9968 Book(s) Related to the hockey alpha s rejected omega fake dating the ice king for revenge

Five years ago, they stripped me of my rank and stopped my retirement pay. Now, with the Imperial army at the gates, they kneel at my door, begging for my services. My daughter is wearing last year's shoes, her big toe practically sticking out. My wife is still refilling coffee at a fast-food restaurant at 3 a.m. The neighbors call me "that welfare-dependent guy" behind my back. I pulled my five-year-old dismissal order from under the bill and slipped it under the door. "You've got the wrong person."

Tessa gave up everything for her husband—her career, her family, her dignity—only to be discarded when his past walked back into his life.
Broken, she signs the divorce papers and leaves.

Years later, she returns as a woman the world kneels before and Smith realizes too late that the wife he broke has become the reckoning he cannot escape.

She's back powerful, untouchable, and unforgiving.

This time, she isn’t asking for love.
She’s collecting debts.

Corbin, Davis, Seth, and I grew up in the same neighborhood. We'd been inseparable since childhood, promising to go to college together and never leave anyone behind.

Everything changed when Mira moved into Corbin's house during high school.

Since then, every major decision had become a guessing game. They always told me to guess their choices, and I was always the one left out.

Three days before our graduate school decision deadline, I asked where everyone was going.

Corbin, my boyfriend, hinted at Boston. Mira posted a photo of New York, and Davis shared a video from Chicago.

I spent seventy-two hours reconsidering my options, desperate to stay with them.

Then I found a secret group chat on Corbin's laptop.

Mira: You're really all coming to New York for me?

Davis: We already accepted.

Seth: What about Brenna?

Corbin: Let her choose for herself. Once she realizes we're all together, she'll follow us. She always does.

I stared at the screen. They'd already planned their future without me.

This time, I didn't try to catch up.

Instead, I accepted an offer from Project Aegis, a classified federal research program requiring two years at a restricted facility with limited outside contact.

They'd made me guess for years.

Now it was their turn.

Nathan Cole had been overseas on business for two weeks.

The night he came back, he kept me in bed until well past midnight.

Afterward, I could barely lift an arm. It took a while before I noticed the empty box on the nightstand. The last one.

I reached for my phone to order more condoms. I always bought them. Nathan never bothered with it.

This time, just as I was about to pay, he took the phone out of my hand.

“Don't order them yet.”

I paused.

He offered no explanation. Leaning back against the headboard, he opened my shipping information, deleted the default address, and typed in one I didn't recognize. Right in front of me.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds.

“Where's that?”

“Ethan Mercer's place.”

He said it casually, as though there were nothing strange about it.

For a moment, I couldn't make sense of what he meant.

“Why would I have them sent there?”

He looked down at me and smiled.

“Claire Bennett, how long have you been with me?”

My fingers curled slightly against the sheet.

“Four years.”

“That long, huh?” He gave another little laugh, as if he'd just realized how long he'd been using something.

“Then it's about time you had someone new.”

"I need you to erase Elena Cavalli completely," I said, sliding an untraceable check across the table.

People say my husband Vito Cavalli broke every mafia code for me. The heir who knelt before all five family bosses and named an ordinary woman his godmother.

For three years, he convinced the world we were in love. He told the press I was why he went legitimate, why he gave up the gun.

But devotion has an expiration date.

While I basked in his affection, believing I was cherished, he was climbing into another woman's bed.

So I walked away.

When I disappeared, he shattered.

He tore through every corner of the globe hunting for me. But the woman he'd once traded his empire for didn't love him enough to turn around.

I was born a princess of the Dragon Realm, destined for greatness.
In my past life, I married an amethyst dragon, Damien. Our union should have produced heirs worthy of legend. Instead, I bore him a Wingless One, the ultimate shame.
He didn't hesitate. One swing of his blade, and our child's cries were silenced forever. Then he dragged me, still bleeding from childbirth, to the Dragon's Maw. Threw me into the molten lava, my screams echoing as the flames consumed my flesh.
Meanwhile, my half-sister Isadora, a mere Bronze Dragon, married another Bronze, equally unremarkable. Yet somehow, she gave birth to an Amethyst Dragon.
She became our new Dragon Queen. I became carrion.
But death wasn't my end.
I opened my eyes on the day of the Choosing Ceremony. Damien stood before me. Then, with cold calculation in his eyes, he turned away. He chose Isadora.
He remembers too.
A smile curved my lips. Let him play his game. Because I know the truth now, a truth that will shatter everything.
How could a dragon who needs dark magic to maintain his wing color possibly father a dragon of true noble bloodline?

The aliens invaded. A toxic fog rolled in. New York turned into a living hell.
But I was forced into a tight spot. A strict Mother Teresa System bound itself to my soul.
I had to save everyone. Betrayers, killers, enemies—it didn't matter. If I didn't help them, the system would execute me on the spot.
Everyone mocked me.
They thought I was soft. The shelter captain stripped my weapons and threw me out into the dead zone.
They thought I was a dead man walking.
They were wrong.
They didn't know my system rewarded me with the ultimate Light ability.
So, get behind my blade.
I am going to save New York, whether it likes it or not.

I had caught Jasper entertaining the same woman in his bed seventeen times.   The first time I caught them, the shock triggered a miscarriage.   As I collapsed on his office floor in agony, Jasper didn't call 911. He just ordered his security to mop up my blood before it could ruin Lenora's designer shoes.   "At the end of the day, you're the one sitting at the head of my table," he would remind me, keeping me trapped.   When my grief finally turned to rage, I exposed their affair on his company's bulletin board.   In response, Jasper invited the tabloid press to our home. He tossed a contract at me with a cruel smirk.   "I have one other mistress," he challenged. "Find her in thirty days, and I'll drop Lenora and come home for good."   Desperate to save my marriage, I exhausted a fortune on private investigators. Yet, all my traps only ever caught Lenora.   Today was the deadline. Surrounded by flashing cameras and paparazzi, I exhaustedly slid a piece of paper with Lenora's name across the table.   "Jasper, please stop playing games."   Jasper lounged on the sofa, his arm wrapped around Lenora. He looked at me with cold, apathetic eyes.   "You dug through my entire life, yet missed the most glaring detail. The other woman... is you, Elowen."

I've signed five blood-bound annulment contracts with my mafia don husband, Killian.
Each and every time, he fed me the same line: "When this is over, we'll tie the knot again."
But every single one of those "things" was for the same woman: Seraphina Moretti.
We ended our marital bond for the first time, and I sobbed, begging him to tell me if his love for me had ever been real.
He clamped his hold on my jaw hard enough, enunciating every word coldly: "Elara, that doesn't matter."
When the second annulment rolled around, I was mocked openly at the family gala.
I locked myself away in the ensuite bathroom and sliced open my wrists; blood trickled along the tile grout.
My best mate tracked me down to find me trembling.
It wasn't the wound's ache making me shake, though—Killian was somewhere on the estate that very night, yet he never bothered to pop by and check on me once.
By the third split, I'd taught myself never to shed a tear in his presence.
On the fourth occasion, I even took it upon myself to ask him flat-out: "What sham do you need me to play along with now?"
He froze for the longest moment, said nothing at all in the end.
Now we're here for the fifth annulment.
He thought he only needs to click his fingers and I'll trot back to remarry him just as I've done all the previous times. What he did not know is this:
This time, I'm disappearing from his life for good.

Eight years ago, I was forced to marry Sicily's most dangerous man.

Louis De Santis, heir to the Santis crime family, decided he wanted me. Right in front of me, he brutally tortured and killed my fiancé Alessandro, then dumped the body in the ocean for the sharks. He used Alessandro's blood to write threats on the wall to my parents—I had no choice but to walk into that fortress he called home.

Louis was obsessed with me to the point of madness. He took bullets for me during family wars, got down on his knees and begged the family elders when they questioned his choice. Under that twisted kind of love, I gradually fell for him and gave him a son—Marco.

For five years, I thought I'd found happiness.

Until year eight, when the Corleone family sent their "peace offering"—Angelina Corleone. This innocent-looking woman effortlessly stole Louis's heart. He had the nerve to announce: "You two are going to get along."

I couldn't stand the betrayal, so I secretly reached out to other families to try getting rid of Angelina.

I got caught.

In his rage, Louis strung up 5-year-old Marco above the blast furnace at the steel mill.

"NO! Please! He's just a child!" I rushed toward Louis frantically, but his men held me back.

Molten steel roared inside the furnace at 2912°F. Scorching heat blasted upward as little Marco dangled just ten feet above the flames.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Mommy! Help me! It's so hot! So hot!" Marco screamed in terror.

"Put him down! Please!" I fell to my knees, begging desperately, "Kill me! Kill me instead! Don't hurt Marco!"

"Nod and let her stay, and I'll let him down." Louis coldly began counting down: "TEN!"

I watched Marco's little body writhing in agony from the heat.

"NINE!"

Sweat and tears blurred my vision.

"EIGHT!"

"I agree! I AGREE!" I broke down screaming, "She can stay! Please let Marco down!"

Louis smiled with satisfaction and stopped counting, about to signal his men.

Then—

"SNAP!"

The rope suddenly broke!

"NOOO—!"

Time seemed to freeze. I watched helplessly as Marco's tiny body plummeted.

"THUD!"

He fell into the furnace.

In an instant, he was gone.

I completely shattered, blood spurting from my mouth as I collapsed.

When I opened my eyes again, I'd gone back to the day Louis first brought Angelina home.

This time, I'm going to make him pay!

The kidnapper's boot sent the briefcase flying. Thirty million in cash scattered across the floor.
He pointed at me, then at the unconscious Camilla. "Not enough money. So you pick one to take home. The other stays."
Lorenzo stood among the bills, his face drained of color.
"I'm sorry. Camilla has a heart condition—she won't make it through the night here." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "You've always been the strong one. Once I get her to the hospital and pull together the rest of the ransom, I swear I'll come back for you."
The next second, Lorenzo gathered Camilla in his arms and walked out without a backward glance. The heavy iron door slammed shut with a boom that echoed through the space.
In the cavernous abandoned factory, it was just me and five thugs with brutal faces.
The leader dragged the flat of his blade across my cheek, his eyes dark with sick intent. "Well, well. Looks like your rich boyfriend just chose her over you. But hey, don't feel too bad, sweetheart—we're gonna keep you company."
Watching the twisted hunger in their eyes, I didn't scream or beg. I just glanced at the locked door. "Lorenzo's gone, right? Far enough away?"
"That p**y's probably halfway across the county by now." The leader grinned, reaching for my collar.
"Good." I let out a breath.
Snap.
The zip tie around my wrists gave way like thread. A massive shadow swallowed him whole.
In less than two seconds, a dragon nearly sixty feet long filled every inch of space.
I lowered my massive head, molten slitted eyes locked on the five frozen insects below.
Then I opened my fang-lined jaws and snapped them up one by one.

I'd been married to Nikolai Konstantin for three years. In that time, I'd miscarried six times for him—nearly died on the operating table once.

Every time I woke up, this cold-blooded mafia boss would hold my hand and say, "I'm sorry you had to go through this. Should we try again?"

I thought he loved me.

Until my seventh pregnancy, when I saw that video—

My sister Scarlett curled up in his arms, crying: "Nik, she's had six miscarriages... what if something happens to her? It's all my fault. My heart condition won't let me carry a baby..."

Nikolai kissed the top of her head: "Don't worry, baby. Her body can handle a few more tries. I promised you a child, and I always keep my promises."

That was when I finally understood—

The child in my womb had NEVER been ours.

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 years of doting affection was nothing but a meticulously rehearsed lie. Dante Vitale kept Isabella as his perfect human shield to guard Seraphina, the woman he truly loved. Every warmth was fake, every danger was arranged. When the truth shattered her world, she lost her child and narrowly escaped death. Presumed drowned, Isabella lays low, collects evidence, and allies with an old FBI classmate. She brings down the entire Vitale clan, ruins his power, and leaves him scavenging for food on cold streets. He weeps for her in the snow, yet she will never turn back.

Maeve and I dragged a dying animal out of the rain. We thought we were saving a life. Instead, we invited a monster to our door for a blood oath. In my first life, I accepted the oath and died screaming. In the second, Maeve took my place and was skinned alive. This is our third chance.

I hid in shadows for six years while my vampire husband played duke with his mistress.

Lucian kept our marriage secret, called our daughter "the half-blood bastard," and rushed to comfort Seraphina's twisted ankle while five-year-old Vanessa nearly died from silver poisoning.

His precious lover had "gifted" my child deadly perfume. While I held my convulsing daughter, he was cutting cake with his real family.

So I handed him divorce papers during his next dramatic rescue mission. Fool signed without reading—too busy playing hero to notice he just legally abandoned his wife and child.

Now the mighty vampire Duke burns under holy sunlight, chasing us to territories his undead flesh can't survive.

Begging on scorched pavement for a second chance he'll never get.

My husband, the terrifying Mafia Don, dropped fifteen million dollars on a luxury yacht just to throw a lavish, high-profile birthday celebration for his precious first love.

And today marks exactly seven days since I died of an infection in a Detroit slum, simply because I couldn't scrape together a few cents for antibiotics.

At the banquet, an oblivious guest tactlessly brought up my name.

Alessandro dialed my number for the first time in five years.

"Genevieve, if you've suffered enough, crawl back here and beg Elena for forgiveness."

That is, until the estate doors were violently shoved open.

A scavenger walked in, leading a little boy whose face was an eighty-percent match to Alessandro's.

My daughter was choked until her face turned purple by the mistress's son, then nearly died after my ex-husband forced her to give blood.
She was beaten, cursed at, and abandoned on a bench outside the hospital.
And I could do nothing to help her.
Because I had already died eight years ago.
It wasn't until my daughter collapsed crying at my grave—and the story made the news—that my ex-husband finally learned the truth.
He had destroyed both me and the child we shared in the cruelest way possible.
And by then, there was no fixing it.

At three in the morning, I dragged my suitcase through the front door.
After a full week at an exchange program in Germany, I was too tired to even turn on the lights. I went straight to the shower.
The hot water poured over me, and I went cold all over.
A hundred and thirteen degrees.
My temperature. The one I always use.
Ryan had always said it was scalding. In five years of marriage I must have reminded him a thousand times, but every time he showered, the dial stayed parked at his lukewarm ninety-eight. Not once had he turned it back.
Tonight, the temperature was right.
Which meant only one thing: the last person to use this shower wasn't him.
I wrapped myself in a towel and leaned against the bedroom doorframe. "So," I said, keeping my voice light. "Since when do you think about your wife?"
The man in the bed blinked, then grinned and snapped me a textbook salute. "Yes, ma'am. Won't happen again, ma'am. I'll always remember from now on."
I didn't say a word. I turned and went back into the bathroom.
As the steam slowly cleared, two pairs of handprints surfaced on the glass shower door, one over the other.
One large pair, one small. The fingertips of the small pair sat a good few inches below where mine would reach.
And caught in the drain was a single strand of hair—long, straight, black, glossy as satin.
My hair is short and honey-blond.
Credit where it's due: they'd gotten creative.
Swallowing the nausea rising in my throat, I took a photo and sent it to my cousin Riley. She was a senior at West Point, majoring in cybersecurity.
Long straight black hair. About 5'1".
Find her and I'll give you five thousand dollars.
She answered in seconds:
On it. Let's see who this little home-wrecker is.

My best friend Sophie has a rich dad, a romance-novel addiction, and Daddy’s black card.

I have student loans and three part-time jobs.

So when Sophie decided to live out every love story she’d ever read, she hired me to play the villainess.

The mean girl who corners the class genius? Me. The spoiled heiress who won’t leave the campus heartthrob alone? Also me. Ten bucks per cringey text. Cash up front.

Easiest money I ever made.

Except the heartthrob never answered my fake flirting. He only answered when I accidentally told him the truth.

Now Sophie’s on romance number three, a bad boy with a Ducati, and I’m in a back alley in black eyeliner, pretending to slap her so he can swoop in and save her.

He doesn’t show.

Her last two heroes do.

The genius smirks. “Well, well. If it isn’t the two women who once loved me to death.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” the heartthrob says, and he’s not looking at Sophie. He’s looking at me. “That’s the gorgeous rich girl who swore she’d marry me.”

I was paid to be his worst nightmare.

Nobody paid me to fall for him.

No one has ever cleared Wish.
The Boss twists every wish into death.
I should have died first.
Instead, I kissed him.
After that, everyone who hurt me died. The other players called me the Boss's secret wife—and pointed a gun at my head.
To survive, I must uncover his past and make one final wish.
Get it wrong, and I'll be erased.
Get it right, and I may bring the monster back to life.

When I had a car accident, my mate, Alpha Ethan from the Blackridge Pack, was at the airport.
Even though I was nearly unconscious due to the violent impact on my head and managed to find my phone to call him in the devastated accident scene, he hurriedly said to me to call the police myself and hung up.
He couldn't wait to rush to the airport to meet the destined mate Ava, who was said to have a terminal illness and wanted to return to see him before her death.
The day I discharged happened to be the day for taking wedding photos.
I went straight to the wedding dress store, watching her wearing the wedding dress and jewelry that I personally designed, holding my mate Alpha Ethan's hand.
I calmly said, "Please go to the front desk to settle the design fee."
Without arguing or making a fuss, I turned around and went to the hospital for an abortion surgery.
I decided to give up on him and return to my pack, going abroad to participate in the Pack Leader Training.

I came to New York to survive my first real job. Instead, I found out my terrifyingly gorgeous boss has golden wings.

On my very first day at one of Manhattan's most prestigious law firms, I accidentally catch a glimpse of something no human is supposed to see. Pointed ears. Impossible magic. A monster that shouldn't exist. And Alexander Sterling—the brilliant, infuriating senior partner everyone worships—isn't just a legal genius.

He's a Fae prince.

The problem? He knows I saw everything. Now the dangerously handsome man who was supposed to erase my memories insists on keeping me close instead. Apparently, I'm the only human alive who can see through fae glamour, and that makes me the key to stopping the invisible war tearing apart the barrier between our world and theirs.

Lucky me. By day, I'm drowning in impossible billable hours, impossible deadlines, and an impossible boss who somehow gets even more attractive every time he saves my life. By night, I'm dodging nightmare creatures, uncovering centuries-old conspiracies, and discovering that the magic I've spent my whole life dismissing as hallucinations may actually be my greatest strength.

The closer Alexander and I get, the harder it becomes to ignore the sparks between us—or the secrets he's desperately trying to protect. Because someone is hunting people like me, the barrier is on the verge of collapse, and if the wrong fae gets their hands on my power, both worlds could burn.

Falling for my boss was never part of the plan. Neither was becoming the only thing standing between humanity and the end of magic.

The apocalypse is not a natural disaster, but a man-made one.

When the T-virus swept through London like a curse, and when my former love and brothers tore off their disguises at the last moment, I realized that the most terrifying thing in this world has never been zombies, but the human heart.

They thought they had tricked me, that abandoning me would get them a ticket to the safe house.

They don't know that I was reborn.

In my past life, my kindness became a weapon in the hands of demons; in this life, I will make the betrayers send themselves to hell.

I spent three years chasing the most popular guy on campus, only to be humiliated in front of the entire school.
My foster family treats me like a live-in maid. My biological father wants to drag me back into the gutter. And the loan sharks have made it clear that in three days, I'll be the one paying for my father's debt.
Everyone is waiting to see me fall apart.
What no one knows is that I already dreamed of the worst future waiting for me.

In my past life, I threw myself in front of the black panther alpha when his rut drove him into a frenzy—only to have him toss me into a pack of beasts and watch me get torn to pieces.
After being reborn, the first thing I did was rip off the royal crest pinned to my chest and swallow a suppressant, cutting off his control over me for good.
Everyone waited for me to come crawling back and beg for peace.
Instead, I turned and walked straight into the frozen Northlands, where the death rate was eighty percent.
There, through a severed arm, a ruined face, and the thin line between life and death, I awakened as the Platinum Lion King.
He dropped to his knees in the snow, crying and begging for forgiveness.
I only had one question for him: "What makes you think you're anything to me?"

A red dragon heir locked me in an iron shed and scorched me with his breath for ten minutes straight.Didn't kill me.He woke a Black Dragon buried under a three-hundred-year curse.The Tri-Dragon Council tore down my home, beat my father, threw me in jail, and live-streamed it all so the whole city could laugh.What they didn't know: every ancestor's soul in the Black Dragon cemetery had fused into me.I smashed through the Council's dome and slammed the dissolution order onto the table.

“Sheridan, Link gave me hope to live this past year. I’m pregnant with his child now. He’s been malnourished since he was a baby. Could you be a little more generous and give him half of your food?”

"To quell the rumors, give him the commander's authority as well! Consider it proof of your tolerance, and that way everyone will accept our family of three!"

Looking at my fiancée, who was heavily pregnant and had a saintly glow on her face, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

Five years of entrusting each other with life and death have resulted in this scene.

Alright, I'll grant your wish.

Without arguing or making a scene, I readily signed the power transfer agreement, removed my epaulets, and walked without looking back into the underground forbidden zone that everyone feared.

There, a crazy witch with a morbid possessiveness toward me is imprisoned.

Sylvia thought that after I relinquished power, I would only be able to kneel in the mud like a stray dog and watch them be affectionate.

But she had no idea that I was the one who had the safety net for her throughout the entire city!

After losing my protection, the system completely crashed within a few days.

That freeloader completely dropped his pretense, not only beating her half to death with domestic violence, but also attempting to invade her private space.

When she crawled to the gate of the restricted area covered in blood, crying and begging me for forgiveness and to save her life.

I was being held in the arms of that aloof witch, watching the pretty boy who had come looking for me:

"The experiment actually spoke, darling..."

The day manager Gregg shoved me into the freight elevator shaft, the nuclear winter outside had only just begun. As he slammed the gate shut, he said, "No one will find you dead down there; the insurance payout is enough to cover the shortfall." I died in the darkness at thirty degrees below zero. Then, I woke up. I was back on the afternoon he threw the contract in my face. This time, I didn't sign. I shoved the contract into the paper shredder, snatched the brass key ring from Supervisor Miller, locked every exit of the warehouse, and re-routed the entire building's heating system into my own command bunker. As Gregg licked ice off the frozen floor on the security monitor, I was sitting in the guard room, heating up a can of pork. Outside, the first snowflake fell. And this time, the ones who would be freezing to death were them.

Brent Hale gave me one night to save the company’s worst-performing livestream—or lose my job with everyone else in Studio Three.
I wanted the severance package.
So I ignored the script, exposed every product flaw, and told viewers exactly what not to buy.
By the time my boss tried to cut the feed, the chat was threatening to riot—and half our inventory was already gone.

He died 49 times to earn one free life.
Now the man who cannot be killed is coming for the gods who played with his soul.
Six hidden labs. Six immortal brothers still in chains.
One war that will leave continents scarred and kings in ashes.
There are no more respawns.
Only revenge.

⚠️ 18+ ONLY | Explicit sexual content & dark romance

Virgin Donor: Fifty Million Dollars.

I stared at the contract, my breath hitching as the numbers blurred before my eyes. Fifty million—for my virginity, my blood, my body.

I had no choice. To hunt down my father’s killer, I needed power. And Vampria Corp was the only door left open to me.

I signed away my freedom without ever seeing the monster who bought me.

That night, I was delivered to a pitch-black mansion, dressed in nothing but a thin hospital gown. Waiting for me was Thane—Vampire War Lord, executioner, legend. Beautiful. Merciless. His crimson eyes burned through the darkness.

“Strip.”

I thought I had misheard—until he repeated it.

Naked and trembling beneath his gaze, I realized I wasn’t a guest. I was property.

He didn’t touch me at first. He watched. Judged. Then, in a blink, I was pinned to the wall, his hand at my throat, his voice cold and cruel.

“When a slave begs,” he murmured, “it does so on all fours.”

I believed I had sold myself to be fed upon.

I was wrong.

Because my rare Ruby blood didn’t just tempt him—it awakened something savage inside a vampire who had slept for four hundred years.

And once the beast awoke, neither of us could escape what followed.

My husband is cheating, and my own family has betrayed me.
The woman he’s sleeping with? My own half-sister.
After countless nights lying in the dark, wondering what I was doing, I finally had to ask myself: is there any reason left to stay?
But my husband has become obsessed. He refuses to let me go, claiming, over and over, that he loves me.

"You're beautiful, Amelia," he said with cool assessment, "but there's something in your bearing. You're definitely not as simple as you pretend to be."
I tilted my head with feigned innocence. "What exactly are you implying?"
"I witnessed your performance during this morning's exhibition game," Jason said. "With abilities like that, I could arrange much better opportunities for your development."
Recruit me? How laughable. If he knew my true identity, he wouldn't be saying such things.

On the surface, Amelia is a college student who has just returned to America, but in reality, she is the world's youngest and most deadly assassin. When a mysterious agent infiltrates her base and steals a top-secret file, she must personally retrieve it.
This pursuit forces her to return to the family she abandoned years ago. Here, she must not only face her hypocritical parents and the fake sister who has always been her enemy, but also recover the stolen files without exposing her true identity.
However, Jason, the agent who stole the files, possesses a pair of unforgettable green eyes—eyes that belong to her childhood savior, someone who should have died long ago. When Jason proposes a deal to her, Amelia realizes this might be her only chance to get close to the truth.

Can Amelia complete her mission before Jason uncovers her true identity? And what connection does Jason have to her savior?

At her engagement party, her fiancé had betrayed her.She announced she wanted to take revenge on her fiancé.


A man’s icy lips covered hers as he devoured her, giving her temporary respite from the heat. She reached out and flung her arms around his neck, sucking his lips greedily.
Loud moans and pants soon resounded around the room. Their shadows on the wall opposite overlapped with a burning passion.
As the light was dim, Charlotte couldn’t see the man’s face clearly. The only thing that occurred to her was how beastly he was in bed. He savagely took her until dawn.

"Baby, I heard making love mid-bungee jump is incredible... wanna try it?"

Evelyn Kendall was a conservative woman. The wildest thing she'd ever done in her life was agree to her husband Sebastian Ashford's idea of outdoor thrills.
But halfway through, Sebastian got a call from his sister-in-law Arianna and abandoned her hanging in mid-air, leaving—his ridiculous excuse being that Arianna had stomach cramps from her period.

They said an Omega didn't belong in their elite military academy. They were right—I didn't belong. I was meant to destroy it.
I was Celia, the scholarship nobody, the punching bag for five ruthless Alpha brothers who ruled the school like gods. The Hale brothers made my life hell just because I dared to be smarter than them. They humiliated me, tormented me, nearly killed me.
Then they murdered the only person who tried to help me.
"You think you can compete with us?" Zaxer's breath was hot against my ear as he held me over the rooftop edge. "You're nothing but a pathetic little Omega."
"Then why are you so threatened by me?" I whispered back, watching his eyes darken.
They let me fall. Krystal, the friend I trusted, kissed my tormentor while I plummeted to my death.
But I didn't die. I got my wolf. And with her came a hunger for vengeance that burned hotter than any mate bond.
Now I'm back, and the game has changed. I know their secrets, their weaknesses, their guilty consciences. They think they can corner me in empty classrooms, threaten me with those piercing stares and brutal words?
"Hit me," I dared Zaxer in front of everyone, my voice steady as steel. "Show them all what kind of Alphas you really are."
He couldn't. Because for the first time, they realized something: the broken Omega they tortured has teeth now.
They ruined me once. Killed for me twice.
But when Kaiden growled those three words—"You're our mate"—everything I thought I knew shattered.
Because how do you destroy the ones fate bound you to?
Revenge never tasted so savage. Love never cut so deep.

Founding out her boyfriend got her sister Pregnant, Zoe Gil flirted with an unknown stranger and ended up marrying him in a flash.

But why did the stranger turned out to be the most richest and powerful man in the city?

At my Mating Ceremony, the pack's newly appointed Chief Forger ripped the sacred collar from my neck for all to see.
"Your bland scent is entirely unworthy of such an ancient artifact."
She gripped the metal shears, flashing me a provocative smirk.
"The Alpha gave me permission to follow my inspiration whenever it strikes. I cut it, but I’ll forge you a new one later. Consider it a mating gift."
Gasps rippled through the surrounding wolves. For a female, having her bare, unmarked neck exposed in public was the ultimate humiliation.
My mate, the Alpha of the Obsidian Pack, strode over. Instead of punishing her, he warned me, "She is a rare prodigy, highly sensitive to spiritual aura. Don't throw your weight around as the future Luna and be so petty."
Catching the blatant favoritism in his eyes, I let out a cold laugh.
Fine. Since she destroyed the priceless treasure hand-forged by the High Priestess, she would pay the price.
I stared dead into his eyes and announced on the spot, "The Mating Ceremony is canceled."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I could never come back up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I laughed in disbelief and ripped off my apron.

“Apologize? I quit.”

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

My reward?

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

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

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

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

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

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

A computer glitch opened my boyfriend's group chat.
After a cheating story went viral, his friends had talked him into faking an affair to test how much I trusted him.
At the same time, they were sending their richest, best-looking friend to seduce me. They wanted to see how easily I'd take the bait.
My boyfriend couldn't get enough of his little cheating game.
So I pretended to fall for it.

My mate died throwing himself between me and a band of rogues.
He left me a twelve-million-dollar debt and a son who wasn't even one yet.
For him, I turned away every wolf who came knocking. I never went looking for a second chance mate. I worked until my body gave out, paying off a dead man's debts one dollar at a time.
Then, on the anniversary of his death, I walked into the wrong hotel suite.
My dead mate was alive. And he was in bed with my stepsister.
They were laughing about the stupid little Omega still crying over his grave, and about the son I'd carried, who was never mine at all.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I eased the door shut, walked into my meeting, and started planning their real funeral.

Our engagement has gone unfulfilled for ten years.

My parents saved his family in that yacht accident. With their dying breath, they asked his family to look after me. In return, we go to city hall every year, trying to fulfill this obligation.

Ten attempts. Ten failures.

Elevator malfunctions, food poisoning, home invasions, car crashes... Every single time, I get hurt at the worst possible moment while he walks away without a scratch.

This makes ten. A truck slams into the passenger side, my head smashes against the window, and he's already running across the street, pulling that woman into his arms.

On my way to find him after they stitch me up, I hear his assistant's voice in the hospital corridor:

"Mr. Ashford, the truck driver's been taken care of. Money'll hit his account like we agreed... but is this really fair to Miss Bennett? It's been ten years, every single year—"

William's voice comes out low and tired. "I don't have a choice. Her parents saved me, but I'm in love with Emma."

I look down at the diagnosis. ALS. Late stage.

Turns out I've been trying to marry a lie this whole time.

My fiancée and best friend, whom I risked my life to protect, sold me to the brutal "Blood Blade Gang . "
They laughed as they watched me being kicked into a pool of radioactive waste like a dog, waiting for me to turn into a pile of bones.
But they didn't know that the deadly radiation not only failed to melt me, but also forcibly ruptured my genetic lock, awakening the [Nuclear Fury].
I rode back to the old camp in her heavily armored vehicle.
Those two scoundrels were still arrogantly bullying me: "I have the Blood Blade Gang backing me! The big shots are coming soon, you're dead!"
I sneered and slapped them away.
Idiots, look back! Your so-called powerful backer is kneeling in the vehicle, lighting my cigarette.