3393 Book(s) Related to my hero academia: all might rising

I’ve been hopelessly gone for Damon George since I was fourteen and he looked straight through me.

Now I’m a freshman at Blackwood University, and Damon isn’t just my best friend’s older brother anymore. He’s the hockey captain every girl on campus is chasing. The guy with a pro career hanging on his final season. The one person I promised myself I was finally done wanting.

Then one stupid dare turns into one dangerous kiss — and Damon stares at me like the rest of the world just disappeared.

Now we’re sneaking around behind Harper’s back. Dodging his teammates. Stealing every reckless second between practices and parties we have no business attending. One wrong move, and I lose my best friend. One rumor, and he loses everything he’s bled for.

We had one rule: he was completely off-limits.

And now? We’re about to shatter it.

BLURB

For four years, Avrielle lived in a gilded cage of gratitude, cherished by a husband who stayed by her side after a tragic accident left her paralyzed. She believed she was a beloved wife—until she found the diary. Inside were the jagged words of a man trapped by guilt, dreaming of a divorce and the woman he truly loved.

Now, Avrielle has twenty-four hours to play the part of the happy bride one last time. While Kayden performs a mask of devotion, she is orchestrating a silent escape that will strip him of everything. But as the clock ticks down to her flight to Switzerland, the lines between her revenge and her lingering love begin to blur.

What if all she believed in was a lie... What if she caused her own destruction?

“I’ll give you anything, Elsa—money, a car, a house, jewelry—just agree to the transplant. Ria really needs it.” I couldn’t believe his audacity. Was this really my husband, trying to bargain my body to save his fiancée?
“Sorry, I’m pregnant. I can’t donate a kidney,” I said, my voice shaky but determined. Anger boiled inside me, but I knew he was powerful. The pretend marriage was over, and his true colors were revealed. Afraid of what he might do to me, I didn’t yell or fight him. I just wanted to escape this nightmare, to break free from this cage I was trapped in.
But his reaction was even more chilling. He looked at me with no emotion.
“We’ll have an abortion.” His words hit me like a bomb. I couldn’t believe how coldly he spoke about ending his own child’s life.

Alexander Gray never suspects his investment consultant Vera is the hidden trillion-dollar heiress of Sterling Holdings. Fed up with restrictive elite life, she hides her identity to work an ordinary job. A sudden encounter with her boss sparks a thrilling secret romance—professional by day, irresistibly intimate by night.
When Alexander’s mother offers $50 million to drive her away, Vera shuts down her arrogance with a $100 million counteroffer. Her extraordinary talents soon surface, bringing huge profits and stunning the entire board. Once her true identity is revealed, the cold-hearted CEO falls madly in love, cherishing her genuine self over her wealth. A sizzling billionaire romance packed with shocking reversals and sweet true love!

For seven years, Elara sacrificed her blood to her wolf family, only to be betrayed by her husband and own child for a fake savior and a handful of candy. She abandons all love, awakens her ancient vampire queen power, and delivers brutal, unforgiving karmic punishment to everyone who drained and deceived her. No forgiveness, only eternal solitude atop her blood-stained throne.

My name is Arthur, a bottom-tier financial drone relying on liver cirrhosis to survive on Wall Street. My greatest dream is to land a normal labor contract that includes weekends off and social security, but this is destined to be impossible.
Because my dad is a Primordial Vampire, my mom is an Alpha Werewolf, and my older brother is an Urban Legend Wraith.
When my tycoon boss, trying to save on severance pay, deployed over a hundred heavily-armed mercenaries to physically eliminate me, I had no choice but to blow the bone whistle my old man gave me...

In this apocalyptic world of extreme heat, I fight for water in the underground black market, and I risk my life to hoard supplies.
My internet-famous roommate enjoyed my efforts while hiding in the air-conditioned room, panting softly in front of three fill lights: "We need to slow down and reconcile with nature."
Later, she stole my supplies and sold them to drug lords, causing me to be roasted alive on the riverbed.
After being reborn, I turned and left.
"Don't you like a slow-paced life? Stay here and enjoy it."
The end times have only just begun.

On the first day of college, most freshmen worry about making new friends. I had to figure out how to pay my own parents for a plate of lunch.
With every penny of my tuition and living expenses strictly controlled by them, I stood empty-handed in front of their campus Gospel food truck. But my mother didn't want cash.
She wanted a public spectacle to cure my "sinful depression."
My younger sister bought her lunch with a simple kiss on the cheek. But for me?
My mother pointed to the growing crowd of students and delivered her ultimatum: sing the toddler nursery rhyme 'My Mommy Is the Best' at the top of my lungs, or starve.
I chose to put the food down and walk away.
But my mother rushed out of the truck. Her fingernails dug violently into my wrist, dragging me back into her nightmare. "You're not leaving until you sing."

"Abort her mutt. Liora is carrying my true pureblood heir."
My Alpha husband’s voice was ice-cold as I bled out on the delivery bed.
The woman he was protecting? My fiercely loyal best friend.
While I was screaming in pain, biting my lips bloody to birth his child, he was in the next room, making her moan.
He killed our baby.
When I returned from burying my grandmother in the freezing rain, his guards threw holy water in my face.
"Wash her," Lachlan ordered coldly. "The stench of death on her will harm Liora's pup."
I stared at the man who once took nine lashes of a barbed whip just to marry me.
He aborted my baby to save hers. He let my only family die.
He tossed me a bag of gold like a beggar and told me to stop causing drama.
So, I packed my bags, and vanished into his world.

In my past life, I gave up my college acceptance to say yes to my boyfriend's proposal at our senior prom.

Just a few years into our marriage, my husband and my best friend teamed up to drag me through hell. He tricked me into signing away my entire inheritance, leaving me with absolutely nothing. She pretended to take me in, only to secretly get me hooked on drugs.

I was forced to sell my body just to survive, while they looked down on me, laughing as they squandered everything my father had left behind.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at my eighteen-year-old senior prom.

Under the spotlight, my boyfriend was on one knee, holding up a ring. Looking at his face, all I could remember was the smirk he wore when he threw me out onto the streets.

Blessed with a second chance, I grabbed my dress, turned, and ran. I blocked all his contacts and dug the college acceptance letter out of the trash.

He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He actually tracked me down at college, cornered me, and mocked me in front of a crowd: "Who would ever want you without me?"

I told him I already had a new boyfriend—someone a million times better than him.

I randomly pointed at a man in the crowd. Little did I know, I had pointed at the university's youngest board member—a ruthless Wall Street tycoon serving as a guest professor.

I braced myself for this bigshot to expose my lie.

Instead, he walked right up to my side, shot a freezing glare at my ex, and asked:

"Do you have a problem with my girlfriend?"

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

TRIGGER WARNING!!! This is rated 18+. Alpha Parthe is as dark as described. If you are not into dark romance, please, in the name of everything holy...

Excerpt

"My breath just made you quiver," He leaned closer so that I could almost taste his breath, "...Then imagine what my tongue would do."

"I warned you not to play with fire if you are afraid of flames," He added, his voice hoarse with need.

My plump lips parted in response, "I am not afraid to burn for what I love." I had just stirred something in him that had lay dormant all his life.

"Then so be it... Princess."


She was an angel craving chaos. He was a demon craving peace. She knew he was hell, yet she chose to burn with him.

It takes a special kind of woman to handle his darkness and tame his demons.

Alpha Parthe comes from a bloodline of cursed Alphas. They are endlessly consumed by the need to track and kill prey and offenders, constantly plagued by the scent of blood.

The more they kill, the more they want to kill. It only gets worse on every full moon.

What happens when there is no prey to kill? They become a threat to their loved ones. No one mated to an Alpha from the Wild Wolf pack ever lived more than two years. And every Alpha from that lineage dies at thirty-three due to the curse.

Parthe, determined to let the curse end in his own lifetime, vowed never to have a mate nor bear a son. But these vows crumble the moment he crosses paths with a girl he considers 'little and insignificant.'

The fate of poor Luxuria of the Ash Mountain pack, who was set to marry the love of her life, Beta Kahel, takes a drastic turn when she finds out she was mated to this cursed Alpha, whom she dreaded with all her life.

What happens when his curse gradually begins to seep into Luxuria, the one woman who was meant to be his remedy?

In the shadows of the omega world, survival is a brutal game. But claiming an S-tier Alpha as your fated mate? That's a descent into hellfire.
Three years ago, she fled into the night, her world crumbling under two devastating revelations: He was her destined bond, and her father was the killer behind the tragedy that orphaned him. As her father melted into oblivion, she vanished too, terrified of the vengeful beast she feared he'd unleash.
Yet he was no ordinary predator. He was Elias Kingsley, the apex terror of Alphas— a ruthless billionaire empire-builder, a sovereign of shadows and savagery, wielding dominance with the ease of a predator's strike.
Now, destiny's cruel hand drags them back into the inferno.
Tucked away in a opulent hotel, she's dispatched to deliver drinks to an elite room, oblivious to the trap awaiting: a drugged Alpha in feral rut, the very nightmare she's buried for years. In his grasp, the night devours her—stripping away her virginity, her fragile illusions, her hidden truths.
Come dawn, she's a ghost once more. But Elias clings to her intoxicating scent like a curse.
This time, his runaway omega won't slip away. Not when lust entwines with retribution, forging an obsession that devours everything in its path—dark, unrelenting, and utterly inescapable.

I was reborn one year before my husband fell in love with another woman. This time, I successfully took her place and became the idealized figure, the one admired and longed for by my husband and her other suitors.

I am about to be forced to marry the most ruthless old mafia boss in the city. However, one morning, I woke up naked in an unfamiliar bed and realized I had sex with a stranger. The worst thing is, now he is standing in front of me at my engagement dinner.
“Mr. Guerrero,” someone says to my fiancé from behind me. “Your son has arrived.”
Great.
My one night stand is my fiance's son.

When I ask him to pretend nothing ever happened.
He chuckles. “And what if I don’t want that, future-Mrs.-Guerrero?”
My breath catches when he leans in close, his breath hovering over my ear.
“Or… should I call you mother?”

I was once the only younger sister of the Alpha family, and my quadruplet brothers treated me like a princess. But three years ago, they accidentally ran into their “real sister” and I turned out to be the fake one. From being the family's most cherished daughter, I gradually became the target of their bullying under the schemes and traps of the “real” Alpha daughter. After I finally decided to flee from the quadruplets, and from the toxic family, I realized they are my fated mates on my 19th birthday...

He was once the most feared man alive—a legendary assassin, ex-navy, and underground kingpin. Betrayed by those he trusted most, he died a villain’s death… only to wake up as a plus-size mother of three, a doting wife, and an aspiring writer with a fridge addiction. Revenge might be on her mind, but how can she plot payback when wrangling toddlers and waddling through suburbia is already a full-time battle? Follow the hilarious and chaotic life of a former badass turned vengeful supermom in this action-packed comedy of second chances, sass, and snacks.

Slowly stroing her again he leaned down placing a kiss, tender almost imperceptible on her hand. Daisy is so delicated and pure, the perfect mate of his madness dreams.
“Just trust on me, I won´t hurt you”
He extended a hand using it to wipe the lipstick on her lips and wet cheeks. She was supposed to be writhing in pleasure not crying in pain. But She was so afraid of becoming into a werewolf. The Alpha ing smiles and whisper to her:
“Do you know you look more beautiful than the moon when you smile?”
Daissy nodded holding into him for dear life. She never wanted to be far away of him, ever again will let him go. “Thank you”
“Just trust on me. Spread your legs wider for me”.

Daisy always thought her life would change for the better if she accepted to be the woman of the Alpha King, Ryan, with two other Lycan lovers vying for her heart. She is destined to become the future Alpha Queen Moon, and her visions foretold that her true mate would be unlike any other—a wolfman who would love her fiercely, dance with her every night, and fill her life with passion and purpose. She chose Ryan, a powerful Alpha who would see only her, breathe only her, and ignite her dreams of a majestic and eternal love.

But fate has other plans. When Daisy finds herself entangled in a reverse hare and unexpectedly mated to Benjamin—her lifelong crush, a man who had once made her a werewolf—her world turns upside down. Ryan, the Alpha King, vanishes without a trace, leaving her torn between her love for Benjamin and her destiny as Queen.

For seven years, to support my wife’s dream of building a perfume empire, I hid my identity as the heir to a trillion-dollar conglomerate and stayed in the basement, crafting the core base notes for her in silence.

But on the day she finally rose to fame, she hung my mother’s heirloom around her young lover’s neck and looked at me with naked disgust as she forced me out with nothing.
“A useless piece of trash that reeks of poverty like you would only drag down the class of my brand.”

I didn’t beg.
I signed the papers without hesitation, then cut off the only supply of raw essence that had been suppressing the toxicity in her perfumes.

In just one week, her new product triggered a catastrophic disfigurement scandal, and her billion-dollar empire came crashing down.

When she was ruined, covered in mud, and kneeling outside the gates of my estate, crying tears of blood and begging for mercy,
I simply held my perfectly matched new wife in my arms and watched coldly as security dragged her away like garbage.

“Clean it up. Don’t let her stain my ground.”