Xiu Luo

Denice Copeland's son was dying of leukemia, and his only hope for survival was a savior sibling. But the wealthy Montgomery family offered a cruel ultimatum. To get the experimental treatments her son desperately needed, Denice had to conceive a child naturally with Jasper Montgomery—her dead husband's cold, estranged twin brother. Jasper treated the arrangement like a clinical transaction, taking her body without a shred of tenderness and threatening to cut her son's medical care if she disobeyed. The ultimate betrayal happened when Denice collapsed from exhaustion at his hospital. Jasper's glamorous partner, Kira, suddenly appeared and took control of Denice's dying son. Kira made the little boy call her "Mommy" and ordered security to throw Denice out. "I don't know you. I've never seen you before in my life." Jasper stood between Denice and her own son, coldly defending the woman who had stolen her child. Denice was completely shattered. She finally understood she had never been anything but a cheap stand-in for Kira, a convenient breeding vessel for the Montgomery bloodline. Stripped of her dignity, her past love, and now her only child, her mind violently fractured in her freezing, mildew-stained apartment. Abandoning the last shred of her pride, she sent Jasper one final, desperate text. "Tonight. I'm ovulating. Come." Then, she stepped fully clothed into a scalding shower to drown herself, forcing the man who destroyed her to finally face the wreckage he had made.

Five years after my ex, Clay, traded me for power, we met again at an exclusive summit. He and his new fiancée, Destany, publicly humiliated me, calling me a trespasser and a thief for looking for my son's lost locket. Then, my three-year-old son, Justus, ran to me, crying "Mama!" In a horrifying move, Destany snatched him from my arms. She shrieked to the powerful crowd that I was a low-born commoner who had kidnapped a child of noble blood. The room erupted, calling for my arrest. Clay, the man I once loved, watched with cold satisfaction as guards pinned my arms back. He ordered them to take my son away and deal with me. I screamed that Justus was mine, but my pleas were drowned out by their accusations. How could this be happening? The man who once promised me everything was now helping to rip my child away from me, branding me a criminal. But just as they were about to drag me away, an immense power slammed into the room, forcing everyone to their knees. A tall, imposing figure appeared, his golden eyes blazing with fury. My husband, Damien, had arrived.

I sacrificed my womb and my youth to build Alec' s architectural empire from the shadows. He repaid me by bringing his mistress, Billie, to frame me for plagiarism and destroy my reputation. When my father suffered a massive heart attack, Billie used her influence to block his life-saving surgery. Alec held my dying father' s life hostage, forcing me to my knees in front of the woman who ruined me. "Apologize to her, Cydney," he commanded, "or I pull the plug." I begged. I scraped my dignity off the floor. But they let my father die anyway. Discarded and humiliated, I vanished in a plane crash, leaving only a wedding ring in a landfill. Years later, at a global summit, Alec watched his company crumble under the attacks of a ruthless new rival. He grabbed the woman in the emerald dress, his hands trembling as he recognized the eyes he thought were gone forever. "Cydney? You're alive?" I smiled, cold as ice. "Ms. Frazier is dead, Alec. I' m the one who' s going to bury you."

For years, I was known as Killian Emerson’s only weakness, the anchor for the ruthless crime boss while he built an empire. I thought it was for us, a life he was building to protect me. But then I found out the truth. My high school bully, Dallas, was his mistress. He paraded her around at galas, bought her penthouses, and funded her multi-million-dollar cat sanctuary. He bought her a sanctuary for stray cats while my brother was dying. I begged him for money for a life-saving treatment, but he told me he was busy and hung up. My brother died alone. Killian didn’t even come to the funeral. When he finally called, he sounded bored. "Sorry to hear about your brother," he said casually, while I could hear Dallas in the background asking him to go ring shopping. In that moment, the last bit of love I had for him simply died. He had forgotten every promise, even the one he made to ruin Dallas for carving "Worthless" into my wrist years ago. Now, he protects her. He even let her crush the last memento my brother ever made for me, then broke my wrist when I lunged at her. After a car crash he caused, he left me bleeding in the wreckage to save Dallas, without a single look back. But the biggest secret was yet to come. Lying in a hospital bed, a call from the county clerk revealed the truth. Killian and I were never legally married. The entire foundation of my life was a lie designed to control me. And now, I'm taking back everything he stole from me. Starting with his empire.

My perfect life shattered when I heard another woman's voice on my husband's watch, but that was just the beginning of his betrayal. He orchestrated a car crash that killed our unborn child, all to steal my company and be with his secret family. He thought he broke me, but he just unleashed a monster hell-bent on burning his entire world to the ground.

My marriage had been a cold, empty room for five years. I was reeling from a devastating loss, sitting in the ER breakroom, when a familiar voice shattered what little peace I had left. "Mark, are you really going to die for her? For Emily Davis?" David Chase's voice, raw with anger, cut through the hospital air outside my husband' s room. His next words felt like a physical blow: "All these years, every overtime shift, every missed holiday, every time you let Sarah and Lily down... wasn't it all just so you could hear her voice on the dispatch? Just to hear Emily say, 'Engine 32, you're cleared to return to base'?" My world tilted. It wasn' t about his job, not his heroism. It was about Emily Davis, his ex-girlfriend. He had covered for her when her family went bankrupt, joining the fire academy to be near her, while I, Sarah, picked up the pieces, paying his debts, loving him for 16 years, waiting for a new beginning. Then, Lily, our daughter, died. The fever spiked viciously, taking her life in my arms within hours. Mark never knew. He never answered my desperate calls. He was always on duty, always chasing the next emergency-which now I knew was always about Emily. Why was I just a placeholder? Why was our daughter a casualty of his obsession? I didn't understand. I couldn't understand how everything I believed was a lie. How could I have been so blind? Something inside me, something that had been dying for five years, finally broke. I pulled out my phone, not to call a lawyer, but my old professor. "Dr. Reed," I said, my voice shockingly steady. "You once told me about a flight nurse program. Is it too late to apply?"

My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, a fairytale with Matthew, the District Attorney, my "rock" who saved my family. But then my estranged half-sister, Stella, burst in with a terrifying warning: marry him, and he would destroy me, publicly labeling me insane after his childhood friend, Nicole Fuller, framed me. I dismissed it as delusion until Nicole actually appeared, bruised and crying, accusing me in front of everyone, and Matthew, without a flicker of hesitation, called off the wedding, declared me mentally unstable, and had me dragged away. My own father, Robert Anderson, stood by and disowned me, reinforcing Matthew' s claims as Stella bravely took the fall for a crime she didn' t commit, only to be brutally beaten in jail. Locked away in a notoriously corrupt psychiatric hospital, I faced unspeakable horrors, wondering how my life had spiraled into this nightmare, abandoned by everyone I trusted. Just as all hope faded, my ex-boyfriend, Ethan, rescued me, and Stella revealed the shocking truth: she' d lived this life before, watching me die in that asylum, and our father' s beloved Nicole was his secret daughter, plotting against me all along. Now, the naive Jocelyn is dead, and the only thing left is a burning desire for revenge.

As a beautiful woman who hated real-life objectification, I found freedom in "Legends of Aethelgard," the top VRMMO. I played Nyx, a Shadow-Priestess with -100% beauty, seeking genuine connection. For three years, I was happily partnered with Kael, a Paladin who was secretly Ethan Thorne, my real-life tech CEO boss I loved in-game. Our peace shattered when Kael grew distant, then appeared with Twitch streamer Seraphina, both wearing the rare gear we'd planned. She brazenly claimed "Stardust_Angel," my old online identity, a viral photo Ethan had obsessed over. The gear, meant for 'us,' was for 'her,' his new muse. This betrayal turned my sanctuary into a battlefield. He swiftly replaced Nyx as co-leader and publicly dismissed our bond as "just a game," showering Seraphina with affection as forums mocked my "ugly" avatar. I discovered Ethan, my boss, was dedicating his new game to this imposter, forcing me to work masked. The ultimate humiliation: Kael placed a million-gold bounty on Nyx, sparking relentless in-game persecution. How could three years of loyalty dissolve into nothing? How could he believe her blatant lies over our shared history? This public torment, simply for seeking anonymity, felt impossibly cruel and suffocating. Pushed to the brink by constant abuse and Skyler's career-destroying public doxxing, I broke. Confronting Ethan, I ripped off my mask. "Because I' m Nyx," I declared, my stunning real face revealed, "the 'ugly' one. The 'scammer.' The one you put a bounty on." The truth was out, and my fight for total redemption began.

My mother's fists and cutting words were a constant, brutal normal. At 19, I lived under her unpredictable rages, bewilderingly targeted and deeply alone. Then a mysterious video shattered my fragile peace. My loving grandparents, concerned about my endless "accidents," visited. One glance at my mother's phone, and their faces twisted into sickening horror. "She can't stay here," my grandfather rasped, their eyes silently urging me to vanish. Weeks later, my boyfriend Mark burst in during another savage beating, ready to call the cops. But after my mother calmly showed him that same video, his anger drained, replaced by a horrified pity. "She needs to go," he told her, echoing my grandparents' chilling demand. Even my beloved father, once my protector, turned cold and distant after viewing it, joining the chorus that I was "the problem." My world imploded. Everyone I trusted, every last hope, had turned on me, convinced by this unseen horror. What unspeakable secret could be on that video that warped their love into icy rejection, making them agree I "needed to be taken care of"? Was I losing my mind, or was this betrayal a prelude to something far more sinister? Desperate for answers, I risked everything, stealing my mother's phone and watching the dreaded file. What I saw wasn't about me at all; it was a grainy, undeniable horror: my "kind" father, the respected community leader, preying on my older sisters. The unthinkable truth rewrote my entire life, exposing my mother's "abuse" as a devastating, desperate shield, a terrifying sacrifice to protect me from the monster living under our roof.

Olivia Miller had finally built her dream, a thriving craft brewery making waves in Austin. As her new hazy IPA celebrated success, she scrolled Instagram, feeling the quiet satisfaction of a life well-lived. But that peace was instantly shattered by an anonymous direct message: a photo of her husband, Ethan, intimately tangled with another woman – his own junior analyst, Izzy. The world tilted as Olivia recognized Ethan' s watch, Izzy' s clinging embrace, and the dim, discreet bar. This wasn't a misunderstanding; it was proof of months of his chilling indifference, his short texts, and his dismissive "work crises." He had even abandoned her, terrified, during a severe Texas storm, only to be "safe and sound" with Izzy, later offering Olivia beer he explicitly bought for his mistress. The sting of being gaslighted, manipulated into believing her instincts were "reading too much into things," was almost worse than the betrayal itself. How could the earnest boy who made her a lopsided pottery vase, promising eternal devotion under the Texas sky, become this cruel stranger who made her feel utterly erased and "unclean"? But from the wreckage, a flicker ignited – the fierce, brilliant girl her mother reminded her she still was. Olivia shed her tears, faced Ethan with cold clarity, and dismantled his lies one by one, refusing his desperate, asset-laden pleas to buy her back. Now, it was time to close that bitter chapter and start fighting for a future entirely her own.

I woke up in a hospital bed, the lingering scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beep of machines my first reality after a car crash. But the real shock wasn't the physical pain; it was the vivid nightmares, clearer than memories, of a future where I was dead, my husband Michael married my sister Jessica, and my entire identity was systematically erased. My own mother, Karen, greeted me not with relief, but with sharp impatience, blaming me for the "trouble" my coma caused, while Jessica, feigning concern, subtly tried to steal my dream journalism grant and clung possessively to Michael. Michael, my supposed husband, stood by, his weakness paving the way for their manipulations, even as I recalled divorce papers hidden in his desk, signed by him weeks before my accident. The town gossiped, portraying me as unstable, while Jessica was painted a saint, and my mother chillingly confessed I was "bad luck" from birth. How could my own family conspire to erase my existence, and why did they always favor my sister, wishing I hadn't woken up at all? This wasn't merely betrayal; it was an active plot to dismantle my life, and I was trapped, expected to silently accept my fate while they openly flaunt their wicked intentions. But the chilling clarity of those "premonitions" became my armor, showing me every deception, and as Michael stood there, oblivious, I knew the accommodating Sarah was gone; I would reclaim my life, sign those divorce papers, and secure my future, no apologies.

Chloe, a driven marketing exec in New York City, thought life was perfect until a stray Corgi brought her unimaginable luck, catapulting her career into the stratosphere. Then came Eleanor Vance, a formidable Manhattan socialite, who orchestrated Chloe's bizarre marriage to her unseen, notorious son, Ethan. The wedding was a blur, ending with a six-figure check and a chilling sense of dread. Days later, celebrating her new wealth with her colleague and roommate Jessica, Chloe’s world shattered when Jessica, fueled by a chilling smirk, violently shoved her off her apartment balcony. I hit the ground, the city lights spinning, but instead of death, I awoke bolt upright, back at the exact moment I first found the Corgi, my heart hammering with the terrifying memory of my murder. Jessica was there, her eyes flickering with cruel recognition, and she snatched the Corgi, claiming Chloe’s "luck" and almost immediately securing the K-Corp account I’d previously earned. Shock gave way to horror as I uncovered the truth: Eleanor Vance's comatose son, Ethan, was part of a terrifying ritual, his spirit needing to inhabit a child conceived by a "pure life essence" – a virgin whose life force would be drained. The Corgi was the conduit, and I, Chloe, was the original, unsuspecting target. Armed with the horrifying knowledge of what awaited me, knowing Jessica remembered too and was now walking into my former nightmare, I knew this wasn't just a second chance, but a desperate fight for survival against a monstrous, supernatural trap.

Falling out of love, she drowned her sorrows in alcohol. On that very night, she was betrayed by her best friend and sent to his bed as a gift. As a result, she became his contractual lover. Selling her body to the devil, she lost her everything and only gained overwhelmed pain. When he found out that he already lost his heart to her, he had no idea how to love her right. Thus, he set her free and made up his mind to come to her when he learned how to love her right, how to love her better.

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.

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 fiancée. 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.

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner-my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn't offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend's apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I'd spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend's face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

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.

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.

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.

Rae just wanted to lose her virginity and forget the name of the boy who ruined her first time. So when her wild best friend dares her to visit Club Obsidian - a secret invite-only pleasure club where older men pick submissive girls for one unforgettable night - Rae agrees. She expected nerves. She expected heat. She didn't expect a hot and sexy tattooed stranger in his forties with a tongue piercing, three rings, and a voice that could melt bone. He didn't ask for her name. He just whispered, "Dance for me, kitten." And by morning, Rae was ruined - in the best way possible. But her world shatters when she walks into her mother's house... and finds him standing in the living room. Because the man who owned her body last night? Is her stepfather's brother. Her step-uncle. Now he's living in the pool house, teasing her at dinner, flexing shirtless by the pool, and whispering filthy things when no one's around. He says it was supposed to be one night. But the way he touches her? The way he stares at her like he's starving? He doesn't want to let go. And neither does she. Even if it means losing everything.

I stood in the pouring rain at my father-in-law's funeral, the heels of my black pumps sinking into the mud. I was Mrs. Vargas, the wife of New York's most powerful billionaire, yet I was standing at the edge of the crowd like a forgotten statue. Ten feet away, under the dry shelter of the family tent, my husband Hayes held another woman against his chest. It wasn't me he was whispering comfort to; it was Felicity, his late brother's widow and childhood sweetheart. The humiliation didn't end at the cemetery. Hayes moved Felicity and her son into our home, relegating me to the guest wing while she took over the primary suites. He watched silently as her son smashed the only photograph of my deceased parents, then demanded I apologize for "scaring" the boy with my reaction. When Felicity's negligence ruined a twelve-million-dollar family heirloom, Hayes had the audacity to ask me to use my own savings to buy her a "consolation" engagement ring. He treated me like a parasite, never realizing I was a brilliant scientist with a hidden fortune and three patents to my name. I realized then that our three-year marriage was a hollow farce. Hayes had never even touched me, claiming he wanted to "remain pure" for his memory of Felicity. I was nothing more than a business merger, a smudge on the lens of the perfect family portrait he was building with another man's widow. The breaking point came during a lethal blizzard. Hayes promised to accompany me to my family's mandatory gala-a tradition where my absence meant a death sentence. But at the last second, he stood me up to stay home and tend to Felicity's stubbed toe. Left alone to face the wrath of the Santos Matriarch, I was forced to kneel in the freezing snow as punishment until my lungs began to fail and my vision blurred. Just as the darkness started to take me, a black Maybach smashed through the iron gates. My exiled brother, the man the world calls "The Wolf," stepped out of the storm to reclaim what Hayes had discarded. Hayes thought I was a helpless doll who couldn't survive a day without his trust fund, but he's about to find out what happens when you let a Santos daughter freeze.

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.

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.