—I belong to myself.
But my childhood friend just laughs and says, “She belongs to me, too.”

I spent a month pretending to be a coward in a mercenary cannon-fodder camp.

A recruit shattered my nose with a punch and ground his combat boot into my face; the instructor cut off my water during drills in forty-degree heat, waiting for me to drop dead from dehydration. To prevent the military AI surveillance overhead from catching my tactical muscle memory, I forcibly locked down my combat instincts and swallowed blood mixed with dirt.

They thought I was just a sluggish forty-two-year-old drifter, unaware that in the Pentagon's top-secret sealed files, I am a former Joint Special Operations Command "Tier 0" Ghost Operative.

Until that day, when heavily armored mercenaries raided the camp, and an EMP grenade paralyzed the entire surveillance grid.

Staring at the extinguished infrared indicator lights above, I snapped an enemy's neck and picked up a rifle from the ground.

"Alright, restrictions lifted."

I was reborn twelve hours before the anomaly occurred.

In my previous life, I died tragically in a sea of fire, unable to even protect my three-year-old daughter.

In this life, I returned from hell with the "Shadow" that rules the abyss, only to discover that the only antidote to ending the wasteland lies in my daughter's palm.

Her ex-wife, who was possessed by a monster, the greedy military, and even "myself" who went mad across parallel universes all tried to tear her apart and suck her blood.

You want to harm my daughter? Fine. Then let's see if you can withstand this all-consuming polar night!

During the shipwreck, my fiancée, to save my "white moonlight" (my unrequited love), forcibly pried open my bleeding fingers and snatched my last life jacket.
"He can't swim, you hold on a little longer."

At that moment, I gave up completely and let myself sink into the cold, deep sea.

Later, I returned from the ashes and became an unapproachable tycoon.

She went bankrupt and became a beggar, but amidst the heavy snow, she watched my wedding of the century, knelt on the street, and breathed her last in remorse.

Belated affection is ultimately worth less than grass.

When the red moon descends, humans become living food.

In this apocalyptic survival battle with no way out, I was trapped on a fallen highway with 300 rifle bullets and the only "living antidote" for all mankind.

Behind them stretched an endless horde of mutated zombies, their hearing ten times sharper; ahead lay a deathly blockade, poised to unleash a second wave of devastating meteors at any moment. The countdown had begun, and teammates fell one after another into pools of blood, desperately providing cover.

Retreat? There's a life-saving vaccine in the trunk; advance? Ahead lies a hopeless dead end with a 100% mortality rate.

I silently chambered the round. Since fate intends for humanity to become extinct, then I'll use firepower to carve a bloody path through them!

Intro: Reborn three years into the past, I watched coldly as my scheming ex-girlfriend and my so-called sworn brother got together—the same two who had conspired to frame me in my past life. They had no idea that in all of Silvermist City, I was the only one who could devour dragonbone shards—if that certain lady wanted to survive, she would have to kneel and beg me to fall in love with her again. And my dear brother, who'd sweet-talked his way into the royal box? He probably hadn't calculated how many seconds that golden voice of his could burn for.

Intro: Six hours before the apocalypse, I was reborn. A gray panel now floated before my eyes, showing my physical stats. In the scant time left, I had to use limited supplies to complete the system's tasks, grind levels like mad, gather scattered resources, and build my own doomsday fortress. This time around, I would exact ultimate revenge on all those who had betrayed me.

Intro: I spent three years as a logistics mage in the Darkmoon Pack, chasing the wolf clan's female war goddess for a full year. I repaired her armor, mixed her potions, and secretly tucked protective charms inside her gear. She never once looked me in the eye. At the bonfire banquet, after enduring humiliation, I took the initiative to sever ties and walked away. Without my help, she lost everything. When I was reborn and returned, facing the one and only chance to win me back, she finally chose to make the first move.

Seven days before the apocalypse, my vampire parents forced me to hand over three million to buy a house for my baby brother in full.

As an actuary, I knew that order would collapse in seven days and the money would become worthless. So I not only readily agreed, but also used their family's records as collateral to raise millions in high-interest loans, building an impregnable, top-secret fortress.

Seven days later, an unexpected change occurred.

The debt-collecting gangs and the endless horde of zombies drove them to the brink of despair. Meanwhile, I sat in a temperature-controlled safe house, sipping freshly ground coffee, calmly watching the cannibalistic karmic retribution unfold on the security camera.

In the apocalypse, there is no family affection, only the probability of survival.

For the past ten years, I've been the worst-ranked cleaner in the Hero Association .
The S-class war god regarded me as an ant, wantonly trampling on my dignity on this floor.
Until that day, the SSS-level villain broke out of prison, massacred the headquarters, and the high and mighty gods knelt in pools of blood like dead dogs, howling in despair.
I silently picked up the mop and walked up to the arrogant villain: "You've dirtied my floor, please cooperate with the cleaning."
The next second, the concept vanished, reduced to ashes! The entire audience was shocked: "I told you to mop the floor, and you wiped the villain away?!"

To save my wife’s family, I buried my name, wore myself down, and let a few strands of my hair turn gray while caring for her on the edge of death.

Three years later, she slipped into custom Chanel and slapped a divorce agreement down in front of me.

With her arm wrapped around a so-called old-money heir from Wall Street, she mocked me as a worthless nobody who couldn’t even afford a luxury handbag, a bottom-feeder who was never fit to stand beside her.

I signed my name without a word and watched her leave in triumph.

What she didn’t know was that the man preaching investments was nothing more than a Ponzi fraudster facing multiple charges.

And when the conference room door closed, Manhattan’s most feared ice-cold attorney bowed to me at a perfect ninety degrees and welcomed me to unlock the seventy-billion-dollar trust fund and take back control of the entire conglomerate.

A few months later, inside a women’s maximum-security prison in Brooklyn, she was dressed in a filthy, tattered prison uniform, sprawled across a floor slick with dirty water, sobbing as she was beaten and begging for my forgiveness.

I simply lifted my whiskey and calmly switched off the surveillance feed.

At the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan, my ex-husband threw champagne all over me, and my wife publicly called me a "gold digger."

I held the tray, silent, like a clown being punished.

Three years ago, I lived in anonymity with her in a basement, cooking and doing laundry for her, all because of the pure stubbornness in her eyes.

In return, she embraced her father's killer and trampled me into the mud.

The divorce agreement was signed quickly, and she got into a Porsche with her enemy.

I laughed.
The next day, a Maybach pulled up in front of the law firm, escorted by eight bodyguards. The sole heir to the oldest conglomerate on the East Coast had returned.

While she was watching the cheap TV in the supermarket, seeing me marry a European princess, she was kneeling in front of a cold shelf, being verbally abused by a homeless man over a moldy potato.

Seven days before the doomsday outbreak, the wild weeds by the road spoke to me: The zombies are coming.
I rushed home, intending to take my fiancée and flee for our lives.
But outside the door, I overheard her plotting with her boss on the sofa, scheming to drain all my wealth.
"He’s just an orphan with no family or connections. No one would care even if he dies."
I didn’t push the door open.
Instead, I quietly cashed out all my assets overnight and built an impenetrable island fortress without delay.
Seven days later, the zombie hordes surrounded the city.
She and her entire family were chased by the monsters, covered in blood and mangled.
They knelt frantically kowtowing and begging for help right outside my explosion-proof gate.
I coldly locked the door tight.
"You were right," I said. "No one really cares if you die. Just go in peace."

To surprise her I ended my business trip early only to catch my fiancee entangled with my best friend of ten years in our marital bed

The next day at an elite gala she publicly announced the engagement was over then drove me out into the freezing downpour like a drowned dog mocking me in front of everyone as a worthless castoff

She did not know that the Wall Street financial predator who had hidden his edge for love had finally had his shackles cut off by their own hands

Back in New York I struck back by shorting the Roland family empire watching coldly as that sanctimonious friend devoured her family fortune piece by piece then tossed her into a dungeon on a remote island overseas to torment her at will

Months later when she crawled out of a dark cell on the verge of a breakdown clutching my dress shoe in the stinking mud and sobbing as she begged humbly that she would do anything if only she could stay by my side

I merely wiped the mud she had smeared on my trousers and let a filthy wet wipe drift onto her face

Some trash once you throw it out you never pick it up again

To win a smile from my icy wife, I stood for four hours in a London blizzard, only to be greeted by her returning hand-in-hand with her childhood sweetheart, who had just returned from abroad.

For three years of marriage, I had concealed all my sharp edges, solely to warm her heart.
Until company secrets were leaked, and she unquestioningly believed her childhood sweetheart's framing, locking me, who suffered from severe claustrophobia, in a dark, abandoned wine cellar for a full forty-eight hours.

Watching her arrogantly slam the "Clean Break Agreement" onto my bleeding face, I smiled.
The moment I signed my name, the humble Arthur who loved her died utterly in the abyss.

That night, my yacht ran aground and exploded.
And the first heir of the Vance conglomerate, missing for three years, officially took control of the global technology lifeline.

Six months later, betrayed and facing bankruptcy, she clung to my trousers like a dead dog on the red carpet of a top-tier banquet, weeping and begging me to start over.
I was arm in arm with a true socialite, and I didn't even lift an eyelid as I looked at the woman covered in mud on the floor:
"Security, throw this crazy woman who's dirtied the carpet away. Don't spoil my fun."

Intro: I'm an S-Class superhuman, but I was locked in a basement for five full years, subjected to inhuman abuse and torment. All they wanted was to drain my blood and energy dry. I once believed that if I could just endure it all, I would see my family again. Until my wife Valen's voice came through the intercom and revealed that it was all a lie. I will turn my fury into strength and tear it all apart with my own hands.

In my last life, I shoved my wife Sarah out of the path of an oncoming car and ended up critically injured myself.
My mother-in-law, determined to get her hands on my savings, secretly switched my medication with cheap knockoffs and left me permanently infertile.
Then she showed up at my office and made a huge scene, pressuring me to quit my job and become a full-time househusband.
As for her and Sarah? They had the nerve to move in some so-called lover who could "carry on the family line," then used my hard-earned money to support him under my own roof.
When the apocalypse hit, they locked me in a room and fed me to that infected homewrecker.
Now that I've been given a second chance, I look at the three parasites standing in front of me—mocking me, acting self-righteous...
I feel no anger. Only amusement.
Fourteen days until the zombie outbreak, and they're still dreaming about how to bleed me dry.
This time, I'm taking back every cent they stole from me—with interest.
And when the end finally comes, I'll be sitting inside my impenetrable safe house, watching with ice in my veins as they turn on each other in despair.

The wife in the cryogenic chamber had only three minutes left.

I had an iron hook pierce my collarbone, and my knees shattered while kneeling at a lavish banquet. Wine glasses smashed at my feet, flashbulbs were pointed at my face, and everyone was laughing—the former war god of the North, now less than a dog.

Victor stomped on the remote control and smashed it.

When the red light of the three-minute countdown popped up, I raised my head. The sealing nails on my shoulders were blasted away by the qi, and what surged from the dark golden depths of my eyes made the entire building tremble.

He crushed over a hundred mercenaries with a single punch.

He tore open the alloy gate with his bare hands.

One hundred thousand black-armored demons knelt down from the darkness, and their commander cut off his own arm to plead guilty.

I pressed the full-frequency communication button, draped in a blood-patterned cloak: "Seven days. Make the three great empires hand over the restorative herbs. If even one herb is missing—wipe out the entire nation."

He knelt before his wife, he fought his way through the world for her. The moment she awoke was the beginning of this world paying its debt.

The day my wife, Hollywood’s newly crowned Best Actress, landed an S-tier deal, she arrogantly tossed a separation agreement in my face.

“I’m moving into Beverly Hills. A salaried office worker like you will only drag down my status. If you can’t come up with a ten-million-dollar mansion, then get out of my life.”

She thought she had latched onto a media tycoon, and eagerly signed the “fake divorce loan” agreement I had tailored just for her.

What she didn’t know was that I wasn’t just the pathetic husband she thought I was. I was also a quantitative strategist from Wall Street, a man who could turn the markets upside down.

That ten million dollars became the seed capital I used to short the tycoon backing her.

When she was ruined at her movie premiere, burdened with crushing debt, and crawled barefoot like a stray dog up to the hillside mansion, begging hysterically for me to remarry her, I was already toasting a successful acquisition with my Wall Street partner.

Then I watched coldly as the security guards threw her into the Los Angeles night like a piece of rotten industrial waste.

In order to prolong the life of my supposedly sick "white moonlight" (my love interest), my wife forced me onto the operating table and removed my kidney while I was still alive.

To force me to leave with nothing, she even cut off my mother's medication, coldly declaring, "Your mother is just a liability that deserves to be optimized."

She thought I would wag my tail and beg for mercy like a stray dog.

Little did she know, suffering from single kidney failure, I transformed myself into the deadliest viral code before my death, dragging her business empire and that male mistress into an inescapable hell.

On the day the truth came to light, the once-powerful tech queen went completely mad. She squandered her fortune, kneeling in the frost of the morgue, kowtowing and weeping blood, begging me to look at her one last time. But she couldn't find a single hair of mine.

Because I had already made a will, ordering my remains to be cremated as high-risk medical waste.

She treated me like dirt when she was alive, and after she died, I found her disgusting and didn't even bother to leave her a handful of ashes.

Just as my business partner called to gloat, the loan shark's hitmen were frantically hacking at my security door.

"Arthur, I've been reborn too. I embezzled that ten million in company funds to build a doomsday bunker. Enjoy taking the knife for me!"

Listening to the voice through the receiver, I simply smashed the window and vaulted from the second floor, not wasting even half a second on his bullshit.

Building a private shelter with ten million in dirty money? He had absolutely no idea just how terrifying the monsters that would rip apart the earth's crust in thirty days truly were.

Dragging my bleeding arm, I charged into an underground internet cafe and forcibly hacked into the highest early warning system of the Overseas Defense Agency.

Half a year later, the Abyss descended. His proud bunker was crushed like papier-mâché during the very first beast tide. As he scrambled for his life through the mud like a pathetic bug, he looked up—only to see a national-level steel fortress stretching for thousands of kilometers across the horizon.

And there I was, clad in a black-and-gold Supreme Commander uniform, looking down at him from hundreds of meters above.

"You good-for-nothing should get out and save your food rations. I'll use your truckload of supplies for you!"

The man-eating scarlet spores swept through the town. My good brother locked the security door tightly and locked me in the corridor filled with blood mist.

He stared intently at me through the peephole, waiting to see the horrific sight of my internal organs being drained by the fungus.

But a second before I was devoured by the spores, I hid in my personal space and with a single thought drained the last drop of water and every grain of rice from the room.

Three days later, in this impregnable "vacuum tomb".

When he was so thirsty that he swallowed blood, and knelt on the ground desperately pounding on the door.

I kicked the door open, tied him up with nylon rope, and hung him upside down in the blood-red storm outside the window.

On the eve of the apocalypse, I awakened a survival system: send me $5,000, and the sender can unlock a safehouse and awaken a life-saving ability.
The first person I told was Chloe, my girlfriend of three years. In return, she humiliated me in public and cheated on me without a shred of remorse.
That was the moment I finally gave up. The "nice guy" she had drained dry was dead for good.
One month later, the zombie horde arrived right on schedule. For old times' sake, I saved her one last time. And she repaid me by shoving me straight into the jaws of the mutated dead so she could save herself.
What she didn't know... was that I wasn't the only one who had awakened powers.

To get the only targeted drug for my sister's sudden rare disease flare-up, I knelt before the city's elites in a grease-stained janitor's uniform and barked like a dog. My wife in name only glared at me with absolute disgust, cursing that I was worse than a dog. The chaebol heir even crushed the medicine bottle under his shoe, forcing me into a "no fighting back" death match in the underground black market.

Enduring the agony of broken bones, I survived ten brutal rounds, only to be handed swapped poison and witness a monstrous fire engulf the clinic.

Watching my sister's life-support indicators gradually fade in the sea of flames, and looking at the female doctor whose legs were shattered while trying to protect her, I shed no tears.

I calmly pulled a glass shard from my ribs and took out the black satellite communicator I had kept hidden and sealed away for three years.

"Command received, Supreme Commander."

Tonight, I will make the chaebols of this city completely vanish from the face of the earth.

In my last life, I risked everything to protect my fiancée, only for her to shove me into a horde of zombies with nothing but, "You owed David this."
When I got a second chance, I found myself back right before the rescue chopper took off at the start of the apocalypse.
As I watched her cling to the cabin door, refusing to leave because she was waiting for her ex, I stepped back without hesitation: respect, best wishes, stay together forever. This time, I'm done being the pathetic simp who gets played for a fool.
I snatched the top-tier crystal core first, awakened an apocalyptic-level power, and watched with a cold smile as the cheating couple turned on each other in the middle of a pile of corpses, stabbing and screaming in despair. When the end of the world comes, you deal with the bleeding hearts first—then you rise to godhood.

Extreme cold descended suddenly, with temperatures approaching minus eighty degrees Celsius.

My girlfriend tricked me into leaving the temperature-controlled fortress I had built with all my savings. She took her whole family and her lover and took over the place, leaving me, a cripple, to be left to die in a blizzard.

They sat around my fireplace eating top-grade Wagyu beef, declaring they would watch me freeze into an ice sculpture.

But what they didn't know was that, locked out, I turned around and dialed the number of the most brutal outlaw in the apocalypse.

I don't want the billion-dollar supplies and the houses; all I want is for their whole family to be trapped in this inescapable, icy hell, unable to live or die.

To atone for my fallen brothers, I concealed my identity and willingly played the role of a worthless loser in the eyes of my influencer wife.

I swallowed her endless abuse and the humiliation from her wealthy new suitor. I thought that by dragging my dignity through the mud, I could finally buy peace for my soul.

Until that day. Desperate for livestream traffic, she and her crew violently smashed down my door. She shattered the pocket watch left behind by my comrade's mother. She threw the casualty list—stained with the blood of my Special Forces unit—into the filthy water, trampling it underfoot while hundreds of thousands of netizens mocked me online.

They had no idea that every single name on that ledger was once a sharp blade that guarded this nation.

Staring at the soiled hero's insignia, I finally realized that submission would never bring redemption. I wiped the mud from the relics and dialed a long-dormant encrypted terminal:

"Operation 'Reckoning'—initiate full activation."

Since a shield can no longer protect my faith, it is time to draw the sword of judgment.

After catching my girlfriend and my most hated nemesis in bed together, they ruthlessly pushed me down the stairs.

When I woke up again, the world had gone completely mad.

My girlfriend who betrayed me and my arrogant nemesis have both awakened "superpowers".

And I became a "useless" person without any special abilities, trampled under their feet.

But only my mutated eyes saw through the truth: it wasn't a gift of evolution at all, but a horrifying parasite crawling on their spines and sucking their brains! And my high and mighty nemesis was the swarm mother that was trying to devour all of humanity.

They laughed at me for being a worthless, honest man, unaware that my blood was a deadly poison capable of burning these monsters to ashes.

Six months into the apocalypse, I risked my life to pamper my girlfriend like a princess, only to be betrayed by her and the camp leader .
My legs were broken, and I was thrown over the wall to be eaten by dogs ; hundreds of civilians I had once protected turned on me .
On the verge of death, I unexpectedly rescued a mysterious prodigy, instantly binding myself to an endless space and granting me divine healing abilities . My severed limbs regenerated instantly, and I had access to countless top-tier resources .
Returning to the camp fully healed, I stomped on the leader's knee and kicked my scheming ex-girlfriend into a horde of zombies .
In this damn apocalypse, from this day forward, I am the one and only new king .

At my ex-wife's century wedding engagement banquet, she pointed at my nose and humiliated me publicly: "A waste of space who lays bricks, get out!"
Her wealthy new lover pressed my face hard into broken glass and forcibly dragged away my desperately crying five-year-old daughter.
I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, drew the "Ghost Mark," and dialed the Pentagon hotline that had been dormant for five years.
Three seconds later, twelve Black Hawk helicopters shattered the dome, and a special task force descended from the sky. A two-star general, amid the terrified gazes of the assembled elite, saluted me with a thunderous: "Ghost Commander, troops have arrived as ordered!"
My ex-wife, who had been so arrogant just moments ago, instantly collapsed to the ground.

In my past life, I kindly took in my girlfriend and brother, only to be pushed into a torrent of acid rain and melted alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back a month before the apocalypse, only to find that my girlfriend had also been reborn! She was secretly plotting on the balcony to drain my assets to build her and her best male friend's post-apocalyptic love nest? I scoffed, decisively sold all my possessions, and bought a private island in the Pacific to build a top-tier fortress. When the mutated red rain descended and zombies swept the globe, I sipped iced whiskey in a temperature-controlled greenhouse, quietly watching that despicable couple starve and die in their Los Angeles penthouse, tearing each other apart like wild dogs for survival…

The extreme cold apocalypse descended, with global temperatures plummeting to minus 70 degrees Celsius. Cities were reduced to frozen wastelands overrun by frozen corpses.

On the eve of the crisis, I awakened the Berserk Zombie Horde System. Facing exploitation from a ruthless agency and betrayal by my gold-digging girlfriend, I directly used a system backdoor to hack into the agency's accounts, siphoning a massive 7 million dollars!

I purchased heavy-duty generators, hoarded hundreds of tons of supplies, and transformed an abandoned mine into an underground steel fortress with fully automated climate control.

The apocalypse arrived exactly on schedule, plunging the entire city into a total blackout. While my enemies turned purple from the cold, kneeling outside my blast doors and begging for mercy, I sat in my 25-degree Celsius climate-controlled room, sipping whiskey. With a casual flick of a switch, I activated the traps, sending them out to feed the monsters in the blizzard.

In this white wasteland, I am the only rule!

To annul the engagement, the aloof heiress of a wealthy family spent three years planning thirteen accidents to try and kill me.
Car accident, falling object, poisoning... I survived covered in blood, only to be met with her disgusted question: "How come you're still alive?"
She let her scheming childhood sweetheart crush my father's ashes, and even personally drained my last remaining blood to save me, all for her sweetheart's self-inflicted injury.
She thought I would be like a dog, clinging to her side forever without any boundaries.
Until that day, I calmly handed over the annulment agreement, clutching the diagnosis of late-stage brain cancer, and completely disappeared from her world.
Later, when she finally found out the truth, she searched the world frantically, only to find my emaciated, cold corpse.
That arrogant and haughty young lady has completely collapsed.
She personally sent her childhood sweetheart to hell, knelt before my body wearing a veil, and desperately raised a gun:
“Ivan, walk slowly on your way to the underworld... I’m giving my life for you.”

My fiancée, with whom I've been in a relationship for three years, has threatened to break off our engagement for the hundredth time, forcing me to donate a kidney to her adopted brother, who's faking illness and acting like a hypocrite.

My biological parents even threatened to sever ties with me: "You have a healthy body. Ian has nothing but us. You can't even bear to part with a kidney. You're so selfish and cold-blooded!"

They don't know that my hands, which I used to play the piano, had already been crushed by gangsters while cleaning up their mess; they also don't know that at this moment, I have a critical illness notice for late-stage bone cancer in my pocket.

Seeing the undisguised disgust and indifference in my fiancée's eyes, I swallowed the taste of blood in my throat and calmly signed the consent form for the live organ removal.

"Okay, I'll donate. I'll give you back my life along with it."

Later, I died like a dog on the rusty operating table of a shady clinic, my bones and marrow completely drained.

But when I was truly reduced to dust and left without even a complete corpse... the truth about my vicious foster brother faking illness was exposed.

The aloof and arrogant female CEO who once treated me like trash went completely mad overnight.

She knelt desperately before my nameless grave, plunged a sharp knife into her abdomen, and collapsed in a pool of blood, pleading for me to see her one more time.

While I was being kidnapped, tortured, and murdered in the horse stable of our own family farm, my all-powerful chaebol fiancée was helping my green tea younger brother try on wedding attire.
Before dying, with my broken, blood-stained finger, I dialed the last desperate call for help.
On the other end of the phone, her tone was filled with scorn and impatience: "Vincent, can't you even tolerate a little grievance from your younger brother? Let's just cancel the engagement, and I'll replace you with him as the groom."
Later, I truly died.
My soul drifted in mid-air, watching coldly as the whole family thought I was faking death to make a scene. My older sister even kicked over my disfigured body on the haystack in disgust: "Get up right now, stop pretending to be pitiful here!"
Until the flashlight's beam completely illuminated my ghastly, rigid face, and the shattered phone screen, still stuck on the moment she hung up, clutched tightly in my dead hand...
That forever aloof, arrogant female CEO finally went weak in the knees, kneeling in the foul-smelling, blood-soaked filth, and utterly lost her mind.

My wife had an affair.
Not only that, she casually indulged her lover over the phone, allowing him to crush the bones of my right hand, known as the "Hand of God," right in front of our six-year-old child, with a stomp of his shoe. I could never hold a tool again.
Natalie thought I was just a poor, pathetic loser earning a dead-end salary, so she brazenly let her gigolo trample all over me.
But what she had no idea of was that her proud identity as a transnational female CEO was merely a toy casually tossed to her by the top old-money family I belong to in New York.
When dozens of bulletproof armored vehicles smashed through the gates and my father, the patriarch, descended like the god of death, her arrogant self finally crumbled like a stray dog.
She screamed and jumped into the icy, bone-chilling lake to retrieve the diamond ring I had discarded, wailing and begging to chop off her own hand to compensate me.
But I just held the stunning British Duchess in my arms, watching coldly as she fell into an abyss of eternal damnation.
This love, tainted with shit, whoever wants it can have it!

"If you keep biting your lip like that I won't be able to contain myself." I could feel the warmth of his breath fan over my lips, making me hungry to feel them against me.
I bit my lip again as my way of permitting him. He gave me a sexy smirk before he crashed his lips against mine. His hands gripped my hips, lifting me and placing me on the kitchen island. I parted my legs allowing his torso between them as he grabbed my bottom while parting my lips with his tongue.
I let him explore my mouth with a soft moan. His hands left my rear, traveling up my thighs, pushing my dress up along the way. He ran his finger over my dampening slit, through my underwear.
"You're so wet for me already." He smirked against my lip before biting it lightly. I moaned again at the pleasure his touches and words were bringing me. "I want to know what you taste like, Rose."


Olive came home one day to find her only long-term boyfriend balls deep inside her roommate. With her heart crushed, her fighting spirit from hell, and her best friend at her side, she sets out to prove a point. She can be with anyone if she wants to be. She finds the hottest guy at the nightclub and has her one-night stand with a stranger. Only it becomes more than just a one-night stand as she runs into him again next weekend while out with Lucas' best friend, Leo. Of course, she wasn't aware of the relationship between Leo and Lucas. Lucas is determined to make her his, but so is Leo. How will these best friends handle fighting for the same girl?
Read on to discover how Olive deals with these two new men along with her college studies and family drama.
Did I forget to mention these guys are rich beyond reason?
Warning:there are plenty of hot and steamy scenes in this book

Vanessa Saxon was once married to Luca Kensington, the cold and distant CEO of K Group. But when she was seven months pregnant, her adopted sister, Beatriz Langley, falsely accused her of having an affair with her best friend, Daxton Radcliffe, and carrying his child. The worst part? Luca believed Beatriz.

In a fit of rage, Luca demanded their baby be removed prematurely, leading to a tragic event where Vanessa nearly died from the ordeal.

Saved by Daxton, Vanessa disappeared. Now, five years later, she returns-stronger and determined-alongside her daughter, Isla Saxon, to exact her revenge on those who wronged her.

Let's see, this will be the 27th time I've had to pretend I've had an orgasm?
I'm not sure that anyone, aside from myself, will ever get me to cu.m again, not since him. Is this what sx is going to be like the rest of my life? If so, shoot me now.
I would like to believe that I could keep to myself rather than continue this hopeless journey, but here I am, hovering over Kyle's face in hopes I'm wrong and he has somehow figured out how to bring me the pleasure I so desperately seek.
Nope. Nothing but fcking licks to my thigh. Come on, Kyle. You're killing me.
Three years I've gone without the torment of my bullies, thinking I left them behind in high school. God, was I wrong. Blaze, Thorne, and Ryder never left, they only watched from the shadows...waiting.
They've re-entered my life in whirlwind of violence, and to stop them, I offered myself in exchange. Little did I know what I was getting myself into, now being held captive in their home. All this time I thought they hated me, but I'm learning that wasn't it at all. There's a fine line between love and hate and I'm certainly walking it.

Mate. Something every werewolf looks forward to.

The thought of finding someone tailor-made by the moon goddess for you alone in the entire world is exhilarating.

At least it was for me. For a while. I waited for what felt like forever. Everyone finds their mate once they turn eighteen. I'll be eighteen in a few days.

I wanted to keep myself for my mate. To be pure but who was I kidding. Nobody could have prepared me for who my mate was. Not even my adoptive parents.

The alpha's son. Maverick Tatum. The same boy I used to think of as a scum after watching how he treats the female in the pack. That same boy was my mate.

I'm Ares Powers. My parents said they found me in the woods with my name engraved in the wood of the beads I was wearing.

They have tried taking off the beads multiple times when I was growing up. They couldn't. They took me to the pack seer and he said only my true mate can help me remove the beads and unlock my wolf's highest potential.

I wonder why my birth parents would want to keep my powers locked.

The day I found out Maverick was my mate was the same day he rejected me. In front of everyone. The next day, I was banished from the pack.

I swore to get my revenge then. But until then, I have to find a way to unlock my wolf's full potential because my mate turned out to be unreliable.

"It's just a taste, Raya. You'll live."
Roman pulled his head back, opening his mouth wide, showing me those sharp fangs. This was real, this was horrifyingly real! Vampires exist, and one was about to feed on me.
Just as Roman was about to sink his fangs into me, Dane emerged from behind a tree, his eyes glowing fiercely, and his body completely naked. He growled so menacingly that it sounded more like an animal than a man.
"Let her go!" Dane barked, approaching the two of us. Roman's hand held my jaw firmly, keeping my head in place as he leaned forward.
"Why should I?" He asked, before kissing my neck. "She's my meal."
"If you sink those nasty fangs into her, you'll have the Lunaris pack to deal with. Are you sure you want that?"

What's a Lunaris pack?


Raya's life takes an unexpected turn when she discovers the existence of the supernatural.
Raya is thrust into a world of vampires, werewolves, and witches. Confined within the Lunaris pack's boundaries, Raya feels a magnetic pull towards Dane, the beta, unlike anything she has ever experienced before. However, Dane can't determine if Raya is his mate or not. Her scent is intoxicating to all the wolves, and they all feel a primal pull towards her.
Can Raya uncover the secrets of her past and find her true mate?

There is a place where names are forgotten, faces are hidden, and only the body speaks.
It doesn’t whisper. It moans. It obeys. It disobeys. It begs.

You were warned not to touch.
But you will.

Welcome to Velvet Heat, a collection of 100 dangerously intimate stories that whisper in the dark and bite when you’re not looking. These are not tales of sweet love and gentle kisses. These are fantasies that unravel you..slowly, slickly, and without apology.

Behind every silk sheet is a secret.
Beneath every command, a dare.
And under every moan, a threat.

From faceless strangers in candlelit rooms to monsters who taste like sin, this is a world where desire bleeds, power shifts, and no one escapes untouched.
Some stories will make you beg.
Some will make you scream.
And some… will make you wish you never opened the book.

Velvet Heat is where you come to lose yourself.
But you’ll never leave the same.

Only sinners.
No safe words. Only consequences.
And no promises of love..just obsession, power, hunger… and release.

After Sarah finds her boyfriend in the arms of another she heads to the beach to clear her thoughts. Once there, she meets Dom, who she thinks will be the perfect distraction from her broken heart.

It's only for the weekend? But what if it's not?

When she returns back to her normal life, will things go back to normal after her co-worker Kane confesses his feelings for her? What about when Dom shows up declaring his love?

“Do I really deserve this?”
Dr. Xavier Brown asked the void after the woman he loved smiled and shoved him off a rooftop.

He died a brilliant, betrayed genius… only to wake up as the worthless secondary character in a trashy web novel.

The pathetic live-in son-in-law.
The disposable husband.
The man scripted to be humiliated, divorced, and killed so the protagonists could shine.

Died once.
Refused to die again.

Armed with every humiliating page of his own doom, Xavier signs the divorce papers with a smirk, takes the money, and kicks the first death flag into the dirt.

But the story doesn’t let go so easily.

When he saves the mother of Isabella Voss, the novel’s ice-cold villainess, using medicine this world has never seen, she doesn’t destroy him.
She builds him a kingdom: a hospital with top-notch facilities, an empire of shadows, and a love that feels dangerously real.

Then the truth rips the script apart.

He isn’t Alexander Rodriguez.
He is Alexander Winchester, erased heir to a hidden mafia family, legendary assassin king, memory wiped and chained as a live-in dog by the very people who now call themselves heroes.

Six deadly sisters descend to reclaim him.
A ruthless CEO. A ghost hacker, an assassin trainer, a pharmaceutical prodigy, a public opinion goddess, and the youngest who sees what’s coming before it breathes.

With a system that evolves from cold machine to snarky partner in crime, Xavier walks two paths at once:

The Healer who rewrites life, and the Ruler who burns false fates to ash.

But Karma never dies, Damien and Sophie met with their consequences

Every betrayal returns.
Every death flag screams.

“Do I really deserve this?”

Xavier smiles, scalpel in one hand, shadow in the other.

This time the answer is yes.

Three years ago, I took an undercover job: pose as a bottom-tier janitor and infiltrate a crime syndicate.

But I didn’t fit. My posture, my stride, the way I watched people—none of it looked like a janitor.

So command made the call: hypnotize me, seal my memories, erase who I was. In three months, someone would come wake me up.

They never did. My handler died, the line went dark, and I stayed buried.

I lost myself and spent three years scrubbing this place from the bottom—where anyone could kick me, spit at me, call me useless.

Until today. A stranger, drenched in blood, was dragged into the hall. He lunged close and whispered one sentence into my ear.

It was the trigger phrase.

The lock in my head snapped open. My name is Jack Reynolds—ex–Marine operative—sent here to bring down the Grey Wolf Alliance.

And everyone who spent three years stepping on my neck is about to learn what that means.

A gang boss ground my treasured staff into dust with one boot. “A gutter-bred bastard from the slums, and you’re hiding something this delicate? Cripple him. Let him learn who runs this turf.”
I stared at the silver-white powder on the floor. It was the last relic my brothers left me.
I once swore these hands would be used only to save people, never to kill again.
But today, even the heavens refused to allow it.
I lifted my head slowly. The elven ears I’d kept lowered in submission rose one by one in the dark, sharp as a wolf’s.
“You’re asking me who runs this turf?”
My fist snapped out and caved in the boss’s nose.
I twisted backhanded. Three elite enforcers had their bones shattered in an instant, collapsing like sacks of rotten meat.
I grabbed the boss by the throat with one hand and hoisted his two-hundred-pound body into the air, eyes cold as if I were staring at a corpse.
“Three years ago, when I laid down the rules in this district, you didn’t even know where you were playing in the mud.”
“My things are not for you to touch.”