prudense69

"In a world where humans and nature are interconnected, a young girl named Sophia discovers she has the extraordinary ability to communicate with animals and sense the emotions of the forest. As she embarks on a journey to understand her mystical powers, Sophia becomes the guardian of the forest, tasked with maintaining the delicate balance of nature and protecting it from those who seek to harm it. With the help of her animal allies and the ancient magic of the forest, Sophia grows into a powerful and wise leader, inspiring others to follow in her footsteps and respect the natural world."

My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

I was planning my wedding to Ethan Carter, the man I adored. On the eve of our vows, he burned my family’s home to the ground. He wasn't my loving fiancé; he was a monster hell-bent on revenge, blaming my surgeon father for his parents' deaths. He shattered my father's career, bankrupted us, and forced me to become a servant to his cruel new fiancée. He delighted in my suffering, completely unaware of the devastating irony. The heart beating in my chest wasn't my own. It was a transplant, and his relentless torture was causing it to fail. I finally died. But I woke up again, as a child. And this time, my parents remembered the horror too. We spent years building a new, safe life. I even found real love with a kind man named Liam. I was finally happy. Then, yesterday, the man who murdered me walked into my classroom, his eyes full of regret, convinced our story deserved a second chance.

As they openly say, 'life isn't fair'! Well for me, that's exactly the definition of my own life. Not until i reached the age of 18, where i signed the most stupid arrangement and contract in my life. Do you know what consist of that so called arrangement? Well, let me tell you... it's just me and my name who and which is going to be tied 'contractually' by the end of the name of my 'jerk' (so called ) of a husband. You heard that? Contractually? Yes. We're just going to be 'contractually married' for five years... for five long years. And since it's only for five years, we don't need to act like those typical husband and wife or a lovey-dovey-couple that you can see everywhere, holding each other's hands while walking, hugging, kissing.. and ohh.. eating each other's face, because that's exactly the opposite situation of our marriage. He hates me with all his guts and same with me.. although i don't knowthe reason why and where his hates coming from. So here i am, Arrianna Angela Kelley-Smith, married to Alexander Jonathan Smith who is known to be one of the successful and richest bachelor --slash--womanizer in the whole business state of California. Hmmp! Little did they know, he was already married to me four years ago...

I' d finally done it. My resignation letter officially landed on Mr. Henderson' s expensive mahogany desk, putting a ruthless period on years of being Ethan Cole' s secret convenience. But freedom was fleeting. Isabella, his fiancée and my tormentor, summoned me to Ethan' s TriBeCa penthouse, wielding an old, whimsical sketch of mine like a weapon, then slapped me clean across the face. Ethan arrived, and instead of defending me, he smoothed Isabella' s perfect, glistening fake tears, dismissing me as someone who "meant nothing" -just "a release." Emboldened, Isabella snatched my portfolio, spilling my architectural dreams-designs for community centers-and pouring red wine directly onto them, staining my future crimson. Ethan then tossed a wad of cash at my feet, his voice flat: "For the dry cleaning. Now get out." I stumbled out into the New York downpour, each raindrop a tiny hammer pounding home the gut-wrenching humiliation of being so utterly worthless to the man I' d loved. How could he, the center of my naive world, watch as my dignity and dreams were drowned in wine, then casually toss money as if I were a broken possession? But in that deepest moment of despair, something snapped. I was done being their discarded convenience, their emotional punching bag; I would disappear and rebuild a life where my peace wasn' t for sale, no matter what it took.

My marriage to Mark seemed solid, our life comfortable, until his college reunion. I was there as the supportive wife, trying to ignore a growing unease. Then I saw him, too close to Jessica, his high school sweetheart and now his sister-in-law. The "Ten-Year Love Blueprint" he' d detailed for her-not me-was just the first blow. That night, I found Jessica kissing my drunk husband in our home, then overheard the devastating truth: her son, Kevin, was Mark' s, not his brother' s. My perfectly constructed life imploded as Mark dismissed my pain and his mother furiously defended his affair. A reckless car crash, caused by Jessica, led to my miscarriage; Mark, shockingly, blamed me, then his mother coldly announced, "You weren't strong enough." Even my own parents, dependent on Mark's generous support, disowned me for daring to expose his betrayal. Abandoned and broken, the injustice was crushing: how could everyone I loved betray me so completely, leaving me a disposable substitute in a life that was never truly mine? The agony of losing everything, especially my baby, felt unbearable. But a fateful accident unexpectedly offered a dark opportunity for ultimate escape and rebirth, transforming me into a vengeful phantom armed with a meticulous plan for absolute justice.

*Warning* This book contains explicit content and it's rated 18+. They can be read as standalone as they are all age-gap romances. Hope y'all are ready for a pleasant ride. xoxo. "Oh, please, sir. Please, fuck me!" I screamed in delirium. The heat from him disappeared for a moment, and I was sad and scared. Where did he go? What had I done wrong now? But he returned, sheathed and ready to plunge into me. "Oh, thank God," I said breathlessly. He chuckled a little; slowly he slid in, adjusting me on the sink, aligning me to his dick. Each thrust sent me further into a manic need to come. Perhaps I was screaming, because his hand covered my mouth. For a brief moment, I was frightened. I was panting so hard it blocked my need to breathe, but then his voice was in my ear. "Come for me, bluebird."

My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away. After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future. Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me. I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call. "Total genius move," he boasted to friends. His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding. Heartbroken, I feigned belief. I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies. He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency. After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first. He even tried to cut me off financially. How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster? His betrayal poisoned every memory. I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty. His audacity left me reeling. But I wouldn’t be his victim. Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed. I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter. I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.

I was just a 20-year-old NYU art history student, interning at my dad’s real estate firm. But my world privately revolved around Marcus Thorne—my father’s handsome, brilliant business partner. My crush on him was pure, all-consuming, utterly naive. He’d always been so kind, a true gentleman. At a charity gala, I watched Izzy Vance, Marcus’s associate, subtly ply him with drinks. When I tried to help him to his suite, Izzy "found" us, her perfectly timed gasp and a discreet phone flash sealing my fate. The next morning, headlines screamed: "NYU Intern Olivia Chen Caught in Compromising Position with Marcus Thorne." Blurry, damning photos accompanied them. Marcus’s icy call followed: "Izzy found you taking advantage of me! My reputation is in shreds because of your childish stunt!" He believed her. Completely. Whispers and hostile stares at my father’s office became unbearable. The kind man I’d adored now looked at me with absolute disgust. My dreams shattered. How could he be so blind? So cruel? This wasn't the Marcus I knew. This felt brutally unfair. That week, the naive girl who worshipped him died. In her place, a colder awareness dawned: the world was not kind, people not what they seemed. He thought I was playing games, but I was done. This was my turning point.

The jagged glass bit into Amelia Hayes' s cheek. "Help me," she choked into the phone, but her husband, Ethan Caldwell, snapped: "Amelia, for God' s sake, I' m in a meeting." A sharp blow, then darkness. She awoke not in her blood-slicked car, but in her opulent master bedroom, the calendar marking three months after her wedding. Three months into a marriage that had already begun to kill her. Ethan stood by the window, his voice softening, "Yes, Jessica, tonight sounds perfect." Jessica Thorne, his true love, the shadow over Amelia' s first life. The familiar ache in Amelia' s chest gave way to a chilling, new fury. For seven miserable years, she had given Ethan desperate, unyielding devotion. She endured his coldness, his brazen affairs, his emotional abuse, all for a flicker of his attention. She had become a shell, a caricature, ridiculed by Ethan' s circle and condescended to by his family. The profound injustice, the sheer blindness of his indifference, was a bitter pill. Her heart, once broken, now felt nothing but a hollow echo of unrequited love. Then, at a gala, a cruel act involving Eleanor' s ashes, and Ethan, without hesitation, shoved Amelia, his accusations echoing: "You are a disgrace." He comforted Jessica while Amelia' s head reeled from the impact. That was the final straw. No tears, no anger. Just a cold resolve. She delivered a small velvet box to his penthouse. Inside: the wedding ring and a divorce decree. "I. Want. You. Out. Of. My. Life. Forever," she stated, her voice clear. She was reborn to be free.