9335 Book(s) Related to the white luna she was rejected now she is the prophecy

To escape the absurd arranged marriage with the Duke of Hawthorne—a ruthless billionaire who demanded absolute physical perfection around him and was rumored to fire servants just for being plain—I spent years painting on hideous freckles and a sickly yellow complexion.
I hid my true face beneath outdated tweed suits until Earl Julian Sutton knelt in my rose garden.
"Georgina, I don't care about your looks. It's your gentle soul I love," he vowed.
I believed him. I fought my greedy father and defied the terrifying Duke just to be with him.
Yet, on our wedding day, right before exchanging rings, Julian dropped my hand and rushed to his crying mistress—a C-list model with a mass-produced plastic face.
"She's too fragile, Georgina. You're strong..." he said shamelessly in front of hundreds of guests.
The high society crowd gasped, throwing me pitiful glances.
So this was the price of testing a man's heart.
Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open. The Duke of Hawthorne strode in, flanked by bodyguards.
He walked straight to me, gently touched my clean, flawless cheek, and sighed.
"You made me play along with this 'ugly duckling' game for so long, my future Duchess... Are you finally done testing these fools?"

Three years ago, Marco Ferraro stepped over the corpses of the Vancetti family to claim his throne, delivering my sentence with cold indifference: "Don't take it personally, Noelle. It's just business."
Three years later, he is the untouchable new Godfather of New York, while I am nothing but a ghost in a threadbare coat.
His classless fiancée didn’t just buy my mother’s legacy—she took that rare pink diamond and dropped it, right in front of everyone, into a glass of whiskey thick with spit.
"Thirsty, fallen princess?"
She kicked the backs of my knees hard, forcing me onto the glass-strewn floor. Her sharp stiletto heel ground into my knuckles. "Drink it, or die."
Marco stood to the side, lighting a cigar, his eyes filled with nothing but boredom.
I tightened my grip on the shard of glass hidden in my palm, ready to drag us all down to hell.
But before I could strike, the deafening roar of rotor blades tore through the dome of the auction house. A pitch-black military helicopter hovered just outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the violent rotor wash instantly shattering every champagne tower in the room.
A voice that made the entire underworld tremble boomed through the speakers:
"Which one of you suicidal bastards touched my woman?"
A dozen crimson laser dots instantly painted a target on Marco’s forehead.
Rafael, "The Phantom," had arrived.
Tonight, no one makes it out of here alive—except me.

Our company's year-end retreat was a ski trip to Silver Peak, and it took until day three for Cole, the guy I'd been in love with for years, to finally ski a run with me.

We were only halfway down a green run when he pulled up at the bottom of a pitch and shook his head, clearly annoyed.

"Your balance is awful. I've shown you a hundred times and you're still doing the same thing."

One of our coworkers laughed. "Seriously? Cole had Addison for one afternoon and she's already doing blues."

Addison was the assistant he'd hired a year ago.

Cole didn't look at me again. He flagged down a stranger who had just skied to the bottom.

"Hey man, can you take her down a couple runs for me? I'll pay you after."

He was skiing off toward Addison before he'd even finished talking.

Addison hunched her shoulders and said she was cold. Cole pulled off his scarf with a smile and looped it around her neck a few times.

Looking at that scarf, I thought about the first time I ever stood on a ski slope.

My legs were shaking so hard I could barely stay up.

He stood right behind me, hands hovering by my arms in case I slipped, and we inched our way down together.

He kept saying the same thing the whole time. "Don't worry, I've got you. You're not gonna fall."

For all these years, I'd thought I was stuck on the green runs because I was a slow learner.

Now I finally saw it. He hadn't been behind me for a long time.

So I didn't need to keep looking back for him anymore.

Three years ago, in that deadly barrier, I carved out half my progenitor heart and dragged Theron back from death's door. The wound on my back has never healed.
I thought it was a soul blood pact—bound in life and death. Then Samaela appeared, that fragile human with barely a century to live, and it all became a joke.
He believed her lies. Swallowed every word about how I'd murdered her parents in cold blood.
For that pathetic creature who couldn't even bear sunlight, my carefully groomed blood vassal sawed off my pureblooded wings, ripped out my progenitor fangs with his bare hands, and threw me into the Silver Cathedral.
Three years. Nailed to a cross with pure silver chains, I endured concentrated UV rays and holy water burning through me day and night.
Everyone waited for me to go mad, to beg, or turn to ash. I didn't.
Listening to their wedding bells toll outside, I simply watched—in the silence of my flesh charring and regenerating—as the silver light on my chains fractured inch by inch.
Then I tore out the silver spikes embedded in my rotting flesh, dragged my bleeding wreck of a body forward, and kicked open the doors to the Crimson Blood Moon Gala's hall.
Theron had forgotten one forbidden clause in the blood pact: The oathbreaker's life belongs not to the gods, but to me.

The day the butler of Sterling family came to claim me, the folks back in my dusty hometown lined the streets with tears in their eyes, waving goodbye like I was headed somewhere better.
The moment I stepped into that mansion, armed guards pinned me down in the first-floor medical suite, demanding I donate bone marrow to their precious adopted daughter, Celeste.
I responded by ripping out Celeste's dialysis machine.
My biological parents, Richard and Eleanor, went ballistic. They locked me in the attic storage room to "reflect on my behavior."
That night, while the house slept, I crept down to the basement and twisted open the main gas line valve.
I was halfway through rigging a candle delay fuse when the thermal imaging system caught me. Armed security tackled me before I could finish the job.
They'd had enough. They blindfolded me, tossed me onto a private jet like garbage, and flew me overnight to the most notorious hellhole in America—Deadwater, Texas.
The car had barely stopped in front of the bullet-riddled town sign when Richard leaned in with a cold warning:
"Listen to me. These people don't show mercy. An ungrateful brat like you? Three days, tops, before they pick your bones clean."
Eleanor stood beside him, dripping with fake concern:
"Willa, just agree to donate your marrow to Celeste, and you'll still be a Sterling. Stay here in this godforsaken wasteland, and you're dead."
I spat blood at her shoes. Eleanor's mask shattered. She ripped off my hood and shoved me hard into the dust.
I pushed myself up slightly, staring coldly at the yellow sand beneath my hands, and shook my head.
I squinted up at the familiar landscape—the rusted water tower, the butcher shop with skinned hogs hanging in the window, the faint smell of gunpowder in the air.
Funny. Nobody ever told me that the place I'd spent twenty years calling home was what rich people called "Deadwater."
Well. Since I'm here anyway.
Nobody's leaving this town alive today.

They all thought I was just a rogue soldier who had crawled back from the border, covered in gunpowder and looking for revenge for my family's old debts.
Everyone was guessing which building I would blow up next. Julian, as I expected, panicked.
He recalled all his elite personnel to the Vientiane Building, activated top-level security, practically turning the entire office building into an impenetrable fortress, and sealed off assets globally to prevent my "illegal theft."
But he made a mistake.
When he personally pressed the reset lock, attempting to regain control of the system through manual verification, he didn't hear the prompt of command execution, but rather the hydraulic hum emanating from the building's load-bearing walls—it was the "self-destruct program" he had personally signed, running as scheduled under the guise of my privileges.

We were ambushed by rogue wolves and chased all the way to the cliff's edge.
Caleb—my mate, Alpha of Ravenrock Pack—was covered in blood, barely strong enough to carry one person across the chasm.
Forced by the alliance marriage between our packs, he ultimately chose me.
Laura was left behind. The feral rogues tore her apart, piece by piece. They didn't even leave a body.
Three days later, Caleb acted as if nothing had happened and completed our mating ceremony on schedule.
After the wedding, he stripped me of every dignity of my position as Luna. He treated me like a prisoner, a punching bag for his rage, making me pay for Laura's brutal death.
When I learned that my entire pack had been slaughtered, I was locked in a freezing dungeon, wanting nothing more than release.
I used the last of my strength to rip apart our mate bond. But Caleb, driven completely mad, tore me to pieces with his own hands.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of the rogue attack.
This time, I chose to step back and give the one he truly loved a chance to survive.

In my previous life, the Vance Corporation stuffed me into an iron barrel and sank me alive to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

The agonizing pain of suffocation still lingered in my bones, yet I suddenly jolted awake in my own bedroom.

The digital clock on the nightstand flashed red: 11:55 PM.

Exactly five minutes remained before the Corporation's elite cleaners would break down the door to silence me.

What is five minutes enough for?

Enough to hide my feverish younger brother in the closet and kill any thought my parents had of calling the police;

Enough to use waste motor oil, broken glass, and a modified industrial nail gun to transform this apartment into a meat grinder tailor-made for assassins.

When the lock clicked softly from a master key and a red laser sight pierced the darkened living room... these battle-hardened professional cleaners thought tonight would be an easy hunt.

But little did they know, the one who had crawled back from the abyssal hell was a grim reaper who had mastered every art of slaughter.

Tonight is just collecting the interest. Before dawn breaks, I will turn the entire Vance Corporation to ashes.

On the day of the academy application deadline, my entire family was busy choosing a school for my twin sister, Ivy. Even Adrian, the man who'd promised to make me his Luna, only cared about her.

In my last life, I followed them to Moonvale Academy. Four years later, Adrian proposed to Ivy in front of everyone. My family applauded. That night, I died alone.

This time, I secretly chose Frostland Academy, three thousand miles away, and signed a five-year pack transfer contract.

They thought I'd always come running whenever Ivy needed me.

But once I crossed Blood Moon's border, every bond tying me to my family would be severed.

They'd spent eighteen years choosing Ivy over me.

Soon, they'd never have to choose again.

When he was alive, Owen loved me so much he’d give his life for me. Yet, as for his death, I was as cold as a mere bystander.
At the funeral, his family slapped me, clawed at my throat, called me a man-eating black widow. Every last one of them turned on me, eyes red, demanding the same thing: Who killed Owen?
I didn't say a word.
My ten-year-old son went into cardiac arrest right there and was rushed to the ER — and still I said nothing.
Not until that voice cut through the crowd.
"I killed Owen."
I slowly raised my eyes.
After staying silent for so long… maybe it was finally time to tell the truth.

I am Mandy Langley, 42 years old, CEO of Sterling International. In Manhattan's cutthroat business world, I'd earned the name "Ice Queen."
Five years divorced, my ex-husband's parting words still stung—he'd called me cold as stone, said I was nothing but a dictator even in bed.
He had no idea my frost was a facade, hiding an emptiness and a craving no one could touch.
I controlled billions in assets, yet I lay awake every night, consumed by a single thought: I wanted a man to make me let go, to force me to surrender completely.
That man walked into my office three years ago, and I'd been drowning ever since.
Allen Thorne, my chief assistant, 28 years old—too young, shamefully young, and yet I couldn't resist him.
A year ago, I discovered the truth: he was the CEO of Vortex Capital, my rival, planted here to destroy me.
I should've fired him on the spot. Instead, I kept him close, pretending it was to watch him, when really, I just couldn't let him go.
Dangerous, magnetic, ruthlessly in control—he was everything I shouldn't want. I never exposed him. I fell harder instead.
I buried this forbidden desire, but every day he was there, right in front of me, taunting me.
What was I supposed to do? Cut him loose—or let him claim me?

At 2:17 AM, six weeks postpartum, new mom Harper thought she was just responding to her baby's crying. Instead, she discovered her husband Kieran and their live-in nanny Anya in the most intimate embrace—right beside her daughter's crib.
In her most vulnerable moment, in what should have been the safest space in her home, the two people she trusted most were betraying everything sacred about motherhood and marriage. Worse yet, they thought she was just another "baby-brained" mom who would never catch on.

They seriously underestimated what a mother is capable of.

When Harper finds that mysterious $300 Victoria's Secret charge on their shared account, when she discovers Kieran's handwritten love notes hidden in Anya's room, when she overhears them mocking her "annoying" middle-of-the-night feedings—she realizes it's time to show them what a real "burning sensation" feels like.

So the next time they tried to sneak around, Harper secretly swapped out their lube for her own special blend.

If you want to play with fire, let me show you what burning really feels like.

Growing up, my parents and brother favored only me, treating my sister Della like a burden. They locked her in the basement and fled overnight with me to Aldermere.
Twenty years later, for the sake of my upcoming wedding, they brought me back to that old house to erase the last traces of her existence.
But none of us expected that Della wasn't dead. Decades had passed, yet she still looked exactly as she did back then. She even followed us to our new home—and right now, she’s sitting quietly on our living room sofa, slowly turning her head to smile at us...

We’ve been married for almost a month, yet my Alpha keeps hiding in the study to avoid me.
He would rather give me a cheap vial of synthetic bonding pheromones than bare his fangs at me.
I thought I was just the unwanted substitute for my runaway sister, that he felt absolutely nothing for me.
I slammed the door and left, heading to the Moon Well to confide. But the moment my blood dripped in, the Alpha's voice echoed:
"I finally married her... but I was born with a curse. How do I mark her without hurting her the moment I bite down..."

The night I was reborn, my adoptive brother—Viktor Konstantin, the Don of the Chicago Outfit—was poisoned during a negotiation.

In my past life, I loved him desperately. So when the aphrodisiac took hold and he gasped for me to call Liliya, I made a selfish choice. I stayed. I gave myself to him.

She arrived too late. When she saw us together, she ran. Her plane crashed over the Atlantic that same night.

Viktor married me without a word of blame. Until a turf war when our enemies captured me—seven months pregnant, chained up, beaten bloody. I called him, begging for help through my tears.

His answer shattered me: "You want to live? After killing Liliya? You and that bastard don't deserve to breathe. Go to hell, Eve."

I died in that cell. Our daughter died with me.

Now I'm staring into those same drugged eyes again.

This time, I'm making the call.

The bite mark on the silver chain can never be copied, and it’s the only proof separating truth from fraud. My roommate leaked my secret to her boyfriend, who wore a counterfeit chain to play my long-lost savior. They nearly drained all my money before an anonymous text alerted me to their scheme. I exposed their fraud in public, and finally reunited with the real boy who hid beside me all along.

Three days before my wedding, my fiancé's first love returned to New York.

My fiancé, Don Damian Rossetti, was one of the most powerful Mafia bosses on the East Coast.

His mother, Daisy, the former Donna, held my hand and promised, "You're the only woman I'll ever recognize as my son's Donna."

My brother Sebastian swore he'd make Damian pay if he ever hurt me.

Even my best friend Natalie assured me, "You've been together for eight years. No woman could ever come between you."

I believed them.

Until my wedding day.

Sitting in the bridal car, I noticed a message lighting up Natalie's spare phone.

[Operation Bride Swap: SUCCESS! Our favorite couple finally got their wedding!]

My blood ran cold.

I opened the group chat.

Videos showed Damian exchanging vows, kissing his first love, Sabrina Morelli, and carrying her into the bridal suite.

Then I saw his message.

[I owe Sabrina a wedding. She's dying. It's her last wish.]

[Nina will still become my Donna tomorrow. If she finds out, tell her there was a Family emergency. She'll forgive me.]

Daisy: [I'll cover for you.]

Sebastian: [Nina's easy to handle.]

Natalie: [Damian and Sabrina belong together!]

Everyone knew.

The Don I had loved for eight years was marrying another woman on our wedding day.

And the people I considered family had helped him make a fool of me.

I was supposed to become his Donna.

Instead, I was the only person who hadn't been invited to my own humiliation.

Did Dante really think he could humiliate me like this and get away with it?

On our wedding day, I would give him a gift he'd regret for the rest of his life.

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

After being reborn, my cousin and I swapped mates.
Last life, she married Kaelen Thornfield — the coldest Alpha in the West. Fifty years together and he never marked her. Not once. His childhood "friend," an Omega with a PhD in crying on command, made sure of that. My cousin faded into nothing. Unmarked. Unloved. Invisible.
Me? I married a man who couldn't stand the sound of my voice. Eleven months. Done.
This time, I took the western contract. Drove three days across the country in a beat-up truck, blew a radiator in the middle of nowhere, and rolled into his pack's territory covered in engine grease and smelling like a gas station.
His little Omega took one look at me and wrinkled her nose.
She has no idea what's coming.
I don't do tears. I don't do subtle. And when some girl sobbed at my mating ceremony about how jealous she was of me — I grabbed my Alpha by the collar and sank my teeth into his neck.
In front of the entire pack.
Without asking.

The moment I saw my name on that wedding invitation, I was already dead.

On Highway 23, a steel rebar had pierced straight through my chest. I was two months pregnant.

I called my fiancé Michael seventeen times. The first sixteen, he hung up without a word. On the seventeenth, his voice dripped with impatience: "Marrying Sophia is just for show. Stop making a scene."

The man who once knelt outside my family's estate for three days and nights, swearing to love me for a lifetime—he wouldn't spare me a single second more.

With my last breath, I dialed the funeral home. "I'm calling... for myself."

Flames consumed my body. My soul drifted toward the engagement banquet that should have been mine. When the killer's phone lit up, the name on the screen was Sophia...

When he destroyed my entire family, he never once thought of me.

So now, let me watch with my own eyes as this wedding becomes their funeral.

I died once.

Spent seventy years as a housewife the first time around. Biggest regret? Never felt my heart race.

Met her in this life, and that's when I learned what being alive actually meant. In this world where assassins pay in gold coins and seek sanctuary at Continental hotels, we became a duo called "Swans," hunting down the man who destroyed her family. Every single day, dancing on a razor's edge.

Two years ago, the explosion killed Raven Hayes right in front of me.

To survive, I married a naive tech heir, slipped into silk dresses and started doing the charity gala circuit, tried to convince myself this was the peace I wanted.

Until that enemy became a High Table member and announced a hundred-million-dollar bounty on me to the world.

I used to be scared. Used to run. Used to ask why it had to be me.

But sitting at my vanity, staring at this stranger's face in the mirror, all done up like some socialite, I suddenly realized none of it mattered anymore.

I'm going to die eventually anyway. Might as well die looking like myself.

My sister and I married the twin Alphas. Everyone in the pack called us blessed.

When rogues attacked me five months into my pregnancy, our mates cut off our calls for help. Their stepsister needed them.

My baby died. My sister saved me, but the silver blade that struck her left her unable to shift again.

From my hospital bed, I told my husband I wanted our mate bond severed.

He ignored me for two days. Then I told him our child was gone.

His answer came at once: "Stop using our baby to manipulate me."

Ethan built me a "Relationship Assessment System." A hundred points a month. Below eighty, we break up. Above a hundred, he marries me.
I believed it. For five whole years.
For that one point, I changed my accent, threw out my work clothes, shut down the little restaurant my mother left me, and molded myself into whatever shape he wanted. But every time I scored ninety-nine, he said: "You're still a little short. Try harder."
The night of the charity gala, the head chef walked out. I called in suppliers, rewrote the menu, and saved the entire fundraiser. When the applause came, Madeleine stood there in champagne couture and accepted every word of praise as the project lead.
My proposal. My work. Brushed aside with one breezy line — "Claire helped me run some errands too."
That night, Ethan opened his tablet and gave me points.
Ninety-nine.
Still ninety-nine.
It wasn't until late at night, when I hacked into the backend, that I saw the directive set to "Auto-Execute":
Ensure the overall score cannot exceed 100.
Created: five years ago. The first day we became a couple.
There had never been a "just work harder and you'll pass." Only a fraud with its ending written in stone.
The next morning, he deducted twenty-two points. The reason: I hadn't handed over my mother's little restaurant as a stepping stone for his hotel project.
This time, I won't agree.

When I was reborn, and my Alpha husband's ward clamped a muzzle around my neck as a joke...
I didn't shift into my wolf and tear her arm off like in my past life.
I ripped off the bloody muzzle and gave Roman a smile.
"If you think this is a joke, keep indulging her."
And I walked away without looking back.
Because my death in my previous life was too miserable.
After our fallout, Roman used his Alpha authority to freeze my accounts overnight.
Exiled, I was diagnosed with terminal silver poisoning.
Dying in agony, I swallowed my pride and crawled back to the Pack gates.
But he let Chloe force me to my knees and refused to open the doors.
In the end, my wolf spirit shattered, and I froze to death.
I only understand after dying: love and dignity are worthless.
Survival and money are all that matter.

I helped Cassian conquer the seven floating cities and claim the Dragon Throne.
On the day he became king, he cast me aside for a lowborn dragon girl.
I exposed her as an Abyss spy, and she killed herself before the court.
Cassian thanked me in public, but he never forgave me for taking her away.
Years later, he accused me of serving the Abyss, slaughtered my entire fire-wing clan, and burned me alive.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at his coronation.
This time, I'm not saving his throne. I'm burning it down.

When my roommate Sutton woke up from a wet dream, she was literally glowing. She claimed it was the most mind-blowing romantic experience of her life—the man’s silhouette, his scent, his body heat felt impossibly real.
Even crazier? When she checked her phone, there was a strange new number saved in her contacts. It belonged to the man from her dream.
While the rest of us shrieked about destiny, our moody roommate Jessamine just stared at the screen and dropped a chilling warning: "Things that come looking for you in dreams should stay buried."
We all wrote her off as a jealous freak.
That is, until I started noticing Sutton’s face growing more haggard by the day—and the fact that her "perfect boyfriend" refused to speak a single word to her.

When I was kidnapped, Eric was on a yacht watching the sunrise with his new girl. He casually told the kidnappers to go ahead and kill me.
To stay alive, I took off my own clothes and wrapped my arms around the waist of the Mafia's new boss.
Later, Eric finally came after me like a madman, desperate to save me.
But the young don only laughed softly and looked down at me, asleep in his arms. "She's worn out. She doesn't have the strength to go anywhere with you."

Sophia and I fought over who would wear that emerald ring to change our fate.
In my first life, I claimed the emerald ring, thinking I would become a billionaire heiress.
That was until late at night, when I accidentally opened that underground iron door and he strangled me to death with a piano wire: "Your pathetic wailing isn't her at all."
Given a second chance, I backed away and let Sophia take it.
A few days later, she died in the ice cellar with her tongue severed. Right before she died, she let out a blood-curdling whimper: "A true devil is hiding behind that door!"
Waking up for the third time, we trembled in sheer terror as the ring was offered to us once again.
Just who exactly is the daughter he is looking for?

I was here because of missed periods and abnormal bleeding—a suspected threatened miscarriage.

When asked about our relationship, my boyfriend didn't even look at me.

"We're just classmates," he told the nurse.

He thought he was cutting ties with a worthless nobody so he could chase after a billionaire's daughter.

What he didn't know was... I was the heiress he was desperately looking for.

After my miscarriage, my psychiatrist husband offered to erase the painful memories to help me forget them.

During the three months I was dumped in a rehab facility, he took our daughter and his cousin on a European vacation.

Now that they're back, he assumes I’ll go right back to being that meticulous, perfect wife.

But I didn't.

He deliberately provokes me, thinking my coldness is just me playing hard to get.

He has no idea that the brainwashing procedure didn't just wash away my pain—it completely severed my love for him.

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

Here is the translation, adapted into the explosive, high-stakes style of a bestselling American domestic thriller. The pacing is sharp, and the emotional transition from shock to cold vengeance is deeply amplified:

For five years, I honestly believed I was the happiest woman alive.

Until today. The day I came home early and stood frozen just outside the balcony, listening to his phone call.

"What? Shuying, you're pregnant?" Tingshen's voice was laced with a raw, unbridled euphoria I had never once heard before. "I knew getting rid of Jiang Wan's baby back then was the right move."

My knuckles turned stark white as I death-gripped the ultrasound report in my hand.

Qin Shuying. My absolute worst rival. They had been sleeping together.

"Tingshen, are you sure she won't find out?" Shuying's sickeningly sweet voice drifted through the phone's speaker, piercing my eardrums. "If Jiang Wan ever realizes you were the one who killed her baby, she's going to raise hell."

"Relax." Tingshen laughed, his tone dripping with the kind of casual contempt reserved for swatting a fly. "She's so clueless. She honestly believes it was her own failing body. The stupid bitch even cried and apologized to me. She'd never in a million years suspect I drugged her."

My nails drove so brutally into my palms that they broke the skin.

"Besides, I finally got my hands on her core design drafts. Consider them a welcome gift for our baby. As for her shares in the company..." He paused, savoring his own smugness. "She's about to sign them all over to me anyway. So what if her old man built an empire? It's all dropping right into my lap."

The world tilted violently on its axis.

I was carrying his child again.

Just five minutes ago, before I overheard this monstrous phone call, I had been acting like a giddy fool, planning the perfect way to surprise him with the news.

My trembling hand drifted down to my lower stomach. My chest cracked open, a visceral, violent tearing of my own heart. The baby I had desperately longed for and mourned... chemically aborted by their own father, all to keep his mistress happy.

My sweet babies, I thought, the devastating sorrow rapidly freezing into sheer, icy rage. Mommy is going to make them pay for every drop of blood.

The club is dragging everyone out to a tomb Blair Whitmore's family dug up in Egypt, and nobody asked if this was a good idea.

She even brings some so-called expert along. Everyone crowds around the dark opening, practically shaking with excitement.

I'm the only one who tries to stop it.

"There's a mechanism in there. It's dangerous. We shouldn't go in. We need to report it to the antiquities authority first."

They just laugh at me.

"God, Blair, you're unbelievable. Untouched site like this and you just land it."

"Right, and some people never say two words all semester and now they want in on the action."

My palms are sweating. They don't know I come from a family of manuscript conservators. I grew up surrounded by dead languages and schematics for ancient mechanisms. What nobody else can read, I read clearly.

The stele at the entrance is carved with Egyptian hieroglyphs, and the warning is not subtle:

Whoever enters here will lose their soul to the void, and their bones will turn to dust.

An hour ago, at the company’s press conference, I had just helped my husband Carlisle quell the ninety-ninth scandal of his affair.
Now, he has my assistant Russell pinned against my office desk, kissing him, his hand slipping under Russell’s miniskirt and groping wildly.
In that moment, I’ve already planned the publicity spin for the hundredth time.
But I’m not sure if my dear husband Carlisle and his lover will make it that far.
Because the revenge banquet I’ve been preparing for three years is about to begin.

As the only daughter of a mafia family, I learned early that trust doesn't come cheap. When my father got sick, he gave me an ultimatum: if I want to take over the family, I have to get married first.

Everyone assumed I'd pick my childhood friend, Vincent Moretti—son of my father's right-hand man. Hell, even I thought so. Until my last life, when he left me to burn.

Father died in an ambush. I was trapped in a metal cage at an abandoned dock warehouse while flames swallowed everything. I begged Vincent for help. He stood thirty feet away, the cage key right by his feet.

"Cat, as long as your father's alive, he'll never give me the family. This isn't personal. It's business."

Sophia was wrapped around him—my so-called best friend. She smiled at me and said she'd take good care of everything.

Before I lost consciousness, I saw a figure in black charging into the flames—Elijah, the bodyguard I'd called "trash" and "a dog."

Then I opened my eyes and woke up a month before my birthday party. This time, I'm giving that position to someone who actually deserves it.

But why is Vincent on his knees at my engagement party, crying and begging me to marry him?

I accompanied my husband, Kieran, down to the Antarctic station’s underground quarantine zone to rescue an ice-bacteria sample at negative forty degrees. Halfway there, he asked me to fetch some data. I was gone for exactly three minutes. When I came back, he had vanished.
The institute staff told me I had gone insane, wandering the halls searching for a husband who had been dead for three years.
They called Kieran’s mentor, Dr. Reiner. Through the phone, the old man wept, swearing that Kieran had fallen into the deepest ice rift in Antarctica three years ago. Not even his bones were recovered.
Branded a lunatic, I was thrown into a sealed bio-containment pod twenty miles away. I became a human guinea pig. Under endless rounds of experimental drugs, my organs failed one by one until I died on that cold metal table.
Then, I blinked. Kieran was standing right in front of me, rushing me to the lab...

I'm a figure skating prodigy from one of the wealthiest families in the country. I'm also an idiot.

I believed that if I was kind enough, people would be kind in return. So I sponsored Haley Dunning, a scholarship skater on our team, and treated her like my own little sister.

The day before the NCAA qualifier, she came up to me with a sports drink, said she wanted to help keep my energy up.

I drank it. Went down on the ice with a broken leg. Drug test came back positive for banned stimulants.

Overnight, I went from the queen of the rink to the face of a scandal no one could stop talking about.

Expelled from school. Torn apart on social media. Calloway Corporation's stock in freefall.

Haley stood in front of the cameras, tears in her eyes: "Piper just wanted to win so badly. I never thought she'd go this far..."

I fell into a depression. Couldn't sleep without medication.

Then one day, she showed up at my hospital room with my boyfriend, bearing "comfort": a cup of water and a few pills: "Piper, take your meds, okay? This is all my fault for being so stupid..."

Three minutes later, I'm coughing up blood, convulsing on the floor.

Right before I died, I caught the look on her face. That sweet, innocent face. A slow, vicious smile spreading across it.

She knocked over the pill bottle and started screaming: "I grabbed the wrong ones! I mixed up her antidepressants with some old person's heart meds! I'm so stupid!"

My boyfriend pulled her into his arms. Didn't even glance at me dying on the floor: "She meant well. Piper just had bad luck."

I was poisoned to death in that hospital room.

Then I opened my eyes, and it was the day before the qualifier.

My neighbor Beck Morrow was the best high school point guard this state had seen in years.
The night before the state championship—three college scouts in the stands—he decided to stay home with his girlfriend instead. She wasn't feeling well.
I called his coach.
He played. He got the scholarship. He built a company worth eight figures before he turned thirty, and I spent five years writing every algorithm that company ran on.
He repaid me by throwing a ball at my head during a training session. Then his lawyers sent a letter explaining that I had no legal claim to any intellectual property developed under my employment contract, effective immediately, and that my position was being terminated.
Then I woke up. It was the first week of senior year again.

When my fiancée’s medical exam revealed kidney failure, I prepared to sell our home—and even give her one of my kidneys.
Before sacrificing everything, I tested her with one lie.
I told her the dying patient was me.
She canceled our wedding in seconds, refused to return my money, and planned to keep our apartment after my death.
Then she picked up the report and saw the patient’s name.
It wasn’t mine.
It was hers.

I used to think I was the one he’d fight to the death to protect.
Three years ago, I changed my name, erased my past, and slipped away from a brutal family power struggle. I lived like a shadow, working at a tiny company by the docks.
Then came the accident—the gunshots, the chaos. I saved Noah, the coldest heir of the Miller Family. And he went insane over me. He put me on a pedestal: bought an entire sugar factory just to make “sweetness for me alone,” chartered a jet for a meteor shower, even walked into a kidnapping trap by himself to trade his life for mine. Everyone said he was ruthless—yet he was impossibly gentle with me.
Then I learned the truth.
Those three days every month when he “disappeared to be punished” was never for me. He was back at the old estate, playing husband to his wife… and father to their twins.
The day I caught it, I thought I’d break. I thought I’d scream, demand answers, rip everything apart.

I’m the only princess of the Iron Claw Pack. My Alpha father chose three pure-blooded wolves from the Johnson family to grow up at my side. The man I choose won’t just be my mate—he’ll become the Pack’s next Alpha.
In my last life, I chose the younger twin, David, because he was always gentle and considerate.
But less than a year after our bonding ceremony, he died.
Only when our mate bond stirred again did I learn the truth: David had faked his death—because the one he loved was Emma.
When Rogues attacked, David threw away his life to save me, only to beg that if there were a next life, I would never choose him again.
When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day I had to choose my mate. This time, I grabbed a file at random.
It was David’s twin brother, Nate—my sworn enemy.

I always thought if I just held on a little longer, I could still keep this family together.
But my mate Ethan and my brother William poured all their favoritism onto Ava and her mother, and left me nothing but coldness and humiliation.
They could even look me in the eye and say, “She’s your sister too,” like that was enough to make me bless them.
That night, I did something so insane it bordered on self-destruction: I dragged my suitcase out the door and let the house that held all my memories get swallowed by flames.
The news exploded, our villa became ruins. The security footage showed “no one leaves,” and the police made a preliminary judgment that the person inside was “highly likely deceased.”
Ethan didn’t believe it.
Not until he and William were handed that bag of belongings at the police station, a diamond, a Blood Moonstone, the things I treasured most, did they finally understand: I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was really, truly done with them.
Too bad.

Ancient stories surrounding the town of Lovecraft County resurface as mysteries rage around the world and murder cases and investigations involve all the clans and monsters, mystical creatures that live and exist in the town.
Amidst the many secrets involving the city all this to solve or help in his case when trying to solve his own feelings, he has two soulmates, a vampire and a werewolf.
Amidst the events of past lives, when a businessman, the great hero and detective, as well as the avatar of an interdimensional creature, being the smartest man and the greatest hero in the world who is not so much brave, when it comes to his own personal problems, in which Tsuki is there to face villains and fights a battle with his feelings that leads him to desire and run away from his destined loves.
Both were born destined to rule and command.
The ancient gods are in truce, now to unite in a common goal, which is in addition to being what they are the result of an alliance between men, demons and humans in a peace agreement, they are children of an ancient being, in that they show that they are there to command and be the mediators and lords of their races, in the midst of a life of their own, their destinies, the rains in the midst of the events of the past, coming to see the future.
For Tsuki who is a creature that can change sex, even if he goes from world to world, even from the bottom of his being, he still can't deal with some things, like his wills, being the masters of his body and life. your soul.

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.

"I had a one-night stand with a stranger who turned out to be my boss, oh my goodness, what have I done?"

Valerie Skye is a young and hardworking woman who finds herself entangled in a web of love, lies, and unexpected twists after getting dumped by her ex-lover. She ends up having a one-night stand with a total stranger, Dante Blaze, who turned out to be her boss. This becomes complicated for Valerie, as she tries every possible way to avoid Dante. But as a charming playboy and her boss, Dante takes this as a challenge to clip Valerie's wings and make her his.

Will she be able to stand his charm?

Will he succeed in making her submit?

Will love end up overruling Dante's Playboy's nature?

Or will Valerie continuously live in shame of her night with him?

Dante finally noticed that I'd stopped telling him things.

When I bought a new dress for the Autumn Gala, I didn't send him pictures and ask which one he liked. When the Moretti family held its annual Winter Gala, I attended alone as Mrs. Moretti. And when the doctors said the bullet fragments lodged beneath my shoulder blade had to come out, I scheduled the surgery by myself.

No call. No text. I didn't even leave him a note.

When Dante heard about the operation from my doctor, his expression hardened. "Why didn't you tell me? Give me the scans. I'll have the clinic rearrange everything."

"There's no need. I can handle it, and you're busy enough as it is."

Silence fell between us.

Two weeks earlier, I'd still been sending him pictures of earrings, asking which pair I should wear to a dinner with the captains. I'd text him during lunch to ask if he'd eaten and stay awake at night until his headlights swept across our windows. Every tiny part of my life used to revolve around my husband. My boss.

But now, when the old wound left me shaking with pain while he patiently listened to my stepsister cry, I didn't say a word.

I didn't tell him I was pregnant either.

Soon, he'd discover one more thing on his own.

I'd left New York for good.

For Joey, I shouldered the blame for a commercial crime and survived five years behind bars—alone, even through a miscarriage.

With only five days left on my sentence, his secretary flaunted a “bonus” transfer from him—521,314—and when I left one mild comment, she blocked me.

I got released early on Christmas, wanting to surprise my husband. Instead, I pushed open our bedroom door and found Joey and Betty in our marital bed, deep in their sick little games.

And then I overheard a phone call that shattered everything: my little sister, Sansa, hadn’t died from a surgical “accident” at all. Joey had bribed the surgeon and had her heart cut out—so his mistress could gain a werewolf’s healing ability and keep having some perverted sex on bed.

He lied to me, used me, murdered my sister—and still mocked me for I was nothing without him.

What he doesn’t know is that I’m the daughter of an Alpha. I cut my family off for him once. Now I’m taking everything back—divorce,

Ethan and I were together for seven years.
But after he chose Annie, he treated me like a zombie that needed to be eliminated.
To save Annie, he threw me to a pack of zombie wolves. Her brother even shot me through the head.
Five years later, I woke up and joined three “crazy” people who had been abandoned by the survivor compound.
They treated me like family.
Then Ethan appeared. His attack killed my new family—and awakened the Zombie King’s power inside me.
He confessed his love while kneeling in a pool of blood.
Then Annie told me she was carrying his child.
That was when I finally understood:
There was nothing left in the human world worth staying for.

My husband, Alpha Casey and I were chosen mates, we were very much in love. Until Lori, his fated mate came into the picture...They made out in front of me, and he even wanted me to give up my position as the Luna. He said nothing would change between us, now everything changed.He left me behind when he was on the run, he took Lori with him instead. Just when I decided to give up on him and start my new life with another Alpha, he said he want me back."Please, do not resent me for making this horrible mistake. I would do anything to make it up to you once you got back. Don’t give up on me, don’t give up on us."My husband of 5 years, or the strongest Alpha of the whole continent?

He undressed right in front of me, his whole body coming into view


“Am I to do all the work, beautiful?” he teased me.

“Brendon,” I panted.

Brendon grabbed my hands, placing them on his stomach and sliding them down, and I grew instantly wet between my legs.

Then he undressed right in front of me, his whole body coming into view, and his cock… Goddess! I had been taken that inside me. I must have. We were mates, and we had had sex, right? Why couldn’t I remember anything?


Celeste thought her life was perfect. Her pack was small, but she had the love of her life by her side, yet little by little her life starts to crumble. First, her alpha throws his attention on a new she-wolf, next her pack turns on her, and in the end, she looses her life. Yet never had she expected to be given a second chance, and who stands by her side? The last person she would ever ask for help: Her old childhood bully.