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Tag: Revenge

  • Rejected By My Betrothed, Claimed By The Warlord Alpha novel by Liz Nozick

    Rejected By My Betrothed, Claimed By The Warlord Alpha novel by Liz Nozick

    Blurb

    I was born a wolfless cripple in the Richmond Pack, but by royal decree, I was engaged to the kingdom’s Champion Knight, Emory.

    During the winter banquet, my half-sister Dessie suddenly tilted backward into the royal ice pond, screaming that I pushed her.

    In my previous life, I reached out in panic to save her, only to be dragged down and framed for attempted murder.

    When Emory dove into the freezing water, he swam right past my sinking body to rescue her instead.

    Once ashore, my own father and my betrothed ignored my desperate pleas.

    They branded me a vicious, jealous traitor.

    Emory publicly broke our engagement to marry Dessie, while my father threw me to the executioner to wash away the family’s shame with my blood.

    Until my head was on the chopping block, I didn’t understand.

    Why did my own family want me dead just because I had no inner wolf?

    Why did the knight who swore to protect me conspire with my illegitimate sister to destroy my life?

    Opening my eyes again, I was back on the snow-dusted terrace, right as Dessie was setting up the exact same trap.

    “A wolfless cripple like you should crawl back to the gutter,” she whispered, falling backward.

    This time, I didn’t flinch or beg for help.

    Instead, my fingers shot out like iron clamps, grabbing her wrist, and I dragged her into the freezing depths with me.

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    Rejected By My Betrothed, Claimed By The Warlord Alpha Chapter 1

    Kalea POV:

    “Sister, Emory Lambert is destined to be mine,” Dessie Richmond whispered, her voice a poisonous thread slipping through the frigid breeze of the Royal Lunar Garden. “A wolfless cripple like you should crawl back to the gutter where you belong.”

    Her amber eyes gleamed with malice.

    Before I could even process the violent sting of the freezing air on my face, Dessie tilted her body backward, angling herself toward the black waters of the royal ice pond.

    She was setting up the exact same trap from my past life.

    She wanted the entire court to see her fall, to hear her screams, and to watch me take the blame for attempting to drown the favored younger daughter of the Richmond Pack.

    In that past life, everything had favored her. I had screamed in panic and lunged to grab her, my fingers clamping hard around her wrist and leaving livid grip-bruises on her skin.

    When we fell, I thrashed and begged Emory to save me, so when he swam straight past me to lift Dessie first, onlookers called it justice — the Champion saving the victim from her attacker.

    The healers found my marks on her, and nothing of hers on me. That was enough for a charge of attempted murder.

    Now, everything is different. The terrace is crowded with high-ranking nobles, and I know exactly where her nails will land.

    I already saw through her act completely. I would play along — and turn her own trap against her.

    I did not flinch. Instead, I calmly extended my left arm toward her, offering the loose silver-blue cuff at my wrist as if trying to catch her. Dessie, already falling backward to fake her accident, instinctively clawed out and seized my wrist hard to make it look real, her nails digging deep into my sleeve.

    Dessie’s smug grin instantly froze.

    Her eyes widened in shock as she realized she had grabbed me first. Before she could let go, I stopped resisting. I leaned into her pull and let her own backward momentum drag us both off the marble edge together.

    A chorus of shrill gasps erupted from the noble onlookers lining the snow-dusted terrace.

    Then came the deafening crash of freezing water.

    The shock of the sub-zero pond slammed into my chest, squeezing every drop of air from my lungs.

    The weight of our velvet winter gowns pulled us straight into the dark depths.

    Dessie thrashed wildly, her arms flailing like a dying bird as her silken skirts tangled around her legs.

    Even as she thrashed, her right hand remained locked around my left wrist, her nails tearing frantically at my silk cuff.

    Her mouth opened in a silent scream under the water, bubbles bursting around her terrified, contorted face.

    Unlike my past self, I did not scream, did not beg, did not leave a single mark on her. I stared back at her through the murky blue, cold and completely still.

    Pain tore through my limbs, but my mind was clearer than it had ever been in my two lifetimes.

    Above the surface, muffled shouts vibrated through the water.

    “Someone help! The Richmond ladies have fallen in!”

    Through the rippling surface, a familiar silhouette tore off his heavy velvet cloak on the bank.

    Emory Lambert.

    The newly crowned Champion Knight of the Grand Royal Trials, and my betrothed.

    He dove into the water with a clean, powerful slice.

    His eyes scanned the depths, searching desperately.

    He looked right past my sinking form.

    Without a single glance in my direction, Emory swam furiously toward Dessie, wrapping his strong arms around her waist to haul her toward the light.

    A bitter, silent laugh bubbled in my throat.

    He was supposed to be my promised mate by royal decree, yet his body reacted purely on instinct to save my illegitimate half-sister.

    I let my limbs go limp, allowing the darkness of the pond to drag me downward.

    I needed this.

    I needed every high-ranking noble on that terrace to see him choose her over me.

    Darkness began to creep into the edges of my vision.

    My lungs burned for oxygen.

    Then, the water exploded behind me.

    A massive shockwave ripped through the freezing depths, stirring a violent current that pushed the weeds aside.

    A shadow moved with terrifying, predatory speed.

    Before I could even register the beast-like force tearing through the water, a pair of scalding, calloused hands locked onto my waist.

    The grip was unyielding, made of pure steel.

    I was yanked violently against a broad, rock-hard chest.

    Even submerged in ice, the overwhelming scent of crushing cedar and raw, wild musk flooded my senses, piercing straight through the freezing haze in my mind.

    It was the aura of a dominant, top-tier Alpha.

    Yet the moment his skin touched mine, the suffocating pressure of his command miraculously softened, wrapping around my freezing body like an invisible shield.

    I forced my heavy eyelids open.

    Through the distorted water, I looked directly into a pair of piercing, golden-amber wolf eyes.

    Gaines Moss.

    The notorious young lord of the Moss Pack, heir to the northern iron legions, and widely feared across the capital as an uncontrollable, violent rogue Alpha.

    There was no cruelty in his gaze.

    Only a dark, frantic intensity that bordered on madness.

    The moment my wet shoulder pressed against his collarbone, a sharp, electric jolt surged from his palm straight down my spine.

    My frozen muscles trembled beneath the sheer heat of his touch.

    Gaines’s jaw tightened.

    His arm banded around my waist with possessive force, pulling me flush against him as his powerful legs kicked against the current, launching us toward the surface like an arrow.

    On the other side of the pond, Emory was already breaking through the surface with Dessie clutched tightly against his chest.

    The freezing air hit my face in a violent rush as Gaines hauled me out of the water, his long fingers instinctively cradling the back of my head to shield me from the jagged marble edge.

    The deafening roar of the royal court swept over us in an instant.

    Rejected By My Betrothed, Claimed By The Warlord Alpha Chapter 2

    Kalea POV:

    Gaines hoisted me onto the frosted stone bank with a single, effortless pull.

    I collapsed onto my hands and knees, coughing up bitter mouthfuls of pond water while the freezing wind whipped my soaked hair across my face.

    A few paces away, Emory stumbled onto the grass, carrying a weeping Dessie in his arms.

    Dessie clung to Emory’s soaked tunic, her fingers digging into his chest as she pointed a trembling, pale hand directly at me.

    “She pushed me!” Dessie wailed, her voice echoing across the courtyard for every noble Lord and Lady to hear. “Kalea tried to kill me! She dragged me into the ice!”

    Emory pulled Dessie tighter against him, his handsome face twisting with righteous disgust as he glared down at me.

    “Kalea, you have lost your mind!” Emory barked, his voice carrying the full weight of a high-born knight. “Dessie is your sister! How could your heart be so vicious?”

    The surrounding nobles immediately began to murmur, their judgmental gazes stinging like nettles against my skin.

    “Look at her… a wolfless cripple with no inner wolf, and yet so full of spite.”

    “She knows she cannot hold a knight like Lord Lambert, so she attacks her own kin.”

    I pushed myself up from the cold flagstones.

    Water dripped from my ragged skirts, but I stood with my spine straight, refusing to shake beneath their contempt.

    I did not offer a tearful excuse.

    I did not beg Emory to look at me.

    Instead, I took three calm, measured steps across the wet gravel, stopping directly in front of Dessie where she sat nestled in my betrothed’s arms.

    Dessie looked up at me, a flicker of triumphant cruelty dancing in the depths of her wet eyes.

    I raised my right hand and swung it with every ounce of strength in my body.

    Smack!

    The sharp crack of flesh against flesh echoed off the high stone arches like a whip cracking through the garden.

    Dessie’s head snapped sideways.

    She tumbled out of Emory’s lap onto the frozen mud, her hair coming undone as five bright crimson welts bloomed across her pale cheek.

    The entire garden plunged into absolute silence.

    No one had ever seen the quiet, submissive Richmond daughter strike a single blow in her life.

    “Kalea!” Emory roared, his hand instantly dropping to the silver pommel of his ceremonial sword. “Are you insane? You dare strike her in front of the entire court?”

    I looked into his furious eyes, completely unfazed by the threat of steel.

    “I answer to the laws of the Moon Goddess and the King,” I said, my voice ringing out clear and steady. “If my sister insists that I violently shoved her into the pond with murderous intent, then let the Royal Healers examine her body right here, right now.”

    Emory’s brow furrowed.

    Dessie froze on the ground, her hand flying to her swollen cheek.

    “If she was pushed with violent force,” I continued, staring down at them both, “her shoulders, neck, and arms will bear the bruising of a struggle. A wolfless girl cannot push an able-bodied wolf without leaving heavy marks.”

    Dessie’s breath hitched.

    She quickly clutched her sodden collar shut, her voice rising in panic.

    “No… there is no need! Everyone saw it! Emory, please take me away, I am freezing…”

    “A refusal to be examined is an admission of deceit,” I cut her off cleanly, turning my head toward the two white-robed figures pushing through the crowd. “Healers of the royal court, do your duty.”

    The two royal healers, bound by strict crown oaths, did not hesitate.

    They stepped past the hesitating guards and knelt beside Dessie, ignoring her frantic squirming.

    A faint golden light flared from the chief healer’s fingertips as he pressed his palm against her collarbone, neck, and wrists.

    After a few tense seconds, the senior healer stood up and addressed the gathered court.

    “Lady Dessie bears no defensive bruising, no grip marks, and no signs of blunt force on her upper body.”

    The crowd stirred.

    The healer lifted his hand, holding up several fine threads of silver-blue silk plucked from beneath Dessie’s fingernails.

    “However, the silk fibers under her nails match the fabric of Lady Kalea’s left wrist. The physical evidence shows Lady Dessie reached out and grabbed Lady Kalea first.”

    A wave of sharp murmurs swept through the terrace.

    The sneers that had been aimed at me flipped instantly toward the girl cowering in the mud.

    Emory’s face turned an ugly shade of crimson.

    His hand slowly dropped from his sword, caught entirely off guard by the undeniable proof.

    He swallowed hard, stepping toward me with a stiff, apologetic expression.

    “Kalea… Dessie was merely frightened by the water. She lost her head. Here, let me give you my cloak—”

    “Do not touch me, Knight Lambert,” I said, stepping back so his fingers grabbed empty air. “Had the healers not been here, you would have gladly watched the executioner take my head for a crime she fabricated.”

    A low, mocking chuckle rumbled from behind me.

    Gaines Moss was leaning casually against a carved marble pillar, wringing the pond water from the sleeve of his black tunic.

    His golden wolf eyes burned with raw contempt as he looked at Emory.

    “The grand Champion of the Trials cannot even tell the difference between an attack and a desperate cling,” Gaines drawled, his deep voice carrying easily over the garden. “It seems the crown handed a silver sword to a blind fool.”

    Emory gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white, but he dared not draw a blade against the heir of the Moss Pack.

    Before another word could be spoken, the heavy, synchronized thud of armored boots sounded from the grand colonnade.

    The royal guard parted the sea of nobles, their golden wolf banners fluttering in the freezing wind.

    Rejected By My Betrothed, Claimed By The Warlord Alpha Chapter 3

    Kalea POV:

    The crowd parted instantly as the Luna Queen swept into the garden pavilion, flanked by four high court maidens and a dozen royal guards.

    Her deep sapphire gown trailed across the stone, and the sheer authority radiating from her high-born Alpha bloodline made the surrounding nobles bow their heads in reverent silence.

    Dessie saw her chance.

    She dragged herself across the muddy flagstones, sobbing hysterically toward the Queen’s feet.

    “Your Majesty! Please, have mercy!” Dessie wept, intentionally letting her torn, soaked chemise slip from her shoulder to expose the curve of her neck to the cold air. “My virtue has been ruined in front of the entire court! I fell into the water with Knight Lambert… our bodies touched before all these witnesses! The ancient pack honor demands that he take me as his true, lawfully bound mate!”

    She was trying to use the old modesty laws to force a marriage right then and there.

    A dry scoff came from the pillar behind me.

    “Threw herself in the water, botched the lie, and now she is selling her virtue like cheap meat,” Gaines sneered loudly, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “The females of the Richmond Pack truly know how to haggle in the mud.”

    Dessie flinched as if struck, and Emory bowed his head in sheer humiliation.

    The Luna Queen looked down at Dessie with cold, unyielding disgust.

    “The royal gardens are sacred ground,” the Queen said, her voice cutting through the frosty air like a steel blade. “You dare use cheap trickery to seduce your sister’s betrothed and fabricate lies in our presence?”

    The Queen flicked her golden folding fan, delivering her verdict without a second thought.

    “Dessie Richmond has shown herself to be deceitful and lacking all honor. By royal decree, she is stripped of her right to attend tonight’s Debutante Ball and is demoted to a Disgraced Omega, forever Unworthy of a Mate-Bond.”

    A strangled gasp ripped from Dessie’s throat.

    She collapsed entirely into the puddle.

    To be branded a Disgraced Omega meant she was legally barred from ever becoming a recognized pack Luna or a knight’s lawful wife.

    Her grand ambitions had been gutted with a single sentence.

    Before I could savor the look of despair on her face, a heavy weight dropped over my shoulders.

    Gaines had stepped up beside me.

    Without asking for permission, he wrapped his massive, dry black fur cloak around my shivering frame.

    The thick pelt was radiating intense Alpha heat, saturated with the rich, intoxicating scent of pine and fresh cedar.

    It drove away the bone-deep chill in an instant.

    Gaines leaned down slightly, his lips brushing dangerously close to the tip of my cold ear.

    “You have sharp claws, little bird,” he murmured… “Shame your body is made of glass.” My pulse jumped, but I did not pull the cloak away.

    I forced myself to whisper so only he could hear: “Why help me, Lord Moss? I am wolfless, still betrothed, and a trouble that burns whoever touches it.”

    Gaines lowered his eyes to my frozen hands clutching his cloak.

    “Because I hate men who abandon their own mate to save face,” he said quietly.

    He glanced toward the golden guards herding us to the throne room.

    “Walk behind me into that hall, little bird. I give you my word—if Jaheim touches you again today, my spear will answer before the King does. Doubt me? Then watch.”

    I stared at him. I did not fully believe him—I have believed no one in two lifetimes—but his heat was real, and I needed a living shield to survive the throne. I chose to gamble on this mad dog once.

    I held the thick fur closed over my chest, meeting his burning amber gaze with a steady nod.

    “Silence!”

    The sharp voice of Elder Silas Foster echoed from the archway.

    The king’s personal golden guard formed two rigid lines along the path.

    “By royal command of Alpha King Alistair,” Foster announced, unrolling a gilded scroll. “The daughters of the Richmond Pack, Knight Lambert, and Lord Gaines Moss are summoned immediately to the High Throne Room!”

    There was no room for argument.

    Two handmaidens tossed a rough woolen blanket over the trembling Dessie, and our group was marched through the towering black iron corridors toward the central palace.

    We stepped into the grand hall.

    Massive black stone pillars carved in the likeness of howling dire wolves supported a vaulted ceiling lit by thousands of iron chandeliers.

    Dozens of high elders and powerful Pack Alphas lined both sides of the throne room, their heavy Alpha auras saturating the air with suffocating tension.

    At the far end, seated upon the colossal throne of white wolf bones, sat Alpha King Alistair in his golden battle armor.

    And standing in the center of the hall, waiting with a face dark as thunder, was my father—Jaheim Richmond, Pack Alpha of the Richmond territory.

    Jaheim’s cruel eyes locked onto me the moment I walked in.

    Seeing me wrapped in Gaines’s cloak while Dessie shuffled behind in mud-stained rags made the veins in his neck bulge with fury.

    Before I could even cross the marble threshold to bow before the throne, Jaheim broke rank and charged across the floor.

    “You worthless, ungrateful mutt!” Jaheim roared, his mid-tier Alpha aura exploding in a violent shockwave. “You bring disgrace to our name and dare plot against your own sister?”

    He did not wait for an explanation.

    His heavy, leather-gauntleted hand swung through the air with brutal, bone-shattering force.

    Crack!

    The blow struck the side of my face so hard it sent me crashing sideways onto the freezing marble floor.

    My head slammed against the stone, and the warm, metallic taste of blood instantly filled my mouth.

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  • The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord novel by Maui

    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord novel by Maui

    Blurb

    I was forced to replace my sister and marry Lord Gideon Carlisle, a crippled Dragon Lord rumored to be a monster whose brides always ended up dead.

    But the real danger wasn’t my terrifying husband. It was Audrey, the fragile, innocent girl he took in and fiercely protected.

    She lured me to a cliff, confessed to murdering his first two brides, and tried to shove me into the abyss.

    When her clumsy attack failed and she nearly fell herself, Gideon’s shadow guard rushed in to save her. But he only saw the aftermath.

    Audrey immediately burst into tears, pointing a shaking finger at me.

    “It was her! She pushed me! She tried to kill me!”

    Without hesitation, Gideon chose to believe his precious ward.

    He looked at me with cold, golden dragon eyes, condemning his own wife without a trial.

    He threatened me with dragon’s flame and locked me in my chambers, while Audrey smiled triumphantly behind his back.

    I couldn’t believe a supposedly brilliant Dragon Lord could be so utterly blind, protecting the very monster who had cursed his life while treating me like the villain.

    But I wasn’t the weak, original bride who would just accept this injustice and die quietly.

    I calmly walked back into his study, pulled out a vial of Truth Serum, and forced it down Audrey’s throat so my blind husband could finally hear the truth.

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    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord Chapter 1

    Anya POV:
    “For the glory of the Beaumont family, this marriage is your utmost duty, Elsa.”
    The hypocritical voice of my ‘father,’ Lord Corbin Beaumont, echoed in the dressing room. His immaculate formal attire, embroidered with the golden dragon’s flame of a true Dragon Lord, mocked the cheap, silver-threaded scales of my substitute wedding dress.
    I looked at him through the mirror. Yesterday, I would have cowered. But yesterday, before my dearest sisters Isis and Livia pushed me down the grand staircase, I was just a weak, “dragonless” disappointment.
    The agonizing pain of shattered bones hadn’t killed me. Instead, it had broken the ancient seal deep within my soul.
    The pure, primordial Dragon God bloodline had awakened, flooding my mind with lost dragon medical arts and a warrior’s unyielding pride. I was no longer the fragile Elsa. My true bloodline name, vibrating in my veins, was Anya.
    “Is it my duty, Father?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. I turned, my gaze piercing his cold, blue eyes. “Or was it the duty of your precious, true-born Isis?”
    Martha, my trembling maid, gasped from the corner. Corbin’s paternal smile vanished, replaced by a dark scowl. He wasn’t used to being challenged by a waste of a daughter.
    “This union with Lord Gideon Carlisle is sanctioned by the Dragon King,” Corbin warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “He may be a paralyzed cripple with a damaged dragon soul, but you will serve him. Do you intend to defy the King?”
    I took a slow, fluid step toward him. The newly awakened dragon instincts in my blood easily analyzed his stance—full of arrogance, completely open to attack. “Of course not. I will marry the ‘monster’ Lord Carlisle. But I have one condition.”
    I let the silence stretch, enjoying the sudden flicker of unease in a Dragon Lord’s eyes.
    “From the moment I step into that carriage, I am no longer a Beaumont. Consider the debt of my miserable upbringing repaid in full. A spiritual Parting.”
    Corbin’s face cycled from red to white. A Parting was a grave stain on a noble’s honor, but he desperately needed this alliance to appease the King.
    “Fine,” he squeezed the word through clenched teeth. “As you wish, you ungrateful wretch.”
    “Then we are done,” I stated. I picked up the heavy bridal cloak, ignoring his seething rage, and walked out. The satisfying sound of a shattered dragon crystal goblet echoed behind me.
    At the manor’s entrance, a plain, unmarked carriage waited—a final, petty insult. I climbed in, touching the hidden pouch in my sleeve.
    Inside were fine bone and silver needles I had hastily crafted using the ancient dragon healing arts now burning in my mind. They were a surgeon’s tools, and a newly awakened warrior’s weapons.
    The carriage lurched forward toward the dragon’s den. Gideon Carlisle, I thought, feeling the blood hum in my veins. I hope you’re ready for your bride.

    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord Chapter 2

    Anya POV:
    The convoy stopped at a desolate outpost named Dragon’s Claw, a collection of rough stone buildings huddled against the biting wind. I sat alone in my dim room, the faint, acrid scent of crushed herbs lingering in the air.
    I was carefully coating the tips of my newly crafted bone needles with a mild paralyzing sap—a low-tier dragon poison formula that had naturally surfaced in my awakened memories.
    Martha paced frantically, her whispers a litany of worry, convinced my defiance of Lord Beaumont would turn my life in Carlisle’s castle into a living hell.
    I ignored her. I knew the real battlefield lay ahead.
    The door burst open, slamming against the stone wall. My two “dear sisters,” Isis and Livia, swept in, flanked by their sneering maids.
    Isis, promised to the crown prince Alaric, was a vision in a fiery red riding habit. Her golden hair was perfectly coiled, her lips curved in a look of pure disdain. “Well, well. If it isn’t our little sister, rushing off to her doom.”
    Livia, her ever-present shadow, chimed in with a giggle. “Don’t be so harsh, sister. Perhaps the crippled lord has a taste for sickly little things.”
    Their maids tittered. Martha shrank into a corner, her face white with terror.
    I slowly set down my needle, letting the ancient, arrogant blood of the Dragon God simmer beneath my calm exterior. I forced the soft, harmless smile of the old Elsa onto my face. “Did you two follow me all this way just to say that?”
    My calm seemed to enrage Isis. She stalked forward, snatched a cup from the table, and sneered.
    It was the inn’s cheapest mead, a drink considered “coarse fare” by dragon-blooded nobles. She flicked her wrist, and the dark, sticky liquid arced through the air, soaking the front of the only decent cloak I owned.
    “Oh, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with fake surprise. “My hand slipped.”
    I looked at the dark stain, then back at her. They expected tears. They expected the familiar cowering. Instead, I smiled, my newly awakened predatory instincts humming.
    “It’s alright, sister,” I said softly. “My hand slips sometimes, too.”
    Before she could process my words, my dragon-blood reflexes took over. I took a sharp step forward, my movements fluid and imperceptible, my foot intentionally “catching” on the leg of the table.
    I stumbled, sending an entire platter of honey-drenched pastries sailing through the air. It landed with a wet smack squarely on the front of Isis’s pristine, expensive riding habit.
    A shriek tore from her throat as the sticky jam and crumbs slid down her bodice.
    “You dare!” Livia screamed, her hand flying toward my face.
    To my awakened senses, her slap moved in slow motion, clumsier than a newborn hatchling. I sidestepped with effortless grace, my foot hooking neatly around her ankle with calculated precision.
    Livia yelped, losing her balance and pitching forward, crashing directly into Isis who was desperately scraping the mess off her dress.
    They went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and furious curses, their perfect hair undone, their dignity in tatters. Their maids just stared, mouths agape, too shocked by this “accident” to help.
    I walked over to them, looking down at their sprawled forms. My voice was gentle, but the latent, icy pressure of my true bloodline leaked into my tone. “Are you alright, sisters? You should be more careful.”
    My gaze fell on a small object on the floor, knocked loose in the scuffle. A brooch, fashioned with a single, small red dragon crystal. It was the only thing my mother had left me. I picked it up, letting a fraction of my dormant power touch the stone. It instantly flared with a warm, inner fire.
    “And another thing,” I said, pinning the glowing brooch back onto my dress. “My things? You don’t get to touch them anymore. Every bit of suffering you inflicted… I will collect that debt. In full.”
    They stared up at me, breathless, a primal, inexplicable fear dawning in their eyes. The oppressive aura rolling off me was not the weak Elsa they knew.
    “We’re leaving,” I said to the petrified Martha.
    By the time a frantic Lord Beaumont arrived, all he found were his two precious daughters—one hysterical, the other shivering with a terror she couldn’t explain—and an empty road stretching toward the mountains.
    In the carriage, Martha finally found her voice, looking at me with awe and terror. “My lady…”
    I ignored her, turning the dragon crystal brooch over in my fingers. Lord Beaumont must be furious, realizing the “lamb” he’d sent to the slaughter had suddenly grown fangs. But his real worry would be the lack of an official welcoming party from the groom—a profound insult in dragon society.
    I, on the other hand, didn’t care. If Gideon Carlisle wouldn’t come for his bride, then his bride would march right into his lair. I was getting into that castle, armed with my ancestors’ arts, one way or another.

    The Godblood Bride: Mending the Cursed Dragon Lord Chapter 3

    Anya POV:
    We finally reached the lands of Gideon Carlisle.
    In the distance, perched atop a volcanic peak, Goldspire Castle clawed at the sky like a dormant beast. Its black rock walls were embedded with massive, raw dragon crystals that pulsed with a cold, faint light under the bruised sky.
    But our progress was halted at the border of the domain. A massive, black dragon crystal, taller than a man, served as a boundary stone. Carved into its polished surface was the Carlisle crest: a roaring golden dragon.
    The castle’s drawbridge was raised, the portcullis down. A line of guards in black, heavy plate armor stood like statues before the gate, their leader, a knight captain, watching our approach with an expression of pure indifference.
    The Beaumont steward in charge of my escort trotted forward to parley. He returned moments later, his face pale. “They refuse us entry,” he stammered. “They say the lord gave no order for the bride’s arrival today.”
    It was a calculated humiliation. A small crowd of locals had already gathered at a distance, their whispers buzzing like flies as they pointed at our sad little procession.
    “How can they do this?” Martha wailed from inside the carriage. “It’s an insult! It’s against all custom!”
    I pushed open the door and stepped out. Every eye turned to me. I wore the cloak Isis had stained, but my back was ramrod straight. I allowed a fraction of my true, ancient dragon aura to seep into the air. Instantly, the whispering crowd fell dead silent, an inexplicable dread chilling their spines.
    I walked to the front of our party, directly facing the knight captain. He loomed over me, his gaze like ice from behind his helmet’s slit. But in the face of his hostility, my blood only sang with absolute arrogance.
    “I am Elsa Beaumont,” I announced, my voice not loud, but carrying a piercing clarity that demanded submission. “Your future lady.”
    The captain let out a short, harsh laugh. “The lady of this castle will be welcomed by our lord himself. You, woman of unknown purpose, will leave this land immediately.”
    The insult was deliberate, meant to strip me of all legitimacy.
    I smiled. “I am not here in the name of House Beaumont. I am here by the will of the Dragon King’s Command.”
    From the folds of my cloak, I produced a scroll. It was made of cured dragon hide, tough and pale, and sealed with the royal wax imprint of a fiery dragon. As my fingers touched the seal, my own dormant power hummed in faint, dismissive recognition of the royal magic.
    “The command is here,” I declared, holding it high for all to see. “To see this seal is to see the King. Lord Carlisle is a vassal to the Dragon King. Does he mean to defy his sovereign and turn away the bride the King himself has sanctioned?”
    The Dragon King’s Command was the highest law in the land. Its authority was absolute. A ripple of fear went through the crowd of onlookers; many dropped to their knees.
    Even the proud knight captain bent a knee, though his head remained defiantly high. A subtle sheen of sweat appeared on his brow, perhaps sensing the unnatural, terrifying pressure radiating from this supposedly “dragonless” bride.
    “We do not defy the King,” the captain said, his voice a low growl. “But our lord’s orders were clear. No one enters without his leave.”
    “Then I am not ‘no one,’” I said, taking a step toward the gate. “I am his bride. Now, I command you. Open the gate.”
    The castle guards shifted, their eyes flicking between the royal seal in my hand and their unmoving captain.
    I turned to my own escort, the Beaumont guards who were looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Your mission was to see me inside this castle. Fulfill your duty.”
    Caught between my order and the authority of the royal decree, the Beaumont captain drew his sword with a grimace. “Force the gate! Escort the lady inside!”
    A pathetic, short-lived scuffle broke out. My guards made a half-hearted attempt to push forward, met by a solid wall of Carlisle shields.
    Just then, a long, deep horn blast echoed from the castle’s depths. The grinding of chains began, and the massive drawbridge started to lower.
    The fighting stopped. Everyone stared at the dark, yawning maw of the gatehouse.
    From the shadows within, a deep, raspy voice, like stone grinding on metal, carried across the distance. “Let her in.”
    I straightened my stained cloak, lifted my chin, and walked alone across the drawbridge. I passed between two lines of guards, their gazes a mixture of awe, resentment, and suspicion. They expected a trembling lamb; instead, they watched a predator casually strolling into a rival’s den.
    The great hall was vast and dim, lit only by the faint glow of the dragon crystals embedded in the high walls. At the far end of the hall, shrouded in shadow, was an enormous throne of black obsidian.
    A man was sitting on it. Even seated, his presence was immense, radiating a palpable, crushing pressure that made the ancient dragon blood in my veins boil with an intense urge to fight. He wore black, scale-patterned formal wear, and a silver mask covered the left half of his face.
    He was not in a wheelchair. His legs were crossed casually, one hand resting on the arm of the throne, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm.
    This was Gideon Carlisle.
    Our eyes met across the cavernous space. I saw the eye his mask did not hide. It was not the eye of a man. It was pure, molten gold, the burning, slitted pupil of a dragon.
    And as his predatory gaze locked onto mine, I didn’t flinch. Instead, my own eyes reflected the unyielding, ancient arrogance of a Dragon God.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Old Lady of the Iron Crown novel by Edilaine Beckert

    Old Lady of the Iron Crown novel by Edilaine Beckert

    Blurb

    I was sweating on a stained cot in a rundown clinic, enduring agonizing labor to deliver my twins.

    My boyfriend, Viper, the President of the Raven MC, was right next door. But he wasn’t there to support me. He was buying the whole clubhouse a round of drinks to celebrate his new girlfriend’s birthday.

    Instead of coming to see his newborn children, he sent a thug with a loaded Glock and a legal contract. The prospect shoved the cold steel against my forehead, demanding I sign my parental rights over to the club and walk away with nothing. If I refused, he promised to dump our bodies in the swamp. In the hallway, the club girls laughed, calling me a worthless charity case.

    “Sign the paper, or I leave three corpses in this bed.”

    I clutched my fragile babies to my chest, my heart turning to dead ash. I had given that man my youth and loyalty, only to be discarded like trash. I didn’t understand how someone could be so ruthlessly cruel to his own flesh and blood.

    Before the hammer could drop, a mysterious man in a tailored suit calmly walked in and shattered the prospect’s wrist. He took one look at the faded scar on my shoulder, ran a rapid blood test, and revealed a truth that shook my world. I wasn’t an unpatched stray, but the long-lost daughter of the most feared motorcycle club president in the country. Now, with a two-hundred-bike army at my back, it was my turn to hunt.

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    Old Lady of the Iron Crown Chapter 1

    Roxy POV:

    I clamped my teeth into the edge of the yellowed pillow, my back arching as another wave of tearing pain ripped through my pelvis. Sweat soaked the stiff, stained sheets beneath me.

    Beside the metal cot, the old nurse dropped a pair of rusty surgical shears into an enamel tray with a sharp, echoing clang. She did not bother looking at my face. Her bloodshot eyes flicked over my bare left shoulder, sneering at the pale, uninked skin where a patched woman would carry club property marks.

    “Stop crying like a stuck pig,” the nurse muttered, her thick fingers digging brutally into my swollen belly to force the contractions. Her breath reeked of cheap rolling tobacco and stale gin. “Viper has better things to do than watch an unpatched stray ruin good linens.”

    The mention of his road name made my stomach convulse. I forced my trembling hand up and shoved her heavy forearm away with every ounce of strength left in my exhausted frame.

    “Keep your hands off me unless you’re catching these babies,” I rasped, my throat raw from hours of silent labor.

    I sucked in a ragged breath, blinking through the haze of sweat and tears to fix my gaze on the cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the clinic’s water-damaged drywall. I refused to close my eyes. If I closed them, the darkness would pull me under, and I had to keep these children alive.

    From the asphalt outside, the thunderous rumble of heavy Harley-Davidson V-twin engines vibrated through the clinic’s single-pane windows, making the glass rattle against its wooden frame. Bass-heavy thrash metal bled through the shared wall of the Raven MC clubhouse next door, followed by a chorus of drunken cheers.

    Footsteps echoed along the bare clinic hallway. High heels clicked loudly on the warped floorboards, accompanied by shrill, mocking laughter.

    “Did she drop those brats yet?” a blonde sweetbutt drawled from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a half-empty bottle of bourbon in her manicured hand. “Viper said if she isn’t out of this room by sunrise, the prospects are dumping her cot in the alley behind the dumpsters.”

    “She thinks she’s still the Prez’s Old Lady,” another girl snickered, blowing a cloud of sour vape smoke into the sterile air. “She never even earned a bottom rocker. Just a charity case from the Vance house.”

    I bit my lower lip until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, anchoring my slipping consciousness. My fingernails dug into the rusted iron rails of the cot until the skin around my cuticles split. Let them laugh.

    A fresh contraction slammed into my spine like a sledgehammer. Gasping, I reached toward the battered nightstand where my cracked smartphone lay. My fingers shook violently as I stretched for the lifeline I still foolishly believed in.

    Pain spiked again, turning my arm to lead. My hand slipped, knocking the phone off the edge. It hit the dusty concrete floor with a hollow plastic crack, sliding beneath the bed.

    The old nurse gave a dry, raspy chuckle and kicked the device deeper under the frame with the steel toe of her boot. “Save your battery, girl. Viper is two bottles deep in top-shelf tequila. He won’t answer you.”

    Adrenaline surged through my veins, hot and feral. I shoved myself forward, leaning halfway off the mattress, and seized the filthy collar of her lab coat in a death grip.

    “Pick it up,” I snarled, staring straight into her rheumy eyes with a cold, murderous focus that made the old woman freeze. “Pick it up right now, or the first thing I do when I stand up is break your jaw.”

    The nurse swallowed hard, the cruel smirk fading from her leathery mouth. Without a word, she bent down, hooked the phone with the tip of her boot, and dragged it back within my reach.

    I snatched the phone, swiped my sweat-streaked thumb across the spiderwebbed screen, and hit Viper’s speed dial.

    The line rang. Once. Twice. Four agonizing times while the room spun around me.

    Finally, the line clicked open. The deafening roar of the biker bar poured through the speaker—glasses clinking, pool balls cracking, and men roaring with laughter over an engine revving indoors.

    “Viper…” I choked out, fighting for air. “It’s time. The babies are coming. I need—”

    “Oh, look who decided to call,” a sweet, venomous voice purred through the receiver. It wasn’t Viper. It was Sierra.

    My heart seized in my chest.

    “Sierra,” I whispered, my grip tightening on the plastic casing until the glass creaked. “Put him on.”

    “He’s a little busy, darling,” Sierra chuckled, her tone dripping with mock pity. “He’s buying the whole clubhouse a round to celebrate my birthday. And my new spot on his rear fender. Why don’t you pack your little duffel bag and crawl back to whatever ditch you came from?”

    “Put Jaxson on the phone!” I screamed, using his real name, raw rage tearing through my vocal cords. “They are his children!”

    A heavy rustle came through the line, followed by a deep, familiar gravelly voice that used to whisper promises against my collarbone.

    “Tell that crazy bitch to stop calling,” Viper’s voice cut through the noise, cold and utterly devoid of warmth. “I told her we’re done. I don’t care about her or whatever bastards she’s dropping. If she calls this phone again, I’ll send Axel’s boys to wipe her out.”

    The line went dead with a harsh, rhythmic tone.

    I stared at the black screen, the final ember of hope inside my chest snapping and turning to cold, dead ash. The man who had taken my youth, used my family loyalty, and treated me like a disposable ghost had just signed his own eviction from my soul.

    The nurse tossed a basin of lukewarm, murky water onto the bedside table, splashing cold droplets across my cheeks. “Told you so,” she sneered, regaining her nerve.

    I didn’t wipe the dirty water from my face. I turned my head slowly, looking at her with eyes so hollow and lethal that the woman stepped back, dropping her gauze roll onto the floor.

    A massive, tearing pressure built at the base of my pelvis. The bodies inside me were demanding their freedom.

    “Get your hands ready,” I commanded, my voice dead and steady despite the agony splitting my hips apart. “Because I’m delivering them right now, and if you drop either of them, you won’t leave this room alive.”

    I gripped the cold iron headboard with both hands, muscles straining until the tendons in my neck felt like steel cables, and pushed with everything I had left.

    The world narrowed to the sound of my own ragged breathing, the scent of fresh blood, and the metallic burn in my core.

    With a slick, heavy slide and a sharp cry from the nurse, the first baby arrived into the cold air of the clinic.

    Three minutes later, a second, smaller contraction expelled my second child. Two thin, furious wails rose in unison, piercing straight through the heavy bass rattling the walls from the Raven clubhouse.

    The nurse crudely tied off the cords, snipped them with the dull shears, and bundled the blood-streaked infants into coarse, scratchy gray towels before dumping them unceremoniously against my chest.

    My trembling arms snapped around the two tiny, fragile bundles, pulling them flush against my skin. They were warm. They were breathing. They were mine.

    Out in the hallway, the sweetbutts laughed louder. “Five bucks says she and those runts don’t make it past the state line before they starve,” the blonde shouted.

    I looked down at the tiny faces pressed against my collarbone, brushing my bloody lips against their damp foreheads.

    “Never,” I whispered into their downy hair, tasting salt and iron. “No Raven will ever put their filthy brand on you. I swear it on my life.”

    Dizziness crashed over me in a black, suffocating wave as the blood loss caught up to my pulse. The cracked mirror blurred into gray mist.

    Just as my eyelids grew too heavy to fight, the clinic’s reinforced front door slammed open with the splintering roar of deadbolts tearing through wood, followed by the heavy, measured strike of combat boots hitting the concrete.

    Old Lady of the Iron Crown Chapter 2

    Roxy POV:

    The world rushed back in a violent wave of cold air and sharp pain. A heavy hand shook my shoulder roughly, wrenching me from the dark haze of unconsciousness.

    My eyes flew open. Instinct took over before my vision even cleared, and I curled my upper body protectively over the two small bundles tucked beneath my thin blanket.

    Standing over my cot was a thickset man wearing a faded leather cut emblazoned with the Raven MC raven-and-skull back patch. Stale beer, cheap weed, and grease rolled off him in suffocating waves. He was one of Viper’s enforcer prospects.

    “Wake up, charity case,” the man grunted, slapping a stack of crinkled legal papers and a cheap ballpoint pen onto my chest.

    The papers fluttered across the blanket. The bold header at the top read: Irrevocable Surrender of Parental Rights and Termination of Old Lady Affiliation.

    My stomach twisted into a hard, cold knot. I swept my arm across the blanket, knocking the papers to the filthy concrete floor.

    “Get out,” I rasped, my throat raw and burning.

    The prospect sneered, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. “Viper is being generous, Roxy. You sign the brats over to the club as property of the chapter, and you walk away with fifty bucks and your skin intact. You refuse, and I toss you into the swamp behind the salvage yard.”

    I looked down at the papers on the floor, where Viper’s messy, arrogant signature was already scrawled across the witness line. A dry, humorless laugh escaped my cracked lips.

    Reaching down with trembling fingers, I hooked the edge of the nearest page, brought it to my chest, and tore it cleanly down the middle.

    “Tell Jaxson,” I said, meeting the thug’s gaze, “that he can burn in hell.”

    The prospect’s face darkened with ugly rage. With a curse, he reached behind his hip, whipped out a black Glock 19, and shoved the cold muzzle hard against the center of my forehead.

    “You don’t make demands, bitch,” he spat, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Sign the backup copy, or I leave three corpses in this bed.”

    I didn’t blink. I didn’t flinch. I tilted my chin up against the steel barrel, keeping my arms locked tightly around the sleeping twins behind my ribcage. If I was going to die, he was going to have to look me in the eye while he pulled the trigger.

    Before the hammer could drop, the squeak of hinges cut through the tension. The clinic door swung open smoothly.

    A tall man stepped into the dingy room. He wore a crisp, tailored black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark trousers, and wire-rimmed gold glasses perched on his straight nose. In his left hand, he carried a heavy silver medical case.

    He moved with the terrifying, silent precision of an apex predator walking into a sheep pen.

    The prospect jumped, spinning the Glock toward the newcomer. “Who the fuck are you? This is Raven territory! Turn around and—”

    The tall man didn’t waste a single breath on words.

    He didn’t drop his silver case. His right hand blurred forward with blinding speed, his gloved fingers clamping around the prospect’s gun wrist like a hydraulic vice.

    A sickening crack echoed through the room as bone splintered under pure brute force.

    The prospect shrieked, dropping the Glock onto the floor as his hand dangled at an impossible, grotesque angle.

    The tall man kicked the weapon under the metal sink with a clean flick of his polished boot. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, melodic, and cold enough to freeze boiling water.

    “Get out,” the man said softly through the quiet room. “Or I will sever the radial artery in your other arm and watch you bleed out before you reach the hallway.”

    The prospect clutched his shattered wrist against his chest, whimpering, and scrambled backward out the door like a kicked dog, stumbling over his own boots.

    The heavy clinic door clicked shut. Silence descended.

    The man turned toward my cot. The sterile yellow light glinted off his gold-rimmed glasses, obscuring his eyes for a second before he looked down at me and the twin bundles in my arms.

    I shoved myself deeper into the corner of the iron frame, baring my teeth like a cornered wolf. “Who sent you? If Viper sent a clean-up man, you’d better kill me right now.”

    The man set his silver case on the stainless steel tray, popping the latches with two crisp clicks. He pulled out a pre-filled syringe of clear fluid.

    “You can call me Doc,” he replied, his deep, resonant baritone vibrating in the small space. “And Jaxson Vance doesn’t have the rank or the bloodline to command me to do anything.”

    He stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the harsh fluorescent light above. “You’re hemorrhaging. Lie back.”

    “Don’t touch me,” I snapped, thrashing my arm out to strike the syringe away.

    The violent movement dragged the collar of my torn, oversized hospital gown down my left shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of my collarbone and the pale, mottled skin beneath.

    Doc’s hand froze in midair.

    Behind the gold rims of his glasses, his pupils contracted into pinpoint needles. His gaze locked onto the faint, irregular burn scar etched deep into my shoulder blade—a faded, jagged mark shaped like a rearing stallion surrounded by an iron ring.

    The air left his lungs in a sharp, ragged hiss.

    I caught the strange intensity in his stare and yanked the fabric back up over my shoulder, wincing at the flare of pain in my pelvis. “I said get away from me!”

    Doc took a slow, deliberate breath, his jaw clenching so hard that a muscle ticked beneath his bronze skin. When he looked back at my face, the clinical detachment in his demeanor had shattered, replaced by a dark, volatile storm of restrained fury.

    “Be still, little bird,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a strange, reverent tremor. “I am going to stop your bleeding. And then I am going to take a single drop of your blood.”

    Before I could fight, his gloved hand clamped gently but immovably around my bicep, pressing the needle smoothly into my IV port. The cool analgesic flooded my veins, instantly blunting the knife-like edges of my labor pains.

    My limbs grew heavy. My eyelids fluttered as the exhaustion of thirty hours of labor dragged me downward.

    Through the thickening fog of my vision, I watched Doc take a sterile lancet, prick the tip of my ring finger, and press a bead of crimson blood into a glass micro-vial fitted with a gold circuit chip.

    He slotted the vial into a portable black diagnostic analyzer resting inside his case.

    Ryder POV:

    The analyzer’s digital sequence bar crawled across the LCD screen with agonizing slowness.

    10%… 45%… 88%…

    My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped beast. My knuckles turned stark white where I gripped the edge of the rusted clinic table, denting the thin metal under the pressure of my fingers.

    Beep.

    The screen flashed solid, blazing crimson.

    GENETIC MATCH: CROSS BLOODLINE. DIRECT DESCENDANT: 99.98% PATERNAL CORRELATION (RICHARD “IRON” CROSS).

    I closed my eyes for three brutal seconds, swallowing the roar of sheer, unadulterated madness clawing at my throat.

    Twenty years. Twenty long, bloody years of tearing through every state line from California to Maine, hunting for the lost daughter of the IronHorse mother chapter.

    And here she was. Lying on a blood-soaked rag of a mattress in a rundown back-alley clinic, discarded like trash by a two-bit, bottom-feeder MC Prez who wasn’t fit to shine her boots.

    I turned back to the bed. Roxy was fast asleep now, her pale, sweat-sheened face peaceful beneath the grime, her arms still locked around her newborn twins with the ferocity of a mother who would burn the world down before letting them go.

    The Cross blood ran pure in her veins. She was royalty in an empire built on asphalt and iron, and these bastards had treated her like roadkill.

    I reached inside the breast pocket of my custom leather vest, pulling out the encrypted satellite transceiver.

    I flipped the toggle to the emergency override frequency and keyed the red button.

    “Prez,” I whispered into the mic, my voice steady, low, and deadlier than a hollow-point round. “Code Red. The princess is found. Send the horde.”

    Old Lady of the Iron Crown Chapter 3

    Roxy POV:

    A sharp crackle of static broke through the heavy haze of medication, pulling me back to consciousness.

    I blinked against the dim light. My head still felt heavy, but the throbbing pain in my abdomen had dulled to a manageable ache.

    Doc stood by the reinforced clinic window, his broad back turned toward me. The satellite radio in his hand let out another high-pitched beep before a burst of static cut through the receiver.

    “Coordinates locked,” Doc said into the mic, his baritone dropping to a cold, predatory hum. “Bring everything. She is intact, but they owe a blood debt.”

    A chorus of savage, distorted roars exploded from the radio’s speaker, accompanied by the crashing sound of heavy wooden furniture being smashed to splinters on the other end.

    My pulse jumped. My hand instinctively slid under the flat pillow, searching for the dull surgical scissors I had spotted earlier.

    The line clicked dead. Doc turned smoothly on his heel, his gold-rimmed glasses catching the dim glow of the hallway bulb. His eyes instantly tracked the slight tension in my shoulder, knowing precisely where my hand was hidden.

    He didn’t draw a weapon. Instead, a faint, dark smirk touched the corner of his lips.

    He walked over to his medical kit, reached beneath the false bottom, and lifted out two black M1911 pistols equipped with long cylindrical suppressors. He racked the slide on the first one with a crisp, practiced motion.

    “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice dry and rough. “If you’re not with Viper, who are you? The ATF? A rival crew?”

    Doc stepped up to the edge of my cot, holding the second M1911 by the slide, offering the checkered grip directly to my open hand.

    “If I were your enemy, little bird,” he murmured, leaning down until his warm, cedar-and-leather scent filled my lungs, “you wouldn’t have lived long enough to touch those dull scissors.”

    I hesitated for a split second before gripping the heavy steel frame. My wrist wobbled from weakness, but I leveled the barrel straight at the center of his chest.

    Doc didn’t step back. He didn’t even blink. He reached out with gloved fingers, wrapped his hand around the hot slide of the weapon, and pulled the muzzle firmly against his sternum, directly over his heart.

    “Hold it tight,” he instructed softly, his dark eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. “From this second forward, anyone who opens that door without my permission gets a bullet. Understood?”

    The sheer, unflinching certainty in his voice knocked the breath out of me. Slowly, I let the gun lower by an inch, though my finger stayed rested against the trigger guard.

    Doc straightened his spine and turned toward the door. “Stay with your children.”

    He stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.

    Through the crack, I heard his voice turn from dark intimacy to pure, terrifying authority.

    “Clinic is closed,” Doc announced down the hall. “Evacuate the perimeter. Now.”

    The old nurse’s shrill voice rose in protest, followed by the vulgar shouts of the two sweetbutts from earlier.

    “Who the hell do you think you’re ordering around?” the blonde shrieked. “This is Raven property!”

    A sudden, wet thud echoed through the corridor, followed by the sound of boots scraping desperately across the floorboards.

    Through the opening, I caught a glimpse of Doc lifting the blonde woman entirely off the ground by her throat with a single arm, his expression utterly detached as he hurled her out the shattered double doors into the alley like a bag of wet laundry.

    A heavy steel security shutter groaned as Doc dragged it down, locking the deadbolts into the concrete threshold.

    The clinic fell into complete, heavy isolation.

    I let out a shaky breath, resting my free hand over the blanket covering my twins. They were sleeping side by side, their tiny chests rising and falling in rhythmic peace, oblivious to the violence swirling just beyond the plaster walls.

    My cracked phone, sitting on the metal nightstand where Doc had placed it, lit up with a harsh blue glow.

    A club-wide broadcast text message from Raven MC was displayed on the lock screen:

    OFFICIAL NOTICE: ROXANNE VANCE IS STRIPPED OF ALL PROPERTY STATUS AND CLUB PROTECTION. TERMINATED AS OF MIDNIGHT. ANY MEMBER HARBORING HER WILL FACE MAYHEM VOTE.

    I read the words twice. A bitter, cold smile curled on my lips.

    I powered the device completely off, dropped it into the rusted metal trash can beside the bed, and watched it disappear beneath dirty gauze. Jaxson Vance had officially cast me out into the dark.

    Doc re-entered the room. He saw the empty nightstand, glanced at the trash bin, and gave a slow nod of approval.

    He pulled a wooden chair up to the bedside, sat down, and began methodically wiping down his spare magazines with a clean white cloth.

    Minutes stretched into an hour. The silence inside the clinic grew thick and suffocating.

    Then, the iron frame beneath me began to hum.

    It started as a microscopic tremor in the floorboards. On the bedside table, a half-full plastic cup of water began to form concentric ripples, splashing tiny drops over the edge.

    I sat up, gripping the M1911 tighter. “What is that?”

    Doc stopped cleaning his magazine. He stood up, pushed his gold glasses up the bridge of his nose, and looked toward the boarded-up windows. A fierce, predatory grin spread across his face.

    The hum deepened into a low, chest-thumping vibration that shook the plaster loose from the ceiling.

    Then the roar hit.

    It wasn’t two bikes. It wasn’t ten.

    It was an apocalyptic, earth-shattering wall of sound—hundreds of heavy, straight-piped Harley V-twins rolling in tight military formation, tearing down the main strip like a thunderhead tearing across the desert.

    High-powered LED spotlights cut through the cracks in the window boards, flooding the dingy clinic room with blazing, blinding white light.

    Panic surged through my chest. “Is that Viper? Did he bring the whole chapter to kill me?”

    Doc walked to the window, grabbed the edge of the wooden blind, and ripped it clean off the wall with a single wrench of his arm.

    He turned back to look at me, framed by the blinding halos of a hundred motorcycle headlights.

    “Jaxson Vance is a gutter rat,” Doc said, his voice cutting clearly through the roaring iron storm outside. “Those aren’t Ravens, Roxy. Your real family has come to take you home.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again novel by Yan Huo

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again novel by Yan Huo

    👉 READ NOW

    I had managed the Castro estate for three years, supporting my husband, Lord Brian Castro, while he fought on the battlefield.

    But the moment he returned victorious, he coldly announced that the King had granted him permission to marry the powerful Dragon Knight, Lady Brittaney Kirk.

    “I expect you to show grace, accept this, and prepare the best rooms for her.”

    He commanded me like a glorified servant, expecting me to continue running the household for his new bride.

    His mother also mocked my Dragonless bloodline, telling me my honor was tied to them and I should be grateful to even stay.

    In my last life, I cried and begged him not to abandon me, hoping my devotion would win him back.

    But my compliance only allowed them to build their glory on my misery, and my entire family—House Serrano—was slaughtered by assassins in a single night.

    Until I died, I didn’t understand why my years of sacrifice were met with such cruel betrayal, or why my brave father and brothers had to die in pools of blood just to pave the way for Brittaney’s rise.

    Opening my eyes again, I was back on the night Brian arrogantly announced his new marriage.

    This time, I didn’t shed a single tear.

    I packed up my massive dowry, gathered my eighty loyal servants, and went straight to the Dragon King to demand a Rejection Ritual.

    I would leave them with nothing but an empty shell.

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    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again Chapter 1

    Elaine Serrano POV:
    “Elaine, take off the ancestral Dragon-bone ring of House Castro. Brittaney is my true Fated Mate, and from today on, you will step down and serve as a lowly personal maid.”

    Bang. The heavy oak door of my bedchamber was violently kicked open.

    The freezing, ruthless voice of my husband, Lord Brian Castro, shattered the silence of the night.

    I sat before the mirror in a delicate silk gown, looking at my own reflection. Just a few moments ago, I had opened my eyes to find myself reborn—brought back in time to the exact night Brian returned from his year-long war, the night I had prepared to offer myself to him as a welcome-home gift.

    In my previous life, I was foolish enough to let my love for him blind me. When he shattered my heart with his cruel declaration, I had cried, begged, and eventually swallowed my pride, accepting the humiliation of becoming his lowly personal maid just to stay by his side. But my pathetic compromise only led to a horrifying end: they drained every last copper coin of my dowry, butchered the loyal servants I brought from my homeland, and finally, Brittaney burned me alive in a freezing dungeon with her dragonfire!

    Now, looking at the man I had once loved with all my heart, I felt nothing but a sickening wave of pure disgust and a bone-deep thirst for vengeance.

    He strode in, but he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood Brittaney Kirk, a tall, striking female Dragon Knight. Brian’s arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. His deep blue eyes, looking at her, burned with a raw, fiery devotion he had never, ever shown me.

    “She is the new Lady of this Dragon Court,” Brian declared, his gaze shifting to me with absolute zero warmth.

    He paused, clearly waiting for my hysterical breakdown, my tears, and my desperate pleas.

    But I simply sat there, my face as calm as a frozen lake.

    My utter lack of reaction seemed to irritate him. A flash of annoyance crossed his handsome face. He closed the distance between us in two large strides. His large, calloused hand gripped my jaw with bruising force, forcing me to look up into his eyes filled with pure, unadulterated repulsion.

    “Are you deaf, or just too stupid to understand?” he snarled, raking his gaze over my silk gown with a vicious sneer. “Did you really think a cursed Dragonless like you could keep me? Let’s be honest! The only reason I married you was because you used your family’s wealth to force my hand! Look at yourself—a cold-blooded Earthbound who can’t even produce a spark of dragonfire. Hugging you is like hugging a freezing corpse!”

    My fingernails dug so fiercely into my palms that warm blood began to drip onto the carpet.

    “And don’t look at me with that dead expression!” Brian tightened his grip on my jaw, his voice dripping with venom, deliberately weaponizing my deepest trauma. “What are you now? Your father and brothers were arrogant fools! Their bloodline was so weak their dragonfire was extinguished by the enemy, getting your entire family butchered like pigs! You are a jinx with a broken Dragon Core! Asking you to stay in my castle as a personal maid is an act of profound charity!”

    Three years ago, my father and six brothers died in battle. Shortly after, enemy spies infiltrated my homeland and brutally slaughtered my mother and the entire household of the old, the weak, women, and children! Simply because my father and brothers had been the strongest shield against the enemy nation, they annihilated my entire bloodline! Every single person was hacked with seventy-two sword strikes. Even my third brother’s newborn son was butchered and dismembered so horribly his tiny body wasn’t left intact.

    Even in a second lifetime, hearing him weaponize my slaughtered family against me again made the maddening urge to kill scream in my veins. If looks could kill, Brian would have been torn into a thousand bloody pieces right then and there. But the phantom sensation of being burned alive by dragonfire flared in my bones, an agonizing reminder of what reckless anger would cost me.

    I masked the lethal sharpness in my eyes perfectly. Patience, I told myself. Before I destroy them, I need to take back every single copper coin I own.

    “Oh, Brian, please don’t be so harsh on her,” Brittaney sighed, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his waist from behind, deliberately pressing her breasts against his armor. She flashed me a condescending, venomous smile over his shoulder. “Elaine, please don’t be sad. Since you have nowhere to go, you can stay. I loathe doing chores anyway. From now on, you can draw our bathwater, and… oh, you can wash our bedsheets every morning. It will give a fragile, magic-less thing like you a sense of purpose.”

    “What is all this screaming?” The harsh voice of my mother-in-law, Lady Icie, echoed from the hallway. She walked into the room, drawn by the commotion. She was wearing the expensive, gold-threaded silk I bought for her, yet when she saw me, her face twisted with absolute disdain.

    “Have you no shame, Elaine?” Icie spat. “Brittaney is a true Winged warrior. Her fiery dragon breath cured my illness and brought me immense joy. You just smell of earth and death. It is the Court that feeds you! Brian is merciful enough to let you serve him. Learn to know your place and be grateful!”

    Grateful?

    When Brian left for war, Icie was dying. I exhausted my massive dowry to hire a Royal Dragon Healer. I, a Dragonless, used my own body heat to keep her warm through freezing nights. Every single bite of food these dragons ate, the chandeliers above their heads, the very castle they were standing in—all bought with my wealth!

    And now, they were standing on the bloody corpses of my slaughtered family, calling me a freezing corpse, and demanding I wash their dirty bedsheets?!

    In my last life, this injustice had suffocated me. But now, it only brought a bone-chilling, terrifying calm.

    I slowly stood up. With agonizing slowness, I slid the heavy, ancestral Dragon-bone ring off my finger. The metal clinked sharply as I dropped it onto the table.

    “If that is the Lord’s command,” I lowered my eyes, completely masking the lethal, venomous sharpness hidden in my gaze. “I step down.”

    Brittaney’s lips curled into a victorious smirk. Brian let out a long breath of relief, letting go of my jaw and looking at Brittaney with deep affection. My complete surrender fully satisfied his arrogant Dragon pride.

    Smoothing the invisible wrinkles on my silk gown, I gave them one last, perfect curtsy befitting a lowly personal maid.

    But the moment I turned my back and walked out of the room, a twisted, bloodcurdling sneer finally broke through the fragile mask on my face.

    Enjoy your Fated Mate, Brian.

    I can’t wait to see your arrogant Dragon pride shatter into bloody pieces. Let’s see how deep your Fated Flame burns when you realize your glorious Dragon Court doesn’t even have moldy scraps to eat… once I cut off every single penny of my money.

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again Chapter 2

    Elaine Serrano POV:
    The heavy oak door of my bedchamber clicked shut behind me, but it couldn’t completely muffle the laughter and celebration coming from the main hall. In the dim corridor, my loyal personal maid, Phoebe, stood trembling in the shadows.

    Without a word, she hurried to my side, draping a warm shawl over my shivering shoulders, and fell into step behind me as we walked down the freezing stone corridor.

    The commotion had already drawn the night staff out of the woodwork. The servants, who used to bow so low their noses nearly touched the floor whenever I passed, now openly lined the hallway, not even bothering to hide their gloating stares or their malicious whispers.

    “Did you hear? Lord Brian stripped her title. She’s just a personal maid now,” a scullery maid whispered loudly.

    “About time. She’s just a cursed Dragonless jinx anyway,” a guard snickered, his eyes shamelessly raking over my silk gown.

    I felt Phoebe shaking with rage behind me, but I didn’t stop. In my past life, these whispers were like knives to my heart. Now, they were just the buzzing of flies destined for the slaughterhouse.

    When I finally pushed open the door to my own chambers, the biting cold hit me instantly. The dragon-crystal heater was completely dead. Not a single spark of energy had been provided for the night.

    The moment the door clicked shut, sealing us inside, Phoebe finally collapsed to her knees.

    “My lady… how could he? How could Lord Brian do this?!” Phoebe sobbed, her fingers digging desperately into the cold floorboards. “He knew how much that night destroyed you! How could he use the slaughter of your family as a weapon to humiliate you in front of everyone?!”

    Looking at Phoebe, my childhood companion who shared my deepest trauma, the last trace of patience in my heart vanished.

    “Stand up, Phoebe,” I said, my voice dropping to an eerie, frozen whisper. I knelt and gently wiped the tears from her face. “Tears cannot wash away the blood of our families. Brian said House Serrano is nothing but a dead graveyard. Then it is time we show him how the ghosts from that graveyard feast.”

    I stood up and walked to the row of massive dowry chests in the corner of the room. They were made of ironwood, unique to the North, and branded with my family’s snow-wolf sigil.

    This was everything I had brought from House Serrano. It was also my ticket out of this disgusting cage.

    I opened one of the chests and took out a heavy ledger from a smaller box. My mother had left it to me. It recorded all the assets and connections of House Serrano.

    By the light of the dragon-crystal lamp, I began to carefully inventory my dowry.

    House Serrano. Once the strongest shield of the North, guarding the realm for the Raymond dynasty for generations.

    Three years ago, my father and six brothers died on the southern battlefield. Their dragonfire was extinguished when they were heavily surrounded. Shortly after, Veskarian assassins slipped through the broken defense line like ghosts, infiltrating our homeland. My mother, my sister-in-laws, and all the old and weak were brutally slaughtered in pools of their own blood.

    The official story was that it was a mad act of revenge by the enemy for my father and brothers’ past victories.

    I had believed it. But now, in my second life, I knew it wasn’t that simple.

    Brittaney Kirk… her shadow loomed over that tragedy. Back then, it was Brittaney’s elite Winged squadron that was supposed to reinforce my father. But they were mysteriously “delayed.” Their delay cost the lives of my father and brothers, which allowed the assassins to breach the North.

    In my past life, I thought it was a tragic accident. But after being burned alive by her dragonfire, a chilling realization crept into my mind: what if she had intentionally let my family die?

    A sharp pain shot through my chest. I gripped the edge of the chest, gasping for breath. The fire of vengeance burned in my veins.

    But it wasn’t time for that. First, I had to escape this cage.

    It wasn’t just these material goods in the ledger. There were also eighty servants who had come with me to the Castro estate. They were born into the service of my house, loyal only to me.

    Brian and the Castros all assumed that once I married into their family, these people and properties naturally belonged to them.

    They were wrong.

    According to the laws of the kingdom, a wife’s dowry belongs to her and her alone, unless she willingly gifts it away.

    And the “Rejection Ritual” was the only form of marital dissolution that allowed the female to leave with her entire dowry, no questions asked.

    It required the consent of both parties, or… a direct command from the Dragon King himself.

    Brian wanted his new bride and his glory. I wanted my freedom and my dignity. We would settle this the old-fashioned way, the dragon way.

    I closed the ledger and put it back. The plan was clear in my mind.

    The Castros thought they controlled everything, but they didn’t know that my father, Corbin Serrano, had been one of King Aurthur’s most trusted Dragon Lords. He had even saved the King’s life when His Majesty was a boy.

    The Castros didn’t know about that favor. But the King would remember.

    All I needed was a chance to see him.

    “Starting tomorrow morning,” I ordered Phoebe, my tone absolute and merciless. “Send our hidden guards to every Serrano-owned business, farm, and mine. Cease all fund transfers to the Castro estate. Cut off their food supplies, their winter clothing, their weapon shipments, and the Royal Dragon Healer’s fees. Freeze every single copper coin.”

    Phoebe’s eyes ignited with a fierce, vengeful fire. “You mean… we cut them off completely?”

    “Completely,” I turned to face her. “Since Brittaney loathes the ‘petty chores’ of managing a Dragon Court, let’s see how her glorious dragonfire conjures bread out of thin air.”

    “Prepare ink and parchment,” I said, my gaze shifting toward the distant, towering spires of the Dragon Palace. “I am writing to the Dragon King.”

    After the last word was written, I blew the ink dry, folded the letter, and sealed it with the Serrano family crest—a snow-wolf forged in blood and iron.

    “Find the most reliable messenger among our loyal guards,” I ordered, handing the heavy envelope to Phoebe. “Ride through the night. Deliver this straight to the Dragon Palace.”

    The Unwanted Northern Heiress Shines Again Chapter 3

    Elaine Serrano POV:
    Two days had passed since my letter was dispatched. The Dragon Palace hadn’t replied yet, but I wasn’t anxious. A petition of that magnitude took time.

    For the past forty-eight hours, I had barricaded myself in my freezing chambers. Whenever the Castro servants pounded on my door, demanding I come out and scrub the new Lady’s bedsheets, I simply ignored them.

    Bang, bang, bang!

    The heavy oak door to my quarters shuddered under an impatient fist. Hazel, the personal maid of the dowager, Lady Icie, stood in the hallway with her nose pointed at the ceiling.

    “Elaine,” Hazel announced, deliberately dropping my title. “Lady Icie requests your presence in the grand solar. Immediately.”

    Phoebe bristled beside me, but I simply gave her a calming glance. I smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on my elegant, dark velvet gown. I knew exactly why I was being summoned. The financial freeze had finally hit them where it hurt.

    When I stepped into the lavish solar, Icie Castro was sitting in the center of a plush chaise lounge. Standing right next to her was Brittaney Kirk, wearing a sheer morning gown, her arms crossed as she glared at me.

    “Elaine, my dear child, come sit,” Icie cooed, suppressing her obvious panic and forcing a tone of artificial, sickening affection.

    “I heard you froze the estate accounts out of a little… childish jealousy,” Icie began, her tone soft and placating. “I know you feel wronged. But you must understand, you’ve managed this household for three years, and you’ve done it well. Unfreeze the accounts. Pay the Royal Dragon Healer and the merchants for tomorrow’s ceremony. As long as you hold the purse strings, you will always be the true mistress of this Dragon Court in my eyes.”

    I watched her perform, my heart cold and detached. In my past life, I had believed these honeyed words, only to be drained dry.

    I gave a small, flawless smile, my eyes wide and perfectly innocent.

    “Mother, you misunderstand,” I said, my voice soft, respectful, and dripping with absolute compliance. “How could I possibly freeze the accounts out of jealousy? I am merely following Lord Brian’s strict orders.”

    Icie frowned. “What orders?”

    “Two nights ago, Lord Brian made it very clear that I am stripped of my title and am now nothing but a lowly personal maid,” I explained, blinking gently. “According to the kingdom’s customs, a personal maid has no right to manage the noble finances of a Dragon Court. It would be a severe overstep of my bounds. I wouldn’t dare touch the accounts.”

    Icie’s face stiffened. She hadn’t expected me to use Brian’s own vicious words as a shield.

    I turned my gaze to Brittaney, offering her a respectful, subservient curtsy. “Since Lady Brittaney is the true Fated Mate and the new Lady of this house, it is only natural that I make way for her. It is my duty as a servant.”

    “You…!” Icie switched tactics, her voice rising in panic. “Brittaney is a noble Dragon Knight! She will be busy with her training. How could she have time for these trivial matters? You must continue to manage the household. That is an order!”

    “I’m afraid I cannot, Mother,” I refused gently, maintaining my perfect, harmless smile. “If outsiders were to find out that a glorious Dragon Court relies on the dowry of a cursed, magic-less Dragonless to feed its warriors and pay its Healers, wouldn’t that make Lord Brian and Lady Brittaney’s Fated Love a laughingstock across the entire kingdom?”

    I paused, letting the humiliation of that truth sink into their arrogant bones.

    “I am doing this to protect House Castro’s honor,” I added smoothly. “I have already instructed my stewards to prepare the handover of all estate management. Lady Brittaney, with her powerful dragonfire, will surely have no trouble conjuring bread and paying the merchants for tomorrow’s ceremony, right?”

    Brittaney’s face turned ashen in an instant. Her arrogant glare shattered into pure panic. She knew how to swing a sword, but she didn’t have a single copper coin to run a massive estate.

    “You… you dare!” Icie shot up from her chaise lounge, the sudden movement causing her to cough violently. She pointed a shaking finger at me, her face purple with rage, completely unable to speak.

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  • The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife novel by Escritor apalacio

    The Dragon Lord's Rejected Wife novel by Escritor apalacio

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    For five years, I held House Ward together with my own two hands—a Dragonless wife managing an ancient dragon-blooded estate, counting the days for my husband to come home from the war.

    He came home with a pregnant mistress on his arm and a son who wore his eyes.

    He petitioned the Dragon King to make her his legal co-consort, and entered their bastard into the bloodline registry as his heir.

    His family doted on the boy and treated me like a ghost—until the boy shoved a bowl of scalding soup onto my hand at dinner.

    “A Dragonless woman is worthy of a physician’s time?” the matriarch sneered, hugging the grinning child.

    So I summoned my own physician. Paid from my own gold. And I smiled.

    Because I finally saw the game they were playing.

    I handed every key and every ledger to his clueless mistress—the very ledgers that prove House Ward is a gilded, crumbling shell held upright by my dowry alone.

    I accepted his co-consort. But I set one condition: the Rejection Ritual. A severance more final than divorce.

    They think I’m surrendering.

    They don’t know I’ve already lit the fuse.

    Let the glittering house burn. I’m done being his wife.

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    The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife Chapter 1

    Delphine Winters POV:
    “He’s here!”
    The shout echoed through the grand hall of Ward Manor, and my heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation.Five years I had lived as a widow in all but name—my husband gone to a war that never sent him home—and today, that long winter was finally over.
    I smoothed the front of my silk gown. It was a magnificent creation, the color of a twilight sky, a gift from my mother. Its cost could have fed a village for a year, yet it bore no shimmering scale patterns, no threads of woven dragon-fire. A silent, constant reminder of my status: Delphine Winters, the Dragonless wife, a wealthy merchant’s daughter who had married into the ancient, dragon-blooded House Ward.
    The air smelled of dragon’s breath incense and burning oak, a scent unique to the halls of dragon-kin nobility. Across the room, the massive dragon-head fireplace roared, its controlled flames casting a warm glow on the cold stone walls. The firelight danced over the Ward family’s war banner hanging above, the red-gold threads of its dragon sigil proclaiming their heritage as Half-Blood dragons.
    My mother-in-law, Eleanor, raised a goblet toward me. The wine inside had been warmed by dragon-fire, a privilege of the nobility. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. I knew she saw me not as a daughter, but as the treasury that kept this house from crumbling.
    From the high-backed chair at the head of the room, the family matriarch, Matilda, watched me with a critical gaze, as if I were a piece of furniture that didn’t quite match the decor.
    A horn blast from outside shattered the tense quiet. The lord had returned.
    My breath caught.
    The heavy oak doors swung open. And there he was. Erwin Ward. He stood silhouetted against the fading light, taller and harder than I remembered, the cold edge of the battlefield etched into the lines of his face. He wore the uniform of a Dragon Marshal—the battlefield rank the King had granted him for the northern campaign, worn over his hereditary lordship of House Ward—its dark fabric adorned with the family’s red-gold dragon crest.
    Cheers erupted. “Welcome home, Lord Ward!”
    I moved through the crowd, my own joy a silent song. Five years of waiting, of holding this house together, were about to be rewarded with his embrace.
    His eyes met mine across the hall. But there was no joy in them. No relief. Only a flicker of something complex and evasive. My steps faltered.
    He didn’t move toward me. Instead, he stepped aside.
    And revealed the person standing behind him.
    A woman. Young, dressed in a simple linen dress that was utterly out of place among the silks and velvets of the court.
    One of her hands was held tightly in Erwin’s. The other rested protectively on her swollen belly. She was heavily pregnant.
    My mind went blank. The cheering of the crowd became a distant, muffled roar, as if I were underwater.
    Beside the woman stood a little boy, no older than four or five. His eyes were a perfect, startling copy of Erwin’s.
    Erwin cleared his throat, his voice taking on a formal, proclamatory tone I had never heard before. “This is Beryl King,” he announced. “And our firstborn son, Theo.”
    My gaze swept the room. Eleanor avoided my eyes. Matilda, however, had a look of grim satisfaction. The other family members were watching me, their faces alight with cruel curiosity.
    They all knew.
    This welcome wasn’t for me. It was for her.
    I was the last to be told, in the most humiliating way possible. I was the punchline to a joke I didn’t even know was being told.
    The blood in my veins turned to ice. My body, which the dragon-kin called “cold-blooded” because I had no dragon-fire of my own, finally felt the part.
    Erwin looked at me, his lips parting as if to speak. “Delphine, I know this is sudden, but I hope you can…”
    I didn’t let him finish.
    Slowly, gracefully, I gathered the hem of my skirt. I sank into the most perfect, most distant curtsy I could manage.
    “Welcome home, Lord Ward,” I said, my voice as still and dead as a frozen lake. “And welcome to your guests.”
    I deliberately called them “guests.” It was the only weapon I had.
    Erwin’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t expected this calm.
    Beryl flinched, shrinking behind him and looking at me with wide, wet eyes, as if I were the villain in this story.
    The boy, Theo, showed no such fear. He peeked out from behind Beryl’s legs and made a face at me.
    I turned away from them, my back straight, and walked step by step into the shadows at the edge of the hall. The light was dim there, just like my heart.
    I could feel every eye in the room on my back. Pity. Glee. Contempt.
    I lifted my chin. My pride would not let me fall apart here. I was a Winters, not some wilting flower to be trampled.
    Erwin started to follow, but a sharp look from his mother stopped him. Eleanor then moved to greet Beryl, her voice warm and welcoming, as if she were the true lady of the house.
    Watching the farce, the last wisp of warmth I held for this family vanished.
    From this day forward, I live only for myself.
    And Erwin Ward, along with his entire house, would pay for what they had done today.

    The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife Chapter 2

    Delphine Winters POV:
    I stood in the shadows, a ghost at my own husband’s homecoming feast. I watched as Erwin was surrounded by his family, Beryl clinging to his side like a frightened rabbit. The boy, Theo, was already perched on Matilda’s lap, being fed a piece of dragon-flame baked pastry.
    That should have been for the child I was never able to bear him—the child we might have had, had he ever truly come home to me.A sharp pain lanced through my chest, but I forced my face to remain a mask of indifference.
    Finally, Erwin broke away from the crowd and walked toward me, holding two goblets. They were made of dragon-crystal, shimmering in the firelight, vessels only dragon-kin nobility were permitted to use. He offered one to me.
    I didn’t take it. “I’m not thirsty, Lord Ward.”
    His face hardened. “Delphine, we need to talk.”
    “I think we have nothing to talk about.” I turned to leave.
    He grabbed my wrist. His hand was hot, like a brand. “Don’t be like this.”
    I looked down at his grip, my voice dripping with ice. “Please let go. Your partner is waiting for you.”
    Erwin took a deep breath, his voice low and urgent. “Beryl and Theo will be living here now. I need you to give them the Lakeview Pavilion.”
    The Lakeview Pavilion. The most beautiful, spacious residence on the entire estate. By tradition, it was the home of the lady of House Ward. I had lived there for five years. Now he was asking me to give it to another woman.
    I laughed. It was a soft, brittle sound. “Of course. It won’t be my place for much longer anyway.”
    He stared at me, stunned by my easy agreement, completely missing the meaning behind my words.
    I pulled my arm from his grasp, not giving him another glance, and walked toward the corridor that led to my own residence, the Whispering Willow Court. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, but I didn’t turn around. The moment he walked through that door with her, everything between us had turned to ash.
    When I reached my rooms, my maids, Clara and Mina, were waiting anxiously.
    “My lady,” Clara whispered, her eyes red. “They are too cruel!”
    I sank wearily into a chair as Mina poured me a cup of hot tea. “It’s useless to say that now.”
    “So we just accept it?” Mina asked, her voice tight with indignation.
    “Of course not,” I said, lifting the cup and watching the steam curl into the air. “But not now.”
    My plan would require time. Patience. And the perfect moment.
    A hurried knock came at the door. It was Erwin’s personal manservant.
    “My lady,” the servant panted. “Lady Eleanor has requested Lord Ward’s presence. The lord is… in a temper. But he asked me to inform you that he is coming to your court.”
    I raised an eyebrow. Erwin, coming here? Forced by his mother, no doubt.
    A few moments later, I heard his heavy footsteps. He hesitated outside my door before finally pushing it open. He had changed out of his uniform and into a casual tunic embroidered with the red-gold dragon of his house. It made him look less like a soldier and more like a man consumed by irritation.
    He waved my maids away, leaving us alone.
    He didn’t look at me, pacing to the window instead. “My mother sent me to explain.”
    “Explain what?” I asked, my voice flat. “How you found ‘true love’ on the battlefield? Or how you can live comfortably on my family’s wealth while supporting a mistress and child elsewhere?”
    He spun around, his face a mask of fury at being so accurately called out. “It’s not like that! Beryl…”
    He bit back his words, the anger dissolving into a frustrated sigh. “Delphine, I know I owe you. But you can’t deny there’s been no affection between us for a long time.”
    “So that’s your excuse for betrayal?” I scoffed.
    He had no answer, only pacing the room like a caged beast.
    This was all going as I’d predicted. Eleanor, that clever woman, knew where the lifeblood of House Ward truly lay. She was afraid I would cut off the funds in a fit of anger, so she forced her selfish son to come here and offer false comfort.
    A pity for them. It was too late. My heart had died the moment I saw that woman.
    Erwin finally stopped pacing. He stood before me, reaching for my hand. I pulled it away.
    “Delphine,” he said, his voice strained. “Just give me some time. I’ll handle this.”

    The Dragon Lord’s Rejected Wife Chapter 3

    Delphine Winters POV:
    I watched Erwin’s hand freeze in mid-air. A flicker of hurt crossed his face, but it stirred no sympathy in me.
    “Handle this?” I repeated, my voice laced with undisguised mockery. “Is your way of handling this to ask me to give the mistress’s residence to your lover?”
    His expression turned ugly, a mixture of guilt and impatience. “Delphine, it’s different! Beryl… she saved my life!”
    He finally said it. The great, noble reason.
    “In the Blackwood of the North,” he began, his voice low and colored with memory, “I was ambushed by enemy dragon-fire. My Dragon Core was nearly shattered. The burns of enemy flame could not be healed by any herb in the borderlands, and my shattered guards lay dead around me. I should have died in that snow. But Beryl—a Dragonless woman with nothing—found me bleeding and burning, and she refused to let me die. She dragged me back from the brink and kept me alive for three months.”
    He did not say it, but I understood what he was leaving out: a common herb gatherer could not heal a wound of dragon-fire. What Beryl had saved was his body—the fever, the bleeding, the broken bones of a fallen dragon. The rest, the Dragon Core he said was “nearly” shattered, his own dragon’s constitution must have clawed back from the edge on its own, slowly, over those three months. She had kept him alive long enough for his soul to survive. That was the debt he owed her—not a cure, but a life.
    I listened silently. I listened as he described her bravery, her gentleness. I listened to the undisguised love in his voice.
    Every word was a shard of ice driving into my heart. And then I realized my heart was already numb. I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.
    “So, to repay her for saving your life, you destroy our five-year marriage? You destroy my five years of waiting?” I asked calmly.
    “I’m not destroying it!” he retorted, his voice rising. “I can take her as my second partner! Delphine, among dragon-kin, a lord may take more than one partner—this is permitted!”
    “Permitted is not the same as normal.” I cut him off. “It is a rare thing, and a shameful one, and it is not normal. Not for me.”
    “It’s not up to you!” His patience finally snapped. He pulled a scroll from his tunic and threw it on the table.
    It was bound in black leather, stamped with the golden sigil of the Dragon God. I recognized it. A command from the Dragon King.
    “A co-partner must be entered into the bloodline registry—it touches the succession and the inheritance of my house—so I have already petitioned the King and received his permission,” he announced, his voice dripping with condescension, trying to crush me with the weight of royal authority. “By this decree, Beryl King will be a legal co-partner of House Ward, and Theo our registered firstborn.”
    I stared at the Dragon King’s Command. It was a death sentence for my love, my dignity.
    I started to laugh. I truly laughed, so hard that tears pricked my eyes.
    Erwin was bewildered. “What are you laughing at?”
    “I’m laughing at myself, for being such a fool.” I stopped, my gaze turning cold. “Erwin Ward, have you forgotten who pulled House Ward back from the brink of bankruptcy five years ago?”
    “Who filled your empty vaults with chests of Winters family gold? Whose dowry allowed you to maintain the facade of a Dragon Lord, to afford to even go to that damned war?”
    Every question I fired made his face grow paler.
    “I bought your family’s honor with my family’s wealth. And what did I get in return? I waited for five years like a widow, only for you to bring home a pregnant mistress and an illegitimate son, and to use a royal command to tell me I must share my husband!”
    My voice grew louder, five years of humiliation and rage pouring out of me.
    “You are using my money to raise your lover and your bastard, and you expect me to be grateful for the arrangement? Erwin Ward, is your face made of dragon scales?”
    He staggered back under the force of my words, his face a mottled mess of red and white. He couldn’t form a single sentence.
    “Delphine, I…”
    “Get out,” I said, pointing to the door. My voice was quiet, but it held the unshakeable force of a final judgment.
    He stared at me, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. In his mind, I had always been the docile, obedient wife.
    We locked eyes, the air crackling with tension.
    This was the first time in our five years of marriage that we had truly fought. And it was the first time I had ever told him to get out.
    He looked like he wanted to argue, but I just turned my back on him, a gesture of final dismissal.
    Another word from him would make me sick.
    Finally, he stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled in their frames.
    The room fell into a dead silence. I slowly sank to the floor, a deep chill seeping into my bones.
    Clara and Mina rushed in, helping me to my feet.
    “My lady, are you alright?”
    I shook my head, steadying myself on the table. The Dragon King’s Command lay there like a venomous snake, its golden sigil mocking me. The break was complete. It had already begun.

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  • Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle novel by Sutton Moul

    Married To My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle novel by Sutton Moul

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    I was supposed to marry my fiancé, Kenan, the golden boy of the Sinclair family, tomorrow.

    Instead, I woke up drugged in a hotel bed, wearing a man’s shirt, with my fiancé’s disabled, supposedly ruined uncle, Beckett Sinclair, sitting in a wheelchair across from me.

    Before I could even process the horror, my future mother-in-law busted the door open with a pack of reporters.

    She pointed her finger at me, screaming to the cameras that I was a slut who cheated on her son with his crippled uncle.

    My fiancé texted me immediately.

    “You make me sick. We’re done.”

    Even my abusive adoptive family joined the firing squad, demanding I go crawl back and apologize to the man who just threw me away like trash.

    I was completely set up.

    My mother-in-law orchestrated this whole nightmare just to ruin me and replace me with a wealthy, pregnant heiress.

    I was stripped of my dignity, my future, and my reputation in the blink of an eye.

    But just as I was about to be swallowed by the scandal, the disabled uncle everyone mocked did the unthinkable.

    He took the blame for everything in front of the furious family patriarch.

    Then, he looked at me with calm, calculating eyes and handed me a lifeline.

    “Marry me. It’s your only way out.”

    I looked at the greedy faces of my family and the smug smile of my ex-fiancé’s mother.

    I took his hand, tore up my past, and became the new Mrs. Sinclair.

    👉 READ NOW

    Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 1

    Elianna POV:
    The room was spinning before I even finished the champagne.
    It wasn’t a gentle sway. It was a violent, lurching tilt that made the crystal chandeliers of the estate blur into streaks of aggressive light. I gripped the edge of the high table, my knuckles turning white, trying to anchor myself to the floor.
    “You look pale, dear.”
    Kena Whitehead’s voice was smooth, like velvet wrapped around a jagged rock. My future mother-in-law stood too close, her hand resting on my shoulder with a weight that felt less like comfort and more like a restraint.
    “I… I can’t find Kenan,” I managed to say. My tongue felt thick, heavy in my mouth. “He said he’d be right back.”
    “Kenan is busy with the team sponsors, Elianna. You know how important this contract is.” Kena smiled, but her eyes remained cold, calculating. She signaled a passing waiter with a sharp flick of her wrist. “Take Ms. Hayes to the guest suite. She needs to lie down. The champagne was evidently too strong for her.”
    “No, I just need fresh air—” I tried to pull away, but my legs betrayed me. They felt like they were filled with lead.
    The waiter, a man with a face as blank as a slate, took my arm. His grip was firm. “This way, ma’am.”
    He didn’t lead me toward the main staircase where the other guests were mingling. He steered me away from the warmth, down a corridor that grew quieter and colder with every step. The plush carpet swallowed the sound of our footsteps. The air changed, smelling less like expensive perfume and more like old cedar and rain.
    We were in the West Wing. The part of the estate Kenan always told me to avoid.
    “Wait,” I slurred, dragging my feet. “This isn’t…”
    The waiter didn’t answer. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. He opened it, the hinges groaning in protest, and practically shoved me inside.
    I stumbled, my knees hitting the thick Persian rug with a thud.
    “Kenan?” I called out into the darkness.
    The click of the lock turning behind me was the loudest sound I had ever heard.
    Panic flared in my chest, hot and sharp, cutting through the haze of the drug. I scrambled to my feet, swaying, and turned back to the door. I rattled the handle. Locked.
    “Help!” I screamed, but my voice was weak, absorbed by the heavy tapestries on the walls.
    A flash of lightning tore through the sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the room in a stark, blue-white burst.
    That’s when I saw him.
    He was sitting in the corner, a silhouette carved from the shadows. He wasn’t Kenan. This man was broader, darker. He was seated in a wheelchair, his hands resting motionless on the armrests.
    Beckett Sinclair.
    The fallen god of the ice. The legendary NHL captain. The man the family whispered about with a mixture of pity and disdain.Also Kenan’s uncle.
    He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just watched me with eyes that glinted in the dark.
    The drug surged again, a wave of heat that started in my stomach and clawed its way up my throat. It wasn’t just heat; it was a disorienting vertigo that made the world tilt on its axis. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I just needed safety. I needed Kenan. My confused brain superimposed Kenan’s face onto the man in the shadows.
    I stumbled toward him.
    “Kenan,” I whimpered, tears blurring my vision. “Please. It hurts.”
    I fell at his feet, my hands grasping his knees. The fabric of his trousers was cool against my burning palms. I could feel the rigid metal of his leg braces beneath the cloth, hard, cold, and unyielding against my touch.
    Beckett didn’t flinch. He didn’t kick me away, but he didn’t help me either. He sat there like a statue, a ruined king on a broken throne.
    “You’re in the wrong room, Elianna,” his voice was a low rumble, vibrating through the darkness. It wasn’t the voice of a weak man. It was the growl of something dangerous that had been chained up for too long.
    “Help me,” I begged, the heat becoming unbearable. I tugged at the neckline of my dress, desperate for air. “So dizzy… please…”
    I heard a sharp intake of breath from him.
    “Silas,” Beckett said into the empty air, his voice dropping an octave.
    A small earpiece I hadn’t noticed blinked with a faint blue light. “Lock down the wing. No one enters until I say so. Kena made her move.”
    I didn’t understand what he was saying. My head fell onto his lap. The scent of him—sandalwood, tobacco, and something uniquely masculine—filled my senses, drowning out the cedar smell of the room.
    I couldn’t make out the face of the man above me; I could only vaguely discern his features.
    His facial structure was sharply defined—handsome in a refined yet rugged, masculine way.
    A high, straight bridge of the nose…
    Large hands, with thick, prominent knuckles…
    “Relax a little…”
    “Baby, you’re so tense…”
    The man sighed in a low voice, his large hand firmly gripping mine and pressing it against the cold tiles.
    “…I can’t be gentle at all.”
    His sudden assertiveness made my body tremble; I nearly collapsed to the floor.
    I couldn’t handle it anymore; tears welled up in my eyes as I whimpered,
    “Wh… when will it end?”
    Beckett’s gaze darkened; his large hand, with its prominent veins, shifted to my waist and suddenly tightened its grip.
    “Mmph…” My mind went blank for a moment.
    The man kissed my earlobe, his low, husky voice resonating against my eardrum.
    “Be a good girl—five more times. You count them out, and then we’re done.”
    I let out a breath of relief and parted my lips, a voice full of grievance and frailty escaping them.
    “One… two… five… I’m done counting. Can… can we stop now?”
    “Heh.” Beckett chuckled softly, his deep, dark eyes fixed intently on me.
    “Sweetheart, that’s not the kind of counting I meant…”
    I froze, stunned; before I could process his words, a large hand clamped firmly onto my chin.
    His scent washed over me as he sealed my lips with his own, enveloping me completely in an intense, suffocating aura of raw masculinity.
    Steam billowed through the bathroom, thoroughly blurring my vision.
    Yet, my senses felt sharper than ever…
    Hours later, his hand hovered over my head for a second, hesitant. Then, with a sigh that sounded like resignation, his fingers brushed against my hair. His touch was electric, sending a jolt through my numb body.
    “Sleep,” he commanded softly.
    The last thing I remembered was the terrifying realization that the legs felt as cold and lifeless as stone, encased in their metal prison.

    Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 2

    Elianna POV:
    The sound of a key grinding in the lock was violent enough to wake the dead.
    I gasped, shooting up from the pillows. My head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, like a slapshot ringing against the boards inside my skull. I was in a bed. A strange bed. The sheets were gray silk, cool and slippery against my skin.
    I looked down. My dress was rumpled, the strap hanging off one shoulder.
    “Stay down,” a voice commanded from the window.
    I snapped my head around. Beckett was there, his wheelchair facing the door. He had his back to me, his posture rigid. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket anymore.
    Before I could ask why, he whipped around, holding the tailored black jacket. He threw it at me with the precise accuracy of a former pro.
    “Cover yourself.”
    I barely had time to clutch the jacket to my chest before the door burst open.
    It wasn’t just Kena. It was a full-blown media circus.
    Flashes of light erupted like gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. The blinding white strobes from the sports paparazzi left spots in my vision. I screamed, pulling the jacket over my head, curling into a ball of shame.
    “Oh my God!” Kena’s voice was a theatrical shriek. “Elianna! How could you?”
    She stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth, flanked by three men with cameras and a handful of “concerned” VIP guests who looked more like vultures circling a carcass.
    “Get out!” Beckett roared.
    The sound was so powerful it physically shook the room. The photographers hesitated, lowering their lenses for a split second. Beckett wheeled himself forward, placing his body between the mob and the bed.
    “This is my private sanctuary,” he snarled, his face twisted in a mask of fury. “Get your cameras out of my face before I break them.”
    “Beckett,” Kena stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “We were just looking for Elianna. Kenan was worried sick. And we find her… here? In your bed?”
    “I… I don’t remember,” I sobbed, my voice cracking. “I felt sick. Someone brought me here.”
    “Likely story,” one of the tabloid reporters muttered, snapping another picture over Beckett’s broad shoulder.
    “She was drunk,” Kena declared, turning to the crowd. “Look at her. Disgraceful. Kenanis downstairs playing the heartbroken star captain, and she’s up here throwing herself at his crippled uncle.”
    The word ‘crippled’ hung in the air, heavy and cruel—a sharp, deliberate jab at the man who used to own the ice.
    Beckett’s hands gripped the wheels of his chair so hard I thought the metal might bend. He looked at Kena, then back at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools. For a second, I saw something flicker there—calculation? Pity?
    He turned back to Kena. “She didn’t throw herself at me.”
    The room went silent.
    Beckett looked down at his lap, his shoulders slumping in a performance of resignation that was terrifyingly convincing. “We have been seeing each other, Kena. For months.”
    My jaw dropped. “What? No, that’s not—”
    “Quiet, Elianna,” Beckett snapped, though his eyes warned me to shut up. “She came to me because she couldn’t stand the sight of your son anymore. She chose me. We thought we could keep it secret until after the franchise merger, but… clearly, we were careless.”
    Kena blinked. This wasn’t part of her playbook. She wanted me to be the villain, the gold-digging puck bunny preying on a helpless invalid. But Beckett painting himself as the secret lover? It made Kenanlook like a fool who couldn’t keep his fiancée in check, and it made the scandal a consensual, albeit messy, affair.
    “You… you beast,” Kena spat, recovering quickly. “You’re disgusting. Stealing your nephew’s fiancée?”
    “I am what this family made me,” Beckett said quietly. “Now get out.”
    Team security finally arrived, pushing the reporters back into the hallway. The door slammed shut, leaving us in a ringing silence.
    I stared at Beckett’s back. He was breathing heavily.
    “Why?” I whispered. “Why did you say that?”
    He turned his chair slowly. The vulnerability was gone. His face was a mask of stone again.
    “Because if you were the seductress who drugged herself, Kenan would sue you for breach of contract and destroy your family,” he said coldly. “If we are lovers, it’s just a scandal. A mess they have to clean up to protect the franchise’s stock price. I just bought you a lifeline.”
    “A lifeline?” I laughed hysterically, tears streaming down my face. “My life is over. Kenanwill never believe me.”
    “Kenan is the one who let this happen,” Beckett said. “Get dressed. Harrison is waiting in the study. The execution begins now.”

    Married To My Ex’s Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 3

    Elianna POV:
    The walk to the study felt like a funeral procession.
    I pushed Beckett’s wheelchair, my hands trembling on the rubber grips. Silas, his looming shadow of a bodyguard, had been barred from entering the main house by Kena. It was just us.
    Inside the study, the air was thick with the smell of old leather and judgment. Harrison Sinclair III sat behind a desk the size of a small car, polishing a heavy, silver-headed cane with a white cloth.
    Kenan was there.
    My heart leaped. I let go of the wheelchair and took a step toward him. “Kenan! Please, you have to listen to me. I was drugged. I would never—”
    Kenan took a step back. He looked at me as if I were something he had scraped off his skate.
    “Don’t come near me,” he sneered. “You smell like him.”
    The words were a physical blow. I stopped, my breath catching in my throat. “Kenan…”
    “My mother told me everything,” Kenan said, his voice flat. “You’ve been sneaking around with him? Behind my back? You’re even cheaper than I thought.”
    He gestured to Beckett.
    I looked at Kenan—really looked at him—and for the first time, I didn’t see the charming hockey phenom I thought I loved. I saw a coward standing behind Kena’s designer skirt.
    “Enough,” Harrison barked. He stood up, testing the weight of the cane in his hand. “You have brought shame on this franchise, Beckett.”
    Beckett sat with his head bowed. “I know.”
    “You are a waste of space,” Harrison said, walking around the desk. “A broken man with broken morals.”
    He raised the cane.
    I gasped. “No!”
    Thwack.
    The sound of the heavy wood hitting Beckett’s shoulder was sickening—a dull, wet thud. Beckett grunted, his body jerking forward, but his hands stayed white-knuckled on the armrests. He didn’t try to block it.
    Harrison raised the cane for a second strike, his face purple with rage.
    “Harrison, stop!” Kena intervened sharply, stepping between them. “Not in front of her. Think of the PR nightmare and the liability.”
    Harrison lowered the cane slowly, breathing hard. He glared down at Beckett, satisfied with the single, brutal blow that had left him trembling.
    “You are garbage,” Harrison spat.
    Beckett slowly lifted his head. His lip was bleeding where he had bitten it. His eyes were burning with a terrifying intensity.
    “I want to marry her,” Beckett said.
    The silence in the room was absolute. Even Harrison looked stunned.
    “What?” Kenan laughed incredulously. “You want my leftovers?”
    Beckett ignored him. He looked straight at Harrison. “The sports press has the photos. If you cast her out, the headline is Sinclair Golden Boy’s Fiancée Cheats with Disabled Uncle. It makes Kenan look weak going into the playoffs. It makes the front office look chaotic.”
    Beckett paused, wiping blood from his mouth.
    “But if I marry her… the narrative becomes a tragic romance. The star-crossed lovers who couldn’t help themselves. It creates a scandal, yes, but a romantic one. It protects the franchise’s public image and the team’s valuation.”
    Harrison narrowed his eyes. He was a team owner first, a patriarch second. He did the math in his head.
    “He’s right,” Harrison grunted. He looked at Kenan. “This solves the problem of Elianna.”
    “Fine,” Harrison waved his hand dismissively. “Take the trash. Marry her. But you’re cut off from the main accounts. And I am activating the exile clause. You get nothing but your medical stipend. And you don’t step foot in this arena or house again.”
    “Deal,” Beckett said.
    He turned his wheelchair toward me. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead from the pain, but his hand was steady as he reached out.
    “Elianna,” he said softly. “Get me out of here.”
    I looked at Kenan, who was already checking his phone, completely bored. Then I looked at the man nursing a bruised shoulder in the chair, the former hockey legend who had just taken a beating to save me from total ruin.
    I took Beckett’s hand. It was warm.
    “Okay,” I whispered.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel by Xiu Luo

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel by Xiu Luo

    👉 READ NOW

    Just a few weeks before my wedding to Hudson, his ex-girlfriend moved in next door to us.

    She constantly made a huge deal out of the fact that her father had sacrificed his life to save Hudson, and even destroyed my wedding dress, yet Hudson just stood by and comforted her.

    Just as I secretly found out I was pregnant, he publicly announced that he was going to hold a “fake wedding” with her, claiming it was for her psychological therapy.

    This news quickly went viral online, sparking the fury of netizens who even ganged up to attack me, causing me to fall to the ground and bleed heavily.

    I lost our child, and the doctor told me that my hopes of ever becoming a mother again were almost completely destroyed.

    As I lay in the hospital bed, my heart completely dead inside, Hudson appeared in the ward.

    “Please understand why I have to hold this fake wedding for her.”

    He begged me to support his fake wedding, and my heart was thoroughly shattered.

    After he left, I immediately packed my bags, contacted the wedding venue, and changed the groom’s name to the man who had always stood by me through thick and thin.

    When he found out about this, he actually went crazy trying to win me back at all costs!

    👉 READ NOW

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel Chapter 1

    Caitlin’s POV
    Just a few weeks left until my wedding, but a wave of icy dread gripped me tightly. It all started the day Bella Peterson moved into our apartment building.
    Of course, I knew her name. My fiancé, Hudson Rice, had always harbored a deep sense of guilt toward her—her firefighter father had sacrificed his life to save Hudson years ago.
    That afternoon, I was walking my golden retriever in the apartment building’s private garden. Suddenly, it excitedly broke free from the leash, ran over to the rose bushes, and nudged out a shivering white stray cat with its nose.
    As I gently stroked its fur, I noticed a small silver tag on its collar. Engraved on the silver tag was the word, “Snowflake.”
    I flipped the tag over, and sure enough, there was a number engraved on the back, along with a brief message: “This is my kitty. If found, please contact me, thank you so much. —Bella.”
    My breath hitched. Bella? The name echoed in my mind, and I had a very bad premonition.
    “Snowflake!” A soft voice broke the tranquility of the garden.
    I looked up. A few yards away stood a woman with long, jet-black hair. She was younger than I had imagined, possessing an almost fragile quality.
    “Oh, Snowflake, my little baby!” She gathered the cat into her arms, hugging it tightly. The cat let out a loud purr, clearly enjoying the feeling of being back in its owner’s embrace.
    “Thank you, thank you! I was so worried. I just moved in here, and she ran out. I didn’t even know what to do.”
    “It’s nothing. She is a beautiful cat.”
    “I’m Bella Peterson.”
    “Caitlin Norris.” I wore an increasingly stiff smile, my mind in utter chaos.
    Bella Peterson. This couldn’t be a coincidence. This was Hudson’s ex-girlfriend, whose father had died saving him.
    “It’s nice to meet you, Caitlin,” Bella said, her eyes still fixed on the cat in her arms. “You are so kind.” She looked up, her gaze meeting mine. “Norris… that last name sounds a bit familiar. Do you live nearby?”
    “Yes, I live here.”
    We walked toward the apartment building entrance together, but the unease in my heart grew heavier.
    “I just moved back from abroad and rented a unit in this building.”
    “Rented an apartment in this building?” I asked, unable to stop myself from taking a sharp breath. This building was one of the most luxurious apartments in the whole city, and the rent was terrifyingly high.
    Bella smiled, a fragile smile that seemed to hide an unspeakable sorrow. “Yes. This building is beautiful. And… it’s close to my past.” She paused, her eyes dimming.
    “You wouldn’t happen to know Hudson, would you?” I tried to make my voice sound casual, but my curiosity was intense.
    Bella just offered a small, meaningful smile. “Yes, and Hudson has actually mentioned you to me, saying you are very understanding.”
    “Oh, really?” I forced a very strained smile.
    The elevator doors opened, and we both simultaneously pressed “15.”
    “Well, I’m here.” She walked toward the door of 1503, but just as she reached it, the door of 1502 opened.
    Hudson stood there, dressed in casual clothes, his hair slightly messy. He held a bag of groceries in his hand, a small smile on his face.
    He looked at me, and then his gaze landed on Bella.
    His smile vanished, and he was so surprised that the grocery bag almost slipped from his hand.
    Seeing Hudson, Bella froze in place. Snowflake, still in her arms, let out a soft meow.
    Bella’s eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip began to tremble.
    Time seemed to stretch out. I stood between them, feeling like a redundant outsider. The silence was suffocating.
    “Hudson,” I said, my voice flat. “You know Bella, right?”
    Hudson blinked, as if waking from a dream. He looked at me, then at Bella, a complex and conflicted expression surfacing on his face. “Bella, what are you doing here?”
    Bella nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes, Hudson.”
    “I need to lie down for a bit,” I said, my hands trembling as I unlocked my apartment door. Shaking, I closed the door behind me, shutting out that oppressive scene.
    Through the thick door, I heard Bella go from soft sobbing to heart-wrenching, agonizing wailing.
    “Bella, shh, it’s okay now.” I heard Hudson’s voice, deep and gentle.
    The crying gradually subsided, turning into soft whispers. The hallway finally fell silent.
    I don’t know how much time passed before I gently cracked the door open. The hallway was empty, and the door to 1503 was shut tight. Hudson and Bella were inside, a lone man and a lone woman.
    The future I had so carefully planned completely collapsed in this very moment.

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel Chapter 2

    Caitlin’s POV
    Despite the world outside turning upside down, I desperately tried to maintain a pathetic sense of dignity inside the apartment. The wedding was fast approaching, and my wedding dress was still waiting for my final fitting.
    I clung desperately to these anchors of the future, constantly brainwashing myself: Hudson is just acting out of survivor’s guilt. He won’t abandon me. As long as he helps Bella stabilize her emotions, we can get back on track.
    Late that night, Hudson finally returned to the apartment. I pretended to be asleep, listening to him tiptoe into bed, my body stiff and my breathing heavy.
    The next morning at the breakfast table, I decided to break the ice. “So, Bella moved in next door to us.”
    Hudson’s hand trembled, and he nearly spilled his coffee. He didn’t dare look at me, his face full of guilt. “Yeah, it’s… it’s complicated, Caitlin.”
    “Indeed. She cried terribly yesterday, and you were busy comforting her next door.” My tone was sharp.
    Hudson ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “She had an emotional breakdown yesterday, it was really serious! Her therapist suggested she move somewhere she feels safe. She had no idea we lived here.”
    “Her therapist suggested she move next door to the ex-boyfriend whose life her father saved?” I raised an eyebrow, the skepticism in my tone barely concealed.
    Hudson finally looked at me, his eyes full of pleading. “Caitlin, please. She’s not doing well, her mental state is very fragile. We can’t just abandon her. Her father… he sacrificed himself to save me. I owe her.”
    “You do owe her.” I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to maintain that “understanding” facade he had praised. “But what about our wedding? The final fitting for the wedding dress is next Tuesday. Are you still going?”
    He hesitated for a long second, a second so long it made my skin crawl. “Of course,” he finally promised. “Everything goes according to plan. Bella will get better, we just need to take care of her feelings a little bit.”
    I nodded, but my heart shattered piece by piece. That night, Hudson tossed and turned in his sleep, muttering a name under his breath. I couldn’t hear it clearly, but I knew for a fact it wasn’t “Caitlin.”
    Next Tuesday, I arrived at the bridal boutique with anxious anticipation. It was an ivory silk wedding dress designed specifically for me, with hand-sewn pearls and lace perfectly matched.
    The moment I put it on, I felt as if I saw the reflection of happiness once again.
    The boutique owner, Mrs. Albright, looked at me with absolute awe. “It’s too beautiful, Caitlin! Hudson is going to be head over heels for you.”
    Just as I was handing the dress back, my phone buzzed. A text from Hudson came in: “Going to be late. Bella had another episode, I have to rush over to her now.”
    My heart plunged into an ice cellar. Bella again. Always Bella.
    Then, Bella stood in the middle of the store. Her eyes were bloodshot, her gaze frantic, and in her hand, she tightly gripped a pair of sharp, heavy tailor’s scissors. Mannequins around her were knocked over, and high-end fabrics were scattered all over the floor.
    “She wants to destroy everything!” Bella screamed, her eyes locked onto the wedding dress hanging on the rack.
    The next second, her eyes ignited with the mad fire of jealousy. “What right do you have to have him! What right do you have to steal our life!”
    Before I could react, she lunged forward like a lunatic. The owner screamed and dodged out of the way, while I froze in place.
    The cold steel of the scissors flashed.
    Riiip—
    The silk was slashed, the lace was torn, and pearls bounced all over the floor. Bella frantically wielded the scissors, shredding the wedding dress of my dreams into pieces, cut by cut.
    “Stop!” I finally screamed at the top of my lungs, but it was too late.
    After the destruction was complete, the scissors clattered to the floor. She fell to her knees amidst the shredded fabric, trembling all over as she began to sob delicately.
    Bang! The door burst open, and Hudson rushed in, looking panicked. He surveyed the chaotic store, me standing with the shredded dress, and Bella kneeling on the floor.
    His gaze briefly met mine, revealing a fleeting trace of helpless apology.
    But that look vanished in an instant. His eyes immediately darted to Bella. “Bella! Are you okay?” He knelt beside her, pulled her into his arms, and comforted her.
    “We have to call the police,” the owner said, trembling.
    “No need.” I was surprisingly calm, my cold gaze locked on Hudson and Bella. He was still holding her, and Bella had buried her face in his shoulder, crying pitifully. He was heartbroken, but his heartbreak existed only for her.
    Customers around us gathered and whispered, and some even took out their phones to record. I had become the most pathetic clown in this farce.
    “Caitlin, I can rush to make you a new dress, or try my best to repair this one…” the owner suggested cautiously.
    “No need.” I cut her off decisively. What was destroyed wasn’t the dress, it was this damn marriage. “I will pay for all the damages, settle the bill for me.”
    Without any lingering attachment, I turned and walked out of the bridal boutique. The cold wind hit my face, and not only did it fail to blow away the pain in my chest, but it also made me completely sober.
    I didn’t return to that so-called home. I didn’t want to hear any of Hudson’s hypocritical apologies and excuses.
    I took a taxi straight to an unfamiliar private hospital.
    A nameless fear haunted my heart, making me instinctively place my hand over my still-flat lower abdomen.
    I had to confirm whether my child was still safe and sound.

    He Chose Her, I Chose Myself novel Chapter 3

    Caitlin’s POV
    The cold white fluorescent lights of the clinic buzzed overhead. I lay on the examination table, my heart pounding with anxiety. Dr. Evans finally straightened up, a gentle smile appearing on her face.
    “Caitlin, although it’s still very early, everything is completely normal.” She pointed to the blurry image on the screen. “Here is the heartbeat. It’s strong and steady.”
    A sense of profound relief brought tears to my eyes instantly. My child, this fragile little life, was still stubbornly surviving after experiencing the chaos, the betrayal, and the shredded wedding dress.
    “Thank you, Doctor,” I choked out. “Thank you so much.”
    Dr. Evans handed me a tissue. “Congratulations, this is wonderful news. Have you told the child’s father?”
    The smile on my face froze. Tell Hudson? Share this sacred joy with him? It felt like an absolute fantasy. All of his attention, sympathy, and his entire being had already been completely swallowed up by Bella.
    How could I dare entrust this precious secret to a man who couldn’t even protect my wedding dress or my dignity?
    “Not yet,” I said, my voice dropping. “Too much has happened, I’m not ready yet.”
    Dr. Evans nodded, her eyes showing understanding, but she also became more serious. “Take your time. But given your past medical history, you must avoid any stress or physical exertion. We will monitor your condition closely.”
    Her reminder awakened my deepest fears. Two heartbreaking miscarriage experiences. When I lost the first one, Hudson held me and cried for days; but the second, late-term miscarriage a few years later almost drained all of our energy.
    Since then, a layer of cautious distance had grown between us. I was afraid to embrace hope again, and perhaps he was afraid of facing loss again.
    Her reminder awakened my deepest fears, two heartbreaking miscarriage experiences. When I lost the first one, Hudson held me and cried for days; but the second, late-term miscarriage a few years later almost drained all of our energy. Since then, a layer of cautious distance had grown between us. I was afraid to embrace hope again, and perhaps he was afraid of facing loss again.
    And now, with a new life awakening inside me, I couldn’t bear another blow.
    Especially right now, with Hudson deeply entangled in Bella’s drama and completely ignoring me, it was highly likely he would treat this child as an unmanageable burden.
    Leaving the clinic and returning to the apartment building, I didn’t go upstairs. Instead, I hid in the lounge area. I needed time to digest all of this.
    My phone buzzed. It was a news push notification. Glancing at the screen, I started shaking with anger.
    My face—that face covered in tear stains and shock inside the bridal boutique—was glaringly displayed on the cover of a viral video.
    The video clearly captured the footage of Bella frantically shredding my wedding dress, and the most piercing scene of all: Hudson holding Bella tightly to comfort her, while I was left hanging to the side like a pathetic joke.
    The title was highly inflammatory: “Homewrecker Caitlin Finally Gets Her Just Desserts! Bella Fights Back to Reclaim True Love Hudson!”
    With stiff fingers, I scrolled through the comment section. The internet had thoroughly nailed me to the pillar of shame.
    “Oh my god, poor Bella! She’s been through so much. Caitlin is obviously a gold digger trying to steal Hudson away.”
    “Hudson and Bella are a match made in heaven. Caitlin should step aside.”
    “Look at Caitlin’s expression, she’s so damn cold. Bella is clearly heartbroken. This woman is simply a monster.”
    “Her father sacrificed himself to save Hudson! How can Caitlin be so cold-blooded?”
    The direction of public opinion was ruthless and twisted.
    Netizens quickly dug up Bella’s tragic background: the daughter of a hero firefighter, a genius artist deeply traumatized by her father’s sacrifice. Rumor had it she had received psychological treatment abroad and had now returned covered in scars, only to face the vicious woman who had stolen her high school sweetheart.
    Bella, the tragic hometown goddess. Hudson, the hero tortured by conflict, forced to bear a debt of gratitude he could never repay. And me, Caitlin Norris, the vicious homewrecker.
    The comments grew increasingly malicious, demanding that I leave, slapping all sorts of labels on me, and even starting to send threatening messages. An online campaign to support Bella had already begun.
    Late that night, Hudson finally came back. He saw me sitting alone in the unlit living room, the cold light of my laptop screen reflecting those vicious insults.
    Looking utterly exhausted, he sat down next to me. His hand hovered in mid-air, but ultimately, he didn’t touch me. “Caitlin, I’m sorry about today. Bella completely broke down. Her therapist just finished checking her into the hospital.”
    “So you were with her the whole time,” I stated coldly.
    He sighed. “She kept crying and calling my name, refusing to let go. This building is too triggering for her, and seeing you made her break down even more. She misunderstood everything, thinking you wanted to steal me away from her.”
    “Misunderstood?” I laughed out of pure anger. “She shredded the wedding dress we were going to use for our marriage! And you held her in your arms, leaving me alone to watch my future turn into a pile of rags!”
    Hudson rubbed his face in agony. “I know how bad this looks! But she’s sick, and she only feels safe when she’s by my side! I know this is unfair to you, but I’m begging you, can you please just endure this for a little longer? Once she stabilizes, I promise everything will go back to normal. We will get married, I swear.”
    Looking at this face full of guilt, my heart hardened bit by bit.
    “Alright, Hudson,” I said in a low voice, a cold tear quietly slipping down. “I will endure it.”
    He let out a long sigh of relief, hugged me tightly, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Thank you, Caitlin, you are the most understanding woman I have ever met.”
    I closed my eyes in his embrace, letting my tears soak his shirt.
    He was so immersed in his “great responsibility” that he didn’t notice my despair at all. As long as Bella remained his first choice, I would always be the dispensable one!

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel by NovaBlaq

    The Ex Wife's Revenge novel by NovaBlaq

    👉 READ NOW

    My ex-husband’s mother never hid her contempt for me.
    She thought money could erase my existence and paid me five million to walk away from her son.
    “You’re beneath my son. Take the money and leave him.”
    She had no idea I was already sick of her cruelty. And even sicker of her spineless son.
    I accepted the money. Utterly devastated, of course.
    ~~~
    A month later, she was furious because I was dating her brother.
    “Ten million. Leave my brother alone.”
    I refused, intentionally trying to provoke her.
    She offered me twenty million this time and I accepted her offer.
    But she had no idea what I had in store for her. She had no idea what she started.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 1

    Nadia’s POV:
    Today was my husband, Dorian’s twenty-third birthday.
    It should have been a happy day. But it wasn’t. Happy days didn’t really exist inside the Hargrove mansion… at least not for me, anyway.
    I woke up early. The morning sun came through the curtains and landed on my face, and for one single second, before I was fully awake, I thought: today might be different. Then I heard the voices outside my bedroom door and I remembered where I was and who I was married to and nothing was different at all.
    It was barely past seven when the stylists arrived.
    Vivienne had sent them. She always sent them before any Hargrove event, because she didn’t trust me to dress myself. I’m not sure she trusted me to do anything, if I’m honest. Except breathe, maybe. And even then she was probably watching to make sure I did it correctly.
    I was sitting at my vanity in my robe when the bedroom door opened without a knock. Three women walked in, carrying bags and cases. Vivienne walked in behind them. She was already dressed. She stopped in the center of the room and looked at me. She didn’t say good morning.
    She just looked at my hair.
    “Careful with her hair,” she said, to the stylist. “It’s a bit thin, isn’t it?” She tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying a problem that needed solving. “Add extensions. Lots of them. I won’t have her walking around today looking like a peasant. My son is turning twenty-three. This party matters. I won’t have guests thinking I let him marry a woman who can’t even grow a decent head of hair.”
    The stylist nodded. She didn’t argue. She just agreed, which was what everyone did around Vivienne.
    “Yes, Mrs. Hargrove. I see exactly what you mean. We’ll fix it.”
    I looked at my own reflection in the mirror and said nothing.
    What was there to say? I had learned, a long time ago, that saying anything only made it worse. Silence was my armor.
    I sat in that chair for four hours.
    My neck ached from holding still. My head felt heavy from all the pins and clips they were pressing into my scalp. Every time I opened my mouth to say anything… even something harmless, like asking for a glass of water… Vivienne found a way to cut me off.
    “Don’t move your mouth, Nadia,” she said at one point. “The lipstick needs to be set perfectly. If you keep moving, we’ll have to start over. And we don’t have time to start over.”
    Then she looked at my waist in the mirror. She pressed her lips together.
    “That dress,” she said. “Well. It’s the best we could do, given your figure. It’s a shame you haven’t managed to lose that extra weight I mentioned to you in August. The silk is pulling at the waist. It makes you look…” She paused, as if searching for a word that was just polite enough to say out loud. “…fat and desperate. But then, I suppose that’s always been your problem. You’ve always tried a little too hard to belong in spaces that weren’t built for you.”
    I stared at my reflection. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my figure.
    The woman looking back at me looked expensive. Her hair was thick and glossy, her makeup was flawless, her dress was simple but elegant. She looked like she belonged at an event like this.
    But her eyes were empty. She looked like a doll that had been dressed by someone else.
    I didn’t recognize her at all. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
    ~~~
    The party began at noon.
    The Hargrove garden had been decorated beautifully. The tables were covered in white linen and flowers that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Servers in white jackets moved between the guests, offering champagne and tiny food arranged on silver trays.
    It was beautiful. Everything about the Hargrove world was beautiful. That was the worst part of it.
    I moved through the crowd slowly, holding a small box wrapped in gold paper. Inside was a watch, a vintage one I had spent three weeks searching for. I heard Dorian mentioning it once, almost a year ago. I remembered because I always paid attention to him more than he ever paid attention to me. I had thought it would mean something to him. I had thought that maybe, on his birthday, he might actually pay attention to me a little bit.
    I found him near the fountain.
    He looked good. He always looked good. His tuxedo was perfectly fitted. I walked up to him and touched his arm.
    “Dorian,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended. “Happy birthday, honey. I got you something. I spent a long time finding it. I thought maybe we could find a quiet corner for a minute so you could open it?”
    He didn’t look at the box. He didn’t look at me. His eyes were scanning the crowd over my shoulder, searching for someone or something more important.
    “Not now, Nadia.” He said. “Don’t try making today all about you please.”
    “But it’s your birthday. I just…”
    “I said not now.” His voice was firm. “My mother is standing in the sun. She might get a headache. I need to bring her a drink before she asks me twice. Just put the gift on the table with the other ones.”
    I looked at him, and tried to keep my voice even.
    “Dorian, there are over fifteen people here in white jackets whose entire job tonight is to carry drinks. Can’t you stay here for one minute? It’s your birthday. I just want to give you your gift.”
    His face tightened.
    “Don’t be selfish,” he said. He lowered his voice, not because he was worried about hurting my feelings, but because he didn’t want to create a scene. “She’s my mother, Nadia. Now stop making this about yourself and move out of the way. You’re blocking the path.”
    He walked right past me.
    He didn’t even brush my shoulder. He just stepped around me like I was a potted plant.
    I stood there with the gold box in my hands, and I breathed. In, out. In, out. I had gotten very good at breathing through moments like this. It was either that or cry, and I refused to give this garden the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
    I turned around to go find somewhere to sit, and that’s when I saw her.
    Lena was standing about ten feet away, right where Dorian was heading. She was tall, with cheekbones. She had been introduced to Dorian by Vivienne a few months ago… a model from a good family, Vivienne had said, as if she were presenting a business proposal. I smiled at that introduction. Because I knew exactly what she was trying to do.
    Lena was laughing at something now, her head thrown back, her hand reaching out to touch Dorian’s arm. He was laughing back. He looked alive in a way I hadn’t seen in three years of being married to him.
    Something moved through my chest. And I walked over to them.
    I wasn’t going to stand in the shadows and watch my husband laugh with another woman at his birthday party. I wrapped my arm through Dorian’s and stepped in close. I made sure my wedding ring was visible.
    “There you are, honey,” I said. My voice was softer than I expected. “I was starting to wonder where you disappeared to.” I turned to look at Lena, still smiling. “Oh, hello, Lena right? I didn’t see you standing there. You look very… shiny today.”
    Lena looked at me like I was a bug on her shoe. Then she smiled and tilted her head.
    “Nadia. How sweet. I was just telling Dorian how great he looks.” She glanced at me from head to toe. “Some people just keep improving, don’t they? And others just… stay the same.”
    Before I could respond, a woman I didn’t know appeared at my elbow. She was older, elegantly dressed, and she was looking at my dress with a genuine smile.
    “Oh, my dear,” she said to me. “What a stunning color. That shade of blue is absolutely beautiful on you. Is it a designer piece?”
    I opened my mouth. But suddenly, Vivienne materialized from the left.
    I didn’t see her coming. She looked at my dress and then looked at the guest with a fake smile.
    “This old thing?” Vivienne said, touching the fabric of my sleeve with one finger, as though checking it for stains. “It’s a sweet little dress, isn’t it? We had it pulled together quickly. Nadia doesn’t really have a strong eye for fashion. She tends to gravitate toward things that look expensive but aren’t, if you know what I mean.” She laughed softly. “It’s difficult to teach taste to someone who didn’t grow up surrounded by it. Some women are just born with the instinct, and others have to try much harder and still don’t quite get there. Don’t you think, Lena?”
    Lena covered her mouth with her manicured hand. She made a sound that was supposed to be a polite laugh.
    “Absolutely,” Lena said. “Fashion is practically a language. You’re either fluent or you’re not.”
    The woman who had complimented me looked slightly uncomfortable. She glanced between me and Vivienne and said nothing else.
    I felt heat rise in my face, then I looked at Dorian.
    I waited for him to say something. To tell his mother to stop. To defend me, even once. To say: that’s my wife you’re talking about.
    Instead , he looked at the ground. Like he had nothing to say.
    I took a sip of my wine. “Actually, Vivienne,” I said. My voice was calm. I kept my smile exactly where it was. “Dorian chose this dress for me. He picked it himself. He told me it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in years.” I looked at her steadily. “So if you think the dress has no taste, perhaps the conversation you need to have is with your son. He might be the one with the fashion problem.”
    The silence that followed was deafening.
    The guest looked down at her champagne. Lena’s mouth fell open. Vivienne’s expression didn’t change exactly, but something in her eyes shifted. She went very still.
    Then I felt a hand on my arm.
    Dorian.
    He grabbed me just above the elbow, his fingers pressing hard into my arm. He didn’t pull me away properly because that would have been too visible. He just gripped me and leaned in, his face still arranged into a pleasant expression for anyone watching from a distance.
    “What is wrong with you?” he said against my ear. His voice was low and firm. “Do not talk to my mother like that. Do you understand me? This is her event. These are her guests. You do not embarrass her in front of them. Not tonight. Not ever.”
    I kept my eyes forward. I kept my smile in place.
    “She basically called me a peasant this morning, Dorian,” I said, very quietly. “In front of the stylists. She said the dress makes me look fat and desperate. I have been sitting and smiling through this all day.”
    “She’s trying to help you.”
    “That’s not helping.” My voice was still quiet but my jaw was tight. “She is cruel. And you stand next to her every time and say nothing. You have never once…”
    “Because she’s right!” he snapped. The words were out before he could take them back. He pressed his lips together. “She knows how this world works. You don’t. And instead of being grateful that she tries to show you, you stand here and make scenes and make me look like I can’t control my own household. Now you will smile, you will say nothing else, and at the end of the night you will apologize to her. Are we clear?”
    He let go of my arm.
    I looked down. There were red marks where his fingers had been.
    I didn’t say anything because I didn’t trust my voice.
    From across the garden, I heard my father in law, Richard’s voice cut through the music and the crowd noise.
    He was standing near the oak trees, at the head of a large table surrounded by men in dark suits. Richard himself was tall and broad, he was the kind of man who had never once in his life needed to raise his voice to be heard.
    He raised his glass.
    “A toast,” he said. “To my son, Dorian. Twenty-three years ago he arrived in this world, and I’m pleased to know that he’s become such a fine young man.” He smiled. “He has a great deal still to learn, about business and about life. But he is a Hargrove. And that means he will always have the best of everything.”
    The garden erupted.
    “To Dorian!”
    Everyone cheered. Everyone raised their glasses. I raised mine too, because I was very good at doing what was expected of me.
    Richard didn’t join the cheering, he didn’t immediately sit back down also. He stood for a moment, the glass still in his hand, and his eyes moved across the garden like he was searching for something.
    They moved past Past the fountain and the people who had come to celebrate his son.
    They landed on me.
    It lasted less than two seconds. He didn’t look at me with hate, or with contempt like the others did. His eyes were warm. It was the only warmth I had felt all day. Then, just as quickly as it happened, he moved his gaze away and went back to his business partners, raising his glass again to the men at his table.
    I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
    ~~~
    I walked to the gift table.
    I set the gold box down at the end of the row. It landed among the huge, perfectly wrapped gifts from jewelers and designers and the kinds of people who bought presents as statements. My box looked small and lonely. Just like me.
    Nobody would know that it was from me. Nobody would care.
    “I’m sick of this,” I said quietly, to nobody. My voice was barely a whisper. “I am so sick of all of you.”
    I turned around and looked at the party. I looked at Vivienne, who was standing with Lena’s mother now, deep in a conversation, probably planning a wedding that didn’t include me. I looked at Lena, who was at Dorian’s side again, her hand on his arm, her laugh rising above the music.
    Then I looked at Dorian.
    He was laughing. He was having, by all appearances, a wonderful birthday.
    I had given him three years. Three years of my life. I had given up the one thing I loved doing because his mother said it was beneath the family name. I had given up the friends who made me feel like myself because they didn’t fit the Hargrove social calendar. I had given up the person I was before I walked into this garden for the first time, on Dorian’s arm, believing that love was enough to make a life.
    It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough. It wasn’t even love anymore, if I was honest. I had no idea what we were doing anymore.
    I took a fresh glass of wine from a passing server.
    I didn’t care if Vivienne saw me drinking. I didn’t care if Dorian decided to grip my arm again. I stood in the middle of the beautiful, glittering Hargrove garden and I drank my wine and I watched the trees.
    They were beautiful. Everything here was beautiful. But it was so easy to mistake beautiful for good. It was so easy to look at marble and crystal and think: this must be a place where people are happy.
    I looked at Richard one more time. He was deep in conversation with one of his business partners, gesturing with his champagne glass. He didn’t look my way again.
    But he was the only one who had looked at me like I was a person.
    “Happy birthday, Dorian,” I said, under my breath.
    The party was supposed to run until 4pm. It was barely three o’clock.
    I had one more hour of standing up straight and holding my glass correctly and laughing at the right moments.
    I could do it for one hour.
    I had done it for three years. What’s one hour compared to that?

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 2

    Nadia’s POV:
    The party ended around 4pm. The last of the expensive cars drifted down the long driveway and disappeared through the gates. The garden was suddenly quiet… just the sound of the catering staff collecting glasses and folding linens. I watched it all from the edge of the terrace, my heels in my hand because my feet ached too much to keep them on.
    My head was heavy. The extensions Vivienne had forced on me that morning were still pinned into my scalp, and the weight of them had been pressing down on me all day. I wanted nothing more than to reach my bedroom, pull every single pin out, and cry into a pillow until there was nothing left.
    I was already on my way there. I had made it to the end of the hallway, when I noticed the library door was open.
    I should have kept walking. But something made me stop and look.
    Vivienne was sitting behind the desk.
    She wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting there, very still, with her hands folded in front of her. She looked directly at the door. And sat up when she saw me, like she had been waiting for me.
    “Nadia,” she said. “Come in. Close the door behind you. We are long overdue for a real conversation.”
    I walked in. The heavy wood door clicked shut behind me. The library smelled like old books and cigar smoke left behind by the men who had occupied it earlier. I stood in front of the desk, my heels still in my hand, my feet sore on the cold floor.
    Vivienne stood up. She walked around the desk slowly and stopped a few feet in front of me.
    “I have had enough,” she began. Her voice was still controlled. “I have been tolerant with you, Nadia. More tolerant than most women in my position would have been. But tonight at the party, you crossed a line that I cannot overlook. You spoke back to me in front of our guests. You implied that my son has no taste.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you have any idea how much work goes into maintaining the reputation of this family? And in thirty seconds, you open your mouth and ruin it with your low-class attitude.”
    Something shifted in my chest. I felt my heart beating fast. Usually, I would just look at the floor and say sorry, but today something was different. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe I was just broken.
    “With all due respect, Vivienne,” I said, and I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded, “I am not the one who started that conversation tonight. You are the one who walked up to a guest complimenting my dress and told her I have no taste. You called me cheap. This morning, in front of three strangers you hired, you told me my hair was thin and called me desperate. You have been doing things like this since the day I moved into this house, and I have never once said anything back to you.” I paused. I made myself hold her gaze. “Today I said one thing. One sentence. And now I am standing in this library being told I have crossed a line. I have lived in this house for three years. And in those years, you have told me I am fat, or I am ugly, or I am poor, and I have no family. You treat me like I am a dog you found on the street. No, you treat your dogs better than me. but you make me feel like I shouldn’t even breathe the same air as you. I am the one who has been putting up with the disrespect, not the other way around. I am your son’s wife, but you treat me like a maid who isn’t even good at cleaning.”
    Vivienne looked at me for a long moment. There was no emotion on her face. “You have lived in this house for three years,” she said. “In those three years, I have housed you, clothed you, given you access to a life that a girl from your background could never have reached on her own. And you stand here and tell me that I have been disrespecting you?” She let out a short, clipped sound… not quite a laugh. “You are not his wife in any way that matters to this family, Nadia. You were a phase. A little experiment my son tried because he wanted to rebel against me. But even children eventually outgrow their toys.”
    I opened my mouth to respond but no words came out.
    The library door opened and Dorian walked in. His tie was undone and his jacket was gone. He stopped when he saw us, his eyes moving from me to his mother and back again.
    “What is going on?” he said. “I could hear voices from the hallway.”
    “Dorian…” I started.
    “What did you do now, Nadia?” He cut me off, and the ease with which he did it… the automatic assumption that I was the problem, before he had heard a word of it… was like a slap. “After what I told you at the fountain? I thought I told you clearly to watch your mouth around my mother. And now you are still in here trying to pick a fight with her? You are just… you are being impossible tonight.”
    “She is not fighting,” Vivienne said, calmly, from behind me. “She is speaking. Apparently she has quite a lot she has been holding inside.”
    “She has been saying horrible things to me all day, Dorian,” I said, turning to face him fully. “She has been mean to me for the last three years. I know you know that. I know you have heard it. And I am asking you, right now, in front of her, Don’t you care? Don’t you love me enough to tell her to stop? Even tonight?”
    Dorian looked at me. Then he looked at his mother, and looked at the floor.
    The clock on the wall ticked very loudly in the silence.
    “She is only telling the truth, Nadia,” he said. “You don’t fit in here. You never have. And instead of trying to adapt, you just push back and make everything harder.”
    “You are unbelievable!” I yelled.
    “Keep your voice down.”
    “You are standing right here listening to your mother call me a toy and all you can tell me is to keep my voice down?”
    “Because you love making a scene and this is not the time…”
    “Dorian.” Vivienne’s voice cut across both of us like a blade. She had moved back behind the desk, then she opened the top drawer and removed something I couldn’t yet see. She uncapped a pen and wrote. Then she slid a piece of paper across the surface of the desk and left it there, facing me.
    I looked down.
    A check. The numbers were printed in clean, precise figures. I counted the zeros once. Then again, because the first count didn’t seem possible.
    Five million dollars.
    “Take it,” Vivienne said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, and her expression was the expression of a woman who had just laid down the winning card and was waiting for the other player to accept it. “Take the check, Nadia. You’re beneath my son. Take it and get out of my son’s life right now. Before Richard comes home, I want you packed and gone before the sun comes up. Five million dollars is more money than your whole family will ever see in ten lifetimes. It is a very generous offer for a girl who brought nothing to this marriage but a few suitcases of cheap clothes. And it is the only one I am making.”
    I could not breathe. I stood there looking at the check and I could not breathe.
    I looked at Dorian.
    “Dorian,” I said. My voice came out barely above a whisper. “Look at what she is doing. She is trying to buy me out of your life. Tell her no. Tell her that our marriage means something. Tell her…”
    “Nad.” He said my name like he was tired of saying it. “Maybe… maybe it’s for the best.”
    I heard the words. But it still took several seconds for their meaning to arrive.
    “What?” I said.
    “I said maybe it’s for the best.” He shifted his weight. He still wasn’t looking at me properly. “Look at us, Nadia. Look at what we are. We argue constantly. My mother is always stressed because of the tension in this house. It’s not working. It hasn’t been working for a long time, and I think somewhere you know that too.”
    “I know that we have problems,” I said. “Every marriage has problems. That is not a reason to…”
    “It’s more than a problem,” he said.
    The certainty in his voice was a different kind of blow. 
    “Then tell me what it is,” I said. “The real reason. Not the version your mother rehearsed with you. Tell me yourself.”
    He was quiet.
    “Tell me, Dorian.”
    He looked up. His jaw tightened.
    “I don’t love you anymore,” he said. “I haven’t for a while. And I have met someone else. Someone who actually belongs in this world. Someone who makes me feel like myself instead of making me feel like I’m always doing something wrong.”
    There it was. All of it. Laid out clean and simple in the library of his father’s house.
    “It’s Lena,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
    Dorian said nothing. He just looked at the wall.

    The Ex Wife’s Revenge novel Chapter 3

    Nadia’s POV:
    His silence was the only answer I needed.
    “You are leaving me,” I said, slowly, “for a woman your mother selected for you. You are ending our marriage because Vivienne decided she wants someone different in this house, and you don’t have the backbone to tell her no.” I looked at him. “Three years, Dorian. Three years I was your wife. And this is what I get in return.”
    “It’s not like that…”
    “Then tell me what it’s like,” I said. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”
    Vivienne picked up the check and held it toward me again. 
    “Does it matter what it’s like?” she said. “He doesn’t want you. That is the only thing that matters. And if you stay and choose to fight this, I want you to understand very clearly what that will look like. If you fight us, I will make sure the story that comes out is not kind to you. I can tell the press you were unfaithful. I can tell them you were stealing. I can tell them anything I like, and I can make people believe it, and when it is all over you will walk away with nothing except a reputation that will follow you for the rest of your life.” She held the check a little higher. “Or you can take this money. Take it and go quietly, and I will say nothing about you to anyone.”
    I looked at Dorian one last time.
    “You are going to let her threaten me,” I said. “After everything. You are just going to stand there.”
    He put his hands in his pockets.
    “Take the money, Nadia,” he said. “Please. It’s a lot of money. You can start over somewhere. Find a nice place, find someone new. Just…” He exhaled. He sounded genuinely exhausted. “Just go. I don’t want tonight to get any uglier than it already is. It’s been a long day.”
    I looked at the check in Vivienne’s outstretched hand, and I took the check from her hand.
    Vivienne’s expression didn’t change. But I saw it… just for a fraction of a second, there was a flicker of surprise. She must have expected resistance. She must have been ready for tears, and begging.
    But I gave her none of that.
    “Good,” she said, recovering. She opened the drawer again and produced a document already prepared. A divorce agreement. “Sign this before anything else. I want everything settled before Richard comes home. He doesn’t need to be involved in this.”
    I looked at the papers, then at Dorian, who was staring at the window.
    I picked up the pen. Before I put it to the paper I looked up at Vivienne one last time.
    “The money first,” I said. “Not a check. A transfer. I want it confirmed in my account before I sign anything.”
    Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. Just slightly.
    “You are in no position…”
    “I am in exactly the position I need to be in,” I said. “You want me to go quietly. I want a confirmed transfer. Those are my terms. I’m sure a woman with your resources can arrange it in a few minutes.”
    The silence stretched between us.
    Then Vivienne reached for her phone.
    It took eleven minutes. When the notification arrived on my phone, I put the pen to the signature line without another word. I signed cleanly. Then I placed the pen back on the desk.
    Vivienne picked up the document and checked the signature thoroughly. Then she set it down, and a very satisfied smile moved across her face.
    I did not give her a reaction. I turned and walked out of the library.
    ~~~
    The staircase felt longer than usual.
    I went up the big stairs to our… no, his… bedroom. I found my suitcase under the bed. I started throwing my jeans and my t-shirts into it. I changed into a hoodie and sweatpants and left the silk dresses on the hangers. I left the expensive shoes in the closet. 
    I took off my wedding ring.
    I held it for a moment. It was beautiful. He had good taste in rings, at least. I set it on the nightstand next to the lamp and I did not look at it again.
    I zipped the suitcase and picked it up.
    I took one last look at the room. The expensive curtains and the artwork I had never been allowed to change and the bed where I had laid awake more nights than I could count, listening to a marriage slowly come apart.
    “Goodbye,” I said. I wasn’t sure who I was talking to.
    I walked downstairs.
    They were waiting in the hallway. Of course they were. Vivienne stood with her hands clasped, watching the bottom of the stairs. Dorian stood a step behind her, his jacket still off, his expression somewhere between guilt and relief. 
    I crossed the hallway toward the front door.
    At the door I stopped.
    I looked at Dorian.
    “I hope she makes you happy,” I said. My voice was even. “But if she isn’t… and she won’t, because no one is happy in a cage your mother built for them… I want you to remember standing here and letting her do this to us because I really did love you, Dorian. But you don’t deserve my love.”
    Dorian opened his mouth.
    Vivienne put her hand on his arm. She shook her head once and he closed his mouth.
    That was, in the end, the most honest image I would carry of my marriage. Dorian, with something to say, chooses his mother’s happiness instead.
    I opened the front door.
    The air was cool and clean, I breathed it in for a moment at the top of the steps. Then I walked down.
    There was a car waiting at the bottom of the drive. I loaded my suitcase and got in. The driver asked where I was going, and I told him the hotel near the park, and he nodded and pulled out through the gates without another word.
    I watched the mansion through the rear window as we drove away. 
    I put my hand in my hoodie pocket and felt the check.
    Vivienne thought she was paying me to disappear. She was proud of herself. I could see it in the set of her shoulders and the small satisfaction behind her eyes when I walked out. 
    She was wrong about what the money was.
    It was three years of silence and humiliation. 
    This was less than what they owed me. She could have written me a check ten times this size and still owed me something.
    But it was only the beginning.
    I had expected to be devastated. I had braced myself for it. But what was actually sitting in my chest as we drove through the dark was not grief. It was anger… the kind that didn’t make you cry or scream. The quiet kind. 
    “Enjoy it, Vivienne,” I thought, watching the city through the window. “Enjoy thinking you have won. Because this is not the end. This is not even close to the end.”

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel by Superstition

    The Defective Mate's Hidden Royal Bloodline novel by Superstition

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    For years, I endured the mockery of being a “wolfless” outcast, acting as the perfectly devoted mate to Alpha Julian.

    But just weeks before his Mating ceremony with the noble Isabella, I overheard him call me a mere “placeholder” and a temporary “bed warmer.”

    He didn’t just break my heart; he crushed my dignity. He forced me to iron Isabella’s wedding gowns. When Isabella faked an allergic reaction to a cake I baked, Julian didn’t even investigate.

    “Something made with such vile intentions belongs in the garbage, just like you!”

    He roared, throwing my cake into the trash and demanding I apologize to the woman who was parading around with my stolen family heirloom.

    Looking at his cold, judgmental eyes, the lingering illusion of our bond evaporated into a vast, silent wasteland. How could I have been so foolish to love a man so utterly blind?

    I didn’t shed a single tear.

    “Consider this my apology.”

    I smiled, picking up a glass of ice water and throwing it directly into Isabella’s perfectly made-up face.

    Locked away in the Ancestral Hall as punishment, I didn’t panic. Instead, I calmly began plotting with his rival cousin, setting a trap for Isabella’s powerful family. I no longer wanted his love; I wanted my absolute freedom.

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    The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel Chapter 1

    Nora POV:

    “Part your thighs for me, Nora. I’m going to take you hard tonight, mark you deep, and make you truly mine.”

    Julian’s husky, lust-filled voice vibrated against the sensitive skin of my neck, his hot, sour, alcohol-laced breath making my stomach churn violently.

    He had me pinned against the cold, unyielding wall of my small, dimly lit room, his heavy, muscular body pressing aggressively into mine. His hands, rough and demanding, gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me tighter into his stifling, inescapable embrace. The overwhelming scent of his Alpha pheromones, which used to make my knees weak with desire, now felt like a toxic cloud suffocating my very soul.

    Instead of melting into my mate’s touch like an obedient Omega, my entire body went rigid. I felt nothing but a suffocating wave of disgust and intense, clawing resistance. I used to be a proud aristocratic lady, the cherished daughter of the prestigious Hayes Pack, before my family tragically fell from grace. I was raised to be a noble Luna, not a secret, shameful plaything.

    Mark me? Make me his?

    “Isabella’s position is completely untouchable. She has the backing of the powerful Sinclair Pack. As for Nora, she’s just a fallen aristocrat. A criminal’s daughter. A convenient hole to warm your bed.”

    His cruel words from the other night echoed in my mind, perfectly overlapping with the heavy, animalistic pants of the man currently grinding his hips against me. A violent shudder of pure revulsion rolled through my spine, freezing my blood.

    “You smell so incredibly sweet,” he mumbled, his wet, eager lips trailing down my collarbone, biting and sucking at my skin, completely oblivious to my freezing demeanor. “Don’t be shy, Nora. You know how much I crave this body.”

    Shy? My heart was bleeding out on the floor, yet he was completely blind to it. The affectionate touch I had craved for years now felt like crawling, venomous insects on my skin. I squeezed my eyes shut as my agonizing heartbreak over the man who once loved me rapidly rotted into a chilling, horrifying unfamiliarity. This man pressing against me was no longer my devoted lover. He was a ruthless, calculating heir who would do absolutely anything for power and status. I had to protect my remaining pride. I had to escape this golden cage.

    We had been engaged since childhood, a match made in heaven. But when I was eight, my family was framed for treason, and all the men in my clan were exiled to the barren wastelands. My mother died of severe depression shortly after. I only survived the purge because of my grandfather’s desperate, last-minute interventions.

    I thought our engagement would be immediately canceled, but Julian fought everyone to keep me. Yet, right after our private mating ceremony, his mother declared my family guilty and my status utterly unworthy. I was strictly forbidden to be his Luna. I was stripped of my dignity and became his hidden, shameful mistress.

    “You know I have to marry Isabella for the sake of the Pack’s future,” he had promised back then, stroking my tear-stained cheek with false tenderness. “An Alpha of my high status will naturally have many women, but don’t be jealous, my sweet Nora. You are the only one who truly has my heart. Just be a good girl, stay in my bed, and I will always take care of you.”

    I had been foolish enough to believe him. I had stayed by his side in the shadows for four long years, nameless, hidden, and utterly devoted.

    And now, knowing he was officially going to marry Isabella Sinclair next month, his eager, wandering hands on my body felt like the ultimate insult. He didn’t want a true, equal mate; he just wanted an obedient, pathetic bed warmer who would never say no.

    “No!” I gasped, finding a sudden, desperate surge of strength to shove his heavy chest away. My hands shook violently as I wrapped my arms around myself, creating a physical barrier between us. “Please, Julian. You are drunk. You should go back to your own room and get some proper rest.”

    Julian stumbled back a step, his dark eyes flashing with a dark, impatient anger. He wasn’t used to me rejecting him. “What are you afraid of? We are going to be husband and wife in every way that matters sooner or later. Stop acting like such a prude!” he grumbled, his Alpha aura flaring in a pathetic, domineering attempt to submit me to his will.

    But my inner wolf wasn’t there to cower anymore, and my human heart was already entirely dead to him.

    Husband and wife? He had never fulfilled a single sweet promise he made to me.

    “I’m not feeling well,” I lied, keeping my head down so he wouldn’t see the intense hatred brewing in my stormy gray eyes. “My stomach hurts terribly. If you force me now, you’ll only end up cleaning sick off your expensive Italian leather shoes.”

    He stared at me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. The rejection clearly bruised his fragile, inflated Alpha ego. He scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his messy brown hair, completely turned off by my uncooperative words.

    “Fine. Suit yourself, you ungrateful bitch,” he spat coldly, turning his broad back toward the door. But before he stepped out into the hallway, he paused and looked back at me over his shoulder, his gaze completely devoid of the warmth he once showed me.

    “Come to my study tomorrow morning. There is something important I need to tell you about your new arrangements.”

    The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving me completely alone in the deafening, oppressive silence of the room.

    I stood frozen for a long moment, listening to his heavy, fading footsteps echoing down the hall. Slowly, I lowered my trembling arms and walked over to the vintage dressing table.

    I looked at the pathetic, broken girl in the mirror. My dress was wrinkled, my hair a messy tangle, but my gray eyes were completely dry and hard.

    I thought I would cry a river for my lost love, but I didn’t. The hollow, agonizing ache in my chest was rapidly being replaced by a hardening, impenetrable ice.

    Eleonora Hayes, you are a complete and utter fool, I told my reflection.

    Hope was dead. Love was dead. He had made his cruel choice, and now, I would make mine.

    I wiped away a single, stray tear that had managed to escape my iron control. From this night on, I would not shed another tear for Julian Montgomery. I would live only for myself. But just as I made this silent, unbreakable vow, a sharp, urgent knock on my door shattered the silence, bringing a visitor I completely did not expect at this late hour.

    The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel Chapter 2

    Nora POV:

    The next morning, I walked into Julian’s study just as he had ordered the night before.

    He was standing behind his heavy mahogany desk, as handsome as ever. His short brown hair was perfectly styled, and the powerful scent of his Alpha pheromones rolled off him in waves. The scent that once made me weak now only made me feel suffocated.

    He stepped around the desk and closed the distance between us, his gaze sweeping over my pale face with chilling indifference.

    “You look terrible,” he stated, his voice completely devoid of concern. He spoke as if inspecting a tarnished piece of property, not even bothering to ask why I was exhausted. “But your feelings don’t matter right now. Just listen. There are some new arrangements regarding your placement that I need to make clear.”

    I stood silently, my hands folded in front of me. It was the submissive posture I had perfected over the years. Today, for the first time, I was consciously performing it.

    Julian reached out, his strong fingers gripping my chin, tilting my head side to side as if evaluating an object. His thumb rubbed my lower lip in a possessive, degrading manner. “At the full moon next month, I will be holding the Mating ceremony with Isabella Sinclair.”

    He said it bluntly, with no preamble, entirely absorbed in his own monologue.

    Even though I already knew, hearing the words from his own mouth made my chest tighten painfully. I lowered my eyes, letting him think I was too devastated to meet his gaze.

    “It’s important for the Pack,” he continued, his tone like he was explaining a business merger. “Our union will bring powerful allies and a stable future.”

    He leaned closer, his hot breath brushing my ear. “But do not worry, Nora. I need you to understand your place. After the ceremony, you can still remain here. As my companion. My private bed warmer. I have already prepared a secluded room for you in the east wing. You will stay out of sight.”

    He chose the words carefully to remind me of the massive gap between us. He was a noble Alpha with pristine blood, and I was merely the descendant of exiled sinners. To him, I wasn’t a partner; I was a convenient asset to be tucked away in a dark corner.

    A wave of bitter irony washed over me. I had never wanted to provoke him in the first place. I could have chosen a different path, found a quiet life far away from this Pack. But he was the one who had made those sweet promises. He was the affectionate lover who swore to protect me. Now, he had finally evolved into a ruthless heir, willing to sacrifice everything for power, turning my trust into a foolish, unrequited fantasy.

    “I will protect you, Nora,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip my waist tightly. “You just need to be obedient. Do not harbor any delusions about a status that does not belong to you. And most importantly, do not cause any trouble for Isabella. She has a bit of a temper.”

    He not only betrayed me but now expected me to behave like a well-trained pet for his new mate.

    But I didn’t lash out. I didn’t scream or cry like he clearly expected me to. I simply wanted to get rid of him as fast as possible.

    I let a single tear fall perfectly on cue, nodded meekly, and whispered, “I understand, Alpha.”

    The formal title made Julian pause. He frowned slightly, his fingers tightening on my waist as if testing my reaction. He searched my face for any sign of jealousy, anger, or desperate begging—the reactions he was used to.

    But he found only a hollow, polite submission. My eyes were like dead water.

    The silence stretched. The complete lack of emotional response seemed to unnerve him. I wasn’t acting like the devoted lover he owned; I was acting like a lifeless doll. The realization didn’t please him; it irritated his fragile Alpha ego.

    His grip slowly loosened, the charming mask slipping to reveal a cold, annoyed expression. “Get out,” he said, his voice flat and dismissive, though his jaw was clenched. “Go back to your room and reflect on your duties.”

    I gave a slight bow and left the study without a backward glance. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, the fragile expression on my face vanished, leaving my eyes as cold as ice.

    When I returned to my room, Ruby Walsh, the head Omega servant, was already there with my breakfast. She saw my swollen eyes and her face filled with sympathy.

    She set down the tray, hesitated, and then spoke in a low voice. “Miss, you have heard the news?”

    I nodded.

    Ruby sighed, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Miss, you must be careful. Especially… do not get pregnant right now.”

    A chill went through me. I looked at her, my full attention captured.

    “There are unwritten rules in the Pack,” Ruby said, her eyes wide with fear. “A child born from an unmarked union is seen as a stain on the Alpha and Luna’s bloodline. They usually do not survive.”

    The blood drained from my face. My world turned cold. I had never considered this, because I had always believed I would be Julian’s true, marked mate.

    My hand instinctively went to my flat stomach. There was no life there, but the possibility of it filled me with absolute dread.

    This was no longer about my dignity or my broken heart. This was about a potential, innocent life.

    Seeing my ashen face, Ruby did not dare say more. She gave a quick bow and hurried out.

    I stood frozen in the middle of the room. The cruelty of Julian and the coldness of the Pack were an unbearable weight crushing my spirit.

    I couldn’t stay here.

    I had to escape.

    At any cost.

    A thought began to grow in my mind, a desperate, wild plan. It was full of risks, but it was the only way out.

    The Defective Mate’s Hidden Royal Bloodline novel Chapter 3

    Nora POV:

    Before I could even begin to form the details of my escape plan, an unexpected, ominous summons threw me completely off balance.

    The Luna, Genevieve Montgomery, Julian’s formidable mother, wanted to see me immediately.

    I followed the silent, judging maid who brought the message through the vast estate. Unlike the modern, minimalist west wing where Julian resided in luxury, the main residence was filled with old-world, suffocating luxury and an oppressive atmosphere. The dark oak walls were lined with massive, intimidating portraits of past Montgomery Alphas and Lunas, their painted, lifeless eyes seeming to judge me, the disgraced outsider, with every step I took.

    I was led into Genevieve’s private sitting room. The air inside was thick and heavy with the scent of expensive white lilies, a sweet fragrance that couldn’t quite mask the cloying, underlying sense of moral decay.

    Genevieve sat rigidly on a plush velvet sofa, dressed in an impeccably tailored, deep purple suit that screamed power and wealth. Her sharp, calculating dark eyes locked onto me the moment I entered. She had always looked down on my fallen status, viewing my family’s exile as a personal insult to her Pack’s purity. But because Julian was so stubbornly obsessed with me, she had no choice but to tolerate my existence in the shadows. Now that Julian was finally taking a proper, high-born wife, the rules of the game had drastically changed.

    “Sit,” she commanded. Her voice was flat and devoid of emotion, but it carried a heavy, Alpha-blood authority that permitted absolutely no argument.

    I perched carefully on the very edge of the antique chair opposite her, keeping my posture humble and my eyes lowered.

    Genevieve didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She gestured sharply to a senior maid standing beside her, who immediately brought forward a silver tray. On it sat a delicate, intricately carved silver cup filled with a dark, bubbling brown liquid that gave off a strong, pungent herbal scent.

    “Our Montgomery family prides itself on excellent breeding, pure bloodlines, and strict discipline,” Genevieve said, her sharp eyes locking onto me like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “We absolutely do not allow the Alpha to leave illegitimate seeds scattered around like a common rogue. Much less allow a disgraced mistress to potentially bear an heir before the true Luna. This is a highly potent sterilization potion. It will ensure you never conceive, without harming your overall physical health. Drink it now. Then you can quietly stay by Julian’s side and live a peaceful, comfortable life as his obedient pet.”

    My gaze fell on the silver cup. The bitter smell confirmed her cruel words. My insides turned to solid ice, Chloe’s earlier warning ringing loudly in my ears. They all thought of me as nothing but a breeding risk, a threat to be neutralized.

    I looked at the bubbling potion, then slowly, deliberately lifted my head to meet Genevieve’s cold gaze. “My Luna, I did not share a bed with the Alpha last night. Nothing happened between us. There is no need for this.”

    Genevieve’s expression turned instantly hostile, her refined mask slipping to reveal pure malice. She thought I was being restless, desperately trying to get pregnant to steal the Luna position using Julian’s blind love.

    “You ungrateful, scheming little wretch,” she spat, her voice dripping with absolute disgust. “Do you really think a pathetic descendant of sinners, with your filthy, tainted blood, could ever be worthy of standing beside my glorious son? You are nothing but a dirty stain on his perfect record!”

    A profound wave of sorrow and exhaustion washed over me. I finally understood that my very existence was seen as a dirty mark on Julian’s perfect life. I was a disease they wanted to manage. I did not reach for the cup.

    “No, my Luna, I am not trying to threaten you or your noble family,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I slid from the chair and knelt submissively on the expensive Persian rug. “I know my presence here is a mistake. I am begging you to let me go.”

    I looked up, my face wet with genuine tears, my voice broken and self-deprecating. “I don’t want to be a stain on Julian’s and Miss Sinclair’s beautiful union. I don’t want to be a joke in everyone’s eyes anymore. Please, allow me to leave the Pack peacefully. Let me go live as an un-mated, low-ranking lone wolf, to fend for myself in the wild.”

    This was my only chance. I had to make her believe I was so utterly broken that I was seeking a form of suicide. Only then would she consider the one official way to sever my ties to Julian completely: The Rejection. I couldn’t mention the sacred ritual myself; that would reveal my cold determination, not my despair. To leave a Pack without being formally rejected by a mate was a deep shame, marking you as a rogue outcast hunted by all.

    Genevieve stared at me, genuinely shocked, as if seeing me for the very first time. The blazing anger in her eyes was slowly replaced by a complex, calculating, political look.

    She had fully expected me to fight for my position, to cry and beg to stay. She never imagined I would be begging for my own demise. For a wolfless female to leave the protection of a powerful Pack was a guaranteed death sentence.

    She had tried to solve her problem with a simple potion. I had just handed her a much bigger one: a suicidal ex-mate-to-be who could cause a massive public scandal. Letting me go without a word was a disgrace. An un-rejected mate wandering free was a direct insult to the Montgomery name. But keeping me here… my defiance today proved I was no longer a mindless pawn she could easily control.

    I could almost see the gears turning in her strategic mind. A formal Rejection ceremony, while a temporary blow to Julian’s and the Pack’s reputation, would solve the problem of me permanently. It would appease Isabella and her powerful family once and for all, securing the alliance.

    She fell into a long, incredibly tense strategic silence.

    I remained kneeling on the floor, my head bowed, waiting for her verdict. This was my first real move on the chessboard. I was betting my life that her cold, political mind would win out over her maternal anger.

    After what felt like an absolute eternity, Genevieve finally spoke, her voice dry and measured. “This is a serious matter that concerns the Pack’s honor. I need time to consider.”

    She hadn’t agreed. But crucially, she hadn’t refused.

    She said she would consider.

    It meant I had won the first round.

    But the sudden, forceful, and loud opening of the sitting room doors instantly shattered the tense silence, making my heart leap into my throat.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel by Kinship

    👉 READ NOW

    On the night before my wedding, I opened an anonymous message card, only to find out that my fiancé had been cheating on me with my maid of honor for four years.
    The engagement ring on my hand was actually a cheap reject that she didn’t want; her so-called “emergency business trip” was actually to cover up the fact that she had just given birth to his child last week.
    What sent the worst chills down my spine was that his entire family knew about this perfectly well, yet they still happily watched me meticulously prepare for this scam of a wedding.
    When I canceled the wedding and confronted them, his mother actually slapped me across the face.
    “You’re nothing but a poor girl clinging to my son. Camilla is the one he truly loves.”
    And my fiancé didn’t even defend me. Instead, he pushed me to the ground, causing me to hit my head, all just to comfort his crying mistress.
    I spent eight years by his side, accompanying him from having nothing to where he is now, only to realize I was nothing but a convenient placeholder.
    I took off that discarded ring, blocked all of them, and bought a one-way ticket to Oregon, USA.
    This time, I decided to leave forever and never look back.
    But now, he’s going crazy begging for my forgiveness!

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    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 1

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    The moment I read that anonymous card, my life instantly collapsed. It brought not wedding blessings, but Harding’s lies.
    It was the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. My bridesmaids and close friends were sitting around the table. My fiancé, Harding, the man I had loved for eight years, was at another table discussing business with his parents.
    As for my maid of honor, Camilla, she was supposedly unable to attend due to a sudden business trip.
    “Alright, Madam Bride!” bridesmaid Sarah excitedly held up a beautifully decorated box. “Everyone wrote a blessing card for you. Let’s see what advice they have to pass on!”
    Smiling, I reached into the box and pulled out a thick white card. I thought it would be sweet words, but as my eyes swept over the text, my smile instantly froze.
    “He and she have been secretly sleeping around behind your back for four years.”
    Right below it was a line: “Your maid of honor.”
    Camilla.
    That was my childhood best friend, the “sister” I had entrusted my life to.
    A freezing terror seeped into my bones. This had to be a prank. With sweating palms, I eagerly pulled out a second, light blue card.
    “The engagement ring he gave you? He actually bought it for Camilla first. But four years ago, she rejected him, saying she wasn’t ready for marriage. You are just his backup.”
    I instinctively touched my left ring finger. It turned out Harding had taken the ring Camilla didn’t want and pretended to carefully select it for me.
    I hurriedly pulled out a third, cream-colored card, trying to find evidence to refute this.
    “Remember your anniversary trip in college? You found suspicious texts on Harding’s phone and cried in the bathroom for hours. He wasn’t chatting with a client then; he was in the hotel room right next to yours, celebrating his one-month anniversary with Camilla.”
    The shame and pain of the past surged over me. That night, he comforted me as I cried, making me believe it was a misunderstanding.
    With trembling hands, I pulled out the last card, a thick, dark green one.
    “Camilla isn’t on a business trip. She is at the ‘Serenity Postpartum Retreat Center.’ She just gave birth to Harding’s child a week ago. They want to wait until your wedding is over to go public. Surprise.”
    My world completely overturned. They even had a child behind my back!
    I felt like I had fallen into an ice cave. I stared at the handwriting on the green card; it was Harding’s mother, Karen Frank. His entire family was involved in this scam.
    Eight years of dedication and compromise were nothing but a carefully woven joke. I took off that piece of trash that belonged to Camilla and threw it hard onto the table. The diamond hit a wine glass with a sharp clink.
    The surrounding conversations stopped. Everyone looked over in shock. Harding looked up, a smile still hanging on his face.
    I walked toward him. “Harding, what is Camilla Gillespie to you?”
    His smile instantly vanished. He glanced at his mother, then at me. “Isla, what are you talking about?”
    I held up the green card. “I’m talking about your child, Harding. The one born just last week.”
    The air froze. Harding’s face turned deathly pale, and Karen gasped. The relatives who were just laughing a moment ago now mostly stood with their mouths hanging open, and some even wore knowing smirks.
    I immediately shouted, “I announce that this wedding is canceled!”
    Harding walked over to the table, picked up the ring, and spoke in a low voice, “Isla, don’t be so dramatic. We can postpone the wedding and solve this problem. Don’t make a scene here.”
    “Solve what?” I sneered. “Solve you cheating with my best friend for four years, or your whole family helping you hide the truth?”
    He finally looked at me. There was no remorse in his eyes, only shrewd calculation. “It’s complicated. Camilla is very fragile right now; she needs my support.”
    “She’s fragile?” I raised my voice. “What about me? What about my eight years, my dignity!”
    “You’re strong, Isla. But Camilla has been through a lot, having a baby, keeping secrets…” He defended her casually.
    My hand swung out before my brain could process it. With a loud, crisp slap, Harding’s face was violently thrown to the side, a red mark surfacing.
    He didn’t fight back, but his eyes turned dark. “You think getting physical changes anything? Camilla is pregnant with my child. And you… are just you.”
    My rage was instantly replaced by despair. In his eyes, I was just a convenient alternative.
    “We are done.” I turned and walked away.
    “Isla, please, we can talk about this!” he shouted from behind, his tone still carrying that self-righteous desire for control.
    I ignored him. Walking past the flowers and tables I had spent months meticulously arranging, every detail now felt like a cruel joke.
    As I reached the door, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Camilla:
    “Isla, I’m so sorry! My business trip got suddenly extended. So sad I can’t attend your big day! I’ll contact you when I’m back!”
    I stared at the screen and typed a reply:
    “Enjoy your postpartum confinement. I hope the baby is healthy. Harding will be by your side to support you; he’s really good at that.”
    Hitting send, I blocked Camilla, Harding, Karen—blocked all of them, completely.

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 2

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    My phone vibrated all night long. I didn’t answer any calls, just stared numbly at the ceiling. The first rays of dawn spilled in. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but right now, there was only coldness.
    Urgent knocking came from the door. Then, the sound of a key turning in the lock.
    Harding pushed the door open, leading a team of florists and makeup artists. He was wearing a brand-new white shirt, acting as if nothing had happened last night.
    “Isla, what are you doing?” he asked impatiently. “The makeup artist will be here any second, you need to get ready.”
    I slowly sat up from the bed. “Harding, I told you last night. The wedding is canceled.”
    He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Stop messing around! You can’t break the contract a few hours before the wedding. You have to think about the guests, the expenses, and our reputation!”
    “Your reputation?” I scoffed. “Didn’t you lose your reputation when you cheated with my best friend for four years and had a baby with her?”
    “That’s not fair! It’s complicated. Camilla is in poor health, and she just had a baby.” He raised his volume.
    “So I should just pretend nothing happened, marry you, and fulfill this ridiculous fairy tale?”
    “We will fix this! You’re just too emotional right now.” He took a step forward, stubbornly insisting.
    Just then, the main door was pushed open violently. Camilla stood there panting, pale-faced, hair messy, wearing loose casual clothes. Her eyes were red and swollen, and a frantic desperation filled her gaze.
    “Isla!” She rushed over, trying to grab my hand. “Please listen to me, it’s not what you think!”
    I dodged her touch with disgust. “Then what is it? You slept with my fiancé and had his child. What else am I supposed to think?”
    “No! It was a terrible mistake!” she cried and begged.
    “A four-year mistake? Camilla, is that newborn baby at the ‘Serenity Postpartum Care Center’ a mistake too?”
    She jerked her head up, shocked that I knew such specific details, while Harding stood to the side, looking guilty.
    “How long have you been lying to me? Was there ever a single ounce of truth in our friendship?”
    She couldn’t make a sound, only shaking her head through her tears.
    At that moment, I caught sight of the gold bracelet on her wrist. It was exactly the same as the one Harding gave me for our fifth anniversary—he had sworn it was a one-of-a-kind design.
    I suddenly remembered two years ago, when Harding lost the leather bracelet I gave him and replaced it with a new one. Right now, on his other hand, he was wearing the matching couple’s bracelet to Camilla’s.
    It turned out he had already built a parallel reality for them long ago, and I was nothing but the smokescreen.
    Camilla was sobbing and trembling all over. Harding immediately walked over and pulled her into his arms, gently stroking her hair. He didn’t dare look at me, but his eyes were full of heartache for her.
    My gaze fell on the expensive limited-edition diaper bag on Camilla’s shoulder.
    “Harding, how much money have you spent on this secret life?” My voice was freezing, almost broken. “Am I just the cheap spare tire you kept around for stability?”
    “Enough, Isla!” Harding finally roared at me. “You’re going too far! Camilla is very fragile right now, and you’re agitating her!”
    “I’m agitating her?” I laughed out of sheer anger. “You two betrayed me, and somehow I’ve become the villain?”
    I stood up, forcing my trembling legs to walk toward the door. I had to leave this suffocating room.
    Just as I reached the entryway, the door was pushed open again. Karen Frank stood there in an elegant suit. She glared at me sternly. “What is going on here? The wedding cars will be here any minute, why aren’t you dressed yet?”
    “There won’t be any wedding cars, Karen. The wedding is canceled.”
    Karen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Did you just say you canceled the wedding? Do you have any idea how much of a scandal this will cause for Harding?”
    As soon as the words left her mouth, she finally noticed Camilla, who was sobbing and trembling, curled up in Harding’s arms, looking weak and in pain.
    Karen’s anger vanished instantly. She walked right past me, her eyes full of concern for Camilla.
    “Camilla, sweetheart! Why aren’t you resting at the retreat center?” Karen exclaimed, then turned to scold Harding. “Why is she so heartbroken? What did Isla do to her now?”
    Watching this utterly absurd scene, my heart turned completely cold. Harding, Camilla, his mother—they were all accomplices.

    From Brokenness to Bliss: My Peaceful Choice novel Chapter 3

    Isla Simmons’s POV
    Karen Frank didn’t even look me in the eye. She pushed right past me, grabbed Camilla’s hand, her face full of artificial concern.
    “Sweetheart, why did you come running over here?” she chided hypocritically. “You just had a baby, you should be resting well. Harding, how could you let her run out?”
    Camilla whimpered softly, burying her face into Harding’s shoulder, but she quickly stole a glance at me, her eyes full of provocation.
    “Isla, what exactly did you do?” Karen spun around and interrogated me, her voice shrill. “What right do you have to upset her? She just gave birth!”
    “Whose child?” I asked coldly. “Isn’t it your son’s? Isn’t it the child your whole family knew perfectly well about, yet kept treating me like a fool while I planned a wedding?”
    Karen sneered with utter contempt. “Don’t play the saint. You’re nothing but a poor girl after money, latching onto my son. Camilla comes from a prominent family; she is the one truly worthy of Harding.”
    “I latched onto him?” I raised my voice in disbelief. “When he had nothing, I worked two jobs to help pay the rent for his rundown apartment! And now you’re telling me I latched onto him?”
    “You were never good enough for him.” Karen became even more vicious. “We only tolerated you back then because Harding found you somewhat novel. Camilla is the one who can give him a future, not some penniless girl from a single-parent home like you.”
    Her insult toward my mother stabbed me deeply.
    “He loves her, yet he wanted to marry me?” I retorted, suppressing my rage. “Loved her enough to let her secretly give birth outside while making me plan the wedding? That’s not love, that’s shameless!”
    Before I could finish speaking, a loud smack rang out. Karen slapped me hard across the face. My cheek burned with pain.
    “How dare you speak about my son that way!” she shrieked.
    “Mom, don’t do that,” Harding finally spoke up, though his tone was weak and powerless.
    “Mind your own business!” Karen snapped at him. “This is what happens when you let lower-class girls like this through the door—absolutely no breeding. Camilla is a true socialite; she would never cause a scene like this.”
    Camilla was still sobbing. She pulled back slightly from Harding’s embrace, looking at Karen with teary eyes. “Karen, please don’t. It’s not Isla’s fault. I… I made a mistake too.” Her voice was so low it could barely be heard, performing her frailty perfectly.
    Karen’s tone instantly softened. “Sweetheart, you’re just too kindhearted, that’s why you get bullied by this woman.”
    Camilla turned to me again, reaching out a hand, her voice perfectly mimicking fragile remorse. “Isla, I am truly, from the bottom of my heart, sorry. I never thought it would turn out like this.”
    I stared at this hand that had once promised me a lifelong friendship.
    “Are you sorry for getting caught, or are you sorry for destroying my life?” I asked coldly.
    She flinched. “I… I just wanted to be loved. Harding was too good to me.”
    “Now you’ve gotten what you wanted—him, and his child. Are you satisfied?”
    She shook her head, tears raining down. “No! I never wanted to hurt you!”
    I could no longer bear to watch this nauseating performance. I turned and walked toward the door.
    “Isla, wait!” Harding chased after me and grabbed my arm. “Don’t go. We need to fix this.”
    “Fix what?” I violently shook off his hand. “Your mother just hit me, humiliated me, and you stood there like a piece of garbage. We are done.”
    “She was just overly emotional!” he pleaded desperately. “She just wants what’s best for me.”
    “And who cared about me?” I fired back sharply. “When have you ever stood up to protect me?”
    He stared at the floor, speechless.
    “I spent eight years giving you everything. I trusted you, supported you. And what I got in return was betrayal, and a family that looked down on me from the very beginning.”
    I walked out the door without looking back, leaving Harding’s shouts, Karen’s roaring, and Camilla’s fake sobbing far behind me, completely walking out of those absurd eight years of my life.

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