Prince Of Hell

He despises me... From head to toe... Despite his incredibly handsome face, his unusual sharp tongue speaks volumes. The perfect shape of his body screams that I'm unfit for him. His red and thin lips only know how to utter, "stay away!" In his deep eyes symbolizing strictness, all my flaws and mistakes are reflected. Considered very intelligent, but to me, he's a handsome fool! Because he dislikes me, pushes me away, mocks me, avoids me, and sometimes shouts at me. He sees me as a person with a contagious disease. My stay in their happy home is like a colossal and devastating collapse of his world. He is Lucas Eion Jimenez, and I am Cara Isabelle Mendez—this is my story and my unwanted existence.

"Vincent, Mama is looking for you. Aren't you going home?" Athan asked the twins. I faced Ethan, who was staring at the girl next to him at the bar. "Nope. I'm busy," he said absentmindedly. I just shook my head. Ethan remained focused on the girl's thigh beside him. Damn playboy. "Ah, okay. I'm leaving then. Text Mama, okay?" Athan bid farewell. Without a word, he walked away, leaving me dumbfounded, watching him go. "You like my bro?" Ethan teased. I faced him before taking another sip. "Like is for kids, Ethan," I rolled my eyes. Shortly after, a tray of shot glasses arrived. It was placed in front of us. He smiled at me before locking eyes. "Oh, then love?" he chuckled. I took a shot glass before shaking my head again. I rolled my eyes. "Like, duh! Yuck, you believe in that?!" "Hell, no. Of course not," he replied. I glanced at him before nodding. "At least we have something in common," I said, taking another shot. He followed suit. "Really, I thought girls like you believe in fairy tales. Like Mr. Right," he teased, barely holding back laughter. I choked on my sixth glass before shaking my head. "You say that again, and I swear, I will make you shut up," I said in irritation. Ethan's thoughts about fairy tales and Mr. Right disgusted me. Did I look like a naive twelve-year-old girl? "Oh, you can't make me shut up, baby," he arrogantly replied, moving his face closer. I inched mine towards him too. "Wanna bet?" I challenged. His lips quirked up, mischief gleaming in his green eyes. He stood up and approached me. "Sure. If I win, you'll stay at my pad tonight," he confidently said. I resisted the urge to blush at his words, meeting his gaze. "And?" "And I will rock your world, babe."

"Boss, she's here." The leader of the long-lost PSG turns out to be an English-speaking grasshopper! That's probably why he didn't acknowledge her earlier, because he couldn't understand her. The man with his back turned slightly nodded in recognition. After that, they were left alone in that spacious room. Hannah smirked, knowing she was in trouble with this cocky Boss of the gangsters. It was a big mistake to untie her hands. Even though this Boss was towering and broad-shouldered, he wouldn't stand a chance if they were to wrestle. Yes, she'd hit him repeatedly until he coughed up coins. The audacity of dragging her in front of his people! No one could do that to her! "So, you're the Boss, face me then! What do you want from me?!" she yelled fearlessly, even though his henchmen were just outside. The man didn't respond. This only infuriated her more. "You're so arrogant! I told you to face me!" The man placed the red-wine-filled glass he was holding onto the side table nearby. She was getting annoyed because he seemed indifferent to what she was saying. After displaying that power in front of her, he acted like he wanted her to kneel just for a bit of attention? Of all things she disliked, it was people like him—arrogant and full of self-importance just because they were rich! "If you think I'm scared of you because of the number of your henchmen outside, you're wrong! If you don't want to get hurt, release me now!" No answer. Damn it. Did it have to be in Spanish? "When someone talks to you, you face them, okay? Are you an alien? Can't you understand english? Do you want me to kick you??" She noticed his hands clenching, probably irritated by what she said. He slowly turned towards her. Her jaw dropped literally. Her eyes widened. She blinked ten times. Sweat started forming on her forehead even though the room was cool. Those intelligent brows... Those firm and arrogant lips... And the icy cold stare... Is this for real? It's like he was ripped from the pages of the Prince of Hell magazine and brought to life before her, Prince of Hell #2 in flesh and breathing. Goodness gracious! Not just her jaw, even her heart, liver, and kidneys fell for him! Her whole system went into a riot, because the man she'd desired for a long time was right in front of her now!

She's cruel. She's cold. She's Beautiful. She's Powerful. And she badly needs a boyfriend! Sabrina is your typical fierce lady boss with an attitude. Despite physical perfection and above-average IQ, she's a No Boyfriend Since Birth virgin. She doesn't care, she doesn't need a man anyway. But she has a school alumni to attend. She needs a boyfriend to show off. So she hired the best-looking poor guy she has ever laid eyes on. Almost perfect. But what if her hired boyfriend isn't really poor? And what if he's part of the elite club called PRINCES OF HELL, a list of all ruthless yet dazzling billionaires around the globe? And he's not asking for money as payment.

I shook my head before looking at myself through the mirror again. I just did a little touch-up and decided to go out again. It would be embarrassing if I kept Damian waiting there. He seems like a nice guy. We've only exchanged a few words, but I immediately sense his goodness. He doesn't seem like a man who judges a woman solely by her appearance. I hope we'll get along. A smile appeared on my lips as I left the powder room. Even from a distance, I could see our vacant table. The food we ordered was already there. But Damian was nowhere in sight. Where could he be? Maybe he's in the restroom? When I reached the table, I sat down. I scanned my vegetable salad and grimaced. It doesn't look appetizing. Damian's burger looks much better. But minutes had already passed, and there was no sign of Damian in front of me. I was starting to feel a pang in my heart for an unknown reason. I looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but it didn't happen. The waiter who served us earlier accidentally passed by my side. "Excuse me!" He turned to look at me, approaching with questioning eyes. "Yes, Ma'am?" "My c-companion earlier, d-did you see him?" He took a moment to think, as if trying to recall. With every passing second of his contemplation, my heart pounded even harder. "Oh! Yes, Ma'am. I saw him leave earlier. He seemed to be in a hurry. He's the handsome one, right?" I nodded. "Did he say anything or leave any instructions?" I didn't pay much attention to what the waiter was saying when my phone rang again. From the illuminated screen, I saw a message from Damian that shattered my heart into pieces. Damian: I'm sorry, Sandra. It's nice to meet you, but I don't think we'll work out. Eat the burger I ordered, instead. It's for you. Don't worry, your bill's already taken care of. Take care."

To revenge herself on her unfaithful fiancé Kevin, Isidora hides her striking beauty behind a plain disguise, and targets his uncle — the most formidable man Kevin fears. After one reckless night, Isidora leaves cash as payment and says lightly, "You were good last night." She tries to leave quietly, but is pulled into his arms. "You think you can walk away after this?" he says, his tone low and possessive. Cedrick is a feared, untouchable titan on Wall Street — elegant, aloof, and completely uninterested in women. Not even the most beautiful socialites in the city can catch his eye. When gossip spreads that he was seen pressing a woman against a wall and kissing her fiercely, no one believes it. When the rumors name Isidora, the crowd scoffs. He rejects even the most beautiful women, so why would he notice a plain girl like her? All doubt disappears when they see the dignified Cedrick drop to one knee to help Isidora with her shoe, pleading softly for just one kiss. When Kevin finally sees Isidora's true beauty and begs for forgiveness. But Cedrick kicks him out at once, slams a marriage certificate on the table, and says sharply. “Call her Aunt.”

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

"Sign it. Save her, and I'll give you anything." For four years, I was Damian Wright's 'invisible wife'. While I played the pauper, he poured his soul into his dying first love. Desperate, he blindly signed a stack of papers to buy the 'Gifted Doctor's' time. He didn't read the fine print. Buried inside was our Divorce Decree. "Congratulations, Damian," I said, stripping off my surgical mask to reveal the wife he never truly knew. "You're free." The submissive Amelia is dead. The legendary 'Ghost Surgeon'? That's me. The blindfolded racing queen 'Raven'? Also me. The shadow behind the global intelligence network V-Null? Still me. I was ready to vanish, but Lucas Sullivan-the titan who makes the Wrights look like peasants-blocked my path. When Damian tried to reclaim me, Lucas didn't just stop him; he brought an empire to its knees. "They don't deserve to look at you," Lucas whispered, his touch a lethal mix of protection and obsession. "But if you crave the world, Amelia, I'll burn it down just to hear you say my name."

I was cheated on by my scumbag boyfriend. On the night I got blackout drunk, I married a stranger, and when I woke up, I only found a marriage certificate and a black card. He took care of my scumbag ex for me, gave me a canary diamond ring, but refused to show his face-he only called me baby on video calls. I ran to my best friend's house to hide, only to find that the billionaire next door, who made my heart skip a beat, had the exact same scent as him. My best friend cried and begged me: "He's Augustus, a tyrant who eats people alive!" But only I knew that the man who pressed me against the terrace railing, leaned down to kiss me, and whispered "I'll protect you" softly. Fifty thousand dollars to sneak photos of his private office? I'll go. Not for the money, but to ask him to his face- Gus, how many secrets are you hiding? And how long have you been craving me?

For fourteen years, Faith was the perfect Jarvis trophy wife. Plucked from her parents' funeral at seventeen, she was molded into an obedient, quiet accessory for Branson's billionaire empire. But while she managed his charities and smiled at galas until her face ached, he was busy humiliating her. She found another woman's gold bracelet in his desk, and today, his affair with a 23-year-old actress was broadcast on a massive electronic billboard right above his own Wall Street headquarters. For years, Faith had endured his coldness. He stopped touching her after the second miscarriage. He left her alone to cry in the back of his chauffeured cars at 3 AM. He thought her silence meant she was too weak, too poor, and too grateful to ever walk away. He called her a "cheap pet" who couldn't survive without his credit cards and mansions. He truly believed she needed someone else to want her before she could leave him. He never understood that wanting herself was enough. Did he really think she spent all those lonely nights just crying in her gilded cage? He was dead wrong. Faith didn't just pack a cheap duffel bag to run away. She walked right into his seventy-third-floor corner office, slammed down a zero-compensation divorce agreement, and tossed a highly encrypted USB drive onto his desk. "Sign the papers today, Branson. Or I hand your company's deepest secrets to a short-seller, and we watch your empire burn."

The rain in Detroit was slick with grime when my family finally came to fetch me. They didn't want a reunion; they wanted a sacrificial lamb to marry into the Kaufman empire to save their failing business. I thought I was just being sold off, but the limo ride ended under a dark overpass where six hired thugs were waiting with chains. My own sister had ordered them to "break my spirit" so I’d be a shaking, pathetic mess by the time I reached the altar. They called me "Detroit trash" and sprayed air freshener when I sat on their leather seats. My stepmother wanted a video of me begging for my life, and my father was ready to trade me like a used car to a man everyone called a "vegetable." They expected a submissive country girl, unaware that I was a high-level "cleaner" who could snap a radius bone before they could even scream. When I finally reached the Kaufman estate, I found my fiancé, Barron, slumped in a wheelchair, drooling and silent. But as soon as the doors closed, the "invalid" grabbed my wrist with a grip of iron and whispered a command that changed everything. I didn't understand why my own blood was so desperate to see me destroyed. What had I ever done to deserve a hit squad and a forced marriage to a man they thought was a corpse? But Barron isn't a vegetable, and I'm not a victim. We just touched down at the Moon family gala in a matte-black helicopter, and as the doors slide open, the "broken" bride is about to show them exactly what happens when you throw away the wrong daughter. "If we're going to crash a party," Barron whispered, his eyes burning with lethal clarity, "we should make an entrance."

On the night of her highly anticipated jewel launch, Eloise's world shatters when her husband Lucian publicly divorces her on national TV, rekindling his relationship with his ex-lover Jennifer, who is also Eloise's step-sister. As Eloise picks up the pieces, she meets a new man, who happns to be her boss, and sparks fly. Just as she begins to find success and happiness again, Lucian comes crawling back, desperate to reclaim what he lost.

I was sitting in the Presidential Suite of The Pierre, wearing a Vera Wang gown worth more than most people earn in a decade. It was supposed to be the wedding of the century, the final move to merge two of Manhattan's most powerful empires. Then my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram Story from my fiancé, Jameson. He was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris with a caption that read: "Fuck the chains. Chasing freedom." He hadn't just gotten cold feet; he had abandoned me at the altar to run across the world. My father didn't come in to comfort me. He burst through the door roaring about a lost acquisition deal, telling me the Holland Group would strip our family for parts if the ceremony didn't happen by noon. My stepmother wailed about us becoming the laughingstock of the Upper East Side. The Holland PR director even suggested I fake a "panic attack" to make myself look weak and sympathetic to save their stock price. Then Jameson’s sleazy cousin, Pierce, walked in with a lopsided grin, offering to "step in" and marry me just to get his hands on my assets. I looked at them and realized I wasn't a daughter or a bride to anyone in that room. I was a failed asset, a bouncing check, a girl whose own father told her to go to Paris and "beg" the man who had just publicly humiliated her. The girl who wanted to be loved died in that mirror. I realized that if I was going to be sold to save a merger, I was going to sell myself to the one who actually controlled the money. I marched past my parents and walked straight into the VIP holding room. I looked the most powerful man in the room—Jameson’s cold, ruthless uncle, Fletcher Holland—dead in the eye and threw the iPad on the table. "Jameson is gone," I said, my voice as hard as stone. "Marry me instead."

My family arranged my marriage to Silas Thorne, a Wall Street titan. There was just one problem: everyone, including my powerful new husband, believed I was a crippled, helpless girl from the countryside. On the day of my physical therapy, my father called, not to ask how I was, but to demand I give up the marriage for his illegitimate daughter, Chloe. "You can barely walk without a limp," he sneered. "You are going to embarrass the Vance family." My new husband treated me with cold duty, carrying me like a fragile doll but refusing to share a bed, citing my ‘soft tissue injury’ as a pathetic excuse. The rejection was humiliating. To make matters worse, Chloe tracked me down while I was shopping, eager to mock me in public. "Silas doesn't value you," she said, flashing a cheap ring from my father. "You’re just a crippled placeholder." They all saw a weak girl they could push around, completely blind to the fact that my limp was a carefully crafted lie. So I took the unlimited black card Silas gave me and bought a fifty-seven-million-dollar pink diamond, crushing her in front of New York’s elite. When I returned to our penthouse, Silas was waiting for me, a dangerous smirk on his face. "I heard," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that you bought a star with my money today?"

She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith-the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room-Manhattan's most exclusive masked club-she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."