solution to her problems lies in the hands of the man she swore to hate. Now graduated and a renowned professional, Dandara realizes that her awards are incapable of helping her realize her dream of producing a documentary. Meanwhile, Marcello will do everything he can to get a second chance with the woman he hurt by offering her an irresistible proposal: to produce the documentary exactly the way she wants. Amidst indecent provocations and conversations full of ulterior motives, will Dandara be able to resist the temptation to fulfill her wish? - Are you paying attention? - asks Cris, my secretary, in a tired voice. - Yes, I am - I confirm, forcing myself to take my eyes off my cell phone. I just received an intriguing message from a press officer who, in elaborate half-words, makes it clear how much she would like to sleep with me. My fingers itch to open the attachment and confirm whether the photo is nude, but I focus on keeping my attention on the woman sitting in front of the wooden desk covered in papers. Around us, the last rays of the late afternoon sun illuminate the huge office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Cris takes a deep breath, aware that I wasn't paying attention to anything he said. - The director of the morning newspaper is furious about the approval of the new commercials and wants to schedule a meeting. - Why? I don't see any reason for him to be furious - I comment. - To discuss whether the time is ideal for broadcasting the advertisement for penis enlargement capsules. He thinks it would be better during the commercials on the evening entertainment programs. I resist cracking a half smile. A few years ago, when she started working for me, Cris would blush like a ripe tomato at the mention of even the slightest word related to a sexual organ. Now, accustomed to what we convey here, she doesn't even flinch. "We don't need to schedule a meeting," I reply cheerfully. "The commercials are working, the board of directors is happy with the increase in profits, and I personally believe that any time is a good time to help poor men with small penises. If they're happy to buy the product during the morning news, it's during the morning news that it will be sold. Anything else?" "Yes, the department..." My phone rings. I quickly signal for it to hold and answer. Cris seems to need all her willpower not to roll her eyes. "Hi, son, how are you?" I recognize Dona Francisca's voice. "Everything. What's up?" I cover the phone and smile at the secretary. "Just a minute, it's my mother." She nods and begins to carefully examine the cuticles of her red-painted nails. "Are you coming to visit me on Sunday?" "Yes, I am. Why?" "Bring lunch ready. I'm too lazy to cook." I laugh out loud. It's only Friday and my mother is thinking about Sunday. By then, she'll call me two or three more times confirming the visit and changing her mind about cooking. I just hope the mysterious advisor doesn't want to schedule something on Sunday. I need to keep that in mind when I ask her out. "I'll take it, don't worry," I confirm. Cris taps her shoes on the floor impatiently. "Sorry, Mom, but I have to go. I'm in the middle of a meeting with my secretary." "You're not going out with her, are you? I'm not going out with Cris. She's married and has two children, but I can't say I've stopped dating other secretaries. Here, on this same table, in front of the glass wall that covers half the room, while the sunset over the city of São Paulo covered us in orange tones. The helicopters from competing broadcasters would have been quite a sight if they had been passing near the building at that moment. "I'm not. I really have to go. See you on Sunday." "Okay. Kisses." "Another one," I reply. As soon as she puts her phone down, I hang up mine and turn to Cris. "I always ask her to call me at work only in case of emergency, but you know how it is. People over sixty think, rightly, that they can do whatever they want." I smile and focus my attention on the secretary. "What were you saying, Cris?" "The print media sector wants to know when the contract with the new printing company is signed.
don't worry," I confirm. Cris taps her shoes on the floor impatiently. "Sorry, Mom, but I have to go. I'm in the middle of a meeting with my secretary." "You're not going out with her, are you? I'm not going out with Cris. She's married and has two children, but I can't say I've stopped dating other secretaries. Here, on this same table, in front of the glass wall that covers half the room, while the sunset over the city of São Paulo covered us in orange tones.
The helicopters from competing broadcasters would have been quite a sight if they had been passing near the building at that moment. "I'm not. I really have to go. See you on Sunday." "Okay. Kisses." "Another one," I reply. As soon as she puts her phone down, I hang up mine and turn to Cris. "I always ask her to call me at work only in case of emergency, but you know how it is. People over sixty think, rightly, that they can do whatever they want." I smile and focus my attention on the secretary. "What were you saying, Cris?" "The print media sector wants to know when the contract with the new printing company is signed. They're worried because... Maybe it won't be signed, I think, but I don't have the courage to say. Not yet. I need the board to decide, and even though I took over as CEO of that media conglomerate five years ago, I never wanted to be one of those responsible for deciding whether to shut down an entire industry. It wouldn't be a decision made overnight. Last year, we stopped printing weekly magazines, and it was obvious that it would only be a matter of time before newspapers followed suit, given their meager revenue. Some old-time journalists, who were my partners when I used to hunt for news on the streets, work there. That's right. Even though I'm now at the top of the professional food chain, I was once a journalist at heart, and just like those guys, I would wake up at five in the morning to go to the newsroom, eager to take on the next story and hit the streets in search of news.
As a child, I never had an answer to give when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. As a teenager, I discovered my love for writing. Sometimes, I would make a little money selling short stories to my classmates. I started with the horror stories, until one of them asked if I couldn't spice up the relationship between the young virgin and the bloodthirsty vampire. So I did, and soon I discovered that whoring around paid a lot more. Not that any of us had any money to spare, but for those who didn't have much, any coin was synonymous with extra candy or new superhero comics.
The fun ended when the dumbest of my classmates dropped a sheet of notebook paper from his backpack and one of the teachers picked it up. The scolding was so bad that the boy soiled his pants. And, of course, he ended up reporting me. I vehemently denied it, but the teacher insisted on sending a message to my mother. The old woman was no longer surprised by anything coming from me. Undeterred, she asked me to stop doing that. I stopped, but the words always stayed with me.
Every now and then, I wondered if one day I would be able to use them. As much as I wanted to, my mother couldn't afford to help me with my college tuition. I was smart, but not smart enough to pass the entrance exam for a public university. With my high school diploma in hand, I temporarily put my studies aside and went looking for work. My first job was as a motorcycle courier for a bank in the city center. I needed to earn more than my salary allowed to get into a private college, but a job was a job, and I was happy to have it. It gave me the freedom I valued so much and it didn't take long for me to know the names of most of the businessmen who received my envelopes.
Being known on the streets also gave me the cunning that would help me a lot in my days as a journalist. And the opportunity came thanks to Mr. Omar Turgut. At least once a week, I would go to the headquarters of his newspaper on a street near Avenida Paulista. I had been walking up and down the city for almost a year when the man, instead of checking every page before dismissing me, stared at me from top to bottom. I stared back, curious. A tall, broad man, with a belly hanging out of the belt of his well-cut dress pants, which made it clear how much he liked to eat well. Mr. Omar always treated me politely, but he never spared the delivery boy more than a glance. This time, he opened his mouth to ask if a young man like me didn't want to study. I said yes, but I didn't have the money for it. That seemed to catch him by surprise.
I fidgeted, uncomfortable at the possibility of being rude. It wouldn't be the first time that my loose tongue had gotten me into trouble, and I couldn't afford to lose that job. After the initial surprise, he continued as if nothing had happened. "If you did, would you study?" "Yes." "What?" "Something to do with words." "And why?" "Because I like to write." Something in my decisive tone made Mr. Omar look at me more closely. Suddenly, he took a notebook and a pencil stub from his jacket pocket and held them out to me. - Write a story using only one page. I accepted the objects and looked around, searching for inspiration. A woman was crossing the crosswalk with a baby carriage.
Another was walking her dog and humming a popular song of the time. An old man passed by smoking and, upon seeing me, winked and blew out a smoke ring. Interesting, but not what I wanted. I was starting to get anxious when the traffic light changed again. Inside one of the cars was a man crying. The question rang in my mind like a siren: why was he crying? I made up an answer and quickly wrote it down in my notebook. Two simple, squished paragraphs about a young, passionate husband who, while following his wife, discovered that she was cheating on him. I put a full stop and Mr. Omar took the notebook from my hands. His brow furrowed, but his eyes were wide when they looked back at me. He asked, bluntly, if I had ever thought about studying journalism.
He didn't have one, but his offer was irresistible: I could work for a year at his newspaper as a personal assistant. If I worked hard enough, he would pay for my college education. It only took me six months to start the course. And a few years for his newspaper to grow, move to Avenida Faria Lima and become a conglomerate comprising radio, television and, more recently, digital media. I grew up with the media networks, my heart always overflowing with gratitude for that man. In addition to teaching me everything he knew, there were countless happy hours, where we would meet just to chat. During those happy hours, Omar would talk about the challenges of running that entire network and his disappointment that none of his children wanted to follow in his footsteps.
He was never afraid to keep me up to date with the entire management area and, from time to time, he would send me to management courses. At the time, I didn't understand why a journalist needed that, but I accepted, both for the opportunity to improve myself and for fear of displeasing him. Every now and then, I dared to make some suggestions, and several of them were applied to the company over the years. When Mr. Omar passed away, I felt like I was losing a second father. His children chose to follow in their mother's footste
second, third, and fourth times... Then he says we're more than friends, and I feel myself melt. Turns out even a man like him has a heart. It's a shame we can't be together. Because he'll never be able to find out that... He's the father of my child. "How about another drink?" The deep voice sent a shiver down my spine and I looked to my left to see who had spoken. Holy shit. I was face to face with the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. He was tall enough to tower over me, even when I was sitting on a tall bar stool, and his broad shoulders strained against the sports jacket he wore. His thick black hair was swept back from his face, giving me a full view of his dark blue eyes. They watched me with an intensity I'd never seen before, and I was instantly drawn to him. I toyed with the rim of my empty glass. "And...how much would that cost me?" His smile widened. He sat down on the stool next to mine, leaning in close. "Time." He paused, tilting his head. "And sleep." "Sleep?" I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well, we won't be getting much sleep tonight, so you'll probably be tired in the morning." I couldn't help but blush. Normally, a one-liner like that would have been a huge turn-off, and I would have headed for the door without a backward glance. I'd been approached before, and I was definitely no stranger to men with big... egos, but his confidence seemed well-earned. I could sense there was something... breathtaking about him. The bartender placed a full glass in front of me before taking the empty glass away. Hooking up with a strange man wasn't something I'd planned on doing tonight; in fact, it wasn't something I'd done before or intended to do. I could feel the refusal I'd prepared dying in my throat. I'd been working so hard, for God's sake! I deserved to go out and have some fun for a change. "Convince me." I accepted the drink, feeling quite bold, like some kind of femme fatale. He raised an eyebrow in amusement and gave me a 'I guess looking at me would be enough' gesture. "Well, you're attractive," I admitted. "And so far you seem nice, but I don't know you." "What better way to get to know someone than to get naked and explore each other?" "Maybe, I don't know... a name first?" He chuckled, his rich baritone sending a wave of desire through me. Those deep eyes gleamed as he leaned in close. "Jonah." "Hi, Jonah. I'm Naomi." Jonah's eyes softened and he reached out to take my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Naomi." The way his mouth enveloped my name made my entire body flush. "There, now we've met. So let's finish our drinks, go out together, and spend several pleasant hours discovering each other." I had to admit, this all sounded pretty amazing. As the collar of his jacket moved, I could see the hint of a tattoo.
lights blending into a kaleidoscope of colors. I close my eyes, trying to block it all out. But I can't. I can't escape the betrayal. I can't escape the pain. I reach for the bottle again, the glass heavy in my hand. I take another sip, this time straight from the bottle, feeling the liquor slide down my throat. I welcome the pain. I deserve it. I was too blind to see the signs. Too stupid to realize what was happening right under my nose. For over six damn months. My boiling anger boils over, a white-hot rage. I throw the bottle across the room, the glass shattering into a million pieces. The sound echoes through the suite, a sharp contrast to the silence. I sink back onto the couch, the leather creaking beneath my weight. I'm alone now, surrounded by shards of glass and broken promises. But I don't care. I'm here to drink, to escape, to vent my anger. And no one, not even Cassandra or Ace, can stop me. I'm a volcano about to erupt. My eyes land on one of my guitars, sitting in the corner, a silent witness to my pain. It's a custom Gibson Les Paul, as dark as my mood. I walk over to it furiously, gripping it by the neck, the smooth wood familiar beneath my fingers. My reflection stares back at me from the shiny surface. Dark hair a little too long, a dark beard shadowing my jaw, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Dark eyes glower at me. My arms, muscled from years of playing guitar and working out, flex as I lift the instrument. The leather bracelets on my wrists, a constant fixture, stand out against my tattooed arm and highlight my long, strong fingers. The tattoo on my right arm, an intricate design of a phoenix rising from the ashes, seems to mock me. I'm not rising from anything right now. I'm drowning. With a sudden roar, I slam the guitar against the wall. The sound of cracking wood and snapping strings echoes through the room, a symphony of destruction. I watch as pieces of the guitar scatter across the floor, a mirror image of my heart and soul. I turn to the bar, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The glasses are lined in neat rows, their crystal surfaces glinting in the soft light. I pick one up, the delicate stem breaking between my fingers. Another follows, then another, the sound of glass breaking a harsh melody in the silence. My chest heaves, my heart slamming against my ribs. I look around the room at the destruction I've caused. The shattered guitar, the broken glasses, the chaos. It's a reflection of my life, the mess I'm in. And for the first time, I admit it to myself. Cassandra and I haven't exactly been on good terms for a while. She was selfish, difficult, always putting herself first. She was a beast in bed, which probably blinded me. But I was the one making all the sacrifices, the one trying to make things work. The one with the big money, supporting.
Paris! My first morning in Paris! I almost whirl into a dance, but I catch myself as I step out of my suite. The golden light of the Parisian morning filters through the tall windows of the George V Hotel, casting a warm glow on the marble floors. I step into the grand lobby, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. I'm really here-Paris! The city of love, art, and endless possibilities. I head to the reception desk, where a kind-faced, silver-haired man in an impeccably pressed uniform stands ready to help. His name tag reads "Henri." My brother Simon mentioned that Henri was the best concierge in Paris. As I approach, he gives me a polite nod and a warm smile. "Good morning, Mademoiselle Sinclair. You look lovely, my dear. How may I be of assistance today?" "Good morning, Henri!" I can't help but smile back at him. "Would you please arrange for a hotel driver, a car? I'm heading to the Louvre this morning. I've decided that my first day of exploring has to be there, and I can't wait to take in all its treasures." Henri's smile widens, and he nods approvingly. "Ah, the Louvre. An excellent choice for your first day. You will find it truly magnificent. Just a moment, mademoiselle." He picks up his phone and makes a quick call. Within moments, he confirms that a hotel car will be arriving shortly. As I wait, I glance around the lobby, taking in the opulent ambiance. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting sparkling reflections on the polished surfaces. Elegant, plush furnishings invite guests to relax and linger. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation and the soft clink of fine china from the nearby dining room. It's like stepping into a dream. I turn to Henri, who's now watching me with friendly curiosity. "How's your brother, the esteemed Simon Sinclair?" he asks. "Busy conquering the world, as usual." I laugh. I love my brother so much, and of course Henri would know him, or know of him. Simon seems to know everyone, or everyone knows him, I reflect, from governors, film directors, and captains of industry to the best concierge in Paris. "And is this your first time here, mademoiselle?
cloudy glass, whose windshield was trying uselessly to clear it, was something that had stayed with me for five years. Almost every night, that nightmare was my greatest companion. Except that, when I woke up, I didn't feel the relief of not being in my reality. On the contrary... the empty bed was proof enough that the death of two people so important in my life was not an illusion. I was the one who caused that death. It was my fault and no one else's. I always knew I was a controlling son of a bitch, and I fought day after day not to suffocate Taís with my temper. She was never submissive, not at all, and that was what I loved most about her personality, although it was a fetish of mine in bed that my wife had never been able to fulfill. Maybe, that day, I should have let my fucking control freak take over and locked her in the house to stop her from leaving. Much less taking our son with her. Or maybe I shouldn't have followed them, swearing I would be protecting them. That the best option was to try to bring her back home. Taís was no longer happy. She never wanted marriage. Pregnancy had led her to agree to our union, but she was too young. I had convinced her, and nothing would ever make me regret it so much again. Being a father was my dream. It still was, in fact. I hadn't expected to have a child only to lose him less than a year later. He would have been six by then. He would have been running around at that party, just like the beautiful little girl in the pink dress whose parents had already scolded her more than once. I hated parties like that, where all that reigned was hypocrisy. Where people looked at me as if I were watching each one of them to write down any little mistake on my list of future dismissals. So, a breath of fresh air like that, the sound of a child's laughter, her mischievous manner... all of that almost made me smile. Almost. The little girl was probably the daughter of one of my employees. I couldn't say for sure, because I wasn't exactly attentive to their personal lives. What really mattered to me was their performance within the office. I used to be a little more sociable – but only a little – but after Taís died, I literally closed myself off from the world. At the office, I was known as Iron Man; I was just as controlling as I was in my personal life. People didn't know that this information was passed on to me, but unfortunately for them, the only person who had any access to me was my secretary, and she would tell me this with a laugh. I didn't find the nickname that funny, although her laugh was adorable. By the way, she was at the party. She was very pretty – that was what I could see from a distance.
have closed myself off so much from the world around me, becoming a person without friends. Because I was always studying or doing something to please my father, I didn't have time for friends, and the very few people I knew only approached me out of interest. The only people I have are my father and Edna, my former nanny who is now a housekeeper. I am currently twenty-five years old, and last year I graduated in another course, Political Science, and after waiting a long time, I decided that I am going to pursue my dreams. Today I am going to take my first step. I sent my resume three days ago to a very famous company here in Canada. I didn't wait long; yesterday they called me, asking me to attend a job interview, but it's me and two other people who are competing for that position. But you're rich, why do you want to work? Well, my father is rich, not me. I want to try to achieve my dreams starting from the bottom, just like my grandfather did; I want to climb the ladder little by little, with my own efforts, and even though I've never worked, I know that if I work hard and dedicate myself, I'll make it, no matter what the difficulties. I snap out of my reverie when I hear someone knocking on the door, I tell him to come in, and I immediately see Edna. "Good morning, my dear, your father is waiting for you for breakfast." "Good morning, Edna, tell him I'll be right there, I'm just going to take a shower and get ready. And I hope you'll have breakfast with us." She smiles awkwardly. "Of course, your father already told me that." "My father knows you're family." - Once again, Edna smiles awkwardly. - I'll be right there, I'll wait for you downstairs - I agree and as soon as she leaves my room, I quickly head to the bathroom to do my morning hygiene. I get out of the shower, dry myself and wrap myself in a towel. I go to my closet which, to be honest, is too big for just one person, and choose a simple outfit that consists of dark dress pants, a white long-sleeved blouse and a dark blazer, and a pair of satin leather high heels. I dry my long blonde hair and tie it in a high, somewhat messy bun, put on some lip gloss, put on my glasses that make my greenish eyes a little less prominent and my black leather bag. I look at myself in the mirror and am pleased with the result; I leave the room with a huge smile on my face and when I get to the breakfast table, I kiss my father on the cheek, wishing him a good morning and he kisses me back. - It seems like someone woke up in a good mood today - he says, referring to the huge smile on my face. My father is a handsome man for his age, at the height of forty-seven, tall, athletic body, since he works out and practices martial arts, white skin, square jaw with a thin beard, greenish eyes, dark hair with some gray tones and a captivating smile; I lost count of how many times I went to some event with him and women fell drooling over him. - Of course, today I'm going to my first job interview, I'm very excited. - I sit at the table and pour myself a coffee. - I'm very proud of you, my princess, I hope everything goes well. - Of course you will; Elisa is a very intelligent woman, they'll definitely hire her - my father murmurs, already drinking his coffee. - I don't want to create too many expectations - I say awkwardly. - Of course you should, you're intelligent, you've studied since you were little and graduated from the best schools and universities in the world, my love; obviously you'll make it. - I smile awkwardly at my father. It's always been like this, he sets too many expectations for everything I do; if I don't get this job.
name is Remi, aka Rogue Angel, and I normally work for a security company testing client systems. But now a shadowy villain has tracked me down and given me an ultimatum. I have to hack Rivera Tech-the largest tech company in the world, owned by billionaire CEO Maverick Rivera. If I do this, I'll get paid and I'll be able to help my adoptive mother. If I don't, my family will be in danger. Hacking Rivera is no walk in the park, and I soon find myself in a tantalizing game of cat and mouse with the big, bad-tempered, sexy Maverick. What I never, ever expected was for him to make me feel safe, or threaten my closely guarded heart, or set every part of me on fire. I can't drag him into my mess. But Maverick has other ideas, and he's not a man who takes no for an answer. ANGEL DEROGUES TO Remi "Oh, you think you can keep me out? Not today." My fingers danced over my keyboard. It glowed, each keystroke barely making a sound. I'd paid a small fortune for the keyboard and laptop. They were my babies. I'd already mapped out the target system. Its cybersecurity was good, but not great. I knew I'd set off some alarm, so they knew I was snooping around. "But no one can stop Rogue Angel." With a grin, I stared at the glowing screen, scanning the code. I tapped a command. Woot. I was in. I shifted my ass in my chair. Time to finish this. I zoomed in on the system, found the file I needed, and made a copy. Time to go. I left my signature image behind-glowing blue angel wings made of computer code. Smiling, I leaned back and flexed my hands. Then I buffed my nails on my shirt and blew on them. I was a hacker, so I kept my nails short and manicured, but I loved painting them. Right now, they were a bright, blinding yellow. Then I opened a new window and made a call. My boss appeared on the screen. I took a second to take in the view-Killian Hawke was worth a second or two of appreciation. The man always made me think of a sharp blade, with precision. He was lean, with an aquiline face, black hair, black eyes. Those eyes were sharp and missed nothing. He wore a black suit, even though it was Sunday-I'd never seen him in anything else. Even on the computer screen, he radiated a predatory danger that made my hindbrain go very, very quiet. "Done," I said. "Check your inbox." The head of Sentinel Security glanced to his left and nodded. "Well done, Remi. Impressive, as always." Damn, the man had the sexiest voice. Like melted hot chocolate with a hint of spice. It didn't quite match his sleek, dangerous persona. "Our client will be very happy," Killian said. "Happy that I hacked them?" Happy that they know their vulnerabilities and how Sentinel Security can help eliminate them. And pay Killian a billion dollars for his work. Sentinel did all sorts of security. I knew Killian had a private army of ex-military badasses, but he also specialized in cybersecurity. I'd been working for Sentinel for several years. Companies hired me to test their systems and improve their security. It was a good business. I used
Everyone was shocked to the bones when the news of Rupert Benton's engagement broke out. It was surprising because the lucky girl was said to be a plain Jane, who grew up in the countryside and had nothing to her name. One evening, she showed up at a banquet, stunning everyone present. "Wow, she's so beautiful!" All the men drooled, and the women got so jealous. What they didn't know was that this so-called country girl was actually an heiress to a billion-dollar empire. It wasn't long before her secrets came to light one after the other. The elites couldn't stop talking about her. "Holy smokes! So, her father is the richest man in the world?" "She's also that excellent, but mysterious designer who many people adore! Who would have guessed?" Nonetheless, people thought that Rupert didn't love her. But they were in for another surprise. Rupert released a statement, silencing all the naysayers. "I'm very much in love with my beautiful fiancee. We will be getting married soon." Two questions were on everyone's minds: "Why did she hide her identity? And why was Rupert in love with her all of a sudden?"
Three years ago, Cecilia was left battered and alone by the man she loved most, Alston, yet she bravely completed the wedding ceremony while pregnant. Three years later, although they were married, they grew apart over time. Cecilia focused on her career, no longer foolishly believing in love. But her transformation instantly threw Alston into a panic... And what is the secret from 11 years ago that Cecilia has always been reluctant to reveal? *** "She went to a law firm, met with a lawyer..." A lawyer? Is Cecilia suing someone? Who? Is there any recent litigation against the company? Alston suddenly chuckled coldly, "Who could she sue? I'm the CEO of this company. How come such a matter doesn't come to me first?" The assistant swallowed nervously, speaking softly, "Sir, there's no litigation against the company. She met with... a divorce lawyer."
Rejected by her mate, who had been her long-time crush, Jasmine felt utterly humiliated. Seeking solace, she headed to a party to drown her sorrows. But things took a turn for the worse when her friends issued a cruel dare: kiss a stranger or beg her mate for forgiveness. With no other choice, Jasmine approached a stranger and kissed him, thinking that would be the end of it. However, the stranger unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, "You're mine!" He growled, his words sending shivers down her spine. And then, he offered her a solution that would change everything...
It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, but Carrie made the mistake of falling in love with Kristopher. When the time came that she needed him the most, her husband was in the company of another woman. Enough was enough. Carrie chose to divorce Kristopher and move on with her life. Only when she left did Kristopher realize how important she was to him. In the face of his ex-wife’s countless admirers, Kristopher offered her 20 million dollars and proposed a new deal. “Let’s get married again.”
Dear readers, this book has resumed daily updates. It took Sabrina three whole years to realize that her husband, Tyrone didn't have a heart. He was the coldest and most indifferent man she had ever met. He never smiled at her, let alone treated her like his wife. To make matters worse, the return of the woman he had eyes for brought Sabrina nothing but divorce papers. Sabrina's heart broke. Hoping that there was still a chance for them to work on their marriage, she asked, "Quick question,Tyrone. Would you still divorce me if I told you that I was pregnant?" "Absolutely!" he responded. Realizing that she didn't mean shit to him, Sabrina decided to let go. She signed the divorce agreement while lying on her sickbed with a broken heart. Surprisingly, that wasn't the end for the couple. It was as if scales fell off Tyrone's eyes after she signed the divorce agreement. The once so heartless man groveled at her bedside and pleaded, "Sabrina, I made a big mistake. Please don't divorce me. I promise to change." Sabrina smiled weakly, not knowing what to do...
Sara Mae Xavier is living every Omega's dream--she is the Alpha King's mate! That's until he betrays and rejects her. He also accuses her falsely, and she is sentenced to two years at the notorious North Academy, a campus made specifically for delinquent werewolves. She has no idea how she'll survive, being a weak Omega, but she soon realises that's the least of her problems. Her roommates are three Alphas, each with a notorious reputation of his own. But that's not the worst part...why on earth does she have a mate bond to all of them?