Dominant Male Reader

After my girlfriend's father hit someone with a car, he took his own life because he didn't want to get arrested. But in doing so, he left behind a huge debt he had racked up. In order to help my girlfriend pay off the compensation, I work around the clock as a food deliveryman. Every day, I sleep less than four hours just to squeeze in more work. But when I finish delivering a new order, I notice a man clad in a bathrobe standing in front of me at a hotel suite's doorway. He's completely covered in hickeys. A young woman dressed in a sexy nightgown hugs him from behind. "I'm absolutely famished right now because of how long you've been tormenting me in bed earlier, darling! Hurry up and grab the takeout!" I can only stare at the woman, completely shell-shocked. That's when the bag of takeout slips off my fingers and crashes onto the floor. The woman takes a step backward. Her brows drawn into a frown, she exclaims, "How are my boyfriend and I supposed to enjoy the food now that it's all dirty?" After that, she kicks the takeout at me right away, spilling grease all over my clothes. I remain rooted to the spot, still stunned. This woman… is Irene Swensen, my girlfriend who's about to get engaged to me.

My wife has an emotional breakdown after being violated. She insists I'm the one who orchestrated it, but both our parents know her true love is the actual culprit. Still, they don't object to her insane retaliation. They even have me locked up in a prison abroad. As I'm tormented, she sells my company to help her true love get away scot-free. Ultimately, he's set free, but I die without even having a final resting place. When a judge informs her to collect my body, she sneers and says, "I've had enough of this nonsense. Does he think he can get away with a fake corpse? I won't even bat an eye if his body is flushed down the drain! He's nothing but a disgusting criminal!" Later, she realizes that I've truly died. She's delighted, but her laughter soon turns to tears as she holds my corpse.

On the third day after my death, my body was sent to the police station in different packages. Jonathan Walsh, my husband, and Frank Stone, my junior at work, saw my corpse and frowned. “If only Elena were here, she would have been able to find some clues.” Frank sighed as he stared at my horribly mangled remains. “Don’t mention her. She’s not even worthy of being a forensic scientist!” I stared at my husband with a conflicted look. He analyzed each part of my body and deduced the manner of my death with familiar ease. “The murderer is a monster…” Frank’s face turned pale, and he sighed again. Jonathan calmly used all that I had taught him and perfectly pieced out the entire process of my death based on the clues from my dismembered body. I could not help but feel proud. Unfortunately, he was still a little off the mark. He did not manage to figure out that this body belonged to me, his wife.

"You. Your breath. Your body. Your soul. Your everything belongs to me. I can do the hell I want to do with it. Try to use this hand of yours to push me again I swear I will do worst than just breaking it... " Valerie Have no idea of her last name. She was born in an orphanage. Grown up there but with only one thought... Being a slave of her master... She was born for him. She was grown up with keeping his name in her mind as her master. The person who owns her. Her days went by hearing his name continuously. Her nights went sleepless as her dreams also caught by his presence... There wasn't even a single day when she didn't hear herself called as his slave. . . She knew she was his but again why her heart doesn't want to accept him. Why she still want to be rebel when she knew she's helpess... Him. Her master. Her owner. Her saviour. Her destroyer. The one who not only owns her body but also her soul... She's his to play. His to Destroy. His to do as he wished... Him. Xavier Valetino... WARNING... Let me tell you guys this story is completely different from my other stories. This story is not only dark. But contains extreme violence. and abuse.. There is nothing like romance in this. It's all about submissive and dominant with an interesting plot... Trust me if your below 18 then this story is not for you. Don't blame me if you got traumatized... I warned you... Risk is on you...

An alpha who feels love and lust towards his male beta secretary. Releasing pheromones everyday may be his only chance in turning him into an omega but will it work though?

Marko Peralta was only 20 years old when his mother died. After his father went missing, Marko felt angrier--until his uncle told him about his next mission. Curious to seek out his new destiny, Marko try his best to act like an innocent man. And does indeed meet a man with his own hidden and mysterious past. And as he pieces together the information about his past, shocking surprises about his mom, his dad, come to light.

"Good morning.” She greeted as she peeked on my male's cheek with so much affection. And I could feel my heart start to bleed as the male destined for me smiled down at the female and kissed her temple with his heart oozing adoration. My wolf was on her hind legs staring at the female through my eyes. She fisted her hair and knotted them in a bun and my eyes fell on the glorifying fresh mark on her neck. I return my eyes to the male standing in front of me. That is when I noticed the angry red mark on his neck. And I could feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. The moment I found out that there was another life growing inside me, I was scared, I was terrified. But the instant I knew it was his, I was on my way to find him, to reclaim him after all those years of waiting. But fate had other plans, and I suppose the Goddess loved making my life a living hell. He was supposed to choose me, he was meant to love me, he was born to be mine. He was my other half, my soul mate. But he bore another's mark…he was mated to another.  

The factory had just finished expanding when my wife insisted on bringing her older brother in as our driver. The very next day, my brother-in-law sold my $45,000 business car to a used car dealer. Not only that, he had the nerve to lecture me. "You're just a small business owner," he said. "Driving a car this expensive is a waste. You might as well sell it and buy gold for my sister. At least that'll appreciate in value." I swallowed my anger and tried to explain. "I've never treated her poorly. I've never missed a holiday gift. Compared to what others spend, driving this car is already modest." He flew into a rage instantly. "You still dare talk back? My sister gets treated like a maid by your mother every day, and you pretend not to see it. "Driving a luxury car, pretending to be rich, probably thinking about keeping a mistress. As long as I'm around, don't even think about it. "In my family, women handle the money. You'd better transfer all your assets to my sister." I turned to leave, but he punched me straight in the eye. When my wife rushed over, she did not defend me. Instead, she scolded me for looking down on her family. While I was being treated for my eye injury, she even allowed her brother to sell all the gold and expensive watches in our house. They used the money to buy a car for his son and even sold the house just to show off their wealth. Meanwhile, she went online and complained about how miserable her married life had been. I was so furious I was speechless. In the end, I called the police. Since they were so eager to get their hands on my money, I decided they would not get a single cent.

On the day we decided to get a divorce, I saw Miranda’s account book while I was packing up my stuff. Aside from our daily expenses, Miranda had also set up a scoring sheet for me. Miranda had taken notes of all the things I had done ever since we started dating. Some of them were such miniscule things that even I had forgotten. She took note of them all with a red pen, and she scored them by either awarding me points or deducting them. However, the further down the sheet, the more points were deducted. In the end, I saw Miranda add one line in black ink. [He’s no longer the Henry Jones who used to love me: -100]

On Father's Day, I received a heartwarming gift. My one-year-old son called me Dad for the first time. But moments later, he convulsed, foamed at the mouth, and died before we could reach the hospital. My wife was shattered, and I was devastated. The doctors couldn't identify the cause of his death. Three years later, my wife emerged from her grief, and we welcomed our second child. But the moment this child called me Dad, they, too, died instantly. To spare her further pain, I suggested adoption. Yet, even our adopted children met the same fate. Unable to bear the losses, my wife divorced me. Everyone said I was cursed, never meant to be a father. Defiant, I remarried and had another child, vowing never to let them call me Dad. For years, we adhered to this rule. But when our daughter turned four, she came home from preschool, eager to celebrate Father's Day. Holding a card, she read aloud, "Dad."