Bnha Midnight

The crowd starts a countdown to midnight like New Year’s Eve. I close my eyes and smile, holding Liam’s hand tightly. Everyone yells “ONE!” and cheers. I open my eyes and see the iridescent liquid light of the full moon pouring out of the giant orb flowing down over us. People around us ooh and ahh at the beautiful sight.  When the first rays of moonlight cascade over my skin, I feel a heat inside me turn into a burning fire. I gasp and look up at Liam. He looks at me with wide, surprised eyes. “Mate,” he murmurs and squeezes my hand tighter. It isn’t a comforting feeling. There are no sparks like people describe when they touch their mate. Maybe it takes a few minutes to develop. I smile and try to admire Liam, but I don't want to say it back. Nothing feels different. I still love him, but he’s not the one. Liam is looking at me, but it isn’t a look of true love. It’s lustful and carnal. I feel a pit in my stomach. Liam isn’t my mate. How can this be? And how was he able to call me his mate if he’s not mine? “Zara,” a woman’s voice says in my head, “My name is Lavender. I’m your wolf and you’re in grave danger, my dear. You need to run. You need to run now. Your life depends on it.” “My… wolf?” With everything that happened the past couple of hours, I forgot she was waking up. “L-Lavender, what’s happening? What do you know?” Lavender repeats her order. “Zara, you need to run. I can explain later. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, sweet girl.”

“Relax. It was meaningless. It didn’t mean a thing.” Three years. That’s how long Lena Carter loved Evan Brooks—three years of loyalty, late nights, and believing she was building a future with him. Until she finds him in a hotel suite bathroom, hands braced against marble, whispering excuses while her cousin—and closest friend—fixes her lipstick in the mirror. All this happens during Lena’s promotion celebration. Lena should be home, crying into cheap wine and shattered dreams. Instead, she’s stranded on a quiet Los Angeles street at midnight, phone dead, heels in hand, with a group of drunk men circling closer than comfort allows. Then a black luxury sedan pulls up. The man who steps out wears a tailored suit, calm eyes, and an authority that makes the street go silent. Mason Hart. Billionaire. Tech CEO. And—unknown to him—the elusive owner of the company where Lena works as an executive assistant two floors below the C-suite. He offers her a ride. She hesitates. She takes it. That single decision rewrites her life. Mason doesn’t mix business with emotions. He doesn’t date employees. And he definitely doesn’t rescue strangers with haunted eyes. But Lena’s quiet strength, the way she refuses pity, the way pain sharpens her instead of breaking her—it gets under his skin. Lena just wants to forget the man who betrayed her. Mason offers distraction. Protection. Desire without promises. But Evan refuses to let go, spreading lies and suddenly desperate to “fix things.” Her cousin is determined to destroy what little Lena has left. And the closer Lena grows to the powerful CEO who signs her company’s paychecks, the more dangerous her heart becomes. Because falling for a billionaire who doesn’t believe in love might hurt worse than betrayal.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

⚠️ WARNING: 18+ ONLY. Extremely Explicit. Dark Themes. This is not a "sweet" romance. This is your new obsession. Read only if you're ready to get ruined. Age Gap,Best Friend's Father,Obsessive/Possessive Hero,Praise/Degradation & Primal Play,Graphic Smut & Mature Themes🥵🥵🔞🔞 Let’s be honest. You’re not here for the plot. You’re here for the sin. Welcome to the Smut World🥵 "Call my name, Ariana" Mateo’s breath was a scorching sin against her ear, his hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back to expose the pale, trembling line of her throat. He didn't wait for her answer. He bit—a sharp, possessive claim that made her arch against him, her fingers digging into his expensive suit. "M-Mateo," she brokenly whispered, her dignity dissolving in the dark of his library. "Again. Tell me who owns you." ___ Ariana Cole came to Madrid to be a nurse. She came to save lives and build a future. But the moment she collided with Dr. Mateo López, she realized she wasn't there to save anyone—she was there to be consumed. He is the "Ice Surgeon." Twenty years her senior. Her boss. And her best friend’s father. He is a monster in a white coat who doesn't believe in "no." He doesn't want her heart; he wants her submission. He wants to hear her scream his name while his daughter sleeps just down the hall. This is a hostile dance of power, denial, and filthy, intoxicating lust. Every sterile hospital hallway is a hunting ground. Every midnight encounter in his mansion is a lesson in how much she’s willing to lose. Her career? Her best friend? Her sanity? Mateo is going to take it all. And Ariana? She’s going to beg him for more.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."