Afterward

I've dated Andrew Carter, my surgeon boyfriend, for seven years. We plan 66 weddings, and he cancels every single one for Selena Merrick. The first time, Selena botched a patient's injection. "Wait for me," he said, and I waited the entire day. The second time, she slipped and fell in the shower. We were just about to exchange rings, but he ditched me at the altar without a second thought, leaving me to face the ridicule from the guests. For all 65 weddings I held, Selena always found an excuse to lure Andrew away. At the 65th wedding, she claimed her dog was dying and threatened to take her life. My mom collapsed from stress-induced angina, yet Andrew still ran to Selena. Afterward, he kneels and begs us for forgiveness. "Selena is just a pitiful orphan, but you're the one I'll always love," he declares. I give him one last chance, yet he never fails to disappoint me. That is it. I break up with Andrew and join Doctors without Borders. Goodbye. Let's never meet again.

They said Alpha Draven was a monster deadly, bloodthirsty, cursed. That his pain was a death sentence for every woman who crossed his path, that no woman had ever left his bed alive. They said he sacrificed his brides, just to revive a body cursed beyond redemption. So why did my father choose me? Why was I offered has a substitute, a replacement bride meant to stand in for my sister, Angel? unwanted omega. They wanted obedience. my entire pack handed me over like worthless trash. And I was the price. One night with the monster that was my sentence. Afterward, I was expected to lose my life , because a weak omega like me cannot survive mating with an alpha. No right to want him. No right to crave him. But I do. I crave the monster without mercy. My body responds to his voice, his commands, his presence. I want more of him more than one night, more than a sacrifice meant to end me. My virginity was supposed to be a reward, a peace offering, even if it came wrapped in pain. But Alpha Draven doesn’t do love. He doesn’t believe in mates. His kind takes centuries to choose and those chosen never survive.

My husband persuaded my daughter to donate her kidney to save his lover. After the surgery, he stayed by his lover’s side and neglected my daughter who developed kidney failure that led to her death. When I confronted the nasty couple, they refused to believe that my daughter had passed away and kicked me out by force. Afterward, I took my daughter's ashes to her eighteenth birthday party where my husband showed up with his lover and tore down all the decorations, going as far as to scatter my daughter’s ashes. He then accused my late daughter of undermining his lover’s career. When he finally had to accept that his daughter was dead, he still insisted on defending his lover. Eventually, I showed him proof that it was his lover who refused the hospital’s proposed organ donor so that she could plot to take my daughter’s kidney instead. Upon finding out the truth, he lost his mind and killed his lover. Now that those two have gotten what they deserve, I bring my daughter’s ashes and travel to the places she had always wanted to go to.

Nine years into my "non-cohabiting partnership" with Simon, his father passed away. The first condition in his will was simple: Simon and Ella had to conceive a child. On the day the child turned one month old, Simon would inherit his father's fortune. Simon told me this himself—the night I walked in on them tangled in our bed. Afterward, as he took a slow drag from his cigarette, he murmured, "Lily, just wait a little longer. Once I get the inheritance, I'll marry you." But he went back on his word. From then on, every time Simon planned to meet Ella at our house, he would hang a string of bells on the door. Since his father's passing, those bells had chimed ninety-nine times. After the ninety-ninth, the news arrived—Ella was pregnant, and their engagement party was set. My daughter saw the invitation, hesitated, then softly asked, "Mom, is Daddy's name on this?" I forced a smile and gently smoothed her messy hair into a neat ponytail. "Daddy is marrying the one he loves," I said. "And I'm taking you home." Simon never understood—I never cared about that marriage certificate.

My best friend passed away from postpartum hemorrhage. Ethan said he didn't want his child to grow up without a mother. To repay my best friend for saving my life years ago, I became the child's mother. I gave up my career and ambitions, willingly becoming a full-time housewife. For seven years, I cared for both father and son as if it were my life's mission. Yet, he always remained distant, his tenderness surfacing only in the quiet intensity of late nights. Afterward, he would hand me a few birth control pills. On New Year's Eve, my throat felt strange. I swallowed the pills, only to immediately vomit them all out. Ethan was furious and accused me of harboring ulterior motives. As punishment, he locked me outside on the open balcony in the rain. Our son came running with an umbrella in hand. But he walked past me without a glance and handed it to the housekeeper who was heading out. In that moment, I made up my mind—I would leave.

Yes Sir: Steamy BL Shorts You shouldn’t want it this bad. You definitely shouldn’t be leakíng just thinking about it. But when the man who controls your apartment / your job / your car keys steps too close and says “On your knees. Now.” your body betrays you before your brain can catch up. These aren’t love stories. They’re short, fílthy lessons in what happens when a younger boy forgets who’s in charge. He pins your wrists above your head. He spreads you with rough fingers first — then with something much thicker. He pucks you until your legs give out, until you’re crying into the sheets/car hood/desk, until you’re so fúll of him that every step afterward reminds you who you belong to tonight. One word unlocks everything: “Yes, Sir.” And once you say it… you don’t get to take it back. Standalone. Addictive. Filthy. You’re going to read one chapter and immediately need the next.

A bloody resistance against colonial invasion that tears Seme's indigenous leadership apart marks the entry of a strange culture into the clan. Osayo, the priest, seeks to protect the clan's religious system from erosion by the Blue-eyed (colonists). He, however, has to face off with a few loose canons, including his own son who escapes to a mission center far from home and ends up falling in love with a convert. In the meantime, a terrible plague breaks out in the clan, killing animals and people and leaving the land barren. Coupled by a misunderstanding of concepts in the new faith propagated by the Blue-eyed, a longstanding rift and blame game emerge between the converts and the conservatives, and spuns into a cutural marriage. Soon afterward, Osayo dies and his son, Okayo, realizes he has a greater role to play. The supernormal powers of the clan's aboriginal religious tree are stolen by a witch in line with a prophetic myth. And in a painful and tumultous mission to reunite the two conflicting religions of Seme Clan and limit the Blue-eyed's influence, Okayo puts his front foot forward in combating witchcraft so as to have the tree's powers in safe custody, and protect good from being superseded by evil.

Isebella’s life takes a dramatic turn when her mother falls gravely ill, with one final wish: to see her daughter happily married before she dies. Desperate to fulfill her mother’s dying request, Isebella makes a reckless decision at the Moonlight Party. She marries the first man she meets, Ryan, a stranger with no family, no wealth, and seemingly no future. To Isebella, it’s a temporary arrangement—just enough to give her mother peace. Afterward, she plans to walk away, no strings attached. What she doesn’t know is that Ryan is far from ordinary. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was his destined mate. And behind his quiet, humble façade lies a secret that could change everything. Ryan is the son of the Lycan King, the most powerful prince of the empire. As Isebella and Ryan’s worlds collide, their unexpected union sparks a thrilling journey filled with passion, danger, and ancient secrets. Will Isebella discover the truth before it’s too late, or will her heart be claimed by the very man she never expected to love?

Losing her mate to the vampires takes a turmoil on Peyton Barlowe, and things get worse when no one from her pack believes her because she's nothing but a mere omega. Instead, she gets accused of her mate's death even when she made it known that he got killed because he discovered the vampires' secret. She runs away before a judgment is being passed on, moves into a new town, and hides from the towns' werewolves, scared her smell would sell her out as a rogue. But what she doesn't expect is to save the life of an injured unconscious man who she found outside her doorstep. And when Peyton returns the next day from job hunting, she finds the stranger gone. Afterward, she's dragged out of her apartment by the towns' werewolves and charged for trespassing because she's a rogue and they're scared she'd wreak havoc in their pack. Killian, the cold, ruthless Alpha of the Blue Wave pack goes to the pack's council to oversee the interrogation and immediately recognizes Peyton as his mate, even her scent sells her out as the person who saved him. He doesn't settle with the idea of getting a mate, but he saves Peyton on one condition. She's to be his slave.

Our daughter, Luna Woods, developed a high fever. Her body was burning hot. I immediately dialed 911 for help. The dispatcher on the other end kept repeating his questions. He spoke slowly, as if deliberately stalling for time. By the time I finally heard the ambulance siren, Luna was already turning cold in my arms. In less than a year, my wife and I separated. We were consumed by endless grief and blamed for each other. Afterward, I merely existed for the sake of it. I was a hollow shell of a man. Then, one day, I received a wedding invitation from my ex-wife. The moment I played the audio invitation, a chill ran down my spine. The groom’s voice was identical to that of the slow, dawdling dispatcher from that year! I rushed out, utterly distraught, only to be hit by a roaring train. When I opened my eyes again, I heard Luna crying in the next room. Her forehead was burning hot. My wife hurriedly handed me the phone. “Quick, call 911! I’ll get a wet towel.” My hands trembled as I took the phone. When it was answered, I heard a familiar male voice through the receiver. “911, what’s your emergency?”