Barely Surviving Meaning

Alva has been arranged to get married to Lucas, the young heir to the Rossi Empire. On the day that has been arranged for her engagement, Lucas changes his mind, choosing to marry her timid, less attractive servant and throwing the family into chaos. Lucas Rossi is the, strikingly handsome, yet intimidating heir to the Rossi Empire. A man barely seen, completely avoidant of the paparazzi and with rumours spreading here and there about how he is only half human, yet no one can tell what the other half of him is. When he agrees to marry the politician's daughter in paper alone for the sake of business bonds, he is astounded by his sudden pull to the Hazel, whose life is turned upside down when she catches his attention instead. Why has he left the ethereal looking heiress to settle for a mere maid?

“This… this is wrong,” she stuttered, trying not to meet his eyes. “You’re my stepfather. Let’s forget it ever happened.” “How can I forget it happened, Nicole?” He questioned, gripping her chin. “When the image of you whimpering for more replays in my head every fucking night?” When one night of desperation turns into Nicole ending up in bed with a nameless stranger, she’s almost shocked to death when she moves in with her mother’s new husband to see that the nameless stranger is her new stepfather. Tristan Michelson has always been in control of his emotions, but he can barely control himself when he realizes the masked stripper is his new stepdaughter. ~•~ Warning: This story features morally grey leads and a lot of smut.

“Tell me,” he said, low and dangerous. “Tell me who this cunt belongs to.” “You,” I panted, spreading wider, shameless. “It’s yours—please, Micaiah—” “Come on my cock,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “Show me how much you love being fucked by me.” ★⁠☆ Maliya comes home after two years abroad, hoping everything she ran from has finally cooled. But the moment she steps through the door, she realizes nothing has changed—especially not the one person she never wanted to face again. Micaiah. Her stepbrother. Her almost. Her reason for disappearing. She plans to keep her distance, start classes, rebuild her life… until her parents drop the news: they’ve transferred her to a new university, the one where Micaiah works as a professor. And they’re leaving for a three-month honeymoon, meaning she and Micaiah will be living in the same house. Alone. Maliya tells herself she can handle it. But Micaiah has his own ideas about unfinished business. Three months isn’t long… unless you’re stuck with the one person you swore you’d never fall for again.

Aria Douglas, always liberal and explosive, finally found the fit of her shoes. She never believed that she could trust a man again until she realized that she was falling in love with that man. The one she met in a bar, the one with blonde hair that looked dyed-cropped, intense blue eyes, a hooked nose, and lips created by a bloody sex god. Samme got into her skin. And between her legs. She, who did not want to be with anyone, suddenly wanted to be with that man she barely knew. What had she seen in him? There were things she didn't understand about him and she wasn't sure she wanted to answer them either. The only thing that was absolutely clear to her was that she fell in love with a man who was a mystery and an enigma to her.

I was never supposed to be his bride, I was the mistake he couldn’t erase. Killian hated me for breathing and for simply existing. His eyes burned with anger every time they landed on me. There was so much hate and heat between us, I could barely breathe. Then there was Nolan, his brother. Quiet, but dangerous. He didn’t look at me like I was broken. He looked at me like he wanted to take everything I had—body and soul. I didn’t mean for this to happen. But guilt tastes a lot like desire when you’re starving for something real. And now I’m caught between two brothers…one who wants to hurt me, and one who already has. This isn’t just a love triangle. It’s a war. And I’m the weapon.

At Ryder Quinn’s kindergarten parent-child sports day, I expected my husband, Michael Quinn, to be away on a business trip. Instead, I found Michael on stage, dressed in a ballet tutu, dancing as one of the "little swans" in the fathers’ performance. I had barely taken a step forward when a little girl in a floral dress darted into his arms, calling out to him in the sweetest voice, "Daddy!" There they stood: Michael, his assistant, Janine Carter, and her daughter—all in matching family outfits. The moment our eyes met, Michael quickly pulled away from her, fumbling for an excuse. "Janine’s a single mom. It isn’t easy for her. I was just helping out." I smiled, cold and steady, and handed him the divorce papers. "Then, do me a favor too, Michael. Stop wasting my youth."

"Didn't you ask me to marry you? I permit you to wed me," said the raven-haired woman with a straight, blank face. "...Pardon?" "Let's get married." "...Weren't you the one who repeatedly rejected my proposal last night?" "Can't a woman play hard to get?" The man's face twitched. He could barely keep up with her, "Look, once you—" "So, you won't marry me?" A strange glint passed through the man's amber orbs which disappeared quickly just as it came by. "Who's to say I won't?" — In which a commander of a special unit under the PSIA found himself in a contractual marriage with his strange and mysterious neighbor. Little did he know that she's one heck of a little assassin.

Colter Giordano, my fiancé of six years, heir to the Giordano family, took a bullet for a dancer named Mia. He didn't take one for me. A bullet tore through my shoulder. Blood bloomed across my dress, hot and sticky. But my heart hurt worse. He asked if I was okay. Just once. Then he rushed Mia to the hospital, leaving me bleeding on the floor. The next day, Mia's picture popped up on my Instagram feed. There she was, in a luxury hospital suite. Colter was fussing over a scratch on her arm that was barely there. The caption was just two words: "My Hero." I liked the post. Then I made an encrypted call. "The Falcone family's offer," I said. "I'm taking it. Get me on a plane to Sicily. Three days."

On the eve of my wedding, my wife, Sharon Moonstone, drugged me and knocked me unconscious. She let her first love, Aaron Miller, take my place as the groom, standing beside her as they held the wedding that was supposed to belong to both of us. By the time I finally found them, they had already gone into the bridal suite and consummated their marriage. When I demanded answers, Sharon did not show a trace of guilt. "You live off me. You'd better behave. Make a scene, and we'll divorce." My heart went cold. I handed her the divorce papers, but she barely looked at them. "Looks like you've improved," she said lightly. "At least you know a performance should be convincing from start to finish."

The sense of not belonging somewhere was an understatement especially if you’re living a life like Rosalie’s. After the death of her parents, Rosalie moved from Arizona to Queensland, Australia to live with her grandfather, a man who she had never seen since she was three years old, but this was her father’s request if anything had happened to his and his wife. But what was the point, Rosalie found it pointless that she was told to go live with a man that she barely even knew, but there were reasons and secrets as to why she never knew her grandfather and the things that revolve around him. These secrets and motives involve 7.5 feet, 400-pound creatures with four legs, a tail, inhuman speed, and strength, and enhanced senses that were patiently waiting for Rosalie’s arrival. In the pack, they say, “Sharing is Caring” but how caring is it when it becomes “Selfish”?