Jane Joe

Evelyn Stone never believed in werewolves-until the night she witnessed one rip through a rival mafia boss. That night, her world turned upside down. Her family, known as the Stones, control the weapons trade in New York. Her father's dying wish? For her to marry into peace with their rival mafia clan, the powerful, secretive Romano family. But there's a catch. Luca Romano isn't just the heir to a criminal empire. He's a cursed Alpha-part of a bloodline bound to the moon, violent instincts, and a past soaked in blood. To the world, he's a businessman. But in the shadows, he rules a pack that obeys only him. Evelyn becomes his bride in a forced alliance, not knowing Luca's secret. He didn't expect to fall for her. And she didn't expect to crave the darkness inside him. But when an old prophecy resurfaces-declaring Evelyn as the "Blood Moon Mate" whose child would either end or enslave the werewolf race-both sides of the war want her dead. And the only man who can protect her... is the monster she's falling in love with. Now, Evelyn must choose: Run from the beast, or rule beside him.

"Pardon!! Who arranged that?" "Your head of PR, Mr silver," she said. "They think it'll make you more humanized and social. You know, billionaire CEO let's loose for once." Damon exhaled sharply, having a mix between a sigh and a scoff. "Humanize me. What nonsense is that!!" Amelia refrained from saying that, at times, Damon could certainly benefit from appearing human. "I already know you're going to hate it," she said instead. "But right now boss, the merger hinges on public opinion. You need this to work." Damon looked at her for the first time since they entered the SUV. His sharp, assessing eyes almost made her disappear from her seat. "And what do you know about public opinion, Amelia?" She looked at him squarely. "Enough to know you can't afford to be seen as an unreachable isolated billionaire anymore. The board is given a hint about new leadership. I think you need to play their game this time." Damon hated hearing the truth, especially when it was said so bluntly. But that was Amelia, always unafraid to speak her mind when others pretended in his presence. "Fine," he relented, facing his phone back. "But if I have to suffer through Ember Club tonight, you're coming too. Someone has to keep me from throwing a drink in someone's face." Amelia blinked. "Excuse me?" Damon Blackwood, an overworked billionaire CEO finds himself in an impulsive, drunken Las Vegas marriage with his assistant Amelia Harper. A wild night at a club, he expects to end it swiftly. However, a media scandal forces Damon to keep the marriage alive in other to protect his company's image and secure a critical business deal. What starts as a fake arrangement soon pulls Damon and Amelia into a journey of self-discovery and love. Amelia a strong-willed woman with dreams of opening her cafe, begins to chip away at Damon's cold exterior. Damon, haunted by loneliness and distrust, starts seeing life through Amelia's compassionate perspective. Complications arise with jealous ex-lovers, meddling family members, and the looming truth behind their fake marriage. As their six-month contracts near its end, both must confront their feelings and choose to return to their separate lives or risk everything for love.

Betrayed, devastated, and robbed of her legacy, Eira Croft's life takes a new turn when her wedding day is turned into her sister's wedding. Robbed of her empire, her husband, and her identity, she discovers she wasn't even a Croft and was never part of the family she considered her blood for 25 years. Left penniless and heartbroken, the homeless Eira is hit by a truck the moment she steps out of the gate. As she lay in her pool of blood, she wished for a second chance. Ironically, she gets reborn by the mischievous god who hit her with a truck and even receives a powerful system as an apology gift. Lucian, the neglected son of the underworld ruler, conceals his scars behind a reckless smile. Broken, he thought love was impossible until he met Eira. What's Lucian's past like? Read now and watch Eira's fierce return.

Lira, the princess of the silver wolf pack and the chosen child of the moon goddess, gets betrayed by her cousin and best friend Sofie, who lures her into a vampire's den. She is overwhelmed by the vampire who mates with her to get rid of a poison in its system. Lira is expelled by the pack and thrown out by her fiancé after her pregnancy is known to all. She is detested by both wolves and vampires for carrying an anomaly in her stomach; she leaves the fantasy world and comes to the world of humans. After five years, Lira meets Will, the vampire and father of her kids, during a checkup in the hospital. She decides to ignore him, but her past pack comes for her and her children, which makes her rely on Will. As a battle to protect her family unfolds, Lira finds out secrets that could prove to be a danger to her family, and she must protect her identity from the humans. How would she do it? Let's see.

Percy had always received the short end of the stick when it came to luck. Separated from his parents at the age of two, the child no one wanted to adopt, the very personification of bad luck, that was just Percy's life. Percy didn't care about all that stuff because, to him, he wasn't so cursed. He had Olivia, his fiancé, a house, money, and a job. That belief remained with him until he got sacked from work, walked in on his cheating girlfriend, and got his entire property stolen from him by her. As if the heavens were consoling him, Percy becomes the host of a system. How could he make use of that system? What secrets is the world still hiding from Percy, and is he terrible luck? We should see.

Freya Gregor is rejected by her destined mate, Troy Hugo, and seeks comfort in a one-night stand with a stranger, Duke Fillmore, who turns out to be her second-chance mate. Unknown to her, Freya carries special powers, which she gets through childbirth. She learned about her pregnancy in the presence of everyone at the crowning party of Troy as the Alpha of the Frosbite Pack, where he was about to announce her as his mistress and make Gina, his girlfriend, his Luna instead of Freya. But faith had other plans. What plans? Find this and many more out in this intriguing Novel.

I didn't mean to call my boss. I definitely didn't mean to leave a seven-minute voicemail of dirty secrets about him. Working for Ruslan Oryolov is the job from hell. The man is impossible-demanding, arrogant, and way too gorgeous for his own good. After eighteen months of fetching his coffee and swallowing my pride, all I wanted was one night of stress relief. But the billionaire CEO of Bane Corporation isn't just a boss from hell. He's the head of the Oryolov Bratva-and now that he's heard every secret I never meant to share, he's decided to claim me. His contract. His rules. His protection for my three orphaned nieces and nephews-the only reason I'm signing my life away to a man I should fear. He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now he wants my soul.

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

On my birthday, my husband Dante asked for a divorce over a plate of cold lasagna. He held my hand, tears in his eyes, and told me his mistress was pregnant. "It’s a miracle, Elena," he wept. "God has finally given me a son." He looked at me with pity, calling me "broken" because I hadn't given him an heir in eight years. He moved his pregnant mistress into the penthouse I paid for, and his mother mocked me as a "dry vine" while cooking tonic soups for the new woman. They didn't know the truth I had buried three years ago. I remembered the day the doctor slid the file across the desk: *Azoospermia. Zero sperm count.* Dante was the sterile one. I had burned the results to protect his fragile ego as a Mafia Don. I took the blame. I drank his mother's vile herbal poisons every morning until I vomited, just to keep his secret. Now, he was discarding me for a "miracle" that was biologically impossible. I signed the divorce papers without a tear. Then I bought the debt of his company, put on a blood-red dress, and walked into his heir's Christening. I didn't come to object. I came to plug a USB drive into the projector and show the entire underworld exactly whose "miracle" that baby really was.

As my husband—the most feared Mafia Don in the city—lay dying, I stood by his bed playing the perfect, grieving wife. But with his dying breath, he confessed a horrifying secret: twenty-six years ago, he secretly swapped our newborn infants in the hospital. He told me he gave my flesh and blood to his mistress so her child could inherit the empire safely, while leaving his own legitimate son to rot in the slums. Before I could even process the betrayal, his mistress and her thug son burst into the hospital suite. "I grew up in the gutter while your fake son wore custom suits," the street rat spat, kicking the bedframe. "I want the penthouses and the millions in cash by tomorrow." The mistress paraded around the room, gloating about how her bloodline would now rule the underworld. Lorenzo signed the entire Syndicate over to the Underboss—the son he believed was hers—leaving me with nothing but a violent, greedy parasite. They thought they had won. They thought I was just a discarded, empty shell, completely stripped of my power, my legacy, and my child. But as I watched the ink dry on the will, I buried a cold, triumphant smile. They didn't know one crucial detail. Twenty-six years ago, I was awake when he made the swap. And in the dead of night, I had crept down to her room and switched the babies right back.

I was a top underground fixer and the wife of the most ruthless Mafia Capo in New York. I managed his money, built his empire, and spent countless nights waiting in terror for him to survive bloody turf wars. But one night, a desperate woman hired my encrypted network, begging for advice because her mafia protector was pulling away. When I looked at the photos she sent, my blood ran cold. The man she was crying over was my husband. He lied to my face, claiming he was busy with dangerous Family business and ignoring my texts. Yet, through the surveillance footage the woman sent me, I watched my ruthless husband stand in the pouring rain until dawn. The man who treated me like a servant was groveling like a beggar, clutching imported medicine and food, pleading with a civilian to open her door. "I will never leave you unprotected again," he promised her. I had bled my own inheritance dry to cover his careless mistakes, only for him to give his devotion to an outsider. He took my loyalty for granted, assuming I would always sit in our empty penthouse waiting for him. I realized my intellect and ambition were never meant to be buried for a man who didn't respect me. So, I logged into the Cayman Island banking portal and revoked his access to millions in offshore accounts. I took off my gold Famiglia signet ring, packed my bags, and left his territory forever.

Seven days before I was set to marry the most feared Mafia Don in the country, I was asked to step out of my own wedding photos. Because my shadow was ruining the shot. The photographer then took ninety-nine pictures—of my fiancé and my adopted sister. When I refused to give up the master suite meant for a wife, the man I loved called me ungrateful. He abandoned me at a remote compound to take her to a nail salon. So three days before the ceremony, I returned his keys, his ledgers, and his world. I left a single note: 'Thank you.' Eight years later, I came back home—and found him waiting for me on the same road where he once left me behind. He promised to wait forever. He broke that vow in the worst way possible. And I never even heard the crash.

"My world is a mess; you want nothing to do with this" "You don't have the right to decide that for me." Her chest was heaving, harsh breaths scraping the walls of her nose. "I am your wife, and I am choosing to be in your mess." He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer. "This is your last chance. Once you step in, I can never let go." "I'm not planning on it." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jade Saint, who was switched at birth, is coerced into an arranged marriage after returning to the Sterling home. That is, until Roman Volkov – the richest and most dangerous man in the city – claims her as his bride. Desperate to save her dying adoptive mother, she willingly enters into a contract marriage with the devil himself. But marriage to Roman is not what she thinks it is – not the enemies lurking in the shadows. Not the dangerous world he refuses to explain, and certainly not the way his cold touch begins to feel like a promise instead of a warning. Because the more she tries to understand him, the more she realises he didn't choose her by accident. And the truth behind it all may destroy her.

For three years, I was the one scrubbing the scent of blood from his hands and holding him while he screamed in pain. I was the one who taught Coleton Barron how to walk again after the car bomb nearly took his legs. But the moment he reclaimed his seat as Don, I became invisible. At his recovery gala, he draped his arm around Charly—the woman who fled when he was crippled—and laughed as he told his inner circle I was "just the hired help." It didn't stop at insults. When Charly faked a fall, he shoved me aside with enough force to crack my skull against the pool edge. When a bomb went off in a gallery, he looked me in the eye, saw me trapped under debris, and turned his back to carry her to safety instead. He even held a gun to my head because she lied about me poisoning his soup. His mother threw a check at me, telling me that tools go back in the box when the job is done. They thought I would beg to stay. They thought I was weak. I took the five million and vanished without a word. Three years later, I returned to New York. Not as his nurse, but as the fiancée of the only man Coleton fears. And when he saw the diamond on my finger, the King of New York finally realized he had thrown away his only lifeline.

I was washing the caked blood from my five-year-old daughter's broken body in the family mortuary. She had been tortured to death by a rival cartel. My husband Julian, the underworld's legendary "Master of Whispers," claimed his intelligence division did everything they could, but the rescue coordinates were wrong. Yet, while I stood over our child's corpse, he was busy comforting his new apprentice, Chloe. She posted a picture of their intertwined hands online, bragging that she had "accidentally deleted a crucial audio file" yesterday, but the boss had held her hand and forgiven her. Yesterday. The exact day my daughter died. When I confronted him, Julian slapped me across the face in front of our men. "You carry the curse of your bloodline! You are an omen of death! You brought this on her!" He blamed me for our child's slaughter, demanding I apologize to his mistress, while he secretly wiped the server logs to protect the incompetent girl who got our daughter killed. He actually thought I would just swallow the grief, refusing a divorce because I still loved him, allowing him to use my family's immense wealth to play house with his whore. But he forgot one crucial detail. His legendary "God's Ear" was a total myth, a lie entirely powered by the secret algorithms I funded to cover up his permanent deafness. I calmly gathered the ashes of my daughter from the floor and picked up my phone. "Initiate an immediate withdrawal of all funds from Julian's division. Let them bleed."