Custom Mha Quirks Novels & Stories

Lennox never meant to lie. But when her college reunion turned into a smug parade of successful husbands and million-dollar engagement rings, the words tumbled out before she could stop them. She was engaged. And when they demanded a name, the only one that came to mind was her billionaire best friend of five years. Ashford Winslow. Cornered, tipsy, and spiraling, Lennox did the only thing she could think of, she called him for backup. An hour later, Ashford strolled into the reunion like he owned the room, a custom million-dollar ring in his pocket and a possessive glint in his eyes. He slid the ring onto her finger with a charming smile. “Baby, you forgot your engagement ring, so I thought I’d bring it to you, and let everyone know who you belong to.”

My marriage to Dante, the Moretti heir, was meant to be a union of power, an alliance of empires. But for me, it was also the real deal. Then his adopted sister, Clara, showed up at a party. She was wearing his custom leather jacket, straddling his prized Ducati, and she looked right at me with a smirk. "Dante says," she purred, "that I suit these precious things better than you do." My smile froze. Dante had her on a plane overseas so fast it was like she'd never existed. Five years later, the night before our wedding. I found him staring at the design for our wedding rings. He'd changed the engraving. The "Amor Aeternus"—Eternal Love—was gone. In its place: "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." My sin, my greatest sin. I took off my veil right then and there. "The wedding," I said, my voice like ice, "is off."

"Two hundred pieces of gold." I whipped my head in the direction of the voice. It was sexy and authoritative. "No. Make it three hundred pieces of gold. I want that woman." The crowd gasped. My eyes frantically looked for that person and came face to face with a man whose hair reminded me of the ashes after burning the wood. His gray eyes bore into mine. 'Mine,' my wolf uttered. "Going once. Twice. Thrice. Sold!" Master Henderson was all smiles. "The item goes to His Majesty King Elio. You will never regret it, Your Majesty." King Elio? I knew that name. The Lycan King was my mate? ------------------------------- Flora was desperate to look for Sabrina, her sister who was suddenly missing five years ago. She believed it had something to do with the Lycan King. 'Cause why not? Their cruel custom of selling or killing unmated she-wolves every five years started because of the Lycan King.

"Honey, the soles of my shoes are lambskin. They can't get wet. Come pick me up." I had just sent Preston Hale that message when a swarm of floating comments suddenly exploded through the rain. [I'm so sick of this drama-queen villainess. The male lead is a billionaire CEO, and she's treating him like a dog.] [Our darling heroine has already joined the company. Once the male lead sees how gentle and sensible she is, he'll dump this woman right away.] [Lol. After the divorce, she won't know how to do anything. She'll have to become some sleazy livestreamer.] Watching the screen fill with malice, I clenched my fingers in anger. Just then, Preston came running over with an umbrella, half of his custom suit soaked through. When he saw my pale knuckles, he froze, then carefully tugged at my sleeve. "I'm sorry, honey. Any faster and I'd have been speeding."

Just for brushing against the hem of Eva Lawson, the heiress’s custom couture gown, Lucy Quinn's mother had her limbs broken, then thrown into the sea to die. The day Lucy dragged the arrogant heiress to court she thought that justice might finally be served. Eva was declared not guilty. Why? Because the defense attorney representing her was none other than Wyatt Grant, founder of the most untouchable law firm in River City, and Lucy Quinn’s husband. When the trial ended, the elegant and aloof man stepped down from the defense table and placed an apology letter in front of Lucy. "Lulu, sign it. You don’t want to be sued for defamation and end up in prison, do you?" His tone was calm and coaxing, but behind the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze was cold as ice. Lucy, tears stubbornly clinging to her eyes, looked up at him and said with a trembling voice, "Why, Wyatt, Why?"

The day I married Vincent Sorrentino, Lena, the Sorrentino family’s adopted daughter, threatened to jump off the steeple of the family church. Vincent left me standing at the altar in my custom wedding gown, no hesitation, just bolted after her. With every New York crime boss, politician, and oligarch staring at me, I looked out at the crowd and said loud and clear: “Any man who walks up here right now and says ‘I do’? I’ll marry you.” Three years later, Vincent was back into the Sorrentino family’s Long Island estate, Lena on his arm. I was sitting on the leather couch in the main living room, watching my favorate TV show. Vincent’s eyes locked on my huge pregnant belly, his jaw tight, growling through his teeth: “Whose bastard is in there?” I took a sip of orange juice, curled my lip into a smile, and said: “It's a Sorrentino baby, of course.”

For three months, I’d been seeing a guy named “Rex.” A total stranger I’d only met online. We were in the thick of it, that honeymoon phase where every night my phone would blow up with messages that made my pulse jump. “Miss you, sweetheart.” “Dreamt of you again last night. You were all over me, begging for it.” I was about to suggest we finally meet. But then he sent me a picture, a casual shot of his desk, and I saw something familiar: the crest of the Falcone crime family. And I work for a company owned by the Falcones. For three months, I’d been sexting a dangerous man, a made man in the mafia, who could be right under my nose. And just when I was trying to figure out who he was, I saw them. The custom black onyx cufflinks I’d picked out for “Rex”… on my boss, Marco’s, wrists.

His body pressed me against the wall, his breath hot against my ear. “You would make a good little wife,” Damon whispered, his fingers tilting my chin until I had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze. “And maybe you should...” “I would never marry a man like you!” I spoke very firmly. And yet… my heart betrayed me, racing like it remembered a night I swore I’d buried forever. --- The first night I sold myself, it was supposed to be the last. My father had just died, the debts were drowning me, and desperation drove me into a stranger’s bed. One night. One mistake. One child I never planned for. Three years later, I’ve clawed my way through college, fought to survive, and built a life for my daughter. Now I work for Damon Blackwell—the most ruthless billionaire in America. Cold, arrogant, and addictively dangerous. Then he corners me with a shocking proposition: to be his pretend wife for a year. But how could I? How could I offer my daughter a temporary fatherhood? But Damon doesn't care. And when he meets my little girl, everything shifts. Her allergies, her quirks, her smile… everything about her was so similar to him. And suddenly, I’m staring at the man I fear and desire most, wondering... What are the odds that this man standing before me is the same man from three years ago?

A gas explosion kills both me and my wife, Riley Sawyer. When I open my eyes again, we have both returned to our lives before we ever got married. In our previous life, Riley and I grew up together. We were inseparable as kids, and after we married, our relationship only deepened. People envied how well we got along. But in this life, she doesn't choose me. She accepts the romantic pursuit of Benjamin Prescott, the son of the wealthiest man in the city. I quietly erase every trace of her from my life and act as if she never existed. Five years later, the two of them announce their engagement in the grandest way possible and invite all our former classmates. When I show up wearing the same custom suit Benjamin has on, a diamond ring in hand, Riley's face tightens with anger. "Jared, it's been years. Why can't you let me go?"

The night of our engagement party, I found my best friend playing a dangerous game with my fiancé. The casino on our family's private yacht was where I found them. Clara was sitting on the lap of my fiancé, Killian, the Falcone family heir. Killian held a sharp family dagger, its tip snagging the thin strap of her dress. The blade traced a path along her collarbone. The slightest pressure would snap the silk. It was a dangerous, intimate scene. I stepped forward with a frown, but Killian just scoffed. "It's just a little game to liven things up, Principessa. Don't be so tense." Clara's eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "We're just playing a traditional family game. The knife game. You don't mind, do you, sweetie?" I was about to speak, but Killian's expression hardened. "We just got engaged and you're already trying to control me?" So I said nothing. I just drew my custom pistol from its holster on my thigh. "So, it's a game," I said. "Then let's play for something real."