Why Does The Author Write Writing My Wrongs?

Standing in a bridal suite in an ivory gown with a reception roaring beyond the doors, the last thing she remembers is a prison floor, a half-moon, and dying. Valerie Hart is thirty-two years old, and she has just been given back her life. Not the life she deserved but the one that was stolen from her by Anthony Lead, the charming, calculating billionaire's son who pursued her for two years, married her in the grandest ceremony the city had ever seen, and within weeks manipulated her into signing away her entire inheritance. What followed was three years of abuse, a false criminal charge, six years of imprisonment, and a death on a cold prison floor that she never deserved. But she begged the universe for one more chance. And the universe said yes. Now it is June 5th, 2024, her wedding day; the shares are still in her name, and she remembers everything. Every lie. Every betrayal. Every person who destroyed her. This time Valerie plays an entirely different game. She manages Anthony's ego with surgical precision while secretly building her escape, launching a business empire, fortressing her inheritance behind legal walls he cannot see, and publicly ending the marriage in December 2024. Then she does something nobody anticipates. She pursues Adrian Lead, Anthony's brilliantly, quietly powerful elder brother, the man she already knows is destined to inherit everything. What begins as strategy becomes something neither of them planned for. As Adrian falls for the one woman always three moves ahead of every room, Valerie realizes revenge was never going to be enough. She wants to actually live. Justice. On her terms. In her time.

After the SAT, I come across a post online. Someone posts, "If you could make a choice all over again, which major would you choose this time?" The comments are filled with people wishing they had chosen a different major. They all have their own regrets. One response stands out from the rest. "I would choose literature. That way, he and I wouldn't have missed out on the four years we should have spent together because of that unwanted baggage." I chuckle and am about to scroll past when I suddenly notice the profile picture and username. They are identical to those of my childhood sweetheart, Winter Andersen. I click into the profile. Everything matches her current account exactly, except that the age is ten years older. My heart sinks to my stomach. This has to be her ten years in the future. No wonder I am the only one celebrating when we are admitted to the same major. No wonder she zones out for so long after seeing my best friend, Simon Brown, receive his acceptance letter from the literature department. It turns out I am the unwanted baggage responsible for so many of her regrets and disappointments. Since that is the case, I quietly press "Accept" on the admission offer written entirely in a foreign language. I shall end this mistake ten years ahead of schedule.

"Elena, please. I made a mistake. We can start over—" My ex-husband was on his knees in my penthouse, tears streaming down his face. The same man who pushed me down the stairs. Who murdered my unborn daughters. Who watched me die. I looked at him—really looked at him—and felt nothing. "You want to apologize?" My voice was steady. Cold. "You should have thought of that before you killed our babies." His face crumpled. "Elena—" "It's too late to apologise." ★★★ When Damien pushed me down the stairs, I died knowing he'd destroyed me. My cheating husband and my best friend—his pregnant mistress—stood over my bleeding body and smiled. But death gave me a gift: I woke up three days before he destroyed my life. This time, I wouldn't be his victim. This time, I exposed his affair at our gender reveal party. Served him divorce papers in front of everyone. Took back everything he stole. Then Calloway Sterling appeared—the ruthless billionaire CEO my ex feared most. Six feet of dangerous power with storm-gray eyes. "Marry me. One year. He'll never touch you again." A contract marriage. Just revenge. Until Calloway's possessive touches felt too real. Until a paternity test proved he was my baby's father—not my ex-husband. "Three months ago, you went to a fertility clinic," Calloway told me. "The sample wasn't your ex-husband's. It was mine."

I was nineteen the first time Cole Whitfield broke me. Not with cruelty. With a single word. Why. Not did you — why. Like the answer was already settled and he just wanted the story to make sense. I told him the truth anyway. He said nothing that mattered. So I picked up my bag, walked out of his apartment, and decided that a man who trusted a rumor over two years of me wasn’t worth a correction. I spent the next two years becoming someone I actually liked. New city. Graduate program. A published paper with my name on it. I was done with Cole Whitfield in every way a person can be done. Then I walked into Seminar Room 114 and he was sitting right there, gray eyes already on the door, like some part of him knew. I sat down. I opened my notebook. I did not look up. Here’s the thing about studying how people form beliefs: you understand exactly why he believed it. That doesn’t mean you forgive it. That doesn’t mean two years of silence disappear because he’s learned how to look at you like he’s sorry. He wants a conversation. I want my degree. But the campus is small, the seminar table is round, and the boy who broke my heart at nineteen is doing everything right at twenty-one — and I’m starting to understand that composed isn’t the same thing as healed. I hate that I still know the exact sound of his voice.

The first thing I did after rebirth was follow my husband, Franklin Wallace, to the island for his military deployment. In my previous life, as a spoiled rich heiress from a wealthy family, I looked down on Franklin, the commander my family had arranged for me to marry. We fought constantly, huge arguments every few days, small quarrels in between. After having children, I grew to resent our two kids simply because they carried Franklin's blood. Later, when Franklin was ordered to be stationed on the island, I was the first to stand up and object to going with him. Since I opposed it, Franklin did not force me. He took our two kids and his widowed sister-in-law, Elsie Faulkner, to the island instead. Meanwhile, my spoiled and rebellious self could not wait to throw myself into the arms of my first love, Reuben Sandoval, once Franklin left. However, it did not take long before I discovered Reuben was nothing but a gold-digging scumbag who only wanted my money and body. He gave me an STI and drained my family fortune completely. When Franklin returned from the island with our children, they no longer recognized me as their mother and affectionately called Elsie "Mommy" instead. He even told me he had fallen in love with Elsie during their time together on the island. Eventually, I ended up homeless on the streets and starved to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Franklin was about to leave for his island deployment.

Blurb: Trigger Warnings: This novel has explicit gay sex, lesbian sex, BDSM using whips, chains, and domination, trans characters fucking, and fucking with paranormal creatures such as vampires blowing and werewolves knotting in asses. This is a collection of dirty sex tales. Cocks harden and pussies get wet. Tops pin bottoms and fuck them hard. Mistresses in leather whip bodies with whips until they beg to cum. Gay dudes lick asses in the locker room. Lesbians play with pussies against each other and use strap-ons until they come. Trans people use toys and tongues on all their holes. No limits—straight-up smut to make you hot. Author's Note: For those who can't jerk off to porno but need books to imagine the sex scenes in order properly—use these stories for your dirtiest thinking. Not for those under 18.