3420 Book(s) Related to Marriage contract: my husband is gay

Emily Fields never meant to become a killer.

She was twenty-two when she stabbed a man eleven times behind the bar where she worked. She remembered the first strike. She never remembered the other ten.

Seven months later, the victim suddenly withdrew the charges without explanation.

With nowhere to go and only forty-one dollars to her name, Emily accepts an offer that sounds too good to refuse: become the live-in maid and companion of a wealthy widow at an isolated estate.

The job is simple.

Take care of the old woman.

But the Holloway estate is full of things that don't make sense.

Emily starts waking in parts of the house she has been forbidden to enter, with no memory of how she got there. She finds old photographs that leave her with a strange sense that she has seen them before. The widow watches her with an unsettling familiarity, as though Emily's arrival has been expected for much longer than she realizes.

Then there are the widow's three sons.

Max likes to watch her.

Will can't stop touching her.

And Finn avoids her so completely that Emily begins to wonder what he is afraid will happen if he gets too close.

Emily has spent most of her life believing her story began when she was found and taken into care. No family she could remember. No real answers about where she came from.

But someone inside the Holloway estate seems to know.

And as Emily begins digging into the family's secrets, she realizes everyone around her has been hiding something... including herself.

Because the greatest mystery isn't simply what happened before she ended up in the orphanage.

It's why she can't remember any of it.

"I had a one-night stand with a stranger who turned out to be my boss, oh my goodness, what have I done?"

Valerie Skye is a young and hardworking woman who finds herself entangled in a web of love, lies, and unexpected twists after getting dumped by her ex-lover. She ends up having a one-night stand with a total stranger, Dante Blaze, who turned out to be her boss. This becomes complicated for Valerie, as she tries every possible way to avoid Dante. But as a charming playboy and her boss, Dante takes this as a challenge to clip Valerie's wings and make her his.

Will she be able to stand his charm?

Will he succeed in making her submit?

Will love end up overruling Dante's Playboy's nature?

Or will Valerie continuously live in shame of her night with him?

When Mila transfers to Northshore Academy, she wants a fresh start. She doesn’t expect to clash with Cole, the cold and feared hockey star everyone avoids.

Cole is the best player in the school. He barely talks. No one dares to challenge him—until Mila steps onto the ice and proves she can play just as well.

Their rivalry turns into a public challenge. The rule is simple: if Mila wins, Cole must carry her school bag every day for six months. If Cole wins, Mila will have to accept the embarrassment.

Mila wins.

From that day on, Cole walks beside her to school, silent and serious, carrying her bag. Rumors spread. Students stare. What starts as a punishment slowly turns into something neither of them expects

I’m just the plus-size scholarship girl at Vosswood Academy, the one everyone loves to shove against lockers and call “pathetic” while my parents are always on another “business trip.”

No one believes I’m the school owner’s daughter. No one knows I’m the witch-werewolf hybrid who can control a wolf with a single touch, heal the evil right out of their soul, and fight like the goddess blood in my veins demands.

I’m here undercover, spraying on the most expensive magic cologne every morning so no one can smells the power rolling off me.

But then I locked eyes with Ryker Black, the brooding Alpha of the rival Shadowfang Pack, my worst enemy. He’s supposed to hate me. Instead, his hands are on my body and curves in the library after dark, his mouth on mine like he’s starving, and the pull between us is so strong it hurts.

Now there’s Jax, the sweet beta who keeps stepping in to save me from the bullying, and the corrupted wolves in the halls trying to drag everyone into their war.

I came here to heal the darkness spreading through the school… but I might end up taming the worst enemy Alpha of all.

The question is, when he finally sees the real me, will he let me heal him… or destroy us both?

He has dark hair with very beautiful blue eyes, a cold and charismatic person.

I often see his work which is very good and my favorite, a painting of a toddler girl in a pink dress.

I thought it was an ordinary painting, but not for people who claim to know his dark past.

They say, the toddler painting is a manifestation of his mental illness which has an affinity for young children.

Levi William Stanley or Adam Joseph McCartney, a sadistic killer who had the heart to brutally murder his parents when he was 12 years old.

However, I couldn't believe the rumors. How could someone as handsome and great as him is a murderer?

People say, don't look at a book by its cover. But, is it true that my favorite lecturer is a murderer?

To the rest of the world, I was just a blue-collar "oil rig worker" battling the sun and storms at sea year-round.

But my true service record is locked deep in the Pentagon’s top-secret archives. Codename: "Ghost"—a specialist handling the military's deadliest black ops overseas.

The day my final mission ended, I pushed open my front door filled with anticipation, only to be greeted by a floor pooled with blood and smashed furniture.

An untouchable syndicate had beaten my wife black and blue and abducted my seven-year-old son, threatening to harvest him for the black-market organ trade.

Right now, safely holed up in a subterranean fortress, the arrogant syndicate boss is hiding behind multi-ton blast doors and dozens of hired guns, scoffing at the "cowardly" husband who only knew how to cry to the cops.

What they don't know is that, just a few minutes ago, I permanently shredded that disguise.

Let the hunt begin...

I thought escaping to Vegas would help me forget my cheating ex. Instead, I had the hottest one-night stand of my life with a mysterious stranger in a hotel bar, then panicked and ran before sunrise.

Two days later, I'm sitting across from my "arranged" blind date, and my stomach drops. It's him. Same intense eyes. Same devastating smile.

Now my dad expects us to get serious. His dad's breathing down his neck too. So we make a crazy deal: fake an engagement to get our families off our backs, then figure out if this thing between us is real.

In the previous life, the apocalypse arrived.
I risked my life to protect my wife as she fled, even giving her the access chip to the underground safe zone as a favor.
But when she was ambushed, she didn't hesitate to pull her superior officer to shield her from a grenade! Afterwards, in an attempt to cover up her crime, she turned around and tearfully accused me of using someone as a human shield.
I was dried into a dried corpse amidst the scorn of thousands, while she stepped on my blood and bones to become the adopted daughter of the highest-ranking military officer.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the eve of my journey into the city.
As I watched her generously give away her chip to the refugees again, and try to use moral blackmail to force me to hand over my last means of survival, I smiled slightly...
This time, without my backing, let's see how you maintain your mask of kindness.

To escape the absurd arranged marriage with the Duke of Hawthorne—a ruthless billionaire who demanded absolute physical perfection around him and was rumored to fire servants just for being plain—I spent years painting on hideous freckles and a sickly yellow complexion.
I hid my true face beneath outdated tweed suits until Earl Julian Sutton knelt in my rose garden.
"Georgina, I don't care about your looks. It's your gentle soul I love," he vowed.
I believed him. I fought my greedy father and defied the terrifying Duke just to be with him.
Yet, on our wedding day, right before exchanging rings, Julian dropped my hand and rushed to his crying mistress—a C-list model with a mass-produced plastic face.
"She's too fragile, Georgina. You're strong..." he said shamelessly in front of hundreds of guests.
The high society crowd gasped, throwing me pitiful glances.
So this was the price of testing a man's heart.
Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open. The Duke of Hawthorne strode in, flanked by bodyguards.
He walked straight to me, gently touched my clean, flawless cheek, and sighed.
"You made me play along with this 'ugly duckling' game for so long, my future Duchess... Are you finally done testing these fools?"

On the night of the charity gallery opening, I caught Lucas and Lila tangled together in the storage closet.
He pulled the girl tight against his chest and sneered, “Stella, you’re eight whole years older than me. You’ve controlled my life for five years—when are you gonna realize you can never hold onto me?”
Lila giggled, snuggling deeper into his arms. “You’re past your prime, ma’am. Why cling to someone who was never yours to begin with?”
Snickers and mocking laughter rippled through the onlookers.
I gave a slow, hollow smile.
For five years, I single-handedly kept Scott Enterprises afloat, mopped up every mess he made, and buried every scandal spawned by his endless string of flings.
Still, he hopped from one girl to the next, weaponizing our age gap to mock and hurt me, over and over again.
Then he shoved me hard. I crumpled to the floor in a pool of my own blood, watching him bolt out with another woman in his arms, not a single glance thrown back my way.
I knew right then the baby was gone.
Everyone whispered how pathetically I’d bent over backward for love.
No one ever learned the truth: I endured everything only because his face mirrored my late fiancé, Elias.

I planned to give up on life.
Then I heard a cat yelling at a dog.
"Stop being so stubborn, meow! You will die!"
Wait, I can hear them?
Naturally, I bought the dog.
I spent my life savings—twenty dollars—to save a Golden Retriever who apparently curses in dog language.
We just make sense together: a broken human eating crushed instant ramen, and a broken dog deciding to protect her anyway.
I thought my sudden ability to understand their constant, hilarious bickering was just fate tossing me a bone.
But what I was completely unaware of was that this wasn't a glitch in the universe.
It was a supernatural kind of love.
And these two beautiful, damaged little animals hadn't just saved me from the edge... they were about to change my entire life...

I'm the forgotten eldest son of the Cross family.
My parents see me as a walking blood bag for my brother Colin, while my wife views me as a sinner destined to spend my life atoning for my mistakes.
When Audrey pressured me to donate a kidney, I agreed.
Not only did I agree, but I also liquidated all my assets and transferred them to my lab.
They thought I was foolish, that I was still begging for their love.
In reality, I was just tying up loose ends.
The night before the surgery, I coughed up a pool of blood.
Audrey laughed coldly over the phone: "Stop the act, Evan. You just want to dodge responsibility. You'll go to any lengths for attention."
The surgery was a "success."
Colin got the kidney he'd always dreamed of.
And I died in the recovery room.
My soul floated in the air as I watched Audrey push open the hospital door, wearing a smile that dripped with pity, ready to put on a show of "redemption."
"Evan, I know you've been wronged. Let's start over..."
The only response to her was the white sheet covering my lifeless body.

The day I walked in on my boyfriend screwing that blonde tramp, I dropped the homemade tiramisu right there on the floor—our two-year relationship smashed to bits, messier than the splattered cream.

I ducked into a bar, slamming back whiskey, when this guy in a sharp black suit sidles up, his voice smooth as silk laced with bourbon. I spat out, "Help me forget him," but ended up totally lost in the presidential suite. He backed me against the wall, tore open my blouse, his tongue circling my nipple before biting down hard, leaving me breathless. "You taste like candy, baby—tonight, I'm gonna eat you up."

But then my boyfriend FaceTimes, spots the guy behind me, and loses it, screaming, "Dad!"

I went ice-cold—my hookup was my boyfriend's stepdad? Even worse, this thirty-three-year-old powerhouse was Brooklyn's deadliest mob boss.

What began as a vengeful fling spiraled into a forbidden nightmare?

My marriage to Matthew was a transaction, a substitute—everything except love. When his white moonlight came back, I was abandoned, diagnosed with gastric cancer, and carrying his child. His late regret could never bring back my life, nor could it keep our unborn baby.

"Celestine, please, just help me this once! If even you can't make him fall for you, then I'll know for sure that he really loves me."
I was fooled by those very words in my previous life.
I softened and agreed to help a friend with a harmless little test, never realizing that the so-called "Wall Street rising star" was nothing more than a con artist living a lavish lifestyle by maxing out his fiancée's credit cards.
When the truth came out, my so-called good friend dumped all the blame on me. She sold fabricated scandals about me to the tabloids, destroying my reputation throughout New York's PR industry. In the end, she even pushed me from the top floor of the building.
She used my death to win sympathy and build herself a so-called "victim" persona.
But now, I'm back.
This time, I won't test anyone's love for her.
I'll make her watch every lie she fabricated come crashing down, one by one.

My twin sister, Genevieve, caught the eye of a mafia don, Kael Rourke, at a charity gala.
Kael declared on the spot that she would be his wife, the donna of Rourke family.
But she was already deeply in love with her boyfriend.
When a ambush left the Kael in a deep coma, his cartel demanded their bride immediately. 
They believed a wedding would stabilize their empire and, by some old tradition, wake Kael up.
Genevieve refused to marry a dead man walking.
So, she knocked me out—her identical twin sister—and sent me to the Rourke estate in her place. 

Then, she eloped overseas with her boyfriend, vanishing without a trace.
I was forced to marry Kael. Miraculously, on our wedding night, he woke up. He quickly took back his empire, his power greater than ever. 
Since I was forced into this marriage against my will, I resented him and never gave him a smile. 
And he only saw me as a substitute for Genevieve.
When he was happy, he spoiled me. When he was angry, he was cruel.

Ten years later, Genevieve suddenly returned.
She ran to Kael, crying that I had pushed her into a lake to steal her place as his wife.
She claimed the drowning caused her to lose her memory, making her miss out on ten years with him.
Furious, Kael ordered his men to lock me in the dark basement of his compound.
Taking advantage of a visit, Genevieve tightly wrapped a iron chain around my neck.
"I'm sorry, dear sister. If you don't die, my lies will be exposed one day!"
I was strangled to death cruelly.

When I open my eyes again, I am back to the day the Rourke men came to collect the bride.
I step forward willingly. "Genevieve, go with your boyfriend. I will marry Kael Rourke in your place!"
In this life, I must be the mafia don's true obsession!

My husband bought a necklace for the woman who killed my mother.

When I saw my foster sister Rebecca Rebecca wearing that emerald necklace with Aaron at the party, I knew history would repeat itself. Seven years ago, my mother lost everything the same way—her husband, her dignity, and finally her life.

I wouldn't follow in her footsteps.

So after slapping Rebecca across the face, I told everyone I was divorcing him and walked out with my suitcase.

Rebecca thought she'd won again. Aaron thought I was just being hysterical.

Neither of them saw it coming—

This time, I'd make them pay.

After being reborn, my cousin and I swapped mates.
Last life, she married Kaelen Thornfield — the coldest Alpha in the West. Fifty years together and he never marked her. Not once. His childhood "friend," an Omega with a PhD in crying on command, made sure of that. My cousin faded into nothing. Unmarked. Unloved. Invisible.
Me? I married a man who couldn't stand the sound of my voice. Eleven months. Done.
This time, I took the western contract. Drove three days across the country in a beat-up truck, blew a radiator in the middle of nowhere, and rolled into his pack's territory covered in engine grease and smelling like a gas station.
His little Omega took one look at me and wrinkled her nose.
She has no idea what's coming.
I don't do tears. I don't do subtle. And when some girl sobbed at my mating ceremony about how jealous she was of me — I grabbed my Alpha by the collar and sank my teeth into his neck.
In front of the entire pack.
Without asking.

When I was reborn, and my Alpha husband's ward clamped a muzzle around my neck as a joke...
I didn't shift into my wolf and tear her arm off like in my past life.
I ripped off the bloody muzzle and gave Roman a smile.
"If you think this is a joke, keep indulging her."
And I walked away without looking back.
Because my death in my previous life was too miserable.
After our fallout, Roman used his Alpha authority to freeze my accounts overnight.
Exiled, I was diagnosed with terminal silver poisoning.
Dying in agony, I swallowed my pride and crawled back to the Pack gates.
But he let Chloe force me to my knees and refused to open the doors.
In the end, my wolf spirit shattered, and I froze to death.
I only understand after dying: love and dignity are worthless.
Survival and money are all that matter.

For as long as I could remember, my family had insisted Vivian needed more because I could take more.
The pony I loved. The occasions meant to celebrate me. Time with my mother. If my twin wanted any of it, I was the one expected to go without.
Our induction into the Mafia Family was meant to be the exception. We were both daughters of Don Moretti. A crown was supposed to be waiting for each of us.
But Vivian's made-to-order crown glittered with both our diamonds, and the one assigned to me was tarnished, its setting bare. At the formal dinner, Father had my place card sent to the bottom of the table for not dressing properly—after I had spent my time crossing Manhattan to fetch Vivian's gown.
They assumed I'd give way, just as I always had.
This time, I canceled my part in the ceremony, filled a single suitcase, and took a flight with no return ticket.
When the Moretti Family assembled under its crest, two crowns were waiting. Only one daughter was prepared to put hers on.

Three months ago, I was kidnapped. When Alexander rescued me, I woke up in a hospital bed with my clothes disheveled and bruises covering my body. What happened during those hours? I don't remember any of it.

A week ago, I found out I was pregnant. He held me as I shook and told me that it wasn't my fault. That he failed to protect me. Even if the baby wasn't his, he'd raise it. He'd still give me the perfect wedding.

But the guilt ate me alive until depression took hold.

Every night, sleep stays out of reach. Nightmares find me the moment I close my eyes. I've tried to end it. Three times now. Each time, someone found me just in time.

After the third failed attempt, I make tea and head toward his study to apologize. Voices drift through the door before I reach it.

"Are you out of your mind? Evelyn's your fiancée!" His friend sounds disbelieving. "You actually hired someone to kidnap her? Made her think she was assaulted? Just so Lily could take her place? Do you know how messed up that is? What that does to someone?"

Alexander's voice comes out calm. "Lily got sick because of me. Her dying wish is to marry me once before she goes. If I didn't push Evelyn out of the picture, her father would never let Lily take her place."

All those nights. All those nightmares. All those times I scrubbed my hands raw until they bled. It was all a lie. A setup.

For another woman.

I pull out my phone and call my father.

"Dad. I'll agree to the arrangement."

To please his mistress, Callum ordered me—pregnant—to dance barefoot in the black salt ice cellar.

When I stumbled back to the doorway to warm myself, the mistress covered her mouth and retched.

"I'm pregnant. I can't stand this death-stench of winter."

Only because I was a princess of the Winter Realm, born carrying frost in my veins.

Callum flew into a rage and had me locked inside a frost-crystal cage, sunk to the bottom of the ice well. No one was allowed to release me without his command.

"A princess of winter, afraid of the cold? What a joke!"

No matter how I struggled or begged, he couldn't have cared less. He and his mistress treated it as entertainment. And just like that, I froze to death at the bottom of that well.

What he didn't know was that although we winter-born are forged in bitter cold, when we carry a child, every drop of magic goes to protecting the baby. We have no defense left for ourselves. The very ice that shaped us becomes the thing that kills us.

Two days later, he was finally satisfied and ordered them to pull me up.

But I could never come back up again.

I chose the cheapest flowers in the shop because I thought my boyfriend was drowning in debt.
Hours later, I discovered he had sent his fiancée roses worth one hundred times more.
Julian Hart wasn't a struggling intern. He was the heir to Hart Group—and our entire relationship had been an experiment designed to test whether I was worthy of his fortune.
He expected me to forgive the lies.
He expected me to accept the career he destroyed.
He even expected me to come back after he refused to help save my grandmother.
Instead, I boarded a plane with another man and disappeared from his life.
Years later, the billionaire who once tested my love came begging for a second chance.

I am the only daughter of the Lycan King, the future queen destined to rule all packs. Yet my wolf, Nyx, is abnormally weak—like a stunted pup that never grew.
My parents told me that Lycan blood runs too strong, that I need to find my fated mate. Only through the mate bond can the seal be fully broken.
Ten days ago, Nyx suddenly whimpered in my mind, guiding my gaze toward Silvercrown Academy.
To find him, I concealed my identity as the Lycan King's heir and enrolled here as an ordinary transfer student.
I came here expecting a fairytale. Instead, what waited for me was brutal humiliation.

The rain glistened over the harbor asphalt the night I meant to tell him I was pregnant — to lay out all my quiet hopes for our wedding and our future. That was the night I was stolen away.
I screamed for help from a city stitched with police tape and hollow warehouses, where every thread of trust had already frayed. The man who should have trusted me brushed my pleas aside.
As answers began to surface, what we once called love soured into guilt, consuming obsession, and cold, calculated cruelty. Blue gemstones glint amid burned‑away proof, storm‑lashed docks bear witness. And I am the voice they will never manage to bury.

I found out I was pregnant the same week our savings hit zero.
I didn't tell my boyfriend, Jovan. He was already hauling bricks all day and running deliveries half the night. One more thing on his shoulders, and I was scared it would break him.
So I said nothing. Just started picking up more work.
A friend got me a serving job at a private club downtown. Cash tips, she said. Pour tea, carry trays, nothing dirty about it.
I took it without telling Jovan that either. I told myself I'd surprise him with the extra money. I told myself this was me carrying my share of the weight, quietly, the way a good partner should.
That night, I pushed open the door to the biggest room in the club, tray balanced on my arm.
And there he was.
Center seat. A dozen people leaning toward him like he was the only light in the room.
Eighteen thousand a bottle. Seven or eight empty already on the table.

I died the day before my brother Beckett’s state equestrian qualifiers.

Just because Beckett had mistakenly taken sedatives and fallen into a coma, my mother firmly believed that I—a worthless, sickly burden—had deliberately poisoned him out of jealousy to ruin her perfect son's future.

Ignoring my fatal immunodeficiency, knowing that even a microscopic trace of wasp venom would kill me, she dragged me into the abandoned tack room infested with wasp nests and locked the door.

Hundreds of wasps swarmed out. My airway rapidly swelled and closed amidst excruciating pain.

Through the wooden door, I heard my newly awakened brother crying and pleading, along with my mother's cold obstruction and curses.

Leaning against the corner of the wall, I slowly released my bloody, mangled fingers that had been clawing at the door.

In the final moments before my consciousness scattered, I finally stopped struggling.

Mother, if dying in this sunless tack room was your final expectation for me, then... as you wish.

On my anniversary flight to New York, fate sat my cheating husband's mistress right beside me.

Alice spent the entire trip gushing about "her Daniel" while wearing the sapphire ring he'd called "too vulgar" for his wife—me.

"She's so pathetic," Alice laughed, describing how Daniel planned to dump his "clingy" spouse. "Good riddance!"

If only she knew his "pathetic" wife was the billionaire secretly bankrolling his success.

At JFK, Daniel threw money at my feet and told me to disappear.

I smiled, dialed my investment firm, and watched his face crumble.

"Hello, darling. Your sugar mama just quit."

I used to be the executive chef at a three-Michelin-star restaurant in New York. Then I worked in my son’s kitchen for three years without being paid a cent.

I sold my old house in Brooklyn to cover the restaurant’s startup costs. I even used my retirement savings to pay for the restaurant’s premium ingredients.

That night, I prepared an entire dinner for eighty guests by myself. By the time I finished, it was after midnight, and my stomach hurt from hunger. My protégé, Leon, cooked me a steak with an extra piece of Wagyu.

I had barely taken my first bite when my daughter-in-law, Jessica, stormed in and knocked the plate to the floor.

“David, get in here! Your mother’s hiding in the kitchen, stuffing herself with our most expensive ingredients!”

Leon jumped to my defense. “Chef paid for that herself!”

Jessica sneered. “With what money? David’s the one supporting her.”

But David hadn’t given me a cent in three years.

I looked at my son, waiting for him to stand up for me.

Instead, he tugged irritably at his tie. “Mom, taking the restaurant’s most expensive food without asking is stealing.”

Jessica pressed harder. “Today it’s beef. Tomorrow she’ll be stealing from the register.”

David nodded. “Just apologize to Jessica, Mom.”

I laughed in disbelief and ripped off my apron.

“Apologize? I quit.”

In my past life, I exposed my cousin Isolde's deadly secret just to save Darius from absolute ruin, binding myself to him in a Soul Pact instead.

My reward?

At three months pregnant, Darius chained me to a water dungeon altar, carved my stomach open alive, and smashed our unborn child to pieces right in front of my eyes—all as a twisted sacrifice to my cousin who supposedly "died for love."

When I opened my eyes again, I was right back at the Pact Selection Ceremony.

Watching him pull her into his arms like some priceless treasure, I simply smiled and took a tactful step back.

In this life, I am going to sit back and watch the two of them burn in hell together.

The day I closed another major deal, my fiancé, the CEO, smiles and tells me the credit and the bonus are going to the new intern.

I watch him lean in close to her, laughing, and something in me just stops caring enough to fight for it.

I sign the transfer request and ship myself off to the most useless department in the company.

What I don't expect is that a few days later, the same man who never looked twice at anyone beneath him is going to be on his knees begging me to come back.

Three years of marriage. Three pregnancies.

Every time I confirmed I was pregnant, my sister-in-law Ophelia would walk into the chapel behind the manor.

Then my in-laws would drag me to the hospital and force me to abort the healthy baby.

The night after my third miscarriage, I dragged my weakened body to follow her into the chapel.

The moment I pushed open that door, my blood ran cold.

In that instant, I finally understood why my three children had to die.

My husband never wore condoms with me. Said they ruined it for him. So I swallowed birth control pills for four years until they made me sick.
Then I found a half-empty box in his glove compartment. And a thong under his backseat.
That wasn't even the worst part.
The necklace I'd made from my mother's ashes—the one I'd been grieving over losing for a year—was dangling between his twenty-three-year-old trainee's tits. He stole it from our bedroom and gave it to her.
She caught me staring. She smiled.
When I confronted him, he slapped me. Then drove off with her crying in his passenger seat.
Her friends came to my hospital with a livestream, demanding I apologize for "bullying" her.
I led them straight to the parking garage.
They found her on a stretcher. Legs wrapped around my husband. No condom.
The whole internet watched.

I was four months pregnant when the truck hit my car.
I woke up on a gurney outside the OR, bleeding, half-conscious, thinking my husband was saving my life. Then I heard him through the door.
"The baby's gone. Her right hand is finished—her career's over either way. Just take her kidney now and put it in Mia."
My mother agreed. My father told him to switch my architectural draft to Mia's name before Friday.
Mia. The sister they'd raised for twenty years while I was missing. The sister whose body was failing. The sister my husband had apparently been in love with the whole time I was married to him.
I was supposed to die on that table. I wasn't supposed to hear anything.
But my phone was in my coat pocket, and the voice memo app had never stopped recording.
And now I had a choice to make.

For months, my stepsister Mia stole my taste, my nutrition, and my vitality with a mysterious system. While I wasted away to skin and bones, she glowed brighter, stole my career, and took my fiancé.
She thought she could feed on me forever.
But she forgot her fatal allergy. I turned every meal into her poison.
I starved her system, broke her perfect facade, and took back everything she stole. Now the parasite is dying… and I’m alive again.

On the day of my prenatal checkup, I found out my husband, Caleb, was sleeping with his student.
That night, I spiked his Pinot Noir with poison. I watched him collapse, convulse, and take his agonizing last breath. Then, I dragged his body into the basement and sealed it inside an oak wine barrel.
For five years, I raised our daughter, Nora, on my own. I thought the secret would rot in the dark forever.
Until she told me: Daddy speaks to her from under the floorboards every night. His voice sounds muffled, like he’s talking through a thick blanket...

My fiancé accused me of not caring about family.
To appease him, I planned a family vacation.
But the night before we left, he informed me that he'd given my first-class seat to his childhood sweetheart.
And me? He stuck me in coach on a flight flagged for possible terror threats.
Everyone in his family thought I should just go along with it.
That was the moment I woke up.
I tore up the itinerary and booked myself a trip to Hawaii instead.
Then I turned off my phone and let them sweat over the hotel bill.
It wasn't until their reservation got canceled that they finally started to panic.

My boyfriend faked being broke to test me. Three years of it.
When I turned down his last test, I watched him settle his new girlfriend's family debt in one afternoon. Cash he swore he never had.
Told me he'd been rich the whole time. Said he needed to know if I loved him or his money.
Said I failed.
I didn't argue. I just walked out.
Funny thing is, I wasn't broke either. I was the last pureblood heir to the strongest pack on the continent, and I'd been hiding that the whole time too.
Four years later, we ran into each other again. And this time I wasn't hiding anything.

When my fiancée’s medical exam revealed kidney failure, I prepared to sell our home—and even give her one of my kidneys.
Before sacrificing everything, I tested her with one lie.
I told her the dying patient was me.
She canceled our wedding in seconds, refused to return my money, and planned to keep our apartment after my death.
Then she picked up the report and saw the patient’s name.
It wasn’t mine.
It was hers.

"Tomorrow, dress formal. We're going back for the family sit-down."
"Are you going to make our relationship public?"
"Public what? You—as my Consigliere, or... as my mistress."
At the pre-engagement dinner, he picked simple Italian dishes, Black Forest cake, and pink-and-white roses for Amelie. Side by side, they smiled as they reminisced about their "fated encounters," his ears even turning red.
"We kept ‘running into’ each other in high school," she said.
I lowered my eyes with a small, bitter smile—those had all been his carefully designed coincidences.
When the accident happened, he pulled her into his arms first. "Don't be scared. Look at me." I shivered among shattered glass and the smell of blood. He never once looked at me.
Later, with the wedding was half prepared, I returned my signet ring, keys, and comm devices according to family rules, took my parents and emigrated. The sea wind shredded those passed New York nights.

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.

I took the blame for my wife and went to jail, thinking I was protecting our family.

Five years later, when I was released from prison, my mansion was confiscated, my company fell into the hands of my younger brother, and the woman I loved with all my heart was nestled in my brother's arms, mocking my misfortune.

They had been having an affair for a long time, and even my imprisonment was a conspiracy meticulously planned by this despicable couple! What makes me even more furious is that my precious daughter was abandoned on the street like a stray dog, and subjected to beatings and bullying by their illegitimate son .

They thought that by draining my blood, they could forever condemn me to oblivion.

But they forgot that I was once an unparalleled genius in the business world.

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.”

Verine Garzon is curious and pure but she's not innocent. Her wild acts results to something serious in her reproductive health that needs professional help of doctors.

When she met her aunts doctor, Dr. Malcolm Monteclar, the most handsome doctor in the country, she couldn't help but fantasize about his gorgeous face, oozing sex appeal, hard rock muscles and his big thing. When he caught her she didn't hesitate to ask for his help.

Will Malcolm help her?

I’m a miracleless werewolf who gets laughed at during the biggest hockey selection in the kingdom—until I pull the legendary Crown Stick from the moonstone, something generations of champions have failed to do, and silence the entire arena.

All Adeline Monroe wants is one chance to play hockey.
For years, her stepsister Sloanne has made sure she never gets that chance by destroying her equipment and hurting anyone who helps her, leaving Adeline with no choice but to practice in secret.
Crown Selection is supposed to be Adeline’s last chance before her father sends her into a future she never wanted.
Then the legendary Crown Stick chooses her.
Suddenly, the girl nobody noticed is the girl everyone is watching. Her miracle awakens. Elite hockey is finally within reach.
And Reid—the future Alpha Sloanne has spent years acting like she already owns—scents Adeline as his fated mate. He has no idea how dangerous Sloanne becomes when someone touches what she wants.
The more Reid pursues Adeline, the more dangerous her life becomes.
Then Crown Prince Nicholas Reignfrost starts watching her too.
Cold, controlled, and untouchable, Nicholas is the kind of man everyone else tries to impress.
But Adeline isn’t chasing either of them. She’s chasing hockey.
Which only seems to make Nicholas chase her harder.
One night on the ice turns the miracleless girl no one noticed into Reignfrost’s newest obsession—caught between a possessive future Alpha, an increasingly fascinated Crown Prince, and a stepsister who would rather destroy her than watch Adeline take center ice.
Adeline didn’t come this far to become someone’s mate.
She came to become the Hockey Queen.
And if every powerful Alpha in Reignfrost wants her along the way, they’ll have to learn to keep up.

Five years of a marriage forced by family convenience end in the cruelest way possible: with a request for divorce on the same day they would celebrate their anniversary. Lilian, devastated by Ethan's rejection—the man she learned to love despite the circumstances—sees her life fall apart. In her darkest hour, when the pain seems unbearable, Lilian is saved by Daniel Spector, a longtime friend and silent confidant who has always loved her. At the hospital, news changes everything: Lilian is two months pregnant. But there is another woman, Joana Mercadante — rich, famous, and supposedly also expecting Ethan's child. With her heart broken and her soul on fire, Lilian decides to leave. She flees to France and, far from the eyes of the world, gives birth to her son and builds an empire. Five years later, she returns as a powerful woman, determined to face her demons... and she finds Ethan again. He never stopped looking for her, never forgot the love he destroyed with his own hands. Now he must fight not only for forgiveness, but for a second chance—with her and with the son he never knew. But will regret be enough to rebuild a love that was betrayed? Especially when Daniel, Ethan's new rival, is ready to build the life Lilian always dreamed of... and is already the father in her son's heart?

When I caught my boyfriend cheating with my stepsister, I was heartbroken and furious. After giving them both a well-deserved beating, I hit a bar and met a drop-dead gorgeous stranger.
Drunk and mesmerized by his looks, I ignored the red flags. His glowing eyes. That sweet, intoxicating scent only I could smell.
One scorching night later... he tried to pay me like some escort.
"You're the worst I've ever had," I lied with a sneer, throwing my own cash in his face before he did. "Practice more before charging."
Then I ran like hell. Behind me, his furious roar echoed.
But karma's a bitch. That stranger? My company's new CEO.
Oh, and he's a werewolf Alpha.
I planned to lay low and avoid him. Then two pink lines changed everything—I'm pregnant!
My Alpha Boss slammed down a marriage contract: "Sign it. Move in with me."
Before moving in, I taunted: "Your skills were worth $150, tops."
But right now, he growled against my ear: "How about this, my insatiable mate?"
Me, scrambling toward the edge of the bed: "Time out! I need... a few days off!"
He smirked, grabbing my ankle and dragging me back down the mattress: "Not happening. Not until you're 100% satisfied with my performance between the sheets."
From one-night disaster to Alpha's baby mama—never saw this coming. But my possessive Alpha boss is hell-bent on proving he's worth way more than $150 a night... and he's got a lifetime to do it.

Accidentally murdered the bride?
Check.
Forced to marry the cursed Alpha who's lost six wives?
Check.
Now wearing her dress, dragged to his bed, while the pack waits outside for proof he's fucked me raw?
Double check.
Remi was just trying to catch her cheating boyfriend in the act. Instead, she tripped, ripped lace, and cracked a skull.
Now Alpha Nero Blackwater owns her. "Bride for bride," he growls. "You owe me a wedding… and a womb." The curse kills his mates before dawn. Unless he plants an heir fast. But something's wrong.
What if there was never a curse at all?
One night to survive. One claiming to break everything. One Alpha who'll fuck her senseless… even if it's the last thing she feels.


"Congratulations, Alpha Nero," she said cheerfully. "Seems the Moon Goddess has chosen your seventh bride."
I choked. "SEVENTH?!"
"The other six are dead," he said flatly.
"And I'm number seven?"
"Correct."
"IS THIS A MARRIAGE OR A SURVIVAL GAME?!"

He left her on the streets. His brother-in-law picked her up… and made her his wife.
On the day her ex, Mark, married the wealthy socialite Bella, Elena was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on her back—humiliated, broken, and utterly alone.
Until Eric Thompson appeared.
Bella’s older brother. Mark’s powerful brother-in-law. And the most feared Alpha in the city.
He offered her a hand when no one else would. Then, he offered her a deal:
A marriage in name only. A shield against her past. A chance to rebuild.
Elena accepted, expecting a cold arrangement between strangers. But behind closed doors, Eric’s carefully guarded control unraveled—and so did hers. Their chemistry was explosive, their nights intense, and the lines between business and pleasure blurred beyond recognition.
He was the one man she could never have… and the only one she couldn’t resist.
But when Mark realizes what he truly lost, and Bella discovers the secret behind her brother’s bride, Elena must decide:
Is this just a contract?
Or is this the love she was always meant to fight for?