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He is my nemesis, the one who tormented me without cause. It wasn't always this way; there was a time when things were different. But then, one day, everything shifted. What do I do when he becomes my mate? The mark I left on him during our clash signifies that he belongs to me forever. Yet, he harbors a secret—one he desperately wants to conceal from me. This secret, rooted in guilt, is tied to a past event that changed everything.What will happen when she uncovers her mate's hidden truth? He has kept her in the dark, and now she must confront the possibility that this revelation could either shatter their bond or pave the way for reconciliation.

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Iori is a famous mystery writer with a dark past that still haunts her. One day, she's forced to co-write a book with the most famous romance writer Jun by their publisher, who also forces them to live together and pretend to be in a relationship for the sake of advertisement. Unable to refuse because of the huge favor their publisher owes them, those two who barely stand each other's presence are now trying to coexist and finish the book while dealing with their twisted pasts who were always ready to resurface...

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him. It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work. Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him. Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself. Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding. But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong. If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm." If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it." When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it." It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?" Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime. It's just that… his love has never been mine to have. As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

Love is something to never be ashamed of, it's okay to fall in love even if that person is someone of the same sex. That's the way I feel towards the person who showed me how to love. I love him, I want him and I want to hold him but the problem is... His married. Leslie Campbell is a young omega who is married to a beta. He is a book enthusiast who became an editor for a successful publishing company and he is assigned to his favorite author, Azrael Mitsuki Bethan, a Japanese American writer who paints the world in white and black. However, there is one serious problem... Azrael hates omegas especially male omegas. Leslie is determined to be Azrael's editor but their relationship becomes complicated when forbidden emotions start to develop leaving Leslie in a state to choose between his marriage and his soulmate while Azrael battles with his heart and his conscience. Heartwarming relationship between the alpha who desires to hate and the omega who knows only how to love.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.