Eunice write

Emma had always thought of herself as untouchable. With her sharp tongue, enviable beauty, and spoiled rotten demeanor, she had managed to stay several steps ahead of anyone who dared to challenge her. But somehow, Will Knight-cocky, impatient, and slightly dimwitted-had managed to kidnap her and her best friend not once, but twice. How? She was still trying to wrap her head around it. The first time had been a chaotic mess. Will had bungled the plan, getting caught halfway through, and yet, somehow, he still managed to pull it off. The second time was almost laughable. Emma had expected a more elaborate scheme, but instead, Will had used his brute force and complete disregard for any semblance of intelligence. It was absurd, really. He had no finesse, no strategy, and yet here they were, locked in his uncomfortably shabby hideout for the second time. "Seriously?" Emma muttered, pacing the room, hands on her hips. "How does someone this clueless get away with kidnapping?" Will shrugged with that stupid grin of his. "Dunno, guess I'm just lucky." Emma shot him a withering look. Maybe luck had something to do with it, but she had a feeling there was more to Will than met the eye. Perhaps he wasn't as dimwitted as she'd thought. That idea made her stomach twist in an unsettling way.

After the death of Peter McKinley, the fate of the McKinley Inns was left in the hands of Peter's firstborn son, Alexander. Thrust into leadership, Alexander was determined to protect the legacy his father built from the ground up. But when he uncovered the company's seemingly unending debts and mounting pressure from creditors, he found himself drowning in financial ruin. Desperation clawed at him as he scrambled for a solution to save the family's name and keep the company afloat. Then came an unexpected offer-one that both intrigued and infuriated him. George Garrison, a young billionaire and hotel magnate, approached him with a proposal: he would buy McKinley Inns, settle its debts, and keep Alexander on as the face of the brand. But there was a condition-George wanted to marry Alexander's younger sister. The deal sounded like a lifeline, but to Alexander, it felt like a betrayal. His sister was in love with someone else, and the thought of trading her happiness for a business deal sickened him. Refusing to give up so easily, Alexander sought out other options, determined to find another way. Meanwhile, George Garrison, under pressure from his late grandfather's will, was required to marry in order to claim full control of his inheritance. The catch? He was gay-and had no desire for a wife or a marriage of convenience. He saw Peter McKinley's daughter as a solution, a name to satisfy the will. But when Alexander stormed into his office, angry and desperate, George found himself considering a far more intriguing arrangement-one that just might change everything.

Keagan is the definition of bad boy. College man with a body that could make even God moan and an attitude to put the devil to shame. He walked campus halls like he owned them-tattoos inked across golden skin, smirk cocked like a loaded gun, and eyes that dared anyone to look away first. Between classes and drinking parties, sex and boys, Keagan had it all. He didn't chase love-he devoured it in the dark, left it breathless, and moved on before morning. Until Jamison. Small, skinny, anti-social. With glasses too big for his face and sweaters that hung off his shoulders like afterthoughts, Jamison barely existed in Keagan's world. Quiet, forgettable... or so everyone thought. But there was something in the way Jamison looked at Keagan-like he saw straight through the leather and lust. Like he wasn't afraid. Keagan should've ignored him. Should've kept walking. But something about that awkward little ghost of a boy stopped him cold. Curiosity, maybe. Hunger, definitely. Because suddenly, Keagan wanted more than a body to ruin-he wanted to see if someone like Jamison could handle the heat. The question wasn't if Keagan would break him. The question was... would Jamison beg for it?

Thea Gibson lived a perfectly ordinary life. By day, she served drinks at the local bar, earning just enough to pay the rent and keep her bills from piling up. She wasn't one for extravagant spending, preferring quiet nights at home with her nose buried in the latest paranormal fantasy novel. It was easier to get lost in a world of mythical creatures and epic battles than face the real one, where she tried-and often failed-to suppress the awkwardness that followed her like a shadow. Most nights, she relished her solitude, but that didn't stop her best friend Shae from dragging her to parties. "You need to get out more!" Shae would say with that infectious energy that made it impossible to say no. Thea would end up surrounded by strangers, nursing a drink in a corner, wishing she could escape into the pages of her book instead of pretending to enjoy herself. The only bright spot? Detective Josh Cooper. He was always there, with his captivating smile and those deep eyes that seemed to see right through her. Thea had a secret crush on him. But that was all it was-a harmless fantasy. That all changed one fateful night. The bar was quieter than usual when a figure appeared in the doorway. The air seemed to crackle with electricity as Thea stared at him. He was tall, his presence undeniable, with a calm confidence that seemed at odds with the tension in the room. Before she could even process what was happening, a group of monstrous creatures-Titans, she later learned-charged toward her. Panic surged in her chest. But before they could reach her, the man was there, moving with blinding speed, his hand raised. A bolt of light shot from his fingers, and the Titans disintegrated into smoke. "I'm Hermes," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Messenger of the Gods. And you, Thea, are a reincarnated deity with a destiny you've yet to remember." The words felt surreal. Thea opened her mouth to protest, but the world around her seemed to shift, and suddenly she wasn't sure what was real anymore. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. Hermes smiled, the corner of his lips curling up with a mysterious knowing. "You're about to find out. The Titans are free. And it's up to you to send Cronos back to Tartarus." Thea shook her head in disbelief. "This is insane." "You're not the first to refuse the truth," Hermes said, his tone soft, but unwavering. "But you will be the one to stop him." Everything she'd known, every bit of normalcy she clung to, crumbled in that instant.

Young aspiring writer Norah Jacobs needs to escape. In just two weeks, her life has been turned upside down. Her brother, a brilliant but deeply corrupt lawyer, is incarcerated for murder. His name, once synonymous with success, is now dragged through the mud by the media. And as if that weren't enough, his former partner-a man as dangerous as he is relentless-now lurks around her home, throwing half-threats her way, making it clear that her silence comes at a price... The peace she had been desperately trying to hold onto crumbles. So, Norah makes a radical decision: she packs her car, abandons her apartment, shuts off her phone, and disappears. Her destination is Bellvale, a small coastal town, far removed from the chaos she left behind. But in Bellvale, calm is only an illusion. Soon, Norah realizes that this secluded corner of the world harbors its own darkness. Strange whispers in the woods, too many piercing gazes, and an unsettling feeling of being watched... She finds herself drawn into an ancient power struggle, one between creatures she thought were only found in fairy tales. And she quickly learns an undeniable truth: no matter how hard you try to run from your problems... they always find a way to catch up.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his ""eligible bachelor"" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a ""trailer park girl"" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his ""grief."" But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive ""free"" could be.

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. ""Mr. Kensington,"" the nurse's voice cracked, ""your wife... she's critical."" A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. ""Liam is in the shower,"" Seraphina's voice purred. ""Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low."" Then, Liam's bored voice: ""If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning."" Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

Sienna Sullivan entered the penthouse not as a bride, but as a business transaction to pay off her family's debts. Manhattan's most ruthless billionaire, Julian Vanderbilt, expected a submissive wife, but he purchased a woman who was secretly a global fashion icon and a lethal operative. When he finally tried to lock her in a gilded cage to "protect" her, Sienna didn't just walk away-she jumped from his moving Rolls-Royce to reclaim her own crown. The arrangement was a psychological prison. Julian paraded fake heroines in her face, never realizing Sienna was the "Ghost," the soldier who had already saved his life in a war zone years ago. While she bled in the shadows to keep his empire from crumbling, he dismissed her as a mousy tutor. The humiliation was absolute as her family mocked her as a "charity case" and Julian treated her like a fragile doll. He ignored the warrior who was the true power behind his throne, choosing to prioritize his own secrets over her safety. She realized Julian didn't want a partner; he wanted a possession to hide in a vault. The discovery that he would never trust the woman beneath the mask was the final betrayal. He only loved the version of her he could control. Sienna finally chose to burn the bridge. After neutralizing an assassin in a designer gown, she tossed her wedding ring into a puddle and vanished into the night. She wasn't running from the fire; she was going back to the desert to finish the war. The Queen has left the board, and the King is coming for blood.

Stella Judd worked hard for her entire life, in return, she only got endless deception and oppression and died without dignity. However, she was reborn with time turning back. She vowed to never again let anyone who had bullied her get anything out of her. She got away from a very vicious family and got rich by her own hands. Nevertheless, she felt in love with a cripple. Although he was a cripple, Stella wanted to protect her husband and live in peace, but she didn't expect that her crippled husband suddenly turned into the distinguished Prime Minister! What's more, not only he was not lame anymore, but also he walked with her through life and death.

For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave. The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for. In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in. "Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer." His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient. "I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now." He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.

Her sister is marrying her ex. So she brings her best friend as her fake fiancé. What could possibly go wrong? Savannah Hart thought she was over Dean Archer-until her sister, Chloe announces she's marrying him. The same man Savannah never stopped loving. The man who left her heartbroken... and now belongs to her sister. A weeklong wedding in New Hope. One mansion full of guests. And a very bitter maid of honor. To survive it, Savannah brings a date-her charming, clean-cut best friend, Roman Blackwood. The one man who's always had her back. He owes her a favor, and pretending to be her fiancé? Easy. Until fake kisses start to feel real. Now Savannah's torn between keeping up the act... or risking everything for the one man she was never supposed to fall for.