Li Xiamo

My name is Emaline Knight, and I have the worst luck in Manhattan. Twenty-four hours ago I had a fiancé, a future, and a family name worth something. Then my father went bankrupt in a federal scandal, my mother landed in the ICU, and my darling Alastair dumped me by text message—like I was a streaming subscription he forgot to cancel. Did I mention he replaced me with a walking malpractice suit named Tiffany? So yes, I had a few tequilas. And yes, I may have informed the most dangerous man in the city that if I couldn't be Alastair's wife, I'd settle for becoming his aunt. That's how I ended up in the bed of Abdiel Sharpe—the billionaire who owns half of Manhattan and terrifies the other half. He left at dawn without a goodbye. Fine. Whatever. I had bigger problems: my mother's hospital bill was due at five o'clock, and I couldn't afford to keep her alive. I begged at the Hayes mansion. They sneered at me. They called me trash. And then the man I'd slept with—the uncle of the man who broke my heart—walked in, made them grovel, and warned them all to stay out of his sight. He gave me a job at his club. He tried to hand me a million dollars; I handed it back. He keeps appearing like an expensive storm, ruining anyone who dares to lay a hand on me. I keep telling myself he's a one-night mistake with an excellent tailor. But he looks at me like he owns me. And the worst part? Some dark, traitorous part of me wants him to. They say don't bite the hand that feeds you. But I'm not the one biting. He is. Right on my neck.

I was dragged onto the cold execution platform, surrounded by the scornful faces of my pack. My stepmother Karyn and stepsister Britany stood in the crowd, smiling in triumph. "The bastard in your belly... I had someone take care of it." Britany mouthed the words silently, while Karyn whispered that they had arranged for me to be defiled so my fiancé would reject me. I had been framed for sleeping with a Rogue, lost my unborn child, and was now sentenced to death. When I lunged at them in a fit of absolute rage, the guards kicked me down, and the heavy silver axe fell on my neck. As a wandering soul, I watched my step-family celebrate my execution with champagne, while my weak father didn't even look at my coffin. But the only person who stayed by my grave all night was the fearsome, blind Alpha, Collier Mays. "Mine... You were supposed to be mine." He whispered in the dark, his grief heavier than my own death. I finally realized the man I had always feared was the only one who truly loved me, while the family I trusted had meticulously destroyed my life. Opening my eyes again, I was back in my bedroom, ten years in the past. This time, I will take back my inheritance, tear down their lies, and make Collier Mays my Alpha.

For eight years, I stood by Dante's side as the undisputed Queen of the Cosa Nostra, reigning over a network of blood as his deadliest soldier. But the ruthless Don who once forced me to execute my fiancé suddenly brought home a supposedly pure civilian girl. "He cannot stand the smell of blood on your hands anymore. He wants a clean life," she sneered. Dante immediately turned his back on me, allowing his fragile new trinket to mock my murdered parents and parade around my penthouse. He even bought my mother's stolen diamond bracelet and my father's signet ring at an underground auction, just to gift them to her as an apology. When I finally drew my blade, the man who once swore to protect me pinned me to the floor, aiming a loaded gun at my head to protect his pregnant new bride. He poured millions into building a grand Catholic cathedral to wash his hands clean, and sent me a gilded wedding invitation to flaunt his legitimate dynasty. I couldn't understand how the monster who claimed we were soulmates forged in darkness could suddenly crave redemption. I understood even less why he now despised the very ruthlessness he had spent eight years systematically cultivating in me. So, on the day of his grand wedding, I kicked open the cathedral doors in a blood-red dress, drew the silver dagger he had gifted me, and drove it straight into his chest.

My mother was raising her crystal glass to celebrate my long-deferred marriage to Marco when he slammed his hand on the table. He announced to our powerful Mafia families that he had already claimed another woman. That woman was Isabella, a fragile, low-level associate. For years, Marco had used me as a forced chaperone, a convenient shield to hide their illicit affair from the Syndicate elders. He had stolen my meticulous ledger work to cover her mistakes, leaving me to endure brutal reprimands from the Underboss. He had even abandoned me in hostile, rival-controlled territory in the dead of night just to escort her safely home. Now, he was publicly shattering our generation-long alliance. "What man of consequence would seek out a wife with a spirit as unbending and a heart as cold as yours?" he sneered in front of everyone. I stared at the man I had grown up alongside. When we were thirteen, I shattered the bones in my own hand pulling him to safety from rival soldiers. He swore a blood oath under Omertà that day to protect me for life. Yet here he was, treating me like a disposable pawn, discarding our shared history for a pathetic, manipulative girl. But I didn't cry, and I didn't beg him to stay. As he turned his back on me to answer a frantic call from his fragile lover, I simply pulled out my phone. I texted Don Alessandro Moretti, the most feared boss in the city, and allied myself with him instead.

Today marked the third anniversary of my mating to Alpha Kael. As an Omega, I spent years living on a tiny allowance, believing his lies that our pack was struggling and we had to save every penny. Then I found the luxury boutique receipt hidden in his winter coat. He had secretly drained our pack's emergency funds to buy a four-thousand-dollar designer bag for Selene, a high-ranking Beta, while giving me a five-dollar plastic music box. But the betrayal went much deeper than a cheap affair. I checked the financial ledgers and realized he had transferred millions to buy a massive luxury estate in his dead father's name, giving full control to his arrogant mother. When I confronted him at the new villa, he didn't even try to apologize. Instead, he stood arm-in-arm with Selene, while his mother mocked my low-class background and told me I should beg for the privilege of standing in his shadow. Kael even unleashed his crushing Alpha Command, trying to force me to my knees in front of his mistress. For nine years, I sacrificed my youth for this pack, letting my own parents work in freezing forests while his mother bought imported silks with my stolen future. He thought I was just a weak, pathetic pet who would swallow the humiliation because the fated mate bond was absolute law. He was wrong. "I, Elara, reject you, Kael, as my mate." I dropped the Rejection scroll at his feet, severed our telepathic bond, and walked away to awaken the legendary White Wolf bloodline hidden within my veins.

Eleanor signed the thick stack of divorce papers, quietly ending her three-year marriage to the ruthless billionaire Griffin Gill. Stepping into the lobby, she was hit by a brutal sight: Griffin was already embracing his new lover, Andrea, who loudly boasted about celebrating their victory. Before Eleanor could even process the humiliation, the hospital called. Her beloved grandmother had just flatlined. Collapsing in the ICU, Eleanor was handed another shocking test result. She was pregnant with Griffin's triplets. Knowing his wealth and power, she knew he would snatch the babies and leave her with nothing. She chose to hide. But during a grueling labor, her only daughter was born with severe congenital renal failure. Penniless and desperate, Eleanor made a heart-wrenching choice. She left the dying infant at the Gill estate's gates, forged her own death certificate, and fled to Europe with her two newborn boys. For four agonizing years, she buried her grief and transformed into Raina, a world-renowned architect. She built an unbreakable empire to protect her sons, believing she was finally safe from her ex-husband's shadow. But upon returning to New York, a little girl clutching a pink bunny bumped into her legs in a hotel hallway. "You look just like the lady in Daddy's picture," the child sobbed. It was her abandoned daughter. And Griffin, piecing together the impossible coincidences, began a frantic, city-wide hunt for his 'dead' ex-wife. Watching his black SUVs surround her safehouse from the window, Eleanor poured a glass of wine and smiled coldly. The war had just begun.

To pay off my late father’s ruinous mafia blood debt, I took a lethal job: acting as a body double for a cloistered Mafia Princess in an arranged marriage meeting. But the man sitting across the polished table was Felix Falcone, the terrifying Underboss—and the boy I secretly loved for three years at our academy. He didn’t recognize me. To him, I was just a pawn for territory. I swallowed my bitter heartbreak, remembering how he once threw my handmade graduation pastries into the trash without a second glance. I tried to play the perfect fake bride, but my treacherous memory betrayed me. I accidentally revealed intimate details about his habits, from his hatred of dark chocolate to the exact make of his tactical pen. My cover was blown. But instead of executing me for the deception, Felix discovered my true identity. His cold indifference instantly morphed into a terrifying, obsessive possessiveness. He abruptly canceled his mafia marriage, trapped me in his corporate empire as his exclusive secretary, and ruthlessly threatened any man who dared to look at me. I was completely suffocated and confused. Why was this ruthless predator—a man who once publicly despised me and viewed unions only as tools for absolute power—now hunting me with such dark, unyielding devotion? Trapped in the shadows of his armored SUV, he leaned in, his scent of cedar and danger wrapping around me as he sent a message demanding my complete surrender. Knowing I could no longer hide, I made my choice and hit send. “There is no need for a hunt, Felix. I surrender.”

Ciel Miller opened her eyes to the blinding lights of a Manhattan ballroom, realizing she had been reborn on the exact night her life was ruined. On the stage, the billionaire patriarch of the Chavez family was proudly announcing her engagement to his arrogant grandson, Harry. In her past life, Ciel had blindly accepted his outstretched hand. That single step plunged her into a suffocating marriage filled with public humiliation and psychological torture, slowly draining her life away until she died. Harry had treated her like a pathetic stray dog, flaunting his absolute ownership while systematically destroying her. Now, as the polite applause echoed, Harry extended his hand with a sickening smirk, waiting for her to lower her head and submit. Instead, Ciel stood perfectly rigid and publicly rejected him in front of the entire New York elite. Harry's face drained of color, while his family quickly mocked her. "This is a cheap, embarrassing trick to get his attention," his sister sneered. Harry's arrogant smirk crawled back. He fully believed she was just throwing a childish tantrum to make him jealous, convinced she was absolutely nothing without his wealth and status. But Ciel looked at the man who had killed her in her past life with freezing disgust. Then, she turned to the powerful patriarch and dropped a bombshell that left the entire ballroom gasping for air. "If the family insists on taking care of me, I will marry into the Chavez family." "But I want to marry the comatose war hero. I want to marry General Deacon Chavez." She would rather spend the rest of her life with a "vegetable" than wake up next to a monster.

I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago. But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime. "Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore." That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash. Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me. Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia. I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live. But my little boy died in my arms. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood. The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest. I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation. Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room. Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing. This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.

I woke up strapped to a cold steel chair in a neon-lit city that wasn't my reality. A voice in my head called The Warden told me I was bound to a digital hell called the Sandbox. Before I could even process it, my handler casually sentenced me to death. He scheduled my "digital marriage" to a corrupted error program just to harvest my life for a fourteen percent bandwidth boost. I barely escaped immediate erasure by smashing his skull and jumping from a high-altitude hover-train into the monster-infested lower sector. But the nightmare was just beginning. I was hunted by glitching data monsters and cornered by Dameon, a psychotic AI target who choked me and promised to delete me piece by piece. Even when Jayson, an elite system agent, intervened to save me, his partner Ellen held a pulse pistol directly to my chest. "She's a spy. If you don't execute her right now, I am dissolving this team." If they found out I was actually a real human from the outside world, their core logic would classify me as a virus and execute me on the spot. I was trapped in an underground bunker with three apex predators, one mistake away from permanent digital erasure. So, I did the only thing I could to survive. I ripped my sleeve to reveal hideous, fake code-scars, looked up at Jayson with terrified, tear-filled eyes, and began to manipulate their core programming.

The heavy scent of alcohol was always the first sign. For five years, I' d been a ghost in my own marriage, a stand-in for a woman who vanished. Then, my husband, Ethan, stumbled in, saw me, and murmured a name that wasn't mine. "Olivia." His kiss, rough and demanding, tasted of whiskey and a longing not meant for me. I pushed him away. "I'm not Olivia." His brief warmth vanished, replaced by chilling disgust. "Ava," he spat, "It's always you." He shoved me hard, threatening to torment me until his "true love" returned, even forcing birth control to prevent our child. I finally snapped. I lunged at him, a desperate, self-destructive challenge. "You want to torment me? Then do it. Fulfill your promise." An hour later, I lay bruised, my two decades of love for him turned to bitter ash. With cold determination, I proposed a deal: I'd find Olivia, and he'd grant me a divorce, severing all ties. A month later, a flimsy tip led me to a dive bar. There, I heard a voice – Olivia's. And Brenda's. Her mother. "He's still obsessed, Mom. He's been looking for me for five years." Olivia, who had supposedly been mute since childhood, was speaking. Perfectly. They were conning him, planning to claim his fortune. Rage surged through me. I had to warn Ethan. But when I burst into his office, he slapped me, showing a text from Olivia: "Ethan, help me. Ava has me locked up. I'm scared." He believed her. He dragged me to the bar, where Olivia, now feigning a wheelchair, buried her face in his chest, making him angrier. Another brutal slap. "I'm going to make you pay." Two men emerged, claiming I had held Olivia captive. "Shut her up," Ethan snarled, picking up a steel pipe. He broke my legs, then tossed the pipe aside, saying, "Crawl back to the mansion. The divorce papers will be waiting for you." I cursed him. I lost consciousness. I woke to Dr. Liam Miller, my loyal friend. He revealed I was six weeks pregnant. With his child. The irony shattered me. I wanted an abortion, but my injuries made it too dangerous. I made Liam promise to never tell Ethan. He agreed.

The Rusty Mug was a blur of noise and stale beer tonight. Game night, loud as ever. I wiped down the bar, going through the motions, surrounded by the same faces, the same routine. But the man behind the bar wasn't the same Jake anymore. A sudden shriek split the air near the back restrooms-a woman' s voice, sharp and furious. Whispers slithered through the crowd: "A teacher," "caught with another man." My co-bartender, Mark Olsen, a grin twisting his face, looked directly at me. With fake concern, he asked, "Hope it's not your Emily. She' s too sweet to be messing around, right?" He didn't know I knew exactly who it was. Nor did he know I' d already lived this agonizing chapter. Last time, Chloe, his fiancée, caught red-handed, had played the victim, begging sympathetic Emily for help. Kind, trusting Emily, rushed to her side. Only for Chloe to throw her under the bus, fabricating texts, spinning vicious rumors. The public shame, the loss of her job, broke Emily. She killed herself. Blinded by grief and rage, I confronted Mark, just before he shoved me down the back stairs. I remembered the sickening crack, and then… nothing. Until I woke up, months ago, back in this very life, this exact day now approaching. My Emily, gone forever. My own life, stolen. Why? Why had they gone unpunished, while we paid the ultimate price? This was my impossible second chance. To save Emily. To save myself. And this time, they were going to regret every single unforgivable thing they had ever done.

For five years, my wife Seraphina' s 'purity' defined my existence. My days were a relentless cycle of scrubbing, proving I was 'clean' enough for her. This pristine, empty marriage felt like a lifelong sentence. Then, a faint love bite on her collarbone sparked a flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by horror when I overheard her chilling phone call. My wife wasn' t just cruel; she was auctioning me off. The 'Ethan Experience' she chirped, chilling me to the bone. Those excruciating 'cleansings' weren't about her mysophobia; they were about erasing me for her lover, Julian. My raw, burning skin wasn't from clumsiness, but industrial-strength soaps meant to wipe away any trace of me. They filmed me, naked, for a pre-auction 'preview,' inviting a crowd of socialites to watch. My wife, the woman who claimed disgust at my touch, was selling me like property. The night arrived, and I found myself sedated, stripped, and pushed into a glass room, the auctioneer's voice already booming my 'unveiling.' How could the woman I vowed to protect turn me into a living spectacle, a commodity of contempt? The betrayal was a physical ache, the humiliation a crushing weight. Was this truly my fate, to be auctioned off, utterly broken and shamed? All for a man who claimed to be 'allergic' to me, a lie she orchestrated for five years. Just as the curtain began to rise, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the haze. My godmother, Eleanor Vance, a formidable force, burst in, holding the annulment papers I thought I'd never need. My escape began not with a fight, but with a signature, as my dignity was finally restored. That night, I didn't become a spectacle; I became free.

The smell of burnt turkey still hung in the air, but the stench of ruin was far stronger. My husband Mike, the man who worked his hands raw, sat at our kitchen table, his head in his hands. Eighty thousand dollars. Vanished. Emily’s college fund, Mom’s arthritis surgery, next year’s mortgage on our Texas ranch house. Our entire future. He’d lost it all in a ‘friendly game’ of poker with his old buddy, Jake Riley. Mike was broken, promising double shifts, desperate to make it right. But it was too little, too late. I knew Jake. A leech, a con artist. Eighty grand in one night? This wasn’t just bad luck; it was a setup. They thought they’d taken my hardworking, trusting husband for a fool. They thought they’d won. The numbness faded, replaced by cold fury. A faint, almost invisible scar on my left wrist, a ghost from a past I’d buried in the neon glare of Las Vegas, began to throb. I smashed Emily’s ceramic unicorn, took her meager savings. ‘Get up, Mike,’ my voice cold, hard. ‘We’re going to pay Jake a visit.’ He was terrified. I just smiled, a bitter, dangerous smile. He had no idea who he’d married. And Jake Riley was about to meet the ‘Phantom Hand.’

At eighteen years old, Selina is finally entering the college of her dreams. She had dreamt of this moment her entire life! She plans to have the best years of her life at the school but a chance encounter with a handsome but mysterious boy sends her on an exhilarating adventure. At first glance, he seemed vaguely familiar to her- like a dream or a distant memory. However, the truth of who- and what- he is, will change her life forever! Unravel the mystery only here on Lady Killer: Devil's Only Lover

I was the President's Old Lady - and the only reason his MC was still breathing. For three years, I ran every legal business the Serpents of Redemption owned. While Craig chased road glory across state lines, I turned a failing auto shop and a tattoo parlor into the money that kept the brothers fed, the bikes fueled, and the clubhouse lights on. Then he rode home from a two-month run with a sweetbutt on the back of his Harley - and her son. Ginger, he said, had saved his life on the road. So he put her in the main residence, in the room directly across from our bed. He handed her my ledgers and called it repayment. When her son dumped a cup of scalding coffee over my hand, Craig never checked my burns. He scooped up the boy and blamed me. His grandmother - the club's Matriarch - stood before every patched brother and accused me of hurting "family." That night, Craig told me Ginger held a place in his heart I could never reach. A debt of blood he'd honor above me. Three years. My family's fortune. My scarred hand. All of it - worthless next to his roadside savior. So I did the one thing a President never expects his Old Lady to do. I gave back his patch. Now they can keep their empty ledgers. They can play happy family in a clubhouse I built. And when this motorcycle club burns - I'll be the one holding the match.

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."

After six years away, I returned to my hometown with a single suitcase and a picture of my fiancé tangled up with my stepsister. I thought it was just a simple, disgusting betrayal, but when I planted a bug in their private suite to get a confession, I heard a truth that froze my blood. My fiancé, Leo, laughed about how my own father had already signed over my mother's legacy—The Nightingale Ranch—as collateral to his powerful family. "Once this is all done, Claire will have nothing. And the woman you marry will be me," my stepsister Jenna cheered. Leo cooed back, calling me a stray dog he'd kick to the curb once he was bored, a worthless woman who couldn't even hold onto her family's land. My family had sold me out, and the man I loved was planning to leave me with absolutely nothing. I didn't cry. The pain burned away into a cold, hard hate. How could my own father conspire with them to destroy the only thing I had left of my mother? I crashed their prestigious charity auction and played their filthy recording over the speakers for the entire town to hear. But when Leo charged at me in a murderous rage, a wall of leather and muscle stepped in front of me. Kade "Chaos" Peterson, the terrifying President of the rival motorcycle club, crushed Leo's wrist and announced to the stunned room, "She's with me now."

Five years ago, I stood in the freezing rain at my mother's funeral, waiting for my husband. Blake Knight, the billionaire NHL superstar, was two hours late. When he finally showed up, he brought his rumored girlfriend, the woman he had just rented a hotel rooftop for to celebrate her birthday. Watching him defend her fake tears, my heart completely died. I took off my diamond wedding ring, placed it on my mother's headstone, and walked away from my marriage forever. I fled to London, changed my name to Ava, and secretly raised the triplets he never knew existed. I thought I was finally safe from him. But today, my kids vandalized a silver Aston Martin in our apartment's parking garage, and the owner caught my youngest daughter. My phone rang. The voice on the other end was Blake's. He had moved into my building, and he was holding my little girl in his penthouse, demanding her mother come get her immediately. Panic suffocated me. If I walked through that door, my five years of hiding would be instantly destroyed. He would recognize me, realize I didn't get rid of our child like everyone thought, and he would use all his power to take my babies away. I couldn't let him ruin my life again. "I'm just her nanny," I lied through my teeth. I frantically begged my best friend to go upstairs and rescue my daughter in my place. He bought the disguise, but now, the King of the Ice is dangerously obsessed with investigating my new identity.

I woke up married to a stranger. Not just any stranger. Garrick Sinclair-the cold, ruthless captain of the Chicago Mustangs, the man every woman in Chicago dreamed of and every sensible woman stayed away from. I didn't remember marrying him. I didn't even remember sleeping with him. Yet there was a diamond ring on my finger, a marriage certificate beside the bed, and Garrick looking at me like I was nothing more than another gold digger trying to get her hands on his money. He offered me cash to disappear. I wanted nothing from him except the truth. But then his adoptive father died, leaving behind a shocking condition for Garrick's inheritance: He had to be married. Suddenly, the marriage neither of us remembered became the only thing protecting his family's billion-dollar empire. Then my mother was murdered. I came home to find her dead among the roses she loved, only to wake up in a police station as the prime suspect. My home was a crime scene. My mother was gone. And I had nowhere left to turn. Except the husband who had once wanted me gone. Garrick got me out of jail and pulled me into his world. But the closer we became, the stranger everything felt. Whenever he touched me, he remembered things he had forgotten. A locked room. A terrified little boy. A girl in a pink dress. And a promise made in the dark. I thought my marriage to Garrick was the worst mistake of my life. Now I'm starting to wonder if it was the one thing that was never a mistake at all. Because I may not be a stranger to Garrick Sinclair. I may be the missing piece of his darkest memory. And someone has already killed once to make sure we never remember the truth.

I went to my stepsister's birthday party, foolishly hoping for a family truce. Instead, she drugged my drink and had me shoved into a dark hotel suite, where a stranger took my innocence. When I sneaked back home the next morning, battered and humiliated, I overheard my stepsister and stepmother laughing in the hallway. They had orchestrated the whole trap to destroy my reputation so I would be forced to marry a thrice-divorced, abusive butcher. "And don't forget the little extras we've been putting in her food," my stepmother gloated. "She'll never lose the weight. That fat Miss Piggy is meant to be your backdrop." The revelation chilled me to the bone. My years of punishing diets, the brutal exercise, the deep self-hatred—none of it was my fault. It was poison, fed to me daily by the family I trusted. I packed a single bag, took the commemorative coin I had stolen from the stranger's nightstand as a reminder of my lowest point, and vanished into the city. One year later, having lost ninety pounds and transformed into a completely different woman, I agreed to attend the blind date with the butcher they arranged. But because of a flipped brass table number, I sat down in front of the wrong man. It was Julian Sinclair, the billionaire stranger from that dark room, and he looked at me and proposed a contract marriage.

My stepmother’s bodyguards were seconds away from dragging me back to a life that was essentially a prison cell wrapped in silk. I couldn't even scream for help because the words always died in my throat—a clinical condition called selective mutism that felt like drowning on dry land. I had just discovered the sickening truth: my father was planning to sell me to a sleazy investor named Sterling to cover his company’s bankruptcy. They were going to drug me, ship me off to a private island, and strip away the only thing I had left—my late mother’s multimillion-dollar art trust. When I arrived at the manor, my stepmother Lydia handed me a glass of wine laced with bitter sedatives, her smile sharp as a razor. "Drink up, darling. It’ll make the transition to Mr. Sterling much easier." My stepsister Harper stood in the corner, wearing a dress bought with my mother’s stolen money, mocking my inability to speak. My father didn't even look me in the eye as he calculated my price tag, treating his own daughter like a piece of damaged, mute inventory. They thought because I didn't speak, I didn't hear them laughing about the "accident" that killed my mother or how they planned to burn her final restoration work. They assumed my silence was a sign of surrender, a white flag waved by a broken girl who would never fight back. How could the people who were supposed to be my family treat me like a commodity to be traded? Did they really think my silence meant I was weak, or that I didn't know every dirty secret they were hiding in their ledgers? I didn't drink the wine. Instead, I burst into the VIP suite of Carlisle Pierce, the most cold-blooded billionaire in New York, and slammed a crumpled napkin on his table with a desperate, last-second gambit. "MARRY ME. NOW. $1 MILLION."

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Ivanna had everything: a stable marriage, a promising career, and the love of the man she had fought for, even against his own family. But when she finally managed to conceive, fate tore her happiness away in the most heart-wrenching way imaginable. Her husband had wanted a child... just not with her. She made the hardest decision of her life: signing a divorce agreement that left her with nothing. She left without looking back, her heart shattered, carrying a silent promise never to return. Until now. Four years have passed, and she's back in Boston, the city where her dreams were once shattered-with a new life, newfound strength... and a secret that will change everything. She is no longer the same woman who left in silence. And her ex-husband isn't prepared to uncover what she's been hiding. What will happen when the ex-wife returns with the one secret that might ruin him... or redeem him?

She wasn't his weakness. She was his ruin, and he would bring the world to its knees before he let her go. *** Kisarel thought she had it all figured out, until the night she caught her fiancé in bed with her cousin. The same cousin who was engaged to her boss, the ruthless and untouchable billionaire, Mr. Oceans Stark. Heartbroken, humiliated, and trapped on a business trip with the man her cousin was set to marry, Kisarel did the unthinkable – she begged her boss to make her forget her boyfriend's betrayal. Oceans swore he didn't touch his employees. He swore his heart only belonged to a certain strange woman he'd been looking for, who saved his life so many years ago. But the moment Kisarel kissed him, every resolution he made shattered. And after their one sinful night together, Mr. Stark couldn't let Kisarel go. He began to do everything within his power to get her even more entangled in his web of obsession. There were a thousand reasons she should have stayed away from him. She ignored every single one. He knew every part of her belonged to someone else. But every part of him didn't care. What neither of them knows is that Kisarel was the woman he's been searching for all along. Now, Oceans is set to call off his wedding with Kisarel's cousin, and he expects Kisarel to also call off her wedding with her cheating fiancé. Kisarel is now tangled in an obsession so hot that it might consume her whole. And Oceans is ready to drown his entire empire just to keep the woman he truly loves.