Bills Bills Bills Lyrics Novels & Stories

Freya Dalton walks into what she thinks is her engagement party and finds out her boyfriend of four years, Silas Ravencroft, is not proposing to her. He is announcing his engagement to another woman chosen by his family. When Freya drags him backstage for an explanation, Silas calmly tells her she does not fit the status of a future Luna beside him. His family wants a political match. He still “loves” her, he says, so he is willing to keep her as his mistress. He will continue paying her sick mother’s medical bills, keep her comfortable, and visit her in secret. All she has to do is accept and stay available. Freya spits in his face and walks out drunk, shattered, and furious. At the entrance, she throws herself at the first man she sees, asking him to take her away for the night. Unknown to her, that man is Raiden Ravencroft. Silas’s uncle. The real power behind the Ravencroft empire. The ruthless Alpha who makes board members shake and enemies disappear. Their drunken night should have been a mistake. Instead, it becomes the beginning of Freya’s downfall and her rise. The next morning, Freya runs before she can even learn his full truth, because the doctor just called that Silas cancelled the hospital payments keeping her mother alive. Desperation forces Freya to accept the first high-paying job she can get. As Raiden Ravencroft’s new secretary. Now Freya enters Raiden’s world with a plan: tempt him, get enough money to save her mother, then leave before she falls too deep. But Raiden already knows exactly who she is. And unlike his nephew, the Alpha uncle doesn’t intend to let her go so easily.

Lyra Cole has spent her life fighting to survive. Burdened with the hospital bills for her ailing mother. Her life has always been a delicate balancing act, working multiple jobs to care for her sick mother and younger brother while hiding her talent in digital art, a skill that could change her life if given a chance. But when her mother's condition suddenly deteriorates, she is faced with a staggering medical bill that she cannot possibly pay. Desperate and heartbroken, Lyra turns to her boyfriend, Steve, for help, only to find him betraying her in the cruelest way, shattering her trust completely. With no money, no support, and now unemployed after being unjustly fired from her restaurant job, Lyra feels the walls closing in. Her world seems to collapse until Alexander Dayn, a cold, calculating billionaire CEO, appears with an offer she cannot ignore. He can pay for her mother's treatment but only under one condition; she must enter a contract marriage with him. With no other options, Lyra reluctantly considers the agreement, unaware of the true complexities of Alexander’s world. As they explore a world of luxury, control, and dangerous power plays, Lyra discovers that Alexander's motives are far beyond getting married to her but linked to protecting her from external threats tied to his empire. Undeniable attraction, different personalities, clashing wills, and forced proximity push them into a tense, addictive relationship. Lyra's independence challenges Alexander's dominic, while his control and secrets test her resilience. Their bond is further tested when outside enemies target Lyra and long-buried secrets surface, forcing both to confront their fears, desires, and past mistakes. Eventually, Lyra's courage and talent give her leverage, while Alexander's growing love for her is more than obligation. Together they must choose each other selflessly.

Eli Ashcroft is an Omega whose scent is so faint it is almost nonexistent. His first mate, Elric, betrays him by cheating with Eli’s own Omega best friend, Liam. The double betrayal destroys their bond, shatters Eli’s trust, and leaves him emotionally numb just as his father becomes gravely ill and medical bills begin to suffocate him. With no other choice left, Eli accepts an absurd solution: a contract marriage. His husband is Lucen Blackthorne, the most powerful and feared Alpha in the region. To the pack, the reason for Lucen’s choice is cruelly obvious. Eli bears an uncanny resemblance to his late older brother, Elion, the Omega rumored to be Lucen’s lost mate. The contract is mercilessly clear—three years as a substitute to stabilize Lucen’s unstable wolf, generous payment, then a clean separation with nothing owed. For three years, Eli survives by erasing himself. He suppresses his scent, mimics his brother’s habits, believing imitation is the only reason he is tolerated. When Lucen’s wolf writhes under grief, Eli comforts it quietly, never expecting affection meant for him. Lucen shields him during full moons and touches him with restrained care, yet his golden eyes always seem to look past Eli, searching for someone else. That silent distance hurts more than betrayal ever did. When the contract ends, Eli returns it calmly and prepares to leave, telling Lucen he is finally free. He expects indifference. Instead, Lucen’s control snaps. Alpha pheromones crash down as Lucen tears the contract apart and pulls Eli into his arms, his wolf roaring through his voice as his fangs brush Eli’s nape. “Leave?” Lucen growls softly. “My little wolf… your scent has soaked into my den for three years. And now you want to run? Too late.”

On campus, he was the most well-behaved student in the entire department. Oversized hoodies, black-rimmed glasses, quiet enough to fade into the background. Even when facing the notoriously strict Professor Elliott, he would only lower his head, clutch his books, and murmur a timid, “Professor.” At night, he became the most intoxicating dancer in the club. He wrapped himself around the pole, bent low, rolled his hips—each movement driving the men below into a frenzy. Bills were stuffed into the strap around his thigh as they shouted his name. To cover his obscene tuition fees, he took a private party offering an equally obscene payout. Inside the VIP room, he straddled the pole, bathed in dim, hazy light, fingers reaching for the final restraint he was meant to undo. Suddenly, the man lounging on the sofa stubbed out his cigar and stood. The light swept across his face— It was Elliott. The very man he feared most by day. He walked onto the stage step by step, then slammed him hard against the pole in full view of everyone. “Can’t even breathe in front of me during the day,” Elliott sneered, “but at night you’re here shaking your ass, begging men to f*k you?” His mentor wrenched his arms behind his back. Hot lips brushed his trembling earlobe, his voice low and dangerous. “Noah,” he murmured, “if you’re that desperate for money… why didn’t you just come to me? How much—per night?” He panicked and tried to struggle, but Elliott forced his legs apart with his knee, pinning him against the cold metal. “Don’t hide,” Elliott said softly. “Now. Take off the rest—right in front of me. And if you perform well…” A pause, deliberate. “I’ll pay you ten times tonight’s fee

When I saw my best friend tending to the elderly man upstairs with such diligence in washing his clothes, cooking his meals, feeding him medicine, and giving him massages, I immediately knew that she had been reborn, too. In my previous life, my best friend and I shared an apartment. We were often awakened in the middle of the night by the old man’s cough from upstairs. When I went up to check on him, I learned that his legs were paralyzed, and he had no children or family. Out of sympathy, I decided to care for him. I brought him his daily meals and gave him massages. A month later, out of the blue, the old man mysteriously handed me a bank card and said, “There’s eight million here. It’s my reward to you.” With that money, I immediately went and paid off my father’s medical bills. Later, the old man went even further and transferred the ownership of the apartment that we were renting to me. He told me, “When your father is discharged, move in together. That way, I’ll have someone to keep me company, too!” When my best friend learned of this, however, she went ballistic. During the few days I was having trouble sleeping, she had secretly spiked my water with a lethal dose of sleeping pills. She watched as I died in agony. After my death, my boyfriend, posing as my fiancé, cut off my father’s medical bills and took away the old man’s bank card. Meanwhile, my best friend spread slanderous rumors among the neighbors, claiming the old man gave me money because I had sold myself to him. Half a year later, the two got married and paid in full for a luxury apartment in the city centre. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very day when the old man upstairs was coughing uncontrollably.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.

He didn't want her money. He wanted her. Elara Vance is one bad week away from losing everything. Her freelance career is barely keeping the lights on, her sister is falling apart on her couch, and her car is about to be repossessed. So when she accidentally damages a stranger's luxury car on an empty street, she knows she's ruined. But the man who steps out of the black sedan isn't interested in her insurance. He isn't interested in the police. He isn't even interested in the forty‑two thousand dollars she owes him. Adrian Volkov wants something else entirely. He's been watching her for weeks. He knows about her sister, her bills, her father's death. He knows she's desperate enough to do anything. And he's about to prove it. The contract is simple: she moves into his mansion, follows his rules, and becomes his Doll. In exchange, her debt disappears. No police. No record. No questions. But the rules aren't what she expects. The mansion is a cage, the servants know more than they say, and Adrian's cold exterior hides something darker than she ever imagined. He doesn't just want her body. He wants her submission. Her trust. Her surrender. And he won't stop until he has all of it. Elara tells herself it's just a transaction. A way to survive. But the line between obligation and desire blurs with every glance, every touch, every night she spends in his bed. The more he controls her, the more she craves it. And the more she learns about his past, the more she realizes: she was never the one in control. And now that she's his Doll, he'll never let her go. Doll is a dark romance with explicit content, power dynamics, and a slow‑burn descent into obsession. Recommended for readers 18+.

On the night of our third anniversary, Killian missed dinner again. Texted me he was working late at the auto shop. I looked at the $5.90 clearance cake on the table. I'd fought a crowd at the grocery store to buy it. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. We need to save for a real house in Brooklyn, I told myself. I put the cake in the fridge. I wrapped my cheap coat tight and walked into the cold to deliver late-night takeout for extra cash. I never expected to run into my "poor" husband at a luxury hotel in Manhattan. He stepped out of a Rolls-Royce in a sharp custom suit, tossing hundred-dollar bills to the valet. A hot woman wearing a priceless pigeon-blood ruby followed behind him, hooking his arm. "Killian, it's snowing so hard. Are you really going back to Brooklyn to play house with your naive little peasant wife?" she whined. Killian looked at the cheap, tarnished silver ring on his finger. A hint of softness crossed his cold eyes. "For three years, she worked five jobs a day to pay off the fake debts I made up. She wouldn't even see a doctor when she was sick." "That's enough. She passed my test. Once I deal with the rat in the family, I'll tell her everything. Give her the glory she deserves as my Donna." The woman bit her lip. "What if she finds out you're a Mafia Don and is just after your money? Why not tell her you have a terminal illness—see if she'll drain her savings to save you. Test her one more time…" Killian stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "One last test. After this, I'm giving her the grandest wedding." The freezing wind howled. I gripped the paper takeout bag. Tears rolled down my face without a sound. I am done with this arrogant, lying love.

Music brings joy,music calms the nerves but can a song bring led to death…… a music box with diabolical setting,words of the box,lyrics of the music,if you want to die listen to their rhythm. Victoria is seventeen-year-old that lives with her parents, being born in a family that loved her and cared for her, never had she felt left alone. But after the death of her father, her mom married again to a wealthy high-class man whose reputation is all that he cares about.

I begged my husband ninety-nine times to go with me to Jay Boone's concert. On the hundredth time, he finally bought two front-row tickets. Dressed to the nines, I was stopped at the entrance by security because I couldn't produce my ticket. By the time the concert ended, I still hadn't been able to get through to him on the phone. News broke that my husband and his young girlfriend were at the concert, requesting "Sunny Day" from Jay Boone. The story shot straight to the trending charts. There's no rain in the lyrics of "Sunny Day." Because the only world caught in a torrential downpour was mine.