Barbie As Rapunzel Painting

I was five months pregnant when my husband, James Fletcher, allowed his mistress to invade our lives—on the very night of our wedding anniversary. But she didn’t just come to flaunt her presence. She came to take my life. Pregnant and vulnerable, I confronted her, desperately clinging to my dignity. But the fight ended with me tumbling down the staircase, my swollen belly crashing against the cold, hard ground. Blood seeped across the floor, vivid and unrelenting. James only arrived after hearing about his precious mistress’ ordeal. He stood there, staring at the pool of blood, at my broken body. But instead of helping me, he rushed to her side. She had nothing but a few superficial scratches, yet he swept her off to the hospital like she was the one dying. By the time he returned, my child was gone. The doctors barely managed to save me. And what did James do? He struck me in front of everyone, his words sharper than the sting of his hand. "Lisa only wanted to bring you a Christmas gift, and you attacked her out of nowhere! You shameless witch!" “She didn’t force her way in! What nonsense! I gave her the house key ages ago. You just can’t stand that she’s prettier and kinder than you!" “You didn’t just hurt her. You killed my child! You vile, despicable woman. Why couldn’t it have been you instead?” Lisa stood beside him, pretending to comfort him while flashing me a smug, victorious smirk. James’s vicious tirade didn’t stop there. He dragged my name onto the internet, painting me as a monster.

During the two months that I was away for a competition, my neighbors insulted me in the neighborhood’s common group chat. [The girl living on the ninth floor, you look like a decent girl. Why are you bringing so many men back home every day?] [Can you moan a little softer? I don’t care if you’re a sex worker, but if you keep making loud noises until midnight, don’t blame me for calling the police!] [Don’t call the police yet. I haven’t had my turn. How much are you charging, Charlene?] My heart sank. Before I left for my competition, I had asked my boyfriend, Jacob Smith, to take care of my luxury river-view apartment. That way, he could keep an eye on my expensive paintings. What was happening? I rushed home in confusion, but when I opened the door, I was further dumbfounded. My 3,000-square-foot apartment had been partitioned into 30 rooms. Meanwhile, Jacob’s childhood friend, Prissy Black, was holding a string of keys as she collected rent money. When they saw me, everyone started laughing. “What? Are you here to rent from Prissy after learning that she’s providing cheap rooms in such a pristine location? “Too bad everyone knows that you’re eyeing her boyfriend. You won’t be able to benefit from doing such a thing!” I was extremely furious as I approached Jacob to talk about it. However, he told me that it was Prissy’s dream to be a landlady. He asked me not to pay it any mind and to treat it as doing a good deed. “You’re rich anyway. Don’t be so calculative. Everyone’s happy now, so what’s wrong with that?” The keys tinkled in Prissy’s hand as if they were taunting me. “This house doesn’t welcome stray animals like you. You have yourself to blame for not having such a nice boyfriend.” The two of them acted all lovey-dovey in front of me, and I immediately called the police. “Someone’s trespassing on my property, and my painting that’s worth 15 million dollars has gone missing. What type of punishment would this entail?”

⚠️ WARNING: THIS IS NOT A SYNOPSIS. IT’S A HINT SPOILER. ⚠️ This is the Story of FOUR HUGE MEN. (And let’s be clear—this is NOT a Reverse Harem.) These guys aren't heroes. They are roles played on four shattered women who didn't see them coming. FIRST UP: STEVE HAYES. The Gym Guy. He didn’t just meet Freya—he claimed her. Owned her. And her daughter? Yeah, they’re his now too. Honestly, you’re going to end up pitying Freya’s ex… because Steve is a literal beast. THINK STEVE IS INTENSE? MEET DIESEL. The Biker. Diesel usually hates shedding blood, he’s got rules. But when it comes to Daisy? Forget the rules. He won't even think twice before painting the pavement red for her. THEN THERE'S NICO. Seriously, Nico is… just come and meet him. He’s a Tattoo Artist, and Phina only went to his studio for one thing: to erase her loser ex’s name from her hand. Guess what Nico told her while he had that needle to her skin? “You can erase him from your hand, but what about your heart? You don't need a cover-up, Phina. You need a real man to make you forget he ever touched you.” She slapped him across the face for that. Hard. GUESS WHO IS SWEATING ON NICO’S BED NOW ASKING FOR IT HARDER? AND FINALLY… LUCA. I’m not even going to say much. Just. Meet. Him. 4 MEN. 4 SHATTERED WOMEN. THEY WERE ALL TEMPTED TO RUIN. COME MEET THEM ALL AND DROP WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT EACH! AS YOU ARE ABOUT TO OPEN EACH CHAPTER, TELL ME WHO YOU CAN’T WAIT TO MEET. (I already picked my dream guy, actually... let's see if you pick the same one.)

The night before the wedding, I'm about to share the news of my pregnancy with Chester Miller when I see Giselle Thorne sitting in his lap intimately. I'm about to storm in and confront them when I notice a man standing beside them. That man looks exactly like Chester, my boyfriend. I freeze, holding my breath as their voices carry clearly through the room. "Chester, this is ruthless. You actually proposed to her. From what I know, Miranda poured so much effort into this wedding," Giselle says. Chester snorts. "Giselle, she ruins your work and costs you the chance to win. I can't wait to see her, all dressed in her wedding gown and beaming with joy, only to watch me walk down the aisle holding your hand. Just thinking about it gives me a thrill." My eyes widen. It's clearly Giselle who has threatened me to hand over my work, and when she fails, she tears up her own painting in fear of losing the competition. Before I can react, the man who looks like Chester suddenly speaks. "Chester, who's walking down the aisle with her—you or me?" Chester chuckles. "Of course I am. Felix, have you forgotten? Miranda belongs to you only at night." In that instant, I finally understand why Chester Miller is cold by day and passionate by night. It turns out they aren't the same person at all. He and Felix are twin brothers. I clutch the pregnancy report tightly, pressing it against the doorframe as I glare at the three of them through the crack. "I won't let any of you get what you want," I vow silently.

"How can I marry a man I do not know?" "Your father is the one who decides what can happen." "Why do I have to marry him?" "Your father wants to do business with him, and it is so much that it would take us from top twenty to top ten." Nirelle’s fate is sealed. After a life of endless scrubbing, suffering, and silence, her father decides her worth lies in securing a business deal. A deal so massive, it promises to thrust their family into elite status—at the cost of her freedom. Married off to a man cloaked in more secrets than the night sky, Nirelle wants to run. But there's nowhere to go. With every ounce of strength she has left, she chooses to shift prisons—from her father’s oppressive home to her new husband’s mansion. Lucien Vexley is nothing like she expected. The name alone strikes fear on the streets, the rumours painting him as a shadowy, ruthless enigma. Yet the man sitting across from her at the dining table, caring for her in ways she’s never known, is nothing like the beast they described. Lucien is a mystery she can’t seem to solve, and worse, he is her father's enemy. "You are handsome?" "It seems you were expecting me to be a beast?" "Well, according to the rumours," "Am I not here as a scapegoat for something?" Nirelle doesn’t understand the warmth beginning to stir in her chest, the way her stomach flutters when he's near. But something is changing. Something deep. Something dangerous. And she can't help it when she wants to join hands with him to take her father down. Sold to My Father's Enemy is a revenge tale that would keep you at the edge of your seats.

> “Stay still, Little Thorn… I want to taste you slowly.” His voice was velvet and ruin. His mouth, a weapon. And I—fool that I was—leaned closer. Before death wore a suit and called itself a lover, I used to believe in beauty. Before the blood. Before the runes. Before I painted the image that killed my parents—I believed my art could save me. Now I know better. I was just weeks from graduating when the painting came to me like a fever. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t plan it. My hands moved, possessed, dragging symbols I’d never seen and a face I’d never forgotten—his. Eyes red as wine. A crown pierced with thorns. And a girl in the center… me. Offering herself. I signed it with a mark I didn’t recognize. I sold it to a stranger. And days later, my parents were dead—no wounds, no reason, just... gone. The police said stress. I say fate. Now I’m being hunted by a world I didn’t know existed. Vampires with ancient courts and older grudges. Symbols that whisper in my blood. And Lucien D’Aragon—the vampire who says I summoned him with my brushstroke. That I belong to him. He says I’m his prophecy. His ruin. His Little Thorn. But I’m not just prey. Something is waking in me. Something hungry. Something I was never meant to survive. If I give in, I lose everything. If I fight, I might finally learn the truth. About my art. About my bloodline. About what really happened that night. And why he keeps whispering that I was painted for ruin... but made for him.

He was told to protect me and yet I want him to ruin me. “Zyran?” He didn’t turn. “What is it, Myra?” I took a shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Our arrangement. I want to understand my part in it.” Finally he turned. His pale eyes gleamed in the dim light, his gaze fixed on me so intently, it felt like a predator tracking its prey. “Your part is to be my wife and mine to give you protection.” “But you are the only one giving. I want to give you something too.” “I’m tired of being just a painting on the wall,” I whispered, stepping closer to him, the air crackling with so much tension, I may have forgotten how to breathe. “You're my husband. In every way, so I want you to teach me.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, his eyes darkening with every word I said. “Teach you what?” “Pleasure.” I said, biting down on my lip out of sheer nervousness “Your kind of pleasure. Show me what you like. Let me learn how to touch you. Let me make you feel something…” I agreed to marry Zyran Theon because he was my brother’s best friend and by far the safest option. A year of cold indifference seemed better than a lifetime of horror. However I never expected to find a man shattered by his own psyche and a constant repression of his urges to claim me and even worse I never expected to want him too.