1980 Book(s) Related to 5 letter words with g u i n

Woke up with the power to command endless zombies. I guarded the fortress for my sister, only to find her tortured, drained of blood, and used as live bait. A fake hologram fooled me for two years. Now I unleash my million undead army to burn all traitors to ashes.

Eight years ago, I was the heir to a powerful dynasty—the man set to inherit an empire.

On the way home from a business deal, our convoy was ambushed and I was taken. My fiancée arrived with the ransom, and the kidnappers gave her a choice: save one man. She saved my closest friend—and left me bleeding in the ruins.

They thought I was dead. They went on camera, announced my “tragic death,” took my company, split my legacy, and lived on my name for eight long years.

But I didn’t die. A gray-zone mercenary unit pulled me out of a pile of bodies. I changed my name and climbed from the bottom of their world—training, bleeding, killing, leading—until I became one of their commanders.

Today, my fiancée is marrying my best friend. The invitation arrived with my name on it. I board a first-class flight under a new identity and head straight for their wedding.

Halfway through the ceremony, the priest asks if anyone objects.

I stand up. “I object.”

I didn’t come back to give my blessing. I came back to collect.

I died trying to save the animals I loved—then woke up as the abusive stepmother of a four-year-old beastkin boy.
According to the original story, Milo will grow up to become a ruthless villain. But right now, he is just a frightened little lynx who sleeps on a filthy blanket, eats pet food from a bowl, and thinks every kindness comes with a price.
I have no mission to complete and no plot to preserve. I only want to teach him three things: he deserves real food, he never has to earn his place at home, and his ridiculously soft ears are absolutely adorable.
There is just one complication.
His cold, powerful father is a tiger—and apparently, he wants to become my real husband.

I am the chief architect of a quantum computing system valued at hundreds of billions in the real world.
For an AI test subject that I wrote myself, I was willing to conceal my identity as the creator and become her unseen, low-level assistant, even at the cost of taking a fatal blow for her.
Just as she was about to go public and reach the top of the conglomerate pyramid, she unhesitatingly pushed an "Organ Donation Agreement" in front of me, forcing me to remove a kidney to save the newly spawned "old money" NPC new love.
She thought that as long as I died on the operating table, she could kick me aside, this useless stepping stone, without any moral burden, and embrace the perfect capitalist marriage.
But she didn't know—
The entire world she exists in is just a sandbox test server on my desk.

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."

My name is Michael Carson. On the surface, I'm a small-time analyst in Dallas, but nobody knows that I'm the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar financial empire.

The father's factory was on the verge of bankruptcy, but his wife transferred the money to her mother to open a beauty clinic, saying, "Your dad's lousy factory should have gone out of business long ago."

Her father suffered a heart attack and urgently needed surgery. She then said, "He's over sixty years old, is it worth it?"

I tolerated it. Until she discovered my true identity, she immediately turned on me, threatening divorce and taking half of my assets.

At that moment, I understood—some people don't deserve kindness.

I dialed the family number I hadn't contacted in five years.

They will never forget what happened next.

For four years, I tolerated Grayson’s blatant favoritism. He spoiled my roommate Mia with exquisite breakfasts every day, while leaving me with plain biscuits and bitter black coffee. I swallowed every unfair slight, hoping for true love. Yet he finally humiliated me thoroughly by choosing Mia over me for the elite corporate event, sneering that I was unworthy of high society. Hiding my identity as the university’s secret heiress, I stopped my father from ruining his career on impulse. I will let them attend the glamorous party—not out of mercy, but to deliver my quiet, devastating revenge. Now I only need time to decide my next move, and whether to accept my arranged engagement.

"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.

In my previous life, I ran a barbecue restaurant to support my family for ten years, but my parents secretly sold the restaurant to a gang because of my younger brother's vanity in wanting him to study abroad.
An hour later, the apocalypse began, and my little shop became a god-level safe house—
Those with superpowers who enter the store have their abilities automatically copied to the store owner; the store is absolutely safe; the store owner decides who enters and who leaves.
My family ruined my amazing little shop, and they scolded me, saying, "Who told you to be unable to keep the shop?"
I was heartbroken and torn to pieces in the mouth of a zombie.
In this life, I was reborn back to an hour before the shop was taken away.
I must protect my shop!
As for those so-called family members—let them fend for themselves in the apocalypse!

I thought I'd signed up for an immersive dating show.

Turns out it was a 99.9% death rate, globally livestreamed horror game.

And me? Half-blind without my contacts, desperate to go viral, I somehow talk my way through a death game like it's a romance.

I mistook blood for ketchup, human eyeballs for sashimi, a murderous child ghost for a kid who just needed some love.

Worst part? I fell for the guy running the place, the one who could kill you without blinking, and tried to get his number within the hour.

My teammate hissed at me, shaking. "You wanna die, fine, just don't take us with you!"

I just waved him off. It's a dating show. Relax.

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.

The day I died in a foreign country, my boyfriend was in the spotlight with another woman.

He's the man I built from nothing. Five years ago, I saved a broke orphan fresh out of college from the gutter. He said he wanted to be famous, wanted to make it to the top of the hockey world. In exchange, he became my boyfriend for five years.

I gave him the best coaching staff money could buy. Bought an entire hockey franchise and made him the centerpiece. Called in every favor I had to make him MVP.

But while he enjoyed everything I gave him, he refused to make our relationship public. Said it would "hurt his brand." He could make headlines with reporters and models, but nobody could know I existed.

He even said on national TV: "Those owners who just throw money around are pretty boring. Hockey is about skill, not money."

So why did he lose his mind when he found out I was dead?

I pursued Kaelzen, Alpha of the Frostfang Tribe, for four years and was about to marry him, only to expose his deception shortly before the wedding. A serious head injury erased all my memories of him. My family arranged a new marriage with the Duskthorn Tribe heir, and I agreed, planning to leave once the Ash Gate opens in seven days. Unaware of my memory loss, Kaelzen still treats me arrogantly, yet he is just a stranger to me now.

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

In my previous life, on the very day of our marking ceremony, my Alpha fiancé met his fated mate at the banquet.
He didn’t break off our engagement. Instead, he chose silence and completed the ceremony with me. He chose to trap me with a twenty-year mate bond.
For twenty years, I fought wars for the Pack, bore him an heir, and ruled the main hall alone as Luna.
Meanwhile, in another Pack’s territory, he spent his entire life with that woman.
Before I died, he told me he was sorry.
But he also blamed me—saying that if I hadn’t insisted on taking the Luna seat, he could have left more completely.
Only then did I realize something cruel. Not only was I never the one he loved, I was also the obstacle to his freedom.
When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of the marking ceremony.
This time, the mate bond had not yet formed, and the mate mark had not yet been sealed.
Whether he would abandon me for his fated mate no longer mattered.
Because this time—
I would never step aside for any Alpha again.

To fulfill a dying comrade's final request, I spent twelve years living in the shadows to protect his daughter. I took bullets for her, laundered her black-market assets, and eventually handed over my entire stake in the security empire. In her eyes, I am her father’s murderer; in mine, she is a mission—the only flicker of light left in my life. Until that fateful banquet, when she personally shoved me into the sights of mercenaries. Watching my blood bloom across her dress, she hooked her arm around my nemesis and ordered coldly, "Clean it up." In that moment, twelve years of devotion collapsed, and a heart that beat only for her finally learned to freeze. This time, I’ve decided to personally destroy the monster I raised.

The child I brought into this world through sheer determination now calls my husband's mistress "mother"; the youth who slew my father for my sake and was imprisoned, now confines me beyond the threshold, forcing me to hear his carnal symphony with his stepmother. Only then did I comprehend: the sixteen-year-old boy who committed patricide for me had long perished within the prison walls.

This is a world where humans and fantasy races exist side by side. Werewolves move through city streets between glass towers, and every now and then, a pair of massive wings cuts through the clouds overhead. Twenty years ago, to secure the family's standing, the main house signed a contract with the Dragon Clan.

As the least favored daughter of a branch family, I was chosen to be the Dragon King's mate. The terms were spelled out plainly: if I couldn't get married within five years of coming of age, I'd have to go to Dragon territory and go through with the marriage.

For five years, every wedding I've planned has been blown up by my younger sister, Hannah.

This is year five. I'm finally in a wedding dress, about to marry Derek, the boy I grew up with.

What I didn't expect was that one hour before the ceremony, Hannah collapsed in the dressing room coughing up blood. She grabbed Derek's hand, crying, saying she wouldn't make it through the month.

And my parents are on either side of me, hands pressed down hard on my shoulders.

"Just let Hannah have the wedding. She's dying!"

What they don't know is that if I don't get married today, the Dragon envoys will come for me on the spot.

And I won't be coming back.

I once loved Ryan deeply and helped him become the Alpha, only to be rewarded with chains in a dungeon and the mocking laughter of him and his mistress.

Fate gave me a second chance—I woke up reborn on the morning of the mate selection ceremony. There he was, still ordering me around in front of everyone, expecting me to play the obedient servant.

Everyone tried to convince me that Ryan, the man who killed me, is the "right choice."

Yet I chose Connor—the man feared by the entire clan, the one who will bring ruin to the clan for the sake of his one true love.

This time, I refuse to be the stepping stone on Ryan's climb to power.

I'm going to make everyone see who truly holds the reins.

In my previous life, my younger sister, Lilith, married Arthur, the vampire prince.

I married Grant Taylor, a werewolf tycoon and the Empire’s richest man.

Everyone said I was the lucky one.

I traveled in luxury cars, wore custom-made designer clothes, and appeared to have a perfect marriage. The entire Empire admired us.

Lilith, however, was miserable in the vampire royal family.

The royal family’s rigid rules controlled every part of her life. She had to bow and curtsy at every turn while noblewomen looked down on her and humiliated her.

Arthur ignored her, yet one beautiful woman after another moved into his estate.

Lilith cried. She threw tantrums. In the end, she had an affair with a human royal guard.

When the affair came to light, she was stripped of her title and locked inside the dark, windowless Royal Tower.

The day Grant and I attended a banquet at the palace, she appeared before me with hatred burning in her eyes.

“Why do you get everything? Why am I the one who has to rot in here?”

A second later, she detonated the mana crystal hidden beneath her clothes.

The flames swallowed us both.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day we chose which marriage contract to sign.

Lilith moved first. She pointed at the marriage contract bearing the wolf emblem and announced that she would marry Grant.

I lowered my gaze, barely holding back a laugh.

She thought she had stolen a fortune from me.

She had no idea what kind of monster that man truly was.

"What is the ultimate favoritism your partner gives you?"
On the third day after the IVF procedure, I came across this trending question on a werewolf forum.
Just as I was about to scroll past, a highly upvoted answer pierced straight through my eyes.
"I'm newly pregnant with the Alpha's cub, so I can answer this question."
"The favoritism is this: even though I’m not his official mate, he lied to the one at home—claiming she’s infertile due to health issues—just so I could conceive."
"He said: 'A human body is like a broken vessel. Only a strong she-wolf like me deserves to carry his cubs.'"
In the photo, the ruby necklace that belonged exclusively to me was hanging around her neck.
Trembling, I finished reading every word.
So this was his idea of a beautiful future—sowing his seeds in his lieutenant's bed.
So the agony of egg retrieval I endured was, in his eyes, nothing but the useless struggle of a broken vessel.
I laughed until tears fell.
Back then, I defied my father and even cut ties with my family just to marry this stray wolf.
"Ella, sooner or later, you’ll come crying back, begging for our forgiveness."
Now, it turns out I really have failed.
I pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand and dialed the number I’d blocked five years ago.
"In three days, I will return to the Hunters' Legion."

I am the sole heir to the Hartwell fortune.
But this birthday dinner — the one meant to sign the family trust into my hands on my twenty-second year — was being ruined by the housekeeper's daughter.
Brianna had done it on purpose. She'd stolen the archival couture gown my late mother left behind, then thrown herself into the champagne tower and pinned it on me.
"Oh God, Audrey, why did you push me?" She was already crying, her voice pitched for the crowd. "I know you hate seeing me in this dress, but your father was the one who insisted I wear it. Please don't make me leave."
In my last life, I'd stood there sobbing, waving my hands, trying to explain.
For that, I'd been stripped of my inheritance on the spot, committed to a psychiatric ward, and in the end, every fingernail torn out one by one, I'd died in agony.
But I'd been reborn.
Now I looked down at Brianna crumpled among the shattered crystal, playing the victim, and I didn't waste a word.
I crossed the floor, stood over her, drew my arm back, and slapped her across the face as hard as I could.
"Shut your mouth."

To save enough for a summer trip with my boyfriend, Tripp, and his friends, I worked late every night after school as a food runner at the upscale French restaurant in town.

Tripp told me his family didn't have much money. He wore old thrift-store T-shirts and always ordered the cheapest lunch in the cafeteria.

I felt bad for him. During the year we were together, I quietly paid for most of our dates.

Until one night, when I carried a bottle of wine to a private dining room and heard voices coming from inside.

"Tripp, how long are you going to keep pretending you're broke?" It was Chase, Tripp's best friend.

Then I heard Bitsy's sugary-sweet voice. She and Tripp had grown up together. "Thanks for the limited-edition bag, Tripp. Eighty grand, and it's absolutely gorgeous. I love it!"

I froze. An eighty-thousand-dollar bag? He wouldn't even spend twelve dollars on a burger.

Then Tripp spoke in a lazy drawl. "Girls like Nora are low-maintenance. She's easy to fool. Buy her an iced latte, and she'll act like it means the world to her. She barely costs me anything."

He had never really cared about me.

At the scene of the car accident, my parents frantically scooped up my sister—who only had a scraped knee—then kicked me aside as I lay there dying.
"Don't be a burden to your sister. Just wait by the roadside and croak!"
They drove off without a second thought. In that moment, my heart turned to stone.
What they didn't know was that I didn't die. Instead, I got adopted by a top-tier professor and became a math prodigy worth tens of millions.
Two years later, when my birth parents went bankrupt and got on their knees begging me for a handout, I smiled coldly and played the recording of their attempted murder...

My mate, Rhys, brought his dead brother's pregnant widow into our house.
He swore up and down I'd never have to lift a finger for her.
The next morning he stood by the door with a packed bag and a grin.
"Babe. Big news. The pack called me up. Border post out east, two years. I ship out tonight."
He looked at me like he was waiting for me to promise I'd take good care of his brother's widow.
So I pulled my own bag out of the closet, right there in front of him and the woman in the back room.
"Funny. The alliance called me up too. Medic rotation. Two years."
"We can leave together. Lock up on the way out. Colette can rest easy with the whole house to herself."

My younger sister, Freya, was preparing for her advanced training in New York the following week, so she dragged me to the dance studio to help her correct her movements. I put on my dance shoes as usual and stood in the center of the floor, ready to demonstrate a turn.

The moment my foot slipped, I didn't even have time to react.

My body hit the ground hard, and the sharp pain from the back of my head nearly made me lose consciousness. I lay on the cold floor, my throat tight, unable to even cry out for help.

When Mother rushed in, she didn't spare me a glance.

She immediately helped Freya up and took her to the hospital. I missed the critical window for treatment and died on the way to the hospital.

On my wedding day, my mother walked in and took my gown off the rack. Then she handed it to Coralie — the sister my parents adopted, the one I've given half my magic to every month for five years.
The High Priest says my stars are cursed. So Coralie will marry Roland in my place. My fiancé. The man I nearly died healing.
My father tells me to think of the bigger picture. Roland won't even look at me. Not one of them looks back as they leave me alone in that room.
They think I'll stand here and take it, like I always have.
They don't know about the black whistle in my sleeve — the one a dying man pressed into my hand at the edge of the Abyss. Blow it, he said, and I'll come for you.
I've been good for too long.
I'm done.

At sixteen, I took a fatal blow for him. As my wolf soul shattered, he swore with blood-red eyes: "When I become Alpha, I will make you my Luna."
But two years later, when he led the pack to migrate to new territory, he told the butler before departure: "Her broken wolf soul will only drag the group down."
With my bundle, I slipped out. Fate played a cruel joke: I boarded the wrong carriage, replacing a weeping bride, and was delivered to the wedding chamber of Alaric Argent, Alpha of the Sterling Pack.
The tall, steady figure before me sparked an odd sense of calm. The fog of memory wouldn’t let me be sure. Was this mistaken arrival a new beginning… or the continuation of an old shadow?

On our twentieth wedding anniversary, I caught my husband, Carter, cheating with our adopted daughter, Ava. My mother threw herself in front of me, and died under Carter's gun.
I had my anterior temporal lobe removed by Carter and lost my memory, then I was framed as the murderer who shot my mother and was wrongly imprisoned for four years.
I clung to his 'affection and loyalty' like it was salvation.
After I got out, I lived in hell-guilt for 'killing' my mother. I suffered severe depression and became addicted to self-harm, yet never realized it was all his design.
By the third year after my release, I overheard Carter and my therapist talking; I knew the truth:
he erased my memory and used drugs and hypnosis to trap me in pain.
It was only because he fell in love with our 16-year-old adopted daughter at the age of 40 that he would stop at nothing to cover up his crime.
Under hypnosis, I finally saw it clearly: the person who pulled the trigger that night was Ava.

To save my cousin from a car accident, my mother, a medical luminary, used me as a "human guinea pig" for twelve years.
When I was twelve, she made me inject myself with three injections of unproven new drugs every week;
when I was fourteen, she directly shoved toxic compounds into my mouth.
When my organs were irreversibly failing and I was vomiting blood in the ICU, she coldly tossed me a payment order:
"Stop pretending to be dead. Immediately kowtow and apologize to your brother, or no hospital will admit you."
As she wished, I was forced to leave the hospital and died at her glamorous new drug launch.
Later, that high-and-mighty mother, obsessed with fame and fortune, knelt for an entire night in a snow-covered fir forest, holding my crudely made urn.
Sadly, I will never forgive her.

Before the apocalypse hit, my ex-girlfriend called me, laughing like a maniac: "Jack, you pathetic loser—still playing that stupid farming game? Gonna whack zombies with a hoe? Open the door right now, get on your knees, and beg us, and maybe we'll throw you some table scraps."
I listened to the faint scrape of a tactical knife being drawn on the other end of the line, and silently glanced at my computer screen—at the maxed-out Greenfield Manor game, with its gold cap glowing at [999,999,999] .
"You misheard." I dropped my voice, lacing it with just the right amount of embarrassment. "I was checking the weather forecast."
The other end erupted in unrestrained laughter: "Then forecast this—how you're gonna die today!"
I hung up without changing my expression, flipped open the system, and spent a million on the [Absolute Defense Shield] —then brought out a steaming plate of roasted meat.
Forecast?
I forecast that tonight, you'll be gnawed down to bare bones by zombies.

I’m Leona, and I’ve hidden a forbidden love under the moonlight of the werewolf world for nine long years—an unspoken bond with my brother’s closest friend, Alpha Nick.
When he looked at me and said, “I’ll find someone better for you,” there was a flicker in his eyes I couldn’t read. But when he turned away, it was to chase after his ex-girlfriend, Selene, crashing through the forest branches like gravity itself answered her call. “His wolf never resonated with ours.” Aris, my wolf, howled inside me.“You’ve spent years trying to spark fire in frozen stone.”
And yet, I was the fool who mistook the instinct for fated love.
In my past life, when I was seven months pregnant and trapped beneath an avalanche during a winter patrol, he was tucked in a border cave listening to Selene sing ballads under moonlit stalactites.
When I was curled in pain from stomach ulcers, he was busy tuning her purification crystals.

My mafia husband has a childhood sweetheart. Whenever she or her son needed anything, he would eagerly rush to their aid.
This time, when our son Noah suffered from acute retinopathy and desperately needed his signature for surgery, he claimed she was in mortal danger and couldn't leave.
Because he wasn't there to sign the paperwork, Noah ultimately went blind.
Yet later, on his sweetheart's Instagram, I saw that he was just dining with her and her son...

“Wendy, are you absolutely sure you want to sign this document?”
The Elder’s voice rang in my ears—cold, distant.
“Once your bond with Alpha John is dissolved, you’ll lose everything tied to the Blackthorn Pack.”
I gripped the pen so hard my knuckles turned white.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
But just as the tip touched the paper—
BANG!
The door was kicked open with a violent crash.
Alpha John stormed in, eyes bloodshot, and wrapped his hand around my throat.
“You dare?!”
Blood slipped from the corner of my lips… but I laughed.
Because I knew—he would never discover the truth.
That his dear uncle, Alpha Vincent, was hiding in my closet at this very moment.
And the fresh bite mark on my lower belly… still burned from last night.
As if fate was mocking me, my sweet little sister Penny sent a message right then:
“Sis, wanna know a secret? That miscarriage you had? John planned it. He made it happen.”

"On. Your. Knees."
"Do it, Yvette," my tone held finality, but almost sounded like a plea.
"Tsk tsk, Knox, my boy. You better watch daddy cum or no deal for you."
"Please, Mr. Christopher," Yvette's voice finally broke after the long silence. "Anything but this,"
"Shhhh…"
I peered from my side to see my father position himself between Yvette's legs.
"You won't know a better experience after—"
"Enough!" I snapped, rising to my feet.
"Sit back down, boy," he threatened.
I ignored him completely while helping Yvette down from his desk.
"I am talking to you, Knox!" He snapped. "This is your only chance to get everything stated in your mother's will."
I ignored him.
"You just breached a necessary condition in this deal, Knox. Don't tell me you have feelings for this slut—"
I slapped him twice as hard as he slapped Yvette earlier before he could finish his sentence.
"You won't call her a slut or lay a fucking finger on her ever again," I lowered my voice while my eyes imprinted the seriousness of my words into his.
Hell!
"You dare to raise your hand at me because of her? I will make you pay heavily for this."
I smirked without uttering a word. If only he knew how badly I wanted to devour him right now.
"Touch her again, and we'll see who pays dearly for what."


Yvette Morgan would do anything to save her dying mother. Anything. Even sign her mind, soul and body over to a man she doesn't know.
Knox Luther doesn't do feelings. He does strategy. And Yvette— desperate, fierce and unknowingly irresistible, is the perfect instrument for burning his father's world to the ground. The arrangement is never supposed to feel like anything until it feels like everything. Whose walls will crack first, and whose will crumble the hardest?
WARNING: This book contains explicit scenes and very mature content. If you enjoy dark romance with morally grey characters, intense passion and heart-wrenching tension, then, welcome and happy reading!

The night Claire Richards caught her husband cheating, she planned her revenge.

She transferred billions in hidden assets, gathered undeniable proof of his affair, and destroyed the mistress's reputation.

When Claire handed Lucas Bennett the divorce papers, he tore them to pieces.
"Divorce? Not a chance!" Lucas snapped.
But Claire only smiled. "The waiting period is over, Mr. Bennett. You're out."

Sharp, stunning, and done playing nice, Claire steps into a world dominated by two powerful men: her furious ex-husband and the cold, mysterious CEO feared by all. But this time, she's calling the shots.

Watch as a clear-headed woman takes control, turns heartbreak into strength, and brings the man who once cast her aside to his knees.

Warning: This book contains a large number of very hot adult scenes!
“Look at the state of you, my little she-wolf,” his voice was low and full of menace, like sandpaper scraping across my nerves. “You got this wet just from that?”
Then he pressed a hard kiss to my knuckles.
Fuck!
His rough tongue slid across my slender finger bones, tasting the salty sweat and fear on my skin.
A violent tremor shot through my whole body.
A moan I couldn’t suppress slipped from between my lips. “Ah… Sebastian…”
I felt my thighs rubbing together on their own, that damn traitorous movement making my pussy clench so tight I nearly came.
Yes, that’s it, you desperate little bitch.
I cursed myself in my mind.
He flipped my hand over, his thumb pressing hard—almost punishingly—into the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.
My pulse pounded there beneath his palm like it was going mad.
“This is beating so hard,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, “is it beating for me, Seraphina? Tell me.”
Then he took one of my fingers into his damn hot, wet mouth.
Oh God…
His rough tongue swirled, rubbed, scraped along the skin of my finger, warm saliva soaking every inch.
And his eyes never left me—fixing on me like a beast locking onto prey.
He sucked softly at first, then suddenly with force.
That rhythm…
Fuck, he was fucking my finger with his mouth.
“Are you using this to fuck my mouth, Seraphina?”
He let my finger go with a filthy pop, seeing straight through my thoughts.
“Imagine this is my cock. Does it feel good, you filthy little she-wolf?”
My back arched uncontrollably, like the lowest kind of whore silently inviting him.
A broken, shameful whimper escaped my throat.
“Good… so good…”
My scent thickened, wild floral heat and lust filling the air, swallowing the last of my reason.
I could feel the terrifying restraint in his body cracking apart.
He wanted to hear me moan his name as I came.
He wanted to bury himself inside my soaked, empty heat until I could feel nothing except his violent thrusts.
He moved to my middle finger, giving it the same obscene, thorough attention.
His tongue circled wickedly at the base, then pushed deep, sucking hard as if tasting the sweetest honey.
Fuck!
My hips jerked upward without control.
My other hand dug into the carpet, knuckles white, vision dissolving in the storm of desire swallowing me whole.
“I need you… to fill my pussy, Sebastian…”
——
I grew up as a human in a wolf pack, but ironically, I ended up becoming the mate of the pack’s Alpha. I thought I would fit perfectly into the wolves’ world—until the day I caught my Alpha mate tangled with another she-wolf in the back seat of a car.
With trembling hands, I tricked him into signing the divorce papers—silently swearing revenge. But they didn’t stop. His mother sent thugs to destroy me. His mistress tried to erase me. Even my coworkers wanted to use me.
That night, I nearly lost my life.
Until Alpha Sebastian found me—cold, ruthless, unmatched. He said he didn’t need a mate.
But he protected me like a mate. Touched me like a mate. Looked at me like a mate, as if I already belonged to him.
I tried to resist his approach. I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Wolves would never accept a human mate.
But whenever he came near me, whenever those scorching hands reached for me, I always hungered for him—wanted more—yet I was done with promises.
Until I discovered that my past was not simple at all—and Sebastian had his own reasons for approaching me—

For three years, I was Julian Vance’s perfect shadow.

By day, I was the flawless executive secretary who kept his multi-billion-dollar empire running without a single hitch. By night, I was his secret, contract wife a convenient arrangement kept hidden behind the closed doors of his penthouse to satisfy a dying man's wish. I loved him in the quiet darkness, enduring his coldness, his family’s venom, and the cruel taunts of his elite childhood friend, Victoria.

But three months ago, the illusion shattered. When I was trapped in a hospital room losing our unborn child, Julian was on a red carpet with Victoria. His message to me through his assistant? “Do not interrupt important business meetings with minor domestic emergencies.”

That was the day Vivian Lane died.
The moment our three-year contract expires at midnight, I slide two papers across his mahogany desk: our signed divorce decree and my immediate resignation.

Julian scoffs, arrogant and completely convinced I’ll be crawling back to him within a month when my bank account dries up. He thinks I'm a penniless outcast with nowhere to turn.

He has no idea that while I was playing his submissive secretary, I was quietly building my own foundation. Now, his biggest corporate clients are jumping ship to my new boutique firm, and an international venture capital network has just hired a legendary, anonymous digital strategist known as "The Cipher" to engineer a hostile takeover of Vance Enterprises.

That strategist is me.
As his empire begins to bleed out brick by brick, the billionaire who once looked down on me finally drops to his knees. But I’m no longer his secretary, and I’m no longer his wife. If he wants me back, he’ll have to survive the ruin I’m about to bring to his doorstep.

In a world where love is a dangerous game, Leila Castor finds herself charmed by the devil himself. Ben Maloney, with his alluring facade and sweet promises, hides an evil truth that threatens Leila's life. When he betrays her, leaving her to choke on her blood, Leila's thirst for revenge knows no bounds.

And luckily fate grants her a second chance, And discovers she has been taken back in time two months before her death! Will she rewrite the wrongs done to her or set out on a path of retribution against those who wronged her?

The female presidential candidate slipped a real-time tracker into my bag, then handed me the divorce papers.

She still thought I would coddle her like I had for the past five years and stay by her side.

"Fine." I signed the papers and left.

She started tracking me, driving away any women around me, showing up at my house in the middle of the night begging me to come back.

But... weren't you the one who wanted the divorce?

I’m a cleaner—the kind hired to make problems disappear: eliminate targets, wipe scenes, erase evidence.

Three years ago, I walked away. I took a desk job at a consulting firm, spending my days sorting files and filling spreadsheets.

To everyone else, I was an easy mark. The project lead mocked me in meetings, stole credit, and dumped every mistake on my head—always in public.

Then came the department banquet.

My enemies showed up.

The same lead who’d been riding me all year ignored my warning and blocked the hallway, drawing a crowd.

The next second, the bomb went off—and the banquet hall was sealed.

That’s when everyone finally understood who the quiet office clerk really was.

At a dinner party in a Long Island mansion, my wife, desperate to latch onto a newly minted venture-capital darling, let our five-year-old son smash the gift I’d brought in front of everyone—then waved the keys to a luxury car and made him call another man “Daddy.” With icy arrogance, she slapped a divorce agreement on the table, convinced that a bottom-tier nobody like me would be unable to even put food on the table once I was gone. I didn’t argue. I left only four words—“As you wish”—and walked out in silence.

What she didn’t know was that the business empire she was so proud of stood behind a moat I had built with my own hands, from the shadows. What she knew even less was that the Wall Street titan she tried to cling to in her moment of desperation… was the ex-husband she had always tried to avoid.

When the mirage finally collapsed—when debts buried her and she was dragged down into the mud—she went mad searching for me. In the midst of a blizzard, my ex-wife, dressed in rags, knelt in Times Square, sobbing and begging me to come home. I only raised the window of my Maybach, calm and expressionless, and drove off without looking back—toward a shore she would never reach. Love that comes too late is worth nothing.

I swear, I hate my husband.

At my birthday party, my husband whispered to his mistress in French that he missed her. His voice was low, but I heard it all—the black lingerie, the bit about how pregnancy makes you more sensitive. His French clients around us were laughing. He turned and put his arm around me, claiming he was just helping his clients come up with sweet nothings.

He doesn't know I understand every single word. Just like he doesn't know that inside my body, I'm carrying his other surprise. And his mistress—she's pregnant too. Two wombs, one secret.

Confrontation would be too cheap. Tears are worthless. I quietly started cataloging the hidden networks my father left behind, activating the Swiss accounts.

In seven days, Zoey Smith will cease to exist. And what will my husband's reaction be?

She was my best friend — until she used a soul-swapping potion to steal my body, my face, and my man.
In my past life, I was trapped inside her fat, ugly shell and drowned in the freezing depths of the sea.
Reborn on the day before the swap, I didn't expose her.
I smiled and drank the tea.
After she left, I picked up a knife and carved two deep gashes across my own face.
Then I threw myself from the second floor.
The next morning she woke up giddy with excitement. The moment she looked in the mirror, her screams echoed through the entire hospital.
Meanwhile, I opened my eyes in her Mafia Godfather father's estate — and walked straight into the family council.
She wanted my beauty? She could have it.
The power she was desperate to throw away? I'll take it.

Ethan said he loved me, yet he planned to get me pregnant, push me out of our company, and use our child and marriage to trap me at home.
He needed an obedient wife, a partner who would protect his company, and a woman who would never leave.
But the woman he truly wanted was the lover who had left him seven years ago.
So on his birthday, I brought both families to his door and delivered the “love of his life” right to him.
He expected me to break down and beg him to come back.
He had no idea I was walking away from far more than our marriage.

In my past life, I ripped the alien parasite from my brother’s chest to save him. Instead, my family accused me of being jealous of his "god-tier" awakening. They shattered my legs and threw me to a tyrant's mutant hounds.

Reborn on the exact day he fused with that crystal core, I faced my parents who wanted to drain my spinal fluid to "power up" my brother. This time, I just sneered and backed off.

You thought sacrificing me would earn you a god’s blessing? You thought shoving me into the deadly radiation mines would be my end? When I claw my way back to the surface clad in supreme battle armor, I will quietly watch as that monster you worshipped as a god bursts from his chest and chews you all into a bloody pulp, bite by bite!

In my past life, I was cheated on.
My wife is having an affair with my fitness coach, and even our five-year-old daughter isn't my child.
I filed for divorce, and she left with nothing. I thought my life couldn't get any worse—but then the apocalypse came, and I was bitten to death by zombies.
In her last moments before she died, I saw her family of three nestled in her lover's secluded mountain cabin, with plenty of food and drink, passing away peacefully in their old age.
God gave me a second chance.
Back on the day we signed the divorce papers, I smiled and said to my ex-wife, "You can have the villa, but I want Julian's dilapidated cabin."

I had to claim Caleb tonight.

I had paid a six-figure premium to contract a high-level werewolf mate from the nation’s top "Fated Mates" agency. I had chosen him for his elite stats, the "absolute submission" guaranteed in his file, and most importantly, a face that could put any Hollywood A-lister to shame.

But over the last few months, things had completely derailed from my expectations.

He refused to let me touch him!

I have to figure out what's going on.

When my younger brother got into a top university, the whole family celebrated for him.
I, suffering from a terminal illness, clutched my chest and desperately cried for help, only to be met with a disgusted slap from my mother and the words, "You just can't stand to see your brother doing well!"
She thought I was a spoilsport, so she roughly dragged me back to the room and locked the door from the outside.
She didn't know that those were the last words I ever heard in my life.
The next morning, she opened the door with breakfast in hand, only to find my corpse.

In the Hall of Divine Selection, my younger sister stepped on me and declared that she was the only one worthy of becoming the Dragon Queen. Then she threw Kaelorn at me—a broken, half-blind dragon she had tortured until even his tail was severed—like he was nothing more than a worthless mate for a worthless bride.
In my last life, I was stripped to the bone and imprisoned by the Dragon God, while she lived free and untouched.
But this time, the moment she raised her hand to slap me, I had already made up my mind—
In this life, I'll be the one to drag her into hell.