Famous Pen Names

"Please teach me to become a better writer!" "Oh?" Joaquin got his glass sipped his whiskey as he looked at me in a condescending manner. "I need something in return," he teased as he put his glass down on the table, making me nod excitingly. "Yes, yes! I would do anything you ask for!" Hearing her feedback, he stood up from his chair then walked towards me, chuckling. "Erm..." I stepped away from him, now bumping my back on the wall behind me. Surprised, I gasped as he did a breathtakingly hot "kabe-don". He then spoke near my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "What if I ask... for a collaboration?" --- Haven Thorne, a young woman who is eager to become a great writer, secretly attended a party that was hosted by a popular and rich top author, Joaquin Greyson. Wanting to learn from the great writer, Haven gathered her courage and visited his home for consecutive days even after the constant rejections. Irritated, Joaquin entertained the persistent woman to stop her. Seeing her determination however, piqued his interest and had agreed to her request—even asking for a collaboration! Will the top author really be willing to teach the newbie, or will he lose his patience? Will she able to meet the demands of her experienced mentor, or will she disappoint him? With that in mind, what will their pen and passion teach them? Love, hate… or something more?

When American engineer Evan Hart arrives in Rome, he expects worn stones, ancient architecture, and a chance to quietly rethink his failing marriage. He doesn’t expect Livia Moretti—the enigmatic archivist whose fragile intensity pulls him into a slow-burning, dangerous affair he never meant to start. Livia is brilliant, secretive, and a little broken… and Evan can’t stay away. But when he finally tells his wife Leah he wants a separation, she collapses, claiming she’s been diagnosed with a devastating neurological disease. Overnight, Evan’s guilt becomes a trap. Then Livia disappears without a trace. Anonymous photographs of him and Livia arrive in the mail. A stranger begins watching his apartment. And Leah—sweet, steady Leah—starts behaving in ways he can’t explain. When Evan finds hidden documents and photographs connecting the two women in his life, he follows a clue to a remote coastal village, where he learns Livia once lived under a different name… and may have been running from something far darker than heartbreak. As Evan digs deeper, he uncovers the edge of a conspiracy built on identity, memory, and manipulation—one determined to keep its secrets buried. Someone is pulling strings. Someone is rewriting the truth. And someone wants Evan to stop asking questions. Caught between a wife he no longer understands and a lover who may not be who she claimed to be, Evan is forced to confront the one question he never thought to ask: If the women in his life are wearing borrowed identities… then who has been shaping his? In a story of seduction, deception, and emotional obsession, All the Names She Wore explores the dangerous terrain between love and control—and what happens when the truth becomes the most terrifying lie of all.

"Don't move," he trailed his kisses to my neck after saying it, his hands were grasping my hands, entwining his fingers with mine, putting them above my head. His woodsy scent of cologne invades my senses and I was aroused by the simple fact that his weight was slightly crushing me. ***** When a famous author keeps on receiving emails from his stalker, his agent says to let it go. She says it's good for his popularity. But when the stalker gets too close, will he run and call the police for help? Is it a thriller? Is it a comedy? Is it steamy romance? or... is it just a disaster waiting to happen? ***** Add the book to your library, read and find out as another townie gets his spotlight and hopefully his happy ever after 😘 ***** Warning! R-Rated for 18+ due to strong, explicit language and sexual content*

Jasmine Goldwyn was born into power, an heiress to one of the most influential empires in the country, but betrayal shattered her perfect life. First, by the husband she trusted… then, by the best friend she loved like a sister. After a brutal accident that left her unrecognizable and erased her memory, Jasmine woke up in a stranger’s world. Cipher D’Amato who happens to be a cold, calculating billionaire claimed to be her fiancé, married her, and gave her a new name… Sophie. But Cipher’s rescue was no act of love, it was a business move built on lies, secrets, and selfish gain. Now, Jasmine’s memories have returned and with them came with the truth about Cipher, the husband who betrayed her, and the dark conspiracy that nearly ended her life. Cipher thinks she’ll stay. Her ex husband believes she’s dead. They’re both wrong. The Man Who Stole My Name is a gripping dark billionaire romance about twisted love, betrayal, identity, and a woman’s ruthless quest for the truth and revenge.

The year I turned fourteen, Grandma and I were crammed into a beat-up trailer on the edge of a desert town. She couldn't afford paint, so she mixed colors from the cheapest red clay pigment at the general store. When a frame broke, she hammered it back together herself. When canvas tore, she patched the back with old cloth and sealed it with a paste she boiled from leftover church wax and cheap resin. Grandma never went to school. She painted out of pure love, and she kept at it for thirty years. Then one summer, a gallery owner named Evelyn Hart crawled into Grandma's leaky shed and examined every painting, flipping each one over to study both sides. The next day, every last painting was gone. Finished oils, sketches, pigment records, old photographs, frames. Everything cleared out overnight. Three months later, Grandma walked into Evelyn's gallery and saw her own painting, Madonna of the Red Rock, hanging in the brightest spot. But the brass nameplate beside it bore Evelyn's name. She lunged for the painting. The security guards pried her fingers loose and dragged her out the door. That night, a blizzard sealed off the roads. She pounded on the glass, but no one came. The next morning, when I found her outside the gallery, her body was already frozen solid. After the funeral, I went to clean out what was left of the burned shed. Inside the lining of an old brush pouch, I found a small scrap of painted canvas. It was a piece Grandma had trimmed off while repairing Madonna of the Red Rock. The thief had missed it. I tucked it away and kept it. For twenty years. Twenty years later, I was the compliance director at an international art marketplace. A young woman submitted an auction application for a series of paintings. The Desert Madonna Series was about to be sold to collectors and private museums around the world. The collection was valued at more than $150 million. I opened the file. In the artist field, I stared at the name for a long time. "Application denied."

After transmigrating into a novel, I realized the heroine and I had the exact same name. Naturally, I thought I had transmigrated into the female lead. So I marched straight to the man who was still a broke nobody at the time, threw all caution to the wind, and pounced on him like I had plot armor protecting me. He even glared at me with red eyes and told me he hated me. I honestly thought he was just into the whole push-and-pull thing. Everything shattered when the real heroine showed up and I finally understood one thing. He actually hated me. Heartbroken, I packed my bags and got ready to disappear. The next second, he pinned me against the wall. "Where are you going? Already bored of me, sweetheart?"