8656 Book(s) Related to the princess and the demon

A man's luxurious watch slipped out of my wife's purse. Without batting an eye, she lied, "It's a gift for your dad." Looking at the youthful, trendy style and thinking of the remote-controlled toy that had mysteriously appeared in the nightstand, I felt nothing but utter disgust.
In the surveillance footage, the domineering homewrecker not only wore my clothes but also arrogantly taunted me.
And my own flesh and blood, the son I cherished more than my own eyes, had covered for them for a few hundred dollars of pocket money!
Since everything was rotten to the core, I wouldn't even want the son anymore.
Without a word, I accepted a tenured professor position overseas, decisively gave up custody, and promptly mailed the divorce papers and the adult toy to her company.
The mistress and the homewrecker's little celebration? Let them torment each other.
This time, I'm taking my life back.

Everyone says he loved me more than anything. So I chose to answer that love with death.

Forbes cover stories, tearful speeches at charity galas, shutting down Fifth Avenue every Valentine's Day just to watch fireworks with me. They said he ruled a business empire but would kneel in front of the entire world and call me his reason to live.

I used to believe it.

Until I discovered my perfect husband had built another home with another woman. A warm one, filled with laughter and his child.

So I chose to disappear the night the storm swallowed everything.

They say he spent three days on his knees at the cliff's edge, screaming my name into the black ocean. The man worth billions couldn't even find his wife's body.

When the rescue team recovered that burned-out car, he finally opened the safe I'd left for him. Inside was a positive pregnancy test and a divorce agreement that would never be signed.

By then, nothing mattered anymore.

My name is Maya Wilson. I'm seventeen, I have 100K TikTok followers, and I just watched my dad destroy our family for a twenty-five-year-old homewrecker named Ashley.

"Ashley makes me feel alive again," he said, dismissing seventeen years of marriage like a bad business deal.

"We'll be one happy family," she smiled, standing in our kitchen like she already owned it.

That's when I knew: Mom needed my protection.

What followed was a war fought with laptops and lies, fake pregnancies and real heartbreak. A battle between a broken housewife discovering her strength, a teenage girl wielding digital weapons, and a woman who thought she could manipulate her way to victory.

Six months later, Mom would be accepting awards. Ashley would be gone. And Dad?

Dad would be begging for forgiveness he'd never get.

Kael ruined my life, drained my divine blood, and framed me for murder in my past life. Given a second chance, I reject his fake tenderness and tear down every lie he built. The almighty Dark Duke who once played with my life now craves only my mercy. He abandons his army, destroys his status, and begs for my punishment. I end his tyranny, chain him with my golden blood, and turn my worst tormentor into my most obedient hound.

My water broke in the middle of my family’s tiny clinic.
Thirty-six weeks pregnant, breech baby, emergency C-section. I only had one request: not City Center Hospital.
Because the man I had been hiding from for eight months worked in a hospital.
I told myself there were hundreds of doctors in the city. It would not be him.
Then the operating room door opened.
My ex-boyfriend walked in wearing scrubs, looked at my chart, looked at my belly, and went completely still.
He was not just the man I had left.
He was the anesthesiologist about to put a needle in my spine.
And when our daughter was born wearing his exact face, there was no hiding left.

I died watching my fiancé check another woman for scratches while three bullets tore through my chest.

I was his human shield. She was his true love.

Then, I blinked—and I was back. Reborn on the exact day I was supposed to sign our Mafia marriage pact.

Matteo slammed the sacred blood-oath on the desk. "Sign the damn paper, Serena. And stop being jealous of Anna. She’s fragile."

He wanted me to be his Donna. To run his casinos, bleach his dirty money, and take the bullets, while he played house with his sickly-sweet stepsister.

In my past life, I cried and signed my soul away.

This time? I smiled. I picked up the gold pen and signed the Bride line.

But I didn't write my name. I wrote Anna.

I tossed the contract at his chest, packed my bags, and walked out of the underworld forever.

Have a nice wedding, Matteo. Let's see how long your empire survives when your fragile little princess gets the throne.

In seven years of marriage, I miscarried five times. I nearly died on the operating table.

My husband, Lorenzo Castellano—the mafia king who controlled the entire East Coast—gripped my blood-stained hand and choked out: "It's okay. You're all I need."

I believed him.

Until our anniversary, when I smelled her perfume on his shirt and discovered the truth: his sister-in-law had given him a three-year-old son—those same deep brown eyes I'd bled five times trying to create.

The cruel irony? Just the day before, two pink lines had appeared on a pregnancy test.

That night, the explosion lit up the entire ocean, our private yacht burning like a funeral pyre.

The man who made all of New York's underworld tremble finally learned what it meant to lose.

He lost his wife.

And the child he would never know existed.

I’ve been guarding a door in the Nevada underground for a hundred years. The system marks this place "Abandoned," and the official records claim I don't exist.
When the investigation team arrived, the leader was my old signal corpsman. He pretended not to know me and ordered his guards to drag me out like a piece of dead weight.
They shoved a young lad from the Rex family into the breach as bait, and while everyone screamed in horror, no one dared to move.
So, I jumped down to fish the kid out, using a bottle of beer to force back the tentacles reaching from the dark.
Then, I pulled on that dusty old uniform and pressed my palm against the master console—all thirty-two security protocols verified instantly.
The lead technician collapsed in shock: "This clearance level is restricted to the Chief Architect only."
He was right. I am.
The thing I’ve kept locked behind that door for a century woke up, whispering: "What do you want?"
I said: "Dinner."

I drank myself into a stomach perforation, all to secure investment for Mu Jingshen's company.

As I was wheeled into the emergency room, blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I heard a doctor shouting: "Where's the next of kin? We need a signature for surgery, now!"

My hands shaking violently, I dialed Mu Jingshen's number.
His contact was saved under "A Hubby", pinned to the very top of my contact list, just so I'd never miss a single call from him.

The call connected, and I forced out every last bit of my strength to speak, my voice weak and trembling:
"Jingshen, I need emergency surgery. Can you come sign the consent forms for me, please..."

But it wasn't his voice that came through the line. It was Shen Wanrong's, sweet and cloying: "Jiejie, Jingshen's busy giving Huanhuan a bath right now."

The sound of running water stopped.
I heard him ask who was on the phone.

Shen Wanrong spoke in a hurt, plaintive whine: "It's Jiejie... Jingshen, do you want to take the call? What if it's an emergency?"

But he just said, his voice flat and dismissive: "Ignore her. Nothing could ever be more important than being here for Huanhuan's birthday."

Huanhuan was Shen Wanrong's pet dog.

On our one-year anniversary, my husband Julian gifted me an antique ring.
Putting it on cost me everything.
I miscarried, grew paralyzed, and rapidly withered into a husk. And Julian? He convinced everyone that the trauma had simply driven a grieving mother insane.
Eventually, even I believed him.
It wasn’t until the moment of my murder that the truth finally clicked.
The ring wasn't a blessing; it was a parasitic siphon.
Then, I opened my eyes—
I was back at the anniversary dinner.

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.

Three years ago, my best friend Juliana Pierce was raped and jumped from a twelve-story building. I was there. I saw everything. I know exactly who did it.

Alexander Knight—Juliana's boyfriend, brilliant scientist, the man I've secretly loved for seven years—has spent every moment since hunting for answers. He believes I'm shielding a predator. He's dedicated his life to making mine hell.

Now I'm dying of ALS, and Alexander's dragged my broken body onto his "Memory Judgment Stage" for the world to see. His new technology can rip memories straight from my brain and broadcast them as holograms.

"Tell them who killed Juliana," he shouted.

I refuse. So he cranks up the machine, letting the neural probes tear through my dying brain. My hand shatters. My body convulses. But I won't break.

Until the memories start bleeding out anyway.

And when Alexander sees the rapist's face—Completely loses his mind.

When the armored car had room for only one passenger, Damian Russo chose me.

I was saved, but Lilia Brown didn't make it. She bled out in the crossfire, her body left in the rubble. Damian pretended he didn't care and married me as planned.

For three years, he made me pay for her death—beating me, starving me, blaming me for the fact that she was gone.

In the end, he drove us both off a cliff instead.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the docks on the night of the ambush. This time, I stepped aside and let him save the woman he truly loved.

My serpent mate has locked me in the castle, nine months pregnant. A dozen serpent guards watch me day and night. I can't even leave the room.

A month ago, his brother died in a hunting accident. He became the serpent clan leader. Then he brought back his brother's widow, the woman he grew up with. His first love.

He said he needed to take care of his brother's widow. He told me we'd all live together in the castle, nice and peaceful.

I said no.

I'm his mate. I'm a beastman. My pride won't let me accept that. And they grew up together, childhood sweethearts. How could I not think about it?

She came to him in tears, heavily pregnant. She said I poisoned her medicine, that I wanted to kill her and the baby.

He believed her.

He decided I was just some rogue beastman with no background, jealous and vicious, only after his title and money. So he locked me in this freezing castle while he camped outside her delivery room.

When labor hit, I screamed for a healer. I swore I never hurt her. I just couldn't live with her under the same roof. I only ever loved him.

He just laughed. "You're good at acting. I don't believe a word out of you. Once she delivers safely, I'll deal with you. Don't think you can trick me into coming back."

But when a trembling guard reported "Your mate and the child... they didn't make it," he lost it completely.

The Solarien family had two daughters.
Aurelia, the younger, was their pride and joy, soon to marry Duke Lysander beneath a reputation she had never earned: the so-called genius enchantress.
I, Vespera, was nothing more than the family's hidden workhorse, locked in a basement and valued only for what I could produce.
For years, I churned out enchanted gear to fund their lavish life while they used me as a stepping stone for Aurelia without a trace of guilt.
I let them bleed me dry, clinging to the faint hope that they might someday treat me like family.
Then, on the eve of my wedding, my parents stole the gown I had spent three years pouring my blood and sweat into, all so Aurelia could make a grand impression.
They threatened my fiancé's life and forced me to cut my wrist, using my blood to reverse the runes and attune the enchantment to her instead of me—even though the backlash could cripple my magic for life.
The moment I watched my blood soak into that gown, I gave up on my family for good.
For all the family pride they fought so desperately to protect, there had never been room for me.

The housekeeper’s daughter just locked me out of my own Bentley.

"Bob, drive," Ella Brooks—the school's untouchable Queen Bee—ordered my chauffeur. She leaned into her boyfriend, Ryan Harrington, shooting me a look of fake pity. "My family already pays her tuition. Charity cases don't get free rides."

A bunch of kids nearby laughed, always eager to kiss up to the fake heiress. Ryan glared at me like I was actual trash. "Maya, if someone puts a roof over your head, show some respect. Know your place."

The tinted windows rolled up. Tires squealed, leaving me choking on exhaust.

I stood on the curb, watching my car speed off. She had hijacked my entire life to play school royalty and snag a wealthy guy, convincing everyone I was the freeloader.

I was so pissed I actually laughed. She mistook my low profile for weakness.

She wanted to play the billionaire's daughter? Fine. Playtime is officially over.

Only after I lost the promotion did I find out that my broke boyfriend secretly owned the company I worked for.

He'd voted against me.

One of his friends asked him, “Aren't you worried Nora Bennett will find out you've been lying to her and raise hell?”

Blake Whitmore gave a casual laugh.

“Why would I be? It doesn't take much to make her happy again.”

“Chloe's different. She's been a princess her whole life. When she wants something, she has to have it. I can't stand seeing her upset.”

“It's just a director's job. If she wants it, I'll let her have her fun.”

Chloe Sinclair.

The woman they'd brought in from outside to take the position I'd worked for.

Something I'd fought so hard to earn was just a toy she could have for the asking.

I blinked back the sting in my eyes, looked down at my phone, and answered the recruiter.

“Hi. I'd like to accept the offer in Pittsburgh.”

"They said I was just a piece of trash, only fit to be a substitute bride for the lunatic Abyssal Dragon Duke." I smirked, twisting the bone bracelet that sealed my venomous power. My fake sister wept pitifully, "Visenya, at worst, I'll bear the Duke's wrath myself." Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. When the bloodthirsty Duke finally cornered me, he didn't tear me apart. Instead, he kissed my fingertips and chuckled. "So, my little bride, shall we slaughter the Emperor and take the throne for fun?" "Deal," I smiled. "But if you drag me down, I'll kill you too."

I was born able to see threads tying certain people to one another. A thin red thread stretched right above Mom and Dad’s heads.
I hurried over to Mom at once. “Mom, why is there a red thread connecting you and Dad?”
Mom laughed when she heard me, booping my nose fondly.
“That’s proof that Daddy loves me.”
Later, at our family gathering, Aunt Celia brought me a present just like she always did.
“Luna? Come see what Auntie brought you.”
I trotted over and found a cloth doll.
Just then, Dad walked up, knelt down beside me, and stroked my head.
“Luna, what do you say?”
I glanced up at Dad, then turned to look at Aunt Celia.
Little me was filled with huge confusion.
“It’s weird. Why is there such a thick red thread connecting Dad and Celia?”

On Halloween night, a sharp stench of chlorine and cheap booze woke me up.
I opened my eyes to a man grinning at the bedroom door.
It was my husband, David, soaking wet and showing off the liquor he’d vanished hours ago to buy.
I cursed him out, called him a liar, and demanded a divorce. He just kept that idiotic smile.
Then my phone rang. It was his best friend, Mark.
"Claire, David drowned drunk in the pool!"

I thought I had finally married for love, that I had become the most cherished woman of a Mafia godfather.
Until I discovered the real reason he chose me in the first place.
For three years, Marcello Giovanni treated me as the most precious woman in the world.
Until the day I stumbled upon a hidden room, filled with hundreds of photographs—and every single woman in those photos looked exactly like me.
Then, I heard his underboss whisper:
"Boss said her eyes look just like Miss Camilla's."
I thought that even without real love, I could still keep living.
But I was wrong.
The moment Camilla came back from the dead, Marcello chose her without a single moment's hesitation.
And I was forced to jump into the ocean...

Five years ago, my family burned to death in an "accident."

My loving husband Clifford signed the papers himself—shipped me off to a mental institution without a second thought.

Inside, Becky carved up my face with shattered glass. The same orphan I'd put through school. Then she rebuilt herself to match my features and stole my life—my husband, my son, everything.

Now she marched into the clinic where I scrub floors, dragging my biological child behind her, demanding I apologize to him like some servant.

She has no idea what kind of monster she created.

I’ve had a lot of things stolen from me by my stepsister, Paloma Thorne.
My father, my boyfriend, my baby, my thesis, my future...
When I was twenty-two, I walked into the university lab and caught Paloma and my boyfriend, Milo, tangled naked together. I miscarried on the spot. Later, as I lay in the hospital bed, Paloma used a secretly recorded sex tape of Milo and me as blackmail, sealing off my last possible way out. I didn't scream or cry. I just signed the papers, grabbed my suitcase, and left.
In Calder City, I met the mafia don, Darius Harlow. He was calm, dominant, and gave me a sense of security so overwhelming it was almost suffocating. So, I married him.
It wasn't until four years later, when I returned to Ellsworth for Paloma's wedding, that the illusion shattered.
The night before the wedding, standing outside a closed door, I heard her voice.
"Darius, I was the one who let go seven years ago. Let me make it up to you tonight. Please?"
The next second, I heard my husband's heavy breathing.
Only then did I realize that for the past four years, I was nothing but Paloma's stand-in.

I'm a forensic audio specialist. I make a living digging up the truths people deliberately erase from static and noise.
My 19-year-old brother was accused of pushing a billionaire's bride to her death at her wedding.
The police presented their "smoking gun" recording. I heard exactly twelve seconds missing from it.
Those twelve seconds hold the truth about how the bride really died—and the billionaire family's dark secret that will get both me and my brother killed.
They smashed my equipment, threatened my life, bribed the cops, and tried to bury the truth forever.
But what they don't know is—
Some voices refuse to stay silent. Even when they're cut out.

The first time Tyler laid eyes on Ellie, he thought she was a quiet, shy, introverted girl.

Then she opened her mouth and shattered that illusion.

“Are you trying to sleep with me? Why are you staring at me?”

After a night of passion, she woke up and calmly eyed his abs like she was appraising merchandise.

“Here’s your tip. Thank you for your work last night!” she smirked, a dollar bill tucked between her fingers.

Does she think I am a gigolo? Tyler sneered.

Then one day, a message from Ellie lit up his phone:

[I’m getting engaged. Are you going to take me away? Gigolo?]

He scrambled to his feet, rushing to the engagement ceremony.

This time, no one could stop him from taking her.

I chased after my first love, Joe, for years and finally worked up the courage to confess—only to overhear him plotting to get me drunk as a plaything.
Just when I was in utter despair, his mafia brother, David, showed up and saved me from deep sorrow. He treated me gently like I was made of glass, gifted me a private estate, got down on one knee and proposed, saying he'd had a crush on me for years.
I thought I'd finally escaped hell and found my one true love—until his “lover” Ann came back with a boy who looked exactly like him and stole every bit of his attention.
David swore Ann was just my stand-in, but he kept leaving me for her again and again, even throwing himself in front of bullets for her in a shootout, saying, “For you, I can risk my life.”

My husband Lucius said: 'My real wife has returned.'
To keep him, for a month I clung to him, making love passionately...

I paused at the ajar conference room door, attempting to balance the tray of coffees. Creedon was my new boss, now also my boyfriend. I listened at the door.

“Where is that slut of yours, Creedon? Must be a hell of a lay. The coffee is going to be cold,” Michael complained. “What's the point in keeping her around? She's not even your breed.”
Not his breed?
“You know me, I like nice accessories, Besides, she is smarter than she looks."
An Accessory?
“Stop toying with the girl. You're letting her get too close to us. Not to mention the scandal you’ll have with the press once they realize she's a poor country girl. America will fall in love with her, you will just crush them when you’re done with her. Poor Image...” The sound of fits hitting the table silenced the room.

“She’s mine! She is no concern of yours. I can fuck her, breed her, or cast her aside, remember who's in charge here. “If I want to use her as a cum bucket, I will." His anger explosive.
Breed me? Cast me aside? Cum bucket? I think not!*

“She is pretty, but she’s of no value to you, Creedon. A pebble in a sea of diamonds, darling. You can have any woman you desire. Fuck her out of your system, and sign off on her,” Latrisha spat. “That one is going to become a pain in your ass. You need a bitch that will submit.”

Someone, please, come mop up the word vomit this woman has just spewed.

“I have her under control, Trisha, back the fuck off.”

**Control? Oh, hell naw! ** He hadn't met the take no bullshit southern bitch I could be.

Rage brewed as I elbowed open door.

Well, here goes everything.

Walking in on her husband with her own sister should have destroyed her. But Steffy doesn't fall apart-she slaps him and walks out.
What does break her is the DNA test her sister waves in her face. Not a Willson. Not their blood. Not their daughter.
Steffy has lived twenty-seven years in a family that may not be hers, while her sister claws for an inheritance she believes is rightfully hers alone.
But the deeper Steffy digs into the truth of who she really is, the more the wrong questions start getting answered.
Because if that DNA test was wrong about her... then who in this family is actually who they claim to be?

My fiancé, Nathan, always said that decisions shouldn't be based on closeness, but on urgency.
At a car crash scene, he rushed my best friend, Roxanne, to the hospital first because her cuts looked deeper. When my mother was dying of cancer, he gave her hard-won experimental medication to Roxanne’s mother instead, claiming her condition was more critical.
Time after time, I convinced myself he was just being fair. He was just being rational.
On Roxanne’s twenty-ninth birthday, she cried that her secret boyfriend had stood her up. I stayed behind to drink with her. Knowing Nathan was on his way to pick me up, I hid behind the sofa, planning to jump out and surprise him.
But when he pushed the door open and didn’t see me, he didn't look for me. He walked straight to Roxanne, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her fiercely.

Three years ago, I caught Kael holding Layla in his arms.
Layla was pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist.
Kael saw me. His arms stiffened for an instant, but he didn't let go.
"Aurelia, listen to me."
I didn't give him the chance. That night, I picked up our son, Milo, and left the wolf den where I had lived for five years.
But when I woke up, my arms were empty.
I was about to go after my son when my mom Morgaine's talisman lit up.
"There was an avalanche on Dusk Moon Ridge last night. Kael and Layla followed your trail up the mountain and were buried in the snow. The pack searched all night and found nothing."
"Where's Milo?"
Morgaine went quiet for a moment before telling me a band of black wolf marauders had spotted Milo on the mountain path.
Three people. Gone in a single night.
And they all blamed it on me.

I've got a reputation on campus as a doormat with zero dignity. I bring Wyatt Langley food, do his homework, act as his emotional dumping ground. Been at it for a year.

His rich friends mock my cheap clothes and say I'm reaching way out of my league. He never stops them. Sometimes he even laughs along.

Finally, he announces in front of everyone that he's breaking up with me. His first love is coming back from Europe, so I need to get lost.

Everyone's waiting to see me cry.

I glance at the five million dollars that hit my account half an hour ago and say, with complete sincerity, "Okay. Congrats."

What nobody knows is that I put up with him, tolerated his rotten temper, for one simple reason. His mom pays way too well.

Now the money's here. Time to end this arrangement.

So why, the second I walk away, does he start tearing the city apart trying to find me?

My stepmother married my father because she mistakenly believed he was an Alpha, and that was the beginning of my tragedy.
In my past life, I was falsely accused by my stepmother, betrayed by my mate, and abandoned by my father, who refused to believe me and sold me to an elderly Omega. In the end, I died with injustice in my heart.
But heaven has granted me a second chance. I have returned to the very day my stepmother framed me for her miscarriage.
This time, I won’t let them have their way.
I have gathered my entire pack to make meatballs together, waiting to put on a spectacular show—exposing the scandal of my stepmother, Odessa, and my mate, Beta Peregrine.

In my past life, I died in a freezing, damp basement.
The person who destroyed me was Evelina, the daughter of my father’s mistress. She set a trap at a charity gala, dragged my reputation through the mud, and forced me into a hellish marriage—all so she could strip away everything that rightfully belonged to me.
When I opened my eyes again, I was twenty-two. The gala that sealed my fate was happening tonight.
Before the banquet officially began, I seamlessly swapped two champagne flutes, handing her meticulously woven trap right back to her. When the scandal detonated, sending shockwaves through the ballroom, my eyes landed on Killian—the Vance family's notoriously cold-blooded illegitimate son.
The trust fund my mother left me was still firmly under my control. I walked straight up to him and laid my chips on the table.
My enemies had retreated to the shadows, waiting to strike back. But I was going to use their own conspiracies as stepping stones, clawing back everything I owned, one piece at a time.

At the family dinner, a Wall Street rising star flaunted his power in front of me, boasting that he was the chief agent of the "Godfather of the Underworld."
My ex-wife's family fawned over me like dogs, pointing their fingers at me and taunting, "You spineless, gigolo trash, you're not even worthy to carry Mr. Victor's shoes!"
Victor, even more smug, turned on speakerphone, trying to use my privileges to curry favor with my wife.
I stood silently in the corner, coldly pressing a blood-red command: [Permanently Delete Account].
The next second, the system's cold pronouncement came through his phone: "Warning, you have overstepped your authority and have been banned across the entire network!"
The room fell silent instantly.
They had no idea that I was the true Godfather, the one who controlled a multi-billion dollar empire and ruled the Western underworld!

My brother chose my enemy, and the man I loved joined forces with her to sell me into a club.
Pregnancy, miscarriage, imprisonment, beatings—every cry for help I made was dismissed as "just an act."
It wasn't until I was truly dead that they lost their minds, dropping to their knees at my grave and sobbing that they were sorry.
But by then, I could no longer hear them.

I loved Finley for two years.
Until 1:00 AM on a Tuesday, when his best friend, Orion, sent me a half-naked photo and a jarring voice note."
If I actually bag her, don't go flipping out on me. A deal's a deal."
I booked the first flight out to confront him, only to catch the boy I loved naked and thrusting into another woman.
But that wasn't even the part that broke me.
When my roommate bypassed the hockey team's private Discord server, I found a channel named: #locker-room-bets.
There was my boyfriend, typing the words that shattered my world: "She's boring... She's like a lost puppy, you can't shake her... Play with her all you want."
My loyalty and two years of my life were nothing but a sick joke.
The entire hockey team had put money down on when I would willingly spread my legs for his best friend.

Everyone thinks that after ten years engaged to Alpha Grayson, I'll end up as Frostpeak's Luna. Then one night at a gala, in front of the whole pack, he hands me over to the lowest rogue he can find.

Someone speaks up for me.

"Alpha Grayson, if you're done with her, just let her go. Why humiliate her like this? She dragged you through three days and nights in a blizzard ten years ago. She froze her body half to death saving you. She can't even shift anymore."

"That rogue can barely feed himself. She'll go with him and suffer for it."

Grayson just pulls the crying Omega closer, disgust all over his face.

"She saved me because she wanted the Luna title, that's all. I'm sick of her acting like I owe her something."

"Watch. Give it a few days and she'll come crawling back, begging me on her knees to change my mind."

I don't cry. I don't beg. I unclasp the engagement necklace, drop it at his feet, and walk out with the rogue.

Three days later, Grayson will show up at the Fringe with a hundred guards to drag me back, screaming that I'm heartless.

For ten silent years, I propped up a boy named Lycan—the least favored Alpha heir in his pack. Everyone said his bloodline was too thin, that he didn’t even deserve to compete for succession.

So I paved the way with money, used resources to help him awaken his bloodline, sent him to the best academy, and made sure he not only secured the position of pack’s new Alpha, but also crossed into the human world to become an Oscar-winning actor hailed by millions.

Tonight was his coronation and his Oscar night rolled into one. I sat in the shadows of the audience, watching him grip the trophy, debonair under the spotlight, genuinely happy for him. When his gaze skimmed across the crowd and landed on me, my chest warmed.
Did Lycan…notice me?

The next second, he faced the camera and spoke, frost-cold:
“I want to thank someone—she taught me what harassment really is.”

Sofia is an eighteen-year-old who has been bullied and tortured her whole life. When she realized that her only hope of going through school was to attend a school only for boys, she took a bold step and cut her hair to look like a boy and got into Blairwood Academy.

She has to try her best to make sure nobody finds out her real identity, or she would be kicked out. But it's difficult to hide it, especially from her roommate, Scott Blackwood, an icy nineteen-year-old who she always managed to get on his bad side.

I was reborn, back to the moment before I was dragged to death by motorcycles in the wasteland.

In my previous life, I listened to the moral blackmail of the saintly female lead Daisy and used my abilities to desperately save a motorcycle gang surrounded by zombies.

As a result, I was severely injured from ability overexertion, and these ungrateful wolves used me as a tool to establish dominance, dragging me to death with motorcycles across the wasteland.

Before I died, Daisy was still there crying: "We tried our best, this isn't our fault."

Now that I have a second chance, she stands before me again shouting:

"Cole! What are you standing there for? Go save them! Those people are going to die! You have abilities, you must save them!"

Looking at her hypocritical saintly face, rage burned in my chest.

Why should my abilities save ungrateful wolves? Why should my life be a stepping stone for others?

The kindness of fools is worthless!

So I threw her out to feed the zombies!

On the execution platform, my noble and beautiful wife used her dagger to carve open my chest.
My nominal adopted son pressed a red-hot iron into my skin, branding me with the "F"-class mark of the lowest outcast, draining my transcendent bloodline dry.
"The Storm Kingdom has no use for a cripple with zero beast-spirit affinity. You belong rotting in the abyss!"
They cut the chains and kicked me into the Black Abyss—a place from which no one returns—then turned to carve up my throne.
They thought I was as good as dead.
They had no idea that the deepest darkness of that abyss harbored the most terrifying ancient demon in existence.
Two weeks later, as they raised their glasses to toast the new king's coronation, I kicked down the castle gates, wielding the ember-fire of annihilation and a tide of ten thousand beasts.
Looking down at the woman who once stood so high above me, now groveling in the mud and begging for mercy, I tossed the bloodstained broken blade onto the hem of her dress:
"Remember this forever—it was you who took a nobody you crushed beneath your feet and turned him into a king you'll kneel before and never win back. Now, hand over your lives."

Reynolds Ashford.
His code name is: Devil.
When he returned, he found that his own brother had already passed away, leaving only a tombstone behind. His sister-in-law even planned to marry someone else and divide their brother's inheritance.
The man, who boasts an absolutely flawless record, stood in the rain.
Yet beneath his feet, the Chicago underworld remained oblivious, unaware that their doom had already arrived.

I never meant to want him. Gianni Rossetti—tattooed, dangerous, twice my age, and my best friend’s father.

He was supposed to be off-limits. Untouchable. The kind of man you only fantasize about when you’re alone in the dark with your hand between your thighs.

But the night I caught him eating another woman alive by the pool, I couldn’t look away.
And he knew it.
The moment his dark eyes locked on mine through the glass, I became prey. His filthy smirk promised one thing—he saw me touching myself to him, and he wasn’t about to let me forget it.

Now, every time I’m in his house, I can’t breathe without thinking of his mouth between my legs.
I left my cheating boyfriend behind, only to fall into something even more dangerous:
a man who could ruin me, break me, and make me beg for his cock while his own daughter sleeps in the next room.

He’s too old. Too powerful. Too forbidden.
But Gianni doesn’t ask—he takes.
And I don’t want him to stop.

Evelyn Mitchell died at the hands of betrayal, pushed off a cliff by the very people she trusted most. But fate gives her a second chance. She wakes up three months before her tragic end, armed with the truth and a heart full of vengeance.

In her past life, Evelyn was blind to deception. She lost her family, her future, and the man who loved her most—Alexander Gray, the cold and powerful heir who jumped with her into death. This time, she's done playing the fool.

Reborn as the fierce and fearless heiress of the Mitchell family, Evelyn is ready to destroy her bestie who stabbed her in the back and crush the scumbag she once loved. But when it comes to Alexander, things are different. She's not running anymore. She's chasing him.

Everyone in the capital fears Alexander's icy heart, but only Evelyn knows the fire he hides beneath. Revenge is sweet—but love might be even sweeter.

Stacy was a brilliant and beautiful girl in her days in Hillary High School, Everyone want to be friend with her.

She is one of the hottest girl in the School. She was indeed the Queen in the Hillary High.

Her Parents were business Tycoons. So they were super dopey Rich.

They were not always home and not always available though they provided her with more than enough money.

She sometimes lack parental care and this has always sadden her, she never got the love and attention she needed. She was a genius, always taking the First position.

She had a lot of admirers, boys always trying to woo her but she declines them and hates to be pestered. But Luckily that's gonna change as a matter of time.

It was a new day in Hillary High School. This day was the day of Resumption. Stacy was now in Grade 11 {SS2}, she had done well asusal in collecting most Prices at the Price giving day Emerging as the Overall Best Student, but she is ignorant of a New Rivalry.

As Stacy been the goddess of Hillary High.

One day, came a god

His name is.

In my past life, they drained my blood, kicked me off the rooftop, and said, "Waste doesn't deserve to live."

Reborn into the apocalypse, I opened my palm, and seven beams of primal energy pierced the sky. The woman who cried out "the best in the world" to me just ten minutes ago couldn't even produce a spark now. The brother who wore the boots I sewed and called me trash was being chased and bitten by mutants like a stray dog, his leg broken.

They came to me with memories of their past lives, demanding, "Why did you steal our special abilities?"

In front of thousands of people, I unleashed a net of lightning, scorching those who came to block my way. They knelt in the mud, their heads bleeding from kowtowing; Elena covered her mouth, which had been slapped clean, and David trembled on his single leg, leaning on a rusty steel pipe—yet they couldn't even climb over the iron thorns surrounding my tower.

Later, they rotted into a pile of mud in the arena and among the hordes of corpses, and I didn't even look back.

Until a horde of millions of zombies besieged the city, I went out alone with my sword and shattered the zombie king with a single strike.

The entire ruins knelt down.

They thought I had stolen the light.
No. I was just a fire that burned away what should have been garbage.

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.

I pursued Kaelzen, Alpha of the Frostfang Tribe, for four years and was about to marry him, only to expose his deception shortly before the wedding. A serious head injury erased all my memories of him. My family arranged a new marriage with the Duskthorn Tribe heir, and I agreed, planning to leave once the Ash Gate opens in seven days. Unaware of my memory loss, Kaelzen still treats me arrogantly, yet he is just a stranger to me now.

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.