Infidelity

The skylight cast a watery hue over the chrome polished floor of the Loft Blanc Gallery, nestled in the heart of Jersey City's elite district. The gallery was an architectural marvel, a seamless fusion of industrial grit and avant-garde elegance steel beams curved overhead like ribs of an exposed heart, and sprawling white walls pulsed with the vibrant expressions of tortured genius. Tonight, the elite brushed shoulders in whispers. Art critics with balding crowns leaned into the curves of women with sharpened smiles. Cameras clicked, champagne flutes clinked, and beneath the polite chaos stood Fred Coleman-tall, perfectly dressed, with that thin-lipped smile that never quite reached his eyes. Fred wasn't here for the art. He never was. "Racheal Lopez has a new piece in Room C," whispered one of the curators, a red-haired assistant who tried not to stare too long at Fred's tailored midnight-blue suit. His heart pinched at the name. Racheal Lopez. She hadn't been seen in public for five years. Not since she vanished, leaving behind a trail of scandal and a ruined engagement. Fred had spent years burying the memory of her-the burn of her perfume, the tilt of her laughter, the things she knew. Things she wasn't supposed to know. He moved towards Room C. Each step echoed with ghosts. Not of art, but of buried lies. As he entered, the crowd hushed slightly. A towering oil painting loomed under a golden spotlight. It depicted a faceless man, his suit stained with red paint that ran like blood down the canvas. His eyes were smeared out, but the title screamed clarity. "The Collector." Fred froze. It was him. She had painted him. Not as he appeared in the polished world of finance and aesthetics, but as what he truly was-an orchestrator. A man who curated deception with the finesse of an artist. "She knows," whispered a voice behind him. He turned. It was Kelvin, the one-eyed Gulf War veteran turned assistant-his most trusted employee. Or so Fred had once thought. "She's back in Jersey," Kelvin continued, tugging at his collar. "I saw her." Fred's jaw clenched. "Why now?" Kelvin gave a half shrug. "Maybe she wants to finish what she started." Meanwhile, in the gallery's corner, Sophia Silas-his ever-efficient secretary-tapped away on her phone, pretending to answer emails while secretly recording faces. She wasn't just an assistant. She was a gatekeeper. And she knew too much. And then there was Albert Samuel, standing like an iron statue by the gallery's emergency exit. The kind of policeman who smiled only once at his own retirement party, fifteen years too early. He wasn't here for the art either. His eyes scanned the crowd for threats, suspects, or sins. "Fred Coleman," he said, his deep voice slicing through the velvet chatter as he stepped forward. "We need to talk. Now." Fred didn't flinch. "Can it wait until after the gallery closes?" That was Albert. A man who wrestled order into chaos with his bare hands. From a distance, Maria Terino watched. She had always envied Sophia her elegance, her charm, the way men looked at her like she was a Monet. But Maria knew Sophia's secrets. They shared more than friendship they shared guilt. And guilt was heavy currency in this city. At the gallery entrance, Forlan Rice adjusted his badge. He was the only officer on duty tonight who still believed in redemption. He held a soft spot for Fred. Maybe because he'd once seen him donate anonymously to a shelter. Or maybe because he saw a flicker of humanity still buried beneath the mask. He didn't know that Fred's masks had layers. Fred followed Albert Samuel into a narrow hallway behind the gallery. The silence screamed. "She's back," Albert said. "You know what that means." Fred met his eyes. "She's not a threat anymore." Albert laughed dryly. "She was never just a threat, Fred. She was a fuse. And you built your entire gallery on a powder keg." "She disappeared." Albert stepped closer. "Because you paid her to. But ghosts don't stay buried. Racheal's painting is a warning." Fred's jaw clenched. "I'll handle it." "You'd better," Albert said. "Before someone else does." Sophia felt the hairs on her arm rise. Someone was watching her. She turned. And there she was. Racheal Lopez. In a black dress, lips stained wine-dark, and eyes like silent daggers. "Long time, Sophia," Racheal said. Sophia swallowed hard. "I heard you left the country." "I did. But Jersey always pulls me back. Like a bad dream." They stood in tense silence. "I see you still work for him," Racheal added, glancing at the hallway Fred had vanished into. Sophia narrowed her eyes. "You don't get to come back and play ghost." Racheal smirked. "I'm not here to haunt. I'm here to remind him of what he tried to forget." "What do you want?" Racheal's voice turned cold. "The truth." In the shadows, Kelvin made a call. His hands shook slightly. He didn't owe Fred l

The prided itself on elegance and righteousness. Marble-clad cathedrals, high-rise buildings draped in shimmering glass, and a skyline punctuated by the gold cross of Saint Ursula's Cathedral all signs of a place that sold itself as godly and just. Beneath its spotless surface, however, hid networks of deception, espionage, and the relentless pursuit of control. It was on a chilly Saturday evening that the Cornwell estate hosted the most extravagant engagement party of the season. Racheal Cornwell, the bishop's eldest daughter, was now officially betrothed to Victor Launch, a polished businessman with a murky past. The ballroom shimmered with chandeliers, soft jazz played beneath the murmurs of political elites, and champagne flowed like truth in the pulpit rare and intoxicating. Sophia Cornwell, Racheal's younger sister, leaned against the marble rail of the terrace, watching her sister perform the part of the happy fiancée. Sophia knew better. Racheal was calculating, Victor was ambitious, and their love story was less of a romance and more of a treaty. The Cornwells weren't just a family; they were an empire. Bishop Cornwell, revered across the state for his sermons and philanthropic work, held power far beyond the pulpit. His influence reached politicians, law enforcement, and the financial elite. He believed in morality but never let it interfere with power. Inside the party, Governor Arnold Walsh gave a speech praising the couple and the Cornwell family's legacy. Eleanor Dorwell, the bishop's discreet yet intelligent secretary, stood quietly in the back, noting every interaction. Eleanor wasn't just a secretary she was the keeper of secrets. She kept files hidden in old hymnals, phone recordings disguised as prayers, and names written in invisible ink beneath her Bible's cover. She knew the real Grenswick. Police Chief George Orwell arrived late. His silver badge gleamed under his coat, but his eyes were sharp, always calculating. He greeted the bishop with a firm handshake and leaned in. "Your city's starting to hum again, Cornwell. I can hear the wires underground. Two days later, in a darkened room beneath the cathedral, a coded message arrived. A hidden network known as The Veil a group of spies and informants who had long worked to uncover the city's corrupt underbelly was active again. A drop point behind the old cemetery revealed documents exposing covert property seizures, money laundering by religious institutions, and a surveillance scheme run from within the governor's office. Sophia, more rebellious and independent than her sister, discovered the documents while investigating her father's strange late-night meetings. A brilliant but reckless codebreaker, Sophia had long suspected the cathedral was more than a place of worship. She followed Eleanor one night, dressed in a choir robe, and watched her enter the sealed chambers below. Inside, Sophia found evidence that turned her stomach: records of government-sanctioned surveillance, hush money paid to witnesses, and strategic alliances disguised as donations. Victor Launch's name appeared repeatedly. Meanwhile, Racheal began noticing Victor's late-night calls and unexplained absences. She followed him one evening to a hidden apartment in the industrial zone. There, she found him meeting with Chief Orwell and a masked stranger. She took photos but kept silent. If the Cornwells lost power, their enemies would swarm. The bishop preached about divine justice, while Eleanor worked behind the scenes to protect the real motives of the event cementing alliances and neutralizing threats. Governor Walsh agreed to give a televised address from the cathedral on the final night of the revival. Secretly, he was under pressure from The Veil, who had planted agents within his staff. Eleanor had picked up whispers of a coup an attempt to bring down the Cornwell dynasty during the broadcast. "You know he's working against us," she said, tossing the surveillance photos on her sister's desk. "Victor. He's not marrying you he's infiltrating." Racheal stared coldly. "And yet, I still might marry him. Power is loyalty. I can use him better than he can use me." Sophia shook her head. "You're playing his game." "No," Racheal replied. "I'm rewriting the rules." Eleanor met with Chief Orwell secretly in the underground chapel. "You're losing control," he said. "The younger one is sniffing around. The bishop's gotten too bold. Even Walsh is slipping." Eleanor replied, "Then we tighten the screws. Use the preacher's voice to silence the rebellion." "But what if the rebellion is already inside?" They didn't know that Sophia had recorded the entire conversation. As the revival began, Grenswick's streets swelled with worshippers and cameras. Drones hovered over the cathedral, and every pew was filled. But behind the stained glass, the war for the city was reaching its climax. Eleanor was intercepted by an anon

Elizabeth Taylor was a ghost in the system at least, that's what the agency used to call her before she disappeared. A gifted hacker with a photographic memory and a rebellious streak, she had once been the pride of an elite cyber-intelligence unit. That was before the botched operation in Prague, the files that went missing, and the betrayal that almost cost her life. Now, she lives under a fake identity in the grimy outskirts of New York City, posing as a freelance tech consultant named "Eliza Trent." Quiet, unassuming, and invisible until she makes a single misstep that shatters the delicate illusion of her new life. Back when Elizabeth was still Elizabeth, they were more than just lovers they were soulmates. Bound by a mutual love of code and danger, their relationship burned fast and bright in a time when Elizabeth was still working as an undercover cyber-agent. But she left him behind after the Prague incident, disappearing without a word. She assumed he'd moved on, that he hated her for vanishing. But now, by some twist of fate, he's in New York. And he recognizes her immediately. He's not in intelligence anymore. After she disappeared, he quit everything government, freelancing, even his AI startup. Now he runs a bookstore and vintage café in Brooklyn, a kind of sanctuary for the broken. When he sees her on the street same eyes, new name his world tilts. He follows her. Carefully. Elizabeth knows someone is tracking her, and when she finally corners him, a wave of guilt and nostalgia knocks the air out of both. But rekindling old feelings only complicates her already dangerous reality. Elizabeth thought she covered her tracks. She used proxies. Burned SIMs. Masked every IP address that so much as touched her servers. But the photos say otherwise. They arrive in a plain white envelope, dropped at her door. Her real name is on the back. So are the photos some from years ago in Prague, others disturbingly recent. And then, there's the note: "Tell him. Or I will." He or they know everything. They know about Philip. About her hacking history. About a list she stole once called "Protocol Red," which contained the names of compromised agents worldwide names she hid to protect herself. But whoever this is, they want more than exposure. They want her back in the game. She receives a burner phone the next day. A robotic voice gives her her first task: "Extract and erase security footage of a certain address. Send it through a Russian relay server. Do it within 24 hours." By day, she's "Eliza," a private consultant with a quiet reputation for fixing encryption issues. She's even got a nosy landlord, Nathan Duplin, a balding former librarian who reads conspiracy theories and complains about suspicious noises at night. Nathan tries to meddle into her business too often, and Elizabeth suspects he might be more than he seems especially when she finds a wiretap device behind her radiator. Then there's Gilbert Lines, a slick-talking tech support contractor who regularly invites himself into her world under the guise of "work gigs" and shared industry. He's smart, loyal to a fault, and helpful too helpful. Elizabeth notices inconsistencies in his timelines. Why does he always show up when she's being watched? Meanwhile, her relationship with Philip intensifies. He believes she's in danger, but she won't tell him the full truth. Not yet. He invites her to stay with him temporarily when her apartment is vandalized (nothing stolen, just a warning). The intimacy of their new-old relationship is both comforting and devastating. She still loves him, but her secret is a chasm too wide to cross. Brian Woodward is an NYPD officer working undercover for an inter-agency cybercrime task force. His current case? Track the source of a string of sophisticated breaches that seem linked to the infamous "ghost" hacker who vanished years ago. When Elizabeth unknowingly hacks a police database to complete one of the blackmailer's tasks, it triggers a red flag and Woodward is assigned to follow her. He pretends to be a fellow tenant in the building, charming and friendly, using Nathan's suspicions as a cover to spend time in her orbit. He starts to fall for her complexity, not realizing she's the very target he's hunting. When he finds a photo of her with Philip from years ago, he begins to suspect that the rabbit hole is deeper than a simple identity fraud case. Now they want Elizabeth to break into a federal agency's secure server and retrieve a list codenamed "Frost Thread" a cache of blackmail material used by an old European intelligence cell. She realizes the list is tied to the same Protocol Red she stole before. The blackmailer has intimate knowledge of the operation in Prague, which means only one of three people could be behind this. She traces digital fingerprints back to Gilbert Lines. His work history doesn't hold up under scrutiny. When she finally confronts hi

PERMISSION IS TAKEN FRIM THE ORIGINAL, BE WARNED!! Do you believe in Myths? Just when she thinks it can't get any worse, it does. Lucy lost everything four years ago in a rogue attack. She's been abused, starved, rejected, and broken. As her eighteenth birthday approaches, strange things start to happen, things that only happen once every century. She finds friendship in the most unlikely place and escapes to find her true self with the help of the most dangerous Alpha. Warning: This werewolf trilogy is not intended for anyone under the age of 18 or anyone who doesn't enjoy a good spanking. It will take you on adventures around the world, make you laugh, fall in love, crush your heart and possibly leave you drooling.

After being kicked out of her home, Harlee learned she wasn't the biological daughter of her family. Rumors had it that her impoverished biological family favored sons and planned to profit from her return. Unexpectedly, her real father was a zillionaire, catapulting her into immense wealth and making her the most cherished member of the family. While they anticipated her disgrace, Harlee secretly held design patents worth billions. Celebrated for her brilliance, she was invited to mentor in a national astronomy group, drew interest from wealthy suitors, and caught the eye of a mysterious figure, ascending to legendary status.

"Please trust me, I didn't do anything." "I don't believe you. I am rejecting you as my Queen and giving you the punishment of death." Alina was living outside her pack for five years. Her parents didn't try to contact her and always ignored her. Her best friend convinced her to go back to their pack and she agreed. But she had never imagined what was waiting there for her. She never thought she would meet her mate and had to face betrayal from everywhere. She had to pay for the crime which she never committed. Aaron Robertson is the king of Lycans. He is a very dominant and powerful King who not only rules Lycans but also rules other ranks of werewolves. Everyone is afraid of Lycans and he is the king of them. But who knew that he would get a mate who was just a simple Omega with no powers and strengths? He called her weak all the time but little did he know that his weak Omega would give him the biggest betrayal of his life for which he had to give her the sentence of death.

“Drive this woman out!” "Throw this woman into the sea!” When he doesn’t know Debbie Nelson’s true identity, Carlos Hilton cold-shoulders her. “Mr. Hilton, she is your wife,” Carlos’ secretary reminded him. Hearing that, Carlos gives him a cold stare and complained, “why didn’t you tell me earlier?” From then on, Carlos spoils her rotten. Little did everyone expect that they would get a divorce.

He told her to call him Daddy. Not because he earned it, but because he fucking owned her. The moment she signed that contract, she stopped being a woman with dignity and became his filthy little plaything. His holes to use. His mess to ruin. He didn't just fuck her, he rewired her. Stripped her clean of boundaries and filled her with sin. Every punishment made her scream. Every game dragged her deeper into his twisted world. And the way he praised her... Good girl. She should've run the first time he said it. But Daddy doesn't let his toys leave. He breaks them until they beg to stay. ** Mia's life changed the night she let a stranger ruin her. One night. She never expected to see him again. Until she walked into her new job... and her boss turned around. Ace.Her one-night sin in a thousand-dollar suit. Only this time, he wasn't asking her to be his assistant. She was to be his wife.

Rena got into an entanglement with a big shot when she was drunk one night. She needed Waylen's help while he was drawn to her youthful beauty. As such, what was supposed to be a one-night stand progressed into something serious. All was well until Rena discovered that Waylen's heart belonged to another woman. When his first love returned, he stopped coming home, leaving Rena all alone for many nights. She put up with it until she received a check and farewell note one day. Contrary to how Waylen expected her to react, Rena had a smile on her face as she bid him farewell. "It was fun while it lasted, Waylen. May our paths never cross. Have a nice life." But as fate would have it, their paths crossed again. This time, Rena had another man by her side. Waylen's eyes burned with jealousy. He spat, "How the hell did you move on? I thought you loved only me!" "Keyword, loved!" Rena flipped her hair back and retorted, "There are plenty of fish in the sea, Waylen. Besides, you were the one who asked for a breakup. Now, if you want to date me, you have to wait in line." The next day, Rena received a credit alert of billions and a diamond ring. Waylen appeared again, got down on one knee, and uttered, "May I cut in line, Rena? I still want you."