3897 Book(s) Related to your honor my client said he was deadass

Up until this point, I've never felt really attracted to the father of an ex. My life is at risk.
My ex's hot dad appears. Ex-military.
Commanding. Sure, daddy.
I wouldn't mind spending time with Jesse in close quarters. Dark, tall, and quite well-built.
He asserts himself in a way that makes me feel warm all over. He is, however, totally off-limits, right?
Do I run the risk of tearing my family and friends apart?
Or will it all be irrelevant if I find myself in a pitch-black room with a pistol pointed at my head?

One unforgettable night was never meant to change anything.
But when Rose Clifton walks back into Scott Cockney’s life, she unknowingly steps into a secret that could destroy three hearts, two hockey careers, and an entire hockey empire.
Scott, the passionate team captain, has never stopped searching for her. Ervis, the quiet superstar, helps her find the dream she gave up years ago. Caught between two men who refuse to let her go, Rose soon realizes love is the least dangerous thing in her life.
As jealousy grows, friendships break, scandals explode, and a dark conspiracy hidden beneath professional hockey begins tearing everything apart, Rose and the two men she loves must fight for more than their future together. They must fight to survive.
“You were always meant to be mine,” Scott says.
“Then let me spend forever proving you belong with us,” Ervis vows.
When love becomes the deadliest game of all, can the three of them hold on to each other before everything falls apart?

Getting dumped by my boyfriend was humiliating. Falling for his uncle? That
might just ruin us all.
I spent two years loving Jamiel Vaughn.
Preston Academy’s hockey star. Everyone’s golden boy. And the boyfriend I
thought I’d spend far more than one winter with.
Then he dumped me with a text while I stood on the ice waiting for him.
We’re over.
That was it.
No explanation. No goodbye. Just two words that shattered everything I thought I
knew about us.
But Jamiel wasn’t the Vaughn who showed up for me that night.
His uncle was.
Calix Vaughn is older, dangerously attractive, completely off-limits—and the last
man I should be anywhere near after getting my heart broken by his nephew.
There’s just one tiny problem.
Calix wanted me first.
Before Jamiel. Before the relationship. Before two years passed with both of us
pretending there had never been something between us.
Jamiel may have been the one who got me first.
But now he’s thrown me away.
And Calix?
He’s done watching his nephew have the woman he wanted all along.

The novel contains explicit content, sex, and assault and is full of scenes that take the reader to the new heights of unquenchable pleasure with every page turned, so it's advised for 18+.

My co-wife's brothers walked to the room, and I just walked out of the bathroom, which startled me; the towel fell to the ground. Both of them walked towards me, eyes full of lust, as they both said, "Why compete with another woman over a man when we are ready to share, dominate, and make you ours?
"But..."
Before I could continue my sentence, Salvador touched my well-soaked flowery bud and whispered close to my ears, "Say that you don't want us as much as we want you."

Meet the intriguing story of Margaret Mathias. Finding herself at a beautiful wedding with Joshua Franks, she agreed to be a second wife to him despite knowing he was already married because the first wife was very welcoming. But what she didn't expect was to be treated less than a maid in her husband's house. She laid several complaints to her husband, but they fell on deaf ears, saying her co-wife is the queen of the house.
She was sexually starved, and she had had enough. She was ready to leave the house, but would she be able to leave when her co-wife's brothers came for a vacation? Would they be ready to share her, or would one of them want her for himself? Read and find out.

Dona McNair thought her biggest problem was figuring out how to talk to August (Augie) Reynolds, the dreamy new hockey captain she’s been crushing on from a distance. But that all changes the day she finds out he’s her stepbrother. Now trapped in a tangled family mess with a boy who barely looks her way, Dona’s quiet life suddenly feels like a crazy soap opera.

Augie has a lot of secrets, and so does his father. The more Dona learns, the deeper she falls for him and for the truth. Between rivalries on the ice, forbidden romance and a criminal past that won’t stay buried, Dona and Augie are forced to choose: walk away or fight side by side. Forbidden love was never part of the plan, but neither was falling for your stepbrother, while exposing his father’s crimes.

"You're my brother's biggest rival."

Turner smirked. "And?"

"And Liam would literally kill us."

"Then it's a good thing we're not actually dating."

Ezra Beckley only agrees to fake date hockey captain Turner Fisher to save himself from a campus-wide rumor disaster. The arrangement is simple: pretend to be boyfriends for three months, fix their reputations, and walk away.

No kissing.

No feelings.

And absolutely no telling Liam Beckley—Ezra's overprotective older brother and Turner's biggest rival. The plan should have been easy, till Turner starts looking at him like he's something worth choosing.

And suddenly, the fake relationship feels dangerously real.

“You are to marry the king, Rinoa.” Those words from my father changed my life.

Cillian was my world — the reason my sun set and the flowers bloomed. But our twisted fate was cruel and unfair.

On the verge of his death, I asked the Gods to trade places with him, to let me die in his stead.
I’m cursed to meet Cillian in every lifetime. In the last one, if he doesn’t remember me, I’ll turn into foam — fading away, forgotten, gone.

In my final life, he was my boss — arrogant, ruthless, and cold. But this time, I’m no longer the woman he once deserved.
I plan to live my life away from the chains of our forgotten love.
But fate is never kind. He needs me more than ever.

Should I risk it all again just to call him mine?
Should I set myself on fire only to feel his warmth?

Time was never my ally.
And I stand at the edge — torn between loving him again or finally being free.

Can our love endure the viciousness of history and time?
I have to choose… even if it means losing it all, or finally letting him go.

"Mr. Geal, we can't… please." Her voice trembled as his fingers traced her jaw and brushed against her lips.
Her breath came in short gasps as she whispered, "Please, you're betrothed."
His hands slid to her neck, his voice a dark growl. "It doesn't matter. You're mine anyway."
Before she could speak, his mouth claimed hers, sealing a truth neither of them could escape.
Olivia Macurry's only dream was to escape the stage lights and start over.
No more stripping. No more selling herself to survive. Just a normal job, a normal life.
But fate had other plans.
One night, a stranger offered fifteen thousand dollars for her time. She agreed—then ran before the night was over.
Now, that same man is her new boss.
Leonardo Geal. Cold. Powerful. Addictive. The man she tried to forget, but who never stopped thinking about her.
What began as obsession soon twisted into something darker.
Attraction became possession.
Possession became madness.
He's engaged to another, yet he can't stay away.
Lies, secrets, and betrayal push them to the edge, until desire becomes their most dangerous weapon.
Leonardo thrives in chaos. And even though he's betrothed, he belongs to her— Body, mind, and soul.

Surprisingly, he moved closer to me, and gently placed his hands on my chest. "See, I can feel your breathing! You are indeed scared!"
Sadly, my body was betraying me! I was angry that his touches made me shiver. "Alexander Gray is my enemy, and I must hate him! I need to detest him!" I kept telling myself.


Aria's life takes a dark turn when she's betrayed and murdered by her boyfriend, Adrian, a powerful werewolf. But death is not the end. Resurrected by a malevolent demon lord, Aria returns to the living world with a mission: seek vengeance on the one who wronged her.
But Aria's vengeance takes an unexpected twist when she encounters Alex, Adrian's twin brother. Mistaken identity leads her to plan his demise, but as secrets unravel, Aria finds herself falling for the very person she sought to destroy.

I was supposed to be the best man, but when the bride ran away, I was forced to walk down the aisle and marry the arrogant billionaire I despised the most.

The hall was breathtaking. White lilies, crystal chandeliers, and rows of expectant faces waiting for my sister. Instead, they got me. I walked down the aisle with a single flower, a smug grin on my face hiding the absolute panic tearing through my chest.

At the altar stood Rowan Hale. Always perfect. Always in control. Except right now, his hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles were white. He was furious.

By the time I reached him, his patience had evaporated. He grabbed my hand in a bone-crushing grip that almost made me swear in front of the priest.

"You sure took your time crawling up here," Rowan whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "Who do you think you are to keep me waiting?"

I managed a sickeningly bright smile. "I didn't know you were this eager to marry me."

I thought he would punch me. I wanted him to. We had been rivals for years, hating each other's guts in the entertainment industry. But instead, his cool mask fell back into place. He slid the heavy wedding band onto my finger, his thumb deliberately pressing into my skin.

"Smile," Rowan whispered against my ear, his breath hot and sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Don't want anyone to think you're doing this against your will."

"That wouldn't be further from the truth," I retorted, trying to pull away.

But Rowan’s hand curled completely around my waist, his grip possessive and unyielding. "You will do as you're told, husband."

I thought this fake marriage was just a business deal. I thought we would divorce in a year. But when he dragged me into the hotel penthouse that night and locked the door behind us... I realized Rowan Hale had no intention of ever letting me go.

When hot-headed rogue Alpha: Reid Hades gets accepted into Northlands Crest University, Lyra Durin, the Vice Chancellor’s daughter, is far from thrilled.

Not just because he once coldly rejected her on the same night she failed to shift, but because he’s now living under her family’s roof.

When Lyra’s world shatters after catching her chosen mate in bed with her foster sister, she tries to punish the two betrayers using a revenge spell. But that spell backfires, restoring her mate bond with Reid instead. The only way out? Their hatred for each other has to overpower the strength of the bond.

The only question is… do they truly hate each other like they claim to do? Or is it all a facade?

A good girl like Lyra has no business getting involved with a bad boy like Reid, especially one with a past as dark as his. Reid is cursed and banished from his pack by his father, after murdering his own mother and attempting to kill his father’s second Luna again.

But secrets don’t stay buried for long, and the harder Lyra tries to hate him, the closer fate pulls them together.

He’s the last guy she should ever fall for.

She’s the only girl he can’t stay away from.

And in a house full of lies, rules, and deceit, love becomes the most dangerous rebellion of all.

How much of Reid’s darkness can Lyra handle before it finally consumes her? Can they really spare themselves from each other before the bond turns permanent?

My name is Emma. I used to be an interior designer with my own studio. To support my husband’s startup, I shut it all down, stepping into the shadows to become a full-time housewife.

On my birthday—our third wedding anniversary—he slammed divorce papers on the table.

He told me he had fallen in love with someone else: his subordinate, the woman who had been a constant fixture in our home lately.

But there was one crucial detail he missed.

She never joined his company for him.

She was my junior in college, the most fiercely loyal admirer of my design work. She didn't take that job or frequent our house because she was enamored with him. She did it to track me down, desperate to ask if I would ever design again.

And that man? Right up until the ink dried on those divorce papers, he smugly believed he was just dumping a mediocre, chore-bound wife.

He had no idea that the moment I picked up my drawing pen again, the housewife he looked down on would become a business rival entirely out of his league.

At the Falcone estate's riding ring, I watched my eight-year-old son Leo mount Starlight, preparing for the most important performance of his young life.
Before the third obstacle, the horse spooked. The instant Leo was thrown, I rushed forward to shield him—the cost was three shattered ribs and a kicked left lung.
When I woke from unconsciousness, I found myself in Dante's private clinic downstairs. From the adjacent room came the doctor's angry voice: "We agreed this was just a marrow extraction. Why did you set up what happened with the horse?"
My husband Dante Falcone's response made my blood run cold: "Leo was Mia's donor. Now that the procedure is complete, there's no point in continuing treatment. Mia is the real heir."
Eight years of marriage. I'd always believed that beneath Dante's cold exterior, Leo was still a son he treasured.
Only now did I understand—from the moment of his birth, Leo had been nothing more than a living donor prepared for his stepsister Mia.
The cruelest irony? Mia, the girl Dante loved so deeply, wasn't even his biological daughter.

Everyone knew my twin sister wouldn't live past eighteen. So they gave her all the love, leaving me to survive in the shadows.
When I suffered a asthma attack on our birthday, my mother locked me in the basement.
"Stop faking it. Don't ruin your sister's last birthday," my mother hissed.
She thought I was throwing a tantrum for attention.
She was wrong.
I died on the cold concrete floor while they sang Happy Birthday upstairs.
Now, I am just a ghost floating in our living room. I watch my parents complain about my selfishness. I watch them make empty promises to treat me better tomorrow.
They don't know there is no tomorrow for me...

My name is Dafu, I am a dog, and I can smell death.

Sweet, cloying spores and a metallic, fishy stench seeped in through the cracks in the door.
The owner's friend was crying and calling for help outside the door , but all I could hear from my nostrils was the gurgling of mucus and the rustling of fungal hyphae climbing—
The person outside had no heartbeat.

The owner ultimately decided to open the door and rescue the person .
no!

I bit his hand tightly , my eyes pleading desperately—
Master, trust me !
That thing outside the door! It's not a person at all!

The first time I met my best friend's older brother, he kissed me in a dark kitchen and scared me half to death.
Mia Cross and I had been inseparable since freshman orientation. I knew her coffee order, her worst ex's middle name, and exactly how long she could study before she started sending me videos of baby goats. I also knew she had an older brother, Adrian, but for almost three years he had existed only as a family legend.
He managed a major division of the Cross family's investment firm, spent most of his time overseas, and was apparently terrifying enough that Mia lowered her voice whenever she complained about him.
"He's coming home for good," she told me one Friday night as we sprawled across her bed. "Mom says he finally moved the last of his projects back."
"The tyrant returns."
"Exactly. Just a heads-up: don't poke the bear."

Six months after our bonding ceremony, I was ambushed by rogue wolves while searching for rare herbs in the Black Forest.
Their poisoned claws shredded my abdomen—and with it, any chance of ever carrying pups.
But my mate held my hand and wept. My mother swore she'd save me. My father said everything would be fine.
How pathetic—
Right before they wheeled me into surgery, I heard them through a cracked door, calmly discussing how to harvest my heart for the adopted sister who'd been waiting six months.
Turns out the "accident" was a gift from my loving family of four.
Turns out the last six months of "coming home" was just them fattening up my heart for harvest.
What they don't know? The voice memo on my phone caught everything.
What they really don't know? Six months from now, I'm coming back—
With a Dark Moon Alliance badge. And a heart much colder than the one they stole.
Shh. Listen.
That stolen heart? It's starting to reject.

In my previous life, I gave the SS-class Furnace Fortress to my sister, and she turned around and stabbed me in the back.
After being reborn, she wanted to take my forest . I smiled and said, "Fine, it's all yours."
This time, I chose the SS-class Forge Fortress.
And I want her to die crying in the yellow sand.

The man who turned me down is now dating my roommate.

I swore I’d never see him again until a hospital emergency forces us into the same room. Every quiet look tells me his rejection wasn‘t the whole story.

He’s supposed to be off-limits. He‘s hers. But the more I try to move on, the more he looks at me like I’m still his.

Can I resist the man who rejected me first or will the truth change everything?

The first time the system appeared, I thought it was a scam.
One wish per day, it said. Anything I wanted.
So I tested it with a hundred dollars.
That night, my mother handed me one bill. Then she smiled and told me she had bought my stepsister Mia a jacket worth two hundred.
That was when fifteen years of “coincidences” turned into math.
Every wish I had ever made came true.
And every time, Mia got double.
Toys. Shoes. Rooms. Phones. Love.
For years, I thought I was the daughter who was harder to love.
Then I realized the universe had been listening to me all along.
And for the first time, I wondered what would happen if I wished for something cruel.

Seven years ago, Ronan Blackwood—Alpha of the Beastman Clan—endured 999 lashes and defied the Council's exile to bond with me, a human.

He swore before the gods I'd be his only mate, forever.

But when his childhood sweetheart Camilla was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he dissolved our soul-bond at the Underground Court.

Then he handed me a glowing vial—the Seven-Day Oblivion.

"Sia, I need seven days to give Camilla a proper bonding ceremony before she dies. This potion will make you forget me temporarily. No pain, no memories. After the ceremony, you'll take the antidote and love me again. Then we'll re-bond."

He promised this separation was temporary. That I'd still be his only true mate.

What he didn't know: the potion was forbidden. There was no antidote.

I stared into those amber eyes that once bled for me—and swallowed it anyway.

In seven days, I'll forget him completely.

The day the promotion list went public, a photo popped up in the company's all-staff Slack channel.
In the photo, my profile nearly overlapped with a scantily dressed girl, the background a dimly lit Manhattan nightclub.
Immediately after, Brad added a caption:
[No wonder Harper landed Richard's M&A deal. Last night's 'overtime' must have been rough, huh?]
Less than ten seconds after he sent it, the message still hung there in the channel. No retraction.
The chat that had just been flooding with "congrats Harper" messages went dead silent.
In my past life, my head buzzed. I thought no one would take such a cheap joke seriously.
But within two days, the company's internal anonymous forum exploded with accusations, complete with photos and "proof."
They said I slept with clients to win the merger deal. That I secured my full-time offer by sleeping my way up. That my personal life was a mess, that I was trash.
My mother collapsed from a heart attack when she heard. She never woke up.
Later, my promotion was revoked. HR suspended me for "damaging company reputation."
I was slut-shamed, radioactive across the entire finance industry — no firm on the Street would touch me.
Within a month, I spiraled from depression to sleepless nights, and finally jumped from the rooftop of my Brooklyn apartment.
Before I lost consciousness, my phone was still buzzing.
"Did they fire her yet? People like that don't belong on Wall Street."
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the blinking Slack messages on my screen.

In order to raise the surgical fees for my "blind" boyfriend, I dedicated three entire years to scrubbing toilets.

I believed I was his eyes, the sole beacon of light in his world of darkness.

Until his birthday arrived, I was confronted with the sight of that "incapable" man—who required my assistance even to drink water—coddling his ex-girlfriend while flirting.

"That fool is still busy cleaning toilets," he chuckled with a patronizing grin, brandishing my late mother's memento to charm that woman. "After all, she outshone you at Parsons. Let her serve me like a dog for three years—that'll be her punishment."

It dawned on me that my sacrifices were but fodder for their idle amusement.

Drying my tears, I turned and dialed the number I had blocked for three years—the one belonging to the fiancé who controlled an entire business empire.

"Sebastian, about that arranged marriage... I accept."

My pack's golden girl—my adopted sister—vanished. On my eighteenth birthday—the day my wolf should have awakened—my parents dragged me to a witch.
"Show us what you did to her."
Fine. Let them look.
Let them see who drugged me the day I came home. Who stole credit while I bled. Who smiled while planning my destruction.
They chose their precious Rosalie over me for three years.
They wanted the truth?
They were about to choke on it.

To buy the sky-high-price cake for my blind piano prodigy girlfriend, I swallowed my pride and scrubbed toilets for three months.
But returning home early with the cake, I found her, who was supposed to be groping in the dark, entangled with her rich ex-boyfriend.
Her eyes were clear, and her face was full of sneering mockery: "Isn't letting this design genius serve me like a dog for three years the perfect punishment for him always outshining you?"
I stood in the chilly wind outside the door. So, the deep affection and despair of these three years were all just an act she put on to please her ex.
Calmly, I threw the cake box into the trash. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to the number I had blocked for three years:
"Cecilia, I accept your marriage proposal."

The boy I grew up with was this town's star quarterback.

Everyone saw him as the golden boy.

Yet, for a delinquent, he willingly threw away his athletic career and plunged headfirst into the local drug ring.

Desperate to pull him back from the edge, I tipped off the police about the drug den, hoping it would be his wake-up call.

Instead, he hated me to the bone for it.

To prove his loyalty to his "true love"—and to punish me—he gave our home security code to a crew of methed-up thugs.

They broke in and put a bullet through my parents' heads, wiping out my entire family.

It wasn't until I took a bullet to the chest and lay choking on my own blood, staring at a mocking text from him, that I finally woke up.

But fate, it turns out, decided to give me a second chance.

"Camille! Get over here!" my husband Arthur screamed, clutching his mistress tightly in his arms.
In my past life, he charged into the flames to save her—while I burned alive trying to save him.
The moment I died, he wasted no time using my life insurance money to throw her the wedding of the century, right at my family's winery.
This life?
"I'm going to get help," I said, and walked away.
Behind me, something massive came crashing down. His scream tore through the smoke.
I didn't look back.

The fake heiress and I died twice fighting over the same thing—which of us would get adopted by that wealthy couple.

The first time, I got the necklace. I became their daughter. I thought I'd finally have everything I'd ever wanted. Three months later, they drowned me in the bathtub.

William's voice still echoes in my head. "This is your fault! If we'd taken Chloe instead, she'd still be alive!"

The second time, I gave Chloe the necklace. Let her have the good life. I thought that would keep me safe.

Five years later, Chloe turned up dead in their mansion. The Harringtons called the cops on me. They said I broke in and killed her out of jealousy. I died in prison, broken and tortured. The last thing I heard was Catherine's voice through the visiting room glass, cold as ice. "You belong in the gutter."

The third time, I open my eyes again.

I watch the couple smile at us, all warmth and kindness, and one question burns in my mind. Which daughter do they actually want?

The smell of antiseptic, the sharp sting of restraints biting into my flesh, and the pitying look on Silas's face as he stood by my hospital bed.
"Maeve, you're so sick. The baby is just a hallucination."
In my last life, consumed by despair and self-doubt, I threw myself off the roof of the psychiatric hospital.
But now, my eyes snapped open, my hands instinctively flying to protect my stomach.
My baby is still here!
I'm back—exactly one week before my child disappeared.

The winter I was eight, I found my own face in a trash can.
It was on a missing-child flyer. The girl on it had been gone five years. She had a birthmark on the back of her neck.
So did I.
There was a reward. A number with a long row of zeros. I didn't want it.
I was cold. I hadn't eaten since yesterday.
I just wanted a mom.
So that night, with a stranger's coins, I called the number at the bottom.
A woman answered on the first ring and screamed a name at me like it was mine.
She got to say it three times.
Then a hand came out of the dark behind me and hung up the phone for me.

In my past life, I was pregnant and met a gruesome end, torn apart by the mad dog my cop husband kept, taking both my life and my baby's.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day I discovered I was pregnant.
My seemingly perfect husband, the epitome of a good man, smiled as he brought me muffins laced with rat poison. My seemingly kind in-laws watched me intently, eager for me to swallow the deadly treat...
That's when it hit me: the perfect marriage I thought I had was actually a family conspiracy for murder!
This time, I refuse to be the lamb led to slaughter. If you want my life and my child's, then you'll all be begging for mercy in hell!

I have been the Donna of the Smith family for nine years-all in name. I took my deceased twin sister Lily's place, caring for her daughter Emma, and living with a husband, David, who doesn't love me.

Over these nine years, I treated Emma like my own daughter, but she always saw me as the murderer who killed her mother, not knowing that it was her mother who took my marriage and my husband.

She shoved me publicly, calling me a murderer, even using the gun I gave her to shoot my only solace—a little bird.

But David, the man I loved, also favors Lily and her child. Every time he looks at me, it's with coldness and distance.

I am the wife of Don Nikolai. For years, I endured his violence and the constant humiliation from his mistress, Sofia.
On a stormy night, I saved a boy named Silvio — the sole survivor of a massacre ordered by Nikolai — and raised him as my adopted son. I never imagined he would become my shield. When Nikolai struck me, Silvio stepped forward and shouted, “You will not hit her!” When Sofia provoked me, he stood up for me every time.
While risking his life to hone his skills, Silvio secretly gathered evidence of Nikolai’s crimes. When the Don sensed betrayal, he sent Silvio on a mission meant to kill him — then turned his brutality on me.
As I lay dying, Silvio returned, bloodied and broken, and threw a punch at Nikolai.
“I came back,” he roared, “to kill you!”
After coming of age, he confessed:
“I was never truly your son. I want to marry you.”

"Sophie Patterson. Don't you dare walk away from me." Logan's menacing stare bore at me. I suddenly didn't feel drunk anymore. I sobered up quickly.

"What, Logan? You're gonna tell me that you suddenly love me again? That you're here to sweep me off my feet? Please! I didn't need you all this time, and I don't need you now." He clenched his jaw, fisting his hands.

"Enough. Stop being so damn stubborn. You know I do. I love you. I never stopped loving you, Sophie. It was always you."

I left my hometown hoping to never see him again. I left with his baby still inside of me.

Seven years after, and here I am again. Standing before him and a six-year-old wanting to know who his dad is, and asking me to marry him because everyone in his class but him and his best friend don't have a daddy.

What am I supposed to do with all these feelings that are resurfacing? I'm realizing every day that I never got over him. I merely suppressed my feelings, and his telling me this now- to my face, just made things more complicated.

“I am Ivan, a meteorologist. In my past life, I was tied up in the snow and froze to death by my wife’s family. After being reborn, I personally bought up all the inferior supplies they needed. When a blizzard of minus fifty degrees Celsius came down, and when the gangsters kicked down his door, I was sitting in a safe house two kilometers away, holding a whiskey, watching the surveillance footage—this is my revenge.”

"Sloane, where there's smoke, there's fire. If you're really clean, why is it only burning you?"
In my last life, when those fabricated hotel records went viral on the company Slack, I scrambled to explain. I cried. I begged.
What I got was a suspension, a blacklist, and a foster mother who died on a hospital bed because I could no longer pay for her meds.
The person who started it all? Walked right over my corpse into a partnership.
Then I opened my eyes—and I was back. Three days before the promotion list dropped.
I stared at the pixelated "explicit screenshot" on my screen, and I didn't cry. Didn't rage.
I just smiled and hit screen record.
This time, I'm not proving I'm clean.
I'm proving they're guilty.

Dorian, my boyfriend of three years, was a partner at a top-tier Boston law firm. He was gentle, refined, and absolutely flawless.
A week ago, he buried his face in my neck late at night, whispering that the city was suffocating him. He wanted to take me back to his hometown to meet Octavia, the grandmother who had single-handedly raised him.
I agreed without hesitation.
But on Crane Island, every night Dorian would slip out of our bed, using Octavia's gout as an excuse.
Until that night. I crept barefoot to Octavia’s door and pressed my ear against the wood.
What I heard wasn’t a sick old woman. It was Dorian’s heavy panting, mixed with the shameless, breathy moans of a young woman...

I stumbled out of the Moonlit Forest covered in blood, but Magnus didn’t even look at me. He rushed straight to Jasper instead.
I clutched the blood-soaked rope, struggling to catch my breath.
“I almost didn’t make it out alive...”
Magnus whipped around, his eyes turning ice-cold.
“Stop playing the victim! If you hadn’t wasted so much time, Jasper wouldn’t have been hurt this badly!”
Before I could answer, Willa collapsed into his arms, sobbing.
“Magnus, don’t blame Elowen. I never should’ve forced her to do this...”
I stared at them, my nails digging painfully into my palms.
Magnus had threatened our son’s life to force me into the Moonlit Forest for Willa.
I had nearly died doing exactly what he demanded.
And somehow, it was still my fault.
My voice came out hoarse.
“Magnus... what do our son and I even mean to you?”
He shoved me aside and pulled Willa closer into his arms.
“You were born with Alpha blood. It’s your duty to protect the pack.”
His expression hardened.
“Don’t bother me with this nonsense.”

I lost my heart to Vincent the moment I stepped into the Johnson family.
A Don thirty years older than me.
I knew this love was forbidden. Twisted. Ridiculous.
But I still chose to risk everything for it.
I deliberately got close to his son, Leon—the spoiled, reckless golden boy he treasured most. I tempted him, led him on, and step by step, just as I had planned, I married my way into the Johnson family as Leon’s wife.
On my wedding night, I climbed into Vincent’s bed.
In this scheme disguised as love, Vincent fell just as hard as I did.
And inside me, his child quietly began to grow.
A scorching, warped affair took root in the Johnson estate and spread like wildfire.

To save my terminally ill wife and daughter, I drained half my wolf blood and tore out my own right fang.
Stripped of my source power, I became a worthless wolf despised by the entire clan.
My wife cast me out of the den, pinching her nose at the stench of rot on me; my daughter threw stones at me, cursing me with hatred as a blind, useless failure.
Together, they set their eyes on another young, strong Alpha. They let him trample my dignity in public, and finally had me brutally slaughtered on the frozen wasteland.
But they never knew, the reason that man could make their souls submit and fall for him was that his veins ran entirely with my heart's blood.
Only when I was reduced to a boneless husk of a wolf did my wife go mad, clawing her own gland raw, weeping and begging me to leave her one last mark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the wasteland era, the soil is dead. Whoever can grow food is king.
In my last life, my brother gave me the spore we had nearly died to get, and the two of us awakened plant-growing powers together.
But every grain he grew was full and perfect, and the leader placed him on a pedestal; everything I grew was poisonous, and I was mercilessly cast out as worthless.
It wasn't until I died that I learned the truth: his power was never plant-growing, but transfer.
As long as he had eaten the spore, he could transfer away all the crops I grew.
When I got a second chance, I returned to the very day my so-called brother tried to shove the spore into my mouth.
This time, I slammed into him, knocked the spore to the ground, and crushed it under my foot.

Three years ago, I gave my grieving boss $6,000 for her husband’s funeral. The office called me a fool in love. She called me into her office—and fired me.
Then Claire appeared in my city with a suitcase, an apology, and an offer to start over.
I almost believed she had come back for me.
Until I overheard her whispering to a sick child about finding his real father.
Claire hadn’t returned alone. She had twins, one of them was dying, and the man who could save him might be me.

When Edie Marshall meets a mysterious - and drop-dead gorgeous - man in the woods just outside her small town, she has no idea who he is or where he’s come from.

She has no idea why she has such an instant, intense connection with this dangerous-looking man, with his arms full of tattoos and his deep, velvety voice.

She has no idea why she trusts him enough to tell him things she’s never told anyone else.

And she definitely has no idea that their brief, passionate encounter will lead to her getting pregnant.

It’s only then that she learns her “mystery man” from the woods is actually Rafe Fontaine - celebrity, Hollywood royalty, and notorious womanizer.

Can she trust her heart - and her baby - to Hollywood’s wildest bad boy?

Due to explicit scenes, this steamy romance is rated 18+.

The Mystery of You is created by Ember Casey, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

James Johnson bought me from the black market for five million.
I went from being a mercenary to his bodyguard, and also his plaything to satisfy his desires.
Countless intimate nights gradually changed the nature of our relationship.
Until he risked his life to save me during a gang shootout.
His restrained feelings finally broke free, and he proposed to me.
But today, five years later.
Right after James took control of the Johnson Family, he quickly got engaged to Julia, the daughter of the Smith Family, the biggest arms dealer.
I confronted him, only to overhear his conversation with a friend.
"I told Sophia I'd marry her just to make her give everything for me, even die for me. After all, those brothers fighting me for the inheritance are all crazy."
His friend laughed. "But she's risked her life for you for six years. That's pretty cold."
"Doesn't matter. With her background, she was never fit to be a mafia heir's wife anyway."
I stood outside the door and let out a bitter laugh.
Back in my room, I contacted Marshall Johnson.
"I promised to keep James safe until he became head of the Johnson Family. The mission's complete now. Please give me my freedom as agreed."

Mara Bell writes cozy fantasy romances.

Unfortunately, she is very good at writing men no sensible woman should ever date.

Her most popular creation is Lord Soren Ravelle, the terrifying Duke of Duskryn. Obscenely wealthy, capable of shadow magic, feared by half the kingdom, and responsible for enough fictional murders that Mara stopped counting.

Readers adore him.

Then, while trying to finish the book at three in the morning;

Her laptop sparks.

The lights go out.

And Mara wakes up face-down in a flower bed.

In Duskryn.

Her own fictional kingdom.

At first, she is thrilled.

She knows which paths through the enchanted forest are safe. She knows where the castle's secret passages lead. She knows who the villain is, who gets the happy ending, and exactly which chapter everything goes horribly wrong.

There is only one problem.

Mara isn't supposed to be here.

She never wrote herself into the story.

And Duskryn seems to know it.

The plot begins changing around her. Characters make choices she never gave them. Events happen too early. And Soren, who is supposed to be falling in love with somebody else, becomes far more interested in the strange woman who knows things about him she couldn't possibly know.

Because Mara knows something Soren doesn't.

She didn't give him a happy ending.

She killed him.

Now the closer the story creeps toward the final chapter, the more desperately Mara tries to change the ending she wrote.

Which would be easier if Soren would stop looking at her like that.

Mara created Lord Soren Ravelle to be dangerous, impossible, and devastatingly romantic.

She just never expected him to become real.

She definitely never expected him to fall for his author.

And she really should have known better than to fall for the villain she created.

First day back after the long weekend. I get a few artisan gift baskets shipped in from my family's farm: maple syrup, raw honey, smoked beef jerky, handmade jams. Top-shelf stuff, every single one. Shipping alone runs me a few hundred dollars.

After the morning meeting, I hand them out one by one. The team crowds around me, all smiles, falling over themselves saying things like "You're literally the best, Ms. Bennett" and "Oh my god, you're such an amazing boss."

They're barely out the door when I notice the conference room projector is still mirroring someone's phone. Up on the screen: a private group chat. Fifteen members.

Everyone on the team is in it.

Everyone except me.

A new message pops up: [Farm junk? Really? Preston Vance's team got $200 gift cards AND black truffle. Sloane's such a cheap ass lol]

Replies flood in. Someone photoshops a picture of me. Someone else hopes I drop dead at my desk.

To them, I'm just another boss squeezing her people dry.

Last quarter, I handed every single one of them a three-thousand-dollar cash bonus out of my own pocket. Plus a brand-new phone. Each.

Fine. If they think I'm not giving enough, I'll give them exactly what they're asking for.

Though later, when they come crawling back one by one, I find myself wondering what exactly they think begging is going to get them.

I took my sister’s place to save my family. Now I am living a life that could destroy me. I never wanted anything to do with the mafia. But when my twin sister vanished without a word, I stepped into her world and became her… the wife of Rowan, a man people fear and never question.
Every day, I live a lie. His son, Dante, looks at me like I am his mother, and something inside me breaks every time he says in a low voice that l look like his mom. But not everyone is fooled.
Rowan’s family watches me too closely. They see what does not belong and they are waiting for me to slip so they can get rid of me for good.
I tell myself I can handle it. That I just need to survive long enough to protect the people I love.
But I am losing control. Because the man I was never meant to love is starting to look at me differently. And the worst part is… I think I am falling for him too.

In a world overrun by zombies, survivors built a fortress—and my fiancée and I joined its action unit.
To help her secure her position, I turned down leadership’s offer to run my own squad and stayed by her side as the “invisible” second-in-command.

For a full year, I made the tactics, wrote the contingencies, and cleaned up every mission.
She took my plans as her own credit—and let the team treat me like dead weight.

Then, on one operation, she ignored my orders and changed the plan on the fly. Disaster followed.
In the debrief, she blamed everything on me in front of everyone.

I resigned on the spot.

Not long after, I took command of a new squad—and delivered the cleanest record in the entire base.
Her unit couldn’t even finish routine recovery runs.

Until a mandated joint op put our teams at the same rally point—
and she finally realized the “legendary captain” was me.