Devotion Novels & Stories

Three days after the healer told me I was terminally ill, Keith Bradford—the alpha's heir—finally completed his training and returned to the pack. Rumor had it, he was back for his future mate. The alpha had chosen a perfect match for him—a well-bred, talented girl, two years younger than Keith. Sweet, gentle, never even had a boyfriend. The complete opposite of me, with exes as countless as the stars. It was not until a week after Keith returned that I finally saw him, outside the treatment room. He had not changed much—sharp features, high nose bridge, deep, defined eyes. Just as impossibly handsome as he was the first time we kissed. Almost as if sensing my gaze, Keith looked up, sharp and alert. Our eyes met—and for a second, it felt like the air froze. Everyone thought I would recklessly ruin Keith’s engagement, just like the wild girl I used to be. But what they didn’t realize was… my time was running out. I stepped forward, calm and composed, a faint smile on my lips. "It's been a while… my dear brother." I could not help but whisper in my heart, "These few days will be our final farewell, Keith."

When Lorenzo Fontana, the top Don of Bajadoro, posts a massive bounty on the dark web seeking someone to bear him a child, the entire Terella underworld is shaken. "Whoever gives birth to my first heir will become the Donna of the Fontana family." On the night I take the job, soldati press a gun to the back of my head and force me onto a helicopter bound for a snow-covered mountain estate. Just like that, I become one of the 15 candidates. Money is the greatest temptation that the human heart can hardly resist. Within a few months, several women proudly announce that they are pregnant. But they, along with their unborn children, are all thrown off a cliff. The reason is always the same—the child isn't Lorenzo's. Ever since the first scream echoes from behind the estate, I am never able to sleep peacefully again. It is because after a reckless night with Lorenzo, I have become pregnant too. On the day I go into labor and see what I have given birth to, cold sweat breaks out across my body due to my immense shock. At least those women who fell to their deaths gave birth to human babies. I, on the other hand, give birth to three eggs that are as big as footballs!

By the fifth year of my marriage to Noah Lester, everyone insisted that I, Emma Newman, was his eternal muse. But I knew the truth. Behind my back, Noah cycled through a parade of fresh-faced, eager lovers. He even flaunted them at social gatherings, swapping one for another with shameless ease. When friends teased him—"Didn’t you swear Emma was the love of your life? Why the revolving door of mistresses?"—he’d just laugh, arms slung around his latest conquests. "Once you’ve caught your muse the glow fades. Give me someone new and tender any day—at least they keep things exciting." So I began plotting my escape. What Noah never realized was that I had grown tired of him, too. Tired of this life, of these performances. I was done.

Everyone in the social circle of Kingsford said I was nothing more than a lapdog raised by Charles Mankin. I was always at his beck and call. I did every filthy, ludicrous thing for him under the sun. When he street raced, I rode shotgun. When he drank himself senseless, I made him hangover soup. When he chased girls, I prepared protection for them. Over time, everyone knew: Charles had a dog who never ran, never bit back, no matter how hard he kicked. They all said I must be madly in love with him. Even Charles started to believe it. So he pushed further, more freely, more cruelly, crossing lines as if they never existed. Then came my twenty-fifth birthday. He, in a rare stroke of mercy, said he'd celebrate it with me. But instead, what he got was the news that I was leaving the country. He went berserk, charging through the airport like a man possessed. I peeled his fingers off my wrist one by one, smiling like I'd never been happier. "Don't be stupid," I told him, still smiling. "That was never love." That night, Charles smashed apart his family home like a rabid dog.

I've been in a secret relationship with Declan Gibson for five years, and I've tried to seduce him more times than I can count. Yet, when I stand in front of him in my birthday suit and a pair of bunny ears, all he does is worry that I'll catch a cold and wrap me in a blanket. I used to think his restraint came from being the mafia don, that he was saving our first time for our wedding night. However, one month before the ceremony, he secretly plans the city's grandest fireworks show to celebrate his childhood sweetheart's birthday. They hug and share a slice of cake in public. That night, they check into a hotel. … The next morning, I watch them leave together. That's when I realize Declan is not restrained. He just doesn't love me, so I walk out of the hotel. I call my parents. "Dad, I've broken up with Declan. I'll marry into the Sullivan family as planned." My father is stunned. "I thought you were madly in love with Declan. Why did you break up? I heard Bryson can't have children. You've always loved kids. What will you do once you marry him?" "It's fine," I reply, disheartened. "We can always adopt."

My flight was suddenly canceled, so I dragged my suitcase back home. As soon as I stepped inside, I saw torn black stockings scattered on the floor. This was the eighth time Simon Jones had brought a different woman home. The sound of running water and a young woman’s laughter echoed from the bathroom. I didn’t cry or make a scene. Instead, I sat quietly on the couch, waiting for them to finish. Everyone assumed I would continue being Simon’s devoted fool like before. But no one knew that the man I truly loved had returned. After tonight, Simon, the stand-in, would be discarded.

I saved the current queen with my medical expertise and ability to save patients from the clutches of death itself. To fulfil my long-time wish, the queen intended to order that I was to marry the son of a marquess, Eldwin Gennings. However, I fell on my knees and begged her to let me marry a notoriously useless rich heir instead. The queen was shocked. After all, everyone in the Royal Capital knew that I had been in love with Eldwin since we were young. I had even said several times that I would not marry anyone but him. In my past life, I had indeed married Eldwin, just as I wished, but on the night of our wedding, he left me waiting alone in our bedroom. The next day, he married my half-sister as his second wife. I was bullied and framed by my half-sister. As a result, Eldwin cut my wrist tendons and damaged my arms permanently. In the end, my wounds got infected, and I died. When I opened my eyes again, time had rewound to the day the queen ordered me and Eldwin to be married. This time, when he found out that I wanted to marry someone else, he went mad and begged me to take him in.

My husband is poor. We've already been married for three years, but I've covered all our expenses during that time. Even when I'm interested in a cheap bag when we go shopping, he says it's too expensive. He tells me not to buy it. Later, I discover that he gives his first love a four-million-dollar diamond necklace for her birthday. It turns out he's not broke and heavily in debt—he's the heir to an affluent family with a net worth of billions of dollars.

Billionaire CEO Killian Blackwood was looking for the perfect genes. He offered a massive reward for a surrogate mother. Ten billion dollars for a baby. But the 77 women before me had all vanished. Drowning in debt, I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and became number 78. I carried his child for ten months. I gave birth. And I didn't disappear. But as I reached for my baby, ready for my ten billion dollars, I burst into tears of terror. My newborn wasn't human. It was a litter of three wolf pups.

On the day Yara Cullen was released from prison, it was raining. A chilly wind carried the drizzle, striking her as the media swarmed the prison gates. "Ms. Cullen, in the Crestwood Estate sexual assault case, your client lost the lawsuit and took her own life six months ago. Her mother is demanding accountability. Do you have anything to say?” "Ms. Cullen, your attorney's license has been revoked, and your mentor was forced to retire. What are your thoughts on this?" No matter how the reporters pressed, Yara kept her head down and pushed forward, forcing her way through the crowd. A black G-Wagon was parked by the roadside, where Westley Langston leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Beside him, Elena Cullen tugged at his arm. He turned, glancing toward the prison gates.