Glory T!na

The image of him being happy and loving with my best friend felt like betrayal. It felt like he had launched a knife into my heart while I was struggling to breathe. How could he betray me this way? How could he betray me with my best friend? "You said you loved me." I cried out and brushed the tears running down my face away. He stared at me, and the coldness in his eyes mirrored the one his mother always had for me. "That was my greatest mistake." I felt cold. ..... Once Imela believed love was enough, but not anymore. Love was just another lie that the weak believed in to keep them from seeing the truth: that there was no place for people like them in this world.

He rose and moved towards me, my heart picking up its pace with every step he took. His hand stroked the side of my face, causing a tingle to rush through me and I shivered into his touch just like earlier. He leaned in and his breath fanned over my face, hot, weakening and mind-numbing. "You should be running, Zera." he said with a voice so raw it made me shudder against him. "The most sensible thing to do is run from someone like me." "I don't want to run." I stubborn stated, worn out with his long game. It wasn't helping anyone. He wanted me, I could see that, and I wanted him too. His nose rubbed against mine, and he moved his forehead against mine. "Oh darling, but you should. I won't be like those little boys you've been with. I won't stop when you want me to. I won't stop until I'm completely buried in your mind and soul. You will belong to me."

"Take off your clothes, I want to see the body I'd be living with for the rest of my life," he commands, moving to the other side of the room where the red armchair was. She hesitated, and that displeased him. He growled, clearly infuriated. “Do you need some kind of motivation? Because you will not get it. Take off your fucking clothes!” he thunders, making her jump and her legs shake. With shaky hands and a trembling body, she grabbed the hand of the silk gown again and dragged it down. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor, not having the audacity to look up at the alpha king across the room from her. “You’re not done yet!” *** Mia Asika had wanted only one thing for the longest time, enlightenment and the freedom to travel the world in search of it. Mia's dreams however ended the day Ariel, her beautiful and fair older sister who was betrothed to the alpha king, died the night before her marriage and she became the last resort. Hated at sight, the alpha king moved to make her union to him that of misery. Can Mia's will for survival withstand the alpha king's cold and unloving nature? Love and Chaos series Book #1 The Alpha King's Ugly Bride Book# 2 His Forbidden Mate Book #3 The Alpha King's Runaway Bride Book #4 Alpha Koz: The Abnormal Alpha

The room is awfully quiet except for Keenan's laboured breath and my heavily pounding heart. His hands are planted on his hips and his eyes fixated on the ceiling as if he's thinking about all the regretful things he's done in his life. Why does this it feel like the beginning of another disastrous road? "What's wrong?" I ask in panic, because I wonder if he's also recollecting the events that happened last night in part like I am and regretting it. "Apparently we did more than get drunk last night," He lift the paper certificate from the bar counter and shows it to me, "we got married."

She rubbed her forehead profusely, "You do, you could walk away and save yourself now and I will be fine and I will understand." He glanced at her and his gaze locked and there was a level of sincerity in them, "If I save myself, who's going to save you?" ***** Jasmin Whyte was a twenty-six-year-old thief who ran away from her boyfriend after she caught him cheating, an excuse to finally leave her old life behind and start over, but when she discovered that she was two weeks pregnant for her him, she began back to her old ways. It wasn't long before she fell into trouble which was how she ran into billionaire Cainan Inferno and her life took an unexpected turn. Cainan Inferno was a thirty-three-year-old Billionaire and the CEO of The Inferno group which was the largest company in the country. He once had it all with money and looks, but his life took a sour turn after he lost his wife Neriah Gomez to cancer. Meeting Jasmin Whyte sparked the feeling he thought was long dead and he knew the only one capable of helping him move on from his late wife was her. He tracked her down and made her an offer she couldn't refuse while ignoring all the threats her past posed to his name, reputation and social status. All he asks in return was for her to steal his heart. Will she be able to do the one thing he asks or will she lose her heart in the process?

*No one messes with fire and goes unburnt.* "Twenty four hours is my most generous offer to you." He says with no trace of pity in his tone. Her eyes widen, "But that's unfair." "Unfair is demolishing the house on you while you're still inside and believe me that's what I'm going to do if you don't get lost in twenty-four hours." She scoffs"You're unbelievable." "Being unbelievable is what has brought me here today." He agrees with a nod. "And being an idiot is what will take you to where you will be tomorrow, cause you might be a billionaire, but you sure are an idiotic one." Cainan Inferno is a self-made billionaire and since he worked for everything he has, he doesn't do well with insult from people, especially those that are not his class. So what happens when poor Neriah Gomez cross the line with Cainan and calls him an idiotic billionaire before his staff? Will he do to her like he has done to the rest or will the cold-hearted monster choose to let it go??

"You really think I'm playing around?" He grounds at me through gritted teeth and he takes a step closer and I begin to move back. "I gave you a strict instruction and you disobeyed, you chose to rebel." There is about one zillion comeback running through my head, but my brain only focuses on the man whose green eyes has somehow turn into black because he's mad at me. "Do you know what happens to rebellious people?" I keep moving back until my back hit the wall and I hiss out in frustration. I swallow hard and try not to look at him, pissing him off would be a good thing when we aren't the only ones in the whole house. "Do you?!" He demands with a roar. "No, I don't. Tell me." I say, hiding the trembling of my voice as I look up at him. He takes a firm step close to stand intimately close to me, his height making me feel like a little child. "They get punished." *** The arrangement was, I get to meet her, propose to her, we get married as that would create a stronger bond d the two business associates, bringing us together as a family. Falling in love with her personal assistant was never part of the arrangement.

Cara Lewis sat quietly as her boyfriend of three years pushed a plate of dessert across the table, wearing a rehearsed mask of sorrow. He claimed he had to break up with her for her own good, blaming his lack of connections on Wall Street and insisting he couldn't give her the life she deserved. He acted like a martyr making a tragic sacrifice, waiting for her desperate tears and trembling denial. Instead, Cara calmly pulled out a stack of glossy photos and an elegant engagement invitation. She exposed his secret affair with the wealthy Hailie Lewis, completely dismantling his hypocritical social climb. Leaving the cheating narcissist pale and humiliated, Cara paid the bill and walked out, thinking the trash had finally been taken out. But her newly single evening took a chaotic turn when a teenage gaming partner called in a panic. He begged her to crash his elite prep school and pose as his aunt to save him from expulsion. Cara agreed, flawlessly playing the role of the secret new wife to his uncle, a notoriously ruthless Wall Street titan. She was thoroughly dominating the snobby school board when the office doors suddenly swung open. The real billionaire uncle, Beck Greer, walked into the room. Cara's heart dropped into her stomach as his glacial eyes locked onto her, knowing her social existence in New York was about to end. Caught in a terrifying, inescapable lie, Cara made an insane calculation. She stepped forward, firmly hooked her arm through the billionaire's, and smiled sweetly. "Honey, what took you so long? Julian and I were being bullied." She waited for the executioner's axe to fall, but the untouchable tycoon simply covered her hand with his and played along.

I was in the hospital, enduring the agonizing pain of labor, while my husband, a famous hockey captain, refused to show up. When I called him for the twelfth time, begging for him, he lost his patience. "Giving birth is a woman's job, don't bother me with this stuff." Then, I heard my stepsister's sweet voice offering him a drink, and he immediately softened before hanging up on me. I gave birth to twins all by myself. The nurses treated me with cold indifference, and the family in the next bed loudly mocked me as a pathetic "Puck Bunny" who was just an adopted orphan about to be dumped. They were right. A month ago, my husband had thrown divorce papers at me, demanding I make way because my stepsister was pregnant with his child. I thought my life was a joke. I was just a discarded prop he married to satisfy his grandfather, a fake daughter my adoptive parents only used to elevate my stepsister. I was completely alone, ready to sign the papers just to protect my two babies. But then, the head of the hospital rushed in, transferred me to the top-floor VIP suite, and handed me a DNA test. It turned out I wasn't an unwanted orphan, but the long-lost daughter of the ultra-wealthy Sinclair family who had been searching for me for twenty years. Looking at my billionaire parents and three powerful brothers who just flew in on their private jets to protect me, I picked up my phone to call my arrogant husband. This time, I was going to make him leave with nothing.

"Sign the contract, or lose everything." I stared at the papers that would seal my fate-a three-year marriage to Julian Blackwood, the ruthless billionaire they call the Ice King. My family didn't ask. They demanded. My father's company was drowning, my stepsister's engagement had exploded, and I was the replacement bride they could sacrifice. Just another transaction. Julian made it clear on our wedding day: "Don't expect affection. Don't expect companionship. Certainly don't expect love." He refused to kiss me at the altar. He gave me a bedroom down the hall and told me to stay out of his way. I was Mrs. Blackwood in name only-a contract, a convenience, a means to an end. I accepted it. I had survived twelve years of abuse in my own home. I could survive three years of indifference in his. But then Nate, Julian's best friend, showed me kindness, and suddenly my cold husband became possessive. When my sister attacked me, he became protective. Now the man who promised me nothing is fighting his own father to keep me. The marriage that was supposed to be fake is becoming terrifyingly real and the secrets about my mother's death are threatening to destroy everything. They said Julian Blackwood destroys everything he touches. What they didn't tell me... is that sometimes destruction is exactly what you need to be reborn. With a pregnancy involved, how was I going to end this three-year marriage peacefully?

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Five years ago, I stared at the pregnancy termination and divorce papers pushed toward me on the cold hospital bed. My husband, NHL superstar Brock Griffin, didn't even have the guts to face me himself. Instead, he sent his fake PR fiancée to force me out before his championship game. "Sign the papers, take the payout, and get out of New York." To support him from the shadows, I had hidden my global medical credentials and worked as a lowly locker-room assistant. In return, I was discarded. I signed the papers, faked the abortion, and fled into the freezing Manhattan rain. For five years, I lived in hiding, raising our twins in secret. But my peaceful life shattered when my five-year-old hacker son accidentally exposed our location to the most ruthless man in New York. Cornered at the airport, Brock pinned me against a concrete pillar, his eyes bloodshot and desperate. "Where is my child, Elizabeth? Where is the baby from five years ago?" I was completely bewildered. He was the one who demanded the termination. He was the one who let that pathetic fake doctor steal my surgical achievements. Why was he acting like a madman tearing the city apart for a baby he ordered me to kill? When he dragged me back to his penthouse, his fake fiancée tried to frame me for assault using forged medical records. She clearly forgot one thing. I am the legendary ghost surgeon Dr. Cynthia, and I'm done hiding.

Since my foster father passed away, my foster mother Carlene treated me like a burden she couldn't wait to discard. Fearing I would cling to her biological son-a rising NHL rookie coming home next week-she forced me into a blind date with a sleazy, arrogant finance bro to get rid of me. When he mocked my career and treated me like a cheap toy, I threw a glass of ice water in his face. He violently grabbed my wrist in the restaurant hallway, his fingers digging into my bones. Carlene didn't lift a finger to help. Instead, she glared at me. "Apologize to him right now, or I will throw your bags onto the street tomorrow morning!" After ten years of walking on eggshells in her house, my heart turned completely cold. I had no money, nowhere to go, and realized she would gladly watch me be destroyed just to keep her family pristine. Driven by pure survival instinct, I lunged at a tall stranger walking out of the VIP lounge and desperately claimed he was my boyfriend. I didn't expect him to be Knox Leonard, the billionaire head of Apex Capital and Boston's most untouchable NHL star. And I certainly didn't expect him to wrap his arm around my waist, terrify my abusers, and offer me a two-million-dollar marriage contract.

All I wanted was to find a computer genius to process the non-linear dynamic equations for my ecological model. Instead, I found myself cornered by Julian Andrews, the university's hockey prince, trading a public, staged kiss for his academic support. To finalize our "deal," I was dragged to the campus ice rink. The cheerleaders and puck bunnies immediately swarmed him, mocking my plain clothes and treating me like a pathetic joke. Brooke, the head cheerleader, even set up a figure skating competition with a date with Julian as the grand prize. She performed a basic spin, blew him a kiss, and smugly waited for me to fall flat on my face and humiliate myself. His hockey teammates laughed from the sidelines, watching me try to support Julian as he stumbled around the ice like a newborn giraffe. But as I held his warm hand to keep him from falling, I couldn't help but feel something was terribly wrong. Why was a top-tier athlete faking such awful balance? And why did his ice-blue eyes stare at me with such knowing anticipation, as if he already knew about the professional figure skating past I had spent years trying to bury? "Just let go and skate." He whispered, slowly releasing my hand. I took a deep breath, glided to the center of the rink, and landed a flawless double Axel. As the entire rink fell into a dead, shocked silence, I realized I had just exposed not only my own hidden past, but also the biggest secret of the campus god.

Five years ago, I stood in the freezing rain at my mother's funeral, waiting for my husband. Blake Knight, the billionaire NHL superstar, was two hours late. When he finally showed up, he brought his rumored girlfriend, the woman he had just rented a hotel rooftop for to celebrate her birthday. Watching him defend her fake tears, my heart completely died. I took off my diamond wedding ring, placed it on my mother's headstone, and walked away from my marriage forever. I fled to London, changed my name to Ava, and secretly raised the triplets he never knew existed. I thought I was finally safe from him. But today, my kids vandalized a silver Aston Martin in our apartment's parking garage, and the owner caught my youngest daughter. My phone rang. The voice on the other end was Blake's. He had moved into my building, and he was holding my little girl in his penthouse, demanding her mother come get her immediately. Panic suffocated me. If I walked through that door, my five years of hiding would be instantly destroyed. He would recognize me, realize I didn't get rid of our child like everyone thought, and he would use all his power to take my babies away. I couldn't let him ruin my life again. "I'm just her nanny," I lied through my teeth. I frantically begged my best friend to go upstairs and rescue my daughter in my place. He bought the disguise, but now, the King of the Ice is dangerously obsessed with investigating my new identity.

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

I was just an underpaid junior designer trying to survive the ruthless world of professional hockey. But after catching my boyfriend with his hands up my best friend's designer skirt in a filthy alley, I got blackout drunk and stumbled into the wrong armored SUV. I woke up pinned beneath Kurt Duran—the terrifying, untouchable captain of the New York franchise and the absolute ruler of the sports empire that paid my salary. Terrified of being branded a desperate gold-digger, I ran. I swallowed a Plan B pill, dumped my cheating ex, and worked myself to the bone to earn the prestigious Milan Design Summit nomination. But my jealous coworkers couldn't stand a nobody winning. They hacked my terminal and planted stolen competitor files on my workstation, framing me for federal corporate espionage. My director suspended me on the spot. Security guards began sweeping my life's work into a plastic evidence bin, while my colleagues sneered that I was heading straight to a federal penitentiary. I clenched my bleeding palms, suffocating under the sheer injustice. I had survived poverty, a cheating ex, and grueling sleepless nights just to prove my worth. Why was my entire career being destroyed over a manufactured lie? "Hand over your badge and your digital keys," my director barked. I refused to shed a single tear for those hyenas. Suddenly, the frosted glass doors were kicked open with a thunderous crash. Kurt Duran strode into the room flanked by five elite litigation partners, his murderous blue eyes locked directly on me, ready to burn the entire building to the ground.