Month: July 2025

Nicola Rhymes dreams of living happily with her husband and having many children. Unfortunately, life hits her hard, and her dream turns into ashes: first, the heartbreaking news that she can’t have children… then a bitter divorce.
In the end, Nicola decides to become a nanny. She will take care of other people’s children. So, when she accepts the nanny role for Blake Echols’s little girl, Nicola thinks it will be a walk in the park. Just another job. She soon learns how wrong she is.
Blake Echols is obsessed with his work, has a lot of trust issues, and has a greedy ex-wife he wishes would disappear from the face of the Earth. The only bright spot in his life is Iris, his little girl. When Iris’s mother sues for full custody, Blake vows to do everything in his power to keep his baby girl with him, even if it means getting married again to do it.
He realizes that not just any woman will do. He needs someone who will love little Iris almost as much as he does. What he needs is gorgeous, sweet, curvy Nicola. Blake convinces Nicola to marry him for Iris’s sake.
Will they be able to make this marriage of convenience work?
Or will their marriage fall to pieces?

Description
Elara wakes up in a psychiatric hospital with no memory of who she is, only flashes of a life she can’t place and the unsettling presence of a man who calls himself her husband. Cold. Polished. Dangerous. Damian Wolfe insists he’s there to protect her, but something in her gut screams otherwise. When a mysterious nurse helps her escape, Elara steps into a world she doesn’t recognize but somehow knows. A name, whispered from the past, leads her to Jaxon Reed, a journalist who claims she’s not just anyone, she’s Elara Sinclair, missing heiress to a billion dollar empire. And someone went to extreme lengths to make sure she disappeared. As Elara uncovers the chilling secrets buried in her past, including Project LUCID, a program designed to manipulate memory, she’s forced to face the terrifying truth: someone close to her orchestrated it all. And Damian? He may have saved her life. Or destroyed it. Torn between love and betrayal, Elara must choose, trust the man who swears he’s trying to protect her, or burn everything down to find the truth.

Leonardo

The gala was a blur of champagne, silk dresses, and lies dressed in diamonds. I stood at the highest tier of the marble staircase, untouched by the chaos below, watching. Always watching.

Then I saw her.

She wasn’t meant to be seen. No glittering gown. No bloodthirsty ambition behind her eyes. Just a girl in a server’s uniform, carefully balancing a tray of wine glasses like it mattered more than anything.

She turned.

One glance. That was all.

Golden skin. Wide, unguarded eyes. Like she still believed the world was good.

Innocence.

It slammed into me like a bullet.

I stepped down. Slowly. Calculated. My guards didn’t move, but they watched. Everyone did when I moved. Everyone except her.

She didn’t even know who I was.

Good. I liked that.

I liked her.

And I was going to have her.

—

Elena

He was staring at me.

I could feel it like heat-this unshakable, burning awareness crawling up my spine.

I didn’t dare look up. Rich men always stared. Some with pity, some with lust. Some with disgust. But this one… this was different.

The air around him felt dangerous. Like if I looked, something in my life would shift forever.

I moved quickly through the crowd, tray balanced, smile fixed. My brother needed his medicine by morning. One mistake tonight and I’d lose this job.

But when I passed him, the man stepped into my path.

I froze.

His suit was perfect. His eyes were darker than night. And when he looked at me, it wasn’t like I was a girl serving wine.

It was like I was already his.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth like sin.

I swallowed. “I… I’m just working, sir.”

He smiled. God help me, it was cold and beautiful and terrifying all at once.

“I didn’t ask what you were doing.” He stepped closer. “I asked who you are.”

“Elena,” I whispered. I don’t know why I told him. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve run.

But I didn’t.

And somehow, I knew I never would.

Nerd boy and “perfect girl”, mixed with high school, drama and love. Perfect recipe for a disaster?

The skylight cast a watery hue over the chrome polished floor of the Loft Blanc Gallery, nestled in the heart of Jersey City’s elite district. The gallery was an architectural marvel, a seamless fusion of industrial grit and avant-garde elegance steel beams curved overhead like ribs of an exposed heart, and sprawling white walls pulsed with the vibrant expressions of tortured genius.
Tonight, the elite brushed shoulders in whispers. Art critics with balding crowns leaned into the curves of women with sharpened smiles. Cameras clicked, champagne flutes clinked, and beneath the polite chaos stood Fred Coleman-tall, perfectly dressed, with that thin-lipped smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Fred wasn’t here for the art.
He never was.
“Racheal Lopez has a new piece in Room C,” whispered one of the curators, a red-haired assistant who tried not to stare too long at Fred’s tailored midnight-blue suit.
His heart pinched at the name.
Racheal Lopez.
She hadn’t been seen in public for five years. Not since she vanished, leaving behind a trail of scandal and a ruined engagement. Fred had spent years burying the memory of her-the burn of her perfume, the tilt of her laughter, the things she knew. Things she wasn’t supposed to know.
He moved towards Room C.
Each step echoed with ghosts. Not of art, but of buried lies.
As he entered, the crowd hushed slightly. A towering oil painting loomed under a golden spotlight. It depicted a faceless man, his suit stained with red paint that ran like blood down the canvas. His eyes were smeared out, but the title screamed clarity.
“The Collector.”
Fred froze.
It was him.
She had painted him. Not as he appeared in the polished world of finance and aesthetics, but as what he truly was-an orchestrator. A man who curated deception with the finesse of an artist.
“She knows,” whispered a voice behind him.
He turned. It was Kelvin, the one-eyed Gulf War veteran turned assistant-his most trusted employee. Or so Fred had once thought.
“She’s back in Jersey,” Kelvin continued, tugging at his collar. “I saw her.”
Fred’s jaw clenched. “Why now?”
Kelvin gave a half shrug. “Maybe she wants to finish what she started.”
Meanwhile, in the gallery’s corner, Sophia Silas-his ever-efficient secretary-tapped away on her phone, pretending to answer emails while secretly recording faces. She wasn’t just an assistant. She was a gatekeeper. And she knew too much.
And then there was Albert Samuel, standing like an iron statue by the gallery’s emergency exit. The kind of policeman who smiled only once at his own retirement party, fifteen years too early. He wasn’t here for the art either. His eyes scanned the crowd for threats, suspects, or sins.
“Fred Coleman,” he said, his deep voice slicing through the velvet chatter as he stepped forward. “We need to talk. Now.”
Fred didn’t flinch. “Can it wait until after the gallery closes?”
That was Albert. A man who wrestled order into chaos with his bare hands.
From a distance, Maria Terino watched. She had always envied Sophia her elegance, her charm, the way men looked at her like she was a Monet. But Maria knew Sophia’s secrets. They shared more than friendship they shared guilt.
And guilt was heavy currency in this city.
At the gallery entrance, Forlan Rice adjusted his badge. He was the only officer on duty tonight who still believed in redemption. He held a soft spot for Fred. Maybe because he’d once seen him donate anonymously to a shelter. Or maybe because he saw a flicker of humanity still buried beneath the mask.
He didn’t know that Fred’s masks had layers.
Fred followed Albert Samuel into a narrow hallway behind the gallery. The silence screamed.
“She’s back,” Albert said. “You know what that means.”
Fred met his eyes. “She’s not a threat anymore.”
Albert laughed dryly. “She was never just a threat, Fred. She was a fuse. And you built your entire gallery on a powder keg.”
“She disappeared.”
Albert stepped closer. “Because you paid her to. But ghosts don’t stay buried. Racheal’s painting is a warning.”
Fred’s jaw clenched. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’d better,” Albert said. “Before someone else does.”
Sophia felt the hairs on her arm rise. Someone was watching her.
She turned.
And there she was.
Racheal Lopez.
In a black dress, lips stained wine-dark, and eyes like silent daggers.
“Long time, Sophia,” Racheal said.
Sophia swallowed hard. “I heard you left the country.”
“I did. But Jersey always pulls me back. Like a bad dream.”
They stood in tense silence.
“I see you still work for him,” Racheal added, glancing at the hallway Fred had vanished into.
Sophia narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to come back and play ghost.”
Racheal smirked. “I’m not here to haunt. I’m here to remind him of what he tried to forget.”
“What do you want?”
Racheal’s voice turned cold. “The truth.”
In the shadows, Kelvin made a call. His hands shook slightly. He didn’t owe Fred l

After a drunken one-night stand with her cold, ruthless boss, Ella wakes up terrified not only because it happened, but because her ability to dream glimpses of the future revealed where she stood in front of the altar, crying and dressed in a wedding gown, with her boss in front of her.

Panicked, she runs. Her boss, Liam, acts like he doesn’t remember – but deep down, he does. What surprises him is how his feelings begin to change. He finds himself drawn to her, craving her presence, jealous of anyone else around her. Meanwhile, Ella tries to avoid him at all costs – afraid that the future she saw might actually come true.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XAbvfQeHdzZiqqWRt3TnhrYUjyUIve42/edit?usp=drivesdk&ouid=116737610507281808833&rtpof=true&sd=true

The prided itself on elegance and righteousness. Marble-clad cathedrals, high-rise buildings draped in shimmering glass, and a skyline punctuated by the gold cross of Saint Ursula’s Cathedral all signs of a place that sold itself as godly and just. Beneath its spotless surface, however, hid networks of deception, espionage, and the relentless pursuit of control.
It was on a chilly Saturday evening that the Cornwell estate hosted the most extravagant engagement party of the season. Racheal Cornwell, the bishop’s eldest daughter, was now officially betrothed to Victor Launch, a polished businessman with a murky past. The ballroom shimmered with chandeliers, soft jazz played beneath the murmurs of political elites, and champagne flowed like truth in the pulpit rare and intoxicating.
Sophia Cornwell, Racheal’s younger sister, leaned against the marble rail of the terrace, watching her sister perform the part of the happy fiancée. Sophia knew better. Racheal was calculating, Victor was ambitious, and their love story was less of a romance and more of a treaty. The Cornwells weren’t just a family; they were an empire. Bishop Cornwell, revered across the state for his sermons and philanthropic work, held power far beyond the pulpit. His influence reached politicians, law enforcement, and the financial elite. He believed in morality but never let it interfere with power.
Inside the party, Governor Arnold Walsh gave a speech praising the couple and the Cornwell family’s legacy. Eleanor Dorwell, the bishop’s discreet yet intelligent secretary, stood quietly in the back, noting every interaction. Eleanor wasn’t just a secretary she was the keeper of secrets. She kept files hidden in old hymnals, phone recordings disguised as prayers, and names written in invisible ink beneath her Bible’s cover. She knew the real Grenswick.
Police Chief George Orwell arrived late. His silver badge gleamed under his coat, but his eyes were sharp, always calculating. He greeted the bishop with a firm handshake and leaned in. “Your city’s starting to hum again, Cornwell. I can hear the wires underground.
Two days later, in a darkened room beneath the cathedral, a coded message arrived. A hidden network known as The Veil a group of spies and informants who had long worked to uncover the city’s corrupt underbelly was active again. A drop point behind the old cemetery revealed documents exposing covert property seizures, money laundering by religious institutions, and a surveillance scheme run from within the governor’s office.
Sophia, more rebellious and independent than her sister, discovered the documents while investigating her father’s strange late-night meetings. A brilliant but reckless codebreaker, Sophia had long suspected the cathedral was more than a place of worship. She followed Eleanor one night, dressed in a choir robe, and watched her enter the sealed chambers below.
Inside, Sophia found evidence that turned her stomach: records of government-sanctioned surveillance, hush money paid to witnesses, and strategic alliances disguised as donations. Victor Launch’s name appeared repeatedly.
Meanwhile, Racheal began noticing Victor’s late-night calls and unexplained absences. She followed him one evening to a hidden apartment in the industrial zone. There, she found him meeting with Chief Orwell and a masked stranger. She took photos but kept silent. If the Cornwells lost power, their enemies would swarm.
The bishop preached about divine justice, while Eleanor worked behind the scenes to protect the real motives of the event cementing alliances and neutralizing threats.
Governor Walsh agreed to give a televised address from the cathedral on the final night of the revival. Secretly, he was under pressure from The Veil, who had planted agents within his staff. Eleanor had picked up whispers of a coup an attempt to bring down the Cornwell dynasty during the broadcast.
“You know he’s working against us,” she said, tossing the surveillance photos on her sister’s desk. “Victor. He’s not marrying you he’s infiltrating.”
Racheal stared coldly. “And yet, I still might marry him. Power is loyalty. I can use him better than he can use me.”
Sophia shook her head. “You’re playing his game.”
“No,” Racheal replied. “I’m rewriting the rules.”
Eleanor met with Chief Orwell secretly in the underground chapel.
“You’re losing control,” he said. “The younger one is sniffing around. The bishop’s gotten too bold. Even Walsh is slipping.”
Eleanor replied, “Then we tighten the screws. Use the preacher’s voice to silence the rebellion.”
“But what if the rebellion is already inside?”
They didn’t know that Sophia had recorded the entire conversation.
As the revival began, Grenswick’s streets swelled with worshippers and cameras. Drones hovered over the cathedral, and every pew was filled. But behind the stained glass, the war for the city was reaching its climax.
Eleanor was intercepted by an anon

Nora’s life turns upside down when she discovers her pregnancy for Aiden Hart, the grandson to the billionaire mogul.
Their whirlwind romance was destroyed by family oppositions, secrets and lies. Five years later, fate reunites them, thereby rekindling the flames that never truly died.
With new relationships and old wounds, what happens when Aiden finds out about his hidden child?
Will they resist the pull of their all consuming love or risk everything for a second chance?
Can they untangle the past and make their forbidden love last?

He’s a rugged, silent rancher with a shattered past.
She’s the unexpected spark that threatens to melt the ice around his heart.

After a messy divorce, Cole Hart wants nothing but peace on his remote Montana ranch – just him, the land, and his daughter, Rosie. But when Eve Monroe arrives as Rosie’s new tutor, everything shifts. Beautiful, composed, and carrying secrets of her own, Eve isn’t part of his plan – and the growing heat between them is the last thing either of them wants.

But some hearts burn slow… and some loves are worth the risk.

Ashes if the heart is an unforgettable slow-burn romance about healing, longing, and the wild magic of second chances.