Can Built In Reading Nooks Increase Home Value?

Maya Bennet came to college with one goal: survive. Keep her scholarship. Work enough hours to pay her bills. Graduate. Don’t make mistakes. Especially not the kind that come with a charming smile and a football jersey. The last thing Maya needs is Cole Ryder. The star quarterback has a reputation for breaking hearts, avoiding commitment, and never taking anything too seriously. He’s exactly the kind of guy Maya has spent years avoiding. But somewhere between late-night study sessions, stolen moments, and Cole showing up whenever her world starts falling apart, he becomes impossible to ignore. For Cole, it starts as curiosity. Then concern. Then something much more dangerous. Before he realizes what’s happening, the girl who never believed she’d be chosen becomes the center of his entire world. But falling in love doesn’t magically fix real life. Maya is still carrying the weight of family problems, financial stress, and years of believing she’s only worth what she can accomplish. As old wounds reopen and painful family secrets come to light, she’s forced to decide whether she can finally stop carrying everything alone. Because Cole isn’t the only one falling. The real question is whether Maya can believe she deserves the kind of love that’s willing to stay. Filled with laugh-out-loud banter, found family, emotional healing, college chaos, and a swoon-worthy quarterback who falls first and falls hard, The Rogue Next Door is a heartwarming slow-burn romance about learning that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let someone love you.

After ten years studying interior design overseas, I came back to my hometown to do work that mattered to the people who raised me. I offered the full package, from site survey to soft furnishings. The materials were chosen by hand. The price was fair to the bone. The town had just gone through a redevelopment. Everyone was getting new units. With the new family policy, every family wanted a third bedroom too. My business was good. Customers from the next county were driving in. Then a girl just back from a city college kicked open my studio with her phone on a livestream and her neighbors at her shoulder. "This is the dishonest one. Look at her. She has been ripping the village off." "In the city, an eighty-square-meter unit can be done for twenty thousand dollars. She is charging eighty." "That's a sixty-thousand-dollar margin. Sixty thousand. Right out of our pockets." The village fell in line behind her. They demanded the difference back. When I refused, they smashed my studio. They beat me into a coma. The pile-on online killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I would refund every single one of them. And then I would tear out every single thing I had installed. Let's see what twenty thousand dollars actually buys you.

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt. This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in. The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me. Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000. High-end waterbed: $40,000. One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight. "Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?" Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!" Then she spun around and called Daxton right there. I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice. Gentle. Doting. "This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out." I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure." One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

In the third year of our marriage, my wife’s ex-boyfriend of eight years suddenly posted a picture on social media showing off a multi-million-dollar wedding house. His caption read: “Wow, got myself a huge villa, I’m the master of charming women!” I stared in shock at the picture, which showed my wife swiping her card at a sales office, and left a single comment: "?" A second later, my wife called to scold me. “I was just fulfilling a promise I made to him back when we were dating, buying him a house. Why are you getting mad at him?” “What? Are you really going to be so vicious as to force me to break my word?” That evening, her ex showed off another lavish post, this time flaunting a renovation bill worth hundreds of thousands. I knew it was a gift from my wife to please him. But by then, I no longer cared.

I'm about to buy a house before getting married. With my budget in mind, the real estate agent recommends a run-down apartment in a 30-year-old building. My girlfriend explodes on the spot, saying that the real estate agent is looking down on us. Her friends all live in high-end apartments. She threatens to break up with me if I buy a run-down apartment for us to live in after we get married. I'm about to defuse the situation and suggest we check out other places when an old, raspy voice echoes in my mind. "This young woman can't tell treasure from trash. I've got 110 pounds of gold in these walls. That's enough to buy a few high-end apartments! "A fortune is right in front of you, and you're letting it slip away. You deserve to be poor forever!"

I'm a family law attorney. My specialty is winning divorce cases for other people. I never imagined that one day, I'd be drafting my own divorce papers. For six years of marriage, Adrian read to me for ten minutes every night. He said it was our little marriage ritual. That was until I came home early from a business trip and heard his voice coming from my female neighbor’s apartment next door. "Vivi, which chapter do you want to hear tonight?" I stood outside her door, still holding the birthday cake I'd bought for him. I turned around, went home, opened my laptop, and went through our marital asset inventory from top to bottom. Later, Adrian knelt outside my law firm, his voice so hoarse it was barely recognizable. He said, "Serena, I was just helping her fall asleep. I never touched her." I set the voice recorder in front of him, and out came words he'd said himself. "She'll never leave me. She's too rational, which actually makes her the easiest to manipulate." I smiled. "Adrian, do you think the judge will find me easy to manipulate too?"