A Little Piece of Heaven Sometimes, love feels like war. And sometimes, a stranger feels like home. Alina Taylor is a woman on the run-from her past, from secrets that could destroy her, and from the darkness she's tried so hard to bury. But when a twist of fate forces her into the path of Damien Wolfe-arrogant, rich, and dangerously magnetic-her world flips upside down. He offers her protection for one week. No questions. No promises. But Damien isn't just a man with a dark past-he's the one person who sees through her carefully built walls. As sparks fly and secrets unravel, Alina finds herself torn between fear and desire, between lies and truths. But in a world full of betrayals and buried pain, can two broken people really find a little piece of heaven?
It wasn't supposed to be this kind of day.
Alina Reyes stood under the cracked awning of an old bookstore, soaked from head to toe, clutching a paper bag that was one drop of rain away from disintegrating. The city wasn't gentle today. Not with its sky split open, not with the cold wind biting her ankles, and definitely not with her luck. She stared at the bus disappearing down the street-the one she had almost caught.
Just like everything else in her life, it left her behind.
"Perfect," she muttered, dragging the wet strands of hair out of her face. Her phone was dead. Her wallet was thin. Her patience, non-existent.
She turned to head back inside the bookstore, maybe to wait out the rain-but the door had already locked behind her. A small, smug sign read: Closed early due to the weather. Stay dry!
She nearly ripped it off.
A deep chuckle cut through the rain.
She stiffened.
Leaning against a sleek black car across the street stood a man. Umbrella in hand, suit dry, and smile maddening. He didn't belong in this kind of weather, or this kind of neighborhood. No one smiled like that in this part of town unless they were about to cause trouble.
He tilted his head, watching her.
Alina narrowed her eyes.
The man didn't move, didn't wave, didn't say anything. Just... watched. Like she was the day's most interesting story. And maybe, in some twisted way, she was.
She turned away.
But her paper bag tore.
Its contents spilled: a loaf of bread, two cans of soup, and a very expired granola bar. All of it scattered in the puddle like a sad little confession of her situation.
She stared down at it, frozen. Not because of the mess, but because it felt symbolic. Everything she'd been trying to hold together, now soaked and splattered across the sidewalk.
A pair of polished shoes stepped into her line of vision.
She didn't look up. "Don't."
"Don't what?" The voice was smooth. Deep. Warm in all the places her life felt cold.
"Don't try to help. Don't pity me. Just-don't."
A pause.
Then, "Noted."
She finally glanced up. He crouched in front of her, umbrella still held high, shielding her from the worst of the rain. His suit was dark, expensive, and still somehow perfect despite the drizzle. His jaw was sharp, his hair carelessly elegant, and his eyes... brown. But not ordinary brown. Deep. Dangerous. The kind of eyes that could convince you to do something stupid.
Like trust him.
She shoved the groceries into her backpack, not even caring that the bread was a soggy mess now. "Thanks for the umbrella cameo, Mr. Armani, but I'm not some stray you get to rescue for a feel-good moment."
He didn't laugh. Didn't look offended. He just studied her like she'd said something fascinating. "What if I don't want to feel good?"
"What?"
"What if I just... like the way you look when you're angry at the rain?"
She blinked. That was new. Creepy? Maybe. Charming? Absolutely not. And yet-something in her stomach did a small, traitorous flip.
"You should work on better pickup lines," she said, stepping back. "You're about five years too old for the tortured rich guy act."
He stood slowly. "Not a pickup line."
"Could've fooled me."
"I just wanted to see you smile." He paused. "I didn't think it'd be this hard."
Her heart skipped.
Before she could respond-before she could demand who the hell he thought he was-a car honked violently. She turned just in time to see a taxi speed through the puddle beside her, sending a wave of cold, muddy water straight at her legs.
She gasped, jumping back-but it was too late. Soaked. Again.
The man laughed. Not mockingly. Just... amused. "Okay, that was karma. What did you do?"
She glared at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Maybe," he admitted, eyes dancing. "Or maybe I'm just glad I came down this street today."
"You don't even know me."
"True." He stepped closer. "But I want to."
"Not happening."
He didn't push. Just smiled again-slow, deliberate, and almost too calm.
"I'm Damien," he said, offering his hand.
She hesitated. Every instinct told her not to touch him. Not to let him in. Not even a little.
But something in the way he stood-so sure, so still-made her curious.
She didn't take his hand.
"I don't care," she said flatly.
He laughed again. "That's fair."
And then, as quickly as he appeared, he turned and walked back to his car. No parting line. No charming wink. Just left her standing there-cold, wet, and far more shaken than she wanted to admit.
Who the hell was he?
The car didn't start right away. He sat inside, watching the rain.
She should've walked away. Should've been smart and forgotten his name before it even settled in her brain.
But then her phone buzzed.
1% Battery.
And a message from an unknown number:
You shouldn't walk home alone tonight, Alina.
She froze.
She never gave him her name.
Rumors claimed that Fernanda, newly back with her family, was nothing more than a violent country bumpkin. Fernanda just flashed a casual, dismissive grin in response. Another rumor suggested that the usually rational Cristian had lost all sense, madly in love with Fernanda. This frustrated her. She could tolerate gossip about herself, but slander against her beloved crossed the line! Gradually, as Fernanda's multiple identities as a celebrated designer, a savvy gamer, an acclaimed painter, and a successful business magnate came to light, everyone realized they were the ones who had been fooled.
Rachel used to think that her devotion would win Brian over one day, but she was proven wrong when his true love returned. Rachel had endured it all—from standing alone at the altar to dragging herself to the hospital for an emergency treatment. Everyone thought she was crazy to give up so much of herself for someone who didn’t return her feelings. But when Brian received news of Rachel’s terminal illness and realized she didn’t have long to live, he completely broke down. "I forbid you to die!" Rachel just smiled. She no longer needed him. "I will finally be free."
Veronica is an eighteen-year-old omega who falls into an emotional breakdown when her Mate, who was soon to be the Alpha of the Sun crest pack, turns against her, hurls hurtful words at her, and rejects her on the night of the full moon festival because he and everyone in the pack, including her, thinks she is an omega. As if the pain of rejection, helplessness, and worthlessness wasn't enough, she lost her best and only friend to the cold hands of death when rogue wolves attacked their pack. Right in the presence of her mate, she was tagged as someone who always attracted problems and calamities anywhere she went and he turned a blind eye and watched as she was banished from the pack. With hatred for her life, she runs deep into the woods that were off-limits and jumps off to end her life, but in a turn of events, something else happens. What would her mate do when he finds out that Veronica is not who he thinks she is? Will she be able to forgive him? What fate lies ahead for them?
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...
"There will be no falling in love, we will only act as a loving couple when we are in public, we will share a room to make it believable, but no intimacy, touching is off-limits. We'll only have sex once a month, and that's solely to produce an heir. You won't interfere in my business, and I won't interfere in yours. You will be my wife in every sense and you will not be involved with any other man," he said, arrogance seeping from every word. I watch his mouth move, I'm not ready to fall in love with any man, especially not one as arrogant and egoistic as him. I can handle acting as a loving couple, and as for intimacy once a month. I can agree to that just to satisfy my sexual cravings with no strings attached. "Where can I sign?" I asked since I had nothing to lose. *** Nadine's wedding dreams turned to nightmares when she caught her sister and fiancé cheating! With a secret recording, she's ready for revenge. But then mysterious billionaire Logan West offers a deal: A Contract Marriage to take down her ex's empire. But what Nadine doesn't know is her life is getting complicated as she takes her chance to get revenge or risks everything for a chance at love?"
"You're a creepy bastard." His eyes smolder me and his answering grin is nothing short of beautiful. Deadly. "Yet you hunger for me. Tell me, this appetite of yours, does it always tend toward 'creepy bastards'?" **** Widower and ex-boss to the Mafia, Zefiro Della Rocca, has an unhealthy fixation on the woman nextdoor. It began as a coincidence, growing into mere curiosity, and soon, it was an itch he couldn't ignore, like a quick fix of crack for an addict. He didn't know her name, but he knew every inch of her skin, how it flushed when she climaxed, her favourite novel and that every night she contemplated suicide. He didn't want to care, despising his rapt fascination of the woman. She was in love with her abusive husband. She was married, bound by a contract to the Bratva's hitman. She was off-limits. But when Zefiro wanted something, it was with an intensity that bordered on madness. He obsessed, possessed, owned. There'd be bloodshed if he touched her, but the sight of blood always did fascinate him. * When Susanna flees from her husband, she stumbles right into the arms of her devilishly handsome neighbour with a brooding glare. He couldn't stand her, but she needed him, if she was ever going to escape her husband who now wanted her dead. Better the devil you know than the angel you don't. She should have recalled that before hopping into Zefiro's car and letting him whisk her away to Italy. Maybe then, she wouldn't have started an affair with him. He was the only man who touched her right, and the crazy man took no small pains in ensuring he would be the last.