Novels

"The king told me to pick a mate from either the vampires or the werewolves. I was instantly drawn to Darian, the werewolf. No hesitation, I chose him. On our wedding day, Darian marked me in front of his entire pack, binding us as partners. His childhood sweetheart, Finny, freaked out and ran off. Stupid bitch wandered right into the path of hunters who tore her to shreds. Afterward, Darian showed up at the scene, stared at Finny’s mangled body, and said nothing. Just scooped her up and buried her with his own two hands. Then he acted like nothing happened, playing the loving husband with me. Until the moment he united the packs. That’s when he jammed a knife through my throat, his eyes burning with hatred. “If your goddamn singing wasn't the only thing that calmed my people on a full moon, I wouldn’t have been forced to marry you!” “Finny wouldn’t have been so heartbroken that she ran off and got herself killed by those hunters. Now, I'm sending you down to hell to apologize to Finny!” Agony. Then, I blinked, and I was back – back to the day the king told me to choose."

In the final stages of cancer, my only chance at life-saving chemotherapy was bought out by Frank and given to Rachel, who was in the early stages. I gave up on the doctor's life-saving plan and swallowed strong pain-blocking medication. The price was organ failure and death in 3 days.

On the day we were supposed to get married at the courthouse, my boyfriend Samuel Lee had someone kick me out and brought in Rachel,

Hearing this, Lily was stunned, she opened her mouth but couldn't make a sound.\nAt this time, a team member excitedly shouted, \"Wait, there's more video!

They said that despite my vast wealth, I was being so harsh on a small infant. They even speculated whether I had an extreme preference for boys over girls.

To ensure she understood, I added, \"This model costs nearly five thousand dollars on the official website. Ten times means fifty thousand dollars. Are you in or not?\"\nDora hesitated for a moment, but the mention of fifty thousand dollars made her eyes gleam with greed.

When my biological parents found me, I had just crawled out of a mine. At that time, I was covered in coal dust, filthy and disheveled. I could tell that my biological parents were disgusted when they looked at me. Especially my biological father, who said, “Get her another car. Don't let her dirty the family car.” My biological mother, holding back her disgust, showed concern, “Sweetheart, you've suffered all these years. When you get home and clean up, I will pamper you.” Then, they rushed into the car. With them came their adopted son, Alden. He looked at me, then at his own black Maybach and finally sighed, “You can ride with me.” “There’s a shower at the mine. I’ll clean up and change clothes before getting in,” I answered listlessly, then went to take a shower. After changing clothes, I got into Alden’s Maybach and we headed to my biological parents' home. When I arrived at the Spencer house, I didn’t see my biological parents. Instead, I saw someone about my age, named Celia—the fake daughter who had been switched with me back then. Celia came up to me with a big smile, grabbed my hand and said, “Sherrie, right? Oh, it’s nice to finally meet you, big sis. Don’t worry, I won't play that 'real and fake daughter' drama. From now on, we’re real sisters. Let’s get along well!” As she spoke, she shoved a fruit knife into my hand and pulled my hand toward her.

My cousin was born without a uterus and with a sealed vaginal canal. Medically speaking, she was intersex. But that didn’t stop her from spending nearly every night out with a different boyfriend, flaunting her supposed sex life like it was some kind of trophy. One day, she leaned in close with a conspiratorial grin and whispered to me, “You know, Fran, there’s more than one way to make a guy happy.” I tried to talk some sense into her, warned her about the infections, the risks, the sheer lack of hygiene and honestly, she’s just asking for an STD. But she just laughed it off. Then she fell for some rich boy—second-generation money, the kind that came with an estate and a last name that mattered. And suddenly, she wasn’t so cocky anymore. She asked me whether she should get surgery to “fix” herself, to make everything work the way a man like that would expect. I warned her—surgery comes with risks. A woman’s body isn’t some tool made to satisfy a man. If she wanted to be with someone, she had to put her own health and dignity first. But she wasn’t interested in being careful. She believed her tricks in bed—or whatever version of it she could manage—would be enough to keep him around. On their wedding night, no matter what tricks she pulled out of her twisted little playbook, he still turned on her. Said she disgusted him. Word spread like wildfire. The guy’s family kicked her out like yesterday’s garbage. The engagement was called off before the wedding cake had even been cut. Her dream of marrying into wealth? Dead in the water. She lost everything—her pride, her place in high society and the engagement. Her dream of marrying into wealth? Dead in the water. And then she blamed me for it all. She poured gasoline on me and set me on fire. “You bitch! If it weren’t for you talking me out of the surgery, I wouldn’t be a laughingstock right now!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that exam room—the very day she told me her secret.

My wife was a fool. For three years, I took complete care of her and gave her everything.