Brie And The Borrowed Blade Novels & Stories

"S-stay away from me." She stammered while moving her steps backward just to hit the edge of the table. "Why would I do that?" He placed his hands on her either side surrounding her in his woody scent. She couldn't help but took a deep breath. "It's my p-personal space." She turned her face towards the bookshelf beside the table as he leaned his face closer. "Hmm..." He hummed as her whole body shuddered when he started tracing her jugular vein with his nose. Her mouth was dry as the aura of his scent was gone and fear conquered her body. "You are my personal thing too." He groaned jerking her towards him by her waist. "L-lea..." Her lips couldn't form the words as he captured her soft lips in a swift. ←→ Ara Smith, daughter of a priest, drowned in innocence. She is a 19 years old girl with a cheeky smile but she didn't get the chance to smile much after her father's death. ‹› Gareth Blade, a 31 years old mafia billionaire is another name for a nightmare. No one dares to match his stoned gaze that reflects his stoned heart. He can own the things that ever attracts his eyes but this time his eyes didn't fall on something but someone.

My sister always prided herself on her self-control. Even after six years of dating, she still insisted she was untouched. One day, I noticed something strange–her tongue was covered in metal piercings. That was when I realized… she had been using a different way all along. When I confronted her, she only smirked. "This way, men enjoy it more–and they become obsessed precisely because they can't have me. You wouldn't understand." However, looking at the damage already spreading through her mouth, I could not stay silent. I told her the risks–disease, even cancer–and that men obsessed with that kind of "purity" weren't good people to begin with. She did not listen. That very night, she gave herself to a powerful heir. Later, when the woman he truly loved returned, he discarded her without hesitation. She laughed it off, calling him a scumbag. However, on my birthday, she hid a knife inside a cake–and slammed it into my face. As the blade pierced through me, she burst into laughter. "If you hadn't pushed me to give it away, why would he stop valuing me? Why would he leave me? "This is all your fault. You deserve to die." When I opened my eyes again– I was back to the day I first saw the piercings on her tongue.

When American engineer Evan Hart arrives in Rome, he expects worn stones, ancient architecture, and a chance to quietly rethink his failing marriage. He doesn’t expect Livia Moretti—the enigmatic archivist whose fragile intensity pulls him into a slow-burning, dangerous affair he never meant to start. Livia is brilliant, secretive, and a little broken… and Evan can’t stay away. But when he finally tells his wife Leah he wants a separation, she collapses, claiming she’s been diagnosed with a devastating neurological disease. Overnight, Evan’s guilt becomes a trap. Then Livia disappears without a trace. Anonymous photographs of him and Livia arrive in the mail. A stranger begins watching his apartment. And Leah—sweet, steady Leah—starts behaving in ways he can’t explain. When Evan finds hidden documents and photographs connecting the two women in his life, he follows a clue to a remote coastal village, where he learns Livia once lived under a different name… and may have been running from something far darker than heartbreak. As Evan digs deeper, he uncovers the edge of a conspiracy built on identity, memory, and manipulation—one determined to keep its secrets buried. Someone is pulling strings. Someone is rewriting the truth. And someone wants Evan to stop asking questions. Caught between a wife he no longer understands and a lover who may not be who she claimed to be, Evan is forced to confront the one question he never thought to ask: If the women in his life are wearing borrowed identities… then who has been shaping his? In a story of seduction, deception, and emotional obsession, All the Names She Wore explores the dangerous terrain between love and control—and what happens when the truth becomes the most terrifying lie of all.

Just because his first love's younger brother accidentally fell into Shadow River, my Alpha mate, Ethan Horn, forced me, the only Spirit Soother of our pack, to go and rescue him. When I sank to the bottom of the river, I chose not to save him. When the man was pulled out of the river, the healer lamented, "If it were a few minutes earlier, Leo might have been saved. What a pity." Ethan's first love, Serafina Pike, had her wolf soul shut off and soon passed away because she missed her younger brother, Leo Pike. From that moment on, Ethan, who had once loved me, hated me to the core. Without giving me a chance to explain, he slit my throat with a silver blade and ruthlessly sealed my wolf soul. Later, he believed the heresy of the witch about soul sacrifice and nailed me and our young daughter in coffins before burying us alive by Shadow River as sacrifices to resurrect his beloved Serafina. In the end, the woman he deeply loved did not come back to life, and my daughter and I died with endless resentment. When I reopened my eyes, I had returned to the night when Ethan forced me to jump into the river to save Leo. I tied up the specially made rope and asked him for the last time, "Are you really sure that you can bear the consequences after I rescue him?"

Three years ago, Venessa's husband, Marcus, married her to take revenge on his rich brother, Oren Weiss, who had an obsessive crush on Venessa. Now three years later, Venessa is stuck with a deadbeat husband and she just discovered that he is on a romantic vacation with another woman after she borrowed a substantial loan to fund his dying business. Deeply heartbroken and in desperate need for emotional support, she calls her best friend, Bianca, who suggests to meet her at the city's most luxurious bar. As Venessa waits for her friend inside the expensive bar reserved for elite rich, she finds herself in the company of an incredibly charming and most handsome stranger her eyes has ever gazed at. Oren Weiss also seems to treat her better than any man ever has. Drunk and eager to rid herself of the heart wrenching stress, she ends up having a night of passion with the irresistibly gorgeous man. A week later, Venessa realizes that she is pregnant with the strangers child. She decides to keep it a secret and escorts her husband to his family's reunion. She is utterly shocked to see the dazzlingly handsome stranger met at the bar, Oren Weiss, among the members of Wessington family. Turns out that her one-night-stand is her husband's filthy rich mafia brother, who inherited his father's entire fortune and wisely multiplied it through strategic dealings. Oren Weiss has returned to the city more powerful than ever before. He has had fantasies about Venessa, the girl he desired since childhood, every night and day of his life. He has returned to reclaim her from his envious brother, and he will use every twisted, ruthless and stupefying means to end the crumbling marriage and take the woman he has always wanted.

She found out her ex borrowed loan in her name and used the only house her father gave her as a collateral a day before his death so she let his father fuck her in her mourning dress during his funeral service. She caught her hockey captain boyfriend giving bj to his teammate so she stepped walked up to the principal which was his father and dropped her panties in front of him. Caught her husband of five years dryhumping her sister so she signed the divorce papers and fucked her dad before him while he was forced to watch. Dear Ex, Your Father Fxxked Me Better: Filthy Shorts is a scorching collection of standalone short stories where scorned women turn the ultimate betrayal into their most delicious revenge. After being lied to, cheated on, and discarded like yesterday’s news, these fierce, broken-hearted heroines decide the best way to destroy their exes isn’t violence or drama — it’s pleasure. Raw, forbidden, mind-blowing pleasure in the arms (and bed) of the one man their ex could never compete with: his own father. From the ruthless billionaire patriarch they once feared… to the magnetic silver-fox rival they secretly admired… these older, dominant, dangerously possessive men don’t just give them revenge, they give them passion so intense it rewrites their entire lives. Expect filthy, addictive age-gap erotica packed with power plays, jealous exes losing their minds, family scandals that shake New York’s elite circles, and heroines who walk out of luxurious bedrooms completely transformed — bolder, stronger, and deliciously ruined in the best possible way. Because sometimes, the sweetest revenge isn’t making him cry. It’s making his father moan your name.

I died listening to my husband fuck his mistress in our bed. Six months pregnant, I bled out on the bathroom floor while they laughed in the next room, while Scylla moaned his name loud enough for me to hear through the walls. The last thing I heard was my husband telling her she felt better than I ever did, and the last thing I felt was my baby going still inside me. Then I woke up. Not in heaven, not anywhere I recognized. In a penthouse overlooking the city where I died, with a man standing over me who said he brought me back as an experiment. Zephyr Arcanis, billionaire, recluse, apparently the only person alive who knows how to resurrect the dead. He gave me three years before my borrowed time runs out, three years to do whatever I want with this second life. I chose revenge. I should focus on destroying Dexter and Scylla, on making them pay for what they did to me and my baby. But Zephyr watches me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve, touches me like he's afraid I'll vanish, and when I get close to my ex-husband for the plan, Zephyr's jealousy turns vicious in ways that terrify and thrill me. He says he doesn't feel anything, says I'm just an experiment to test his power. Then why does he bleed when I hurt? Why does his skin turn pale every time he saves me? And when my three years are almost over, why does he whisper that he'll die in my place if it means I get to keep living?

I was sent to evaluate him. Now, he’s the one judging my soul. As a psychologist for the Pacific Behavioral Unit, I deal with the most dangerous shifters in the Territories. But Mason Cross isn’t just a prisoner. He’s the King of the West Coast, a lethal Alpha with emerald eyes that don’t just look at me—they strip me bare. One mistake in a silver-lined cell, and I’m no longer the doctor. I’m the prey. When a night at the Velvet Moon turns into a bloodbath, Mason doesn't just save me—he claims me. He hauls me to his brutalist fortress on the cliffs, a world of glass, salt, and ancient wolf laws. He says he’s protecting me from the Lunar Syndicate. He says I’m his prisoner for my own safety. But as his hands find the curve of my waist and his teeth graze the pulse point of my throat, I realize the "Mask of Civility" is slipping. Behind the tailored suits and the CEO title is a beast that hasn't fed in a long time. I have a silver blade in my stays and a secret in my blood that could burn the Territories to the ground. But when the moon rises over the Cross Estate, I don’t want to run. I want to see if the King of the Ferals bites as hard as he barks. High stakes. Raw instinct. A love that draws blood.

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.

I was born a liar. That was the label my mother gave me. In the Dark Moon Pack, every pup carries a Lunar Mark on their wrist. Green means truth. Red means liar. My twin sister Maya slashed Mommy's ceremonial dress with a blade and blamed the pack hounds. Her wrist stayed soft and green. My mark went crimson when I said I was cold. "Mommy, I'm telling the truth. Please believe me." Elena would crouch down, look me in the eye, and say the same thing every time. "The Goddess's mark is absolute, Selena. Your own heart betrays you." She never touched me. She just looked at my wrist with disgust. No matter how honest I tried to be, my heart would race when I was scared. And every time my pulse spiked, the mark turned red. I lied when I said I was hungry. I lied when I said I loved her. I lied when I cried. After enough years, I stopped fighting back. I started to believe her. Maybe I really was broken. Maybe I was just born wrong. The night I died, I wrote one last line in my Penance Journal. "Mommy, help me. It hurts. Please — just believe me once." She never saw it. She had already locked the door and walked away. I'm sorry, Mommy. I died still trying to get it right. In my next life — will you hold me?