3167 Book(s) Related to please understand that i'm trying my hardest

Three days after I died, the morgue called my husband Sebastian to collect my ashes.
He was kissing another woman when he hit speaker, his voice cold and dismissive: "She's dead? Cremate her. Don't call me again."
And just like that, my body was wheeled into the cremation chamber.
When he finally showed up to collect my remains, he smashed the urn on the floor and ground every fragment of my ashes into the tile with his shoe.
"Playing dead? What a pathetic stunt," he sneered. "Tell her the anniversary of my mother's death is coming up. She'd better show up at the cemetery on her knees, or even if she really is dead, I'll scatter her ashes in the sewer myself."
But he didn't know—I truly was dead.
My soul was bound to him, forced to drift at his side as he planned a lavish wedding with his adopted sister Claire—his mother's true killer.
By the time he discovered the truth and exposed Claire at the altar, I had already vanished.
He lost his mind, racing to the ocean to search for my ashes.
Never knowing that the remains he'd crushed like garbage under his shoe—the "fake ashes" he'd dismissed as part of my act—
Were all that was left of me.

Every night, dragging noises come from the floor above.
The neighbor claims he just can’t sleep, yet he stares at my window and grins in the dead of night.
Later, he dies.
But at two in the morning, I still get a text message from him.
Someone else warns me: Don’t go to the sixth floor.
The police say this building doesn’t even have a sixth floor.
Yet I’ve seen people go up there with my own eyes.
Where exactly does this so-called sixth floor lead?
Who really died?
And who on earth is the one texting me?

I've married sixteen dead men for a living. My seventeenth husband just opened his eyes.
I was born knowing one thing: the dead can speak one last time — but only to a spouse.
So I marry dead men. Rich families pay me to wed their fresh corpses, carry the last words sealed inside me, and read the testament out before the heirs. Then I burn the marriage certificate, and the marriage ends at the grave. Starting price: six hundred thousand dollars.
This morning, the Crane heir drowned in his own pool. Twenty-eight, obscenely rich, not one word left behind. The family offered five million and a private jet. By my count — my seventeenth husband. By a wide margin, the handsomest.
I said "I do" to a corpse for the seventeenth time. Then I called for his last words.
Silence. Sixteen weddings, sixteen voices. Husband number seventeen had nothing to say.
Because my seventeenth husband just opened his eyes.

I lent my Bugatti to my secret boyfriend for clout. He repaid my trust by gifting my car to a scheming cheerleader, letting her publicly humiliate and frame me. The whole school mocked me as a poor garage keeper’s daughter, unaware I’m the hidden billionaire heiress behind the supercar. Now I’ll destroy his fake rich life and avenge every insult.

For three years, I deliberately suppressed my grades to rank under my boyfriend William, paving his way to our promised Cambridge exchange. I overheard him and my best friend Maddie confess they framed me for plagiarism in my past life, driving me to jump off the 38th floor, yet they still carried on an affair. They lied and ignored my pain afterward. Heartbroken, I secretly applied to Cambridge alone. The twist? My years of hiding my brilliance were never selfless sacrifice. I collected all their dirty secrets. I’m going to Cambridge not to flee, but to ruin every dream they cling to.

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...

My husband thinks a "tragic surgical accident" left me completely blind. Now, he's moved his mistress right into our house to be my nurse. They openly whisper about my life insurance while preparing my afternoon tea. They think a blind wife is the perfect prey. But are they sure I'm in the dark?

Cancer was supposed to be my death sentence. Instead, it became my liberation.

I thought I had it all—wealth, status, a picture-perfect life in Greenwich's elite circles. Then came the diagnosis that would change everything: six months to live. But facing my final chapter, I uncovered a truth more devastating than any terminal illness—the man sleeping beside me was slowly killing my soul.

When you have nothing left to lose, you discover exactly how powerful you can become.

My husband's first love, Celine, lured me to a remote cabin under the guise of an "apology."
 
She then poured gasoline all over the porch and locked the door from the outside.
 
In my past life, the moment the fire began to spread, I desperately called my husband, Julian—a fire captain—for rescue.
 
He smashed the door open and saved me.
 
Ironically, Celine's scheme backfired, and she died of smoke inhalation outside.
 
Yet, Julian pinned her blood debt entirely on me.
 
He kept me at the hospital with his hypocritical comfort, only to tear off his disguise the day I was discharged. He tied me to a pillar in an abandoned warehouse and poured gasoline at my feet.
 
As the flames ignited, my ten-week-old unborn child and I were swallowed by the raging fire.
 
Julian's eyes were bloodshot. Facing my agonizing screams, his gaze held nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred:
 
"If you hadn't gone mad with jealousy and locked the door from the inside, Celine would never have died! Stop playing the victim!"
 
"The pain she suffered before she died... I'm going to make you pay for it ten times, a hundred times over!"
 
In the blazing light, he watched coldly as I was burned alive, turning into a charred corpse.
 
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment the fire started to spread.

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.

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."

At the annual charity gala, I stood in the spotlight as the student representative.

My roommate, Harper, suddenly stormed the stage, publicly accusing me of being a sugar baby who seduced her father.

"That diamond necklace around her neck was bought with my dad's money!"

I instantly became public enemy number one. The crowd erupted into a frenzy of boos, and the administration, caving to the pressure, prepared to expel me on the spot.

Facing the out-of-control screaming and the countless live-stream cameras shoved in my face, I pulled out my phone and dialed the so-called "sugar daddy" right there in front of everyone.

"Dad," I said coldly. "Since when did I get a new 'sister'?"

The day I secured the finale at New York Fashion Week, my adopted sister was in a car crash that left her completely blind.
And so began a ruthless campaign to destroy my life.
Listening to me prepare for the runway, she touched her heavy gauze bandages and wept bitterly. "You're so brilliant, Valora. Not like me... I'm just a useless, blind burden."
To placate her, our brother burned my core design sketches to ashes.
On the day of the show, my finale haute couture gown was maliciously slashed to ribbons. My reputation was left in ruins, and every single sponsor pulled their funding.
Later, she live-streamed her suicide attempt from a rooftop, sobbing that a disabled girl like her didn't deserve to be loved.
My husband dropped to one knee in front of the entire world and slipped the custom diamond ring—my ring—onto her finger.
That very night, I was dead-bolted inside my roaring, fire-engulfed studio.
With toxic smoke searing my lungs, I dialed my husband's number for help, only to be met with his frustrated, impatient voice:
"Serafina is blind! The fire alarms have her terrified! Stop being so damn petty and jealous right now!"
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of her accident. The day she faked her blindness.

Not long ago, my pregnant daughter was murdered, and the killer remained at large.
Until that day, as I stood before her grave, her husband Oliver asked me,
"Mom, do you know who Robin is?"
"Stella came back from her prenatal checkup one day and said she bumped into Robin," he choked out. "She even said she wanted to take the baby to visit him."
My hand, reaching out to comfort him, froze in mid-air.
Because Robin was no good man—he had once tried to harm Stella.
That name was her lifelong nightmare. She wouldn't even dare look at a picture of a robin in a book.
And that name was a secret known only to me and my late husband.
So... who exactly is lying?

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.

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

My 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.

On our fifth anniversary, Caspian gifted me a luxury yacht bearing my name. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman alive.
But when I finally conceived his child and prepared to share the news, his mistress sent me photos—him cradling a baby she'd given him, his eyes filled with a tenderness I'd never seen.
Five years of waiting, five years of infertility—all an elaborate lie.
He once whispered in my ear: "Even if every man in the world betrays his wife, I never will. You're my life. Without you, I can't survive."
I quietly packed, left behind my pregnancy report and all the evidence, and drove away. Three hours later, he received the call: my car exploded on the highway. No survivors.
From that day on, the most powerful man in Valen City lost his mind completely.

The last time Adrian and I fought about Sophie Bennett, we didn't realize our daughter was standing right outside the door.
 
"Don't forget how Ellie got here in the first place. If you hadn't trapped me with a pregnancy, there wouldn't have been a wedding. So yes, goddamn it—I wish Sophie's boy was mine."
 
After that night, Ellie stopped asking for Adrian. She invited George to her preschool field day. She gave the Father's Day present she'd made to our bodyguard.
 
Then, one day, a business associate teased me about when I was going to give Ellie a younger sibling.
 
Ellie scrambled out of her playroom. "Mom, you should have it with Uncle Victor! I want a baby brother that belongs to you and Uncle Victor!."
 
The sharp crash of shattering porcelain echoed from the upstairs landing. Adrian stood there, pale, staring at the cake he'd dropped.
 
"I broke Ellie's cake," he said. "I'll go get another piece."
 
He turned and fled down the hallway, disappearing before either of us could say a word.

"The Draganovs are moving on Celeste tonight. I'm taking her to the safe house. We'll do the claiming after this, Orla. I promise."
That's what my husband said the seventh time he chose Celeste over me.
Celeste. The girl he'd loved since before he had a wife to ignore.
The first time, she heard footsteps outside her window at two in the morning. Rafael sent his whole detail to sit on her house and left me at a meeting with two men who wanted our shipping routes and didn't like being told no. I came home with a bullet crease across my ribs. He apologized for a week.
The third time, someone tipped the cops on one of our warehouses and she got scared. He drove her upstate himself. I took a knife at the door because there was no one left standing in front of me.
By the sixth time, he didn't explain. He just texted the doctor to be ready for me and left.
He's a Don. When the guns come out, he walks away clean. I'm the one wearing his name where everyone can see it. The one they aim at first. Six scars say so.
Every time, he held my face after and promised. Founders' Day. In front of every family in the city. Once Celeste was safe. I believed him six times.
So when the seventh time came and he chose her again, my bags were already packed.
There won't be an eighth time he sends me out to die for her. Next time, there won't be a wife left for him to send.

I was reborn on the day my baby was murdered, and the first thing I did was send my son away from the Hale estate. When I returned to the party, a black stroller was floating in the pool. Everyone thought the dead child was mine. They told me I could have another baby while they protected the ten-year-old girl who had pushed the stroller in. Then my father arrived with my living son in his arms, and the child dragged from the trash compactor turned out to be the killer’s own baby brother.

For the tenth time, James Smith left me behind because of a call from his female student.
But it was as if I had become a different person—I no longer doubted that there was something ambiguous between James and his student.
Even on our wedding anniversary, when he abandoned me in the remote mountains for Sophia's sake, I bore no resentment.
Eventually, James began to sense something.
"Emily, you seem different," he said.
I shook my head with a smile.
Because I had simply made a different choice from the one in my past life.

My uncle cut off my allowance the moment he spotted my new tongue piercing. That night, I found a stranger online asking how to make his friend’s “gold-digging girlfriend” leave him. I told him to send her money. Minutes later, $8,888 landed in my account—from my uncle’s best friend, Adrian Foster, the handsome, buttoned-up man who thought my uncle was my boyfriend. The stranger was him. The gold-digging girlfriend was me. And the man he thought was my boyfriend? My uncle.

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.

On Employee Appreciation Day, every woman in the office got a $500 bouquet of roses. Every woman except me.

When I went to HR to ask why, I overheard the interns laughing in the breakroom.

"Julian spent Morgan's flower budget to buy Chloe a massive custom bouquet! Who cares if Morgan is the Creative Director? She's just a sad workaholic obsessed with the CEO."

What those interns—and that spoiled little mistress—didn't know was that Julian wasn't just my boss. He was my husband of seven years.

I was the secret genius working for pennies to build his multi-million-dollar agency. But since he wanted to treat me like trash to impress a 22-year-old, I decided to give him the ultimate divorce gift.

I packed up my winning pitch, walked out, and called his biggest, most lethal billionaire rival.

"I'm in," I told him. "Let's bankrupt my husband."

Six weeks after his girlfriend had twins, my husband got himself fixed. He billed it to my insurance.
Then he spent nine years driving me to fertility clinics. Two surgeries. Four rounds of shots. He held my hand every time and told me next time.
The whole town said it was my fault. His mother asked me every Sunday if there was any news.
I died at forty-four. Three days before the end I couldn't open my eyes, but I could hear them over my bed. The girl I bought a purple bicycle for called him Dad.
Then I opened my eyes and I was thirty-four again, on a gurney, waiting for them to open me up one more time.
Last time I lay back down and let them do it. I did it three more times after that.
This time he's paying me back for all nine years, one line at a time.
The nurse asked me to confirm my date of birth. I did. Then I told her I wasn't doing it.

The stepbrother I grew up with was a golden boy, a star varsity quarterback everyone had high hopes for.
But for a street-level delinquent, he abandoned his Ivy League future.
Desperate to pull his life back on track, I tried to expose his toxic girlfriend.
Yet, he hated me to the bone for it.
For her, he ruthlessly dragged our family into the crossfire of a deadly gang dispute, causing us all to meet a violent, tragic end.
I never expected fate to rewind the clock.
To give me a second chance.

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

After the crash, my husband, Darius, lost his ability to speak. The trauma to his cervical spine left him unable to even lift a finger.
The doctors said his only remaining way to communicate was to nod, or to shake his head.
Sitting by his hospital bed, I finally asked the question that had been eating away at me for three months.
"When the crash happened... were you on your way to see your mistress?"
Darius stared dead at me. Then, slowly, he nodded.

I was just on the phone with my husband. He was stuck in traffic, apologizing for being late to our anniversary dinner. Forty minutes later, detectives are at my door, claiming he died in a crash three days ago. If Silas is dead, who just sent me a text?

At my boyfriend's exhibition party, I went into anaphylactic shock after eating the cake Mia handed me.
I stumbled, reaching for my EpiPen, only for Mia to snatch it out of my hand and crush it under her heel.
"Give... it back..." I choked out, grabbing onto my boyfriend's arm.
He just shook me off, disgusted. "Chloe, can you stop being so dramatic? It's not that big a deal."
"Yeah, Mia's basically family," one of his friends chimed in. "You're being way too jealous and controlling."
Nobody was listening to me anymore.
With the last of my strength, I pressed down on the hidden button on the side of my watch — the one I'd never had to use before.

At last season's Grand Olfactory Gala, Vivienne Harrow presented my formula before I could reach the stage.
I confronted her. She asked where my proof was.
I had nothing. The formula had never left my head — no notes, no records, nothing. I didn't know how she'd gotten it.
I died not knowing.
Then I opened my eyes, and she was already reaching for me.
"Not this time."
I stepped back.

In my last life, I was the one who stopped it.
The second I recognized what was in that cup—a cold medicine loaded with compounds that end any pilot's career on contact with a drug screening—I knocked it out of Ivy's hands. Reid shoved me so hard I hit the coffee table. He got his four stripes anyway. Then he publicly destroyed my reputation, stood by while his fans harassed me off the internet, and smiled when I was pushed down a flight of stairs.
I died knowing he never looked back.
This time, I come back as myself: senior aviation medical officer, five years into a relationship with a man I now see clearly. When Ivy holds out that same cup with that same bright smile, I already know exactly what's in it.
I take a step back.
"Drink it while it's hot," I tell him. "Don't leave a drop."
I spent one lifetime being everyone's safety net. Not this time.

My two best friends killed me over a girl who'd been dead six months.
Lila Bishop never got a single offer. So she cried and clung until Cole and Wes were ready to throw away their full rides and follow her to nowhere. I tried to stop them — they called me jealous and cut me off. So I went over their heads. I called their moms. I fixed their signing papers myself, the night before the deadline.
Six months later Lila was gone, and they blamed me. They dragged me to the roof of our gym and threw me off.
Then I opened my eyes — three months back, the day it all started.
Last time, I broke myself trying to save them.
This time, I'd let them jump.

I'm just a stay-at-home mom. Old T-shirt, secondhand car, nobody ever looks at me twice.
At the school fundraiser, my husband's mistress put a peanut in my seven-year-old's mouth. He's severely allergic. As he choked on the grass, she crushed my hand under her heel and kicked his EpiPen straight into the lake.
"One worthless little life," she said. "So what if it's gone."
She's wearing my clothes. My jewelry. Spending my money. She calls me trash in front of the whole school and threatens to have my legs broken.
She thinks she's untouchable, because she's the wife of a Wall Street golden boy.
What she doesn't know is that every dollar he has, every thread she's wearing, even the air she's breathing — all of it belongs to me.
I walked away from that world to raise my son in peace.
She just gave me a reason to come back.

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

After I took in my first love, she promised she'd always be good to me.
But after my mother died in a car accident, I found her in our home—with another man.
She told everyone Colin was her true love, that I was just a little brother she never wanted, and that I was the one who couldn't let go.
Everyone turned against me. My father had a stroke from the rage. Colin even had someone run me over—cost me an eye.
Seven years later.
I stood outside a convenience store holding flowers when I saw them.
Audrey's daughter looked at me with pity. "Mom, that man only has one eye... Is he selling flowers? Should we buy some?"

My brother Adrian said I was the one person who could make him drop everything.
I believed him—until his girlfriend came to our house.
She waited for Adrian to leave the room. Then she grabbed my chin, accused me of stealing her boyfriend, and slapped me across the face.
I was only three. She still warned me not to tell.
When Adrian returned, she smiled and said I had fallen.
But the red fingerprints on my cheek told a different story.
So did the camera above us.

My Beta boyfriend had secret rendezvous with Annie — nine times in one night.
“You,” he sneered, “with your precious Alpha blood—do you think you’re better than everyone else?
Your jealousy is disgusting, Chloe.”
Annie, that viper disguised as an angel, stole my place, plagiarized my work, and climbed higher, stepping over my broken bones.
Even said,
“Beta Dean loves me!
You were always the extra!
It was you who ruined us!”
I won’t let them be happy.
This revenge, forged in blood and fire, has only just begun.

Alpha William’s two mistresses ran away again.
For them, he asked to break our bond.
“Let me coax them first, then we’ll bond again.”
And for him, I agreed.
He sent me to the Freezing Northern Lands, just to please them.
He even allowed them to set me on fire.
When the flames rose, the first ones he saved—
weren’t me, but them.
“Just wait—I’ll come back for you soon.”
But what I never told him was—
I won’t wait for him anymore.
Because in three months,
my life will be over.

I was breathtakingly beautiful.

When I turned eighteen, I became linked to a system that let me share my beauty.

My younger sister, Chloe Bennett, spent an entire night crying under her covers because everyone in her class had a cruel nickname for her. Without telling her, I gave her seventy percent.

By the end of summer, she was the prettiest girl at school. I was someone nobody noticed.

Mom squeezed Chloe’s cheeks and beamed. “Look at you, all grown up. You get those looks from me.”

Then she looked at me and curled her lip. “You get uglier every year. If I’d known, I would’ve left you at the hospital.”

Later, Chloe said she wanted to be a star. I raised her share to ninety percent.

My family sold whatever they could to put her through a televised talent competition. Dad pointed at me.

“With that face, you can be your sister’s maid. Bring her drinks and stay out of sight.”

Chloe made it all the way to the finals and won the lead spot in the new girl group.

That night, she was trending.

[CHLOE BENNETT’S JEALOUS SISTER GETS PLASTIC SURGERY]

She wiped away tears for the camera. “My sister had surgery, and it went wrong. Now she yells at me every day, saying I stole her face. I’m scared she’ll cut me in my sleep.”

The comments called me a hideous freak. Someone posted our address, and red paint was splashed across our front door.

That evening, Chloe went live to thank her fans, the camera close to her radiant face.

“All natural. I got this face from my parents.”

Mom and Dad sat on the couch, grinning from ear to ear.

I opened the system panel.

[CURRENT BEAUTY SHARE: 90%]

Fine. If her parents had given her that face, she wouldn’t need mine.

I was taking it back.

When Catherine Meyers started a new school in New York all she wanted was to be invincible. She was okay with being in the background. She planned to finish high school with a good GPA and go to Harvard. She wanted to be a neurosurgeon.

But her hopes were shattered when a force from the past which she couldn't remember barged into her life again.
And this time he promised to ruin her.

Ace Hampton was the King of Riverside highschool and Catherine Meyers is the rose he vowed to remove her petals one after the other until she is gone.

Her father killed his father, how dare she act like she doesn't know him?

He remembers her but she couldn't remember him and he would make her pay.

★★★
WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS SEXUAL SCENES AND BEHAVIORS THAT MIGHT SEEM WEIRD TO OTHER PEOPLE SO IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED PLEASE AVOID THIS BOOK.
BE WARNED THIS IS A DARK ROMANCE BOOK.

"Daddy... so cold... and it hurts..." When my precious daughter Mia whispered these words in her weak voice, my heart felt like it was being torn apart.
The life-saving medicine was just ten meters away, but that damned anti-magic barrier had become an insurmountable chasm between life and death.
What made me even more furious was that the vampire guarding the gate not only extorted my life savings, but also demanded I kneel like a dog and lick his boots before he would open the door.
He didn't know that if the door stayed closed, it wouldn't just be my daughter who died—his son and mother would perish too!

With one week left until the wedding, Henry Jones asked me to reschedule the date—for one simple reason:
“On our wedding day, I’m taking Ann to the hospital for her prenatal checkup.”
Ann is the widow of his brother Ethan. She’s also my half-sister. In that private room, they laughed at me for being “almost thirty and desperate to get married.”
Ann put on an innocent face. “If Rory is really in such a rush… I can reschedule my appointment.”
I wanted to break up, and Henry frowned as he lectured me:
“As her future sister-in-law, why do you have to fight her over this one day?”
I asked him, “Do you even remember what Friday is?”
He coaxed me softly: “One day earlier or later—what’s the difference?” I nodded and said “Fine,” thinking I could still swallow it.
Until I pressed my fingerprint to enter his office and overheard Ann questioning him about inheritance, and Henry answered under his breath, “It won’t come to that—I won’t let Rory get pregnant with my child.”

Warning: This novel have matured contents +18

"A different truth or dare is given, and that one has to be done, no matter what." Vicky said.

"Ok Deal," I said.

"Truth or Dare?" she asked.

"Truth," I said.

"What's your honest opinion of those pics you saw, of me?" She threw me a look of pure curiosity, which only made me laugh a little.

"I can say they were very hot," I said.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," she answered, smiling at my comment.

"Is it just me, or are you not wearing panties?" I said, more to tease her about it, than I was curious.

"Yeah, I'm not," she said. "Actually, I'm surprised you noticed. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," I said.

"I dare you to take off your shirt," she said.
.
.
So, thats how it started. I don't know why, but her mission is to find any means to have me for herself not minding what it will result to. Though she later had me and even got pregnant for me., but what happened after that is what you won't expect.

The very day she came back into her home country, she heard the most absurd news. "Your sister is getting married with Mr. Stephenson".
"What did you say?" She couldn't believe it. At the engagement party, she was shocked to see her sister getting engaged to her fiancé.
"Daniel, remember this, I dumped you! Did you hear that? I dumped you, not the other way round."
.....
Who could have guessed that after being betrayed by her fiancé and sister and being labelled as a home wrecker, someone would still want to marry her?
"Don't you want to get revenge on your fiancé for what he did?" Nathan Clemon asked Hilda.
"What has that got to do with you?" She snapped back.
"It has got everything to do with me. I am the only person who could help you achieve that whiles giving you the happiness that any woman would wish in this world."

The man I had a one-night stand with is the CEO!
"Romantic relationships between employees are strictly forbidden"
Karina's chaotic love life starts when she lands her dream job only to fall in love with her colleague on the first day. Things get more complicated when the CEO finds out about her forbidden relationship. Drunk and heartbroken, Karina spends a steamy night with a stranger only to find out that it is her Devil CEO boss. Karina navigates the complicated web of lust and lies with her unwavering determination to reach her career goals. What will happen to Karina and her love life when the Devil CEO demands that she becomes his ‘personal secretary’?
My other works: Forbidden Heat, Love Slave to the Mafia Boss's Passion, The Alpha Prince's Purchased Maid, Substitute Wife for the Mafia King, Lust Contracts and Conquering the Emperor

"Spread your legs," the cold, handsome doctor ordered.
To escape her ex-boyfriend’s wedding invitation , Alana Martin attended an elite gala, wore a borrowed gown , and ended up spending a wild night with a dangerously handsome stranger.
Panicked, she fled the next morning —only to end up in the hospital days later with severe inflammation.
But when the curtain pulled back, the "doctor" examining her intimate areas was the exact same man from that night!
Worse?
He was looking at her with a wicked smirk,
"You stole my first night, ignored my note , and now you’re playing the amnesia game? I’m the victim here, little lady. Take responsibility."

The night her sister steals her fiancé, Calista makes a bold, reckless move:
seduce her ex's father, marry into the family-and make them kneel and call her "Mom."
But when she wakes up, it's not her ex's father beside her.
It's Lancelot.
A construction worker by appearance-
in truth, a powerful CEO and the shadowy head of a family no one dares to cross.
"You seduced me," he says, pinning her to the wall. "Now you're mine."
But Calista isn't just a scorned socialite with a revenge plan.
Behind her quiet retreat from high society hides:
the true heiress of the richest family,
a world-class hacker,
a legendary thief,
and a gaming champion feared across continents.
They clash. They scheme.
But the more they fight, the harder they fall.

"Margaret..."
Robert groaned my sister's name as he finished inside me.
For three years, I'd lived like a pathetic shadow of Margaret.
He shredded my college acceptance letter. Forced me into the silk dresses Margaret wore before she died. Shoved birth control pills down my throat while I choked on tears.
Everyone said the same thing: "Sophia, you killed Margaret. You owe her your life."
Even my own parents spat the words: "Why wasn't it you who died?"
I swallowed every humiliation, convinced that if I just endured long enough, the truth would surface.convinced that if I just endured long enough, I could finally pay my debt.
Until that rainy night when I heard her voice—Margaret's voice—dripping with casual amusement through a phone call:
"Oh, darling, it was just a joke. Who knew they'd actually fall for it? Watching Sophia crawl at Robert's feet like a dog, wearing my clothes, playing the replacement... honestly, it's the best entertainment I've had in years."
My entire world shattered.
My suffering had been nothing but her twisted game. The man I loved, my own family—they'd all conspired to destroy me, just to make her smile.
I shoved open the private room door. In front of everyone, I slapped Margaret across the face.
"You want to play games? Fine. Let's play."
I spun around and threw the pregnancy test results at Robert, who looked ready to lose his mind trying to keep me there.
"Robert, you don't deserve to be my child's father. Find yourself another replacement—I'm done."
Continuously updating, with 3 chapters added daily.