1855 Book(s) Related to i didn t know i was pregnant stories

I've been secretly married to him for five years, but he's never treated me as his wife. Our six-year-old daughter has never called him Dad in public.

One drunken night, I got pregnant. He gave me a marriage contract that came with one condition: secrecy.

I thought time would change everything. I stood by him through the company's darkest days. When I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer, he didn't come. When our daughter was born, he was in a meeting. Every moment that mattered, he wasn't there.

Then that clumsy intern showed up.

From that point on, he gave her all his attention and patience. He broke his own rules for her again and again. That's when I finally understood: when someone doesn't love you, they just don't.

So I took my daughter and disappeared from his world completely.

But why did that calm, controlled man lose his mind?

I was married to Vera for three years.

In those three years, every time we fought, I was the one who backed down first. She got used to being indulged, and she got used to using the silent treatment to make me fold.

Then a blizzard grounded my flight. I didn’t make it back for her birthday. She filed for divorce out of spite and left the country.

Three years ended without dignity.

A year after the divorce, Vera returned with a new jewelry brand and a high-profile comeback. Everyone assumed I was still waiting for her—she assumed it too.

At dinners, she hinted at reconciliation, using our old story to build hype for her brand. The circle started whispering that I’d end up back by her side.

I corrected it, again and again. She ignored every word.

What she didn’t know was that I already had someone new—and we were preparing to get engaged.

When she saw the engagement planning booklet, she convinced herself it was my signal to take her back.

I explained. She insisted.

Until the day of the engagement, when she stormed into the venue…

Three years ago, Detective Blaire Hayes survived a kidnapping that should have killed her.

She escaped with scars no one could see, a partner she couldn't save, and memories so shattered that entire pieces of that night have vanished from her mind. Every nightmare drags her back into the darkness she has spent years trying to outrun, but as a detective, she's learned to bury her pain behind a fearless reputation.

When a childhood friend's wedding draws her back to the small town she once called home, Blaire crosses paths with Cole Hastings, a decorated military veteran turned nightclub owner whose easy smile hides a past filled with guilt of his own.

Forced to work together, they begin chasing the same dangerous truth. Every lead uncovers another secret, every late-night stakeout chips away at the walls between them, and every stolen moment makes it harder to deny the powerful connection growing between them.

Just when Blaire starts believing she can finally leave her past behind, anonymous messages begin arriving on her phone.
Each one contains disturbing footage from the night she was kidnapped.

Each video reveals another piece of a memory she doesn't remember losing.

As the investigation pulls Blaire and Cole deeper into a web of lies, she leans on the one person she believes she can trust completely—her psychologist and childhood friend, Gavin Brooks, the boy who has been with her through it all.

But someone has been watching Blaire for years.

Someone has been patiently waiting for her to remember.

And as the truth finally comes to light, Blaire will discover that the man she's trusted with her deepest fears was the devil she has been searching for, and he has been right there all along.

They gave me to a Mafia family because their real daughter was too precious to sacrifice.

My husband was supposed to be a crippled, impotent psychopath nobody wanted.

But on my wedding night, I found out that the man in the wheelchair could walk. And he wasn't crazy.

He was dangerous.

And worse, he already knew me.

Years ago, I saved the life of a wounded stranger and never saw him again.

I never imagined that the stranger would become my husband, or that the most feared Mafia heir in New York would make me the one thing his enemies could use against him.

My family thought they had sent me to my death.

They didn't realize they had handed me to the Mafia King.

My mate, Alpha Grant, ran a pack in western Washington. A witch had cursed his wolf the day he was born, and he could never pick out a she-wolf's scent well enough to know his true mate.
He spent five years hunting for her. Every dead end wore him down a little more, until he finally quit.
That was the moment he chose me.
On our bonding night, he told me the real reason.
"Mara," he said quietly, "I didn't have a choice. If the pack found out their Alpha couldn't even find his true mate, they'd see me as a joke. So I picked you. You're my chosen mate, but I swear no one will ever take your title. You're my Luna. Even if I find my true mate someday... nothing will change that."
Then he looked away and added, "I'm cursed, but I still have to look for her. I have to search every corner of the pack."

I had one plan for the summer after my college classes ended. I needed a job since I recently lost mine and my apartment. I can’t stay with my brother forever. I need my space back, and I am sure he needs his, too.

But all that is about to change when my brother’s best friend Paxton comes to stay for the summer, and my plans go out of the window.

To the rest of the world, Paxton is a millionaire rockstar who is a bad boy who screws around and is always getting himself into trouble he shouldn’t be. To me, he is the guy who was always around until he left and forgot about me. My first crush. My first love when I was a teenager, even though I knew he would never be mine. Back then, he was a good guy with a huge heart and someone who would do anything for anyone. He had become a shadow of himself.

What I didn’t expect was that one summer would change everything. I didn’t expect Paxton to see me in a different light. I tell myself I am over him and have been for a long time, but things change when we begin to spend more time together. I see the old him coming through, the real him, the one I fell in love with all those years, but none of it matters because nothing can ever happen, no matter how close we become. My brother would kill him. We would never work. I am just an ordinary nerdy girl who loves to lose herself in the world of fiction. And someone like me should never be with someone like Paxton. I would never fit into his new world. He would never be around in mine.

When I took my late brother's four kids to dinner at the restaurant my grandmother left me, and seven-year-old Leo asked for a refill of the bottomless garlic knots, I didn't expect the new manager to tell him to go eat out of a dumpster.
"I'm the owner's wife," she sneered, and called her husband to come deal with us.
The contact photo on her screen was Adrian. I knew, because I took it on our honeymoon.
Around her neck hung my mother's wedding ring—the one Mom took off after thirty-five years and fastened around my husband's neck the night the doctors said he'd never wake up.
One call to my father would have ended it. I didn't make it. I pulled the kids close and waited for my husband to walk through that door.
She thought he was coming to save her.
She had no idea who was coming after him.

Palesa Mokhosi, 24, is a broke architecture graduate in Maseru. Her mother needs emergency surgery: R350,000 in 7 days.

Michael Thorne, 32, is the ruthless CEO of Thorne Holdings. His board wants him out. His grandfather's will is clear: marry and stay married for one year, or lose his billion-rand empire.

A failed job interview becomes a proposal: "Marry me for one year. R5 million upfront. No love. No sex. No questions."

She says yes.

The contract is simple, until it isn't. Late-night whiskey, 2am meals from a man who claims he doesn't care, and the way he looks at her like she's the only real thing in his world.

Michael does control, not love — until his fake wife starts breaking every wall he built.

When her ex returns, his ex-fiancée reappears, and the board learns their fake marriage is turning real, everything unravels.

She was his fake wife. He was her paycheck. Now they're risking it all for each other.

Three days after I lost our baby, my husband finally remembered to call.

I was packing when Adrian Whitmore's name appeared on my screen.

"Vanessa told me you caused another scene over the medical bills," he said, sounding irritated. "I've authorized the payment. Can we please move on?"

I stared at the tiny knitted sweater lying in my suitcase.

I'd bought it the day I learned I was pregnant.

He didn't know I'd already prepared our divorce papers.

For three years, I'd been Mrs. Whitmore, the wife of one of New York's wealthiest men. No one would believe that after three years as Mrs. Whitmore, I couldn't find four decent outfits in my own closet.

Every dollar I spent required approval, and even my clothes and jewelry were locked away. To access anything, I had to ask his assistant, Vanessa Reed.

Adrian believed my modest upbringing made me incapable of handling money responsibly.

Three days ago, seventeen weeks pregnant, I needed money for an emergency medical transfer.

Vanessa deliberately delayed the approval until it was too late.

I lost our baby.

Adrian never cared enough to notice what I'd been through. I had endured years of humiliation just because I loved him, still holding out hope for the happy marriage he'd once promised.

But now our baby was gone.

And I had no reason left to stay.

When Amelia Pierce finally admits her marriage is a gilded cage, one shattered glass and a chilling vow—I’ll never divorce you—send her straight into the orbit of Bryson Hearst: her new boss, her oldest secret, and the man who quietly bought a ring for her six years ago and locked it in his safe.

In a world of penthouse boardrooms and whispered scandal, Bryson is the kind of dangerous that feels like safety. He moves her into protection, runs her a jasmine-scented bath instead of crossing a line, and promises to destroy her husband in the daylight and worship her in the dark. But Amelia’s freedom has a price: West Coast deals that turn volatile, an ex-assistant with receipts and a grudge, and a powerful family that believes Pierce women never leave.

As a covert investigation exposes more than a cover-up, and a storage unit full of sins, Amelia signs away every claim to her husband’s fortune—she doesn’t want his money, only her life back. The clock is ticking: four weeks to a court date, four weeks of stolen mornings and velvet-box confessions, four weeks for a man who has loved her from afar to prove he can love her up close without touching her until she’s free.

Lush, addictive, and breathless with restraint, More Than I Knew is a high-heat, high-stakes contemporary romance where consent is the sexiest power move, protection reads like possession, and a woman chooses herself—then the man who’s been choosing her all along.

I thought the scariest thing in school was the jock who harassed me. But then he vanished without a trace, and everyone blamed me.

There is no strong evidence to lock me away, so I walk the school hallways trapped in a living hell. The police watch my every move, the town hates me, and my adoptive parents treat me like an unwanted curse in their home.

Desperate to clear my name, I didn't realize the real danger was living right next door.

Xavi Moreau is the quiet, haunting boy who looks right through me. He doesn't live with his family; he lives alone in his own place. To the world, he is a handsome party guy who drinks, smiles, and blends into the crowd.

But I noticed the truth. His smiles are fake. His laughter never reaches his cold eyes. He is just copying the emotions of others to hide a dark, hollow soul.

When he notices my stares, his obsession shifts entirely to me.

Every single time he approaches me, I push him away. I deny him. I fight his terrifying presence with every ounce of strength I have left. But Xavi doesn't back down. He offers me the one thing I desperately need: a promise to find the truth and clear my name.

I wanted to find a killer to save myself, but the killer has already found me, and he has no intention of letting me go.

I’m the only person on Earth with a clinically proven antibody capable of neutralizing this rare deadly virus.
I caught the virus when I was six. Its mortality rate was staggeringly high, and everyone thought I’d never pull through. Against all odds, I recovered entirely on my own. By some strange twist of biology, my body made the world’s sole antibody that could fight this virus off.
Once I turned eighteen, I signed up to donate my serum as a volunteer.
For twenty years straight, rain or shine, I showed up to donate free of charge—107 separate donations in total. Each time, I pulled a gravely ill patient back from death’s brink.
I’m no saint living to save the whole world. Every last donation was done for my mother.
Back when I was six, my father’s infidelity drove my mother to take her own life. What happened was cruel beyond measure, completely unforgivable.
A fortune-teller once told me my mom’s lingering resentment ran far too deep. To free her trapped, wandering soul for good, a blood relative of hers had to finish exactly 108 acts of good deeds.
Twenty years in, only one deed remained. Just one more, and my mother’s spirit could finally rest in peace.
But when the hospital sent out an urgent emergency SOS this time around, I did something I’d never done in two decades.
I turned their request down flat.

My name is Leila Valente.
When I was 10, my mother died, and the comfort of life was gone forever. So now I can only go to St. Jude University on a scholarship.
The only thing I hate the most in my life is poverty.
I love rich men the most, because they can make me live a rich life quickly, but not all men are fools and willingly offer what they have with both hands.

Until one day, in a street accident, I acquired a superpower: as long as I actively touch someone's skin, images related to that person will appear in my mind, and later it will be revealed that it is the desire and trauma of that person at this stage.
A lot of people complimented me on my looks, and a lot of people were obsessed with my personality. Now I have this ability again.
I know exactly what I want, and I plan to use this ability to make these people fall in love with me, marry into that world, live a good life, know the truth about my mother's death, and take back everything that belongs to me. So far, no matter what I see with my ability, it hasn't caused me trouble. So why not use your superpowers well?
Can Lyra really get everything she wants with her superpowers? Is she ready to learn the truth about her mother's death?

I mined in a medieval pit, lived on moldy black bread, with whip scars across my back and iron chains around my ankles. The lord treated us like livestock.

I thought that was simply how the world worked—until I forced open a hidden passage and crawled into a white corridor that should not have existed: cold fluorescent lights, metal doors, surveillance cameras, as if the skin of the age had been ripped away in an instant.

That was when I understood: the Middle Ages were only a set, everyone around me was acting, and I was nothing more than a toy for the amusement of the rich.

They cloned the real-life rivals they could never defeat, threw them into different “scenarios,” and tortured them for pleasure.

They thought they could keep me in the dark forever.

What they don’t know is that I’m ready to get out—and tear this entire human-toy industry out by the roots.

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.

Marin "Mars" Kessler scored the goal every athlete dreams about. Four seconds left in sudden death overtime, eighteen thousand people on their feet, a championship in her hands. Eleven minutes later, her best friend was dead.

The school calls it a heart condition. Mars knows better. She saw the rival goalie's glove drop half an inch too early. She saw Tess tap the crossbar twice, their secret signal for danger, at a stranger in a gray coat. And she saw numbers taped across Tess's mask, written by someone running out of time.

Then Tess's secret cracks open. Her name wasn't Wynn. She was a Halloran, heir to a billionaire empire, and her older brother Rhett, the ice cold captain they call The Professor, blames Mars for her death. Tess's last message to him: Ask Mars about the goal.

Forced into a dangerous alliance, two enemies follow a ledger into the dark world of a betting syndicate that fixes championships. But the ledger lists Mars's winning goal two weeks before she scored it.

Her glory was bought. Her best friend paid for it.

Now Mars must decide what a trophy is worth, and whether the truth is worth everything she has left.

I was forced by my father to fulfill an arranged engagement with an Alpha I'd never met face-to-face. Pushing open the jewelry store door, I found my fiancé Kane spoiling his childhood sweetheart Briar, who was trying to snatch my mother’s ring. "Security! Get this stray out of here!" Briar screamed, pointing at me. When I revealed my identity, Kane sneered coldly: "What bullshit pact? I would never marry a woman like you." Briar snatched the ring and threw water at my face: "Kneel down and beg me to give it back!" When I fought back, Kane exploded in rage: "How dare you touch my woman? Hold her down!" Four warriors pinned me down as Briar laughed cruelly: "Let everyone see this delusional bitch who doesn't know her place!" They stepped on my hand while Kane watched coldly, even urging her on: "Hurry up, let her learn her lesson." Just as she was about to chop off my finger with a knife, the door suddenly burst open—"Do you have any idea whose daughter you're humiliating?"

My husband used my cottage to cheat on me. Fine. I found out, I drove three hours, and I walked into my own house to find his mistress wearing my dead grandmother's sweater.
She told me to leave.
He showed up, kissed her in front of me, then grabbed my arm and shoved me into the door frame.
That's when I had the asthma attack. He's known about my asthma for five years.
My inhaler rolled across the porch floor. His mistress picked it up, held it out, and told me to sign a statement saying I'd caused all of this. Then she'd give it back.
He looked at me on the ground and said: She's performing.
I'm sitting on the floor of my own grandmother's house, gasping, and my husband is telling the neighbors I'm acting.
Nobody thought to ask whose family manages every property on this coastline.

Eight years ago I shoved Chase Whitaker away from a firework he lit on the beach, and it took my eyes.
Everybody in Harbor Point calls him a saint for staying with me. Our families put a ring on my finger when I was seventeen. He's been my eyes since we were ten. He tells me who just walked in and what's in every photo. He promised me in a hospital room that he would never lie to me.
Three weeks ago a surgeon in Boston gave my sight back. Nobody knows except my parents. I was saving it for my eighteenth birthday. Take the dark glasses off, look right at him.
I didn't get that far. At the table I read the message on his phone.
Honestly? Sometimes I wish that firework had just finished the job.
Then my friend since sixth grade leaned over to tell me he'd been staring at me all night, and he kissed another girl over my shoulder while he held my hand.
They think I still can't see. I'm going to let them.

That admissions season, Lily — a poor student who couldn't even clear the state university cutoff — insisted on dragging my two childhood friends off to the worst community college in the state, just so she wouldn't have to go alone.

Ethan held an offer from Yale. Ryan had been accepted to Stanford. Yet the two of them, as if under a spell, were ready to throw away those schools just to follow her.

I wore myself out trying to talk them down. All I got back was: You look down on Lily. You're just jealous.

Behind their backs, I contacted counselors, admissions offices, and their parents, and clawed their spots back one by one just before the deadline.

Lily went to that community college alone. Six months later, she jumped from the roof of her dorm.

Ethan and Ryan handled her funeral, then came back and tied me to the roof of a thirty-six-story building.

"If you hadn't stopped us from going with Lily, she never would have been bullied there."

"You're so capable, aren't you? Then go down and keep her company."

They pushed me over the edge without a flicker of hesitation.

When I opened my eyes, I was back at the start of college application season.

This time, I won't save them.

Presley Duval had a nickname for me all through high school. Two-Twenty.
Because at sixteen I weighed 220 pounds.
Thirteen years later she rented out a private beach in Cabo for our class reunion. One rule. Every woman had to show up in a bikini.
She made a point of sending me one.
By the time I got there her phone was already up on a tripod, live. 370,000 people watching.
"She's actually gonna show?" someone asked.
"Why wouldn't she?" Presley smiled into the camera. "I had the hotel set aside an extra-large changing tent just for her. Wouldn't want her scaring the other guests when she takes her clothes off."
Everyone around her cracked up.
"I got her a gift, too."
She lifted a pink bag off her chair and pulled out a neon pink bikini. It took two people, one on each end, just to hold it stretched out.
"3XL. I called the company. That's the biggest they make. If it still snaps, that's not on me."
A row of phones went up.
"Don't laugh." She hung the bikini over the back of the chair. "Two-Twenty's had it rough. If I hadn't stayed on her about her weight back then, who knows if she'd even be able to walk through that door today."
"Oh, and I invited someone from Meridian." She lifted her chin. "So certain people can see what a real body looks like. Instead of copying models online and embarrassing themselves."
What she didn't know was that the big shot she kept name-dropping worked for me.
I walked down the boardwalk and stopped right in front of her.
"Where's the tent?"

They said I killed them all.

My father. My daughter. My brother's legs. One explosion, one moment of selfishness, and I became the family murderer.

My husband Dominic—the most feared mafia boss in the city—drowned himself in whiskey. I drowned myself in something worse.

Three years on the pole. Three years with strangers' cash stuffed in my bra, their cocks shoved down my throat, their fists in back alleys, their cameras catching every degradation. Three years swallowing cum and shame to scrape together half a million for my brother's surgery.

Then the doctors found the tumor. Three months left.

One last show, I told myself. A blindfolded performance. Enough to pay off Ethan's debt before I died.

That's when someone ripped off my blindfold.

Dominic.

Behind him stood my very-alive father. And Ethan—on two perfect legs, kicking aside an empty wheelchair. And my adopted sister Vanessa, draped over my husband, flashing a diamond ring.

This whole performance? Her birthday present.

"Surprise, sweetheart." Dominic smiled. "The explosion was fake. We just needed to put you in your place."

Ethan laughed. "Three years of stripper money made one hell of a party, sis."

My father still wouldn't look at me. "Learn to treat Vanessa right, or you're no daughter of mine."

The room exploded in laughter.

I stood there, diagnosis crumpled in my fist.

The explosion was fake. The crippled legs were fake. Everything was fake.

But the cancer eating my brain?

That was real.

Three months ago, I broke up with Julian, my boyfriend of eight years.

But Julian refused to accept it. He thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

For three months, he carried on with the new intern at his office while he waited for me to come back and apologize.

Meanwhile, I'd already accepted someone else's proposal. I'd even booked the wedding venue.

When we ran into each other at a college reunion and everyone asked when the wedding was, he gave his usual excuse: "We haven't decided yet."

At almost the exact same moment, I said, "The last Saturday in September."

Furious, he dragged me into a corner. "Are you trying to force me to propose? I told you to wait!"

I pulled my hand free. "You wait all you want. I'm getting married."

He thought I was bluffing to back him into a corner.

He didn't realize the breakup was real.

He didn't know I'd found out about the young intern he'd been hiding long ago.

And he had no idea that the man I was marrying wasn't him.

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.

Love wasn't free in our family. It was literal currency.
My sister, Stella Belle, and I both had a Kinship Savings Jar. 
It held the love and care we received from our families, which could be traded for anything in the Life Exchange Shop.

When I was six, I bought my mom’s life back from cancer by selling away the pain of her carrying me for nine months.
When I was thirteen, I bought my brother a brand-new leg by trading away every memory of dad’s care and upbringing.
Now, at nineteen, my dad was in a terrible car crash. His body was shattered.
Our family came to the Life Exchange Shop once again. 
 
I nudged my younger sister, Stella, forward.
But mom grabbed her and yanked me to the front instead.
"You've never done anything for this family, yet we gave you so much love and care!"
"Now it's your turn to pay back what we gave you, and you're refusing?" She snapped. 
"Besides, everything in that jar came from us anyway. You're grown now. It's only right that you empty it to repay your parents!"
 
I was shoved against the counter.
Beside me, a girl who couldn't pull anything from her jar suddenly explodes like a firework. 
But Mom, I thought in terror, my jar is empty too......

I’m a billionaire heir, and I used to say yes to my girlfriend no matter what.

She swiped my card like it was hers, partied until sunrise, and while I lay in a hospital bed, I was still cleaning up her messes.

She never visited me once—yet I couldn’t let her go. I would have given her everything.

Until an accident made me realize the truth: my love wasn’t real. It was hypnosis.

Her father wanted control. He bribed my psychiatrist and rigged my treatment—so the moment I saw her face, I’d lose control, give in, and hand over whatever they wanted.

All that devotion was manufactured.

Now the hypnosis is gone. She thinks I’ll keep being her ATM.

She has no idea that the first thing I did after waking up was make her—and her father—pay.

Turns out, for five years, all Callum ever saw when he looked at me — the wolfless one — was a stain on his Alpha reputation.
Everyone knew he was about to marry Elvira, the pureblooded heiress of the Silverfang pack. The entire Blood Moon pack was already gearing up for their bonding ceremony.
My best friend Tessa, a Beta, fed them updates on my every move in their group chat, laughing along as I made healing broths for Callum like I was a joke to them.
They figured as long as they dangled my brother's medical care over my head, I'd swallow my pride and stay their dirty little secret forever.
Until the day Elvira decided to prove who was in charge, and threw my brother into a pit lined with silver spikes.
Watching Callum shield blood-soaked Elvira behind him, I didn't cry. I didn't scream.
I just pulled a knife and drove it into the bond mark on my neck.

I married Quentin Hale for strategic reasons. I chose him because he understood boundaries.
For three years, I never regretted that decision.
Then his new assistant started feeding him from her own spoon, taking my seat in his car, and appearing as his date at a charity auction.
The society reporters even began calling them a perfect match.
I gave my husband three chances to remember that I was his equal.
He wasted every one of them. Then he finally admitted that all he wanted was to teach me how a proper wife should behave.
Quentin thought the business alliance between our families would keep me by his side.
He forgot that I had been running Voss Group long before I became Mrs. Hale.
I had never needed a husband badly enough to let one teach me how to live.

The day the IVF succeeded was when I realized Michael had deceived me all along.
He had only used me as a surrogate for my sister.
When I confronted him, he tested me, forcing me to kill someone. "Afraid to pull the trigger? Doesn't seem like my kind of woman," he sneered.
I tried to run, but he caught me.
He kept me locked away, forced me to eat foods I was allergic to until I needed my stomach pumped, and chained me to the bed while he went off with her.
I cried until I had no tears left—and finally learned how to hold a gun.

She baked his pack to perfection for five years, only to overhear she was just the “cheaper version” of his fated mate.

When Alpha Brian slaps her, abandons her in flames, and chooses the villainess who faked everything… Angela walks away, rejects him forever, returns home as the hidden heiress of a powerhouse pack, marries the Lycan King who worships her and watches her ex spiral into madness.

The night before the SAT, I brought homemade pastries from our bakery to share with the whole class.

The next day, over thirty students collapsed at the testing center. The exam was voided.

I became the target of everyone's rage. My family fell apart. I ended up in a detention cell.

The internet tore me apart. My classmate Lainey Prescott went on camera sobbing, saying all she wanted was for me to own up to what I did.

While I was in detention, I found out my mom had a mental breakdown and jumped off the overpass outside of town.

That same night, I went into the river too. The water was freezing.

When I open my eyes, Lainey is right there. She's holding that same sheet of paper with everyone's signatures, smiling like nothing's wrong, eyes just as calculating as I remember.

I'm back.

And this time, I'm not making anything for anyone.

let a stranger destroy me in a hotel room.

Two days later, I walked into my internship and found him sitting behind the CEO's desk.

Now I fetch coffee for the man who made me moan, and he acts like I’m the one who crossed a line.


It started with a dare. It ended with the one man she should never want.

June Alexander didn’t plan to sleep with a stranger. But on the night she celebrates landing her dream internship, a wild dare leads her into the arms of a mysterious man. He’s intense, quiet, and unforgettable.

She thought she’d never see him again.
Until she walks into her first day at work—
And finds out he’s her new boss.
The CEO.

Now June has to work under the man she shared one reckless night with. Hermes Grande is powerful, cold, and completely off-limits. But the tension between them won’t go away.

The closer they get, the harder it becomes to keep her heart and their secrets safe.

I met my future husband from thirty years later in a late-night diner. He knows every hidden habit and secret of mine. Mistaking the star quarterback for my destined love, I endured endless ambiguity and humiliation from him and his stepsister. But when he abandoned me in front of the whole school, I finally learned the truth — the man meant to love me for a lifetime was never him.

My birthday was never truly mine.

Everyone was busy making sure she was comfortable, happy, and protected.
When she deliberately handed me chamomile tea—knowing I was allergic—they told me not to hurt my sister’s good intentions and forced me to drink it.

My brother accused me of being jealous and locked me in the basement.

They all forgot about me to celebrate her birthday, even my fiancé.

Lying there, I realized something worse than pain—I was replaceable.

That was the day I understood the truth about my family.
I was dying on “my” birthday, and no one chose me.

At Blackridge University, everyone knew the golden couple.

Taylor Hastings—the fierce, scholarship student who clawed her way to becoming head cheerleader—and Rowan Hayes, the hockey captain who treated her like the center of his universe.

They were campus royalty.

Until the video leaked.

One private night.
One humiliating betrayal.
And suddenly Taylor goes from adored to destroyed overnight.

Rowan swears it was an accident.

But Taylor knows the truth after hearing the whispers from his teammates… the jokes about the bet… the countdown they made over how long it would take him to get her into bed.

Their relationship was never love.

It was a game he won.

So Taylor decides to play one of her own.

Her target?
Hunter D’laurentis—the ruthless bad boy captain of Frostwood hockey and Rowan’s biggest rival.

Hunter wants one thing: the championship that could finally free him from his father’s suffocating control.

Taylor wants revenge brutal enough to make Rowan unravel before the biggest season of his life.

Fake dating should’ve been simple.

A few staged kisses.
A few jealous headlines.
A few public appearances designed to destroy a rival captain’s focus before the championship game.

But Hunter D’laurentis touches her like she’s something worth protecting instead of ruining.

And when the line between fake and real disappears beneath flashing cameras, screaming crowds, and bruised hearts, Taylor realizes revenge was never the dangerous part.

Falling for her rival was.

My husband is sleeping with my own sister. Cliché, right? I drove to Black Pine Lake to catch them, but stumbled into a brilliantly twisted murder trap instead. Now, the cops think I am a jealous, psychotic killer. Declan believes he dug the perfect grave for me. But did he?

Kate Brady doesn’t exist. She’s a name on a passport, a voice Jackson Ruspoli has started to trust, a lie built carefully enough to survive inside the walls of Ruspoli Industries. Underneath her is Natalie Cromwell, a woman who died the same year her father did, when his ruined name became the only inheritance she had left.

Getting close to Jackson was supposed to be simple: find the buried proof that clears her father, and disappear before anyone learns her real name. But Jackson isn’t the careless mark she expected.
He’s sharp enough to know something about her doesn’t add up, and dangerous enough that being caught could cost her more than the job.

Then someone else starts using her real name.
Someone who remembers exactly what happened ten years ago, and wants the kind of ending that doesn’t leave room for the truth to matter, only for everything to burn. Now Natalie isn’t just racing to expose what Jackson’s family did. She’s racing to stop a stranger from destroying her only chance to do it right, before she becomes the one person left to blame.

The closer she gets to the truth, the closer she gets to Jackson. And the more she has to lose the moment he finds out who she really is.

She came here to be the hunter. She’s starting to realize she might already be the prey.

I got pregnant the year we could barely afford to eat.

My boyfriend, Mason Caldwell, took out an online loan to pay for the abortion. At least, that was what he told me.

While I was recovering, the best thing I ate was a $2 chicken leg from the discount grocery store.

It broke my heart to watch him work construction all day and deliver food all night. So after three days in bed, I took a serving shift at the private club where my friend worked.

“People fight over these shifts,” she told me. “Good money, big tips. I only squeezed you in because I know things are rough.”

Then she added, “You just serve drinks. Nobody gets to ask you for anything else.”

That night, I found Mason in a VIP room, seated in the middle of a crowd that hung on his every word.

He ordered seven or eight bottles of red wine at $25,000 apiece. Someone said the watch he gave a bottle-service waitress was worth $220,000.

After midnight, he wiped the lipstick off his cheek and reached for the bike helmet beside him.

“Mason, you're still playing house with that woman? Still playing the delivery guy and the factory worker?”

“Your dad's on your ass about getting married. End it already. If she finds out who you are, you'll never get rid of her.”

Mason laughed. “She's not smart enough to figure it out.”

I stood in the dark beside the door, holding my empty tray, my head down.

The clinic had charged $600. The food he'd bought me over those three days came to $30.

$630.

Exactly the price of the fruit platter on their table.

That was all I had cost him.

or fifteen years, I loved Nolan Mercer from a distance. He was golden, decent, and way out of my league. I was the tycoon’s unwanted fifth kid who learned early to take what she wanted.

Then a glowing romance system popped up and told me I was his destined love interest. So I stopped being nice.

I trapped him into marriage. I dragged him into bed every chance I got. He told me he hated me every day, and I didn’t care. Fate said he was mine.

Six shameless months later, the system came back screaming: [ERROR! You’re not the heroine. You’re a side character. Leave the male lead immediately.]

Fine. I handed my cold, miserable husband the divorce papers and wished him luck with his real love.

There was just one problem.

The man who swore he’d do anything to get rid of me suddenly won’t sign. He’s “forgetting” cuff links under my pillow, drinking himself stupid at galas, and cornering me in stairwells to beg me not to leave.

Turns out the system got a lot more wrong than just me.

He doesn’t know I watched him for years.
Not from afar. Not casually.
Obsession isn’t casual.

I was fourteen the first time I saw him.
He was eighteen, beautiful, untouchable, everything I decided I needed.

So I made a plan.

I befriended his brother.
I won his mother’s trust.
I moved into his orbit so seamlessly, he never questioned it.

Now, I’m his wife.
He calls it fate.
He tells people we were meant to be.
But he doesn’t know the truth was designed.

He doesn’t know about the notes.
The maps.
The screenshots.
The years of silence, waiting, stalking, perfecting the version of me he would fall in love with.

But secrets don’t stay buried forever.
And the deeper you bury a lie, the louder it screams when it surfaces.

Because he just found my old phone.

And the man I stalked for a decade…
Is now stalking me.

Was it ever love, or just revenge in disguise?

Affected by her broken family, Amy Hood found it hard to hold faith in a relationship. However, the desire to be a mother drove her to make a crazy decision.
She decided to get a cute baby from some stranger.
She picked an outstanding one and spent an unforgettable night with him.
This was supposed to be a one-night stand for both of them.
But never in her wildest dream, Amy had expected life would bring her back to him,
Derek Shepherd, Her New Boss.
If things could get any worse, it's when he started to force her to step into this dangerous relationship.

Zane was born different, he could get pregnant.

But instead of protecting him, his family treated him like dirt. They adored his adopted brother, Arin, and even his fiancé betrayed him by choosing Arin over him.

What they never knew was that Zane was not weak.

Before sixteen, he was raised by his loving grandparents. They sent him to the prestigious Elava School, where he mastered hacking, design, acting, business, medicine, martial arts, music, and countless other skills.

He graduated earlier than anyone else. Soon after, his grandparents passed away, and he was forced to return to the cold family that never wanted him.

At twenty-five, Zane finally has enough. With his twin sons by his side, he leaves behind the people who abandoned him. His goal is to reclaim everything that was stolen and prove to the world who he really is.

But fate will not let him go so easily.

The man who fathered his children is Viktor, the ruthless mafia lord feared by all, a man with a gift no one can escape. Both of Zane’s sons have inherited that same power. The truth cannot remain buried forever.

When betrayal, power, and love collide, will Zane rise above everyone who looked down on him, or will the secrets of that night tear his future apart?

I was Ethan Blake's perfect mistress for five years, adhering faithfully to his rules of secrecy and obedience.

I knew his coffee preferences, his pre-meeting anxieties, yet it wasn't until his arranged-marriage partner returned that I understood I was merely a replaceable 'item' in his life plan.

When my mother passed and the pressure of medical bills vanished, I realized for the first time — that contract with its monthly transfers had bought not just my time, but my very right to say 'no' to him.

And now, when I no longer need his money...

This transaction, forged in the name of bondage, will be terminated by me.

Salem pairs with Malik Roane, her partner, to chase leads quietly. But trust starts to crack. Malik knows more about her past than he admits.

The killer escalates victims are murdered in ways tied to specific foster kids. One was drowned in a bathtub. Another buried with dolls stuffed in their mouths.

Salem visits Dr. Ezra Kade, who helped her after a traumatic incident she can’t fully remember. He urges her to access what she’s repressed.

Meanwhile, a viral influencer, Tasha Bloom, starts releasing video clips from an anonymous source. Each one paints Salem as unstable, dangerous… possibly guilty.

Someone is watching Salem. Filming her. They know what happened in that house. And now, the world might know too

In my first life, I provided free designs and materials at cost, only for my hometown to brand me a greedy fraud.
They destroyed my studio and left me with nothing—all because another woman promised to renovate their homes for twenty thousand dollars instead of eighty thousand.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day they surrounded my studio and demanded refunds.
This time, I didn’t explain.
I returned every cent, then personally removed their flooring, lights, appliances, and furniture.
As for how long the new homes they bought for twenty thousand dollars would remain livable—
That was no longer my problem.

Everyone in the New York mafia world knew that Ethan Leone, the Don of the Leone family, was obsessed with his wife.
And I was his legally wedded Donna.
But the moment I pushed open the doors to the nightclub with my pregnancy report in hand.
I saw my husband’s hand resting on his stepmother Serena’s swollen belly.
The report slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.
Serena glanced at it without the slightest concern.
Then she smiled.
“You can’t have children anyway. Once the baby’s born, you can raise it.”
That was the moment I decided to divorce him.
But later, while Ethan was away, she shoved me from behind at the top of the staircase inside the family mansion.
I tumbled down the stairs.
Blood poured between my legs.
Ethan rushed over.
He saw it.
He saw the blood.
But in the end, he chose to pick Serena up and run out the door without looking back.
I lay in a pool of blood, pulled out my phone, and called my family lawyer.
“The money my family loaned the Leone family three years ago…”
“Prepare a demand notice.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Diana… if you take that money back, the Leone family will go bankrupt.”
I stared blankly at the ceiling and wiped away my tears.
“I know.”

Liam…. I want you inside of me” I moaned as he stroked my dick.

“If you say so,” Liam smirked. He pushed slowly, my walls screaming as they parted for him.

I cried out, my back arching, tears blurring my vision. Pleasure exploded as his dick got inside, locked and throbbing, filling me beyond reason.

“Fuck!” Liam moaned as he thrusted in out.


Dylan Petrov didn't transfer to Frostbite Hockey Academy for a fresh start… He came for revenge.

Years ago, Dylan watched vampires destroy his family. His parents were murdered, and ever since, he has dedicated his life to hunting the creatures responsible. Now, after years of training with an anti-vampire organization, he’s finally sent on an assignment which is to kill a vampire.

Liam Novak.

Frostbite's star captain. The academy's golden boy. Cold and arrogant.

Dylan's plan is simple: get close to Liam, uncover his secret, and kill him.

But Liam isn't easy to hate.

The closer Dylan gets to him, the more he finds himself drawn to the very man he came to destroy. Every stolen glance and dangerous moment makes his carefully built hatred harder to hold on to.

Then strange things begin happening around the academy.

Secrets surface and Dylan begins to wonder if Liam is truly the monster he believes him to be—or if someone has been leading him straight into a trap.

When the truth finally comes out, Dylan may have to choose between the revenge he's spent years chasing and the vampire who has become impossible to walk away from.

“My husband is back. We’re breaking up.”

I slid a bank card loaded with one million dollars across the table to Leon, convinced it was nothing more than the end of a simple arrangement.

Three years ago, my husband, William Grant, disappeared on our wedding day, leaving me to become the laughingstock of Oakland. While everyone believed he was dead, I sacrificed everything to save the collapsing Grant family and keep their empire alive. Then he returned—with a pregnant mistress on his arm—and had the audacity to demand that I take care of the woman carrying his child.

That was the moment I decided our marriage was over.

What I never expected was that the male escort I had been keeping for the past three years wasn't an escort at all.

Leon was actually Roderick Harris—the mysterious billionaire behind the Harris Group, the most powerful and untouchable business empire in Oakland.

And just hours before discovering the truth, I had handed this ruthless business tycoon a one-million-dollar breakup fee... and told him never to contact me again.

While my cheating husband believed I would lose everything without him, and everyone waited to watch me fall, the man I had cast aside stepped back into my life, his dark eyes locking onto mine with dangerous intensity.

“Violette... what makes you think you're the one who gets to decide when this is over?”

Zara Torres has three rules at Harlow University.
No drama. No distractions. And absolutely no hockey players.

She breaks all three before October ends when a journalism assignment lands her in Declan Mercer's orbit starting center, infuriatingly perceptive, and somehow always exactly where she isn't expecting him.

Zara tells herself it's professional. She's documenting the ice conflict between two programs sharing one rink. She's not falling for the guy who shows up at six AM with terrible coffee and the unsettling habit of telling her the truth.

She's definitely not thinking about the jump.

The quad Lutz she hasn't fully landed in two years. The fall that broke her wrist and quietly broke something else. The confidence she rebuilt around a gap she keeps pretending isn't there.

But when a journalism assignment becomes something larger, a testimony, an investigation, a story that reaches backward through thirty-three years and fifteen countries. Zara discovers that the thing she thought was a skating problem was never really about skating.

It was about learning who built the walls around the thing that was hers.

And deciding to tear them down anyway.

This story is a young adult sport romance about the cost of excellence, the courage of going first, and what it means to fight for the thing that was yours before anyone decided it was worth something.

The ice was hers first.

She just had to remember that.

When we moved to the estate on the hill, all the bedrooms had already been assigned.
My parents had the primary suite.
My brother, Adrian, had the east wing.
The south suite, with its view of the Hudson—the nicest room in the house—was marked Grace's Room.
There was no room with my name on it.
In the hall, a worker was fastening brass plaques to the bedroom doors.
Not one of them read Claire.
Ten years earlier, Grace's father had been my dad's underboss. He had gone into a burning warehouse to rescue Adrian from the Bellinis. He hadn't come out.
Standing over his coffin, Dad had declared that Grace would be his daughter from then on.
What the Don said was law in our family. Somehow, though, I was always the one expected to cover the cost of that promise.
I asked Mom where I would sleep.
“You're going off to grad school soon, aren't you?” she said, as if it were obvious. “What would you need a bedroom for?”
Then she turned back to the pink curtains she was choosing with Grace.
Adrian knelt on the floor, lifting different fabric swatches for them to see.
Nathan, my boyfriend of three years, was putting up Grace's paintings. He insisted on hanging each one himself; apparently the movers couldn't be trusted with them.
Sitting on a packing box, I finally got it.
Nobody had overlooked me by accident.
They thought Grace should have the room, the family, even the boyfriend I had believed was mine.
I brought up the agreement on my phone.
A federal research site in the Nevada desert. Classified work.
A five-year commitment, with no outside contact.
I added my signature.
Ten days from now, I would be out of their lives. And I wouldn't be coming back.