244 Book(s) Related to I

"Barren. Cursed. Worthless."
Those words from my mate still echoed as he tore our bond apart in front of everyone. Four years of humiliation. Four years thinking I was broken, while he was secretly popping fertility drugs when no one was looking.
The night they cast me out, I was dying, bleeding, utterly destroyed. My own mother hurled "cursed daughter" at my face before walking away forever.
But what I found in those ancient ruins shattered everything I thought I knew.
"The cursed one wasn't me—it was HIM!"

5 AM. Ryan transferred me $50,000.

I should've been grateful. Until I saw the email on his laptop—"Ashford-Martinez Wedding Venue Confirmation." White roses with peonies. Every detail I'd mentioned. Then I heard Sophia laughing on his phone.

I got it. Investment VP meets architect heiress. And me? Just a wedding planner with a severance check.

Three months later, Catherine Ashford hired me to plan an engagement party.

I took it. I needed to watch him put that ring on her finger.

The day of the party, Sophia took the stage: "This isn't my engagement party."

Lights went out. The screen lit up.

Ryan's face appeared, eyes red.

And Architect_Soul—the stranger who held me through every breakdown...

My legs gave out.

"Get out! You AIDS-riddled whore!"

Father pointed at the door, Mother shrieked curses, my sister Emily cried trying to hold me back. But no one knew, I didn't have AIDS. I had stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

On a freezing October night, I was thrown out barefoot in my pajamas. Huddled under a bridge, I planned to return tomorrow with hospital proof, proof it was cancer, not AIDS.

Tomorrow they'll believe me. Tomorrow everything will be okay.

But when that man's shadow loomed over me, I suddenly realized—

Some people were never meant to have a tomorrow.

I was the most pathetic existence on campus.

Thick glasses, baggy sweaters, walking through the cafeteria like crossing a minefield. Albert, my childhood crush of three years, publicly mocked me as "a pathetic little dog following him around." Campus queen Madison crushed me under her heel. That rainy night, I gave up completely and swore to make them all pay.

Three months later, I returned.

Bronze skin, perfect curves, stunning hair—the entire campus was buzzing about this "mystery goddess." No one recognized that I was once the pathetic Molly Baker.

When Albert discovered the truth, it was too late. The man standing beside me shocked the entire school.

I died—not in the way you'd expect, but slowly, painfully, while he was entangled with her.

He called her his savior, the woman who sold everything to rescue his failing empire. Little did he know, it was my money, my life's work, that he squandered.

The betrayal burned hotter than any flame, and I vowed he'd pay.

Now, he's gone—a leap from the heights he once ruled, his fall as swift as his rise.

"They took eight years of my life, destroyed my family, and buried the truth under a mountain of lies. I walked out of Riverside State Penitentiary with nothing but a canvas bag and a marriage contract to a man in a coma—my last desperate chance at revenge.

But some sleeping princes aren't as helpless as they seem. And sometimes, the most beautiful love stories begin with the darkest plans for vengeance.

Justice may sleep, but it never dies. And when it awakens... it changes everything."

I thought that one night's mistake would be our biggest secret, until two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test.

Patrick was my stepbrother, the forbidden territory I should stay away from, the person I thought would never belong to me. When I saw Luna's text, when I thought I was just his drunken substitute, I decided to disappear with this secret.

But on that stormy afternoon, when he blocked my path to the clinic, when he declared to everyone on the street "This is my baby! She's the woman I love!"—that's when I knew.

I fell in love with my dead fiancé's face.

For two months, I believed Kieran had returned from the dead—scarred, memory-lost, but alive. I watched him fall for another woman, endured his cold rejections, and felt our mate bond remain forever severed.

Until I discovered the truth.

The man I'd been desperately trying to save wasn't Kieran at all. He was Declan Blackwood—Kieran's twin brother, the one who was supposed to be dead. The real Kieran was gone forever, murdered in a conspiracy that ran deeper than I ever imagined.

And the most fucked-up part?

The moment I learned who Declan really was......

"I'm dying... please save me..." The last words Avery spoke into the phone. The last words Felix chose to ignore. Six months later, when the insurance money calls, Felix Sutton will discover that some mistakes can never be forgiven—and some debts can only be paid with your life.

The champagne in my glass had gone flat, but I barely noticed. From our VIP box at the Vienna State Opera House, I watched my husband lean close to the pianist Lucia—close enough that she was practically sitting in my lap.

Five years of marriage. Five years of playing the perfect Habsburg wife, smiling through charity galas and dinner parties, pretending I didn't see the way other women looked at Max, pretending I didn't care when he looked back.

The diamonds at my throat felt like a noose.

Every eye in the opera house was on us. The Viennese elite loved their gossip, and tonight I was serving it up on a silver platter. The wronged wife, the beautiful mistress, the scandal everyone had been waiting for.

I could have endured it. I'd endured worse.

But when my father collapsed in Berlin—his heart giving out—and I called Max with shaking fingers, all I got was his voicemail. Again and again.

That's when I understood. I hadn't been protecting a marriage. I'd been guarding a tomb.

The question wasn't whether I could bear this humiliation.

The question was: why should I?

"The night I miscarried our baby, my husband was toasting his mistress's award win."

Five years of secret marriage. I was Broadway producer Maximilian Cross's hidden wife while the world thought he was a golden bachelor. Only I knew who he was really fucking every night.

Until that bitch Vivienne Sterling showed up.

She became his "artistic muse." I became his live-in booty call. He took her to every important event, bought her custom jewelry, publicly searched for his "soulmate" on stage—while I played piano accompaniment like a goddamn background prop.

Here's the fucked up part: I collapsed on stage, miscarrying and bleeding out in the ER, while he was across town popping champagne for that homewrecker's Drama Desk win. Twenty-three emergency calls—all ignored because it was her "big night."

But baby, you think that's where this story ends?

One Instagram post destroyed them both. Five-year secret marriage exposed, entire internet calling Vivienne a homewrecker, investors pulling out, him going from Broadway king to street rat overnight.

Even better? That 27-year-old composer heir Dante had been crushing on me for ten years. He gave me roles, protection, and real love I'd never experienced.

One year later, Dante and I won the Tony for our musical. I stood under the spotlight, he cheered from the audience. My ex-husband? Watching our triumph from his shitty apartment while his side piece slings coffee for minimum wage.

To save my grandmother's bookstore, I signed a six-month fake dating contract with a stranger named Kai.

He's cold, rich, and too perfect to be real. Until I discovered he's a werewolf Alpha, his family calls me "Luna," and "fated mates" means—his wolf claimed me as his destiny five years ago.

The deadliest truth? He could've saved my bookstore from day one. The contract was just an excuse to get close.

When I confronted him, he said: "I wanted you to choose me because you liked me, not because fate forced you to."

Now his grandmother's dying, conservatives want his Alpha position, and this idiot says he'd rather lose everything than pressure me into marking him...

Should I hate him for the lie, or love the man willing to sacrifice it all for my choice?

When I was twenty, Samuel called off our engagement and chose Stella instead.

After the engagement party ended, he told me: "Stella saved my life once. Now her father wants to marry her off to that disgusting old man Harrison Burke. I can't just stand by and watch."

He said to give him three years to repay his debt of gratitude, and after three years he would come back to me.

Like a fool, I waited for him for three years.

During those three years, I went from being his fiancée to becoming his secret lover, telling myself it was only temporary.

Until that day, when he knew I had a heart condition but still made me go extreme skydiving for the sake of a business deal.

After that, I completely came to my senses and abandoned him. And he seemed to suddenly regret it.

My husband thinks I'm trying to destroy him. He's wrong. I'm dying to save him. I'm Persephone, and I have two secrets that are killing me: First—I've been covering up my drug-addicted husband's crimes for three years, watching Magnus hate me more with every lie I tell to protect him. Second—I have ALS. Two years to live, maybe less. But when his seductive ex-girlfriend returns promising a "cure" and I discover she's using him for lethal human experiments, I realize the most dangerous person in Magnus's life isn't me. It's the woman he trusts. Now I'm racing against my failing body and his growing paranoia to save the man who wishes I was dead. The irony? I'm about to grant his wish. Some love stories end with "till death do us part." Mine starts there...

I am Seraphina Cross, a professional heartbreaker who specializes in destroying arrogant, self-important men.

My target was tennis prodigy Phoenix Ashford, but after one wild night, I discovered I'd slept with the wrong man—his twin brother Caspian, heir to a business empire.

One mistake. One bloody game unleashed.

I drove Caspian to obsession, made Phoenix willing to die for me. When both brothers believed they'd won my heart, I bared my fangs.

"I'm sorry, Caspian... I choose Phoenix."

One sentence shattered a brotherhood forged in blood.

Fists flew. Betrayal cut deep. Hatred consumed them—two brothers at war over a woman who never loved either of them.

And the game has only just begun.

For three years, Gabriel forced me to watch myself rot in a cursed mirror, whispering: "This is the real you."

I tried using Jasper as withdrawal medication. I rewrote scripts with Orion. I endured every humiliation thinking it would set me free.

But every man who claimed to save me was just another puppeteer.

Gabriel wanted my soul. Jasper wanted a tool. Orion wanted his mission completed.

They all thought they were writing my story...

When I woke up in the hospital after the crash, I croaked "Bro" at my brother. He stared back like I was a stranger and coldly shot back, "I'm not your brother."

Even more bizarre, he pointed at some guy with an IV stand and said, "That's your brother." I clutched my sheets, faking amnesia, and followed this "fake brother" home, only to discover his leukemia medication and hear him coughing blood in the middle of the night.

Caught between my real brother's rejection and my "fake brother's" fragility, I'm spinning a web of lies between two "brothers"—where will this case of mistaken identity drag me?

I'm Vivian Miller, USC Film School graduate and Hollywood production assistant. For three years, I used my connections and resources to build my husband Rick into one of the hottest independent producers in town.

On our anniversary night, I prepared a three-layer cake and candlelit dinner, waiting for him to come home from the Oscar after-party. Instead, I got red lipstick stains on his shirt and the lingering scent of unfamiliar perfume.

When I discovered that woman was Oscar-nominated actress Amy Williams, everything clicked. She was his college sweetheart, his white moonlight. And me? Just her substitute.

The cruelest truth was yet to come—our wedding anniversary was Amy's birthday.

After our divorce, I thought leaving quietly would give me a fresh start. I was wrong. Amy wanted to destroy me completely. Online harassment, job offers rescinded, fans attacking me on the street... she wanted me erased.

But what she didn't know was that every project idea in Rick's company came from me. Those copyrights belonged to me all along.

Golden Globe red carpet, under the spotlight, when I stood before Rick and Amy, all of Hollywood had no idea what was about to unfold.

I thought I was saving a homeless man. I had no idea I was falling in love with Wall Street's most dangerous player.

When I found Ryan digging through garbage, he couldn't use my washing machine or figure out the coffee maker—a perfect man who needed my care. But why did he speak French like a native? Why did expensive watches keep "accidentally" appearing in his belongings?

When my family business suddenly faced bankruptcy, he always showed up at the perfect moment with mysterious funds and flawless solutions. I started to suspect something, but it was too late—I was already deeply in love with this enigmatic man.

Until that night at New York's most luxurious engagement party, when the spotlight hit the stage: "Ladies and gentlemen, let's welcome the second son of the Montgomery family—Ryan Montgomery!"

I stared at the stranger in a tuxedo on stage, that face I'd kissed countless times. He was the brother of Matthew Montgomery—the man I was supposed to marry!

Was it all calculated? Was my kindness just a pawn in their brothers' power game?

I used to create perfect weddings for other people, always dreaming that someday I'd plan my own. As Toronto's most sought-after wedding planner, I had it all mapped out—the venue, the flowers, the dress I'd been saving for since I was twenty-five.
Then I came home early from a client meeting and found my fiancé Philippe in our bed with his paralegal. The fight that followed was ugly—screaming, accusations, him telling me I was "obsessed with babies" and "suffocating." When I threw his ring at him and told him to get out, I didn't know the stress had triggered something devastating.
The miscarriage happened that night. The complications were worse—internal bleeding, emergency surgery, a doctor gently explaining that my chances of ever conceiving again were less than two percent. Philippe filed for divorce while I was still in the hospital.
I took the settlement money and bought a small diner in rural Quebec, telling myself I was starting fresh. For five years, I focused on work and avoided anything that reminded me of the family I'd never have. No dating, no relationships, no hope of ever holding my own child.
Until a hungry twelve-year-old boy appeared outside my diner in the snow, counting coins in his palm.

Ten years of secret love, and what did I get? Watching him fall for another woman at MY art exhibition.

The most ridiculous part? He turned to me and said, "Harper, you have to help me win her over."

I orchestrated their romantic encounters, taught him how to charm women, even told him what flowers she liked. I was the perfect wingman, watching them fall in love while I licked my wounds in the dark.

Until Dr. Avery confronted me with one devastating question: "Do you really think he doesn't know you love him?"

When I finally screamed "I've loved you for ten years!" at Mason, his response froze my blood:

"I know. I've always known."

Turns out, my ten years of devotion were nothing more than a free emotional dumping ground to him—the convenient girl who would never leave. He enjoyed my care while pretending not to see my love, because that was safest, easiest.

Pathetic, right?

A woman wastes ten years loving a man, only to end up pushing him into someone else's arms.

Until Blake appeared.......

Have you ever loved someone so completely that you handed them the knife? Believed their lies so desperately that you never saw the blade coming?

"Love you? Christ, Sera, did you actually believe I could love someone so pathetically desperate for affection?" Dashiell's words cut deeper than any weapon, shattering a year of beautiful lies.

That night, beneath the blood moon, they killed me—not with claws or fangs, but with betrayal so complete it stopped my heart. But death wasn't the end. I opened my eyes on my 21st birthday, reborn with perfect clarity. This time, I won't be the naive girl who trusted too easily. Every cruel word, every drop of spilled blood, every sleepless night of agony—I'll repay it all.

Let the games begin. They created a monster, and now they'll face her wrath.

The day I walked in on my boyfriend screwing that blonde tramp, I dropped the homemade tiramisu right there on the floor—our two-year relationship smashed to bits, messier than the splattered cream.

I ducked into a bar, slamming back whiskey, when this guy in a sharp black suit sidles up, his voice smooth as silk laced with bourbon. I spat out, "Help me forget him," but ended up totally lost in the presidential suite. He backed me against the wall, tore open my blouse, his tongue circling my nipple before biting down hard, leaving me breathless. "You taste like candy, baby—tonight, I'm gonna eat you up."

But then my boyfriend FaceTimes, spots the guy behind me, and loses it, screaming, "Dad!"

I went ice-cold—my hookup was my boyfriend's stepdad? Even worse, this thirty-three-year-old powerhouse was Brooklyn's deadliest mob boss.

What began as a vengeful fling spiraled into a forbidden nightmare?

Centuries ago, the Kingdom of Drakmoor won a devastating war against the dragons—but victory came with a bloody price. To keep the dragon race imprisoned, humans must sacrifice one pure-blooded royal maiden to Dragon Valley each year, easing the searing curse that torments their enemies.

Rosalind, a lowly servant, never thought this brutal tradition would touch her life. She loved Sir Gareth, the noble knight captain, from afar, knowing his heart belonged to Lady Isabelle, the Duke's daughter who once saved his life.

When Sacrifice Day arrived and Isabelle was chosen, everything changed. Desperate to save his beloved, Gareth forced Rosalind to wear Isabelle's dress as a decoy. "The soldiers only want royal blood," he promised. "They won't hurt you."

But when the panicked soldiers lost their real sacrifice, they threw the "substitute" straight into Dragon Valley to avoid punishment.

As Rosalind faced certain death, she didn't know that the legendary Dragon King was watching her fall—his golden eyes fixed on the unexpected girl who had just changed his world forever.

My husband Steven was in late-stage cancer, but he suddenly insisted on divorcing me.

He said it was for my own good, but I absolutely refused.

We loved each other so much - how could I possibly abandon him at a time like this?

Until I was going through some paperwork and accidentally found an $1.8 billion trust fund - but I wasn't the beneficiary.

Why would my soon-to-be ex-husband transfer our family's massive fortune to someone else?

After I discovered the truth, he quickly ended up in the hospital in critical condition. And on the very night his resuscitation failed, I had him cremated.

I'm the Santos family heiress—born into the kind of wealth and power that people kill for. For eighteen years, I've adored my "brother" Diego with all my heart—that golden, gorgeous surfing champion who's the pride of our family.

Then came that shark attack. A mysterious lifeguard nearly died saving us. When that DNA report landed on my desk, my world shattered completely: this beaten-up kid Lucas from the slums—he's my real blood brother!

And Diego? The boy I've cherished like family for eighteen years? Not one drop of Santos blood in his veins.

Blood or bond—who do I choose?

My roommate's violent ex-boyfriend stormed our dorm with a knife. I rushed out to protect her and got stabbed, bleeding all over the floor.

I desperately pounded on her door for help: "Hestia! Save me! Open up!" Dead silence from inside. That BITCH stood right behind the door, listening to me take my last breath.

Even more disgusting, she cried to my boyfriend Brian:

"I don't know why this happened... Connor was just crazy... Freya insisted on going out to reason with him... I tried to stop her but couldn't..."

Watching her collapse into Brian's arms playing innocent, I died filled with rage.

Reborn two weeks earlier, I'm personally collecting this blood debt!

For three years, I've watched his routine so intently my eyes have calloused. Detective Nate Blackwood—the man who swore in court my parents "resisted arrest and assaulted officers"—became my only reason to keep breathing.

I approached him through his lost brother, crafting a gentle persona, manufacturing chance encounters, always with odorless, tasteless poison tucked away in my bag. But when he instinctively shielded me during the restaurant robbery, when the light in his eyes as he said "family is everything" made me falter—I panicked.

How could the man I've hated for three years make my heart race? In this revenge-driven charade, who's really falling into whose trap?

At eleven p.m., I'm staring at the charity foundation's financial report, barely able to focus on the numbers—Theron is "networking" again, but for three years now, his "networking" has always involved another woman. Then my phone rings. It's Tommy, the paparazzo: "Mrs. Sterling, your husband's on his private yacht, all over some 22-year-old blonde intern!"

Thirty-seven times. Have you ever tried treating your husband's affairs like routine maintenance? Smiling at reporters while quietly wiring money to delete photos? I believed his bullshit promises that he'd "change," convinced myself this was just the price of a high-society marriage. But looking at the photos in my email—there in the bedroom of the yacht he "only uses for business meetings"—is a girl whose face I saw at the company just yesterday.

My stomach turns as I call Tommy back: "Don't delete them. Send the photos to every media outlet." I grab my car keys and rush out the door, asking myself: Do I really want to play the perfect Mrs. Sterling this time? No—but am I ready to blow up my entire life?

Five years ago, my sister vanished the night before her wedding. She left behind a crying newborn in a crib and a mafia heir on the verge of losing control.

And I was forced into her place—the temporary bride, the contract wife, the whispered “replacement” in every gilded hallway.

I thought I only had to survive five years. Five years to earn what I was promised, and then walk away from this city of shadows and blood.

I clawed my way through bullets, politics, and betrayal. I earned respect. I gained power.
And somehow... I tasted a tenderness I was never meant to have.

Now, with only ten days left on our marriage contract, I thought everything was finally under control. I thought freedom and power were within reach.

Until she came back—wrapped in grace, dripping secrets, smiling as if she owned the world she abandoned.

She looked at me and said, “Little sister, give me back my life.”

My precognitive gift should have been a blessing. Instead, it became my curse.

At six, I could predict any sports outcome. My parents turned me into their money-printing machine—basement prison, electric torture, carved punishments for every mistake. They called me "princess" while salting my wounds.

When my gift earned them tens of millions, they showered me with the most expensive toys. When my predictions cost them fortunes, they didn't hesitate to sell me to a criminal syndicate as collateral.

Standing on the edge of that thirty-second floor, watching my deranged father reach out with those words: "It's all because of you, you worthless piece of trash!"

As I plummeted through the air, I swore an oath—if there's a next life, I'll make them pay.

"You're just adopted. Know your place."
"She's your sister—what's so hard about letting her have it?"

Those two sentences were my life sentence.
I gift-wrapped my pain, mistook silence for virtue,
foolishly believing that if I just endured enough, someone might love me back.

Until the day I watched my sister take my fiancé, while they all acted like she deserved him more than I did.

That's when it hit me—I'd been fighting for a seat at a table that was never set for me.

No screaming. No begging. I just turned around and picked up Sophia.

Walking away wasn't giving up. It was finally getting it—you can't make a home where you were never meant to belong.

Have you ever pressed your cheek against your mother's cold skin, pretending she was just sleeping?
For seven days, I climbed on chairs to steal cookies, sweeping up broken glass with my bare hands when the jar slipped—terrified any sound might disturb her eternal sleep. I pulled her favorite blue dress over her still body and whispered, "You're not cold now, Mommy. You're not cold."
I was five years old, and I thought death was something you could fix with a blanket.
Dad's study stayed locked until the day we buried him. That's when I found them—hidden behind loose boards in the wall. Videotapes he'd never watched. Letters he'd never sent. And phone records showing the calls Mom made in those final days.
Twenty-three missed calls. Twenty-three attempts to reach the man she was dying to forgive.
keep wondering about that final call my mother tried to make to my father—did he ever know she reached out? Was his coldness toward her truly indifference, or was it a kind of love I was too young to recognize?
Some secrets die with their keepers. But the questions—the questions bury themselves in your bones and grow.

I died clutching our unborn baby's ultrasound photo while he fucked another woman in our marriage bed. But death isn't the end—

I died loving him. When I watched his hands touch her skin, his lips kiss hers where we once swore our vows, love became hatred. Now he'll taste my wrath." Three months pregnant, dying alone, yet forced to watch their moonlit intimacy. I couldn't stop it, couldn't scream—only witness him choose her. But a ghost's fury burns hotter than the moon's light."

He thought I'd vanished, so he welcomed her into our sanctuary without hesitation—playing with the console I gave him, sharing our secrets with her. I watched it all, and hatred consumed what love remained.

I thought death was the cruelest pain, until I saw him tenderly bandaging her wounds, almost kissing her in the place where we pledged our souls. That moment taught me—some agonies transcend death itself.

Three days ago I was his beloved. Now I'm a restless spirit, condemned to witness every touch between them. But they don't know—my hatred burns fiercer than my love ever did.

Three years of passion between the sheets, three years of sweet promises—all just foreplay to the perfect betrayal.

When Felix publicly declared Scarlett Wilson as his "artistic partner," when he said dating someone "at my level" would be "professional suicide," I finally understood—I was nothing but his stepping stone to the Wilson family fortune, a used rag to be discarded.

Even more pathetic? The bitch who stole my man wasn't satisfied with just that. She had to destroy my art career too. Plagiarism accusations, vicious smears, "accidental" artwork destruction... Scarlett Wilson used her family's power to systematically push me into the abyss, wanting to make sure I'd never hold my head up in the art world again.

Did she think I'd just take it like some pathetic victim?

Wrong.

When I played that recording of her confessing to every single crime under the Whitney Museum's spotlights; when the entire art world watched this "socialite princess" screaming hysterical denials; when Tate Modern personally invited me to exhibit and Gagosian Gallery offered me a $500K guarantee—

That's what total destruction looks like.

But the most satisfying part? Watching Felix's pathetic transformation: from the arrogant gallery owner to a broken man in wrinkled shirts, begging for my forgiveness. When he cried, "I've lost everything, please give me another chance," all I wanted to tell him was—

Fuck off. You're not worth it.

What if your greatest sacrifice became your deepest regret?

Sarah Miller believed love meant unconditional support—abandoning her nursing degree, working double shifts, and funding her husband's coding dreams. When Jake's app hit one million downloads, she thought they'd finally taste success.

But success brought shame, not gratitude. Jake demanded a "low-key marriage," listed himself as "Single" on LinkedIn, and denied his family on national TV. Sarah wasn't a wife anymore; she was a stain on his success.

When their daughter Emma was dismissed as "the help's kid," Sarah understood a brutal truth: gaining everything means losing yourself, while losing it all can make you whole.

A car crash stole my memories, but gave me the perfect "boyfriend."

When I woke up, tattooed Knox held my hand and said: "I'm your boyfriend." I believed him. His tenderness, his daughter's affection, those photos of "us together"—what a beautiful lie.

Until a children's choir sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and shattered memories flooded back: I was a kindergarten teacher falsely accused of child abuse, my ex-boyfriend Zephyr abandoned me for his career, his new girlfriend Sterling orchestrated the entire trap that even led to my car crash and amnesia...

And Knox? He was a complete stranger!

The most twisted part—I actually fell in love with this man who lied to me.

When Zephyr returned with regret, when Sterling threatened with malicious intent, when Knox waited in fear for my judgment... I made the craziest choice:

"I choose this lie."

Five years ago, I walked away pregnant and heartbroken.
He chose someone else.
He let me go without looking back.

Now I’ve returned—with a son who carries his blood
and a strength I never knew I had.

He kneels, begging for forgiveness.

I died in his fire.

Lucian Cross made me Ghost—the deadliest assassin in New York's underworld. Thirty-seven kills. Ten years of loyalty. Then he locked the cuffs himself and told me I was too soft to live.

But death gave me a second chance.

When I open my eyes again, I'm back in that warehouse. This time, I'm not crying. This time, I'm escaping. And this time, I'm taking everything he built and burning it down.

There's just one problem: Kael Vaughn, Lucian's sworn enemy, pulled me from the rubble. Now I'm hiding my identity while falling for the one man who'd kill me if he knew the truth.

Except when my secret comes out, Kael doesn't pull the trigger. He hands me a gun instead.

"I don't care who you were. I care who you choose to be now."

But Lucian never lets go of what's his.

My name is Aurora McNamara, federal fire investigator.

For seven years, I've endured the same three words from my husband every single day: "Get out, murderer."

Yes, my husband Phoenix—the fire captain who once whispered "I love you" in my ear—now looks at me with pure hatred every day, as if I'm the monster who killed his teammates.

But I didn't set those fires.

I was framed.

What's more twisted? The real killer sits on our couch every evening, gently providing "psychological therapy" to my husband, telling him he should "forgive his wife's mistakes."

That, Phoenix made his choice—in the raging inferno, he chose to save her instead of me.

Then I return to three months ago, before everything fell apart completely....

"Not pregnant again?"
Those three words have become more familiar than "I love you" in my marriage. For two years, I've dreaded the monthly ritual—the single line on the test, Damon's disappointed sigh, his mechanical "We'll try again."
Until yesterday.
"Congratulations, you're four weeks along," the doctor beamed, sliding the report across her desk.
I gripped that paper like a lifeline, tears streaming down my face as I touched my still-flat belly. Finally, he'll look at me the way he used to.
But some victories come with a price I never saw coming...

Selene thought she'd found true love with Alexander Morrison. She was WRONG—she was just a stand-in for Jessa, the woman he really wanted.

When Alexander and his twin brother Adrian's yacht exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, Alexander came home with Adrian's ashes, claiming to BE Adrian. His goal? To steal Adrian's wife Jessa—the woman he'd always loved.

Selene knew instantly he was lying, but when she told everyone, no one believed her. Alexander called her "crazy from trauma" and locked her away in a mental facility. She was PREGNANT.

They drugged her daily. After she gave birth, Alexander told her the baby died. She broke completely.

Three years later, dying in that white hell, Selene heard Alexander's final confession:

"I always loved Jessa. Adrian just got to her first. YOU? You were just her replacement."

"The kid's alive. I gave him to Jessa. He calls her Mom now."

Selene died full of rage—then woke up reborn, back to the moment Alexander walked in with that urn.

This time, she'd expose his lies and make him PAY.

Three years barren, and Jessamine walked on thin ice in the elite household. Her mother-in-law spat venomous curses daily, calling her a "worthless waste of space" and threatening to force her son into divorce.

She could still remember when Damien had severed all ties with his family to marry her—kneeling outside their door in the pouring rain, begging his parents to accept her: "Jessamine is my one true love! I can't survive without her!" Back then, she was the only woman who existed in his eyes.

But now, for the sake of family inheritance, he had the audacity to demand her consent for his childhood sweetheart Celeste to bear their child. Jessamine endured the soul-crushing agony of watching her husband entwined with another woman, night after torturous night.

Even more devastating—after Celeste delivered a daughter, Damien had the shameless nerve to declare: "The family still needs a male heir."

In that shattering moment, Jessamine finally saw the brutal truth.

I thought I'd buried the past. Built a new life, won my first major award. Then a six-year-old video surfaces—me, obviously pregnant, at a private clinic. The world wants answers about the baby that never was. But more dangerous than the media frenzy is the man standing at my door, asking for what I can never give him: a second chance.