What Is Legal Fiction And Why Is It Used In Legal Reasoning?

Willow Creed always put her career before any relationships but found that the road to building your career could be a lonely one. When her editor suggests that she write a believable romance story, Willow is at a loss for words, especially since she's so jaded about the topic of romance. After hearing Willow complain to her best friend about her situation with her editor, Reid Grayson proposes that they enter into a fake relationship under two conditions: she attends his brother's wedding as his date to get his family off his back about finding someone special, and they are not to fall in love with one another. Willow knows that she would never fall for the arrogant and rude Reid Grayson, so she agrees. Will both of them be able to keep to the conditions set in place when Reid is hiding a secret that could potentially break her? **This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.**

Ashin Johnstone has never loved someone as much as she loved her husband, Kristoff Washington. She had spent most of her life crushing hard on him and was really elated that she finally married him in a pragmatic marriage. But she knew that he doesn't love her, not the way she wanted him to. She knew that he will never love her like a woman. He will never want her like the way she desires him. As painful as it is, she has learned to understand him and his feelings for her. She was trying to be contented with her life with him. She was trying to be contented with her relationship with him. After all, she is the legal wife. Everyone who would want him would go through her first because she's recognized one. She's the lawful wife.

My husband, Garrett Kachmar, vanished overseas with his ex, Linda Sharpe. They left me with one thing—an illegitimate, screaming baby. Twenty years later, I posted that my "son" had passed his exams. He was joining the police force. That's when Garrett came back. With Linda. And a lawsuit. At the plaintiff's table, Linda looked polished—soft makeup, perfect posture. Her voice? Pure control. "After Garrett divorced, we got married and had a big, healthy boy. Jemma couldn't stand seeing us happy, so she stole our son. We searched for twenty years. She refuses to give him back. We're his biological parents. We have the right to take him." Garrett shot me a glare. "Jemma, just because you can't have kids doesn't mean you get to steal mine." The trial was livestreamed. The comments exploded. [Can't have your own kid so you steal one?] [You destroyed a family. Sick.] [Give him back to his real parents!] Then my "son" was called into the courtroom. And the whole room went dead quiet.

Celeste Virelli is not your typical private investigator. Sleek, calculating, and always three steps ahead, she specializes in one thing: seducing unfaithful husbands to trigger the fidelity clauses in their ironclad prenups. Her clients are wealthy women trapped in golden cages—wives who want out, but only if they can take half the fortune with them. Celeste doesn’t advertise. She doesn’t need to. Her name passes in whispers between yoga mats and charity galas, a whispered promise of justice wrapped in silk and steel. When Vivienne Cross, the young wife of tech mogul Julian Cross, walks into her office, Celeste expects another routine takedown. But Julian isn’t like the others. He’s elusive, calculating, and hiding more than just a wandering eye. As Celeste draws him into her web, she uncovers a deeper game—one that involves offshore accounts, a missing woman, and a secret that could destroy more than a marriage. For the first time, Celeste finds herself questioning the rules she’s lived by. Because this time, the seduction might not be an act. And the most dangerous lies aren’t the ones told in bed—they’re the ones we tell ourselves. The Seduction Clause is a taut, stylish psychological thriller about power, betrayal, and the cost of playing with fire where every glance is a gamble, and every kiss could be a weapon.

The day I received my admission to the New York Bar, I finally confessed my feelings to Alex Walker, the man who had been my mentor for the past three years. He was crouched down, carefully fastening the strap of Claire Harrison's designer heel. Claire was the heiress and CEO of a rival firm. When he heard my confession, he stood up and looked at me with nothing but contempt. "Eileen, who do you think you are? You think you deserve to marry into my family? You're just an assistant from some backwater town who happened to pass the bar. Do you really believe that makes you worthy of standing beside me?" Before I could react, he slipped a stack of forged trade secret documents into my handbag. Then he handed me over to Lucas Morrison, the infamous heir to the Morrisons, a man whose ruthless reputation was well known throughout New York's elite. "Mr. Morrison, she's all yours. Make her take the fall for the leaked documents. And while you're at it, teach her to stay in her lane. I've already chosen Claire. I have no use for this one anymore. Do whatever you want with her." His men dragged me away. Alex never looked back. One month later, Walker Law Firm was collapsing under a flood of scandals—fabricated financial records, misappropriated client funds, and malicious lawsuits. Alex finally called me, his voice as arrogant as ever. "Have you suffered enough? Admit those fake accounts and lawsuit files were your doing, and I might consider letting you come back as my assistant." Before I could answer, Lucas let out a low, amused laugh from beside me. "Mr. Walker," he said lazily, "my wife is busy acquiring your law firm. She doesn't have time to be anyone's scapegoat."

A category 5 hurricane has just torn through town, and Mom is out in the housing complex clearing floodwater when a 30-pound dead frond from a royal palm crashes down and shatters her spine. Four hours of emergency surgery later, the doctors tell me she'll never walk again. I storm into the mediation room with her bloodstained paperwork. The property manager, James Kendrick, is sitting there sipping a glass of scotch. When I demand the management company covers her medical bills, he refuses, then slams five photographs down in front of me. "Kid, you want to be real careful about throwing accusations around." He lets out a sigh, all patronizing and fatherly. "We had caution tape up before the storm. We set out traffic cones. Your mother walked right past all of it to dig through the trash. "That's trespassing and damaging the landscaping. Who's she going to blame but herself?" He slides a liability waiver across the table and tells me to sign. "Sign this, and I'll be generous enough to lend you 5,000 dollars out of my own pocket. Try to fight this, and our legal team will bury you." I look at his smug face, then pick up the photos from the floor. The caution tape is there, sure enough. But the flower bed next to it is full of azaleas in bloom, a variety that only flowers in April. It's the middle of July. I tear the waiver to shreds right in front of him. "Using photos from two months ago as your proof, Mr. Kendrick? I think you're forgetting something. "My family runs the shop right across from the complex entrance." Then I pull out my phone and open the cloud backup for our storefront's 24-hour HD security cameras.