Hidden Identity

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

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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

Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins—a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. “It's time to reveal your true identity, darling.”

They don't know I'm a girl. They all look at me and see a boy. A prince. Their kind purchase humans like me for their lustful desires. And, when they stormed into our kingdom to buy my sister, I intervened to protect her. I made them take me too. The plan was to escape with my sister whenever we found a chance. How was I to know our prison would be the most fortified place in their kingdom? I was supposed to be on the sidelines. The one they had no real use for. The one they never meant to buy. But then, the most important person in their savage land-their ruthless beast king-took an interest in the "pretty little prince." How do we survive in this brutal kingdom, where everyone hates our kind and shows us no mercy? And how does someone, with a secret like mine, become a lust slave? . AUTHOR'S NOTE. This is a dark romance-dark, mature content. Highly rated 18+ Expect triggers, expect hardcore. If you're a seasoned reader of this genre, looking for something different, prepared to go in blindly not knowing what to expect at every turn, but eager to know more anyway, then dive in! . From the author of the international bestselling book: "The Alpha King's Hated Slave."

Lucia Balstone thought she had chosen the right man to spend the rest of her life with, but he was the one who ended her life. Their ten-year marriage seemed like a joke when her husband stabbed her with a dagger. Fortunately, God is never blind to people's tears. Lucia got a second chance. She was reborn at the age of 22, before all the terrible things had happened. This time, she was determined to avenge herself and let those who hurt her pay! She made an elaborate list of her goals, and the first thing on her list was to marry her ex-husband's enemy, Alonso Callen!

"I, Erika Blackwood, stand before you, Alexander Robertson, with a heavy heart. I hereby reject you as my mate. The bond we once shared has grown fragile, and my soul yearns for a different path. May you find solace in the love of another, and may we both find the happiness we seek." Alexander didn't say a word and looked at me. But he refused to accept. *********** Erika Blackwood is the next Alpha in line of the Ironclaw Pack. She hides her identity and gets mated to the Alpha of the Moonforest Pack, Alexander Robertson. Three years passed, but Alexander is still unwilling to let go of his childhood sweetheart. Erika is mistreated and eventually framed by the same childhood sweetheart. Now she leaves with that humiliation, and goes back to her pack, swearing vengeance on those who hurt her. They all waited for her to return and beg, but what happens when they realize that the famous Ironclaw Pack that was going to help in the rogue war, was ruled by a woman named, Erika Blackwood. Now her Ex mates want her back. Other Alphas want this woman.. But will she accept any of them? Or will she stay independent forever?...

"I, Riccardo Saviano, future Alpha of the Grey Shadow Moon Pack, reject you, Artemisia Guerrieri, Daughter of Alpha Franco of the Blood Moon Pack, as my mate and future Luna." One single sentence. One stupid single sentence was all it took to disintegrate my life. And the day of my birthday, on which this sentence was audaciously uttered to me, I lost the love of my life, my future mate, and my wolf, all at once. As I'm still assembling the pieces of my shattered heart years later, there they come. Like lightning out of a crystal blue sky. My Mates. But wait... If I am mated to triplets, how come I'm about to be mated to 5 gorgeous men? *** TW: explicit and foul language; spicy content; explicit sex scenes ***

Kallie, a mute who had been ignored by her husband for five years since their wedding, also suffered the loss of her pregnancy due to her cruel mother-in-law. After the divorce, she learned that her ex-husband had quickly gotten engaged to the woman he truly loved. Holding her slightly rounded belly, she realized that he had never really cared for her. Determined, she left him behind, treating him as a stranger. Yet, after she left, he scoured the globe in search of her. When their paths crossed once more, Kallie had already found new happiness. For the first time, he pleaded humbly, "Please don't leave me..."  But Kallie's response was firm and dismissive, cutting through any lingering ties. "Get lost!"