Is The Novel Leiden Based On A True Story?

I agreed to transfer schools with my childhood friend who was constantly being bullied, but she backed out on the last day. Her friend teased, "I can't believe you pretended to be bullied all this time just to get rid of Harry. He's your childhood friend. Are you really willing to let him go to another school all by himself?" Lena said indifferently, "It's just another school in this city. How far could it be? I've had enough of him always being around me. Getting some distance between us is just what I wanted." I stood outside the door for a long time that day before deciding to turn and leave. However, on the transfer application, instead of writing Haleswood High School, I wrote the high school that my parents wanted me to go to, which was abroad. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that Lena and I had been worlds apart from the very start.

THIS IS A DARK ROMANCE FEATURING DARK CONTENT AND MORALLY AMBIGUOUS CHARACTERS. Her new life is a lie. Her fiancé's a liar. And the supposedly dead woman on her couch? She's the worst kind of truth. **** Claire thought she had it all: a perfect fiancé, a beautiful home, a successful career. Until she finds out her relationship is built on a decade of deceit and secrets. Her supposedly dead rival, the woman her fiancé, Levi, claimed to have grieved, is back—and the worst twist of all? She's the same woman who raised Levi as his stepmother. Desperate to escape the fallout, Claire drives headlong into the night, only to crash her car and be saved by a mysterious stranger. He claims to be Zeke her long-lost lover, the man she shared a passionate past with, a life she has no memory of. Now, Claire is trapped between two men: Levi, the manipulative but tormented fiancé, who is fighting desperately to prove his love and earn her forgiveness, and Zeke, the stranger who feels dangerously familiar and holds the key to the woman she used to be. Which lie will save her, and which truth will finally break her?

For five years, Mira poured her obsession into The Reckoning of Caelen Mors—a dark fantasy about a ruthless duke and the woman he becomes dangerously fixated on. At 2:47 AM, exhausted and alone, she died at her laptop. Her final words still glowed on the screen: "Duke Caelen finally showed her his true face. It was nothing like she imagined." She woke as Isadora Vess—the secondary character from her manuscript—in a silk bed, in a monster's house, with servants calling her by a name she'd invented. The problem: Mira remembers writing this world. She knows every dark secret. She knows how the story should end. Except her memories are fractured. The manuscript was never finished. And the characters have evolved without her input, making choices she never wrote, saying things she never scripted. Worse—Duke Caelen knows she's different. He's been waiting for her. Across seventeen timelines, he's seen her arrive at this exact moment. And in three of them, everything burned. Now Isadora must navigate a world she created but no longer controls, surrounded by men who each want to use her—a charming prince offering escape, a dark count offering power, and a villain offering the only thing that might be true: the answer to why she's here, and what happens when an author gets trapped in her own story. Because in every version where Isadora arrives, the empire falls. And Caelen has been waiting a very long time to see which ending she'll choose this time.

They've called me a lot of things; Desperate, reckless and stupid. My name is Arthur Rowen, and three months ago, my world ended. My father was murdered—skull branded on his forehead like a sick calling card, Lionel family signature marking him as a traitor. My twin brother Asher vanished the same night without a trace, like he never existed. The police won't help because Lionel's own them. So I did what any desperate, reckless, stupid person would do: I got myself hired at The Pit of Lust, the Lionel family's underground sex club. The plan was simple: infiltrate, investigate, find Asher, get out. Then Andreas Lionel noticed me. Seven years older, dangerously beautiful, rumored to have appetites that would make a devil blush. The man who might have signed my father's death warrant. He wants me in his private suite, in his bed and under his control. Maybe I should run and while I'm at it, I should remember why I'm here but Andreas touches me like I'm something precious, not another pretty body in his collection. Fucks me like he's trying to ruin me for anyone else, while somehow making me feel whole for the first time in my life. The worst part? It's working and my legs are spreading with each passing night shamelessly. I'm falling for the man who destroyed my family. My brother is still missing and my father is still dead. And I'm still lying to the one person who's made me feel alive. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. No one warned me it would taste like whiskey and sin on Andreas Lionel's tongue Or that I'd crave the flavor like an additive.

To ransom my husband from the black market, I threw myself into relentless work, earning every penny I could. My son suffered alongside me, sharing in my exhaustion and deprivation. Years of malnutrition had left him vulnerable, and eventually, he was diagnosed with leukemia. I wept as I scraped together money from relatives and friends to pay for his chemotherapy. But on the way to the hospital, a sudden, unbearable pain wracked him. In his struggle, he accidentally bit off his own tongue and died in agony before we even reached the doors. I clutched my son's ashes and went straight to the black market, determined to use the borrowed money to bring my husband back. The moment I stepped in, I overheard a conversation between Joe Masseria and his men. "Boss, Sandra comes every month with her payments. She's suffered a lot just to ransom you," one said. At that moment, a widow—Joe's sister-in-law, long mourning her late husband—appeared beside him. "Joe," she said, her voice calm but cutting, "all these years, you've protected me from harm, even giving me the title of a mob boss's wife. But you've kept Sandra in the dark the whole time. Isn't that… terribly unfair to her?" Joe's eyes were cold, devoid of any pity for me. He scoffed. "Fairness is ruthless. She's had all this love from me. What's a little suffering compared to that? "But she's waited for me all these years. It's time I returned—before she loses her mind and comes after you. "If she's still sensible, I'll make sure her and her son's quality of life improves a bit." I understood everything in that instant. Holding my son's ashes to my chest, I wept until it felt as if my heart would shatter. Joe—your so-called fairness killed my son. And I am done waiting for you.

The family was holding a celebration for my newborn daughter. For some reason, my husband, Jonathan Shamrock, brought his secretary along. At the dinner table, his secretary dropped an unpeeled shrimp onto his plate and said matter-of-factly, "I just had my nails done, and I'm still wearing the diamond watch you bought me. Peel this for me." The Shamrocks' friends and family stared at Jonathan in shock, but he peeled the shrimp without missing a beat and popped it right into his secretary's mouth. Something inside me shattered. I stared at my old and very outdated clothes. Then I looked at my hands, rough and callused from years of being neglected. Then, Jonathan spat out something cold. "A man's wife shows the world how life has been treating him, and you look no better than a worn-out servant. You don't work. You don't even bother looking presentable. You contribute nothing to this family. "Starting tomorrow, we'll split every household expense evenly. I'd rather put my money into something that actually gives me a return." "Sure," I said quietly, and added nothing more. Then I called my brother. "Pull your investment out of Jonathan's company. I'm getting a divorce."