The Lethal Dance With The Alpha

Modern

I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Romance

Anastasia Chadwick is a twenty years old, wayward and careless lady. All her life, she had been a slave to her own mother who turned her into something she never imagined herself to be, but she wished to find someone who loves her or someone she could love, before she dies, which is still a long jou

Adventure

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Literature

The Dance of Death by Francis Douce

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Werewolf

He rose and moved towards me, my heart picking up its pace with every step he took. His hand stroked the side of my face, causing a tingle to rush through me and I shivered into his touch just like earlier. He leaned in and his breath fanned over my face, hot, weakening and mind-numbing. "You shou

Werewolf

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Werewolf

“You'll ruin me, Dawn,” I whispered, my words thick with pain as my forehead connected with hers. I caught her full breasts and hardened rosy pink buds under the silvery glow of the moonlighting that soaked the surface of the pool in its celestial touch. She leaned in, her lips brushing mine tentat