DREAMING OF MR STARR
/1/131811/coverbig.jpg?v=9e882aca144ccdf9a381a0215dfaad26)
Awakening My Vicious Underground Biker Husband
For twenty years, I was kept in a gilded cage as the Daugherty family's most valuable political bargaining chip. But on the day of my arranged marriage, my corrupt father gave my fiancé to my cruel younger sister, Brinley. Instead, I was shipped off to the badlands to marry Erik "Grim" Marshall, the brutal President of an outlaw biker club, who was reportedly paralyzed and dying from a shattered spine. Brinley flaunted her designer wedding gown in my face, boasting about how she stole my life and ordered bulldozers to destroy my late mother's rose garden. "Get in the car and crawl off to that biker compound to die." My father coldly threw me to the wolves to save his own skin. When I arrived at the heavily guarded biker compound, the gang members treated me like disposable trash. They tried to extort my dowry and locked me in a dark, rotting quarantine basement to wait for my new husband to die. They all thought I was just a weak, discarded princess, meant to spend my miserable life cleaning bedpans for a crippled warlord before being torn apart by his violent gang. What they didn't know was that I was a lethal combat surgeon and toxicologist. Before I left, I planted a specialized neurotoxin in Brinley's dress that would turn her wedding night into a humiliating, public bloodbath. And as I looked down at the "dying" biker king on the steel table, I pulled out my scalpel. I wasn't here to rot in the dirt; I was going to cure this monster and use him to carve out an empire of my own.
Chapter 1 No.1
Genevra POV:
"The alliance cannot be broken, Genevra. But you are no longer marrying Kingston. Brinley is taking your place as his bride."
Brinley was my stepsister.
My father, Darrell Daugherty, did not even look up from his mahogany desk. He leaned back into his leather chair, the state senator seal on his gold signet ring catching the dim lamp light. Heavy cigar smoke hung thick between us in the second-floor study of the Daugherty estate.
"And to keep our alliance with the Marshall bloodline alive," Darrell continued coldly, flicking ash into a crystal tray, "you are leaving for California before sunrise. You will marry his cousin, Erik."
"So you're handing my fiancé to your stepdaughter," I said, tilting my head with a razor-thin, venomous smile, "and shipping me off to marry a paralyzed warlord rotting in an outlaw clubhouse?"
My voice was calm, mocking, and completely devoid of the trembling obedience he was used to.
Darrell slammed his open palm onto the polished wood. The crystal tumbler beside him rattled violently.
"Drop the insolent attitude, Genevra!" Darrell roared, veins bulging along his neck. "Three days ago, the paramedics had to drag you out of a pool of your own blood in the master bath! You locked yourself in, swallowed half a bottle of sedatives, and slit your wrists like a hysterical madwoman—all because Kingston told you he was choosing Brinley! The ER team shocked your chest three times to drag your pathetic pulse back from the dead! The entire southern syndicate was laughing at us!"
He leaned forward, glaring at me with raw disgust.
"You disgraced this family over a broken heart! And now you stand here acting like you have a say? Our pact is sworn to the Marshall family, not just Kingston. Kingston needs Brinley to anchor our political power here in the South, but the old blood pact still demands a Daugherty bride. You are going to California to fulfill that debt with the Iron Skulls MC. End of discussion."
The Iron Skulls MC was the most ruthless one-percenter outlaw motorcycle club on the West Coast. Their President, Erik "Grim" Marshall—Kingston’s estranged cousin and the true, feared warlord of the Marshall clan—was a legendary killer who had reportedly taken a blast during a turf war last month. Word on the underground wire was clear: shattered spine, complete paralysis, rotting away in his own compound.
"You want me to play the dutiful widow to a dying cripple so Kingston can keep his hands clean?" I asked, my voice flat as ice.
A figure shifted in the shadows near the leather couch. Kingston Marshall stepped into the light. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, the small gold skull stud in his left earlobe gleaming.
"Genevra... please, don't do this to yourself," Kingston murmured, stepping forward with that familiar, sickening patronizing pity in his eyes. He genuinely believed I was acting out of sheer heartbreak, that my suicide attempt had been the ultimate proof of my desperate devotion to him. "When they called me from the ICU... when they told me you flatlined on the table clutching my memory... it broke me. But the family comes first. With Erik incapacitated, I have to secure the South. You know my hands were tied."
He took two slow steps toward me, sighing with theatrical regret as he raised his hand, reaching to touch my face.
I took half a step back.
His manicured fingers caught nothing but empty air, freezing awkwardly between us.
"Clutching your memory?" I looked him up and down with the clinical detachment one might reserve for a dissecting specimen. "Kingston, when someone takes out the trash, they don't mourn the garbage bag. If my heart stopped on that operating table, it was from pure disgust at the thought of having ever let a bottom-feeder like you touch me."
Kingston’s handsome face flushed a violent, mottled crimson. "Genevra, watch your mouth—"
"Look at yourself," I cut him off, stepping into his personal space, my eyes locking onto his like twin gun barrels. "You wear a bespoke suit bought with dirty kickbacks, strutting around like a king, yet the moment your cousin Erik is taken out, you scramble to carve up his table with a second-rate stepdaughter. You're not an outlaw, Kingston. You're just an insecure errand boy who spent his entire life trembling in Erik's shadow, playing dress-up in cuff links."
Kingston choked on his own breath, his polished facade cracking into humiliated rage. In all the years he had strung me along, I had never spoken a harsh word to him. Now, standing right in front of him, I had stripped his ego raw in three sentences.
I turned my back on him completely, dismissing his existence, and looked straight at Darrell.
"I will go to California," I said coldly. "On one condition. Sign the release on North Street Medical Logistics. Remove your senatorial hold and clear my mother's operating accounts. You claim it's a bleeding shell—so sign it and let me leave."
Everyone present clearly hadn't expected me to agree so readily.
Darrell narrowed his eyes, stunned by the sheer, unyielding command in my tone.
"That shell company has been bleeding money for three years," Darrell sneered, trying to regain his footing. "Take it. You'll be dead in California before you can even use it."
He grabbed a transfer deed from his drawer, signed it with a heavy scrawl, and tossed it across the desk along with a pen.
I picked up the pen and signed my name in one smooth, unwavering line.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Senator," I said, dropping the heavy brass pen. It hit the mahogany with a sharp, dismissive clatter. "Do try to keep your seat in the Senate. It would be a pity if the public found out the great Darrell Daugherty built his entire career on my dead mother's trust fund."
Darrell froze, his face draining of color. Before he could bark an order, I had already turned on my heel and walked toward the door.
I pushed the heavy oak door open.
My stepmother, Evelyn, was lingering in the hallway, her arms crossed, waiting to gloat over the broken wreck she assumed was leaving the study.
"Pack your bags, poor girl," Evelyn purred, her lips curling into a smug, venomous smirk. "Let us hope you last more than a week among those filthy, grease-stained savages in the desert."
I stopped in front of her. I didn't rush past. I stood tall, letting my cold gaze rake over her from head to toe until her smug smile began to falter under the weight of my silence.
"Keep smiling while you can, Evelyn," I said in a soft, lethal whisper. "You spent twenty years scheming to steal my mother's leftover husband, and your daughter had to settle for my discarded trash just to secure a name. Enjoy the scraps. Because when I come back for what is mine, I won't leave either of you with enough dignity to beg."
Evelyn gasped, stepping back as if she had been slapped across the face, her manicured hand clutching her pearls in genuine shock.
I didn't spare her another second.
I walked down the east corridor, reached my bedroom at the far end, and pushed the door open.
The room was quiet. A world away from the pathetic, venomous vipers down the hall.
The sharp, hurried click of high heels echoed down the hardwood floor, moving fast and aggressive toward my room.
The bedroom door flew open with a violent bang.
Brinley stood in the doorway, her bleached blonde curls bouncing over her shoulders. She held a leather riding crop in her right hand, tapping it rhythmically against her thigh, her green eyes blazing with spiteful triumph.
/0/18480/coverbig.jpg?v=d5263b2b9d1a1bbc3367a494f021adc7)
Dreaming Of You
Ivy Luo is ordinary and optimistic. She drops out of school, works hard, and raises the child for her sister. She goes to a job interview at a grand hotel, but she feels uncomfortable as if having been drugged. Then she runs into a room wanting to calm down herself with water, where she meets this h
/0/57814/coverbig.jpg?v=f81afba37237158b903e169be065efa1)
Bride of Mr. Billion
Last night, I spent an erotic night with a stranger in a bar. I'm not a random woman. I did this because I was too sad yesterday. The boyfriend who had been in love with me for three years dumped me and flash-married a rich girl. Although I act as if nothing happened in front of my friends, I'm real
/0/2145/coverbig.jpg?v=19f4d78687672dbc78781c4530f8241c)
Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica
Excerpt: ""That settles it," said Napoleon. "It's to be war. I'm willing to divide creation with England, but two's company and three's a crowd, and the Russian Bear must keep his paws off. I will go to Italy, Bourrienne, collect a few more thrones, and then we'll get to work on a new map of Europe.
/0/18750/coverbig.jpg?v=cd8dbf56e4abe33d68eef3bd126b17a6)
Fatal Infatuation: You're My Final Dreaming
On the day of getting the marriage certificate, Eva was betrayed by her love and best friend. She was drowning her sorrow until midnight. Unexpect to her, she accidentally got a CEO husband on her way coming home. After having a flash marriage with him, she found that her newly-married husband was
/0/901/coverbig.jpg?v=20171120151618)
The History of Mr. Polly
Mr. Polly is an ordinary middle-aged man who is tired of his wifes nagging and his dreary job as the owner of a regional gentlemans outfitters. Faced with the threat of bankruptcy, he concludes that the only way to escape his frustrating existence is by burning his shop to the ground and killing him
/0/50579/coverbig.jpg?v=eb79feb96d19a1f69c8ed664db3f5354)
The Wife Of Mr. Arres
"Stop pestering me Lauren, if you don't want to be hurt face to face remember this is my house" I lost my temper with her This bish, even if my husband and I have sex, he still has no right to hurt and yell at me, ever since I woke up from this body, I really run out of patience with him "You're o
/0/16114/coverbig.jpg?v=ff07b4d6a11a7938635dab2a9267225e)
/0/24063/coverbig.jpg?v=20260518163848)
The Seduction of Mr. Lee
It was something that Lissa had wanted ever she laid eyes on their newly appointed supervisor over the small but continuously growing company that she works for. He's gorgeous as hell. And everybody wants him. Sometimes, Lissa even thinks about whenever she 'plays' with herself. But of course,
/0/7793/coverbig.jpg?v=eac12fe1d1eb0a0eb195699959afb58e)
Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo
E. Phillips Oppenheim was a popular 20th century writer best known for penning suspenseful thriller novels like The Mystery of Mr. Bernard Brown. Many of his more than 100 novels are still read today.
/0/44397/coverbig.jpg?v=a3567a15bc6b6314cc6a48abda123661)
The Personal Assistant of Mr. CEO
A successful businessman, Donovan Montenegro believes that his new personal assistant was his long lost childhood sweetheart. What would he do if he found out that Nathalia Sanchez is now happily married and has a beautiful daughter? Would he seduce a married woman, take her in his own bidding just
/0/6889/coverbig.jpg?v=f3b9f797224a90f9762edfedd232c245)
The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton
Alfred Burton, a smooth-talking salesman, is having a perfectly ordinary day on the job when he stumbles across a strange plant with green leaves and a cluster of queer little brown beans hanging down from them in an old house. The virtue of the beans is that he who eats one shall see nothing, think
/0/20483/coverbig.jpg?v=9f4ba9aee806c2081e7aeffa9eb16eba)
THE DIARY OF MR PEO 1937
WORK TELLS THE STORY OF A MAN WHO LIVED A TRUE AND FAITHFUL SUBMISSION OF LOVE
/0/69567/coverbig.jpg?v=7214fcff3325723049d706728431f6f2)
My Abyss Of Desire With Mr Bill
BLURB Laila was an orphan, married to the hottest boy on the block, Anton Leigh. She finds out he was cheating on her, the same day she found out she was pregnant for him. In her state of devastation, she heads to her regular bar where she met her boss, Elijah, and surprisingly, they got along. La
/0/64928/coverbig.jpg?v=ba80616c3aef1ba164ef7a83ba710f77)
GAME OF LUST WITH MR BILLIONAIRE'S
Rayleen Banks, a 24-year-old editor at an oil company in New York City, constantly faces criticism from her demanding boss, Ms. Newmort. Her only source of comfort is her supportive best friend, Amy, who helps her move on from a troubled past. When Rayleen becomes the personal assistant to Elliot C
/0/46934/coverbig.jpg?v=a4bd171b4d3301f615c419ec212ad938)
The Sixth Wife Of Mr. Billionaire
PROLOGUE I suddenly stunned because I saw Hellios was sitting on a sofa in the middle of the room. He had thick eyebrows that were like sharp swords, deep emotionless gray eyes with a sharp gaze, thin lips, sharp and perfect jawline, and a tall but strong figure. The article other features I've re
/0/33041/coverbig.jpg?v=b8b23c96c0959d5a030e12572a4e13c7)
The Glorious Life Of Mr. Smith
Ever since I was a child, I had always been poor. Every time I came home from school, I would be met with the sight of my father busying himself in the kitchen. From my earliest recollection, I would always remember my father wearing his old factory uniforms in the house. His hair was snow-white an
/0/58995/coverbig.jpg?v=f3a7be24939f396589997d86d9b30476)
In The Arms Of Mr. Billionaire
When billionaire CEO Ethan Asher hires the brilliant but unassuming Brandon Nate Daniel as his new Personal Assistant, neither expects a casual dare to ignite a passionate romance. As playful flirtations turn into undeniable passion, Ethan and Brandon find themselves entangled in a steamy, forbidden
/0/57253/coverbig.jpg?v=6145377890ba8d4ab2438214cfdf8264)
The Beloved Wife of Mr. Lu
On their first blind date, he coaxed her into the Civil Affairs Bureau, and they got their marriage certificate that very night. It wasn't until after their wedding that she discovered he was actually the eldest grandson of the prestigious Lu family and the CEO of the top-ranking Lu Group. She had o
/0/54980/coverbig.jpg?v=e07f203525618a6f8d7e40b58e3f2b5b)
I'm The Fake Wife Of Mr, CEO
"Carizza, are you okay? ” Kisha asked me. "Wherever? ” I asked back. "There's a lot of trouble outside, there's a couple who want to buy a girl and the boss doesn't agree," answered Kisha, which surprised me. VWFS which means virgin wife for sale. the business is legal and it's operating all over
/0/1042/coverbig.jpg?v=20171121202438)
The Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush
I was born in the year one, of the present or Christian hera, and am, in consquints, seven-and-thirty years old. My mamma called me Charles James Harrington Fitzroy Yellowplush, in compliment to several noble families, and to a sellybrated coachmin whom she knew, who wore a yellow livry, and drove t
