Café Funiculi Funicula

I was reborn. Opening my eyes on the sofa, the television flickered before me, broadcasting another financial news segment about my husband, Jasper Brolin. The Alpha of the Moonblood pack, a man who had sat at the top of the billionaire list for years, was speaking with his usual cool authority. Broad-shouldered and sharp-featured, he carried an air of cold command that made him untouchable. Whenever he stepped into the public eye, the crowd surged with screams and breathless admiration. My marriage to him was the envy of our entire circle, and every woman wished to step into my shoes. As I watched the screen, memories of my tragic death in my last life came rushing back, sending a quiet ache through my chest. My wolf rumbled low in my chest. "So we're back. Now what?" "Break the bond," I whispered. "I'm leaving him." "He'll never agree to that." "That's why I need her help," I replied, thinking of the woman I had always disliked—Halle. Halle walked into the café, a smug smirk was plastered on her face. Having grown up alongside Jasper, she was regarded as his inner circle, and people never failed to give her the highest courtesy. I slid a mate-bond dissolution document across the table. "I need your help, Halle. And of course, there's something in it for you too." She glanced through the papers, suspicion flashing in her eyes. "Are you leaving him?" she asked. My voice was calm, "Maybe you're the one he really wants by his side." In my last life, I was the perfect Mrs. Brolin, envied by all, yet never the one he held closest. This time, I would take my unborn pup and leave quietly.

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.

Claire Blake, 23, works double shifts at a café to cover her mother's medical bills and her brilliant sister Clara's college tuition. Her life is a careful sacrifice - no room for dreams, only survival. Then she accidentally spills coffee on Damian Cole, billionaire CEO and the city's most eligible bachelor. Instead of anger, he's kind. Days later, his assistant calls with an impossible offer: pretend to be his girlfriend for six months. His family won't stop pressuring him to marry, and his manipulative ex-fiancée Caroline refuses to accept they're over. In exchange: $10,000 monthly, her mother's medical expenses covered, and a completion bonus that would transform her family's life. Claire knows it's crazy - she doesn't belong in his world of charity galas and high society. But the money would solve every problem. So she signs the contract and steps into a glittering world where everything feels like pretend. Except it doesn't stay pretend. Damian isn't the cold CEO she expected. He remembers her coffee order, values her opinions, treats her family with genuine warmth. His careful respect comes from protecting his sister from abuse - he's not controlling, he's considerate. As Claire navigates his world, the performance becomes real. When he kisses her, he confesses: "This stopped being fake for me weeks ago." But Caroline launches a media campaign suggesting their relationship is paid - uncomfortably close to the truth. With headlines dissecting Claire's background and questioning whether she "belongs," they must choose transparency over hiding. Can a love that started as a contract become real enough to survive the spotlight?

__Althéa MAXWELL est un jeune de 26 ans, le PDG et l'architecte d'une entreprise numérique occidental. L'une des meilleures de San Jose avec tant d'actionnaires. Il est beau, mais il est froid. Ne se soucie que de sa fille de six ans, Myla. Et ses deux amis d'enfance Cole et Austin qui sont plus des frères pour lui. Il a en horreur tout ce qui concerne les dames depuis qu'il a surpris sa femme en train de faire l'impensable avec son employé. Depuis lors, il a juré de ne plus jamais avoir quelque chose à faire avec les femmes. Voici Bernila GIVONANNI. 22 ans très fascinante... attentionné et emphatique. Mais la maladresse est sa nature. C'est le premier enfant de ses parents avec une petite sœur ennuyeuse. Elle méprise l'idée du bain, des pommades et par-dessus tout, se brosser les dents. Sa meilleure amie est Nora et ses trois poupées par-dessus laquelle elle interagit comme des êtres humains. Elle est juste diplômée du collège mais elle a pu obtenir un boulot dans un petit café. Que se passe-t-il quand elle est virée de son travail à cause de son attitude maladroite ? Que se passe-t-il quand elle tombe sur ce connard au cœur froid ? Que se passe-t-il quand Mr “ Fronce trop les sourcils “ rencontre “ Miss maladroite” Entre : Amour inattendu, jalousie, romance au de bureau, conflit, comédie... larmes, Action, Suspense…

Il y a dix ans, Camila Marisol a ri pendant que la foule a déchiré le seul garçon qui l'ait jamais aimée. Maintenant, il possède le monde dont elle voulait faire partie. Valerio D'Amato est devenue tout ce qu'elle pensait vouloir : impitoyable, puissante et intouchable. Quand ils se rencontrent à nouveau, ce n'est pas le destin. C'est un piège. Il ne veut pas être pardonné. Il veut qu'elle se souvienne. Mais l'empire de Valerio n'est pas aussi brillant qu'il n'y paraît. Son amant, Isabella Romano, est une princesse de la mafia qui a construit sa vie sur la loyauté et le pouvoir. Et son cousin Luca, le plus vieil ennemi de Valerio, attend une chance d'attaquer. Ils transforment la vengeance en un sport de sang, ruinant l'héritage de la famille de Camila, qui était une simple cafétéria que son père a construite pour nourrir les pauvres. La perte fait plus mal que n'importe quelle honte. Ce n'est plus seulement la vengeance de Valerio ; c'est la guerre. Le pouvoir, la fierté et le vieil amour se réunissent, et Camila doit choisir ce pour quoi elle se bat : l'homme qui peut la ruiner, la vérité qui peut la sauver, ou les cendres de la fille qu'elle était. Certaines dettes sont payées avec du sang. D'autres, dans le pardon. Certaines malédictions ne s'en vont jamais ; elles sont simplement réécrites.

Une seule règle permet de survivre à la nuit : ne parle jamais à un Ange de la Mort. Ne regarde jamais un Sang-Pur dans les yeux. Parce que si tu le fais… tu es déjà mort. Violetta Noirval est une aberration : une Sang-Pur qui refuse de se nourrir. Elle se cache à la vue de tous — amphithéâtres universitaires, cafés anonymes, humanité empruntée — protégée par le seul père qu’elle ait jamais connu. Jusqu’au jour où un Ange de la Mort réduit cette vie en cendres. Un meurtre brutal. Un secret révélé. Et le pouvoir enfoui de Violetta s’éveille enfin — incandescent, incontrôlable, terrifiant. Désormais, c’est elle la chasseuse. Elle traque l’assassin jusqu’à son antre et l’anéantit dans une tempête de sang qu’elle ne pourra jamais effacer. La Brigade Anti-Vampire se rapproche. Le détective Vauclair — implacable, brillant, obsédé par le mythe des sang-purs — devrait l’arrêter sur-le-champ. À la place, il lui propose un marché : l’aider à démanteler le complot qui menace les derniers humains… ou mourir en bouc émissaire. Un marionnettiste tapi dans l’ombre. Des trahisons au cœur même de son cercle fragile. À chaque mise à mort qu’elle n’a jamais voulu commettre, le cœur de Violetta brûle plus fort. Elle pourrait sauver son espèce brisée… ou devenir l’arme qui achèvera l’œuvre de l’Ange de la Mort. Dans un monde gouverné par les monstres, la créature la plus dangereuse est peut-être la seule à croire encore à la pitié. La vraie question est : la pitié survivra-t-elle à Violetta ?

My mom, Gina Lowry, uses the six million dollars from selling our family hotel to buy my cousin, Harry Sullivan, a villa. The next day, my fiancé of five years, Charles Gomez, dumps me. "Vivian, this is the end for us," Charles says, sitting in the café of a five-star hotel. His tone is so matter-of-fact that it sounds as if he's merely discussing a business deal. The engagement ring in my hand suddenly feels burning hot. I ask, "Why? Our wedding is next month." He stirs his coffee casually and replies, "Your family is known for favoring sons above all else. I looked into it. Your parents sold off the family business and gave all the assets to your cousin, Harry." A chill runs through my whole body as I argue, "That was my parents' decision. It has nothing to do with me!" "Does it really have nothing to do with you?" Charles looks up, his gaze sharp. "You're a daughter of the Sullivan family. In the future, you'll have to keep supporting your useless cousin endlessly. My family won't have any part in such an unreasonable practice. It's simply too embarrassing." In a trembling voice, I plead, "Charles, we've been together for five years. Is what we have less than these worldly considerations?" He lets out a light scoff. "What we have? Vivian, you're 28. How are you still this naive? In our circle, marriage is never just about two people." He stands up and adjusts the cuff of his custom suit. "I hope you find someone more suitable for you." I watch his resolute back as he walks away. Biting my lip hard, I refuse to let the tears fall. My phone chimes as a message from my mom comes in. In the photo, Harry is standing in front of a luxury villa with his arm around the influencer girlfriend he's been dating for three months. He is smiling smugly, like he's at the top of the world. Mom sounds overjoyed in her voice message. "Vivian, look how grand Harry's new home is! Now, he won't have to worry about his marital home when he gets married!" I stare at the photo and laugh through my tears. The moment I leave the family group chat and block all my relatives, my fingertips feel ice-cold. I sneer inwardly, "Since a daughter can never compare to a son in your hearts, then from now on, that precious nephew of yours will be your only family. When he drives you out of the villa bought with your entire savings, I wonder if you'll remember the daughter you abandoned today."