Novels

After Breaking Up, I Resigned and Was Ready to Go Abroad. Then My Ex-Girlfriend, the CEO, Suddenly Tried to Win Me Back at the Airport.

I was lying on the operating table for a miscarriage when my parents were in a car accident.

Silas Gill would bring a woman home from outside on every wedding anniversary under the pretext of letting me train them. At our tenth anniversary dinner, the woman he brought home was a karaoke bar girl dressed in a Playboy bunny outfit. "She doesn't have a dress, so you give her your wedding dress and the jewelry I gave you last time. As for shoes, I think the pair you have on your feet is good." "Oh, right. She's young and doesn't understand many things. You'll have to put in the effort to teach her, especially about sex." Everyone was waiting to see me make a fool of myself. I once again lived up to everyone's expectations and said I wanted to divorce Silas. Silas chuckled, looking at me with contempt and mockery. "Juliette Spencer, haven't you said 'divorce' every single time? I'm sick of hearing it, even more so than your moans in bed!" "If you really want to divorce me, I'll give you one hundred million!" The entire room erupted in laughter again, their words implying that I was playing hard to get and didn't know my place. They didn't know that this was the hundredth time I'd said "divorce" and the only time I truly meant it.

At Grandfather’s 80th birthday celebration, as I admired myself in the dress I was wearing, I felt a sharp pain on my forehead. “Bull’s eye!” I heard mocking laughter in front of me. I touched my forehead and saw blood as I realized the kids had just thrown a stone at me. “What did you do that for?” I queried. All sextuplets marched toward me, each holding a bowl and smirking. “You have no right to show your face today!” one of them snapped. “Talk more about wearing our mother’s favorite color!” another added. “But kids —” My words were cut short when they all threw the content of the bowl at me and I shrieked as I was instantly assaulted by tiny ants that stung me. “You killed our mother, you wicked witch, we’ll make you suffer!” one of them said. “Get away from this house before we kill you!” they threatened laughing. As I writhed on the floor in pain I stared at the six children I had taken care of for nine years and a tear rolled down my cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before you know it,” I said quietly.

My younger sister became infatuated with stories about real and fake heiresses after finishing college.

On my wedding day, my fiancé and my younger sister Rachel were caught doing the dirty in the private lounge. I immediately became a laughing stock, until my childhood friend Jason Law publicly proposed to me, defending my honor. After we got married, he was the perfect husband… except for his performance in the bedroom. It was like his heart was never in it. I only managed to get pregnant after going for IVF this year. After that, he became even more protective of me. I once believed he was my sanctuary… until I overheard his conversation with his friend. “You’re ruthless, Jason. Nina’s so good to you. How could you swap out her egg with Rachel’s just because Rachel is too afraid of the pain to give birth? “The baby’s due in two months. What do you plan to do then?” Jason was silent for a bit, then he sighed. “I’ll give Rachel the baby once it’s born. It’s one of her greatest wishes, after all. “As for Nina, I’ll tell her the baby died. “I’ll make it up to her by staying with her for the rest of her life.” So that was how it was. He only protected me so gently for her sake. I turned around and immediately made a surgery appointment. I was throwing away this filthy baby… and this false marriage.

When Dylan Sullivan took a new type of hallucinogen, I was forced to give myself to him to curb the effects. Innately fertile, I got pregnant, giving birth to fraternal twins—a boy and a girl—after marrying him. However, Dylan refused to let them call him daddy, drinking away the nights while staring at the picture of his one true love. Then, on our tenth anniversary, he locked us up in the basement and burnt us to death. As it turns out, he remained hung up on that moment when I saved him all this time, stubbornly convinced I intervened when he was vulnerable to satisfy my ambitions. That in turn drove a rift between himself and his one true love, whose heartbreak led to psychosis and the accident that killed her. But I somehow opened my eyes to find myself alive, returning to the day Dylan took the hallucinogen by mistake. This time, I let his one true love have him, while I headed towards the study…

It's the Werewolves' Hunting Festival today. It's been three months since I found my mate. During the festival, male werewolves will give the prey they've hunted to their mates. It's a way to show their strength and love for their mates. However, my mate, Chris Ashwood, tells me to give up on him and pick another mate, seeing as there are so many other outstanding Alphas around. I nod calmly and agree. In my past life, I disagreed and insisted on marrying him. However, he didn't mark me after we got married. In fact, he was stargazing in the desert with his true love when I was shot by a bounty hunter and gravely injured. Perhaps this is just a game of heart-hunting that should never have begun.

For seven years, I dated the most powerful man in Australia. When it came time to marry, Brandon Parrish suddenly suggested a “game”—he wanted to exchange brides. He swapped me for Marilyn McKnight, a woman who had pursued him obsessively for years. Just seven days, he said. A harmless trial. I refused. I begged. I cried. But he ignored me. Seven days later, he came back to reclaim me. I refused again, firmly this time. That refusal became the catalyst for my downfall. Marilyn, driven mad by despair, slit her wrists. She died. Brandon lost his mind with grief—and turned all his hatred toward me. “You killed her,” he said. And for that, he made me pay. He strangled me until I couldn’t breathe, then forced me to strip at her funeral in front of my friends and family. He called me a slut. He married Marilyn’s urn in a mock wedding and made me watch. He handed me over to a group of gangsters and told them to “dirty me up.” When I spoke ill of Marilyn, he cut out my tongue himself. He shocked me with electricity until my mind fractured, until I wagged my tail and begged for his affection like a broken dog. And finally— He burned me alive at her grave. But fate is cruel and strange. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day he first proposed the bride exchange. This time, I said nothing. I smiled and nodded. “Sure,” I thought. “Go ahead. Be with her.” Let’s see who regrets it first.