D&d Inspired Novels & Stories

I'm the Whitefang Pack Alpha's daughter. Thanks to Samzor—Alpha of Nightfang and my so-called betrothed—I got shoved into a mate bond with a limp rogue. He sold out three generations of Nightfang war honors just to make it happen. Dad lost it. He went straight to Nightfang territory, demanding answers. Samzor? He laughed. "Alpha Connor, come on. Nyara's your heir. You'd never let her actually mate a cripple. "I've loved her for seven years. I'd never mistreat her. I just need her to compromise—let Catherine stay with me. "Don't stress. Catherine's obedient. Polite. She'll make a good servant for Nyara." Catherine. A fox-wolf halfblood he dragged in from a border patrol. Scared I'd kick her out the second our bond was sealed, he cooked up this garbage plan to trap me. Only problem? The Alpha King's decree doesn't do take-backs. Mom handled the dowry. I'd go through with the ceremony. Bond to that rogue. After that? Samzor was dead to me.

They were both engaged to marry their lovers. They were both betrayed and vowed never to love again. But fate had other plans for them. You'd think they'd meet but what do the rich and the poor have in common? And what happens when their past never really leaves them alone? You wouldn't know until you've read The Billionaire She Hates.

But as much as I loved him, there were cracks in our perfect marriage. Damien didn’t want children. He’d been clear about it from the start, even though I had always dreamed of being a mother. He’d smile that charming smile of his and say, “Pups will tie us down, my love. You’re so beautiful and vibrant and pregnancy would change that. I want you to stay just as you are.”

His songs were better when he had a broken heart. That sentence would change my life after my dream job was dished to me on a shiny, silver platter. All I had to do? Hurt Nash Pierce enough to get him writing good music again. The pop icon’s songs were no longer the phenomena they used to be. His team needed another breakthrough album—like the first he’d penned, using his heartbreak as fuel. The plan was simple: I’d go on tour with him as a backup dancer…and make him fall in love with me. I was hired to inspire—to become embedded into every lyric he wrote. Then, I was to set fire to it all—to destroy every feeling we hoped he’d develop for me. It seemed simple enough. Easy, even. I didn’t expect to be consumed myself—to see so much in the man displayed in the tabloids. I didn’t foresee falling for him. It didn’t occur to me that, while attempting to break his heart, I might just shatter my own. Most of all, I never thought I’d fight so hard to hold on to a relationship that had always been founded on goodbye.

It was in our bedroom that I first found out about Nathaniel Foster's affair. My anger got the better of me, and I demanded a divorce right away. Nathaniel broke down into tears and claimed it was a drunken mistake. He went down on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. He cried, "I'll jump off this building if we get a divorce!" I relented, and things went on like this for five years. He was the sweetest, gentlest husband ever since that day. It was as if he was trying to pretend that night never happened, like I'd never noticed his infidelity. Everyone told me Nathaniel could throw his life away for me. Then, his mother's 60th birthday came. She blurted, "Where's your son, Nathaniel? I'd like to see him." That stunned me, but then I thought she'd gotten the date wrong. So, I smiled. "Melanie, the delivery date's in two months." Melanie shot me a calm look. She muttered under her breath, "Ah, so you still don't know about the boy." Something squeezed my heart, and my eyes darted to Nathaniel. Nathaniel put his silverware down. "I have a five-year-old son." He spoke as if he'd just listed out his grocery list for next Tuesday.

Emre had it all. He was rich, powerful and handsome. He was used to winning, in life and in business. He could get any girl he wanted. Anyone but her. The only regret in his life. Sarah. He’d never forgotten her. Even though she’d crushed him when she’d left, he still wanted her. Now a chance encounter had put them both together on his yacht. She might not want anything to do with him but he wasn’t about to let anything get in his way. Not her resistance. Not the past, not any misunderstandings. Not even her boyfriend. She was his girl, wherever she went, whatever she did. He wasn’t going to rest till he got her back, one way or another.

By the time I hit twenty without a husband, I'd become the joke of Butcher's Alley. I wasn't about to just take it, so I marched out to the pauper's graveyard and dragged home a half-dead man I found there. He was gorgeous. More handsome than any portrait I'd ever seen. It didn't matter that he'd lost his memory and wasn't quite right in the head. It didn't matter that he couldn't lift a crate or carry a load, that he nearly fainted dead away the first time he watched me slaughter a pig. I slapped my knee and made up my mind. "You're the one. You handle looking pretty, and I'll handle bringing home the bacon." I named him Walt and treated him like he was made of glass. I fed him well, kept him comfortable, and slowly nursed him back to health until his cheeks were full and his skin was soft. Then I started planning the wedding. On our wedding night, I'd just gotten his wedding coat off when the front door flew off its hinges. Hundreds of royal guards dropped to their knees all at once, their voices shaking the walls. "Welcome back to the capital, Grand Chancellor!" I looked down at the man beneath me. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by something cold and sharp. The belt I'd been holding snapped right in two. I was done for. I'd been bossing around the most powerful man in the empire for six months and using him as a house husband. Was I looking at death by slow torture, or would they wipe out my entire family?

The day I decided to marry the heir to one of the East Coast's wealthiest families, my ex-boyfriend Jack Harris showed up in my dream again. This time was different from all the others. He was on his knees in front of me, sobbing until his voice gave out. "Nora, I regret it." "Won't you come back to me?" The old me would have softened. But this time, I woke up and only wanted to laugh. For ten years I thought I dreamed of him because I couldn't let go, that I was pathetic for it. Then my best friend, a therapist, told me a colleague of hers had picked up a very strange client, a man who'd sold off everything he owned to learn a form of hypnosis that let him control people's dreams deeply. That man was Jack Harris. His wife was Vivian, the classmate who'd bullied me for years. The three of us had grown up together, childhood friends from the same small town. He'd tormented me for ten years, dumping me a different way in my dreams every single night, all to keep Vivian happy. And now he had me listening to his confessions in my dreams. It wasn't his conscience turning over. It was so I'd kill myself, so my heart could be transplanted into Vivian whole and undamaged. What he never imagined was that I'd found out everything ahead of time. This time, I was going to watch this rotten pair destroy themselves, one rotting away in his dreams, the other rotting in a hospital bed.

To settle a debt of gratitude, Adriana Adler left her first love and married Chris Slater—a man who, by all appearances, was paralyzed from the waist down. For five years of marriage, he had been her husband. Before that, he'd been the protector she'd known since they were kids. She played her part as his devoted wife—the quiet shadow behind his wheelchair. Chris was certain that no matter how openly he doted on his ex-fiancée—who had just returned from overseas with a child—Adriana would never leave him. What he didn't know was that in Adriana's heart, only obligation remained. The love had died years ago. The day the truth came out, she set the divorce papers calmly in front of him. He panicked. His eyes burned as he grabbed for her, desperate, clinging like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Adriana looked down at his legs—standing firm and strong—and felt a deep, icy quiet fill her chest. Five years of lies. Five years stolen from the man she truly loved. There would be no forgiveness. The once-untouchable Chris dropped to one knee, his eyes red-rimmed and raw. "Adriana… you're all I have left." Her expression didn't waver. Not a flicker of softness crossed her face. She stepped back toward the man she'd never stopped loving, her voice steady. "But you're not all I have, Chris." He was the power player all of high society scrambled to please—the one who'd lit up her younger years. He'd always assumed she would love him forever; it never crossed his mind she might walk away. But the poised, mixed-heritage gentleman who'd loved her all along said nothing. He simply slid a priceless diamond ring onto her finger. This was the day he had waited five years for. This was the happiness Adriana should have had all along.

Joel Gleason, my childhood sweetheart and fiancé, promised he'd marry no one but me. But then, to help Jenny Swisher, my adoptive sister, get through her depression, he secretly married her. I didn't hesitate for a second before agreeing to marry Conrad Lennon, Jasselton's most untouchable heir, who'd been in love with me for years. After seven years of marriage, he still spoiled me rotten. He clung to me every night like he couldn't get enough. And there was nothing he wouldn't do for me. I really thought I'd found happiness at last. But one day, after we'd slept together, I heard him talking to his best friend. "Jenny's an international best actress now. When are you dumping Jean?" "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't end up with the person I love either way. Besides, I have to keep an eye on Jean. I can't let her ruin all the happiness Jenny worked so hard for." I booted up the computer in Conrad's study and stumbled upon a hidden folder. Inside were over 100,000 photos of Jenny, plus 100 unsent love letters. I'd been fooling myself long enough. It was time to wake up. I got myself a fake body and got ready to start a fire. That was it. Conrad and I were done for good.