Novels

I splurged online and bought myself a cool, beautiful female succubus. But she was always purrin9, staring at me silently, and her body temperaturewas scorching hot.

As my job’s pretty unique, I barely interact with people outside of work. Naturally, my mom started to worry. She thought I might not be into guys. So, she took matters into her own hands and arranged a marriage for me. The guy on paper was perfect. He was good-looking, charming, and the son of the wealthiest man in town. Since I spent most of my time at the office and rarely had time for shopping, my boss had a custom wedding dress made for me. On the day of the wedding, I was about to get changed and walk down the aisle, only to find my dress tossed in the trash. Before I could even process what was going on, my so-called fiancé’s secretary barged in and shoved a bridesmaid dress at me, all high and mighty. “What are you staring at? The ceremony’s about to start. Get dressed,” she barked. I forced myself to stay calm and replied, “I’m the bride. And you expect me to wear this?” She rolled her eyes like I was being ridiculous. “Just put it on. No need to make a scene.” Then she added smugly, “Mr. Cobb specifically said I’ll be taking your place at the altar.” I stood there, stunned. It took me a moment to react before I pulled out my phone and dialed my fiancé. “Mr. Cobb,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Don’t you think your family owes me an explanation for this little switch-up?”

The day I found out I was pregnant, my husband Brandon's secretary, Jenna, posted a photo of her baby bump on Instagram. The caption read, [As long as you're loved, you can still be a beautiful girl--even when you're pregnant!] In the picture, she was wearing nothing but lace lingerie, leaning into Brandon's chest while they took a selfie. His hand was resting on her bare, swollen belly. On his finger was the exact same wedding ring as mine. I commented, [Congrats.]

My mom asked me who I wanted to marry. This time, I didn’t choose Simon Hughes. Instead, I chose his younger uncle, Daniel Hughes. Her reaction was instant, her gaze sharp and full of disbelief, like I’d just slapped her across the face. After all, everyone in the city knew Simon and I were inseparable, practically joined at the hip since childhood. For ten years, I’d chased him and made it clear I wouldn’t marry anyone else. But that was the old me, the version of myself that no longer existed. A bitter smile tugged at my lips as memories of my past life—before I was reborn—flooded my mind. In that life, after Simon and I married, I came to a heartbreaking realization. He’d never once laid a finger on me. At first, I told myself it was personal—maybe it was just something he couldn’t help. I made excuses for him and tried to convince myself it didn’t matter. But then, on our golden wedding anniversary, I walked into a room I’d never seen before. It was locked away, hidden, and filled with photos of my cousin. That’s when it hit me. It wasn’t that Simon was asexual. He just didn’t love me. Now, in this second life, I was done wasting time on someone who would never love me in return. I decided to let them be together, once and for all. But as I walked down the aisle toward Daniel, Simon's face turned pale, and he completely lost control.

My boyfriend and his so-called “sister” checked into a hotel and got caught during a prostitution sting operation. When I went to bail him out, he had hickeys all over his neck and was busy comforting her while she sobbed into her hands. “Her apartment’s lock broke, and she was so scared, so I stayed with her,” he said.

My daughter called Hudson for help. "Mommy is about to die. Daddy, please come save her," she said. Hudson answered the phone impatiently. "You're just like your mom. Both of you are liars. If she's going to die, let her die sooner," he said. Hudson didn't know that I was dying. Later, just as he wished, I never bothered him again. Hudson ended up kneeling at my grave, begging for my forgiveness.

Last time around, taking that kid in was the worst mistake of my life. The whole town treated me like trash, assuming I was some unwed mother.

The most popular girl from my high school is getting married. She invites everyone in our class to the wedding. I want to act like I don't see the message, but she deliberately tags me in the group chat.

Nine months pregnant, and the woman my husband, Cameron, had always idealized slipped me an abortion pill. The contractions tore through me, a searing agony, but he told me to just hold on. Because she—Sara—was supposedly in labor, too. To keep me from "stealing her thunder," he had his housekeeper tie me upside down to a large cat tree in the corner of the room. "I heard that if the blood rushes to your head, it can delay labor," he said, his voice cold and distant. "Even if you are about to give birth, you will wait. Sera's child must be born first. I promised her our family would recognize her baby as the firstborn heir." The drug-induced cramps were a vicious, twisting fire in my gut. I tumbled from the cat tree, landing in a heap on the floor, and crawled toward him, begging him to take me to a hospital. He drove his foot into my stomach. "Sara is the kindest person I know. She would never drug you," he spat, his face a mask of fury. "But you, you venomous bitch, I bet you're the one who slipped something into her food to make her go into premature labor!" His voice dripped with contempt. "You're this far along anyway. What difference could a little pill possibly make?" Later, after he had seen Sara settled and comfortable in her private hospital suite, he called home. He asked his assistant if I was still "throwing a tantrum." The assistant’s voice trembled. "Sir… Mrs. Thorne and the baby… they're in the morgue."