His Burning Obsession

Modern

Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire. I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper. I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock. I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim. "If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned. So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months. Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout. But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back.

Romance

Camilla Evans is a gentle nerd in her finals at Watermark Highschool. As a nerd, the stereotypical notion of her wearing thick rimmed glasses, out-of-vogue clothes and shoes which were eighty percent of the time, twice her size still stands. Having been at the bottom of the food chain in Watermark

Romance

The leather seats of the Rolls-Royce were cold against my bare skin, just like the emptiness inside me after another stolen encounter with Ethan Vance. I was Scarlett Hayes, a sharp fashion designer, entangled with a tech billionaire, a genius admired by the world. But tonight, the usual rush was

Romance

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Modern

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Romance

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Romance

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Romance

My marriage to David Miller was a picture of perfection, a dream life built on his charm and our shared happiness. Then came the call: my mother in an accident, and David, my husband, utterly unreachable. Hours bled into sterile dread in the hospital waiting room, a dread far deeper than my mother

Modern

Three years of marriage, three years of silent fury with Blake Harrison. Then, a nightmare: kidnapped, tortured, and brutally murdered by thugs. But instead of the afterlife, I woke up to my own funeral party, where my loving husband was celebrating his freedom with my sister, Amelia, accusing me

LGBT+

"You might be pretty, but I don't like ungrateful little boys, bébé." He informed, clicking his tongue, and pinching my nipple. A moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. What is wrong with me? "So you do love my touch, Ivan." He teased in satisfaction, his eye's darkened in lust. My body tre