Drifted

I was three months pregnant when the car crash happened. In those final moments of fading consciousness, I frantically dialed Damian’s private, encrypted line—the one meant only for emergencies. He never picked up. By the time I was rushed into surgery, I received a crushing blow: Damian had forcibly reassigned my lead private physician to the South District. He needed the best doctor to treat his childhood sweetheart, Evelyn, who had just been widowed. When I finally drifted awake through a haze of agony, my trembling fingers swiped open Instagram. I saw Evelyn’s latest post: “I knew that no matter the distance or the time, Damian would move heaven and earth to reach me. He even brought his Chief Physician just to help me heal from my grief.” In the accompanying photo, Damian—a man known for his cold, lethal eyes—was gazing at the woman beside him with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years. While I was clawing my way back from the brink of death, fighting to save our child, my husband was playing protector to another pregnant woman. A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Without a second thought, I slid the wedding band off my ring finger. I opened my inbox and hit "Confirm" on the invitation from the world’s most elite International Finance Institute. If Evelyn is all he cares about, I’ll give them my blessing. In seven days, I will vanish from his world forever—and I’m taking my baby with me.

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

I won eight million overnight. The first thing I did was rush to the hospital to pay for my son's surgery and treatment. That was when my phone rang. Ian, a coworker from the company, called, "Something urgent came up! You need to get back here right this instant!" My wife, Mara, took the bank card from my hand, and said with an gentle and understanding voice, "You can give me the PIN. I'll take care of our son's hospital bills. Go. Work is important. Don't worry about us." In my previous life, I didn't hesitate one bit. I trusted her completely and hurried back to the office. My son never made it into surgery. Instead, the police came for me. It turned out that Mara and Ian had conspired together to frame me, pinning the crime of embezzling company funds on me. The very money Ian had stolen. With no money for treatment, my son died in the hospital. My parents, shattered by grief, suffered fatal heart attacks one after the other. And I, rotting in prison, ended my life in despair. After my death, my soul drifted to the holiday villas of Moldeves, where Mara was on vacation. I heard her laughing as she spoke to Ian, "That idiot won a fortune and wasted it on that useless sick kid. He dragged me into a miserable life." Laughing even harder, she added, "Now, their whole family is dead, and we get to enjoy wealth for the rest of our lives. Consider it compensation from that idiot! Haha!" Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the hospital corridor, at the exact moment my wife reached out and took the bank card from me. This time, I still told her the PIN.

As I laid there waiting for sleep to take me. I was startled as my eyes drifted they landed on a human shaped shadow again by the bathroom door. I tried to roll. Nothing happened. Scared now, I tried to reach my phone. My arms wouldn’t move. My breathing was getting rapid. The only thing that would move is my eyes. Why can’t I move? From the corner of my eye, I saw it. The shadow moved from the doorframe towards me. It was an ambiguous huge male human shape with a hat on its head. Once it reached the bed, it stopped. Less than a foot from me and I couldn’t make out any details. My heart was racing, and my breathing was ragged. Male knuckles traced my jaw from my ear to my chin. The touch was gentle. Intimate even. A husky, seductive chuckle filled the air that still smelt of the candle. “I know what you need little gazelle.” The shadow shimmered. Now I could see the details. He was at least six foot two. Dark skin, bald head, and wearing jeans that clung to his muscled legs. An unbuttoned dark purple shirt displayed his taunt chest. The moonlight showed his beautiful smile as he leaned towards me. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. “Shhh. I’m going to make it all better.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. Vivienne needed a get away from the stress of her life. Having heard her best friend sing the praises of Helen, GA. she decided to spend a week in cute cabin and decompress. Instead her dreams are invaded by a mysterious sensual man with swirling purple eyes. Soon she wonders if he’s more than just the man of her dreams.

A witch and a werewolf should have never been mates. It never happened, and should have never happened. Believing he was cursed by the Moon Goddess herself, Alpha Cain Cadell had the surprise of his life when he found his mate. Cordelia had a troubled life, extremely troubled even for a witch. Scorned by her people, hated by her mother, and wished dead by the council of magic. She really didn't have it easy. And when the Alpha of the biggest of packs wants to claim her as his, Cordelia has to fight spells, nails, and teeth. …. Blurb: “This is all sorts of wrong, alpha. I can't be your mate. Witches and werewolves can't be mates.” I shouted, trying to drill the fact into his mind. “Yet, it happened.” He stepped closer, cornering me to the wall. His eyes drifted between my eyes and my lips and he breathed out, “You are my mate; mine to love, mine to fuck, you're simply mine Cordelia and nothing and no one will stop me from getting you.” The possessiveness in his voice sent shivers down my spine. I itched to kiss him, I wanted him to kiss me, but I knew I shouldn't. But the fight in me was dying down as he leaned closer, his lips almost brushing mine. “Admit it, darling. You want me as much as I want you. Just give in.” His hand on my neck felt hotter, and I let out a shaky breath. It was one hell of a fight that I had to put up with myself. Cain Cadell was all sorts of bad. He's power hungry, his desire for power was almost maddening, and witches were very disposable to him. “I will never.” I couldn't even convince myself with that shaky voice.

His nose was an inch away from mine. Eyes looked down it with burning intensity. “You are mine, Adelia. And there is nothing in the world that can change that.” He growled, tracing the side of my face with a feather-light touch. I recoiled and swatted his hand away. Wanted to move backward. Out of his proximity but a strong hand settled on my lower back. Pulled me into him. Our eyes met again, letting all of my venom show in them. “You are married, Michael. Married and human! Us being mates doesn't take away from that fact.” I hissed. His blue eyes darkened. Hand flexed on my back. “Then turn me. Make me a wolf and I will be by your side until the world burns.” “Married. That is another obstacle. I won't be a home-wrecker. Never again.” I tried to move away from him. Away from the lurking promise of death and destruction if I gave in to him. Remained in his presence. But his hand twined with my dress. Forced me to stay so deathly close to him. I felt my resolve melt away. “She will understand. How can't she? We were destined to be together by the goddess herself.” He whispered and brushed his lips against my cheek. A shudder ran down my spine. “A goddess that you don't believe in.” Michael pulled away. Smiled cruelly down at me. “The only goddess I believe in is the one right in front of me.” I didn't stop him when his lips crashed into mine. Or when his tongue drifted over my bottom lip. Opened up for him so that he could explore the inside of my mouth. Devoured me whole. Morals be damned, then.

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.

The air in the room was thick as the electric heat of a mistake was in progress. "Yeah, right there... Ah," I gasped, the words catching in my throat. Every sensation was surreal, the sounds of skin slapping. Jayden moved with a raw, desperate energy, his tattooed hands gripping me. He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear, a dark, playful smirk tugging at his lips as sweat shimmered down our bodies "You like that huh?" he murmured, his voice low with a teasing vibration that sent a fresh shiver racing down my spine. "Hmm," I could only moan in response, my eyes fluttering shut as I let the waves of ecstasy pull me under. "What the fuck Is it going on here?" The voice didn't just break the silence; it shattered the room. It was a guttural roar that turned my blood to ice. Jayden scrambled backward, the bed sulking under his sudden movement. "Shit... " he hissed, his face draining of color as he fumbled for his jeans. I felt coldness piercing through my nakedness. My hands shook violently as I reached for my dress, the silk feeling like lead in my fingers. I couldn't lookup. In the doorway stood Richard. He wasn’t shouting anymore, the silence was unbearable. His eyes, usually filled with a composed warmth, were now dark with a devastating betrayal. He looked at Jayden, then his gaze drifted to me half-clothed on his son’s bed. "Lena..." His voice broke. "How could you?" He didn't wait for an answer. There was no explanation needed. Richard bowed his head, his shoulders slumped under the weight of a heartbreak he hadn't seen coming, and turned his back on us. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed through the hallway.

I hid behind the study curtains, heart racing with a fragile, trembling joy. In my hands: an ultrasound photo—two heartbeats—and a no-limit black card. Alessandro had given it to me last night, his lips on my neck, calling me his Donna, his queen. Tonight, I was going to tell him about the twins. "The Petrov family needs to see my good faith," his voice drifted in, smooth as velvet. "Vittoria arrives Thursday. I’ll announce the engagement then." My blood froze. "What about Elena?" someone asked. "She’s been with you three years. She manages the books, dug that slug out of your side herself. Is this fair to her?" "Elena?" He leaned back in the leather chair, cigar smoke curling around his jaw. "She’s like a trained hound, Salvatore. After the Rossi family got wiped out, I pulled her from the gutter, gave her a gun and a bed. Have you ever seen a hound leave its master? I could kick her, and she would lick my boot and ask for another." My nails sank into my palms, crumpling the ultrasound. "Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave?" Marco, his Capo, asked. Alessandro paused. Then he said: "She would die for me without question. How could she ever leave?" Those words struck my chest like two 9mm rounds. I didn't wait. I ran through the cemetery, past the tombs of dead Dons, and hurled that card into the Hudson. I vanished into the night with his heirs in my womb and three years of lies in my throat. "I'm sorry, my babies," I whispered to my belly. "Mommy was a fool." But I wouldn't be a fool anymore.

I had argued with Tiffany Jensen at the construction site over a 15-dollar BBQ plate, and the fight had spiraled out of control. Clutching my throbbing head, I watched as she stuffed the freshly cashed paycheck into her pocket. "Are you ever going to let this go? You just want me to pay for your meal, don't you? You're always complaining about headaches and dizziness. I think you're just lazy!" I wanted to tell her about the flashes of luxury that kept appearing in my mind, images I could not explain. However, the words stuck in my throat as another wave of vertigo hit me. By the time I steadied myself and caught up to her, she was already climbing into a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan. Their mocking voices drifted out through the car window. Someone said, "I thought your little 'real-life experience' would be fun, but this is it? You even argued over a meal." Another person laughed along. "Tiffany, Mr. Jensen's about to have a heart attack over this. Now that he's finally agreed to let you date Ethan Parker, just dump this loser already. Are you planning to support him for the rest of his life?" Tiffany replied without hesitation, "He's a nobody who doesn't even know who he is, and he thinks he deserves someone like me?" It turned out that after I lost my memory, I had become nothing more than a pawn in a wealthy heiress' rebellion game. I turned to leave, my heart sinking. Just then, an unknown number flashed across my phone screen. I answered without thinking. "Mr. Shaw, this is Alfred Wright, your family's butler. You've been missing for five years! Your grandfather is dying, and he wants to see you one last time." I glanced back at the car disappearing into the distance and said, "Alfred, come pick me up."