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Tag: Romance

  • Invisible To Her Bully by Dea B

    Invisible To Her Bully by Dea B

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    Unlike her twin brother, Jackson, Jessa struggled with her weight and very few friends. Jackson was an athlete and the epitome of popularity, while Jessa felt invisible.

    Noah was the quintessential “It” guy at school-charismatic, well-liked, and undeniably handsome. To make matters worse, he was Jackson’s best friend and Jessa’s biggest bully.

    During their senior year, Jessa decides it was time for her to gain some self-confidence, find her true beauty and not be the invisible twin.As Jessa transformed, she begins to catch the eye of everyone around her, especially Noah.Noah, initially blinded by his perception of Jessa as merely Jackson’s sister, started to see her in a new light.

    How did she become the captivating woman invading his thoughts? When did she become the object of his fantasies?Join Jessa on her journey from being the class joke to a confident, desirable young woman, surprising even Noah as she reveals the incredible person she has always been inside.

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    Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 1

    Jessa

    Seven Years Earlier

    Growing up as a twin sounds fun, right? Built-in best friend, someone who always has your back, someone who gets you without explanation. That’s what I had-at least for the first ten years of my life.

    My twin brother, Jackson, was the center of my world. We were fraternal twins, but opposites in every way. Jackson was tall, lean, athletic, and could make friends with just about anyone. I was short, a little chunky, shy to the point of painful, and usually tripping over my own feet.

    But it never mattered to me. I didn’t need a million friends. I had Jackson. He was my best friend, my other half, my person.

    It was always just the two of us. Our mom worked constantly to keep food on the table, so most of the time it was just me and him. Maybe that’s why we clung to each other so hard.

    “Jax, I wanna go home,” I whined, dragging my feet as he tossed a football from hand to hand.

    “Jess, chill. I told the new kid I’d meet him here to throw the ball around,” he said, his brown eyes locked on the field like he was already in the NFL.

    “This is boring.” I plopped down on the grass.

    He sighed, dug in his pocket, and tossed me a granola bar. “Here. Peanut butter. Your favorite.”

    Instant mood boost. “Yes! Thanks, Jax.”

    While I was tearing open the wrapper, he straightened up, glancing at the entrance to the field. “That’s him.”

    A boy about our age walked toward us, a football tucked under his arm. He had dark, messy brown hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. The kind of eyes you notice right away. And his lashes? Long enough to make me jealous.

    “Hey,” he said to Jackson.

    “Hey, Noah. This is my twin, Jessa.”

    I scrambled up, brushing grass off my jeans. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Wow… you’ve got really long eyelashes. For a boy.”

    Noah’s cheeks turned pink. “Uh, thanks?”

    Jackson groaned. “Sorry, she doesn’t have a filter sometimes.”

    “I just meant they’re… pretty,” I tried, wishing I could disappear.

    “Jess, why don’t you go sit while we toss the ball around,” Jackson muttered.

    “She doesn’t play?” Noah asked.

    I shook my head before Jackson could answer. “Not really my thing.”

    “Nope. If she tried to throw, she’d probably knock herself over,” Jackson joked.

    I pretended not to care, sitting back down on the sidelines, but my eyes kept drifting toward Noah as he and Jackson tossed the ball. He wasn’t just cute-he was quiet, too. Almost shy. Something about him made me want him to like me.

    After they finished, Jackson clapped him on the back. “You’ve got a good arm.”

    “Two older brothers taught me some stuff,” Noah shrugged.

    “Oh! So they’re your best friends too, like me and Jackson?” I asked eagerly.

    “No. They’re just… brothers. I don’t really have a best friend.”

    My heart squeezed. “Then you should get one. Me and Jackson do everything together. He’s the best best friend you could ever have.”

    Noah looked at Jackson. Jackson just shrugged. Noah nodded slightly, like he got the message.

    At the time, I didn’t realize how wrong I was.

    One Month Later

    “I don’t wanna go to the movies, Jax!” I whined, arms crossed.

    “Too bad. Noah and I wanna see the new Marvel movie. You can’t stay home alone.”

    “We always do what you and Noah want. What about me?”

    He sighed. “Jess, I love you. But sometimes I wanna do stuff without you. You need to find your own friends.”

    That stung more than I wanted to admit.

    The doorbell rang, and Noah walked in with his usual smirk.

    “Sup.”

    “Jess, get your shoes on,” Jackson ordered.

    “She’s coming too?” Noah asked.

    “Yeah. Mom’s at work. I’m babysitting.”

    “Babysitting?” I snapped. “We’re the same age! You’re not babysitting me.”

    “I’m twelve minutes older,” Jackson shot back.

    Noah snickered. “She’s definitely acting like the baby.”

    I stormed off to grab my shoes, but I froze halfway up the stairs when I heard Noah’s voice:

    “Man, your sister’s such a brat. Wish she didn’t have to tag along.”

    Jackson’s answer was the knife that cut deepest. “Tell me about it.”

    At the theater, I tried to forget. “Jax, can we get popcorn? With extra butter?”

    Noah raised his brows. “Do you really need the extra butter?”

    I clenched my fists. “Yes. I like it that way.”

    Jackson slipped me a couple of bills. “Get your own small one.”

    I headed for the snack line, and that’s when I heard them again.

    “She always has to be eating,” Noah muttered.

    “Yeah,” Jackson said with a low laugh. “Sometimes it’s embarrassing to be seen with her.”

    The words hit harder than any punch. My own twin-my best friend-was embarrassed of me.

    “Hey, it’s your turn,” a girl behind me said gently.

    I shook my head. “Changed my mind.”

    She frowned. “You okay?”

    “No,” I whispered. “I think I lost my best friend.”

    She studied me, then said, “I’m Mariah. We’re in the same class, right? You’re Jessa. Jackson’s twin.”

    “Yeah.”

    “What movie are you supposed to be seeing?”

    “Some superhero thing.”

    Mariah smirked. “Ditch it. Come with me instead. There’s a new comedy. Way cuter lead actor.”

    Before I could decide, Jackson and Noah appeared.

    “Jess, what’s taking so long?” Jackson demanded. “Oh, hey, Mariah.”

    Mariah smiled sweetly. “Hi. Jessa and I are seeing the comedy instead.”

    Jackson shrugged. “Fine. Meet us in the lobby after.”

    As he and Noah disappeared, Mariah tugged me toward her theater.

    “Come on. You need a laugh.”

    I glanced back one last time at my brother’s retreating figure.

    He stole my best friend, I thought. And he’s never giving him back.

    Three Years Later

    Thirteen hit me hard. My body changed in ways I didn’t ask for. I wasn’t the chubby little girl anymore-I had curves. Breasts too big for my age. Hips that didn’t match the other girls at school.

    Mom always said, Girls built like us need to cover up. Layers make you look thinner.

    So I wore baggy shirts. Oversized hoodies. Clothes that swallowed me whole. It didn’t matter. The teasing still came.

    “Jess, you’re wearing that?” Jackson asked one morning, eyeing my loose shirt.

    “It’s comfortable.”

    “It’s a tent.” He rolled his eyes and left.

    Mom kissed my cheek. “Ignore him. He doesn’t understand what it’s like for girls like us.”

    At school, the comments started before I even reached the doors.

    “The circus is in town!”

    “Yeah, they brought the whale exhibit!”

    My stomach dropped when I saw where it came from-Jackson and Noah, flanked by their football buddies, all laughing.

    “Nice shirt, Jess,” Noah snorted. “They only had tent size left?”

    “Shut up, Noah.”

    Jackson smirked. “Told you it was too big.”

    “Perfect for hiding that fat ass,” Noah added, sending the group into hysterics.

    I turned away, pretending I couldn’t hear. But their laughter followed me.

    By the time I reached my locker, my hands were shaking. I tugged the handle, but it was jammed. Mariah appeared at my side.

    “Need help?”

    We pulled together until it finally burst open-and trash bags tumbled out, spilling all over the hallway.

    A note taped to one read: Got you a new wardrobe.

    The roar of laughter around us was deafening.

    “Did you do this?” Mariah snapped at Jackson and Noah, who had pushed through the crowd to watch.

    Noah grinned. “She wants to dress like a hobo? Why not just give her options?”

    Jackson chuckled. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”

    Mariah glared at him. “She’s your sister.”

    But Jackson only walked away with Noah.

    I stared at the trash bag in my hands. For just one second, I wished I could trade places. To be the one laughing, not the one humiliated.

    Present Day

    Beep. Beep. Beep.

    I groaned, slamming my alarm clock. Senior year. My last year in this hellhole.

    I’m Jessa. Nobody special. Just the overweight twin sister of Jackson, starting quarterback and golden boy of our high school. The sister his best friend, Noah Carter, has made it his life’s mission to torment.

    Once, when I was ten, I thought Noah was cute. That crush didn’t survive the year. Now at eighteen, he’s tall, broad-shouldered, perfect hair, perfect smile. Every girl wants him.

    And I can’t stand him.

    But he’s always around-because he’s Jackson’s best friend. The boy who stole my brother from me.

    I roll out of bed and tug on my armor: jeans, tank top, oversized button-up. The layers hide the body I’ve been told to be ashamed of.

    Time to sneak out before Jackson sees me. Before Noah’s voice finds me.

    Another day. Another battle.

    Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 2

    Jessa

    I tiptoe down the hallway, holding my breath. If Jackson’s awake, he’ll have some comment locked and loaded about my clothes, my hair, or just… me. I’d rather start the day without it.

    Too late. His bedroom door creaks open, and there he is-my twin, my other half, my betrayer-all six feet of cocky quarterback standing in my way.

    “Morning, Jess,” he says, eyes flicking over my shirt. “Nice… tent.”

    I don’t even answer. I just shoulder past him, my cheeks heating.

    “Aw, come on, don’t be so sensitive,” he calls after me.

    Sensitive. That’s what he calls me when his words cut deep, like it’s my fault for feeling anything.

    By the time I make it to the kitchen, Mom’s already gone. She leaves early most mornings, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or jealous. Grateful that she doesn’t see me like this, jealous that she never has time for us.

    Jackson grabs a protein shake from the fridge and downs it like he’s in some athlete commercial. I butter a piece of toast, trying to look invisible.

    And then, of course, the devil himself arrives.

    Noah Carter.

    He strolls right into our kitchen like he owns it, helmet tucked under his arm, hair still damp from his shower, all six-foot-two of golden-boy arrogance. He’s wearing his jersey, number 14, stretched across broad shoulders like it was custom made for him.

    And because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, my stupid brain notices the curve of his jaw, the way his damp hair curls at the edges, the clean soap-and-sweat smell that clings to him. I hate myself for noticing.

    “Morning, sunshine,” he smirks at me.

    I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

    “What? Thought you’d like a nickname.” His grin widens, like he knows exactly how to get under my skin.

    Jackson laughs and bumps fists with him. “Ignore her, bro. Ready for practice?”

    “Always,” Noah says. He glances at my toast, eyebrows lifting. “Extra butter again?”

    I slam the knife down. “Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”

    Jackson snorts. “Don’t mind him, Jess.”

    But I mind. God, I mind so much.

    The two of them head out to the truck, leaving me with a cold piece of toast and the familiar ache in my chest. It’s the same ache I’ve had since I was ten years old.

    The ache of realizing my twin-my best friend-chose someone else.

    At school, it doesn’t get better. It never does.

    The minute I step into the hallway, eyes flick my way. Whispers. Snickers. The same crap I’ve been hearing since middle school.

    “Damn, she’s bigger than the linebackers.”

    “Bet she eats more than the team.”

    I keep walking, head down, pretending the words don’t stab me. But they do. Every single one leaves another scar I can’t cover with oversized clothes.

    Jackson doesn’t notice, or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s too busy soaking in the glory of being the starting quarterback. Too busy laughing with Noah and the rest of the team.

    Noah. Always Noah.

    The worst part is that when he laughs, it’s this deep, warm sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When he smiles, girls melt into puddles. And when his hazel eyes catch the light, they almost glow.

    I hate that I’ve noticed all of that.

    I hate that part of me gets why the entire female population of Crestwood High would kill for a chance with him.

    I hate that part of me, some twisted little part buried deep down, remembers what it felt like to have a crush on him before he turned into my tormentor.

    Mariah finds me by my locker. Thank God for her. She’s the one good thing that came out of all this-the girl who saw me breaking at the movies three years ago and decided not to let me stand alone.

    “You look like you’re ready to murder someone,” she says, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

    “Noah,” I mutter. “As usual.”

    She makes a face. “Ugh. You’d think after all these years he’d get bored.”

    “He doesn’t. It’s like tormenting me is his favorite sport, right after football.”

    Mariah sighs. “Well, senior year, right? Almost done.”

    Almost. But almost feels like forever.

    Lunch is the worst. Always has been.

    I sit with Mariah at the edge of the cafeteria, away from the football table. But no matter how far away I am, Noah still finds me with his eyes. I feel them, sharp as daggers, hot as a spotlight.

    Today’s no different. I’m halfway through my sandwich when I hear him across the room.

    “Hey, Jackson! Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”

    Laughter erupts from the table. Jackson doesn’t defend me. He never does.

    I keep my head down, cheeks burning, praying no one else joins in. But of course they do.

    “She could be the team mascot,” someone says. “Put her in pads, she’ll bulldoze the defense!”

    The guys howl with laughter.

    Mariah leans across the table, her eyes flashing. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”

    But ignoring doesn’t make it stop.

    I grip my sandwich so tightly my knuckles turn white. In my head, I imagine standing up, marching over there, and telling Noah exactly what he is-a bully. A coward. A pathetic jerk who gets off on tearing me down.

    But I don’t move.

    Because I know what would happen if I did. He’d smirk. He’d say something sharper. And Jackson would laugh right alongside him.

    Just like always.

    That night, lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling.

    This is my last year. One more year of Noah Carter. One more year of Jackson pretending I don’t exist except when it’s convenient. One more year of being “the fat twin,” the joke, the nobody.

    After graduation, I’ll be free. College will be my reset button. Nobody will know me as Jackson’s sister or Noah’s favorite target. Nobody will remember the locker full of trash bags or the jokes about butter.

    It’ll just be me.

    But even as I tell myself that, my brain betrays me. Because it’s not Noah’s insults that replay behind my eyes. It’s his face. His stupidly perfect, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered, movie-star face.

    And I hate myself for it.

    The next morning, the cycle repeats. Jackson teasing, Mom absent, me shrinking into myself.

    But when Noah shows up, there’s a shift. Not big, not obvious-just a flicker.

    He catches me staring.

    I don’t mean to. Honest. I’m just zoning out, and my gaze lands on him, on the way his T-shirt stretches across his chest, on the strong line of his throat as he tilts his head back to laugh at something Jackson says.

    And then his hazel eyes lock on mine.

    For a second, I can’t breathe.

    There’s no smirk, no insult, no sharp edge. Just Noah looking at me like… like he sees me.

    Then he blinks, and it’s gone. Replaced by the same cocky grin I know too well.

    “Like what you see, Sunshine?”

    My face burns. “In your dreams.”

    But that flicker stays with me all day.

    And it terrifies me more than all his insults combined.

    Because what if-just what if-the boy who’s made my life hell for years is the one I can’t stop noticing?

    What if the one I hate most is the one I’m secretly drawn to?

    And what if he knows it?

    Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 3

    Noah

    Most people think I’ve got it easy.

    They see the jersey, the captain’s armband, the girls who slide notes into my locker, the teachers who cut me slack because I’m “leading the team this season.” They see the highlight reels, the touchdowns, the swagger.

    And yeah, I play into it. Why wouldn’t I? That image has kept me on top since freshman year.

    But what they don’t see-the part I’d never admit out loud-is that the best part of my day isn’t the touchdowns. It’s not the cheers, or even the wins.

    It’s Jessa Lombardi’s face when I get under her skin.

    I shouldn’t find it that entertaining. She’s Jackson’s twin, for one. Which means technically, she’s off-limits. But God, she makes it too easy. The way her cheeks flush, the way she slams things down or throws out these sharp little comebacks-Jessa’s like one giant exposed nerve. Sensitive as hell.

    And I like testing how far I can push before she snaps.

    Take this morning, for example.

    Jackson and I were heading to practice, but I swung by his place first. Walking into their kitchen always feels… weird. I don’t know why. Maybe because I can practically feel how much Jessa doesn’t want me there.

    She was standing at the counter, spreading butter on toast like it had personally offended her. Oversized T-shirt, messy hair, bare feet curling against the tile. For a second, I almost didn’t say anything.

    Almost.

    “Morning, sunshine,” I tossed out, leaning in the doorway.

    The way her shoulders stiffened-it was instant gratification. Like watching a fire catch.

    “Don’t call me that,” she muttered, eyes on her plate.

    “What? Thought you’d like a nickname.”

    She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard them click.

    Jackson laughed, completely oblivious. “Ignore her, bro.”

    I didn’t ignore her, of course. Couldn’t. I never do. Instead, I spotted the toast and couldn’t resist. “Extra butter again?”

    She slammed the knife down like she wanted to stab me with it.

    “Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”

    And just like that, my day was made. That flare of anger in her eyes, the way her voice cracked on ever. She didn’t realize it, but she was giving me exactly what I wanted.

    Attention.

    Here’s the thing: Jessa doesn’t understand me. She thinks I pick on her just to be a jerk, or because I’ve got nothing better to do. But the truth? It’s not that simple.

    I notice her.

    More than I should.

    And noticing her-really noticing her-is dangerous.

    Because Jessa’s not like the other girls who throw themselves at me. She doesn’t giggle when I walk by or bat her lashes hoping I’ll toss her a grin. She doesn’t want anything from me.

    Except maybe for me to disappear.

    And that makes me want to poke, prod, irritate. It makes me want her to look at me, even if it’s with fire in her eyes. Because when she’s angry at me, at least she’s seeing me.

    At school, it’s even better.

    In the cafeteria, Jackson and I had the whole team cracking up over stupid inside jokes when I spotted her sitting with Mariah. Always the far table, always head down, like she’s hoping to disappear.

    But I don’t let her disappear.

    “Hey, Jackson!” I yelled across the room. “Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”

    The table erupted. Perfect.

    I caught the way her shoulders hunched, the way her hand froze halfway to her mouth. She didn’t look up, but I knew she heard me. Knew she felt the sting.

    And yeah, maybe that makes me an asshole. But there’s something about her silence that gets to me. Like she’s holding all this emotion inside, and I’m the only one who knows how to drag it out of her.

    Jackson doesn’t get it. To him, Jessa’s just… Jessa. His twin, his shadow, the sister he doesn’t think twice about. He doesn’t notice the way she winces when people whisper, or the way she pulls her hoodie tighter like armor.

    But I do.

    I see it.

    And sometimes I wonder if that’s why I keep poking-because if I don’t, maybe no one would notice her at all.

    Practice that afternoon should’ve wiped Jessa from my brain. It usually does. Once I’m on the field, nothing else matters. The snap of the ball, the crunch of pads, the roar of the guys-it drowns everything out.

    But not today.

    Today, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way she glared at me over her toast, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing.

    And then-God help me-the way her gaze flickered over me. She thought she was subtle, but I caught it. The way her eyes lingered on my shoulders, my chest.

    She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

    And that thought sticks with me longer than I’d like.

    That night, lying in bed, I try to tell myself it’s nothing. Jessa’s sensitive, that’s all. She reacts to me because I push her buttons. If she didn’t, I’d probably lose interest.

    Except… I’m not losing interest.

    If anything, I’m hooked.

    I want to know how far I can push before she finally snaps. Before she lets me see the fire I know she’s hiding.

    I want to know if that fire burns as hot when it’s not anger.

    The next morning, I catch her staring again.

    She doesn’t realize it-I’m laughing at something Jackson said, tilting my head back, and when I glance over, her eyes are on me. Not in hate. Not in anger. Just… watching.

    And for one insane second, it feels like she sees me. Not the quarterback. Not Jackson’s best friend. Not the jerk who won’t leave her alone.

    Just me.

    Our eyes lock, and the air shifts. She looks caught, like a deer in headlights.

    For once, I don’t smirk. For once, I just look back.

    But then panic kicks in, and I cover it with a grin. “Like what you see, Sunshine?”

    Her face flames. “In your dreams.”

    But I heard the hitch in her breath. I saw the way she couldn’t look away fast enough.

    And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.

    Because tormenting Jessa Lombardi isn’t just a game anymore.

    It’s an addiction.

    And sooner or later, it’s going to blow up in my face.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Flash Marriage To My Best Friend’s Father by Madel Cerda

    Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father by Madel Cerda
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    I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the “charity case” ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector.

    That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world.

    The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn’t even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancĂ©e. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor.

    The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn’t a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist.

    Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch-a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared.

    “Marry me,” I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn’t climb.

    Dallas didn’t laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen.

    “Sign,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble. “But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back.”

    I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

    👉 READ NOW

    Flash Marriage To My Best Friend’s Father Chapter 1

    The crystal flute in Eliza Solomon’s hand was going to shatter.

    She could feel the hairline fractures in the glass pressing against her palm, a perfect mirror of the way her chest felt—tight, brittle, and one breath away from exploding.

    “He looks happy, doesn’t he?”

    The voice came from her left. A socialite in emerald silk, someone Eliza used to know before the Solomon empire crumbled, before she became the pitiful ward of the Hyde family. They weren’t just her guardians; they were the iron-fisted trustees of the Solomon estate, a vast fortune she couldn’t touch until she turned twenty-five, or married. Anson, as the primary trustee, controlled every dollar.

    Eliza didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat had closed up somewhere between the appetizer course and the moment Anson Hyde walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm.

    Anson looked more than happy. He looked victorious.

    He stood in the center of the room, under the massive chandelier that cost more than Eliza’s entire college tuition. His hand rested on the small of Claudine’s back, his fingers splayed possessively against the white fabric of her dress. He leaned down, whispering something into her ear that made Claudine throw her head back and laugh.

    The sound was sharp. It cut through the heavy orchestral music and lodged itself directly behind Eliza’s ribs.

    It was the same laugh Claudine used when she made fun of Eliza’s second-hand shoes.

    “Excuse me,” a waiter muttered, bumping into Eliza’s shoulder with a heavy tray.

    Champagne sloshed over the rim of her glass, soaking into the bodice of her grey dress. It was cold and sticky.

    The waiter didn’t apologize. He glanced at her, recognized her as the charity case, and curled his lip in a sneer before moving on to serve the guests who actually mattered.

    Eliza’s stomach cramped. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on her shoulders until her knees felt weak. She needed air. She needed to not be here, watching the boy who held the keys to her gilded cage announce his engagement to the girl who had made that cage a living hell. The promise to “protect her” had always been a lie. It was a promise to possess her.

    She turned and walked toward the library, keeping her head down.

    The library was dark, smelling of old paper and lemon polish. It was the only room in the Hyde estate where Eliza had ever felt safe. She closed the heavy oak door behind her and leaned her forehead against the wood, gasping for air. Her lungs burned.

    The door handle turned under her grip.

    Eliza jumped back, wiping frantically at her eyes. She expected Anson. She expected him to come in here and tell her to stop making a scene, to smile for the cameras, to be grateful for the roof over her head.

    But the figure that filled the doorway wasn’t Anson.

    It was a wall of a man in a black tuxedo that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room. He was taller than Anson, broader, with a stillness about him that made the air in the library drop ten degrees.

    Dallas Koch.

    Eliza’s breath hitched. Why was he here? The CEO of Koch Industries, the most powerful man in the city, didn’t hide in libraries. He didn’t even look at people like Eliza.

    He stood there, his hand still on the brass knob, his dark eyes scanning her face. He took in the champagne stain on her dress, the red blotches on her cheeks, the way her hands were shaking so hard the crystal flute was rattling.

    For a second, the stoic mask he wore—the one that made him look like a statue carved from granite—cracked. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

    He stepped inside and closed the door, sealing out the noise of the party.

    He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was white silk, folded into a perfect square. He held it out to her without a word.

    Eliza stared at it. “I… I’m fine.”

    “You are not fine,” Dallas said. His voice was a low rumble, vibrating in the quiet room. “Take it.”

    Eliza reached out. Her fingers brushed against his palm as she took the silk. A jolt of static electricity snapped between them, sharp and surprising. She flinched, but he didn’t move.

    The handkerchief smelled of sandalwood and something clean, like rain on pavement. It smelled expensive. It smelled like stability.

    From the hallway, Anson’s voice drifted through the thick wood of the door. He was making a toast.

    “…to my beautiful fiancĂ©e, Claudine…”

    The words were like a physical blow to the back of Eliza’s knees. Her legs gave out.

    She didn’t hit the floor.

    Dallas moved with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his size. One moment he was standing three feet away, and the next, his arm was around her waist, catching her.

    His grip was firm. Solid. He held her up effortlessly, his arm like a steel bar against her spine.

    Eliza looked up. Her vision was swimming with tears, blurring his features, but she could see the intensity in his eyes. He wasn’t looking at her with pity. He was looking at her with a terrifying kind of focus.

    “Take me away,” she whispered.

    The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. It was a desperate plea, born of heartbreak and the sudden, overwhelming instinct that this man was the only thing in the room that wasn’t trying to crush her.

    Dallas went still. His eyes darkened, shifting from brown to something nearly black. He looked down at her, assessing the weight of her request, calculating the cost.

    “There is no turning back if we leave, Eliza,” he warned. His voice was low, rough around the edges. “If you walk out that door with me, you do not come back to this house.”

    Eliza nodded frantically. The tears were spilling over now, hot tracks on her cold skin. “Please. Just get me out.”

    Dallas didn’t hesitate. He shifted his grip, guiding her toward the servants’ exit hidden behind a tapestry. He moved his body to shield her from the security cameras, blocking her from view with his broad shoulders.

    The night air outside was biting. A sleek, matte black Maybach was idling at the curb, looking like a predator waiting in the shadows.

    Dallas opened the heavy door and helped her in. The interior smelled of leather and isolation. He slammed the door shut, and the silence was absolute. The music, the laughter, Anson’s voice—it was all gone.

    Eliza slumped against the seat. There was a crystal decanter in the center console. She didn’t think. She just poured amber liquid into a glass and drank it in one gulp.

    It burned. It burned all the way down to her empty stomach, setting her blood on fire.

    Dallas got into the driver’s seat. He didn’t look at her. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

    “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice slurring slightly as the alcohol hit her system with the force of a truck.

    “My place,” Dallas said.

    The car moved. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon. Eliza felt dizzy, unmoored. The alcohol was mixing with the adrenaline and the grief, creating a toxic cocktail in her brain.

    She looked at Dallas’s profile. He was Azalea’s dad. He was old money. He was power.

    “I need a shield,” she mumbled, the words tumbling out. “I need a wall he can’t climb.”

    Dallas glanced at her in the rearview mirror. His expression was unreadable.

    They arrived at a building that pierced the skyline. The elevator ride was a blur of motion sickness. When the doors opened into the penthouse, Eliza stumbled.

    Dallas was there again, steadying her. His hands on her arms felt hot through the thin fabric of her dress.

    She looked up at him. In the harsh lighting of the foyer, he didn’t look like a savior. He looked dangerous.

    “Marry me,” she blurted out.

    The silence that followed was deafening.

    It was the alcohol talking, yes, but it was also a desperate, calculated gambit. Marrying Anson was a life sentence. But marrying anyone else… that was the loophole in her father’s will. It was her only escape clause. It was the survival instinct of a wounded animal trying to find the one predator in the forest who could kill the wolf at her throat.

    Dallas froze. The air in the penthouse turned electric, charged with a tension that made the hair on Eliza’s arms stand up.

    He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tell her she was drunk.

    He walked to a wall safe hidden behind a painting. He punched in a code, the beeps loud in the quiet room. He pulled out a document and a heavy fountain pen.

    He walked back to her and placed the paper on the marble console table.

    “Sign,” he commanded. His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a gavel striking a sounding block.

    Eliza blinked, trying to focus on the paper. The words swam. She saw “Marriage” and “Agreement.”

    She didn’t care about the details. She just wanted Anson to know she was gone. She wanted to burn the bridge so thoroughly she could never cross it again.

    She grabbed the pen. Her signature was messy, a jagged scrawl across the bottom line.

    “Done,” she whispered.

    The pen slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the marble. The room tilted sideways.

    The last thing she felt was Dallas catching her again, lifting her into his arms as the blackness swallowed her whole.

    Flash Marriage To My Best Friend’s Father Chapter 2

    The light was aggressive.

    It sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting Eliza squarely in the face. She groaned, rolling over and reaching blindly for the glass of water that usually sat on her nightstand.

    Her hand hit nothing but air.

    She cracked one eye open. The ceiling was too high. The crown molding was too intricate. And the sheets… these weren’t her scratchy, polyester sheets. This was cotton so smooth it felt like water against her skin.

    Memory slammed into her like a physical blow.

    The party. The champagne. Dallas.

    Eliza sat up so fast her head spun. The room tilted, her brain throbbing against her skull in a rhythmic, painful beat. She looked down.

    She was wearing an oversized men’s silk pajama top that swallowed her frame. The fabric was impossibly soft against her skin, and it smelled faintly of sandalwood—his scent.

    Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her chest. She grabbed the massive duvet and pulled it up to her chin, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her own dress, the cheap grey one, was nowhere to be seen.

    She scanned the room. It was minimalist, masculine, and expensive. Dark wood, grey accents, no clutter.

    On the bedside table, a stack of clothes was folded with military precision.

    Sitting on top of the clothes was a piece of heavy cardstock and a black credit card.

    Eliza reached out with a trembling hand. The card was heavy—metal, not plastic. A Centurion card. It was a blank, supplementary card, bearing only the platinum insignia of the bank.

    She dropped it like it was hot coal.

    She picked up the note. The handwriting was sharp, angular.

    Hydrate. The code is your birthday. —D.

    Flashbacks assaulted her. The car ride. The demand for a shield. The paper on the marble table.

    Sign.

    She gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. She had proposed to her best friend’s father. And he had said yes.

    She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a barrage of notifications.

    52 missed calls from Anson Hyde.

    30 texts from Anson Hyde.

    12 voicemails.

    Then, a single text from a number she didn’t have saved, but recognized instantly.

    Lawyers are filing. You are safe. Go to school.

    Dallas.

    Eliza stared at her left hand. There was a ring there. It was a simple platinum band, elegant and understated, but it felt heavier than a shackle.

    She scrambled out of bed, her legs wobbly. She grabbed the clothes. A soft cashmere sweater, dark jeans, fresh underwear. She pulled them on. They fit.

    They fit perfectly.

    She paused, the sweater halfway over her head. How? How did he have clothes in her exact size ready? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t deal with that right now.

    She needed to leave.

    She grabbed her bag and the black card—shoving it deep into her pocket—and fled the room.

    The penthouse was silent. A housekeeper was dusting in the hallway, a stout woman with grey hair.

    “Good morning, Mrs.—”

    Eliza didn’t let her finish. She bolted for the elevator, jabbing the button, half-expecting it not to work. To her surprise, a green light blinked and the doors slid shut. He had already given her access.

    Her phone buzzed in her hand. It was Azalea.

    Library. Now. Emergency.

    Eliza’s stomach dropped. Did she know?

    She hailed a cab outside the building, her hands shaking so bad she could barely open the door. The ride to the university took twenty minutes, but it felt like twenty seconds.

    She ran through the campus quad, ignoring the stares of students who probably saw the photos of her fleeing the party last night.

    She found Azalea pacing behind the reference section in the library. Azalea looked manic, her blonde hair messy, phone clutched in her hand.

    “Eliza!” Azalea grabbed her arm and dragged her further into the stacks. “My dad just transferred a crazy amount of money to my account.”

    Eliza froze. “What?”

    “Like, ‘buy a small island’ money,” Azalea whispered, eyes wide. “He said to take you shopping. Why is he spoiling you?”

    Azalea looked suspicious. Her eyes narrowed, scanning Eliza’s face.

    Eliza’s mouth went dry. “I… I helped him with a project. Some translation work.”

    It was a weak lie. Eliza was an art history major, not a translator. Azalea nodded slowly, though a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Translation work? For her father, who had an entire in-house team of linguists? It felt thin, but Eliza looked so fragile, Azalea decided not to press. For now.

    “Whatever. We have orders. Come outside.”

    Azalea marched her out of the library toward the student parking lot.

    “He said your car is a death trap,” Azalea said over her shoulder. “Which, to be fair, it is. The brakes sound like dying cats. So I took the liberty of having it towed to a junkyard this morning. You’re welcome.”

    They reached the lot. A flatbed truck was idling there, its empty bed a testament to Azalea’s efficiency. Parked in her old spot was a silver Aston Martin. It gleamed under the sun, looking alien among the dented Civics and Toyotas.

    The driver hopped out and walked over to Azalea. He handed her a key fob.

    Azalea tossed it to Eliza.

    “He said this is the replacement.”

    Eliza caught the keys. The fob was heavy, leather and chrome. She looked at the car. It was worth more than the house she grew up in.

    “I can’t take this,” Eliza whispered.

    “You have to,” Azalea said, crossing her arms. “You know how he is. If you send it back, he’ll just send two.”

    Students were stopping. Phones were coming out. Whispers rippled through the air.

    “Is that Eliza Solomon? Who bought her that?”

    Eliza’s phone buzzed again. Anson.

    She declined the call, her thumb hitting the red button with aggressive force.

    She walked to the car and pressed the unlock button. The mirrors unfolded. The lights flashed.

    “Get in, Mrs. Koch,” Azalea joked, nudging her ribs.

    Eliza flinched. The title hit too close to home.

    She slid into the driver’s seat. The smell of new leather enveloped her. It smelled just like the Maybach. It smelled like Dallas.

    She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. She had signed a contract with the devil, and now she was driving his chariot.

    Flash Marriage To My Best Friend’s Father Chapter 3

    The coffee shop on campus was loud, a chaotic mix of espresso machines hissing and students complaining about midterms.

    Eliza sat in the corner booth, clutching a latte like a lifeline. The caffeine was making her hands shake worse, but she needed it to combat the fog in her brain.

    Azalea was sitting opposite her, scrolling through Instagram with a grimace.

    “Everybody is talking about how you vanished,” Azalea said, not looking up. “Claudine is posting passive-aggressive quotes about ‘loyalty’ and ‘trash taking itself out.’”

    Eliza flinched. A drop of foam spilled onto her thumb. “Let her talk.”

    “Oh, I am,” Azalea said darkly. “I’m commenting with vomit emojis on every single post.”

    Eliza reached for a napkin to wipe her hand. As she moved, the cashmere scarf she was wearing slipped slightly to the side.

    Azalea gasped.

    The sound was so loud that two people at the next table turned around. Azalea dropped her phone onto the table with a clatter.

    “Eliza! What is that on your neck?”

    Eliza’s hand flew to her throat. She felt the tender spot just below her ear. A dark, purplish bruise against her pale skin.

    She had seen it in the mirror this morning and had been trying not to think about it. The memory of the night was hazy, obscured by alcohol. She remembered stumbling. She remembered Dallas catching her. Had he held her too tightly? Or was it… something else? She couldn’t be sure, and the uncertainty was terrifying.

    “It’s nothing,” Eliza stammered, pulling the scarf tighter. “The car door hit me on the way out this morning.”

    “Bullshit,” Azalea hissed, leaning over the table. Her eyes were wide, predatory. “That’s not a door, that’s a hickey. A world-class, possessive, ‘stay away from her’ hickey. Who is he?”

    Eliza’s heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t say Your Dad. She absolutely could not say that.

    “It’s… complicated,” Eliza said, looking down at her cup. “An older guy.”

    Azalea’s eyebrows shot up. “Older? Like… Anson’s age?”

    “Older,” Eliza whispered.

    Azalea opened her mouth to scream, but her phone cut her off. It began to ring, vibrating violently against the wooden table.

    The Caller ID flashed: The Bank.

    That was her contact name for Dallas.

    Azalea answered immediately, her posture straightening instinctively. “Yes, Daddy?”

    Eliza held her breath. She could hear the deep rumble of Dallas’s voice on the other end, though she couldn’t make out the words. The sound alone made the hair on her arms stand up.

    Azalea frowned. “Right now? But we have class in an hour.”

    She listened for another few seconds, then sighed. “Okay. Fine. We’re coming.”

    She hung up and looked at Eliza, confused.

    “He wants us at the flagship store downtown.”

    Eliza’s stomach dropped. “Both of us?”

    “Yeah. He says you need ‘appropriate attire’ for a dinner tonight.”

    “Dinner?” Eliza squeaked.

    “Apparently.” Azalea gathered her bag. “Come on. You don’t keep The Bank waiting.”

    They walked back to the parking lot. The silver Aston Martin was gleaming in the sun, drawing stares from a group of fraternity guys.

    Eliza unlocked the car. She slid into the driver’s seat, the leather molding to her body. She pushed the start button, and the engine roared to life, a guttural growl that vibrated through the floorboards.

    “You’ll get used to the high life, eventually,” Azalea laughed, buckling her seatbelt.

    Eliza pulled out of the lot, merging onto the main road toward the city. The skyline loomed ahead, glass towers reflecting the afternoon sun.

    She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She adjusted the scarf again, ensuring the mark was covered.

    Whether it was a bruise or… something else, Dallas had left a mark on her. And he had done it in a place that was hard to hide.

    It felt like a brand.

    Suddenly, the dashboard screen lit up. Eliza had paired her phone to the car’s Bluetooth earlier.

    A text message notification popped up on the center console, huge and undeniable.

    Sender: Anson Hyde

    Message: Stop playing games. Come home. You belong here.

    Azalea saw it. She let out a low whistle.

    “He’s obsessed,” Azalea said, shaking her head. “It’s actually creepy. Good thing you have a new ‘older man’ to distract you.”

    Eliza gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Yeah. Good thing.”

    She drove faster, putting distance between herself and the university, between herself and Anson. But she was driving straight toward the man who had put a ring on her finger and a mark on her neck.

    And she had no idea what his game was.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Lycan King Curse: Similar Book to The Lycan King’s Army

    The Lycan King Curse by Bobbie_
    👉 READ NOW

    “Our marriage was only a deal between me and my father. I don’t love you. The woman I love is pregnant and in critical condition… This marriage is cancelled!”
    Those words shattered Quinn on what should’ve been the happiest day of her life. Betrayed by her fiancĂ© and best friend in one brutal moment, she spirals into heartbreak-and lands in the arms of a dangerous stranger after a reckless, wild night.
    But the man she gave herself to wasn’t just any stranger.
    He was the cursed Lycan king-a feared beast of legends who disappeared from the world long ago. And now, he’s back… for her.
    Framed for murder by the same people who betrayed her, Quinn finds herself hunted-until the king rises from the shadows to claim what’s his. Her.
    And she’s not alone.
    She’s carrying his pup.
    Cold. Possessive. Lethal. He will burn kingdoms to protect her, shed blood for her vengeance, and tear apart anyone who made her cry. Because she isn’t just his mate…
    She’s his cure.
    And no one touches what belongs to the cursed king.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Lycan King Curse Chapter 1 The Rejection

    I should’ve known.
    The moment Dylan stepped onto that stage with his tie undone and his lips pressed into a flat, miserable line, I should’ve known something was wrong. Something was always wrong with Dylan, I just didn’t want to see it.
    The guests murmured. My heart thumped in my ears. I took a shaky breath and stepped forward in my ivory dress, the veil clutched in one hand. My smile wavered.
    He didn’t even look at me.
    “Dylan?” I whispered.
    He turned to face the crowd instead, jaw tight. “I-I can’t go through with this.”
    Silence. Pure, suffocating silence. Then-
    “What?” I choked, the word barely leaving my throat.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, like it meant anything. “But I’m not marrying Quinn.”
    Gasps broke out across the pack house hall.
    My chest caved inward.
    “My mate is in the hospital,” he said louder now, for everyone to hear. “She’s carrying my child. And she’s in critical condition.”
    The room spun. My body turned to ice.
    Mate?
    Pregnant?
    My feet moved on their own. “Dylan, what are you talking about?” My voice cracked, shaking.
    “I can’t let her die while I stand here pretending to love someone I don’t.” His eyes finally met mine, hard and cold. “I never loved you, Quinn.”
    Pain hit like a slap. I stepped back. My wolf whimpered in my mind.
    He kept going. “I needed to prove to my father that I was responsible. That I could commit. That’s why I proposed. That’s why I played along.”
    Played along?
    I laughed. It was sharp and hollow. “You used me.”
    “I had no choice,” he snapped. “You think my father would’ve let me near the Alpha title if I didn’t prove myself with the perfect, obedient she-wolf? You were convenient.”
    I clenched my fists. “Say that again.”
    But he turned his back to me.
    That was it. No explanation. No guilt.
    Just cold-blooded betrayal.
    I could hear someone crying in the crowd. I didn’t know if it was my aunt, my cousin-or me. My throat burned. I couldn’t breathe.
    My mother stood at the far end of the room, arms folded, face unreadable.
    Of course she wasn’t surprised.
    Of course she knew.
    She always knew everything before I did.
    I turned toward her, and for once, I saw what she really thought of me. No pity. Not concerned. Just disgust.
    “Don’t make a scene,” she mouthed slowly.
    Don’t make a scene?
    I stormed down the aisle, ripping off my veil and tossing it to the floor. My father avoided my gaze like getting has always done when things get sour. Coward.
    Outside, the wind howled. My hands trembled as I tugged off the heels. I didn’t care that I was barefoot on the gravel path. I didn’t care that I was still in my wedding dress.
    I needed answers.
    I needed a name.
    I needed to know who Dylan threw everything away for.
    So I ran.
    The hospital smelled like bleach and betrayal. I charged up to the nurse’s station, my voice steel. “I need to know who was just admitted for an emergency pregnancy. Critical condition. The father’s name is Dylan Reid.”
    The nurse blinked. “Ma’am, we can’t-“
    “I’m his fiancĂ©e. Or… I was,” I bit out. “Tell me where he is.”
    The nurse hesitated, then pointed. “Room 213. Maternity emergency wing.”
    I didn’t thank her. I didn’t slow down.
    I burst through the door like a hurricane.
    And there she was.
    Cassandra.
    My best friend.
    In the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, looking pale and beautiful, was the girl I’d grown up with. The girl who laughed with me in high school, shared secrets, painted my nails, and told me Dylan was “just her cousin” when they met two years ago.
    She looked shocked when she saw me. But not guilty.
    “Quinn…”
    I laughed bitterly. “You?”
    She blinked, pretending to be confused. “W-What are you-“
    I marched to the bed. “Cut the crap. You’re the one carrying Dylan’s baby?”
    Her hands went to her stomach. Protective. Possessive.
    Like she had any right.
    “He said you’d hate me,” she whispered.
    “Hate you?” I seethed. “You sat in my house. Ate with my family. Planned my engagement party. All the while, screwing the man I was supposed to marry?”
    “He was never yours Quinn, you were just a temporary replacement” she said, a tone of mockery evident in her voice.
    “Oh, that makes it okay?” I barked out a harsh laugh.
    The door opened behind me, and Dylan stepped in, panting, sweaty, looking like he’d just run a marathon.
    His eyes widened when he saw me.
    “You,” I said quietly. “Told me she was your cousin.”
    He didn’t respond.
    “She’s pregnant,” I continued, voice rising. “With your child. And you introduced her to me as your goddamn cousin.”
    “Quinn, I-“
    I slapped him.
    The sound echoed in the room.
    Cassandra gasped. Dylan reeled back, but I wasn’t done.
    “You humiliated me in front of the entire pack,” I hissed. “You lied. You used me. For what? To earn Daddy’s approval?”
    He looked ashamed, but not enough.
    “I should’ve known. You were always a coward.”
    “Don’t talk to him like that,” Cassandra said, frowning.
    I turned to her. “Shut up. You don’t get to defend him.”
    “Please leave,” Dylan said, voice low. “She’s not well.”
    “I don’t give a damn.” I stepped closer. “You could’ve told me the truth. You could’ve broken it off like a man. But instead you waited till our wedding day to throw me away like garbage.”
    “You were always garbage,” he said, his voice rising.
    “I gave you people to rely on when no one wants to play with a cursed and weak omega like you so be grateful for that” he said scorn
    “I was just a tool to get what you wanted.”
    He didn’t deny it.
    My eyes burned with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.
    “You’re dead to me, both of you.”
    I turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Dylan? You better pray your father never finds out the truth. Because I’ll make sure he does.”
    “Too bad, his father died this morning and that’s why your engagement was broken” Cassandra said with a smirk playing on her lips
    My face went pale.
    I slammed the door on my way out.
    It is raining now. Of course it was.
    I stood on the sidewalk, wedding dress soaked, mascara running. People stared. I didn’t care.
    My phone rang. My mother.
    I declined the call.
    It rang again.
    I picked it up.
    “What?” I snapped.
    “You made a spectacle of yourself,” she said coldly. “We’ll never live this down.”
    “I don’t care,” I spat. “I’m done pretending.”
    “I warned you about Dylan. You didn’t listen.”
    “You didn’t warn me. You just hated me so much you wanted me to fail.”
    She was silent.
    I continued, voice shaking. “You never loved me. You just tolerated me because it made you look good in front of the pack.”
    “You’re being dramatic.”
    “No. I’m finally seeing things clearly.”
    I hung up and tossed the phone into a puddle.
    Let it drown like the trust I once had in everyone around me.
    I didn’t go home. I walked for hours, barefoot, cold, and furious. I ended up at the old training field, the one Dylan and I used to sneak into when we were younger. The gate creaked as I pushed it open.
    I let out a scream.
    One long, raw, animalistic scream that tore from my throat like a wound being ripped open.
    Then I shifted.

    The Lycan King Curse Chapter 2 The Stranger

    The wind stung my face as I tore through the woods, paws thudding against the wet earth. I didn’t care where I was going-I just needed to run, to escape the crushing weight in my chest.
    Branches snapped underfoot. Trees blurred past. My wolf didn’t stop. Not until the pain dulled to a low throb and even she was tired of being angry.
    By the time I shifted back, my skin was damp with rain and sweat. My hair clung to my face, and I was somewhere deep in the northern edge of Graybridge-far from the pack, far from home, if I could even call that place home anymore.
    I didn’t plan on going back. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
    In the distance, I spotted flickering neon lights-Blue Moon Tavern. Fitting.
    I walked barefoot toward it, mud caking my feet, still wearing the tattered remains of my shift clothes from under the wedding dress. A few people outside started, but I didn’t stop. I pushed the door open and was greeted with loud music, stale smoke, and the clink of glasses.
    The bartender blinked as I approached.
    “You alright there?” he asked, eyeing my torn dress and matted hair.
    “I need a drink,” I croaked. “Something strong.”
    He poured without another word. I downed the first shot, then the second, then three more. The burn didn’t bother me. I wanted it.
    I wanted to forget.
    “Rough night?” the bartender asked after a while.
    I slammed my sixth shot glass down. “You have no idea.”
    “Maybe a bed would be better than the bar.”
    “Maybe,” I muttered, swaying slightly. “You rent rooms?”
    “Upstairs. We’ve got a few for overnight travelers.”
    “I’ll take one.”
    He handed me a key. “Room twelve. Down the hall, second left, past the stairs.”
    “Got it.” I nodded… or tried to.
    I grabbed the key, slid off the stool like a newborn deer, and made my way toward the hallway. I forgot the number immediately.
    Was it ten? Or twenty? No-twelve.
    I squinted at the numbers on the doors, my vision dancing. I stopped at a door that looked vaguely right. 210? 201? 120? Who cares.
    The key fit.
    I turned it and stumbled in.
    Dim lights. A warm scent of cedar and something spicy.
    I yawned and dropped my purse, letting my dress fall from my shoulder.
    Then I heard the door to the bathroom open.
    “What the hell?” a deep voice rumbled.
    I froze, heart lurching.
    A man stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet, water dripping down his abs like a slow tease from the goddess herself.
    He stared at me, stunned. “Who are you?”
    I blinked. “This is my room.”
    “No. It’s not.”
    I looked down at the key still in my hand, confused. “Room twelve?”
    He raised a brow. “This is twenty-one.”
    Shit.
    “Oh,” I mumbled. “My bad.”
    He walked forward, still dripping, still towel-clad, and just-why did he look like that? The body of a warrior, but the face of a man who could ruin someone without saying a word.
    “I’ll leave,” I said quickly, trying to back up.
    But I stepped on the hem of my dress and slipped.
    “Whoa-!”
    He caught me before I hit the floor, one strong arm around my waist.
    And just like that, the room shifted.
    Our eyes locked.
    There it was. That damn electric snap. Like the universe had grabbed my spine and yanked.
    My hands were on his chest. His skin was hot. My head spun-but not from the alcohol anymore.
    “Don’t,” I whispered.
    “Don’t what?” he murmured, his voice low, steady.
    I should’ve pulled away.
    I should’ve walked out.
    But I didn’t.
    Instead, I leaned in and kissed him.
    Hard. Desperate.
    He froze for half a second, then gripped my waist and kissed me back-deeper, rougher, like he’d been waiting for something to break him open too.
    My dress dropped to the floor.
    His towel hit the ground.
    There was no name, no promise, no future. Just breath and skin and pain and need.
    He pressed me to the wall, lips grazing my jaw. “What’s your name?”
    I closed my eyes. “Does it matter?”
    He paused. Then, “No. Not tonight.”
    That was all it took.
    He lifted me with ease, laid me on the bed, kissed every broken part of me like it could be stitched together by mouth and tongue and fire.
    It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.
    It was raw.
    And somewhere between the gasps and the tangled sheets, I gave something I’d never given anyone else-my body, my heart, my firsts.
    My virginity.
    To a stranger.
    And I didn’t regret it.
    Not even a little.
    I woke up to sunlight slanting through the window and the weight of an arm draped across my hip.
    For a moment, I forgot where I was.
    Then I turned and saw him.
    God, he was even more beautiful in the light.
    His face was relaxed, lashes dark against his cheekbones, jaw rough with stubble. He looked peaceful. Untouchable.
    I slipped out of bed carefully, grabbing my dress from the floor and wincing at the soreness between my legs.
    Last night came back in pieces-drinks, heat, skin, his voice whispering something I didn’t understand in my ear as I collapsed on top of him.
    I didn’t even ask his name.
    And I still didn’t want it.
    Not yet.
    I needed the illusion-that just once, I’d done something reckless for myself. That just once, I wasn’t someone’s pawn.
    I scribbled a note on a hotel notepad:
    “Thanks for the rescue. No regrets. – Q.”
    I placed it on the bedside table and slipped out quietly.
    I didn’t even look back.
    Outside, the town was waking. I stood at the corner of the street, unsure where to go. No home to return to. No pack to belong to.
    But for the first time in years, I felt something close to free.
    Still hurt. Still pissed. Still burning.
    But free.
    My phone buzzed. I’d forgotten I even had it.
    Caller ID: Mom.

    The Lycan King Curse Chapter 3 The Truth Revealed

    I stared at the screen like it owed me a damn explanation.
    Caller ID: Mom.
    Of course.
    The second I picked up, her screech nearly shattered my eardrum.
    “Where the hell are you, Quinn? Do you think this is some kind of game? Get back here right now!”
    I held the phone away from my face and blinked into the sky. Still gray. Still miserable. I exhaled through my nose, trying not to punch a wall or dissolve into flames.
    “I’m coming anyway,” I muttered and hung up before she could spit another insult.
    I should’ve tossed the phone into traffic.
    I walked the rest of the way home. No one stopped me. No one cared. The stares I got? All pity. The same pity I hated when Dylan rejected me, the same pity I spat on when I ran away, barefoot and broken.
    But now? I didn’t feel broken anymore. Something inside me had snapped clean, like the last chain unhooked from my ribs. It still hurt, but I could breathe for once.
    When the Arledge estate came into view, I paused at the gate and stared up at it like it was a stranger’s home. Technically, it always felt like it.
    My hand gripped the cold handle of the front door, and just before I pushed it open, I froze.
    “…the cursed Lycan King’s envoy will be here shortly,” my father’s voice floated out the open living room window.
    I froze. My stomach turned.
    “She’s lucky,” Mother added. “After humiliating us, this is the least she can do.”
    “Sold,” I whispered to myself. “They’re selling me off like I’m… livestock.”
    My nails dug into the door.
    “Is this a goddamn joke?” I roared as I burst in, slamming the door behind me.
    Father turned, barely blinking. “Watch your mouth, girl.”
    I marched in. “Tell me what I just heard isn’t true.”
    “It is. You leave today. The King’s guard will arrive shortly,” he said like he was reading off a weather report.
    My chest caved in.
    “You’re selling me to the cursed Lycan King? The murderer? The one with a trail of blood behind him longer than his shadow?”
    “It’s an honor-“
    “It’s a death sentence!” I snapped. “And you didn’t even ask me? You didn’t think to-“
    A flash. A crack. My face whipped sideways as his palm smacked hard against my cheek.
    I gasped, tasting iron.
    “Be grateful,” he growled. “You’ve embarrassed this family enough.”
    I blinked at him, stunned for maybe half a second. Then I laughed. Laughed so hard I thought I’d choke.
    “You mean after your perfect deal with Dylan fell apart? That’s what this is about? Saving face?”
    “Don’t speak unless spoken to,” my mother cut in coldly.
    “You hate me so much you’re throwing me to a beast,” I hissed.
    “If you hadn’t failed at keeping a man-“
    I lunged forward, but one of the guards stepped between us. “Back off.”
    That’s when I noticed the three men by the hallway-pack guards I hadn’t seen in years. Muscle-bound, silver-armed, ready for war.
    “You’re seriously doing this,” I breathed. “You’re giving me away like a sack of rice?”
    My mother narrowed her eyes. “It’s done. Accept it.”
    “No.” I spun and bolted for the door.
    Before I could reach it, cold fingers yanked my wrist. Mother’s grip was steel.
    “You’re not leaving.”
    I jerked, twisted, tried to shake her off. But she pushed me toward the staircase, and the guards flanked me.
    “Don’t touch me!” I shrieked.
    “Put her in her room!” Father bellowed. “Now!”
    One of the guards hoisted me like I weighed nothing and shoved me up the stairs while I kicked and punched and screamed.
    “This is illegal! I’m not a damn toy! I’m not-“
    They pushed me inside my room and slammed the door shut behind me. A key turned. Then the bolt.
    Trapped.
    Like always.
    I roared, a deep growl tearing from my chest as I punched the wall. My hand ached. Didn’t matter. I grabbed the dresser and threw it against the door. Not that it’d stop anyone.
    My breaths were ragged. My pulse, wild. My wolf was clawing to the surface, as angry as I was.
    They were really going to send me off to the cursed king like some gift-wrapped offering. And no one was coming to save me.
    Fine.
    I’d save myself.
    The window. I ran over, threw it open. Wind howled through, cold and sharp. The branches of the tree beside my room were thinner than I remembered. But they were there.
    And I had nothing to lose.
    I climbed onto the window ledge, looked down at the drop.
    Then I jumped.
    The wind snatched my breath as I hit the first branch, bounced, scraped my arm, then landed hard in a pile of dead leaves.
    Groaning, I scrambled to my feet.
    “GO!” I hissed to myself, feet pounding the dirt as I sprinted away from the house.
    I didn’t make it far.
    Just two blocks down the private trail that led toward the old woods, a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of me.
    Four men in dark leather stepped out. Lycans. No doubt about it.
    One sniffed the air, checked the picture in his hand and grinned. “She’s the one.”
    I turned on my heel and ran.
    Another SUV behind me. They’d blocked both exits but I smirked crazily, “this is my hood bitch”.
    One of them shifted, mid‑air. Fur erupted, bones cracked, and a massive gray beast landed on all fours, snarling.
    I veered into the woods. My legs were on fire. My heart? A thunderstorm.
    Branches slapped my face. My foot snagged on a root. I tripped, fell, rolled, and scrambled up again.
    Behind me, I heard them yelling. One of them burst through the tree line and lunged.
    I ducked just in time. His claws missed my back by inches.
    I turned and screamed, “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”
    He snarled. “We don’t want to hurt you, but keep fighting and I can’t promise anything.”
    Another one lunged, this one in human form. He grabbed me by the waist, but I elbowed him hard. He grunted and lost his grip, and I took off again.
    Straight toward the old creek.
    I leapt over it, almost slipped on the mossy rock, and kept running until my lungs give out.
    A hand caught my ankle.
    I crashed forward, breath knocked out of me.
    He flipped me over and pinned me down.
    “You’re done running,” he said.
    I screamed. Bit his wrist. Kicked. He growled, shifting mid‑hold, muzzle snapping toward my face.
    Just then, another voice cut through the chaos.
    “Let her go.”
    The man froze.
    A shadow moved behind him. One of the guards who’d been quiet this whole time stepped forward, dark eyes locked on me.
    “She’s the King now. You don’t rough her up before she even gets there,” he said calmly.
    “I was following orders-“
    “Then follow them better.”
    The one pinning me hesitated, then released me slowly and backed off.
    I lay there gasping, blood on my lip, knees scraped, heart racing.
    “We’re taking you now,” the calm one said, extending a hand.
    I didn’t take it.
    “You’ll have to drag me,” I said.
    He gave a small smirk. “Then I will.”
    He stepped forward.
    But I was faster.
    I yanked the dagger from my boot-one I’d hidden there months ago for emergencies-and stabbed it into his thigh.
    He roared in pain.
    I jumped back and sprinted into the thickest part of the woods, branches tearing at my skin, hair flying behind me.
    They were shouting, chasing me again, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to stop.
    Not now. Not ever.
    I didn’t know where I was going.
    But I knew what I was running from.
    And that was enough.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss by Mo Yufei

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss by Mo Yufei
    👉 READ NOW

    I was an intern nurse working exhausting shifts, yet my mother constantly forced me into blind dates with wealthy, arrogant men to secure our family’s social standing.

    During a terrifying hospital lockdown, an assassin disguised as a doctor held a scalpel to my throat. I was almost killed, but a high-ranking military colonel threw his own body down a flight of concrete stairs to shield me.

    I survived with cuts and bruises, but when I went home, my mother didn’t care about my near-death experience. She was only furious that I had rushed out on my blind date with Preston, a rich financial analyst.

    She forced me to meet him to apologize. When Preston grabbed my arm, bruised me, and mocked my attack as a pathetic lie, my mother still took his side.

    “Men get angry,” she told me coldly. “It’s your job not to provoke them. You will beg for his forgiveness, or you are no longer welcome in this house.”

    I had narrowly escaped an assassin, yet my own family was willing to feed me to a monster just for a fat paycheck and neighborhood gossip.

    My heart went completely dead.

    So, when the intimidating Colonel appeared, offering me maximum military protection through a sudden marriage, I didn’t hesitate.

    I walked back into my parents’ house and calmly slapped a crisp marriage certificate onto the coffee table.

    “I won’t be apologizing to Preston. I got married today.”

    👉 READ NOW

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 1

    “If you’re going to order the salmon, make sure they don’t overcook it. The last time I was here, it was practically cat food.”
    Caroline Thompson stared at the man sitting across from her. Preston Finch. Financial analyst. Ivy League graduate. The eighteenth blind date her mother had forced her into in the last two years.
    He wasn’t looking at her. He was using his silver fork to trace the menu like he was grading a flawed exam paper.
    “The wine list here is a joke,” Preston continued, snapping the leather bound menu shut. He finally looked at her, his chin tilted in perpetual judgment. “At my club in New York, we have a sommelier. Here? I wouldn’t trust them to open a beer.”
    Caroline’s fingers dug into the fabric of her dress under the table. This was her life now. Sitting across from arrogant men who thought a fat paycheck bought them the right to treat everyone else like peasants.
    “So, Caroline,” Preston leaned back, offering a smirk that was probably meant to be charming but landed closer to constipated. “My mother mentioned you’re a nurse?”
    “Intern nurse,” Caroline corrected automatically. “At Washington United Medical Center.”
    “Right.” The smirk deepened into outright dismissal. “Must be exhausting. All that cleaning up and taking orders. And the pay? Practically minimum wage, right? Honestly, a pretty girl like you should just find a guy who provides. Someone who makes enough so you don’t have to wipe up vomit for a living.”
    A muscle ticked in Caroline’s temple. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his financial advice, but her phone buzzed.
    She never took personal calls on a date. But right now, it was the only thing keeping her from baptizing Preston with her ice water.
    She glanced at the screen. Her breath hitched. It wasn’t just the hospital. It was the direct emergency line from the Chief of Staff.
    She answered it right there. “Thompson.”
    “Caroline.” Dr. Alistair Cromwell never used her first name. His voice, usually dripping with academic condescension, was flat. Breathless. “Get back here. Now.”
    “I’m off the clock, Dr. Cromwell. Is something—”
    “I don’t have time to repeat myself.” The line crackled with background shouting. “This is not a drill. We are at Code Atlas. I say again, Code Atlas. Get here in ten minutes or don’t bother coming back at all.”
    Click.
    Caroline sat frozen, the dial tone buzzing against her ear.
    Code Atlas.
    In all her years of training, she had only heard that term whispered in break rooms like a ghost story. It meant catastrophe. Mass casualties. A high-level terror threat. It meant the world was falling apart.
    “I have to go,” Caroline said, already grabbing her coat.
    Preston scoffed, slamming his water glass down. “You’re joking. What kind of emergency could a nurse possibly have? We haven’t even ordered.”
    “It’s a Code Atlas,” she said, not caring if he understood. She pulled a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet and dropped it on his pristine white tablecloth. “This covers my share of nothing. Goodbye, Preston.”
    She didn’t wait for his face to finish flushing red. She turned on her heel and practically sprinted out of the restaurant.
    The Washington air hit her in a heavy, soaking downpour. Adrenaline washed away the lingering disgust of the date. She flagged down a cab dropping someone off at the corner, sliding into the back seat before the passenger was fully on the curb.
    “Washington United Medical Center,” she gasped. “Step on it.”
    By the time the cab screeched to a halt, the rain had slowed to a mist, but the chill in Caroline’s bones only deepened.
    She stepped out and stopped dead.
    The hospital had been turned into a fortress.
    The main entrance wasn’t blocked by ambulances, but by military police. Two armored Humvees idled across the driveway, their headlights cutting through the fog. Men in full combat gear, rifles strapped to their chests, stood behind concrete barricades.
    This wasn’t a mass casualty event. This was a federal lockdown.
    Heart hammering against her ribs, Caroline approached the nearest checkpoint, holding up her ID badge with a trembling hand. “Caroline Thompson. I was paged by Dr. Cromwell.”
    The guard, a soldier with eyes like flint, scanned her badge, checked a clipboard, and stepped aside. “Go straight to the main desk. Do not deviate from the hallway, ma’am.”
    Caroline slipped under the yellow tape. The lobby was unrecognizable. The usual chaotic symphony of the ER was gone, replaced by a suffocating, terrified silence. Doctors and nurses huddled in clusters. Armed soldiers lined the corridors like statues.
    “Thompson!”
    Dr. Cromwell was striding toward her. He looked like he had aged a decade since morning. His white coat was rumpled, a dark coffee stain splashed across his tie.
    “Listen carefully, I don’t have time for questions,” he snapped, his forehead gleaming with sweat. “You are assigned to ICU Room 3. You will monitor the patient’s vitals. You will not speak to him. You will not touch any personal effects in the room. If his heart rate fluctuates by more than ten percent, you hit this button.” He shoved a black pager into her palm. “Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Go.”
    Caroline walked briskly toward the private elevator bank. The air smelled different here—sharper, metallic, like ozone and gunpowder.
    As she turned the corner, the doors of the VIP elevator slid open. A group of people emerged, moving like a single, lethal organism. Men in dark suits. Military brass with medals gleaming.
    But they were just background noise.
    In the center, walking slightly ahead, was a man who looked like he had been carved from granite and violence.
    He was well over six feet, his shoulders straining the seams of his digital camouflage uniform. The rank on his chest—a silver eagle—demanded absolute submission. His face was a landscape of sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw set like a steel trap.
    As the group passed, the man turned his head.
    His eyes—a cold, piercing, impossible gray—swept the corridor. And for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto Caroline’s.
    It was like stepping onto a landmine.
    The air was violently sucked from her lungs. A jolt of pure, electric heat shot down her spine, freezing her blood. Those eyes didn’t just look at her; they stripped her down, assessed her threat level, and branded her in the span of a single heartbeat.
    “Colonel Romero,” an aide murmured, handing the man a classified tablet.
    The spell shattered. The man—Colonel Romero—broke eye contact, taking the tablet without missing a stride. He began firing off orders in a low, gravelly voice that vibrated down the hallway.
    Caroline let out a shaky breath, her knees suddenly weak. She hadn’t realized she was holding onto the wall until a hand grabbed her arm.
    “Are you breathing?” her friend Brenna whispered, pulling Caroline into a supply alcove. Brenna’s face was paper-white. “Oh my god, Caroline. Did you see him?”
    Caroline swallowed hard, her throat like sandpaper. “The Colonel?”
    “Jarrod Romero,” Brenna breathed, the name heavy with awe and terror. “Department of Defense. My cousin at the Pentagon says he’s the guy they call when the world is ending.” She clutched a medical chart to her chest. “He looks like he’d shoot you just for breathing his air.”
    Caroline rubbed the back of her neck, trying to dispel the lingering, phantom heat from that brief eye contact. “Where are you headed?”
    “ICU 3. Cromwell’s special assignment.”
    Brenna’s eyes widened, all gossip vanishing instantly. “Oh, God. Caroline, be careful. That patient… this whole thing is black-ops. The FBI tried to get in twenty minutes ago and Romero’s men turned them away at gunpoint.”
    “I just have to watch the monitors,” Caroline said, though her voice lacked conviction.
    She grabbed a supply cart and pushed through the double doors of the ICU wing. They hissed shut behind her, sealing her in a sterile, fluorescent-lit silence.
    Two MPs stood outside Room 3, their faces blank masks. They checked her badge twice before unlocking the door.
    The room was freezing. The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor was the only sound.
    In the bed lay a young man, motionless. His face was a swollen canvas of bruises, thick bandages wrapping his torso. Caroline moved to the bedside, picking up the chart.
    Alston Petersen. Lieutenant. JAG Corps.
    The list of his injuries read like a torture report.
    She set the chart down, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic spike of the heart monitor. Her pulse thrummed in her ears.
    She had told Brenna she just had to watch the monitors. But standing in the freezing room, looking at the broken soldier, Caroline knew the truth.
    She had just walked into the eye of a very deadly storm. And the man with the ice-gray eyes was the one holding the lightning.

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 2

    The next twelve hours were a blur of checking vitals and adjusting IV drips. Caroline didn’t sit down once. Every time Lieutenant Petersen stirred, she was there, checking his pupils, measuring his output. He woke up briefly around 3 AM, his eyes glassy with pain.
    “Water,” he croaked.
    She held the cup with a straw to his lips, letting him take small sips. “Slowly, Lieutenant. You’ve been out for a while.”
    He looked at her, confused, then his gaze drifted to the guards outside the door. “Where is…” His voice trailed off, too weak to finish.
    “You’re safe,” Caroline said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “Just rest.”
    He closed his eyes and drifted off again. Caroline sank back into the chair, rubbing her burning eyes. She hadn’t heard anything from the outside world. No news on what Code Atlas meant, no updates on the lockdown. Just the hum of the machines and the muffled sound of boots in the hallway.
    Around 6 AM, the door swung open without a knock.
    Caroline jumped to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat. Jarrod Romero stood in the doorway. He looked exactly as he had the night before-immaculate, unyielding, and completely exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his posture was rigid.
    He stepped inside, followed by two men in suits who looked like they hadn’t slept in a week. Dr. Cromwell scurried in behind them, looking like a nervous chihuahua next to a pack of wolves.
    “Status report,” Romero barked. He wasn’t looking at Caroline. He was looking at the bed.
    “Vitals are stable, Colonel,” Dr. Cromwell said, stepping forward. “No signs of infection. The surgery was a success, though we won’t know about nerve damage for-“
    “I wasn’t asking you, Doctor.” Romero’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He shifted his gaze to Caroline, his eyes pinning her in place. “The nurse. Report.”
    Cromwell’s mouth snapped shut. He took a step back, his face flushing.
    Romero finally turned his full gaze to Caroline. Up close, his eyes were even more unnerving. They were a pale, stormy gray, fringed with dark lashes. They assessed her with a clinical detachment that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.
    “Now,” he repeated.
    Caroline swallowed, her palms suddenly slick with sweat. She wiped them on her scrubs and forced her voice to stay level. “Lieutenant Petersen’s heart rate has been consistent, hovering around 72 BPM. Blood pressure 120/80. He woke briefly at 0300 hours, oriented but weak. I administered 2mg of morphine via IV at 0315 for pain management. Urine output is within normal limits.”
    Romero listened without blinking. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes stayed locked on her face. Then, his gaze dropped. It moved down her scrubs, past the name tag pinned to her chest, and landed on the chart in her hands.
    Specifically, on the signature line at the bottom.
    Caroline watched his face. There was a minuscule shift. A slight narrowing of his eyes. His jaw, already tight, seemed to clench even harder. He stared at the name “Caroline Thompson” for a beat too long.
    Then, just as quickly, the moment passed. He looked back up at her face, his expression once again a mask of stone.
    “Acceptable,” he said. He turned to Cromwell. “I want the security detail doubled. No one gets within fifty feet of this room without my explicit authorization. Not the hospital administrator, not the Joint Chiefs, not even God himself. Is that clear?”
    “Y-yes, Colonel,” Cromwell stammered. “But the board is already asking questions about the cost-“
    Romero took a step toward Cromwell. It was a subtle movement, but Cromwell flinched like he’d been struck. “I am not concerned with the board, Doctor. I am concerned with keeping this man alive. If you can’t manage that, I will find someone who can.”
    Cromwell paled. “Understood.”
    Romero turned back to the door. As he passed Caroline, he paused. He didn’t look at her, but his voice washed over her, low and cold.
    “Do your job, Nurse. Nothing else.”
    He walked out, his entourage trailing behind him. The door swung shut, and the oppressive weight in the room lifted.
    Caroline let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the counter to steady them.
    “What an ass,” she muttered under her breath.
    But even as she said it, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had looked at her name. Like it meant something. Like he recognized it.
    The rest of the shift passed without incident. When Brenna came in to relieve her at 7 AM, Caroline practically ran to the locker room. She stripped off her scrubs, tossing them into the hamper, and stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced over her, washing away the sweat and the antiseptic smell, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of those gray eyes.
    She dressed in the clothes she had worn to the date-the little black dress and the heels. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous.
    The cab ride home was suffocating. The morning traffic was a nightmare, and by the time the taxi pulled into the driveway of her parents’ house, her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. She paid the fare, then opened the front door, bracing herself.
    “Where have you been?”
    The voice came from the living room. Caroline closed her eyes for a second, gathering her patience, before walking in.
    Her mother, Mrs. Thompson, was sitting on the edge of the sofa. She was still in her housecoat, her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was a mask of barely contained fury.
    “I was working,” Caroline said, dropping her bag on the entryway table. “There was an emergency at the hospital.”
    “An emergency?” Her mother stood up, her voice rising. “Preston’s mother Brenda called me at six o’clock this morning. Do you know what she said? She said you walked out on Preston in the middle of dinner. You left him sitting there like a fool!”
    Caroline rubbed the back of her neck. “Mom, I had to go. It was a Code-“
    “I don’t care if the building was on fire!” Mrs. Thompson shrieked. “You do not walk out on a man like Preston! He makes three hundred thousand dollars a year, Caroline! He has a condo in Georgetown! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a man like that?”
    “He’s a snob,” Caroline said, her voice hardening. “He thinks nurses are beneath him. He told me I should just quit and find a man to support me.”
    “That’s called being a provider!” her mother shot back. “That’s what men do! Your father provided for me, and I provided him a home. That’s how the world works!”
    Caroline looked at her father, who was sitting in the armchair in the corner, hiding behind his newspaper. He didn’t look up. He never did.
    “I’m not having this argument,” Caroline said, turning toward the stairs. “I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours. I need sleep.”
    “You’re not going anywhere until we resolve this!” her mother snapped, stepping into her path. “Brenda is humiliated. Preston is humiliated. You have ruined our standing in the community!”
    “Your standing?” Caroline let out a bitter laugh. “Is that all you care about? What the neighbors think?”
    “It’s called respect, Caroline! Something you clearly know nothing about!” Mrs. Thompson’s eyes were blazing. “I have already spoken to Brenda. You are going to call Preston, and you are going to apologize to him. Personally.”
    Caroline stared at her mother in disbelief. “Apologize? For what? For having a job that matters?”
    “For being rude! For being ungrateful!” Her mother jabbed a finger toward the phone on the hall table. “You will call him, and you will make this right, or so help me God, I will call him myself and apologize on your behalf. Do you want that? Do you want your mother begging for your forgiveness?”
    The threat hit Caroline like a physical blow. The image of her mother groveling to a man like Preston Finch made her stomach turn. It was the ultimate manipulation, the one card her mother always played when she knew she was losing the argument.
    Caroline’s shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of her, leaving only exhaustion and a hollow ache in her chest.
    “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll call him.”
    She walked past her mother, not meeting her eyes, and trudged up the stairs to her room. She closed the door, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor.
    She buried her face in her hands. She’d just endured the kind of pressure at the hospital that felt like a gun to her head, and now she came home to face this. She was trapped. Work, family, the expectations of everyone around her—they were all chains binding her.

    Shielded By The Ruthless Military Boss Chapter 3

    The next morning, the drive to the hospital was a blur. Caroline’s mind was numb, stuck on a loop of Preston’s “good girl” and her mother’s triumphant smile. She felt like a puppet, her strings being pulled by everyone around her.
    When she walked into the hospital, her phone buzzed. A text from Brenna.
    More suits today. ICU is locked down tight. Be careful.
    Caroline sighed and headed for the elevator. The ICU wing was even more tense than the day before. The guards at the end of the hall were different-bigger, meaner, carrying heavier weaponry. They checked her badge three times before letting her through.
    She pushed open the door to Room 3 and stopped.
    Dr. Simon Adler, the attending physician, was standing by the bed, whispering urgently with the Colonel Jarrod Romero.
    Romero was in the same combat uniform, but today he looked even more on edge. His hands were clasped behind his back, the knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle was jumping in his cheek.
    They both looked up as she entered.
    Caroline froze in the doorway. The air in the room felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension. Dr. Adler looked nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Romero just looked dangerous.
    “Nurse Thompson,” Dr. Adler said, clearing his throat. “The Colonel was just reviewing the patient’s progress.”
    Caroline nodded, not trusting her voice. She walked over to the monitors, keeping her eyes on the screens. She could feel Jarrod’s gaze on her, heavy and assessing. It was the same feeling she had gotten in the hallway yesterday-like being caught in a searchlight.
    “The medication schedule needs to be adjusted,” Jarrod said, his voice low. “He’s too sedated. I need him lucid by 1800 hours.”
    “Colonel, if we reduce the sedation, his pain levels will be-” Dr. Adler started.
    “I am aware of the risks, Doctor,” Jarrod cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Adjust the dosage. That is an order.”
    Dr. Adler swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
    Jarrod turned and walked toward the door. As he passed Caroline, he stopped. He was close enough that she could smell him again-cedar, gunpowder, and something distinctly male. Her pulse skipped a beat.
    He looked down at her. His gray eyes were unreadable, but there was an intensity in them that made her breath catch.
    “Watch your back, Nurse,” he said quietly. “The walls have ears.”
    Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and Caroline let out a shaky breath.
    What did that mean? She looked around the room, suddenly paranoid. The walls have ears? Was he warning her about something? Or someone?
    She turned back to the bed. Lieutenant Petersen was watching her, his eyes clearer than they had been the night before.
    “We all trust the Colonel,” Petersen rasped, his voice weak. “He’s… decisive. You just do your job, and he’ll handle the rest. Please, be careful. This world… it isn’t for civilians.”
    Caroline stared at him, confused, but Petersen had already closed his eyes, his breath evening out as sleep reclaimed him.
    She stood there for a long moment, her mind racing. Standing in this room with a wounded soldier and a cryptic warning from a terrifying colonel, she realized she might be drawing closer to something far more dangerous than her stubborn mother and that ill-mannered Preston.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini
    👉 READ NOW

    Chloe had just given birth to twins, lying exhausted in a cramped, bustling hospital ward.

    When she called her husband, Julian, he was busy partying with his actress mistress. He coldly hung up on her, having already drafted a brutal divorce agreement that would leave her with a pittance.

    Strangers in the next bed loudly mocked her pitiful state, gossiping about how Julian was dumping her. For years, Chloe had erased her own identity to fit into his elite world, only to be thrown away like garbage. She was completely alone, clutching her helpless babies, bracing herself to sign the cruel papers just to survive.

    She couldn’t understand why her absolute devotion was met with such chilling indifference. Why did she have to suffer this ultimate humiliation while he celebrated with the woman who ruined her life?

    But then, a senior doctor noticed a unique mole on her wrist and ran a secret DNA test. The results were staggering: Chloe was the long-lost daughter of the billionaire Beaumont family. With her fiercely protective parents and three powerful brothers suddenly forming an impenetrable fortress around her, Chloe picked up her phone and texted her arrogant husband.

    “City Hall tomorrow at 10 AM. If you don’t show up, my lawyer will handle everything. And trust me, you won’t like their terms.”

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    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 1

    A sharp, piercing cry sliced through the sterile air of the delivery room, followed immediately by another.
    Chloe Hayes’s vision swam. Sweat pasted strands of hair to her temples. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on her bones, but the sound of her babies’ cries was a tether to life. Tears, hot and thick, blurred the already hazy lights above her.
    With a kind expression on her face, the midwife placed the two warm little babies on Chloe’s chest. The weight was surprisingly solid. A tiny, thumping heartbeat pulsed against her own exhausted one. A wave of love, so fierce it felt like a physical blow, crashed over her, stealing what little breath she had left.
    The midwife ’s voice a soothing balm. “You gave birth to a pair of adorable boy and girl twins . Both perfectly healthy.”
    Chloe smiled weakly, trying to look at the two babies surrounded by the midwives.
    Outside the delivery room, a nurse cried out, “Where’s Chloe Hayes’s family? Where are Chloe Hayes’s parents?”
    She called out again and again, but no one responded.
    On the hospital bed, Chloe’s face turned even paler at the sound.
    Had Julian really not come?
    Even though they were divorcing, he was still the children’s biological father. So before entering the delivery room, she called him.
    She lay in the hospital bed, completely exhausted and weak.
    The doctor and nurse quickly took her to the ward.
    However, she wasn’t taken to the private VIP ward that Julian had promised her, but rather an ordinary multi-person room.
    There were many people in the ward. Besides her, there were also pregnant women lying in the other three beds. Each of them was attended to by several family members.
    Some were taking care of their wives, some were leaning over the baby cribs to watch their children, and there were also new dads holding their babies and comforting them. Everyone had a happy smile on their face.
    A sense of icy humiliation swept through Chloe’s entire body.
    She gave birth suddenly, and now there was no one to take care of her. She was unable to care for the baby on her own, and the nurses couldn’t help all the time. So, she decided to call Julian for help.
    A nurse handed Chloe her phone. Her trembling fingers fumbled across the screen until she found Julian Sterling’s name in the contacts. The sharp-looking business photo he used as his profile picture seemed to mock her from the screen.
    She took a deep, shaky breath and pressed the call button.
    The sound that answered wasn’t his voice. It was the cacophony of a party-loud music, the clinking of glasses, a swell of laughter.
    Then, his voice, sharp and impatient. “Chloe? What is it? I’m busy.”
    The coldness in his tone was a familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Julian, the babies… have been born. “
    A beat of silence on the other end. Just long enough for a sliver of hope to flicker in her chest.
    Then it was extinguished. “Okay. Send the details to my assistant.”
    Before she could form a reply, a woman’s laugh, high and melodious, echoed close to the receiver. It was a laugh she recognized from countless celebrity news segments. Amelia Hayes.
    Julian’s voice returned, layered with a dismissive politeness that was worse than outright anger. “I have to go. We’re celebrating Amelia’s new movie deal.”
    The line went dead.
    The dial tone buzzed in her ear, a relentless, mechanical sound that felt like it was drilling into her skull. Chloe’s hand fell limp, the phone slipping from her grasp onto the starchy white sheets.
    The tears finally came. Not loud, hysterical sobs, but silent, wracking tremors that shook her entire body. She curled onto her side, facing the wall, pressing her face into the thin pillow to muffle the sound. She couldn’t bear the thought of the woman on the other side of the curtain hearing her.
    A boisterous family spilled in, their happy chatter filling the small space.
    “Look at the one in the next bed,” a middle-aged woman said, her voice a stage whisper. “So pitiful. Gave birth and her husband isn’t even here.”
    A younger girl replied, “Isn’t that Chloe Hayes? The one who married into the Sterling family.”
    “That’s the one!” the woman confirmed, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The papers are saying Julian is going to divorce her for that actress, Amelia Hayes.”
    “I heard Amelia’s pregnant too,” the girl added. “This is going to be some drama.”
    Each word was a fresh cut. Pity and malice, a cruel cocktail served by strangers.
    In fact, not many people knew about their marriage, as Julian always refused to bring her into his life.
    Occasionally, a few people might have seen her through certain channels and learned who she was. But so what? She smiled bitterly. Even if she became an actress like Amelia and was exposed to everyone, it was also possible that no one would recognize her as Julian’s wife.
    Chloe clamped her hands over her ears, but she couldn’t block them out. She squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness a welcome relief.
    A gentle squeak of wheels broke through her misery. A nurse was pushing a clear, plastic bassinet towards her bed, then another. The two sleeping infants were placed beside her.
    Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She pushed herself up, her sore muscles protesting, and gazed at her children.
    Their faces were so new, so perfect. The boy had her brow, a serious little frown even in sleep. The girl had a delicate nose that was an exact replica of Julian’s.
    She reached out a hesitant finger, her nail bitten and short, and gently stroked her daughter’s cheek. The skin was impossibly soft.
    In that moment, something shifted inside her. A foundation of steel began to form where only rubble had been. She was no longer just a wife, waiting for a man who would never love her.
    She was a mother.
    She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her gaze, once filled with despair, now held a new, hard-edged resolve.
    For her babies, she had to be strong.
    She picked up her phone again. Not to call Julian. She scrolled through her contacts, a desperate search for a friend, a lifeline. Her finger swiped past business contacts for the Sterling family, past numbers for caterers and florists from a life that was no longer hers.
    The scrolling stopped. The screen glowed with the names of people who were not her people. She had spent years trying to fit into Julian’s world, and in the process, she had erased her own.
    She was utterly, completely alone.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 2

    The early morning sun cast long, pale stripes across the floor. Chloe hadn’t slept all night. Her eyes burned with a dry, gritty exhaustion that went deeper than the physical toll of childbirth.
    She watched the gentle rise and fall of her son’s chest, the tiny flutter of her daughter’s eyelids. And as she watched them, a memory, sharp and unwelcome, surfaced.
    Six months ago, Julian, who hadn’t been home in ages, suddenly returned and handed her a divorce agreement.
    The terms were a public execution on paper. She was to relinquish all claims to any Sterling assets. She would receive a one-time payment, barely enough to cover a year’s rent in a decent neighborhood. In return, she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement so ironclad it would prevent her from ever speaking about their marriage, his family, or even the existence of the agreement itself.
    “Sign this,” he had said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze fixed on the skyline outside his window. “Amelia is the partner I should have had from the beginning.”
    “What about the babies?” she had asked, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly.
    He had finally turned to look at her then, his eyes filled with a chilling indifference. “The Sterling family will provide for their financial needs. But don’t think you can use them as leverage for anything more.”
    She didn’t want to agree at all. She even thought that she’d be willing to endure this situation for the rest of her life. She refused to get a divorce. Even if his heart belonged to Amelia, she would still keep his wife’s title, ensuring that Amelia could never be anything more than a mistress.
    But she was willing to risk her entire life, yet she lost to his ruthlessness.
    He threatened her with the children—if she didn’t sign, the babies in her womb had to be aborted!
    She couldn’t give up her children.
    The doctor said that she had a special physical condition. If she aborted the babies, she might not be able to get pregnant again in the future.
    She had no relatives left. Her children were her only hope.
    For the sake of her children, she ultimately signed the divorce agreement.
    But she never expected that this man would be so heartless as to wouldn’t even take a look at his own children.
    Was it just because she was only a foster daughter of the Hayes family, while Amelia was the biological one?
    Twenty-two years ago, her adoptive parents, who had been unable to have children after years of marriage, adopted her from an orphanage. But no one expected that just a few months after adopting her, the adoptive mother became pregnant and gave birth to their own daughter, Amelia. From then on, she became the daughter whom the family didn’t really care for. Her adoptive parents always favored Amelia.
    Three years ago, Julian was in a car accident and fell into a vegetative state. In their own interest, the Hayes family put her forward as Julian’s wife in exchange for investment from the Sterling family.
    A year ago, Julian woke up unexpectedly. She thought that at last, after all the hardships, sweetness would come. But to her surprise, her sister Amelia fell in love with him at first sight.
    Throughout her life, she had already given in to Amelia far too much. She didn’t want to let her husband go to Amelia as well. In the end, she cut ties with her adoptive parents, because she truly loved him.
    But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t win Julian’s heart.
    Now, back in the stark reality of the hospital room, her nails dug into her palms. They signed the divorce agreement last time, but they haven’t officially gone to the civil affairs office to get the divorce certificate. So, legally speaking, they’re not yet divorced. She was determined to put an end to this as soon as possible.
    For her children, she had to. She had to take the money and get them as far away from the Sterling name as possible.
    A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
    A man in a crisp white coat entered, a warm, professional smile on his face. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with kind eyes and a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the rushed nurses. His name tag read: Dr. Quentin Beaumont, Head of Obstetrics.
    He was the department head. She wondered why he was doing routine rounds in a shared ward.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Sterling,” he said, his voice gentle. He asked about her recovery, his questions precise and his manner so genuinely caring it caught her off guard.
    Chloe answered politely, a wall of practiced courtesy around her.
    Quentin’s gaze drifted to the bassinets. His friendly expression tightened, just for a second. His eyes narrowed slightly.
    He turned back to her, his tone casual. “The children resemble you. Are your family coming to visit soon?”
    The question landed like a stone in her stomach. Chloe’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t have any family,” she said, the words tasting bitter.
    A fleeting, elusive expression crossed Quentin’s face. He noticed a small, light-brown mole on the inside of her left wrist, just below the pulse. That mole was identical to the one his sister-in-law Eleanor Beaumont had.
    His heart trembled violently. An idea, a hope that he had buried for over twenty years—a wild and seemingly impossible hope—struggled to surface in his mind.
    His heart gave a sudden, violent lurch. That was exactly why he came here. Confirm the birthmark.
    Yesterday, when he accidentally saw Chloe, he was shocked. Her appearance was too similar to his sister-in-law’s. There was even a faint resemblance to his brother Richard Beaumont in the girl’s features. He immediately thought of her niece who had gone missing 22 years ago.
    In the end, he couldn’t resist and secretly took a sample of the girl’s blood for a paternity test.
    The test results would be available today, and he would know the answer soon.
    “Get some rest,” he said, “I’ll make sure the nurses take good care of you.”
    Quentin returned to the office with steady steps, ready to endure the wait for the test results.
    The wait was agonizing. He paced the confines of his office like a caged animal. Every tick of the clock on the wall was a hammer blow against his nerves.
    An hour later, an email notification pinged. The subject line was stark: “99.99% Match.”
    Quentin’s hand shook so badly he could barely control the mouse. He clicked open the email. He stared at the report, at the undeniable, scientific proof on the screen.
    The doctor who had delivered thousands of babies, who had faced life and death with unwavering composure, felt his eyes burn with tears.
    He had found her.
    He had found Richard’s daughter.
    He grabbed his phone, his fingers punching in a number he knew by heart.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 3

    In a sprawling corner office atop a skyscraper in New York City, Richard was concluding a transatlantic video conference. His voice was a low, commanding rumble, and the executives on the screen listened with rapt attention. He was a man accustomed to absolute control.
    Suddenly, his private, encrypted cell phone vibrated against the polished surface of his desk. It was a frantic, insistent buzz. The caller ID showed a single name: Quentin.
    Richard knew his younger brother. Quentin would never call this line, at this time, unless it was a matter of life or death.
    He held up a hand to the screen. “Meeting adjourned.” He didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, plunging the screen into darkness.
    He answered the phone, his voice tight with apprehension. “Quentin, what’s wrong?”
    The voice on the other end was choked with an emotion Richard hadn’t heard in years. It was a raw, trembling mix of shock and elation.
    “Richard… I found her. I found your daughter. Her name now is Chloe Hayes.”
    The words struck Richard like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis. He shot up from his leather chair, the heavy, gold-plated fountain pen in his hand clattering to the floor.
    “Are you sure?” he demanded, his voice a strained whisper. “One hundred percent?”
    “DNA match. 99.99%,” Quentin’s voice cracked. “She’s here, Richard. In my hospital. She just gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.”
    Richard stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. Twenty-two years of hollow anniversaries, of his wife’s silent tears.
    He took a deep, shuddering breath, the titan of industry forcing himself back into the role of the patriarch, the protector. “Don’t let anyone near her,” he commanded, his voice now laced with steel. “I’m on my way.”
    He hung up and slammed a small, red button concealed on the underside of his desk.
    Within seconds, his chief of staff burst into the office, his face pale with alarm.
    “Get the jet ready. We’re flying to Massachusetts. Now,” Richard ordered, his voice leaving no room for questions. “And get Eleanor, Alexander, Sebastian, and Nicholas on a conference call. Immediately.”
    The assistant, sensing the seismic shift in his boss’s universe, simply nodded and vanished.
    Minutes later, the Beaumont family’s emergency protocol was activated.
    On a screen in Richard’s office, four faces appeared. His eldest son, Alexander Beaumont, the formidable lawyer, was in his chambers, a court recess just beginning. His second son, Sebastian Beaumont, the hardened police detective, was at his desk in a bustling precinct. His youngest son, Nicholas Beaumont, the maverick film director, was on a chaotic movie set in California.
    Richard looked at his sons, his composure a thin veneer over a raging sea of emotion. “We found her,” he said, his voice thick. “Your sister is alive.”
    A stunned silence fell over the call. It was broken by a collective gasp, a chorus of disbelieving voices.
    At a charity luncheon on the Upper East Side, Eleanor was gracefully holding court. An assistant discreetly handed her a phone with an urgent message. Excusing herself with a serene smile that betrayed none of the sudden panic in her heart, she stepped into a private powder room and joined the call.
    When she heard her husband’s words, the regal composure she had maintained for decades shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed a silk handkerchief to her mouth, her perfectly applied mascara threatening to run for the first time in public memory.
    “She’s in a hospital in Massachusetts,” Richard continued, his voice firm, a general rallying his troops. “She needs us. Everyone, drop what you’re doing. We’re going to get her back.”
    The response was immediate and absolute.
    “Cancel all my appointments for the next week,” Alexander told his assistant off-screen.
    Sebastian was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. “Family emergency, cover for me!” he yelled to a bewildered colleague.
    On the film set, Nicholas ripped off his headset and bellowed into a megaphone, “Wrap for the day! Everyone go home!” The entire production ground to a halt, leaving a crew of hundreds standing in stunned silence.
    The vast, powerful machinery of the Beaumont family, an empire that spanned continents and industries, stopped on a dime. All for one girl.
    Back in Massachusetts, Quentin had already set his own plans in motion. He walked with purpose down the hospital corridor, his white coat a banner of authority. He stopped outside the door to multi-patient wards.
    He took a deep breath. His first job was to get his niece out of this public, undignified room. He was going to take her to a place where she would be safe, cared for, and treated like the princess she was.
    He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door, composing his features into the kindest, most reassuring smile he could muster.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo

    The Neglected Wife's Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo
    👉 READ NOW

    On our third anniversary, my husband canceled our dinner, claiming a sudden work emergency.

    I tracked his phone to an exclusive French restaurant, only to find him tenderly fastening a blessed bracelet—one I had flown across the world to get for him—onto his college ex-girlfriend’s wrist.

    The sheer shock triggered a violent placental abruption. Bleeding out in my car just across the street, I frantically called his number. Through the window, I watched him glance at his screen, frown in annoyance, and press decline to focus on his lover. While I was wheeled into a freezing operating room for an emergency C-section utterly alone, he took his mistress back to our marital bed.

    He didn’t even bother to check if I was alive, completely oblivious that our premature daughter was fighting for her life in the NICU. I soon discovered our entire marriage was a sham. He had used my family’s wealth to save his company, and now he was trading me to secure a massive business deal with his ex’s father. The man I loved didn’t exist; he only saw me as a disposable asset.

    “I’m going to make him wish he had never been born.”

    After secretly securing my baby in a private retreat, I ordered a medical-grade silicone pregnancy belly to hide my flat stomach. I stepped back into our penthouse, ready to burn his precious empire to the ground.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 1

    “I made the reservations at Per Se, just like you wanted.” Adalynn Craig smoothed down the silk of her dress, her voice a little too bright in the cavernous silence of their penthouse apartment. She ran a hand over her seven-month belly, a reflexive, protective gesture.
    Across the room, Julian Hawthorne didn’t look up from his phone. “Cancel it.”
    The words, clipped and cold, hung in the air. Adalynn’s fingers tightened on the photo album she was holding—a leather-bound collection of their three years of marriage, her anniversary gift to him. “But… it’s our anniversary, Julian. I thought we could—”
    “Something came up at work. Emergency board meeting.” He finally looked at her, his expression impatient, as if she were a minor annoyance he had to deal with. “We can do it another time.”
    He never specified when “another time” would be. It was his standard line, the one he used to brush her off for the last six months. A familiar, cold knot formed in Adalynn’s stomach. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face feeling stiff. “Okay. Of course. Work is important.”
    She watched him grab his keys, his movements brisk and final. He didn’t kiss her goodbye. He didn’t even glance at her belly. The heavy front door clicked shut, leaving her alone with the perfectly set dinner table for two and the scent of the roast cooling in the oven.
    Disappointment, sharp and bitter, rose in her throat. She sank onto the velvet sofa, the photo album a heavy weight in her lap. She wouldn’t let him ruin this. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just stressed. An idea sparked—a desperate, hopeful one. She would go to him. She would bring him a thermos of the soup he loved, show him she supported him. A surprise.
    A few minutes later, dressed in the dress he once told her made her eyes look like the sea after a storm, she grabbed the gift and headed for the garage. As she started the car, a familiar, sick feeling of doubt crept in. It was a small, ugly habit she’d developed—checking his location. She told herself it was just for peace of mind.
    She opened the app on her phone. Her thumb hovered over his icon. The screen refreshed, and a small dot appeared on the map. It wasn’t at the Hawthorne Group headquarters downtown. It was pulsing steadily over a small, exclusive block in the West Village. Over Le Ciel, the most expensive, most romantic French restaurant in the city.
    Her breath hitched. Maybe it’s a surprise, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. A reverse surprise. He’s waiting for me there. The thought was flimsy, a paper-thin shield against a much darker possibility, but she clung to it.
    She drove, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. A light rain began to fall, blurring the city lights into long, weeping streaks. Her stomach churned, a mixture of bad premonition and pregnancy-induced nausea.
    She parked across the street from the restaurant. The rain was heavier now, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof of the car. Through the enormous, floor-to-ceiling window, she saw him. He was seated at a secluded corner table, bathed in the warm, intimate glow of a candle.
    And he was not alone.
    Across from him sat Carlene Shaffer. His college girlfriend. The one he’d sworn was just a part of his past. Carlene looked elegant, her blonde hair catching the light as she laughed at something he said. Julian was smiling back, a soft, unguarded smile that Adalynn hadn’t seen directed at her in years. It was a physical blow.
    Then, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, velvet pouch. From it, he drew a bracelet made of dark, polished sandalwood beads.
    Adalynn’s vision tunneled. She felt the air leave her lungs in a painful rush. It was the bracelet she had flown twelve hours to a remote temple to get for him, a blessing for his loyalty and success that she had prayed over for hours. He had promised to wear it forever.
    She watched, frozen, as Julian leaned across the table. He took Carlene’s delicate wrist in his hand and gently, tenderly, fastened the bracelet around it. Then he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
    A sound escaped Adalynn’s throat—not a scream, not a sob, but something raw and involuntary, like an animal caught in a trap. Her hand flew to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips as if she could force the sound back inside. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She pressed her other palm flat against the cold glass of the car window, her fingers splaying wide, her breath fogging the pane in short, ragged bursts.
    Her entire body began to tremble—not from the cold, but from a seismic shift happening deep within her. The woman who had climbed into this car an hour ago, still clinging to the hope that her marriage could be saved, was dying. And in her place, something else was being born. Something cold. Something unforgiving.
    She didn’t cry. She didn’t look away. She pressed her hand against the cold glass of the car window, her eyes burning into the scene in front of her, and she burned every detail into her memory. The way his thumb stroked Carlene’s wrist. The way Carlene tilted her head, basking in his attention. The way her bracelet—her blessing, her prayer, her twelve-hour flight—dangled from another woman’s arm like a trophy. She would remember this. When the time came, she would remember every single detail. And she would make sure he regretted it with every breath he took.
    The world tilted. The gift box in Adalynn’s lap slid to the floor, landing with a dull, final thud. At the same instant, a vicious, searing pain tore through her abdomen. It was a cramp so intense it stole her breath, making her double over. It wasn’t like the Braxton Hicks contractions she was used to. This was different. This was violent.
    With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and dialed Julian’s number. She watched through the window as he glanced at his screen, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he pressed the decline button.
    The pain sharpened, a hot blade twisting deep inside her. She tried again. He declined it again, this time silencing his phone and placing it face down on the table, his full attention returning to Carlene.
    She watched Carlene glance at the phone, then look up at Julian with a knowing smile. She watched Carlene’s lips form the words: “Is it her again?” She watched Julian shrug—actually shrug—as if his wife’s life-or-death emergency was a minor inconvenience. And then she watched Carlene laugh.
    A wave of dizziness washed over her. Another cramp, stronger this time, made her cry out. A sudden, warm gush of fluid soaked through her dress and onto the leather seat. Her water had broken. Panic, cold and absolute, seized her.
    She fumbled with her phone, her fingers slick with sweat. She couldn’t think. 911. She had to call 911. She managed to dial the numbers, her voice a choked whisper as she gave the operator her location.
    Inside the restaurant, Julian raised his wine glass, toasting the woman across from him. He was completely oblivious to the flashing lights that were now approaching, to the wife who was fighting for her life and the life of their child just a few feet away.
    The paramedics were gentle but firm, pulling her from the car and onto a gurney. As they lifted her into the ambulance, her gaze found the restaurant window one last time. Julian was leaning in, his eyes locked on Carlene’s, his expression full of a tenderness that had once been hers.
    The doors slammed shut, and Adalynn’s heart shattered into a million pieces. The physical agony and the emotional devastation merged into a single, overwhelming wave of blackness.
    At the hospital, a doctor with tired eyes, Dr. Foster, spoke to her in urgent, clipped tones. “Severe placental abruption. The baby’s in distress. We need to do an emergency C-section. Now.”
    They wheeled her into the sterile, freezing operating room. There was no one to hold her hand. No Julian to whisper that everything would be okay. His wedding vow, “I will never let you be alone,” echoed in her mind, a cruel, mocking joke.
    As the anesthesia began to pull her under, a single thought burned through the pain and the fog: My baby. Please, let my baby live.
    She was vaguely aware of frantic voices, the words “hemorrhaging” and “losing her” floating somewhere above her.
    Hours later, after a romantic dinner and a nightcap in his office, Julian Hawthorne finally checked his messages. He saw the missed calls from Adalynn and rolled his eyes, assuming it was just another one of her needy episodes.
    In the hospital, Adalynn was fighting for her life.
    When she finally stabilized, her daughter had already been born. Lily Craig Hawthorne, weighing just three pounds, was whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit before Adalynn even had a chance to see her.

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 2

    The first thing Adalynn felt when she woke was a line of fire across her lower abdomen. The pain was a brutal confirmation that the night before had not been a nightmare. It was real. The empty chair beside her hospital bed was also real.
    A kind-faced nurse named Olivia Price came in to check her vitals. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, her voice soft with a pity that made Adalynn’s skin crawl.
    “My baby,” Adalynn rasped, her throat raw. “Is she…?”
    “She’s a fighter,” Olivia said with a reassuring smile. “Stable for now. She’s in the NICU, getting the best care.”
    A sliver of relief pierced through the fog of pain and betrayal. Stable. That was enough for now. The anger, however, was becoming clearer, sharper. She reached for her phone on the bedside table, her movements slow and agonizing. She would give him one last chance. One final opportunity to not be the monster she now knew he was.
    She dialed his private number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, someone picked up.
    But it wasn’t Julian’s voice.
    “Hello?” The voice was feminine, husky with sleep, and sickeningly familiar. It was Carlene Shaffer.
    Adalynn’s heart stopped. In the background, she could hear the distinct sound of the rain showerhead in their master bathroom. Their bathroom. In their home.
    “Julian’s in the shower right now,” Carlene continued, her tone dripping with smug ownership. “Can I take a message?” A beat of silence, then, “If this is a business matter for Mr. Hawthorne, you can try his office later.”
    The implication was clear. She was the personal. Adalynn was the business.
    While Adalynn had been bleeding on an operating table, her husband had taken his mistress home to their bed. The bed where their child was conceived.
    Adalynn’s voice, when it came, was not the broken whisper of a wounded wife. It was ice. “Carlene,” she said, and she heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line—the sound of a woman realizing she had been caught. “You’re in my house. Wearing my bracelet. Sleeping in my bed. Enjoy it while it lasts. Because when I’m done, you won’t even be a footnote in his story. You’ll be the punchline.”
    She hung up before Carlene could respond.
    Without a word, Adalynn ended the call. The last, fragile thread of hope she didn’t even know she was holding onto snapped. It wasn’t just an affair. It was a complete and utter replacement.
    A cold, terrifyingly clear thought formed in her mind. He cannot know about the baby. Lily was not a Hawthorne. She was a Craig. She was hers alone. This child would not be a pawn in a divorce, a bargaining chip for a man who didn’t deserve the title of father.
    Her hands shook as she scrolled through her contacts and found Sloane Hayes. Her best friend. Her rock.
    Sloane picked up on the first ring. “Addy? What’s up? Ready for our yacht weekend?”
    A choked sob escaped Adalynn’s lips. “Sloane,” she whispered, and then the dam broke. The story spilled out in a torrent of broken, gasping sentences—the restaurant, the bracelet, the rejected calls, the emergency surgery, Carlene answering his phone from their bed.
    On the other end of the line, Sloane’s silence morphed from shock into pure, unadulterated rage. “That son of a bitch,” she finally hissed. “That absolute, grade-A piece of human garbage. I’m going to make him wish he was never born. I’m coming. Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
    After hanging up, Adalynn wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes were dry, burning with a new, cold fire. She was done crying. She was done being a victim.
    In the penthouse, Julian stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. Carlene was perched on the edge of his desk, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. Her face was pale, her hands trembling slightly.
    “Your wife called,” she said, her voice lacking its usual smug confidence. “I answered for you.”
    Julian frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He rubbed at his temples. “What did she want?”
    “She… she knew I was here. She said—” Carlene stopped, unable to repeat Adalynn’s words. “She’s not what you told me she was, Julian. She’s not weak.”
    “She’s always dramatic,” Julian muttered, pouring himself a scotch. “It’s exhausting. Whatever she said, ignore it. She’s harmless.”
    Carlene opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Harmless. The woman on the phone had not sounded harmless. She had sounded like a promise.
    He accepted the explanation without question. It was easier than confronting the truth.
    Twenty minutes later, Sloane burst into the hospital room, her face a mask of fury and concern. She took one look at Adalynn’s pale face, the IV in her arm, and the slight mound under the blanket where her stomach was bandaged, and her eyes filled with tears.
    “Oh, Addy.”
    Adalynn met her gaze, her own eyes steady and resolute. “I’m going to hide her, Sloane,” she said, her voice low and even. “He can never know she was born.” She took a breath. “Secure the child, ditch the father.”
    Sloane stared at her, the shock on her face quickly replaced by a fierce, predatory grin. “Damn right,” she said, her voice full of admiration. “That’s my girl. We are not letting that bastard or his dragon of a mother use that baby to control you or the trust fund. Not happening. When we’re done with him, he won’t even be able to afford the shirt on his back.”
    Sloane immediately took charge. “You rest. I’m going to go meet my goddaughter.” She squeezed Adalynn’s hand. “And don’t you worry. He’s going to pay for this. For every single thing.”
    As Sloane left, Adalynn’s phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. A new post from Carlene Shaffer. The photo was a selfie, taken from behind Julian’s desk, the glittering skyline of the city spread out behind her. Her chin was tilted up in a look of triumph. On her wrist, the sandalwood bracelet was prominently displayed.
    The caption read: “A new chapter.”
    Adalynn stared at the photo. Then, very calmly, she took a screenshot. She created a new folder on her phone and labeled it: “Evidence.” The screenshot went in, alongside the call log showing her rejected calls to Julian, the timestamp of her 911 call, and a photo of her empty hospital room.
    “A new chapter,” she murmured to herself. “You have no idea.”
    Sloane, who had paused in the doorway to check her own phone, saw it at the same time. A low growl escaped her throat. “I am going to rip her hair out.”
    “No,” Adalynn said, her voice stopping Sloane in her tracks. It was quiet, but held a core of steel. “Not yet. We don’t get emotional. We get strategic.” She looked at her friend, her eyes dark with purpose. “She just publicly wore stolen property and called it a new chapter. When I’m done with her, her entire story will be a cautionary tale that women whisper about at dinner parties for the next twenty years.”
    Sloane saw the look on her face and knew it was true. The sweet, accommodating Adalynn Craig she had known was gone. In her place was a woman who had been pushed past her breaking point and had come back as something far more dangerous.

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 3

    After Sloane left for the NICU, Adalynn’s gaze kept returning to the picture of Carlene on her phone. To the bracelet. The memory was so vivid it felt like it was happening now. A year ago, she had taken a solo trip to a small, secluded monastery in the mountains of Bhutan. Julian’s company had been on the verge of a hostile takeover, and he had been a wreck, consumed by anxiety.
    She’d spent two days with the monks, praying for him, for his peace of mind, for the protection of his legacy. They had blessed the sandalwood beads, infusing them with prayers for fidelity and strength. When she gave it to him, he’d been moved to tears. He’d kissed her and promised he would never take it off, that it would be a symbol of their unbreakable bond.
    Now that symbol was on another woman’s wrist, a trophy of his betrayal. The memory, once a source of comfort, now felt like a shard of glass in her heart. But she didn’t flinch. She let it cut. Let it bleed. Every scar from this moment forward would be a reminder of what she was fighting for.
    Meanwhile, on the fifth floor of the very same hospital, Julian was trying to charm Mr. Knight, a key investor whose health was failing. Carlene was by his side, playing the part of the concerned, attentive associate. They had ridden the elevator up, completely unaware that Julian’s wife was lying in a hospital bed two floors below, recovering from major surgery.
    After the visit, they stopped by the nurses’ station to inquire about scheduling a follow-up. As they approached, they could hear two nurses, Patty Hicks and Olivia Price, talking in low voices.
    “That poor woman in 302, Mrs. Craig,” Patty said, shaking her head. “So beautiful, and she had to go through that emergency C-section all alone. The husband hasn’t shown his face once.”
    Olivia sighed, refilling a cup with water. “I know. And the baby, a little girl, so premature she’s still in an isolette. What kind of man misses a moment like that?”
    Julian froze. The name “Craig.” The room number “302.” The word “C-section.” A cold finger traced down his spine. He turned to the nurses, his voice sharper than he intended. “What did you say the patient’s name was?”
    Patty looked up, startled. “Mrs. Craig. Adalynn Craig. She came in last night. Emergency C-section. Almost didn’t make it. Why—do you know her?”
    For one breath, for one heartbeat, the truth hung in the air between them. Julian opened his mouth—
    And Carlene’s hand clamped down on his arm. “Julian,” she said, her voice tight. “We’re going to be late for your meeting.”
    He hesitated. He looked at the nurses. He thought of Adalynn—his wife, his pregnant wife, who was supposed to be at Sloane’s, safe and angry at him, not bleeding out on an operating table. But Carlene’s grip was insistent, her nails digging into his sleeve. And the truth was too big, too terrifying. If he acknowledged it, everything would change.
    So he didn’t.
    “No,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t know her.”
    He turned away from the nurses’ station and walked toward the elevator, Carlene’s hand still on his arm. He didn’t look back. But the words echoed in his head with every step: emergency C-section. Almost didn’t make it. Husband hasn’t shown his face once.
    He knew. Some part of him knew. But he had already chosen not to care.
    Just as they turned the corner, Sloane Hayes walked directly into their path, coming from the direction of the NICU.
    Sloane stopped dead in her tracks. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fancy meeting you here. Of all the hospitals in all the world.”
    Julian’s face darkened. “Sloane. What are you doing here?”
    Her eyes flicked dismissively over to Carlene, then back to him. “I’m visiting a friend,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade. “A friend whose husband was too busy wining and dining his mistress to answer his phone while she was bleeding out on the side of the road. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Julian?”
    The blood drained from Julian’s face. For a split second, he looked like a man who had just been punched in the gut. Carlene’s grip on his arm tightened convulsively.
    “Watch your tone, Sloane,” he managed, but his voice had lost its commanding edge. It sounded weak. Defensive. Guilty.
    Sloane just laughed, a cold, humorless sound. She didn’t give away a single detail about Adalynn’s current condition. She didn’t need to. “You’d better hope you haven’t done anything you’ll regret, Julian,” she said, her smile vanishing. “Because I’ve seen what happens to men who cross the Hayes family. Spoiler alert—they don’t recover. And you?” She looked him up and down with utter contempt. “You crossed the wrong woman. And you don’t even know it yet.”
    Carlene, sensing the conversation was about to escalate into a full-blown scene, pulled Julian’s arm again, more insistently this time. “Let’s just go, Julian. She’s not worth it.”
    Julian shot Sloane one last glare before letting Carlene lead him away. The encounter left him feeling irritated and vaguely uneasy, but more than that—he felt exposed. Sloane knew something. Something about Adalynn. Something he should know but was too afraid to ask.
    Sloane watched them go, her fists clenched. She took a deep, calming breath before turning back towards Adalynn’s room. She decided not to mention the run-in. Adalynn didn’t need the extra stress.
    When she entered the room, her expression was bright. “She’s beautiful, Addy,” she gushed, pulling out her phone to show Adalynn a picture she’d snapped through the glass of the isolette. “She’s tiny, but she has your nose. And she’s a fighter. I can already tell.”
    Adalynn stared at the image of her daughter, a tiny, perfect creature connected to a web of wires and tubes. A fierce, primal wave of love washed over her, so powerful it momentarily eclipsed everything else. This tiny person was all that mattered now. The last lingering shred of attachment she might have felt for Julian, the man who co-created this life, severed completely. He was nothing. A stranger. An obstacle.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss by Gregory Ellington

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss by Gregory Ellington
    👉 READ NOW

    Madison Harper knows all too well the chaos Alexander Knight leaves in his wake. As the billionaire CEO’s personal assistant, she’s cleaned up after countless scandals, soothed ex-lovers, and kept his messy private life from spilling into the boardroom. But when one fateful night lands her in Alexander’s bed, the dynamics shift dramatically.

    What begins as a moment of uncontrollable spirals into a neither can resist: Madison needs financial help for her mother’s mounting medical bills, and Alexander offers the resources-on the condition she becomes his girlfriend for a year. No strings, no emotions, just business.

    But as the lines between their professional and private lives blur, Madison’s resolve to keep her heart guarded begins to waver. Beneath Alexander’s reckless charm lies a magnetic that draws her closer than she ever intended. Just as she starts to believe she might be more than his latest “arrangement,” the ghost of Alexander’s long-lost first love, Katherine, reappears, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

    Can Madison protect her heart while navigating this high-stakes game of desire and deception? Or will this with her infamously reckless boss cost her more than she’s prepared to lose?

    👉 READ NOW

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss Chapter 1

    Madison

    I lifted my gaze from the computer screen as the elevator dinged. A woman in a red dress strutted toward me, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a timer counting down to chaos.
    “I’m here to see Alexander.” She planted her manicured hands on my desk, leaning forward with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    “I don’t need one. We have… history. Just tell Shim Vanessa’s here.”
    “I’m sorry, but Mr. Knight only takes scheduled appointments. I can help you set one up for next week-“
    “Listen here, little secretary.” She interrupted. “I’m Vanessa Caldwell. I spent the night with Alexander last weekend, and I’m not leaving until I see him.”
    “As I mentioned, without an appointment or express permission from Mr. Knight-“
    “Who do you think you are? Just because you stand next to him all day, fetching his coffee and taking notes, you think you’re special?”
    “Ma’am, I need to ask you to leave-“
    “You’re pathetic. Playing gatekeeper, pretending you matter. I bet you fantasize about him noticing you, don’t you? Honey, even if you spread those thighs on his desk, he wouldn’t give you a second glance. He needs a real woman, not some desperate little assistant playing dress-up in her Target blazer.”
    “Security will escort you out if necessary.”I maintained an expressionless face.
    “You wouldn’t dare. Do you know who my father is? I could have your job with one phone call.”
    “And I could remove you from the premises with one button.” I placed my hand near the security alert under my desk. “Your choice, Ms. Caldwell.”
    Vanessa’s face contorted with rage. In one fluid motion, she snatched the water pitcher from my desk and emptied its contents over my head. Ice-cold water drenched my hair, makeup, and brand-new blouse – for the record, it wasn’t from Target.
    “Oops.” She smirked, dropping the empty pitcher on my keyboard with a clatter. “Looks like someone needs a towel.”
    But before I could process my next move, the elevator dinged again.
    Alexander Knight stepped out, filling the lobby like a storm front. His easy stride faltered as he took in the scene – me looking like a drowned rat, Vanessa preening like a cat who’d gotten the cream, and water pooling across my desk and expensive electronics.
    “Well.” His voice cut through the tension. “This is certainly not the greeting I expected.”
    Vanessa’s face lit up. “Alexander, darling! I was just-“
    “Assaulting my PA and damaging company property?” He crossed to us in three strides. “Bold strategy.”
    “I was simply having a conversation with your PA.” Her voice dripped honey while her eyes stabbed mine. “She refused to let me see you.”
    “Because that’s her job.” Alexander handed me his monogrammed handkerchief. His touch sent an unwanted tingle up my arm. “Miss Harper follows my protocols to the letter. That’s why she’s invaluable.”
    I dabbed at my face, grateful I’d worn waterproof mascara today. The handkerchief smelled like his cologne – a detail I wasn’t focusing on.
    “But darling,” Vanessa stepped closer to Alexander, her hip swaying. “After our magical night together-“
    “You mean the charity gala where you had too much champagne, and I called you a cab? That was hardly magical, though I hear you’ve been telling a different version around town.”
    I bit my lip to hide my smile.
    “I-” Vanessa gaped like a fish.
    “Now,” Alexander’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I prayed he couldn’t feel how my pulse jumped. “You’ve just assaulted my favorite employee and probably destroyed about ten thousand dollars worth of equipment. Would you like me to call security or the cops?”
    I felt my cheeks heat at my ‘favorite employee.’ He was always like this-charming, flirtatious, and making everyone feel special. It didn’t mean anything.
    “You wouldn’t dare.” But Vanessa’s confidence wavered.
    “Try me. I protect my people, especially those who keep my life running smoothly. In fact, I should ban you from the building entirely. What do you think, Miss Harper?”
    “I think that sounds reasonable, Mr. Knight.” I stayed professional despite his touch warming me.
    Vanessa’s face cycled through fifty shades of red. “This is ridiculous. You’ll regret this. Both of you will.”
    “The only thing I regret is not having my phone out to record this tantrum. Security’s on their way up. I suggest you leave before they arrive.”
    “My father will hear about this!”
    “I’m sure he will. Give Charles my regards. Tell him his company’s stock is looking shaky these days.”
    As soon as the elevator doors closed on her scowling face, Alexander’s hand left my shoulder, and I immediately missed its warmth – a thought I quickly shoved into my brain’s ‘do not examine’ folder.
    I stood from my chair, water dripping onto the floor.
    “Are you alright?” Alexander’s brow furrowed as he assessed the damage. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”
    “Just my pride. And maybe my electronics.” I poked at my waterlogged keyboard, which responded with an alarming spark.
    “Leave that. I’ll have IT bring up replacements.” He pulled out his phone. “John can get you to the mall in fifteen minutes. Use the company card to pick up whatever you need-clothes, makeup, hair products.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Knight, but it’s no big deal. My shift ends in an hour, and I have a prior engagement after work.”
    “You’re going to sit in wet clothes for another hour?”
    “I’ll manage,” I insisted with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer.”
    He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me but nodded anyway.

    I pushed open the door to the restaurant, ready for a relaxing dinner with Hazel after my disaster of a day. The hostess led me toward our usual corner booth, but I stopped short. Instead of just my best friend, a man sat beside her.
    “Mads!” Hazel bounced up, waving like I might miss her in the half-empty restaurant. “You made it! Come meet Derek!”
    I forced a smile and sat across from them. Of course, Hazel would ambush me with a surprise blind date after the day I’d had.
    “Mads, this is Derek. He’s a financial analyst, and I met him at that yoga retreat last month.” Hazel’s eyes sparkled with matchmaking glee. “Derek, meet my best friend Madison.”
    “Pleasure.” Derek flashed perfectly whitened teeth. “Hazel told me so much about you.”
    I resisted the urge to kick Hazel under the table. “All good things, I hope?”
    We fumbled through awkward small talk about the weather and restaurant specials until Derek excused himself to the restroom.
    The moment he was out of earshot, Hazel pounced. “Isn’t he dreamy? Those shoulders! And he’s so successful – you should see his condo downtown.”
    “Haze…”
    “Come on, when did you last go on a real date? You work too hard, sweetie. Everyone needs someone to lean on.”
    “I’m fine on my own right now. With Mom’s treatments and everything…”
    “How is she doing?” Hazel’s expression softened.
    “The same. The new medication is expensive, but…” I shrugged.
    “And that brother of yours is still MIA?” Hazel’s face darkened. “What a selfish asshole, leaving you to handle everything alone.”
    “I don’t want to talk about him. Mom worked three jobs to raise us. The least I can do is help her now.”
    Derek slid back into the booth, adjusting his designer tie. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”
    “Madison was just telling us about her day at work,” Hazel chirped.
    “Oh, right – you work as a secretary or something?” Derek asked.
    “Personal assistant to Alexander Knight at Knight Industries.”
    “Alexander Knight? The CEO?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Must be quite the… demanding position.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Come on, we all know how these things work.” He winked. “Beautiful young woman, powerful executive-I’m sure you’ve found ways to make yourself invaluable to the company.”
    Hazel’s jaw dropped. “Derek!”
    “What? I’m just saying what everyone thinks when they see these arrangements.” He gestured vaguely at me. “No judgment here. A girl’s got to use her assets.”
    “You absolute pig.” Hazel’s face flushed red. “Get out.”
    “Hey, I’m just being honest. No need to get defensive-“
    “Out!” Hazel stood up, pointing toward the door. “Now.”
    “Alright, alright. Guess some people can’t handle the truth.” He slid out of the booth, adjusting his jacket. “Call me when you’re ready to be real about things.”
    We watched him weave between tables toward the exit. Hazel collapsed back into her seat, mortified.
    “Oh my god, Mads. I am so, so sorry. I can’t believe I thought he was decent. He seemed so nice at yoga!”
    “Hey, at least we found out he was trash before the appetizers arrived.” I grabbed the menu, determined to salvage our evening. “Now, about those loaded nachos we always get…”
    “But still! The things he said about you and Mr. Knight!” She shook her head. “I feel awful.”
    “Forget him. Seriously.” I waved down a waiter. “The nachos and two margaritas, please. Make mine a double.”
    Hazel brightened with mischief. “Although, maybe Derek had a point. Not about you being – you know – but about Mr. Knight liking you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
    I choked on my water, sputtering. “What? No! That’s – that’s impossible. He’s my boss!”
    “Why not? You’re smart, gorgeous, and he’s clearly interested.”
    “Stop it!” I grabbed a napkin to wipe my chin. “It’s not like that at all.”
    Hazel burst out laughing. “Relax, I’m kidding! Everyone knows Alexander Knight is Manhattan’s most notorious playboy. Different supermodels every week, yacht parties in Monaco.” She leaned forward. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t let that pretty face and charm fool you. Men like him don’t do relationships – they collect trophies.”
    “Trust me, I know exactly who he is.” My phone buzzed.
    I pulled out my phone to check the message. Alexander’s name flashed on the screen.
    “325 Park Avenue, Penthouse. Come now.”
    No explanation, no context. Typical Alexander.
    “Everything okay?” Hazel peered across the table.
    “Work.” I grabbed my purse, already sliding out of the booth. “Rain check on those nachos?”
    “Again? This is getting ridiculous. It’s almost 8 PM!”
    “I know, I know. But-“
    “But nothing! You’re not his personal servant. You have a life, too. What could possibly be so urgent?”
    “It’s probably another last-minute networking event. He does this sometimes-invites potential investors over for drinks. Someone has to coordinate with catering and handle the guest list.”
    “And that someone always has to be you?”
    “It’s my job.”
    “Your job ended three hours ago.” Hazel’s voice softened. “I worry about you, you know?”
    “I know you worry. But this job – the benefits, the salary – it’s helping Mom fight. I can’t risk losing it.”
    “Just be careful, okay?”
    I nodded, already halfway to the door. The cool night air hit my face as I flagged down a cab.
    The cab wound through Manhattan’s glittering streets. Mom’s medical bills haunted me, mounting higher each month. I couldn’t mess this up. Not when she needed me.
    325 Park Avenue loomed ahead, all gleaming glass and steel stretching into the night sky. The doorman nodded as I crossed the marble lobby to the private elevator. My finger hesitated over the penthouse button. Something felt… off.
    Usually, when Alexander hosted impromptu gatherings, the lobby buzzed with activity-caterers rushing supplies, guests arriving in designer suits and cocktail dresses. Tonight, there was silence.
    My heels clicked against the marble floor as I stepped out, echoing through the empty space. Warm lighting spilled across modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows, showcasing the city’s sparkle below.
    “Mr. Knight?”
    No response. Just the soft whir of the central air.
    The hair on my neck stood up. Something definitely wasn’t right.
    A floorboard creaked behind me.
    I spun around, heart hammering. Alexander stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe.
    He stepped forward, closing the distance between us in three long strides. Before I could react, he had me cornered against the wall, one hand braced beside my head.

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss Chapter 2

    Madison

    His presence was intoxicating. Alexander’s cologne wrapped around me, lingering like dark spices and something earthy. My pulse quickened as he leaned in, our faces just inches apart.
    “You’re here,” he murmured.
    “Mr. Knight, what’s going on?” My voice trembled. I placed a hand on his chest, meaning to push him back, but all I felt was the chiseled muscles under his shirt.
    He took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine and pressing them back against the wall. The heat from his touch was electric, coursing straight to my core. My breathing turned shallow, and my heart thudded in my ears. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
    “You’re really here.” He whispered huskily. His gaze swept my face, lingering on my lips as his breath warmed my cheek.
    “Are you… okay?” I stammered. His pupils seemed larger than normal, almost swallowing the blue of his irises. Something felt off. Was he on drugs?
    “I’m more than okay.” He nuzzled against my neck, lips brushing my skin. “You’re perfect.”
    “I think you might need medical assistance-“
    He didn’t let me finish. His mouth captured mine, and the world tilted on its axis. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and filled with a hunger that took my breath away. His free hand found my waist, pulling me against him.
    The sensible part of my brain screamed for me to push him away, to get help. But then his tongue parted my lips, and my knees went weak. I grabbed onto his shoulders to steady myself, my fingers digging into the fine fabric of his suit.
    His kiss grew more intense, leaving me scarcely able to think or breathe. A moan escaped my lips.
    My hands roamed over his shoulders and back, feeling the hard muscles flex beneath my touch. His grip on my waist tightened, lifting me effortlessly.
    Before I knew it, he maneuvered me backward, guiding me toward the bedroom. We stumbled, our lips never parting, until the back of my knees hit the king-sized bed. He gently pushed me onto the mattress, positioning himself above me. His eyes were wild.
    “Off,” he said, tugging at my blouse.
    I fumbled with the buttons. Finally, I managed to undo the fabric and slip out of it.
    His gaze darkened, and he pulled down the cups of my bra.
    He bent down, and I arched up, gasping.
    His free hand roamed lower, slipping under the waistband of my pants. A sharp jolt shot through me.
    “Fuck,” I moaned, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to my chest.
    With one swift motion, he tugged my pants and panties down my legs. His hands spread my thighs apart. I cried out.
    “You’re so ready,” he muttered, almost to himself.
    Before I could respond, I watched, breathless, as he quickly moved to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He didn’t bother removing his clothes.
    He climbed between my legs, and I squirmed.
    He moved against me, and my nails dug into his back.
    His mouth crashed against mine in a desperate kiss. His hands gripped my hips as our bodies moved together, mingling with our groans and panting breaths.
    “God, you feel incredible,” he growled, breath hot and ragged.
    We moved together. I felt the pressure building. He angled his hips, and I cried out, my entire body tensing.
    “I’m close, Alexander,” I gasped, my nails raking down his back.
    My voice seemed to spur him on, his movements growing even more frenzied. I clutched at the sheets, trying to ground myself.
    “Yes,” he groaned, his pace becoming erratic. “Come for me.”
    His encouragement drove me over the edge. With a final scream, I shattered, waves washing over me as he continued moving with me through it.
    It was then, just as the intensity began to wane, that I heard him mutter, “Fuck, Katherine.”
    I froze. My mind reeled. Katherine?! Who the hell was Katherine?
    But I couldn’t dwell on it for long because he was still moving with me. My overstimulated body responded despite my confusion, another wave already building.
    “Katherine, you feel so good.” He drove into me one last time, with a guttural moan. His body trembled, triggering another wave that left me breathless and shaking.
    As the haze faded, reality sank in. Alexander had called another woman’s name while we were together. He didn’t even know who I was.
    As he collapsed next to me on the bed, his breathing heavy, I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing. Who was Katherine? Did she work for him, too, or was she just one of his many conquests? The thought gnawed at me like a persistent itch I couldn’t scratch.
    I slipped out from under his arm, my legs still trembling. Alexander’s soft snores filled the bedroom as I gathered my scattered clothes. Of course, he’d pass out – typical man. At least he hadn’t called me “baby” or some other generic pet name. No, he’d gone with “Katherine” instead.
    I stumbled to the bathroom, wincing at my reflection. My carefully straightened hair now resembled a bird’s nest, and my lipstick… well, that was definitely not where lipstick should be.
    As I cleaned up, my mind wandered to the stack of NDAs in my desk drawer – all the women who’d crossed paths with Alexander Knight.
    “At least I didn’t have to draft my own NDA,” I muttered. Being Alexander’s PA meant cleaning up his messes and arranging flowers and “sorry” gifts for the parade of models and socialites he left in his wake. But Katherine? That name wasn’t in any of my files.
    I smoothed down my outfit and checked my phone – 10:27 PM. The doctor would still be awake. I scrolled through my contacts, finding Dr. Peterson’s number. My thumb hovered over the call button as Alexander’s snores echoed from the bedroom.
    “Dr. Peterson? Sorry to bother you so late.” I kept my voice steady and professional. “It’s Madison Harper, Mr. Knight’s PA.”
    “What’s he done now?” Dr. Peterson sighed.
    “He seems altered. Dilated pupils, unusual behavior. I found him like this when I came to drop off some urgent paperwork.” The lie slipped out easily. Too easily.
    “Drugs?”
    “Possibly. He’s sleeping now, but-“
    “I’ll be there in twenty.”
    “Thank you, Doctor.” I ended the call and slipped my phone into my pocket.
    Back in the bedroom, Alexander sprawled across the unmade bed like a fallen Greek statue, suit wrinkled and pants still undone.
    “Right. Time to make you presentable.” I surveyed the scene. The nightstand had shifted a foot to the left. A decorative vase teetered on the edge – how had we not broken that?
    I approached Alexander’s sleeping form. “Don’t you dare wake up,” I muttered, reaching for his zipper. My fingers trembled as I worked quickly to tuck in his shirt and fasten his pants. The belt proved trickier – threading it through the loops while he was dead weight required some creative maneuvering.
    His head lolled to the side. “Mmm… Katherine…”
    I yanked the belt tight with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah. Katherine. Whoever she is.”
    The doorbell rang. Shit. Dr. Peterson was early.
    I sprinted to straighten the nightstand, shoving it back into place. A quick scan of the room – nothing else seemed obviously disturbed. I grabbed a pillow and wedged it under Alexander’s head, trying to make it look like he’d dozed off.
    Dr. Peterson strode in, medical bag in hand. “Evening, Ms. Harper.”
    “Doctor. Thank you for coming so quickly.” I gestured to Alexander. “I found him like this when I came to drop off some urgent documents.”
    The doctor knelt beside the bed, checking Alexander’s pulse. “Any idea what he might have taken?”
    “None. He seemed… not himself.” Understatement of the century. “Dilated pupils, erratic behavior.”
    Dr. Peterson lifted Alexander’s eyelids, shining a small light. “Probably some party drug. Though it’s unlikely for him to indulge alone.”
    “Should I call security? His driver?”
    “No need. I’ll stay until he comes around.” He pulled out a blood pressure cuff. “You should head home, Ms. Harper. I’ve got it from here.”
    I nodded, gathering my purse. “Of course. Thank you again.”
    I hurried to the elevator, my reflection in the metal doors nearly composed except for my swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
    The night air slapped my face as I hailed a cab, needing to get home and think.
    “Where to?” the driver asked.
    “Anywhere but here.” I caught his concerned look in the rearview mirror. “Sorry. 42nd and 8th, please.”
    As the city lights blurred past, I wondered how I’d face Alexander tomorrow. Would he remember? And more importantly – who the hell was Katherine?

    A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss Chapter 3

    Madison

    I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck – a very sexy, Alexander Knight-shaped truck. My body ached in places I’d forgotten existed, and my inner thighs bore the telltale bruises of last night’s activities.
    “Get it together, Madison,” I muttered to my reflection as I applied concealer under my eyes. Despite my best makeup efforts, the woman staring back looked debauched.
    The subway ride to work was torture. Every bump and sway reminded me of how Alexander had moved inside me. How his hands had gripped my hips. How he’d called me Katherine.
    Katherine. The name bounced around my skull like an angry ping-pong ball.
    I’d spent half the night googling “Katherine Alexander Knight” with zero results. Not that I was jealous or anything. I mean, why would I be jealous of someone whose name my boss moaned while high on God-knows-what?
    The elevator ride up to the office felt longer than usual. I checked my phone seventeen times in thirty seconds, praying there wouldn’t be a message from Alexander. Nothing. Thank God.
    I peeked into Alexander’s office. Empty. The relief that flooded through me was embarrassing.
    Collapsing into my chair, I buried my face in my hands. “This is fine. Everything’s fine. He probably doesn’t even remember. And if he does, well… I’ll just move to Antarctica. I hear they need secretaries there.”
    My phone buzzed. I jumped so hard that my knee slammed into the desk drawer.
    I rubbed my throbbing knee while checking the message. Just a spam email about enlarging body parts I didn’t possess.
    The morning crawled by in a haze of paranoia. Every footstep in the hallway had me tensing like a guilty teenager. By ten, my neck muscles felt like steel cables from constantly whipping around to check the door.
    My coffee mug sat empty, mocking me. I needed caffeine.
    I grabbed my mug and power-walked to the break room. I beelined for the coffee maker, already tasting that sweet salvation.
    “Madison! Just the person I wanted to see!”
    I nearly dropped my mug. Stella from Accounting materialized beside me, grinning like she’d just discovered tax evasion in the company books.
    “Hey, Stella.” I focused on pouring coffee, willing my hands not to shake.
    “So,” She leaned against the counter, eyes twinkling. “Hot date last night?”
    Coffee sloshed over the rim. “What? No. Why would you-“
    “That’s quite the love bite you’re sporting.” She pointed at my neck, smirking. “Unless you’ve taken up wrestling in your spare time?”
    My free hand flew to my neck. Horror dawned as I felt the tender spot just below my ear. The spot where Alexander had marked me like some overenthusiastic vampire.
    My mind raced faster than my morning subway ride. “Oh, this? My curling iron. Total klutz moment this morning.” I forced a laugh that came out like a strangled cat.
    “Must be some curling iron. Looks more like someone was trying to-“
    “Would you look at the time!” I glanced at my naked wrist, where a watch definitely wasn’t. “Those expense reports won’t file themselves!”
    “But you haven’t finished your coffee-“
    I abandoned my half-filled mug on the counter, speed-walking toward the exit with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. My heels clicked against the tile floor in what felt like morse code for “Help me!”
    I collapsed into my desk chair, heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon in heels. My hands trembled as I tried to pull myself together. What was I thinking? Curling iron? Really? I might have said it was a one-night stand. That would have been slightly more believable. God, a one-night stand would be even worse.
    Rumors about Alexander and me have been circulating since I became his PA. It was bad enough that I landed this position after being in the company for a short time.
    Everyone thought I’d slept my way to the top, that I’d spread my legs for him to get ahead. Despite all my hard work, the whispers never stopped.
    Colleagues who used to be friends now barely make eye contact with me. Their hushed conversations stop whenever I enter the room, replaced by forced smiles and awkward silence.
    Although I didn’t initially want this job, I took it because of the high salary necessary to cover my mom’s medical expenses.
    But now? The situation was an absolute mess. If anyone found out what happened last night, they’d think the rumors were true. They’d believe I used my body to climb the social ladder, something I would never do.
    No one could find out that Alexander and I had slept together. The very thought twisted my stomach into knots. I prayed Alexander would forget it all, erasing the memory as if it never happened.
    Of course, I knew I couldn’t hide from him forever. Sooner or later, I’d have to report to him for work. But I was convinced the doctor would tell him nothing happened. And even if he remembered something, he’d go to Katherine.
    Every woman Alexander slept with wanted to be his wife. So if he asked Katherine if she was with him the other night, she’d definitely say yes to get closer to him.

    The conference room felt smaller than usual as I arranged the meeting materials, hyper-aware of Alexander’s presence at the head of the table. My hands trembled as I distributed the financial reports, careful to keep my eyes glued to the papers.
    “Everyone here?” Alexander’s voice sent shivers down my spine. The same voice that had whispered things in my ear two days ago.
    I risked a glance up. Fatal mistake.
    His eyes caught mine, and suddenly, I was back in his penthouse, feeling his hands on my skin and his breath hot against my neck. My face burned hotter than fresh coffee.
    “Miss Harper?”
    I jumped, nearly dropping the remaining reports. “Yes, Mr. Knight?”
    “The quarterly projections?”
    Right. Work. Professional. I could do this. I shuffled through my papers, willing my racing heart to calm down.
    “Here they are.” My voice came out squeakier than a mouse in a cheese factory.
    Alexander’s brow furrowed. “Are you feeling alright? You look flushed.”
    Of course, I looked flushed.
    “Just warm in here.” I tugged at my collar, accidentally exposing the fading mark on my neck.
    His eyes flickered to the spot, then back to the reports without recognition. Nothing. Not even a flicker of remembrance about our passionate night together.
    The meeting droned on. I took notes mechanically, sneaking glances at Alexander between bullet points. He was completely at ease, discussing profit margins like he hadn’t rocked my world two days ago.
    The meeting finally ended, but my relief was short-lived. Alexander beckoned me into his office with a crook of his finger. My legs turned to jelly as I followed him inside.
    He settled into his leather chair like a king on his throne while I hovered near the door like a guilty teenager. The morning sun through the tall windows bathed him in an angelic glow. Unfair. The man looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot while I fought the urge to bolt.
    “Close the door, Miss Harper.”
    I did, my hand trembling slightly on the handle. This was it. He remembered everything and was about to fire me. Or worse, proposition me. I wasn’t sure which scenario terrified me more.
    “Take a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
    I perched on the edge, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice. The leather squeaked beneath me, betraying my nervousness.
    Alexander shuffled some papers on his desk, his expression unreadable. My heart performed an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine in my chest.
    “I noticed something concerning.” He looked up, those blue eyes piercing right through me.
    He remembered everything. I’d be fired, humiliated, and probably end up on some reality TV show called ‘I Slept With My Boss.’
    “You didn’t check in yesterday when I was absent.”
    Wait, what? Of all the things he could’ve brought up, he chose this?
    “As my PA, I expect you to maintain contact, especially during unexpected absences.” His tone carried that signature Alexander Knight authority, making board members squirm and competitors sweat.
    My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. How exactly was I supposed to respond? ‘Sorry I didn’t check in; I was too busy having an existential crisis after our intense encounter where you called me another woman’s name’?
    “I apologize, Mr. Knight. I thought…” I thought you were sleeping off whatever happened between us. I thought you needed space. I thought a lot of things, none of which I could say out loud.
    “You thought?” Alexander’s piercing gaze made my brain cells commit mass suicide.
    “I thought… well…” My mouth went drier than the Sahara. What could I say?
    A phone’s shrill ring cut through the tension. The ringtone echoed through his office like a chorus of angels. Thank you, merciful universe!

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen by Jun Shangye

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha's Queen by Jun Shangye
    👉 READ NOW

    For three years, I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into building Blackwood Group for Alec, my Alpha and the man I thought was my mate.

    But on the day of our work anniversary, I stood outside his office door and heard him talking with his Beta, shattering my entire world.

    “Kay is just a wolfless Omega, useful for paperwork,” Alec sneered coldly.

    “The bonding ceremony is just a show for the elders. The real Luna, the one who carries the bloodline that matters, is Breanne. I’m transferring all of Kay’s core project files to Breanne tomorrow. Let her take the credit.”

    He even texted me later, telling me to wear a blue dress to the upcoming gala because it made me look “obedient.”

    I had turned down a Wharton scholarship for this man. I had spent countless nights fixing his mistakes, building his empire, and giving him my youth.

    Yet to him, I was nothing but a disposable placeholder, expected to smile and bow while another woman stole my life’s work and my place by his side.

    The agonizing pain in my chest didn’t break me; it forged me into ice.

    I didn’t cry, and I certainly didn’t beg.

    Instead, I wiped his servers clean of every strategy I had ever created, left a wax-sealed resignation on his desk, and accepted a job offer from his most ruthless rival.

    👉 READ NOW

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen Chapter 1

    Kay POV:
    I stood outside the frosted glass door of the Alpha’s office, my fingers locking around the cardboard tray until the paper cups groaned.
    As the official project lead for Blackwood Group’s expansion in Chicago, I was used to managing multi-million-dollar logistics. But today, my hands trembled. Inside the cups were two lattes—extra vanilla syrup for him, just the way he liked it. It was a small, devoted detail I had kept up for seven years, ever since I had sacrificed my full scholarship to Stanford to help Alec Collins build his empire.
    I was a wolfless Omega—a broken, shifting-less anomaly in a world ruled by bloodlines and teeth. Alec was the blood-born Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, the powerful CEO of the conglomerate, and, unofficially, the destined mate I was supposed to bind with next month.
    Now, standing in the quiet corridor, my sharp ears picked up the low, serious murmur of voices from behind the cracked door.
    I recognized them instantly: Alec, and his loyal Beta, Ethan Hayes, the second-in-command of our pack.
    “Are the preparations for the bonding ceremony finalized?” Ethan’s voice was low, laced with a tension I couldn’t place.
    A sharp, impatient sound—a scoff from Alec—cut him off.
    “It’s a formality, Ethan. A show for the elders to secure the final votes for the merger. You know that.”
    The cardboard tray in my hands suddenly felt flimsy. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim, scalding my skin, but I barely felt it.
    My breath hitched. A formality?
    “But Alec,” Ethan pressed, his voice dropping lower. “Kay has been by your side for seven years. She literally designed the entire market strategy that saved our expansion. She’s earned the title of Luna.”
    “Earned what?”
    Alec’s voice was laced with a chilling amusement that made my stomach clench. “The privilege of being my Luna? She’s a wolfless Omega, Ethan. She should be grateful I even look at her. Her devotion is expected. It’s the least a defective creature like her can do to prove her worth to this pack.”
    The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Wolfless. The dirty little secret the pack pitied and scorned me for, now spoken by my destined mate as a measure of my uselessness.
    “Her work on the acquisition strategy was brilliant,” Ethan argued, a hint of desperation in his voice.
    “Her work was adequate,” Alec corrected him coldly. “It was a good way for her to contribute, to make up for… other deficiencies. And now that Breanne is back…”
    Breanne Weiss. The name was a whisper of silk and old money. A true-blooded, noble Omega who possessed the perfect bloodline and the inner wolf I lacked.
    “Breanne is who I want.” Alec’s voice was raw, stripped of all pretense. “She is the Luna this pack deserves. Her bloodline, her grace… she is my equal.”
    My equal. The words echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. If she was his equal, what was I?
    A placeholder. A tool. A seven-year-long convenience.
    “So, the plan is still to reject Kay after the merger is finalized?” Ethan asked.
    “I can’t risk the instability now.” Alec said, his voice hardening again, becoming the Alpha. “We’ll go through with the ceremony to appease the elders. Once everything is settled, I’ll handle the rejection. She’s weak, Ethan. She’ll cry, but she won’t fight it. Where would she even go without us?”
    A wave of nausea washed over me. The phantom mate bond on the back of my neck, the one-sided connection I had cherished, flared with a white-hot, agonizing pain.
    “And her project? The Phoenix Initiative?”
    “I’m giving it to Breanne.” Alec said, the casual cruelty of it knocking me back a step. “A welcome home present. Let her put her stamp on it.”
    My project. My baby. The one I had built from the ground up.
    A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth. It was the taste of betrayal. Of my own foolishness. I had given up a full scholarship to an Ivy League school for him. I had believed his promises, his whispered words in the dark, his assurances that my lack of a wolf didn’t matter to him.
    Lies. All of it.
    “I’ll pick Breanne up from the airport this weekend.” Alec continued, his voice shifting, becoming lighter. “We’ll have dinner.”
    This weekend. Saturday. My mother’s birthday—the one he had promised we would celebrate together.
    It was over. The perfect, fragile illusion I had built my entire adult life around had just been shattered into a million pieces.
    I heard the scrape of a chair inside the office. Footsteps. Ethan was leaving.
    My body moved before my mind could catch up. There was no conscious thought, only a primal instinct for survival. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t let them know I’d heard.
    I spun around, my movements swift and silent. The trash receptacle, a sleek stainless steel cylinder, was three feet away. In one fluid, decisive motion, I tipped the tray. The two vanilla lattes, the symbols of my pathetic, hopeful love, dropped into the bin with a soft, final thud.
    Not a single drop spilled on the pristine carpet.
    I didn’t look back. I didn’t wait to hear the office door open. I slipped into the adjacent doorway, pushing open the heavy metal door to the fire escape.
    It slammed shut behind me, the boom echoing in the concrete stairwell, plunging me into dim, dusty silence.
    The sound finally broke my paralysis.
    I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the gritty steps, my corporate suit jacket bunching around my waist.
    No tears came. Only a vast, cold emptiness.
    My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with a trembling hand. The screen lit up, showing my wallpaper: a smiling photo of Alec and me from last year’s pack gala. His arm was around me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked so happy. He looked like he loved me.
    A cold, hard fury, something I hadn’t felt in years, began to burn through the shock. It started in my gut and spread through my veins, chasing away the ice.
    My fingers moved with a new, chilling precision. I went into my settings and changed the wallpaper to the phone’s default, a bland, abstract swirl of blue. The photo of us vanished.
    I opened my notes app. I created a new, encrypted file. I titled it: “Extraction Protocol.”
    Another buzz. An email notification flashed across the top of the screen. It was from HR.
    Subject: URGENT: Venue Confirmation for Collins-Silva Bonding Ceremony.
    The email asked for my digital signature to confirm the booking.
    A laugh escaped my lips. It was a harsh, ugly sound in the quiet stairwell.
    I tapped the notification. The email opened. At the bottom were two buttons: “Approve” and “Reject.”
    My thumb hovered over the screen for a single, heartbeat. Then, I pressed “Reject.” A confirmation box popped up. “Are you sure you want to reject this request?”
    I pressed “Yes”.
    And then, for good measure, I deleted the email.
    I closed my eyes. I didn’t pray to the Moon Goddess for strength or guidance. I made her a promise. I would not be the weak, crying Omega Alec expected. I would not accept this sham of a bond. I would not be his fool.
    After a few minutes, the shaking stopped. The cold fury settled into a block of ice in my chest. I stood up, brushing the dust from my skirt. I straightened my jacket, smoothing the wrinkles with methodical, detached movements.
    I pushed the fire escape door open and stepped back into the plush, silent hallway. The air was no longer filled with promise. It was just recycled, sterile air.
    I didn’t go back to my desk. I didn’t go to the restroom to fix my face.
    I walked directly to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.
    The elevator descended. As it passed the lower floors, I made a decision. I wasn’t just going to leave. I was going to erase myself from his life and his company so completely that it would be as if I had never existed.
    The doors opened onto the lobby. The cold Chicago wind hit me as I pushed through the revolving doors, a blast of reality that felt like a baptism. It didn’t make me shiver. It made me feel awake.
    I didn’t walk to my car. I walked to the curb, raised my hand, and hailed a cab.
    As I slid into the back seat, giving the driver my address, I knew exactly what I had to do first.

    I was going to draft my formal notice of mate rejection.

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen Chapter 2

    Kay POV:
    The taxi ride back to my apartment was a blur of steel-grey buildings and headlights, but my mind was operating with the cold, clicking precision of a high-end server.
    I had spent seven years building a fortress for a man who planned to tear me down; now, it was time to dismantle it brick by brick.
    Inside my apartment, the silence was absolute. I didn’t turn on the lights. I walked straight to my home office, my steps even and measured, illuminated only by the faint city lights of Chicago cutting through the blinds.
    I woke up my MacBook. The cool, blueish light reflected off my face, devoid of any expression.
    First things first.
    My fingers flew across the keyboard, navigating through firewalls and encrypted servers with a muscle memory honed over seven years. I accessed the Blackwood Group’s central database. My database. The one I had designed.
    I began the download. Every project file, every financial model, every marketing strategy, every piece of intellectual property I had ever created for them. The ones with my name on them, and more importantly, the ones without. It was a massive amount of data. The progress bar crawled. It would take hours.
    My phone, sitting face down on the desk, lit up. It buzzed once.
    From: Alec
    Don’t forget the charity gala tomorrow night. 7 pm. The Vanderbilts will be there. Be ready.
    No “hello.” No “how was your day.” Just a command. The casual entitlement of it, the sheer arrogance, sent a fresh wave of cold fury through me. He was ordering me around while planning my replacement.
    I stared at the message, the name “Alec” at the top seeming alien. A corner of my mouth lifted in a sneer. I didn’t reply. I just flipped the phone back over, silencing it.
    I opened a new Word document.
    The words came easily, stripped of all emotion. It was a legal document, not a breakup letter.
    NOTICE OF MATE REJECTION
    Pursuant to the sacred laws upheld by the Moon Goddess and recognized by all packs, I, Kay Silva, formally and irrevocably reject you, Alec Collins of the Blackwood Pack, as my fated mate.
    This rejection is final and absolute.
    Let this document serve as the complete and total severance of the bond between us.
    I typed my name at the bottom. As my finger hovered over the last key, a faint, sharp sting pricked the back of my neck, right over the spot where his mark should have been. It was the bond, a phantom limb, protesting its own amputation.
    I ignored it and hit “Print.”
    The whirring of the printer was the only sound in the apartment. It was the sound of a life being unmade. The paper slid out, warm to the touch. I didn’t reread it.
    To ensure it couldn’t be dismissed as a prank or a fit of pique, I found one of the Blackwood Group’s official letterhead envelopes I kept for work. It had the embossed wolf seal. I folded the notice, slid it inside, and sealed it with a firm press of my thumb. Official. Undeniable.
    I wouldn’t give it to him myself. That would lead to a confrontation, to him trying to use his Alpha presence to force me into submission. No. I would give it to Ethan. Let the Beta deliver the news.
    With the letter lying on my desk like a verdict, I turned my attention back to the future. I opened my LinkedIn profile. It was painfully out of date. I started drafting a new summary, my mind already shifting from the past to the practicalities of survival.
    As I navigated to my inbox to clear out old messages, I saw it. An unread email, sent three days ago. The subject line made my heart skip a beat.
    From: Hamilton Jarvis, CEO, Vertex Group
    Subject: Strategic Consultant Inquiry
    Vertex Group.
    The name alone was enough to make any Alpha in the Midwest break a sweat. They were Blackwood’s biggest rival on the East Coast, a shadowy, powerful conglomerate run by a man spoken of only in whispers. Hamilton Jarvis. A Lycan. A creature of legend, more powerful, more ancient than any Alpha.
    My hand trembled slightly as I clicked the email open.
    Ms. Silva,
    Your work has come to my attention. Specifically, your unsigned strategic analysis on the Sterling-Cross acquisition and the risk-mitigation model for the Tundra Logistics merger. They were… impressive.
    Vertex Group is expanding its operations. We require a strategist with your unique foresight. I am prepared to offer you the position of Chief Strategic Advisor.
    The compensation package will be triple your current salary at Blackwood. Relocation to our Manhattan headquarters will be fully covered.
    I believe your talents are being wasted. Let’s rectify that.
    H.J.
    A cold shock went through me. Hamilton Jarvis knew. He had bypassed Alec’s public credit-stealing and pierced the Blackwood corporate veil to find the true brain behind the empire. A profound sense of validation—something I had been starved of for seven years—bloomed in my chest.
    I didn’t reply immediately. This could be a trap, a corporate espionage play. I spent the next hour researching Vertex Group’s recent market activity, cross-referencing their known holdings with their latest SEC filings. It was all legitimate. They were poised for a massive move into the Midwest. They were coming for Blackwood.
    *
    The next evening, I stood in front of the mirrors at the hotel ballroom. I had chosen a simple, severe black sheath dress.
    It wasn’t designed to attract attention. It was armor.
    I walked into the glittering ballroom, took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and retreated to the shadows near the grand entrance.
    I spotted them instantly.
    Alec was in the center of the crowd, holding court like a king. And clinging to his arm was Breanne Weiss, wearing a blood-red gown that left nothing to the imagination. She laughed, a high, tinkling sound, and did a pathetic, theatrical wobble on her high heels, collapsing against his chest.
    Alec didn’t push her away. He smiled, his hand coming up to steady her, his fingers splayed possessively across the small of her back.
    I watched them, my hand holding the champagne flute perfectly steady. I felt nothing. No jealousy. No pain. Just a profound, pitying disgust for the woman I used to be, the one who would have been shattered by this sight.
    “They look perfect together, don’t they?”
    I turned.
    Chloe Sullivan, my childhood best friend, stood beside me. She had known every sacrifice I had made for Alec, yet her eyes held a malicious glint of triumph. She was already aligning herself with the winning side—the new, noble Luna.
    “A true Alpha and his noble Luna,” she said, her voice dripping with faux admiration. “It’s what the pack has always needed.”
    I looked at her, really looked at the cheap ambition in her eyes.
    “You’re right,” I said, my voice quiet, flat, and lethal. “They are a perfect match.”
    I paused, holding her gaze.
    “A bitch and a dog usually are.”
    Chloe’s face went white, her mouth opening and closing like a fish landed on concrete. Before she could recover from the sheer venom in my tone, I turned my back on her, leaving her sputtering.
    I navigated the edge of the ballroom and spotted Ethan Hayes near the restrooms, coordinating security on his phone. I waited.
    When he finished, I stepped into his path.
    He frowned when he saw me. “Kay. You should be with Alec. The Vanderbilts are asking for you.”
    “I have something for you,” I said, my voice devoid of warmth. I held out the thick, sealed envelope with the gold wolf seal.
    He looked at it, then at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s this?”
    “Give it to him,” I said. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I pushed the envelope against his chest until his fingers automatically closed around it.
    Before he could ask another question, I turned and walked toward the exit. I didn’t look back.
    The cool night air of the city street was a relief. I took a deep breath, the scent of exhaust fumes and damp pavement filling my lungs. It was the smell of freedom.
    I pulled out my phone, my fingers no longer trembling. I opened the email from Hamilton Jarvis. My thumb hovered over the reply button.
    Then, with a decisive tap, I began to type.
    Mr. Jarvis,

    I accept your invitation for a meeting.

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen Chapter 3

    Kay POV:
    The Uber glided through the steel and glass canyons of Manhattan. I watched the city blur past, a stark contrast to the familiar, almost provincial feel of Chicago’s business district. Here, ambition was a physical presence, humming in the air.
    The car stopped in front of a skyscraper that seemed to scrape the clouds. A single, minimalist silver word was etched into the black marble facade: VERTEX.
    I took a deep breath, smoothed the front of my dark blue suit, and pushed through the revolving glass doors.
    The lobby was a cathedral of cold, gray minimalism. Polished concrete floors, a massive, raw-stone reception desk, and a ceiling so high it felt like open sky. There was no gold, no mahogany, none of the opulent, almost gaudy luxury that defined the Blackwood Group headquarters. This place wasn’t trying to look rich. It just was. It exuded a quiet, terrifying confidence.
    “Kay Silva for Hamilton Jarvis,” I said to the receptionist, a woman with a severe haircut and an earpiece.
    I gave her the appointment code from the email. Her eyes widened fractionally as she scanned it. Her professional demeanor instantly warmed with a deep, ingrained respect.
    “Of course, Ms. Silva. Right this way.”
    She didn’t point. She personally escorted me to a private elevator bank, a sleek, unmarked panel that slid open at her approach. Inside, there was no button for the top floor. She pressed her thumb to a biometric scanner.
    “Mr. Jarvis will meet you in his office,” she said, her voice a respectful murmur. “The elevator will take you directly there.”
    The doors slid shut, and the elevator ascended with a stomach-dropping speed. A faint sense of pressure built in my ears. I gripped the railing, my knuckles white, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was it. The point of no return. I forced myself to let go, to stand straight, to breathe.
    The elevator slowed to a smooth stop. The doors opened not onto a reception area, but a long, wide hallway. At the far end, a single set of massive, dark walnut doors stood closed.
    I walked the length of the hall, my footsteps silent on the dark wood floor. I reached the doors and hesitated for a half-second, my hand raised to knock.
    Before my knuckles could touch the wood, a soft green light glowed on a panel beside the frame. With a near-silent hiss, the heavy doors slid open, retracting into the walls.
    The office was vast. One entire wall was a floor-to-ceiling window offering a breathtaking, god-like view of Manhattan.
    A man stood with his back to me, his hands clasped behind him, looking out over the city he seemed to own.
    He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a bespoke dark suit that fit him like a second skin. He didn’t turn immediately. He let the silence stretch, a subtle assertion of power.
    I stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind me.
    At the sound of my footsteps, he turned.
    The air in the room crackled. It was like a sudden drop in barometric pressure. A wave of pure, undiluted power washed over me, a force so immense it was almost a physical weight. It was the presence of a Lycan. Primal. Ancient. Absolute.
    My Omega instincts screamed at me to lower my eyes, to bow my head, to show submission. My knees felt weak.
    I locked them. I lifted my chin and met his gaze.
    His eyes were a startling shade of gray-blue, the color of a stormy sea.
    A flicker of something-surprise? respect?-passed through those cold eyes.
    “Ms. Silva,” he said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that vibrated in the air. It held no warmth, only a deep, calm authority. “Please, sit.”
    He gestured to one of the two leather armchairs positioned in front of a massive, clean-lined desk. I walked forward, my back straight, and sat down. The leather was cool against my skin.
    He didn’t move to sit behind his desk, the throne of his power. Instead, he walked to a discreet wet bar built into the wall.
    “Water? Something stronger?”
    “Water is fine,” I said.
    He retrieved a bottle of sparkling water and a glass. He didn’t pour it over ice. He poured the room-temperature water into the glass and brought it to me, placing it on the small table beside my chair.
    It was a small thing, but it was a calculated one. He had noticed. He had noticed the slight tremor in my hand, the tension in my shoulders. An Omega in distress, especially one who had just severed a mate bond, would be physically and emotionally chilled. Ice water would have been a shock to the system.
    This wasn’t just a CEO. This was a predator who noticed every detail.
    He finally moved to his side of the desk, settling into his large chair. He steepled his long fingers, his gray-blue eyes fixed on me.
    “The Sterling-Cross acquisition,” he began, dispensing with any pleasantries. “Your strategy was to create a shell corporation to buy up their debt anonymously, forcing them to the negotiating table at a fraction of their market value. Alec Collins took the credit, but the idea was yours.”
    It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.
    “Why are you so interested in a wolfless Omega from a rival pack, Mr. Jarvis?” I asked, my voice steady. I had to know. I had to understand the angle.
    A low chuckle, devoid of humor, rumbled in his chest. “I am not interested in your bloodline, Ms. Silva. Or the lack of it. I am interested in results.”
    He slid a thick file across the polished surface of the desk. It stopped perfectly in front of me.
    “Blackwood Group has seen a seventeen percent growth in their portfolio over the last three years,” he said. “All of it tied to initiatives that bear the hallmarks of your strategic style: aggressive, unconventional, and meticulously planned. But your name is on none of them.”
    He leaned forward, his presence intensifying. “I don’t care if you’re wolfless. I don’t care if you’re a rogue. I care that you have a mind capable of dismantling my competition from the inside out. And I want that mind working for me.”
    He laid his cards on the table. “Vertex is preparing a hostile takeover of key territories in the Midwest. Blackwood is the primary obstacle. I need a Chief Strategist who knows their playbook, their weaknesses, their every move. I need you.”
    This was more than a job offer. It was a declaration of war. And he was handing me the sword.
    A part of me, the vengeful, wounded part, wanted to scream yes. But the strategist in me, the part he was hiring, took over.
    “I am still, technically, in a separation period with the Blackwood Pack,” I said carefully. “There are legal and pack-law sensitivities. A non-compete clause. The mate bond severance isn’t finalized until the rejection is formally accepted.”
    He leaned back, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Vertex Group’s legal department is… formidable. They will handle any and all external obstacles. Consider your non-compete clause a historical artifact. As for the rejection… let Mr. Collins worry about that.”
    His confidence was absolute. He was offering me not just a job, but a shield. A fortress.
    I looked into his eyes and saw something I had never, not once, seen in Alec’s.
    Respect.
    He saw me not as a broken Omega, not as a mate or a possession, but as an asset. An equal.
    “My terms,” I said, my voice gaining strength, “I need one month for the transition, to completely sever my ties. And when I assume the role, I require absolute autonomy on strategic deployment. No interference.”
    He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t consult a lawyer or a subordinate. He simply reached for a pen on his desk-a heavy, black Montblanc. He pulled a pre-printed contract from a drawer, uncapped the pen, and signed his name at the bottom with a flourish of sharp, decisive strokes.
    He pushed the contract and the pen across the desk to me.
    “Welcome to Vertex, Ms. Silva.”
    I picked up the contract. The terms were even more generous than he had stated in the email. The salary was astronomical. The autonomy I’d requested was spelled out in iron-clad legal terms.
    My last shred of doubt evaporated.
    I took the pen he offered. My own signature, next to his powerful scrawl, looked almost delicate. But as I signed my name, I felt a lifetime of being underestimated fall away. I was no longer Kay Silva, Alec Collins’s wolfless mate.
    I was Kay Silva, Chief Strategic Advisor for the Vertex Group.
    He stood up, and I followed suit. He extended his hand across the desk. It was a large hand, the fingers long and elegant, the knuckles prominent. A hand that held immense power.
    I placed my hand in his.
    The moment our skin touched, a jolt, sharp and electric, shot up my arm. It was so intense it made me gasp, a wave of heat washing through my entire body. Sparks seemed to dance on my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs, and for a dizzying second, the world seemed to narrow to the point of contact between our hands.
    I saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilating. He felt it too. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, a possessive, instinctual reaction.
    Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He masked his reaction, his expression becoming impassive again. He released my hand, his touch lingering like a brand.
    “My assistant will show you out,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before.
    I nodded, unable to speak. I picked up my copy of the contract, my fingers still tingling, and walked out of the office on unsteady legs.
    The elevator doors closed, and as I descended from the heavens of his office, I clutched the contract to my chest. I didn’t know what that electric shock was.

    A fluke? Static electricity?

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Alpha’s Discarded Luna by Velvet Piston

    The Alpha's Discarded Luna by Velvet Piston
    👉 READ NOW

    I was three months pregnant when the car hit me.

    Lying there, barely hanging on, I called my husband-Alpha Ethan-over and over. No answer. When I finally woke up from the pain, I saw a post from his first love, Ivy. “Thank you, Alpha, for knowing how scared I am of the dark and staying with me all night. He even cleared his whole schedule today to take me to the auction, just to give me the best gift in the world. I’m so happy!”

    Right then, it hit me. While I was fighting to protect our child, he was with another she-wolf. I calmly liked her post and put my phone away.

    Since he chose his first love, I chose to let go.

    Seven days from now, I’d leave his world for good-with our child.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Alpha’s Discarded Luna Chapter 1 Sign The Rejection

    Lianne’s POV:

    Three months into my pregnancy, I, Lianne Riley, was caught in a car accident.

    Half-conscious and shaking, I kept calling my husband, Alpha Ethan Voss, but he never answered.

    When the pain finally eased enough for me to stay awake, I opened my phone and saw a post from his first love, Ivy Brooks.

    “I have to thank Ethan for staying with me all night because he knows I’m afraid of the dark. He even canceled all his meetings today to take me to an auction and bought me the most beautiful gift in the world. I’m so happy!”

    That was the moment I understood everything. When I was seriously injured while protecting my child, he chose to stay beside another she-wolf.

    Without a word, I liked the post and closed the app.

    If he wanted his first love back, then he could have her.

    Seven days from now, I would disappear from his life forever-with our child.

    …

    Clutching the freshly printed Rejection, I dragged my injured body back home.

    I shoved open the heavy oak door. The living room sat in darkness, with only the faint glow from the wall lamps cutting through the shadows.

    In the faint light, a tall figure sat on the couch, his presence heavy and suffocating. The pressure rolling off him belonged only to a top-tier Alpha.

    He was none other than my mate, Ethan.

    “So you still remember this is your home?” His voice cut through the silence like frost.

    Before I could answer, he rose from the couch and crossed the room in a few long strides.

    His hand clamped around my wrist with brutal force, pain shooting through my arm as though he meant to snap the bones.

    “Lianne, what was the point of that like on Ivy’s post?” he snapped, glaring down at me with open contempt. “She only just came back, and her condition isn’t stable yet. She can’t deal with stress right now. Were you trying to remind her that you’re my Luna?”

    I lifted my eyes to him, my blurred vision making his face hard to see clearly.

    Three years ago, Ethan had been poisoned with silver. The toxin ruined his legs.

    After Ivy dumped him and ran overseas, he spiraled completely, numbing himself with alcohol day after day.

    The Elders of the Thorn Pack arranged our bond.

    For the last three years, I’d stayed by his side as his mate, calming the rage and pain eating away at him. At the same time, I’d given him my blood again and again, using my healing ability to help repair his body until he could finally stand on his own once more.

    But now, there wasn’t even a trace of warmth left in him. His breath brushed lightly against my neck while his voice stayed cold. “I already told you before-stop letting your jealousy control you. Can’t you act reasonable for once?”

    Reasonable.

    The word hit harder than a slap against my already numb heart.

    He didn’t know that not long ago, I’d been trapped in a wrecked car after the crash.

    Pinned inside the overturned vehicle with blood running down my face, I’d called him again and again, hoping he would come to save me and our unborn baby.

    But before I could explain anything, all he said was, “Ivy’s not feeling well right now. I can’t leave her side. Whatever it is, deal with it yourself.”

    Then he ended the call.

    I forced myself out of the crushed driver’s seat with the last bit of strength I had left. After that, I walked three miles through heavy rain before a passing car finally stopped for me.

    “I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my gaze so he wouldn’t see the sadness in my eyes. “It won’t happen again.”

    Ethan looked caught off guard by how quickly I apologized. He fell silent for a moment, the anger in his eyes easing slightly, though suspicion soon took its place.

    Letting go of my wrist, he looked me over slowly, from my tangled hair to my pale face.

    “The staff said you were out all day, and you weren’t answering your phone.” He frowned. “And those calls you kept making… were you throwing a fit because of Ivy?”

    “No.” I took a slow breath, forcing down the turmoil churning inside me. “There was an issue with the pack’s supply deliveries, so I went to deal with it. I must’ve lost my phone during the mess.”

    I pulled out a stack of documents and handed them to him. “These are the financial reports for this quarter, along with a few documents that need your signature. The admin office needs them by tomorrow morning.”

    Ethan took the papers from me and casually tossed them onto the coffee table without even checking them.

    He trusted me completely. For the past three years, I’d been the perfect Luna in his eyes, handling every responsibility without fault.

    I took care of the endless pack matters for him. Whenever the silver poison pushed him into violent, uncontrollable episodes, I stayed beside him and used our mate bond to calm the beast inside him.

    Ethan sat back down, picked up a pen, and signed the documents one after another with quick, practiced strokes.

    He didn’t realize the Rejection was hidden beneath the stack of documents.

    Once he signed it, the Rejection would take effect in seven days.

    After that, the bond forcing us together would break completely. He would finally be free. And I would disappear from his life forever.

    “It’s done.” He slid the papers back toward me, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of my hand by accident.

    I pulled my hand away instantly, as though his touch had scorched me.

    A shadow passed through Ethan’s eyes. He stared at me for a long moment before asking, “Lianne, are you avoiding me?”

    He rose to his feet, his tall frame closing in until his shadow swallowed me completely.

    Then he reached for me. His fingers caught my chin and lifted it, forcing me to look straight at him.

    There was something fierce burning in his eyes. Possessiveness. The instinctive dominance an Alpha held toward his mate.

    “Today’s our wedding anniversary,” he said quietly. His hand slid from my chin to my throat, his rough thumb brushing slowly over the sensitive skin there. “By pack tradition, I should stay with you tonight.”

    His touch felt burning hot against my skin, yet my heart remained cold and unmoving.

    At that moment, his phone suddenly rang.

    The glowing screen showed a name I knew too well. Ivy.

    Ethan’s body stiffened.

    He answered immediately, and Ivy’s trembling voice drifted through the call, “Ethan, I’m scared. The thunder’s really loud tonight. Can you come stay with me?”

    Ethan glanced at me, hesitation flickering briefly across his face.

    I pressed a faint smile onto my lips and urged, “You should go. Ivy only just came back, and she’s still not fully recovered. As the pack’s Alpha, you should look after your pack members. I’ll be fine here alone.”

    Ethan kept staring at me, as if trying to find some trace of resentment hidden beneath my words. But there was nothing for him to find. I looked empty enough to fool even him, like a doll with nothing left inside.

    “You’re finally beginning to understand what it means to be a Luna,” he said after a moment, satisfaction creeping into his tone as he put his phone away. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Once Ivy’s settled in, I’ll make it up to you.”

    Make it up to me?

    What I wanted was never compensation. I only wanted the one thing he had never truly given me-his whole heart.

    “Okay,” I answered with a nod.

    Ethan turned and headed for the door, his hurried steps making it seem as though he couldn’t leave fast enough.

    He never looked back, so he never saw my legs buckle the moment the door shut behind him. I slid slowly down the wall, too weak to keep standing.

    Lowering my eyes, I looked at the Rejection while my trembling fingers brushed across his signature.

    This would be the last thing I ever did for Ethan.

    In seven days, I would no longer be his Luna.

    I would take our unborn child and disappear from his life forever.

    The Alpha’s Discarded Luna Chapter 2 Eternal Devotion

    Lianne’s POV:

    The next morning, sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows and filled my room.

    I endured the constant ache in my fractured ribs, then covered the lifeless color of my face with thick concealer before changing into a clean, tailored business suit.

    Ethan wasn’t only the Alpha of the Thorn Pack. He was also the CEO of Voss Group. And I was his chief secretary.

    To everyone in the company, I was the person he relied on most. Calm, capable, efficient. The perfect secretary who handled every problem without hesitation.

    Only a few in the pack knew I was his mate.

    I knew Ethan hated the fact that I had lost my wolf. That was why he’d never acknowledged our bond in public. For a long time, I’d waited quietly, hoping one day, he’d accept me openly.

    But now, none of that mattered anymore.

    I walked into the company building and went straight to the HR department. Then I placed my resignation letter on the manager’s desk.

    “You’re resigning?” The HR manager adjusted her glasses in disbelief. “Lianne, you’re the person Mr. Voss trusts more than anyone. The company would fall apart without you. Does Mr. Voss know about this?”

    “He won’t mind,” I replied calmly, keeping the same polished smile I used at work every day. “I’ll finish the transition over the next few days. Nothing at the company will be affected.”

    The manager looked like she wanted to say more, but in the end, she only sighed and signed the resignation letter.

    After leaving her office, I stopped in the hallway and took a slow breath. A sharp pain spread through my chest, reminding me that the injuries from the car crash were far worse than they looked.

    I was about to return to my desk when quiet voices drifted out from the break room nearby.

    “Did you hear? The one Alpha loves is back.”

    “You mean Ivy? No wonder Alpha spent so much at the auction. He paid fifty million for the ‘Tears of Moonstone’ necklace.”

    “Seriously? That’s the necklace that represents eternal devotion. He really treats her like a queen.”

    I stopped walking.

    Tears of Moonstone.

    Three years ago, on the day Ethan and I formed our mate bond, I’d seen that necklace in a magazine.

    The crystal was said to glow blue beneath moonlight, a gift blessed by the Moon Goddess for true mates.

    Back then, I’d pointed at the picture shyly and whispered to Ethan, “It’s beautiful.”

    He hadn’t even looked at the picture for more than a second before answering casually, “That necklace is meant for she-wolves who’ve gone through the official Luna ceremony. You don’t even have a wolf, Lianne. If you wore it, the pack would only complain. Stop making things harder for me.”

    So that was the truth. It had never been about pack traditions. I simply wasn’t worthy enough in his eyes.

    “Lianne, this document needs Alpha’s signature right away. Could you bring it in for me?” A junior secretary hurried toward me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

    I accepted the document, though my fingers shook slightly around it.

    Then I walked to the CEO’s office and pushed the door open. The moment I stepped inside, the scene before me froze me in place.

    Ethan sat behind his large desk while Ivy perched casually along the edge beside him.

    She wore a flawless silk dress that made her seem delicate enough to break.

    The coldness in Ethan’s eyes had completely disappeared. He let her wrap her arms around his neck, and when she leaned over to kiss his cheek, he didn’t pull away.

    Suddenly, the document slipped from my numb fingers. Papers scattered across the floor with a sharp rustle, as though my heart had shattered along with them.

    Both of them looked toward me at once.

    The tenderness on Ethan’s face vanished instantly, replaced by the familiar icy expression I knew too well. Irritation flickered in his eyes.

    “Do you not know how to knock before entering?” he said sharply.

    Ivy quickly jumped off the desk, acting startled by the situation. Then she walked over to me and took my hand, as though she was trying to comfort me. “Lianne, please don’t misunderstand anything. I’m just really happy today. Ethan gave me such an amazing gift.”

    Her fingers tightened around mine while she tilted her head to show off the necklace resting against her throat.

    The huge moonstone shimmered beneath the sunlight pouring through the windows, its glare so bright it almost hurt to look at.

    “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Ivy smiled sweetly, but the provocation in her eyes was meant only for me. “Ethan told me I’m the only person worthy of this symbol of eternal devotion.”

    A sharp pain twisted through my chest, dull and brutal, like a blunt knife dragging back and forth inside me.

    Still, I forced myself to remain standing. Somehow, I even managed a steady smile. “It’s beautiful. It looks perfect on you.”

    I crouched down slowly, pain shooting through my ribs as I gathered the scattered papers. After straightening them neatly, I placed them on Ethan’s desk. “Alpha, this document needs your signature.”

    My composure seemed to unsettle Ethan.

    A trace of discomfort crossed his face as he watched me turn toward the door. Then, almost awkwardly, he spoke up to explain himself. “Ivy just returned to the pack. The necklace was only meant as a welcome-back gift. Don’t overthink it.”

    “Alright.” I nodded lightly, said nothing else, and walked out without looking back.

    That evening, I returned home and quietly began packing my things.

    Everything in the house carried traces of the life Ethan and I had shared together. Now all of it felt like a cruel reminder of how foolish I’d been.

    I folded my clothes carefully and placed them inside the suitcase one by one. As for the expensive jewelry Ethan had given me over the years, I left every piece behind.

    I only wanted to take the things that truly belonged to me.

    The moment I closed the suitcase, hurried footsteps sounded from behind me.

    Then Ethan’s voice rang out in panic. “Lianne! What do you think you’re doing?”

    The Alpha’s Discarded Luna Chapter 3 Ethan, Help Me

    Lianne’s POV:

    I hadn’t expected Ethan to come back so early.

    Before I could say anything, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed the wrist I was using to close the suitcase. His grip tightened hard enough to hurt.

    Then he seemed to have realized something. Dark anger stirred in his eyes as he stared at me. “Didn’t I already explain the necklace was only a gift to celebrate Ivy’s return? And now you’re packing your things to threaten me? Lianne, you’re not a child anymore. You’re the Luna of this pack. Start acting like one.”

    I looked at his familiar face, handsome as ever yet completely devoid of warmth, and a deep sense of bitterness rose quietly inside me.

    No matter what happened, he always treated my pain like some immature attempt to gain attention.

    But I didn’t want to argue with him. Most of all, I couldn’t let him discover the Rejection.

    “I’m not threatening you,” I said, lowering my eyes. “The closet’s just too crowded, so I thought I’d clear some of the clothes out. Sometimes, old things should make room for new ones.”

    Ethan stared at me for a long moment, as though trying to determine whether I was lying to him.

    But my face remained calm, without the hurt and resentment he usually expected to see. Gradually, the tension in his expression eased. “Good. I’m glad you understand.”

    “Ethan?” A soft voice drifted in from the doorway.

    I looked up sharply. Ivy stood in the doorway wearing a thin silk nightdress, a man’s jacket draped loosely over her shoulders. It carried Ethan’s scent.

    She leaned weakly against the doorframe, her pale face making her look like a fragile white flower ready to collapse at any moment.

    “What is she doing here?” The words escaped before I could stop them, and a sharp ache pierced my chest.

    “Ivy’s going to stay here for a while.” Ethan walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders with natural familiarity, as though he’d done it countless times before. “Some of her fans have been crossing the line lately. They even found the place she’s staying at now. It isn’t safe for her anymore. Until she finds somewhere suitable, staying here is the best option.”

    Then he looked at me, warning clear in his eyes. “Treat her properly. I don’t want people spreading rumors that the Luna of the Thorn Pack is bullying another pack member. Do you understand?”

    I stared at the two of them standing together, and the whole thing felt strangely unreal.

    My mate had brought the woman he loved into our home. And now he expected me to welcome her with a smile.

    “Alright,” I replied with a bitter smile. “I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”

    The staff moved quickly after that. They cleaned out the room beside mine, the nursery Ethan and I had once planned to use for our future child, and turned it into Ivy’s bedroom.

    Ethan personally stayed with her while the servants arranged everything. He even instructed them to replace the scent diffuser oils with lavender because it was Ivy’s favorite fragrance.

    The laughter drifting from the room next door grated against my nerves like a blade scraping over raw skin, tearing deeper into a heart that was already falling apart.

    Late that night, I forced my exhausted body into the bathroom.

    Warm water poured over me, but no amount of heat could drive away the cold buried deep inside my chest.

    I lifted my eyes to the mirror. My face looked pale and drained, and dark bruises spread across my chest from the crash. At that moment, the tears I had been holding back finally fell.

    Just six more days.

    If I could endure six more days, everything would be over.

    After changing into a simple silk slip dress, I stepped out of the bathroom through the lingering steam. My vision was still hazy, so I didn’t notice someone standing inside the room.

    Suddenly, my foot slipped against the floor, and my body pitched backward.

    But instead of crashing down, I fell into a firm, burning embrace.

    One of Ethan’s arms locked tightly around my waist while his other hand pressed protectively against the back of my head, pulling me hard against his chest.

    The sharp cedarwood scent that always clung to him surrounded me instantly.

    “Can’t even stand properly anymore?” His voice came out low and rough beside my ear.

    “Let me go,” I insisted, struggling to steady myself. “Shouldn’t you be with Ivy right now?”

    His eyes darkened instantly. Instead of letting me go, Ethan pulled me tighter against him. His fingers slid slowly through my damp hair before settling at the back of my neck, right over the sensitive gland every werewolf guarded instinctively.

    “Lianne, I’m your mate,” he murmured against my skin. His warm breath brushed across my collarbone, sending a shiver through me. “Yesterday was our anniversary. I told you I’d make it up to you.”

    His hand moved slowly along my skin, rough fingertips brushing lightly against me and leaving heat in their wake.

    Three years of marriage had taught him every weakness I had. He knew exactly how to break down my defenses.

    “No…”

    My protest was swallowed by his possessive, punishing kiss.

    There was no gentleness in the kiss. It was fierce and possessive, filled with a hunger that felt more like claiming than affection.

    He kissed me hard enough to steal the air from my lungs, as though he wanted to erase every thought in my mind except him.

    The next moment, he pushed me down onto the bed, his body pressing heavily against mine.

    During the struggle, the straps of my silk dress slipped from my shoulders, exposing bare skin beneath the dim light.

    Desire burned openly in Ethan’s eyes. His lips moved slowly down my neck, leaving heated marks along my collarbone.

    “Ethan…” A shaky sound escaped my throat as my fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, my nails pressing into the hard muscles beneath his shirt.

    For that brief moment, I let myself sink into the illusion he created. Even knowing it wasn’t real, I still reached desperately for the warmth he gave me so rarely.

    His hand slid beneath the hem of my dress, his touch burning against my skin.

    Just as he was about to go further, a terrified scream suddenly rang out from Ivy’s room next door.

    “Ethan, help me!”

    👉 CONTINUE READING