3401 Book(s) Related to her fate his luna full novel free

“Do you, Alex Snow, take Jennifer Walker, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Soon to be husband looks at me with the eyes of a beast, ready to rip me apart at any second as he says tightly “I do”

Although he just vowed to take me as his wife, to hold, love, and cherish, his ‘I do’ vowed something else entirely.

It was an oath to make me suffer horribly at his hands.

As soon as the words “I do” left my mouth I was certain, I just sealed my fate by marrying Alex Snow.

And my fate was crystal clear, death is coming for me sooner rather than later.

In a small town called “Snow”, known in all of Alaska for its huge illegal smuggling business on the border of America and Canada, Alex Snow; the new leader of the Snow clan that controls and dominates the smuggling territory, forces Jennifer Walker into marrying him against her will.

After his father gets murdered at the hands of Jenny’s father, Patrick Walker, the Snow clan vows to take their revenge on the whole Walker bloodline.

But killing the responsible man sends both families into a blood feud as both clans vow to make the other one pay.

The only way to stop that bloodbath from turning into a m******e, and claiming more innocent lives was a peace offering in the form of marriage from both families.

Jennifer’s world turns upside down as she turns out to be the one Alex Snow asked to marry specifically to stop that war.

Her only thought at that moment was “He is going to make my life a living hell”

The town Snow and everything it illegally represents is real inside the world I created in this book. It’s as real as you make it to be, but It doesn’t exist in real life

I moved it back a little now puts in my ass right on it bending over to kiss he again as the warmth of my pussy made his dick harder. I then started to move back and forth, pressing my warm pussy against he,
“Uhhh.” My first official moan, I locked that.
He then with me on top of he sat up holding me and then grabbing my thick thighs as he stood up carrying me as I hanged on his neck to his room.


In a world where the rich rule and the others are nonrelevant these characters exist, one, brought up in riches and the other brought up in poverty but strived to be at the top. this is a story of two worlds, one a world of the rich filled with sassiness and the other a world of Drugs, gangs, guns and of course wealth. They both clash as one migrated to the world of the other and though the road to this migration was not by choice and was brutal, it brought a ruthless mafia lord who forgot he had emotions together with a rich girl who only understood that money and fame is the only power needed.

I thought my husband was cheating, so I followed him to catch him in the act, only to witness him kill someone on our wedding anniversary.

His hands were still covered in blood when he touched my red hair and asked me what was wrong.

Was he the legendary "Red Hair Reaper"?

When the police came knocking the next day, I told them everything.

But they would never know—even the murder I "witnessed" that night was nothing but a performance staged for them from beginning to end.

To stop the merfolk from being slaughtered, I went ashore to seduce the boy I grew up with — Lucian Voss, now one of the world's top scientists.
He still had feelings for me. He kept me in his bed for seven days and seven nights, refusing to let go.
I woke from the haze of pleasure to a pair of pliers prying the scales off my back.
Lucian watched me arch in agony, his expression ice-cold.
"Mermaid scales can repair genetic defects. You don't mind sharing a few, do you?"
"After all, what your kind owes me is worth far more than a handful of scales."
Two years. For two years I watched him marry another woman.
He held my kind's lives over my head and forbade me to leave. Every few days, he'd pry the scales from my spine, grind them into powder, and feed them to his new wife Vivienne to strengthen her body.
He shackled my ankles and ordered me to stay up all night washing his bedsheets. I had to kneel outside their bedroom door, motionless, listening to them together until dawn.
When Vivienne got pregnant, she started complaining about the color of the scale powder.
"Honey, these last few have been so dull. Is she running out?"
Lucian glanced at me.
The look on his face — he was counting. Calculating how many scales I had left.
He hated me to the bone, yet every time I nearly passed out from the pain, he was the one who pulled me off the floor. Forced medicine down my throat, fingers clamped around my jaw until I swallowed.
"You're counting on the fact that I still care about you. So tell me — where are my parents?"
I stayed silent and let the contradiction hang there.
It wouldn't matter soon. I wouldn't have to keep that secret much longer.
A mermaid who stays on land for three years without returning to the sea will die. No exceptions.
And I had three days left.

I died on the operating table. Down the hall, my husband was waiting for news that the woman he'd loved before me had received my kidney.
He'd made that day happen. He'd forced me to end my six-month pregnancy, then give what was left of me to a woman who was supposedly dying.
Just before I stopped breathing, he was holding her hand in another room, telling her, "It's over. We can finally be together."
He never found out the surgery was a lie. She was never sick. I never woke up.
Yet the moment he truly learned I was dead, the man who swore he didn't love me clung to my ashes and completely fell apart.

My billionaire husband handed me a pill and a separation agreement.
"Take this temporary amnesia drug. You'll forget me for a few weeks while I marry Chloe to fulfill her dying wish. Don't worry, I'll give you the antidote later."
He expected me to scream, cry, and beg him to stay.
Instead, I swallowed the pill dry and calmly packed my bags.
Day 3: I tossed my heirloom Cartier engagement ring to his mistress without batting an eye.
Day 12: I accidentally witnessed his wedding rehearsal, critiqued his recycled vows with a straight face, and left him standing there, terrified by my absolute indifference.
He thought I was just acting tough. He didn't know I was the neuroscientist who created that drug. There is no antidote.
In 21 days, all my love for him will be permanently and irreversibly erased.
But how hard will a man break when he realizes his wife is already on a one-way flight to Switzerland, and she doesn't even remember his name?

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.

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.

In their eyes, my wife Emma—an Ivy League tenured professor in biological sciences—is ruthless, rational, and obsessively clean.
For seven years, even when she washed her hands, she would only ever touch the right-side sink—hers.
Until that night at 3 a.m., when I pulled a strand of sandy-golden short curl—hair that belonged to neither of us—out of my men’s shower loofah.
And around the neck of a pre-med student named Lucas, I saw the antique silver cross my dying father left in my hands.
When I confronted her, my always-icy wife protected the little homewrecker, slapped me across the face, and called me a jealous, controlling chauvinist.
She thought I’d swallow it like a coward.
But she forgot: as a top cardiothoracic chief, the thing I do best is cutting out tumors.

I spent three years in the squad — three years carrying them to the top of the S-rank hero league. And their reward? They decided my B-rank rating wasn't good enough, and brought in an A-rank support to replace me. Fine. I'm done pretending. The truth is, I'm S-rank.

Alpha Blake exterminated her pack. She was taken to the Ralton pack as a trophy and punching bag.
Upon shifting, she finds that his son is her mate.
He rejected her because she was a weak rubbish- an Omega!
Heartbroken, she left the pack and was hunted by the Alpha's son who shot her.
But she didn't die, nor did she reject him.
Years later, a kick-ass female whom every Alpha wants as Luna, returns to the Ralton pack. Her aim? To crush the pack and make the Alpha bow!
Pretty cool right?

Add to your libraries. More updates are coming soon. Lest I forget, accept my kisses! :)

Lena Sawyer’s world crumbles in one brutal night when she caught Wes, her boyfriend cheating on her. Heartbroken and reckless, she stumbles into the arms of a stranger—dangerously older, devastatingly powerful, and far too tempting for her own good. One kiss is enough to set her soul on fire.
But when the haze clears, Lena discovers the stranger isn’t just anyone. He’s her new boss. A man with rules carved in stone. A man she has no business wanting—her ex’s father.
Sebastian Lancaster built an empire by controlling everything—and everyone—around him. But Lena tests every boundary he swore never to cross. She’s too young, too forbidden, and far too irresistible.
What starts as stolen glances and simmering tension spirals into nights that blur the line between pleasure and ruin. And the deeper they fall, the higher the risk: his empire, her career, and a desire that could burn them both alive.
Age-gap. Off-limits. Irresistible.

Lyric sacrificed everything to become the Lunar Queen. Now she must prove she's worthy of the crown. As she learns to rule two kingdoms alongside her mates and build a home for the family she's fought so hard to protect, an unsettling pattern begins to emerge. Wolves, witches, fae, and vampires are disappearing without a trace, leaving every kingdom on edge. As fear spreads and old alliances begin to crack, Lyric finds herself racing against an unseen enemy determined to throw the supernatural world into chaos. To protect everyone she loves, she'll have to embrace the full power of the Lunar Queen... before she's too late.

After suddenly being rejected by her mate on her birthday after two years of relationship, Isabelle travels to the territory of humans where she meets her second chance mate who is not quite as he seems.

Twenty-one-year-old Adrian Blood had nothing — no parents, no money, he was just a scholarship and a girlfriend he thought was worth saving for. Valentine's night stripped even that away. Teresa chose his bully. Ricardo's men put him in the garbage, literally.

Then a voice activated in his head.

The Chosen Heir System doesn't do sympathy — it does missions. Its first order: save the sister of the man who just destroyed him. Adrian ran through the rain, bleeding, and did it anyway.

One mission. One million dollars.

Ricardo Rodriguez has no idea what he just created. And the system is only getting started.

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

I was the most revered pureblood Light heir.

In my past life, I married the Supreme Holy Knight, Arthur, only to give birth to an Ash-blood cub—the lowest of all.

In a rage, he incinerated my baby alive. He then dragged my bleeding, postpartum body into a saltwater dungeon to drain my magic, leaving me to be devoured by venomous insects.

Meanwhile, my lowly Ash-blood sister miraculously birthed a Light-blood cub. Stepping on my corpse, she became the realm's new ruler.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at our Mate-Selection Ceremony. Arthur publicly rejected me and chose my sister.

Seeing his smug, calculating smirk, I knew immediately: he had been reborn, too.

But how could a parasitic knight, who survived entirely by draining his wife's magic to fake a holy bloodline, ever father a supreme dragon?

When the apocalypse came, I became one of the military's failed experiments—defective, useless, a waste of space who only knew how to fix machines.
My so-called brother Kane used the camp leader access I got for him to trade away the comms gear I nearly died to secure for a bottle of whiskey. He drained my bone marrow dry to keep me in the dark, then dumped me out in the wasteland to die.
After that, he pinned every bit of luxury and waste on me—
while my little sister didn't even have the medicine she needed to stay alive.
That night, dragging my crippled body behind me, I reached into the substation.
Kane, do you remember what kind of genes were in those five hundred milliliters of bone marrow?

I thought fifteen years of marriage was unbreakable—until my husband, Daniel, and his first love, Chloe, joined hands and killed my only sister, Mia.
And Lucas—the son I'd raised for fifteen years—stood on their side and called me a "crazy woman."
At Mia's funeral, Chloe curled up in Daniel's arms and posted on Instagram: "Survived the storm—thank God I had you."
Lucas liked it and commented: "Aunt Chloe, get well soon! You're the one who deserves to stand besides Dad."
That was when I finally woke up.
I signed the divorce papers, walked away with nothing, and disappeared to Paris.
After I vanished for good, Daniel finally realized every "truth" was a lie. He went mad looking for me and chased me all the way to Paris.
And I gave him just one sentence:
"I don't hate you. I just don't love you anymore."

My boyfriend pulled off a drone-sky proposal that lit up the entire city.
Crowds cheered, “Congratulations to Mr. Gunson and Mrs. Gunson—at last, true lovers become family.”
But the woman curled in his arms was his secretary.
The “me” in their mouths had long since turned to white bones beneath a mound of earth.

Mike Costa was supposed to be the sole heir to the Mafia, but he was betrayed and “abandoned” by his own brother Lucas in a yacht explosion, and everyone believed he was dead.
Five years later, he returns—cold-blooded, powerful, and unshakable. The entire underground world of New York is reshaped beneath him.
Just as Mike is about to settle everything once and for all, Lucas forces him into a political marriage with Chicago’s top family, using the secret of his true identity as leverage.
And when Mike first meets the woman at the top of that power hierarchy, she completely changes the rules of this marriage contract—this time, hunter and prey are no longer clearly defined.

After the wedding, my husband moved his dead fiancée's mother into our guest room. The whole town called it the kindest thing they'd ever seen.
Every morning, Dione made me a green smoothie. Her grandmother's recipe, she said. Good for the nerves.
I never drank a single one. I poured them all into the chicken feed.
In my last life, I drank them. One a day, for thirty days.
Then I started losing time. I would blink at breakfast and come back at dinner. I found notes in my own handwriting that I never wrote.
I begged Julian to take me to a doctor. He held my shoulders and smiled. "You're just tired, baby. Drink your smoothie."
On the thirtieth night, I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own body.
I never woke up. Someone else did.
This time, every glass went to Nugget, the smallest of my backyard hens.
And one night, a hen crowed in my backyard.
Hens don't crow. And we don't have a rooster.

For three years, she was the invisible wife in a marriage of convenience, her quiet love met only with his cold indifference. Now, with her departure date set, the photos of him with his true love are the final proof she needs to walk away forever.

Her bags are packed, her future is hers alone. She plans to vanish without a trace, leaving behind only a signed divorce paper.

He never saw her—until he found her closet empty and his world unraveling. The man who took her for granted is now in a desperate race against time, tormented by a single question: Can he undo his greatest mistake, or has he already lost the one person who truly mattered?

Her father and stepmother died, leaving her in the brutal hands of her stepbrother. Her stepbrother is heartless.
He treats her as a maid, is it a torture?
She, however, discovers that she has been sold. Sold to a Ruthless Mafia, just to serve as a settlement for her stepbrother's debt. Now she fears her life. Would her life take a turn for the worse or for the best?

Chloe wasted ten years loving arrogant Zane. To win a Porsche bet, he publicly humiliated her, taking her devotion for granted. Finally awake, she cut him off and rebuilt herself as a brilliant top-university elite.
After losing her, Zane drowned in regret, begging desperately for her forgiveness. But it was too late. Chloe met the wealthy, gentle genius Liam, who healed all her wounds. Zane gambled with her heart—and lost her forever.

At the Eternal Night Realm admission ceremony, Carly suddenly grabs my hand.

My heart pounds. I think he is going to announce our relationship to the entire continent.

Instead, he says, "Eve, thanks for everything these past five years. But Lym didn't make the cut. She's hurting right now, and I need to go back and be there for her."

He crushes the realm token right in front of thousands of people.

For five years, I hid my pureblood lord identity. I drained my magic until I literally coughed up blood, quietly paving every step of his way.

I thought we loved each other. I thought after this ceremony we would rise to the top together.

But his casual thanks for everything crushes five years of my devotion into dust.

What is even more laughable is that the moment the online backlash hits Lym, he calls me on the comms.

"Eve! You need to put out a statement to clear this up right now! As my friend, you owe me this!"

Friend?

My hand holding the crystal shakes.

I tried twenty times to finalize my betrothal with Caius for our overseas fellowship, but accidents kept hurting me. I thought it was fate’s test—until I heard him admit he planned it all. He wanted another girl, using my pain to make me quit, all to keep his reputation clean. Now awake, I ended this lie for good.

At the Met Gala, I heard my husband tell his friends in French that I'm "boring." That his 22-year-old girlfriend is "so much more exciting in bed."

He laughed when they asked if I knew. "Elle ne comprend même pas 'bonjour'." (She doesn't even understand 'bonjour'.)

What Marcus doesn't know: I spent two years at the Sorbonne.

Je comprends tout, Marcus. I understand everything.

The diamond necklace he gave me after my miscarriage suddenly feels too tight. I smile at him across the champagne and candlelight.

He has no idea what's coming.

Two years ago, my intended mate walked out of our Moon Rite, the night he was supposed to mark me, with his adopted sister in his arms. He didn't look back once.

That same night, his uncle, the Alpha King, held out his hand and asked if I'd consider a different mate.

I said yes.

Now Marcus is back, sure I've spent two years waiting for him. He laughs at the bite on my neck and calls it a sticker. He blocks my way at my own gates and orders me to apologize to his sister.

He has no idea whose house he's standing outside.

And his fragile little sister has a silver blade tucked up her sleeve.

I didn’t come from money, so Julian’s friends decided I was a gold digger.

His best friend, Sloane, was the worst. She liked to say she used to be a gold digger herself, so she knew my type.

To prove her wrong, I spent three years with Julian without accepting a single expensive gift.

Sloane had an answer for that, too: “She says she doesn’t want anything, but she’s really waiting for him to offer something bigger. It’s called playing hard to get.”

For Julian’s birthday, I spent six months saving up to buy him a watch.

But as I reached the door of the private lounge, I heard Sloane laughing.

“I told you she’d buy something expensive. Textbook gold digger. Spend a little, get a lot.”

Julian sat right beside her. He didn’t defend me.

Then he looked up and asked, “Have you been acting this whole time? Were you just waiting to cash out?”

I stood in the doorway, and the watch suddenly weighed a ton.

I didn’t answer. I just turned around and walked away.

That was the last time he would doubt my feelings.

I was taking my heart back.

After my eighth trip to the psychiatric ward, I finally became the perfect, obedient wife my husband always wanted—even when I caught his childhood friend giving him a handjob in our living room.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Eric snapped, his eyes dark with irritation. "If those hands are useless, might as well chop them off." Without a word, I grabbed a kitchen knife and raised it toward my wrist. He kicked it away, screaming at me to stop being dramatic. So, I turned and charged headfirst toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

When I woke up, I heard him laughing with her. "She's fine. Just another attention stunt." He didn't know that the "treatment" he authorized had broken my mind into a million jagged pieces. He didn't know about the shock collars, the waterboarding, the dark cells. He thought I was finally "cured" of my jealousy.

It wasn't until a rafting trip, when his friend pushed me into the rapids and my prosthetic eye popped out and rolled across the deck, that his world shattered. As he stared at the empty black socket where my left eye used to be, he finally realized what those facilities had done to me. He dropped to his knees, screaming my name, but the woman who loved him was already dead.

Will his tears be enough to bring back the wife he destroyed, or is this just the beginning of his hell?

On our wedding day, my fiancé left me and an entire room of guests waiting for two full hours so he could go to the airport and pick up the woman he’d never gotten over.

When he finally showed up, he was standing protectively at her side. Then he told me to “be reasonable and stop making a scene.”

In that moment, the love I’d held on to for twelve years simply disappeared.

I threw down my bouquet and called off the wedding right then and there.

Furious, he demanded, “You’re doing this because I was late?”

“Yes. Because you were late.”

I found a black lace panty under my husband's car. Black lace. Definitely not mine.
Three months. That's how long he'd been telling everyone he was done with herm, telling his mom, telling our friends, telling me. I actually believed him. I thought we were finally okay.
Then I found the dash cam footage from the night before, and I heard him tell his buddy he'd never once felt anything real with me. Not in ten years. Not once.
So yeah. He came home. He just never really left her.
I didn't scream. I didn't confront him. Found her address off his phone.Brought a cake and a bottle of wine like I actually gave a damn.
Had my assistant livestream the whole thing.
The second that door opened, half a million people watched me hand him that cake.
"Surprise. Bet you weren't expecting this."

I'm dead.

Died that rainy night, desperate because I couldn't scrape together five thousand dollars to save my dog.

Liam laughed at me over the phone—my childhood friend told me to quit the sob story. His new girlfriend Sarah said I should get on my knees and beg if I wanted her to toss me some scraps. They had no idea every dollar I owed those loan sharks was to cover up Liam's hit-and-run.

My dog died. So I jumped into Black Lake.

It wasn't until they pulled my body from the water that Liam found the surveillance footage in that tin box and realized what a massive mistake he'd made. Then he snapped, dragging Sarah and everyone else who killed me down into the depths, one by one.

Too bad it was already too late.

Three months after my miscarriage, at the celebration dinner he hosts for my "recovery," he tells his partners in French, "She's just a trophy wife. Doesn't understand basic business."

"What about that new assistant? The twenty-two-year-old?"

"So much smarter," he laughs. "And in bed? Way more exciting."

They think I don't understand. To everyone here, I'm just the stay-at-home wife who gave up her VP position at an investment bank to play house.

They don't know I minored in French. I spent a full year studying abroad at the Sorbonne.

As I lay in the operating room, bleeding out from the miscarriage, he was already seeing her.

Je comprends tout. I understand everything.

Over the champagne and candlelight, I smile at him.

He has no idea this is the last time he'll ever see it.

On our wedding night, my husband wanted to play a game.
Trade secrets. The kind that could destroy you if they ever got out.
He went first.
"I hurt a girl once. At a ski lodge. She shouldn't have been in that room. But she was."
He said it like a parking ticket. Then he took a sip of whiskey and moved on.
My turn.
"I killed someone," I said. "Do you believe me?"
He laughed. He thought I was joking.
He really shouldn't have kissed me after that.

After a car accident robbed Galvin of his memory, lies twisted him into hating Ellie—the woman he once sacrificed everything to protect.
Tormented and humiliated by him daily, Ellie’s love for Galvin faded completely. He made her sleep like a dog, stripped her before men, and forced her to kneel for his stepsister who stole him from her.
Only when Ellie gave up on love and jumped into the sea did Galvin’s memory return. In the splendid capital, all witnessed a madman desperately searching for his lost wife…

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the duct tape binding my wrists, and the second was that I had been kidnapped by a billionaire mafia boss who grabbed the wrong girl.

I would like to say my first reaction was brave, but it was mostly just panic. I was shoved into a massive stone mansion—the kind with gold columns and chandeliers the size of cars. If I was going to be kidnapped, I honestly expected something a little less... expensive.

I was dragged into a room full of terrifying men in suits. That’s when he walked in. Adrian DeLuca. Tall, broad-shouldered, with intense green eyes and a calmly dangerous physique that made everyone else in the room freeze. He was the CEO of Kidnapping, and annoyingly attractive. He stared at me, his sharp jawline tight, and said calmly, "This isn’t the Viper’s daughter. Who is this?"

I exhaled. "Well, you kidnapped me by mistake. Can I go home now? I have tuition to pay."

But Adrian didn't laugh. He stepped closer, his presence suffocatingly powerful. He had run a background check. "Your mother's maiden name is Volkov," he whispered, his eyes dark with a lethal promise. "The woman we intended to kidnap is the Viper’s daughter... and so are you."

My brain stalled. My absentee father was a ruthless crime lord?

"You are useful to me now," Adrian commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You will remain in this house. You will go where I tell you, and you will do what I tell you."

I glared at him. "You don't own me!"

He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. "I do now."

I smile like someone on the edge of violence. "Oh, that's what you're worried about? Relax, I planned for this. I worked overtime for months. All three jobs approved my time off. My bills are paid. My cats are fed. My soul is moisturized. I'm free, Mike."
He shakes his head slowly. "Yeah… no. I can't take you with me."
"What did you just say?" I ask, suddenly forgetting how to breathe through my nose.
"You can't come," he repeats, avoiding my eyes.
I cross my arms. "You promised, Mike. Two years ago, you said you weren't qualified. Then you got promoted, but last year, you went alone. You said you'd take me this year. You promised."
"You need to understand me, dear. I already promised to take someone else. I can't break my word."
"Oh. But you can break your word to me?"
"You're my future wife," he says, tone so rational I want to scream. "We're getting married in six months. You should be understanding, Winter. Do you really want your husband to look bad in front of people?"
I stare at him like he's grown two extra heads. "Mike. Who are you taking?"
He doesn't flinch. "Your cousin, Olivia."


Winter thought the worst thing was being replaced with her cousin… until she crashed the company's luxury retreat, almost drowned, and woke up pretending to have amnesia—right in front of the man who humiliated her.
Now she's stuck playing fake fiancée and sharing a room with a sexy stranger who clearly hates her guts… but can't stop staring at her lips like he wants to ruin her.
With an ex who suddenly cares way too much, her dream career on the line, and revenge heating up faster than the resort's hot tubs, Winter is about to turn heartbreak into the most unforgettable comeback of the year.
But there's just one twist: her fake fiancé is actually the new billionaire chairman of the company… and he's falling for her, hard.

Felicia believed her marriage to Wilson was a perfect love story—until one day everything shattered when she discovered that her husband was having an affair with another woman. Her heart broke, and her pride was deeply wounded. In anger and desperation, Felicia made a decision she had never imagined before: to repay betrayal with betrayal.
On a night filled with overwhelming emotions and alcohol, Felicia accidentally bumped into a stranger. That unexpected encounter turned into a single night that would change her life forever.
A few weeks later, Felicia was shocked to discover that she was pregnant.
But the real shock came when she learned the man’s true identity—he was the husband of the woman who had been having an affair with Wilson, her own husband.

I’m married to a stranger… and I slept with the wrong billionaire.
My name is Elara Ashford.
I’m the adopted daughter the Ashfords sacrificed to save their precious biological child.
Four years ago, the family faced ruin, on the edge of bankruptcy.
A mysterious benefactor stepped in—saving them in exchange for a contract marriage with me.
Rumors said he was hideously ugly, reclusive, too ashamed to show his face.
For four years, he never asked to meet.
I grieved the baby I lost, painted in silence, and waited for our deal to end.
Now, the final year is here.
My unknown husband demands we meet face-to-face.
But things happened earlier than expected? I crash into him at the Serpentine Gallery, paint splattering his Tom Ford suit.
He flips open my sketchbook… and freezes.
That drawing? One I had made in grief for my son, who I had lost — and yet it was identical to his son, Cassian.
The man whose child I drew from grief.
And he is my mysterious contract husband.

I thought I was the happiest woman in the world... until I clicked on that video.

The moment the screen lit up, my entire world came crashing down.

The woman on the bed was Calista - that girl who grew up with us since we were kids. And that hand caressing her skin was wearing the wedding ring I had personally put on Matteo's finger.

"I've missed you so much..."
"You drive me crazy, baby..."

Those sweet words I knew so well completely destroyed me.

Everyone said we were the perfect couple, but who knew this marriage was built on nothing but lies?

Since he's so good at acting, I guess it's time I gave him a show of my own. I'm going to make sure everyone sees what this "perfect husband" really is...

In my previous life, on the night of our wedding anniversary, my husband Bryan brought his pregnant mistress, Victoria, into our home. Driven to the edge, I slashed my wrists to force him to kick her out.
No one could have predicted her blood sugar would suddenly crash in the freezing storm outside. She collapsed into a flooded ditch and froze to death before anyone found her.
Everyone ruled it a tragic accident, but Bryan decided her blood was on my hands.
Months later, when I went into labor, he abused his position as my doctor to deliberately delay my care. He left me to writhe through dozens of hours of agonizing contractions and severe hemorrhaging until I bled out.
When, with hands slick with my own blood, I begged him to save our baby, he calmly peeled off his soiled surgical gloves. The look in his eyes was merciless.
"Heartbroken?" he sneered. "Good. Take the brat down to hell with you to keep Victoria company."
An icy, suffocating darkness swallowed me whole.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact night of our anniversary—the very moment Bryan, bringing the freezing rain in with him, protectively guided Victoria through my front door.

My mom tricked me into a blind date on my thirtieth birthday.

I got stuck in traffic and showed up thirty minutes late, fully expecting a lecture about manners.

Instead, I heard a man's voice through the door.

"So she's thirty. And?"

"You say she's too picky. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"You don't like how much she works. Are you signing her paychecks?"

I pushed the door open.

He was in a black shirt, glass of water in hand, perfectly calm. My aunt's face had gone purple.

He saw me and stood up.

"Hi. I'm your blind date."

"I've already been through your relatives once."

"Anything you'd like to add?"

After the apocalypse began, my husband's female assistant stole my viral experiment data for the ninth time. I couldn't take it anymore and confronted her publicly.
My husband said I was just jealous of her, punished me by making me apologize to her in front of everyone, and demoted me.
Later, he sweet-talked me, promising compensation.
The next day, his true love showed up at the lab wearing his family heirloom necklace.
"François felt so bad about me being falsely accused yesterday that he gave me his family necklace."
"I heard this necklace is supposed to go to his wife. Oh, Andrea, you're not mad, are you?"
I just smiled. "Not mad at all. Trash belongs with trash—you two are perfect for each other."
François immediately snapped, "It's just a necklace. No need to be so nasty about it."
"Apologize to Caro right now, or I'll kick you out of the lab and divorce you!"
Watching François defend Caro, I didn't get angry at all.
Once I'm gone, his zombie virus research won't get anywhere.

I found out my entire relationship with the golden boy of hockey was just a sick, twisted bet with his ex-girlfriend.

I gave Felix Sawyer my firsts, my heart, and my absolute devotion, only to stand frozen in a parking lot listening to him and his friends laugh at my pathetic existence. "The whole thing with Bethel was just a bet," he had smiled, shattering my world.

Years later, I’m no longer that naive college nerd. I’m playing in the championship finals, and the only thing standing between me and the trophy is the demon who ruined my life.

"Let's make a bet," Felix whispered, cornering me in the locker room before the game, his smug face inches from mine. "If you win, I'll crawl in the snow. But if I win... you belong to me."

I accepted, fueled by pure, unadulterated hate. I was going to crush him on the ice. I was going to make him bleed tears.

But I didn't.

I watched in absolute horror as the final buzzer blew, and the scoreboard mocked my failure. Felix skated toward me, the crowd chanting his name, a dangerous, predatory smirk on his face.

"A bet is still a bet, darling," he mouthed. And tonight, he was coming to collect his prize.

Kayla Faye has spent years waiting for the right moment to tell her childhood best friend how she truly feels. She waited through tenth grade when he started avoiding her. She waited through eleventh grade when he left for college without saying goodbye. She even waited until the day before her graduation, convincing herself she was finally ready.

What she wasn't ready for was finding out Zayn Ponteris had been dead the entire time.

The grief shatters something inside her. And before anyone can stop it, Kayla does something no sorceress should be able to do—she travels back in time.

Suddenly she's fifteen again, standing at their end of year formal, with Zayn alive and right in front of her, completely unaware that in another timeline she watched his parents mourn him.

This time, Kayla is determined to save him. Except nothing goes according to plan.

Zayn has a girlfriend. And the closer Kayla gets to changing his fate, the more she realizes her powers are bigger and more dangerous than she ever imagined.

The supernatural world is closing in. The clock is running out. And the one person standing between Kayla and everything hunting her is the same boy she keeps bending time to protect.

Kayla has no idea what's in store for her.

Because when you bend time, fate bends back.

Before my flight to Chicago took off, I saved an old man from nearly passing out from the heat outside Miami Airport.
The moment he swallowed the water I handed him, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and clung to it with surprising strength.
"Listen to me. Whatever you do, do not get on that plane! There's going to be a Category 5 hurricane today!"
I froze for a second and looked up at the cloudless blue sky over Miami.
Assuming his Alzheimer's had flared up, I smiled and told him I'd already called an ambulance for him.
But his eyes suddenly widened, and all the color drained from his face.
"The storm is coming. Hundreds of planes will be ripped apart in seconds, torn into scraps of metal... Everyone will die..."
I thought he was raving and turned away, dragging my suitcase into the terminal.
Then, just before boarding, I went to the restroom with my suitcase.
When I came out, someone had tightly wrapped a discarded boarding pass around the handle of my silver carry-on.
On the back, in thick red marker, were the words:
[HURRICANE LANDFALL IN 30 MINUTES! DO NOT BOARD!]
A chill ran through me.
Boarding was about to close. If I missed this multimillion-dollar deal, I'd be out of a job tomorrow.
And at home, my four-year-old daughter was waiting for me to pay her expensive daycare bill.
Should I step onto that jet bridge or not?