He Told Me To Wear A Skirt

Scarlets has always been different. Born an omega but shielded from the cruelty that usually came with it, her life under Alpha Jackson’s care has been peaceful — almost charmed. She’s found love with Cole, the Alpha’s golden son: the boy who once saved her, the boy she’s always trusted. The only scar on her past is the shadowy memory of a cruel boy who wore the same face as her beloved — a figure from her childhood who left bruises deeper than skin. After six long years, Lloyd — Cole’s estranged twin brother — returns to the pack. His presence brings back buried fears and half-remembered nightmares. But something doesn’t add up. The man who once haunted her steps with surprising gentleness now. He watches her with sadness, not cruelty. As Scarlet struggles to make sense of the past and the confusing present, she finds herself torn between two brothers. In a world where loyalty is everything and betrayal is a death sentence, Scarlet must choose who to trust before it's too late.

My twin sister died in my arms with his name on her lips. Five years later, I wear red lipstick and heels to seduce the man who murdered her. ~ Five years ago, Anastasia’s world ended in gunfire and ash. Her entire family was slaughtered on her eighteenth birthday, by the man her twin sister loved. Left for dead, Anastasia was saved by a stranger. Broken, enraged, and alone, she was taken in by a woman who taught her how to disappear… and how to kill. Now, she’s Skye, trained to seduce, infiltrate, and destroy. Her mission is simple: get close to Nikolaus Volkov, close enough to break him. But killing him isn’t enough. She wants to make him suffer, to crave her, to need her. And when he’s completely at her mercy… she’ll rip him apart the way he tore her world to pieces. A kiss meant to disarm ignites something deadly, Desire. Obsession. Confusion. Nikolaus is not the cold-blooded monster she expected. He’s worse. And yet, with every stolen glance and kiss, Skye begins to slip. Revenge was the plan. Desire was never part of it. Now, she’s playing a game she might not win. Under Her Skirt: The Last Kiss is a dark, twisted mafia romance of seduction, revenge, and ruin, where every kiss could be a betrayal… and every heartbeat could be your last.

After the plane crash, my body was never recovered. My soul drifted back to the home I hadn't stepped foot in for five years. They didn't know I was dead. They were still waiting for me to come home for Christmas. When my mom got the call from the airline, she froze for a long time, completely at a loss, before breaking down in tears. I followed them as they went to the memorial crash site. That was when I noticed something strange—I could see their levels of regret hovering above their heads. My brother's regret level read: 40%. My father's showed: 60%. Even my sister-in-law had 30% over her head. But my mother's regret level? It flashed a cold, unchanging 0%.

On August 23, the Metropolitan Police entered a well-appointed flat at 36 Suffolk Street, in the heart of London. In the flat, they found an ensuite bathroom; in the bathtub, they found a padlocked bag, and in the bag, they found the body of Tina Davis Tina, a brilliant mathematician, worked in Cheltenham for GQHC, Britain's domestic eavesdropping agency. She lived in London on secondment to MI6, Britain's Secret Intelligence Service, and the block of flats where they found her body is an MI6 "safe house reportedly". Uninterested in potential national-security angles, the police immediately announced they were looking for clues to Tina's mysterious death in the details of her private life. But they didn't make much headway. A month after discovering her body, they still hadn't determined the cause of death, although they had admitted the case was "complex" and "unexplained." It seemed like a job for Quintus Noone Fortunately, he happened to be available.

On the flight to Arlencia, a post popped up: [What's it like to have sex in a wedding dress?] The pic showed a girl yanking some guy's purple tie while he hiked up her gown. His face was blurred, but hers? Straight-up blissed out. Everyone in the comments was swooning over how in love they looked. I didn't swoon. I froze. Because that purple tie? I gave it to Zeke Santoro, my fiancé, a few days ago. And that wedding dress? The exact custom one he had made for me. There was only one. I kept zooming in, heart racing, until I spotted a family photo in the background. My hands were shaking when I called him. "I wanna see the dress," I said. He hesitated. "It's at the studio getting final touches. Not with me right now. I'll show it to you later." I just smiled and hung up. That was all I needed. Zeke cheated—and the girl? His stepsister, Jella. Total circus. I reopened the post and shot her a DM: [Your wedding dress is stunning. I have the same one.]

My mom always said, "I've never played favorites. "You and your brother mean exactly the same to me." She said it so often I almost believed it. Growing up, anything my brother had, I had too. If he got a new pair of sneakers, so did I. If he signed up for coding classes, I was enrolled in the same ones. Even this year, when we came home for the holidays, my mom smiled as she handed each of us a neatly-packaged designer shopping bag. "I picked these out for you two at the store. One for each of you, exactly the same. "These outdoor brands are expensive, you know. A single jacket costs thousands. I'd never buy one for myself, but I don't mind splurging on you two." I took the jacket. It was well-cut, structured, and looked high-quality. A small warmth stirred in my chest. However, when I tried it on, the collar felt oddly irritating against my skin. Frowning, I pulled back the lining to check. There was a ring of yellowed sweat stains around the label, and tiny flakes of dandruff were caught in the Velcro. A faint musty smell lingered on the cloth, mixed with the stale odor of cheap tobacco. It was sour and impossible to ignore.