Santisteban Book

She lied to herself. She told herself that her heart was on fire because of 'Pumpkin' Santiago's disabled daughter. Yes, she loved the beautiful damsel but she loved her father far more. But he is a notorious mafia lord, how can she be with such a man? At the end of 365 days, Bianca Forbes and her father were freed from Santiago's clutches. But he had stolen her heart. Santiago Castillo, A Russian Mafia lord and werewolf, shut his heart against Bianca because his wolf liked her. Despite his desire to have her, he let her go because he didn't want to be reminded of his roots. Both parted ways until fate brought them together again. Will they choose love this time or will they allow their sentiments to lead them again?

Caleb Da Stephano is the illegitimate son of the powerful Russ DA Stephano and grandson of Gus Da Stephano. After Caleb's companies gets taken from him as the heir by Gus Da Stephano following his reckless lifestyle, he is forced into depression which leads him to a one night stand with the woman he never imagined he would be seeing in his life again, talk more of sleeping with. His elementary school nemesis. After catching her boyfriend sleeping with her Co worker at their apartment while trying to make it to the hospital on time before her mother dies of cancer, Mabel Lora finds her life crumbling, leaving her numb, only to find solace at a bar, in an unknown part of the city where only the stinking rich belonged. She's saved from holligans by Caleb, subjecting them to a one night stand. Unknown to the two of them, fate had brought two enemies together once again for a purpose. He’s dangerous, addictive, and Her newest assignment. The future she desperately hopes for rests in the palm of his hands. Breathtakingly handsome and painfully private, he’s the sinner who killed a saint. That’s what the world sees when they catch a glimpse of Caleb Da Stephano. Her job is to understand him. His goal is to break her. Only one of their hearts will survive. Let the cruel games begin.

Warning: Matured 18+ contents! HAVING a prosperous rich lifelike Celestine Rain Alcazar is like living in a lie. When she's living in a cage—no freedom of things she wanted. She has the money, luxury, beauty, and brain that men are drooling over her. But there is still something missing in her perfect life. Closing into edge is her feeling when her mom introduced her to Ezekiel Bellevera for an arranged marriage. Her mom doesn't know her secrets between her sheets. Immersed in a fantasy life, Celestine will unravel her identity proving that Ezekiel wasn't the guy for her. And showing that most of the people are Not A Saint, the same as her. The freedom of being true to yourself is her weapon. And she will prove them wrong. But what if the person she loves been cheating on her with her fiancé, Ezekiel, and caught it red-handed? Would she forgive and forget or this is her start of vengeance towards men?

Steffany, struggling after losing her job, unexpectedly agrees to a six-month contract marriage with Sebastian, a wealthy man desperate to avoid a forced marriage to another woman. Their first meeting is a disaster, but when they discover they’re both seeking the same arrangement, Steffany reluctantly accepts. As she steps into the role of his wife, tensions rise when Sebastian’s manipulative sister, Andrea, makes it clear she despises Steffany. Just as things seem to settle, Steffany finds herself pregnant after a wild night with Sebastian. But when Sebastian is injured in an accident, a web of lies begins to unravel. His sister casts doubt on the paternity of the child, and a mysterious figure, Andrew, returns with dangerous secrets from Steffany’s past.

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*

They say Don Julian Marconi would burn the world for one tear of mine. Five years ago, at the Met Gala, he spent millions to hang emeralds around my neck and swore I was his Madonna. Five years later, beneath the velvet boxes of our anniversary, I found a lace strap soaked in sin—and a fresh, crimson smear on his collar that told me exactly whose bed he’d left. I smiled. I asked him to sign a blank sheet of paper. And that meant he was agreeing to whatever I wanted. He called it love. I called it the death warrant for his empire. In fifteen days, I finalized our divorce papers. I boarded the Stella d’Oro as Serena Cole and burned Celeste Marconi to ash on the deck. Then I vanished with his fortune, his power and the one secret that would destroy him. I was the saint he worshipped. Now I am the ghost who haunts him. No groveling. No forgiveness. No second chance. Just ashes.