Rhea Marie

What happens when a legendary assassin, trained in the shadows and feared by many, is assigned an unusual mission to become the personal bodyguard of a powerless princess? A princess so naive and fragile that she can't even recognize danger when it's right in front of her. Viviette Frerio The 16-year-old princess of the Frerio Kingdom, born without magic or special abilities. Considered useless by her family and people, she has spent her life being ignored, mocked, and treated with open disdain. Even her own parents show little concern for her well-being. Nymeria Valencia A 17-year-old assassin, known for her unmatched skills, deadly precision, and unwavering resolve. For years, she has thrived in the darkness, eliminating targets without hesitation. But now, she faces her greatest challenge yet-guarding a princess who seems incapable of defending herself. Thrown into a world of royal politics, betrayals, and hidden dangers, Nymeria must decide: Will she adapt to this new life and protect the princess at all costs, or will she abandon her mission and return to the only world she has ever known?

Homeless, broke, and out of options, Prim never expected her lowest night to lead to her most dangerous encounter. Thrown onto the streets after failing to pay rent, she stumbles upon a wounded man in the park-only to discover he's no ordinary man, but a vampire with blood-red eyes and sharp fangs. When he risks his life to protect her from a deadly attack, Prim finds herself caught between fear and fascination. He calls her strange for not running away. She calls him grumpy for refusing help. Neither of them realizes that this unlikely meeting will spark a bond strong enough to defy the fragile peace between humans and vampires-and change both their lives forever.

"Marry my daughter." I shifted my gaze from my glass of wine and stared at him in disbelief. Those were the last words I expected to hear from his mouth. I was no stranger to marriage proposals from my business associates. Many had tried to push their daughters toward me, hoping to gain something in return. And each time, I rejected them without hesitation. But this time was different. This was Lucas Angelo Ferrer-my fiercest rival in the business world. So why would he suddenly walk into my office with such a proposal? What was he really after?

I grinned widely as I revealed my winning cards, and my friends immediately voiced their complaints. "Sorry, guys. This one's mine!" I scooped up the bets from the table. "Come on, May-may! You always win!" "Are you cheating?" I flipped Fillan off for his comment. "You're just salty because you lost. Loser!" I taunted. "One more round, May!" Elmo challenged. "Nah, it's late," I said, glancing at my broken watch, which I only wore for style. "The dead aren't going anywhere! This place never closes anyway!" I glanced toward the house where our friend's coffin lay. Sam had been stabbed in the lung by his enemies. "You can help keep watch over Sam, too. It's tough staying up all night. Why don't you take his spot instead?" I smacked Elmo on the head. "How about I put you next to Sam instead?!" "Stay a little longer, May! Free snacks!" Fillan gestured toward the coffee and bread. I narrowed my eyes. They looked good. "Fine, I'll eat, then I'm leaving." "Stayyyy!" --- I ate the sandwich I took from Sam's wake as I walked through the dim alleyways toward home. "Out late again, May?" called out Tatay Gurong, drinking outside his house. "I was at Sam's." "That boyfriend of yours? Haven't seen him around lately." "He's dead," I replied casually, passing by. "Oh? What a waste." Hearing about deaths was normal here. A week without a killing was rare. This place was full of thugs, and honestly, I wouldn't even be surprised if someone got murdered in front of me. I was confident no one could intimidate me here-until I saw the man standing in front of my rented room. I instantly looked for a hiding spot. My sandwich slipped from my hand as I ducked behind a nearby post. Just as I was about to peek, a dog barked at me. My eyes widened in horror-it had definitely caught the man's attention. "Shut up, Choco!" I hissed at the dog. "You know me, damn it!" "Maria Zia Salazar?" I shrieked in shock at the man's voice. "Is that you?" "Look, dude, I swear, even though I was Sam's girlfriend, I had nothing to do with his debts. I don't have any money!" I pleaded, pulling out my pockets, which were full of candy. The man, dressed in a tuxedo, looked at my pockets, then at me, confused. "Even if you kidnap me, you'll get nothing. So just don't, okay?" I begged. He cleared his throat and stood straight. "Ms. Maria Zia Salazar Alaister." I froze at the mention of my full name. "I'm here to take you." I raised an eyebrow and laughed. "You've got the wrong person, dude." I walked past him. Before I could reach my rented room, two men blocked my way. "This is a direct order from your father, Giovanni Alaister," the man behind me said. I glared at him and turned around. "And what if I refuse?" I challenged. "We will use force," he said, pointing a gun at me. I met his gaze, my expression darkening. What does Giovanni want with me this time?!

I woke up to loud knocking and someone repeatedly shouting my name. I was sure it was Aling Lourdes, the owner of this rental place. Aling Lourdes shouted, "I stood up and immediately opened the door for her." "Well, Maki, it seems like you're forgetting something?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aling Lourdes, I don't have any money right now. Can I—" I couldn't finish my sentence because she interrupted. "If you can't pay, you should leave now. Nothing is free, and if you don't, I'll report you to the barangay," she said before leaving. I took a deep breath and decided to leave this place. •3 hours ago• I was outside Aling Lourdes' apartment, still thinking about where I should go when my phone suddenly rang. I answered it. "Hello?" "Maki? How are you, my child?" I couldn't respond when I heard my dad's voice. "What do you want?" I asked coldly. "Look at you, your attitude never changes," Dad said. "If you don't have anything good to say, I'll hang up now," I said irritably. "Maki, why don't you come live here so you can see how beautiful it is?" Dad suggested. "In your dreams," I started to say, but then I remembered I needed a place to stay. "Just send me the address," I said curtly and ended the call. My phone vibrated, and I saw the address he sent. I smirked a little and called a taxi. •Fast Forward• I was now in front of his mansion, and someone greeted me and told me to follow them. I stopped walking when I got inside. The place was huge and beautiful. I was startled when someone spoke behind me. "So, it's you?" the person said, looking angry. "M-me?" I stammered, pointing at myself. "Who else, stupid?" the person said before turning away. "HEY, YOU'RE SO ARROGANT! I'LL STRANGLE YOU!" I shouted, moving closer. "Sure, if you can, brat," the person said mockingly. I was about to hit him with my bag when someone laughed loudly.

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.

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

My husband, Ethan Vance, made me his trophy wife. My best friend, Susanna Thorne, helped me pick out my wedding dress. Together, they made me a fool. For three years, I was Mrs. Ethan Vance, a decorative silence in his billion-dollar world, living a quiet routine until a forgotten phone charger led me to his office. The low, feminine laugh from behind his door was a gut-punch; inside, I found Ethan and Susanna, my "best friend" and his CMO, tangled on his sofa, his only reaction irritation. My divorce declaration brought immediate scorn and threats. I was fired, my accounts frozen, and publicly smeared as an unstable gold-digger. Even my own family disowned me for my last cent, only for me to be framed for assault and served a restraining order. Broke, injured, and utterly demonized, they believed I was broken, too ashamed to fight. But their audacious betrayal and relentless cruelty only forged a cold, unyielding resolve. Slumped alone, a restraining order in hand, I remembered my hidden journal: a log of Ethan's insider trading secrets. They wanted a monster? I would show them one.

Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

Celeste was married to a Mafia Don, by the name Xenois Kingston on a contract marriage, that would last 6 years. The deal was that Celeste would give him children during that period and after the end of the 6 year contract, he would offer her $100,000,000,000, divorce her and keep the children as his. Celeste, an orphan, abandoned by the orphanage she grew up in at the age of 18 had nothing to lose and agreed to the deal. 6 years later, Celeste is now 24 years and mother to triplets boys; Lake, Troy and Soren. The contract is coming to an end this month and rumors has it that Xenois true love Claudia Hale is returning back to the city after 6 years of absence. Xenois handed her the divorce papers that morning only for him to get into a car accident on the way to the hospital and suffers from amnesia. To Xenois, he's in love with his wife and kids and a very attentive father and husband and is surprised to find out that Celeste planned on divorcing him. He is determined to make his wife fall for him and be a better father to their children. Things seem like a fairytale for Celeste who is desperate to hold on to this illusion after she had fallen for her husband in their third year of their marriage and stayed with an unrequited love. She knows what she's doing is cruel but she wants to enjoy it while it lasts. But Claudia Hale won't rest until she gets rid of the obstacle named Celeste and marries her heartthrob Xenois. Will Xenois recover his memory and better yet, once he does, does Celeste still stand a chance at winning the heart of her husband or would she be accused of having a hand in his amnesia.

Vivian clutched her Hermès bag, her doctor's words echoing: "Extremely high-risk pregnancy." She hoped the baby would save her cold marriage, but Julian wasn't in London as his schedule claimed. Instead, a paparazzi photo revealed his early return-with a blonde woman, not his wife, at the private airport exit. The next morning, Julian served divorce papers, callously ending their "duty" marriage for his ex, Serena. A horrifying contract clause gave him the right to terminate her pregnancy or seize their child. Humiliated, demoted, and forced to fake an ulcer, Vivian watched him parade his affair, openly discarding her while celebrating Serena. This was a calculated erasure, not heartbreak. He cared only for his image, confirming he would "handle" the baby himself. A primal rage ignited her. "Just us," she whispered to her stomach, vowing to sign the divorce on her terms, keep her secret safe, and walk away from Sterling Corp for good, ready to protect her child alone.

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

The roasted lamb was cold, a reflection of her marriage. On their third anniversary, Evelyn Vance waited alone in her Manhattan penthouse. Then her phone buzzed: Alexander, her husband, had been spotted leaving the hospital, holding his childhood sweetheart Scarlett Sharp's hand. Alexander arrived hours later, dismissing Evelyn's quiet complaint with a cold reminder: she was Mrs. Vance, not a victim. Her mother's demands reinforced this role, making Evelyn, a brilliant mind, feel like a ghost. A dangerous indifference replaced betrayal. The debt was paid; now, it was her turn. She drafted a divorce settlement, waiving everything. As Alexander's tender voice drifted from his study, speaking to Scarlett, Evelyn placed her wedding ring on his pillow, moved to the guest suite, and locked the door. The dull wife was gone; the Oracle was back.