Edi Don't

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

For my birthday, my husband, Don Damien, gave me his dead wife’s pearls. I wore them to the dinner party. My enraged stepson, Leo, doused me in red wine. I became the laughingstock of the party. “You whore,” he hissed. “You think wearing my mother’s jewelry makes you her?” He stared at me, his eyes cold as ice. Then he screamed. "Get out of my house." But his mother died when he was a baby. I raised him. Someone had whispered poison in his ear. They told him I was the one who killed his mother. Now he thinks I'm a scheming bitch who tricked his father. And his father? My husband? He never saw me. He only saw Krista’s ghost. My heart didn't break. It shattered. They didn't love me. They didn't even care. So I walked. Then why, after I was finally gone, did they come crawling back, begging me to return?

What if the Omega everyone dismissed was the most powerful Lycan of them all? Rejected, betrayed, and broken. Anna Summers was once an Omega. Now, she’s rising as a powerful Luna with secrets that could reshape the Lycan world. What happens when the girl they scorned becomes the storm they can’t outrun?

When I finally mustered the courage to confess my feelings to him, he just turned and walked away. When I finally emerged from the shadows and began a new chapter in my life, he was gone. Was it depression? I couldn’t believe it. I had to find out the truth about how he died.

Am Vorabend unserer siebzehnten Hochzeitsplanung schwor mir mein Mann, der Mafia-Boss, dass die Zeremonie diesmal ungestört bleiben würde. „Diesmal verspreche ich es dir, Vicky.“ Seine Stimme klang ernst. „Ich habe Klara gesagt, dass sie morgen selbst zurechtkommen muss – selbst wenn der Himmel einstürzt.“ Das Baby in meinem Bauch war bereits im fünften Monat. Lorenz und ich waren seit drei Jahren zusammen, ich war im fünften Monat schwanger, und dennoch hatte nicht eine einzige Hochzeit stattgefunden. Denn zuvor hatte er die Hochzeit bereits sechzehn Mal abgesagt. Jedes einzelne Mal wegen seiner Ziehschwester Klara. Beim ersten Mal behauptete sie, Fieber zu haben. Noch im Brautkleid wartete ich die ganze Nacht mit Lorenz im Krankenhaus – nur um festzustellen, dass sie lediglich eine leichte Erkältung hatte. Beim zweiten Mal klagte sie über Herzprobleme. Lorenz ließ mich stehen und rannte zu ihr. In Wahrheit saß sie gemütlich beim Nachmittagstee mit Freundinnen. Beim dritten Mal sagte sie, sie hätte Angst vor dem Gewitter. Mitten im Ehegelübde ließ er mich allein – vor allen Gästen. Aber diesmal war alles anders. Vor drei Tagen war ein Brief aus Nordmark angekommen. Mein Vater, der Don der Familie Delbrück, hatte persönlich eine Einladung zur Rückkehr geschickt. Wenn Lorenz mich zum siebzehnten Mal wegen Klara im Stich lässt, werde ich für immer verschwinden.

"I own you, Marisa," He whispered dangerously into her ears as he fondled with her breasts, causing her to let out a soft moan which she tried so hard not to let out. He smirked devilishly when he saw the effect he was having on her. His right hand found it's way under her gown, and she moaned loudly when he shifted her panties. "Yes," He smirked darkly, "Moan for me, Marisa, because I own every part of you, starting from your soft breasts, to your sexy thighs and your divine honeypot. I own everything, and nothing will ever take you away from me. Not even the devil himself." ★★★★★★ Five years ago, Alejandro, a Mafia boss, and Marisa Russo, the strong-willed daughter of a rival Mafia family, were deeply in love. Their passionate connection led to an unforeseen consequence: Marisa's pregnancy. Unaware of her growing child and Alejandro's true identity, Marisa vanished from the dangerous Mafia world. A cruel twist of fate erased her memories in an accident, leaving her in a foreign place, estranged from her own past. Marisa embarked on a new life as a waitress and the mother of a son who strikingly resembled Alejandro. Her ties to the criminal world remained concealed, even from herself. Fate reunites Alejandro and Marisa, but they fail to recognize each other. Marisa's amnesia prevents her from recognizing him, while Alejandro cannot identify his long-lost lover due to her transformation. Marisa has a nightstand with him, and after that nightstand, Alejandro becomes obsessed with her. He yearns for Marisa more and more with each passing day and night. He makes a firm promise never to give up until his desires are satisfied. What will Alejandro's obsession with Marisa lead to? Will he be able to fulfill his dark desires?

Trois jours avant les fiançailles, Lucien Thomas m'a appelée : « Reportons notre cérémonie de fiançailles d'un mois. Ce jour-là, ce sera le premier concert de Lily Moreau après son retour en France, je ne peux pas ne pas y aller. » « Ce n'est qu'un report de fiançailles, rien de grave. » C'était la troisième fois qu'il a repoussé notre cérémonie de fiançailles cette année. La première fois, c'était parce que Lily avait eu une appendicite à l'étranger et avait été hospitalisée. Il avait dit qu'il devait aller s'occuper d'elle et il s'était précipité là-bas sans attendre. La deuxième fois, c'était parce que Lily avait dit qu'elle n'allait pas bien. Craignant qu'elle ne sombre dans la dépression, il avait immédiatement réservé un billet d'avion pour l'étranger. Et c'était la troisième fois. J'ai simplement répondu d'accord, j'ai raccroché puis je me suis tournée vers l'homme élégant et fier à mes côtés : « As-tu envie de m'épouser ? » Plus tard, lors du concert de Lily, Lucien l'a pourtant laissée sans hésiter et, les yeux rougis, il s'est précipité à ma cérémonie de fiançailles. « Léa Bernard, veux-tu vraiment te fiancer avec cet homme ? »

I'd been married to Matteo—the Lamberti Don—for five years. No one knew I was his wife. I didn't want the perks. The spotlight. So I stayed invisible. We were in love. Still felt like dating every single day. Then my first day at the new hospital wrecked everything. "Dr. Accardi, you won't believe this." A coworker leaned in, grinning. "Guess who that new patient's husband is? Matteo freaking Lamberti." I froze. If she was his wife—then who was I? She was pregnant. Carrying the future Lamberti heir. So what did that make the baby inside me? I held it together. Did the exam. Played the calm, capable doctor. No one saw the panic clawing through me. I told myself it was gossip. Lies. It had to be. Then I heard Matteo call her 'my princess.' That was it. He had a new 'princess.' And I had to let him go.

After six years by Archie Valez’s side, everything changed when his uncle died—and Archie took over the family legacy… and with it, the responsibility of caring for his “young” aunt, Betty Cruz, whose age was practically the same as Archie’s. Still, whatever Betty wanted, Archie delivered. I just never thought it would include a baby. Betty said she wanted a baby with the Valez bloodline. And with the uncle gone, Archie was the only one left to do the job. So he gave her that, too. “Just wait a little longer,” he would say to me, “Sabrina. As soon as she’s pregnant.” What started as once a month turned into once a week… Then it became a nightly routine. Of almost eight months that we lived in New York, Archie went to Betty over a hundred times. And she finally got pregnant. Shortly after, the Valez family announced that Archie would be marrying Betty. “Mommy,” my daughter asked softly, climbing onto the couch beside me. Elly—our Elly. My Elly. The daughter Archie never had time for. “Is someone getting married?” I held her close and kissed her hair. “Yes, sweetheart. Daddy’s finally marrying the love of his life.” Elly blinked at the screen. “But what about us?” I smiled. “We’re going home, baby,” I whispered in her ear. Archie forgot that I was Sabrina Marcellus. And the Marcellus women didn’t beg for rings. And certainly not love after betrayal.

To "fix" Leonard Rinehart's oh-so-tragic depression, Naomi Gaffron—yeah, the same girl who once swore she'd only ever marry me—secretly tied the knot with him. So I gave in. Played along with the family's little matchmaking stunt. Married Aurelia Spencer—Brieton City's golden girl who'd been obsessed with me since forever. For seven years, she clung to me like I was oxygen. Every night, curled up like she'd break if I moved. I thought that was happiness. Then one night, I caught her whispering to her best friend: "Leonard's already got international awards. When are you dumping Leone?" "Whatever—I'm stuck with someone I don't love anyway. Doesn't matter who I married. Someone's gotta keep an eye on Leone so he doesn't screw up everything Leonard built." I checked her study. Found a hidden folder—over 100,000 photos of Leonard. A hundred unsent love letters. Even I couldn't fake it anymore. Bought a silicone dummy. Laid out the plan. The fire would be step one. Dead or alive—we're done.