Epilogue Kitchen 소설 & 이야기

Selene, the loyal best friend, accidentally has a wild one-night stand with a tall, bearded stranger in a motel during a snowstorm—raw, unforgettable sex she thinks she’ll never repeat. The next day at Gwen’s family dinner, the stranger walks in: it’s CK—Gwen’s lifelong childhood crush and family friend, now their new roommate. Guilt crashes in as Selene realizes she slept with her best friend’s obsession. But the chemistry is too strong to resist. Secret hookups ignite in their shared apartment (kitchen counters, shared bathroom risks, late-night motel dates). They agree to date in hiding—Gwen can never know. Every stolen moment is hotter because it’s wrong. Close calls multiply. CK’s qu

"I was his family’s multibillion-dollar lifeline, but to my husband, I was just a shameful, oversized secret." To save King Enterprises from total bankruptcy, ruthless billionaire Darel King was forced to marry me—Giselle Davis, a plus-size heiress with a heavy appetite and curves he absolutely despised. For years, Darel treated our marriage like a prison sentence, banishing me to eat in the kitchen and openly declaring that his elegant, runway-slender ex, Julia Lee, was the only woman he could ever truly desire. The very day his family's empire stabilized, Darel threw the divorce papers in my face, casting me out into the cold New York rain to run back to Julia. He thought he had brok

Dark. Powerful. Dangerous. James Maxwell is one of the billionaire elites who rules Las Vegas City with an iron fist. You’re definitely worth two million, Mia. Think about it. Two million. Five years. Your brother will go free. It’s a contract. Those are the words of the gorgeous billionaire James Maxwell, the man who makes my heart race and my body tremble with longing. I want to refuse his proposal, but how can I? My brother owes him two million, and as dirt poor as we are, there’s no way we can find that much money to repay him. What’s worse, I think I’m falling in love with the man who thinks I’m just his mistress. My name is Mia Donovan, a twenty-two-year-old small-town girl w

After the death of her mother Alice’s father found comfort in the nurse that took care of her. Everything happened so quickly and within what seemed seconds Alice was looked down upon in her family. Her father Karl drank almost every day, her stepmother Sarah treated her like a maid. Even worse, as she grew up, she started to feel a dirty gaze on her body from her stepbrother. Now she was older she was planning her escape. That was until her stepbrother found out the Alpha’s daughter is his mate. A big banquet was held and they invited many well-known alpha families. But Alice was not allowed to attend, she had to cook in the kitchen and to make things worse it was her 18 birthday. Sh

The notice of my mother's layoff sat on the kitchen table. Rent was due in three days. My younger brother's tutoring fees were already two weeks late. And my little sister, Stephanie, clutched her acceptance letter to the local public arts high school like she'd done something wrong. None of this would be happening if it weren't for me. My illness had taken everything our family had saved. I stayed in my room, leaning against the door, wanting to tell them I'd drop out of treatment—but I couldn't bring myself to open it. "Why did he have to fall sick?" My mother was crying, her voice low and tight, like the words were being forced out of her. "If it were just you both, Stephanie and Jam

At 4:00 a.m., my husband, Rocco, gently shook me awake. His voice was a low murmur, . "Alessia, my love, could you do something for me?" But his next words shattered the illusion. "Scarlett is hungry. Go make her some seafood soup." Scarlett was our maid, and she was also Rocco's pregnant goomar. "I just had fresh seafood delivered. Get to the kitchen and make her a bowl of soup. Just for Falcone's heir." I refused, my voice cold. His anger flared in an instant. "Don't be so unreasonable, Alessia." "Is it really so hard for you to make some soup?" I shook my head, silent. He stroked my cheek, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. "Fine, Alessia. So you've learned to defy me no

He calls himself my guardian. But I want him to call me a good girl. I moved in after my mother died. He opened the door — broad chest, deep voice, eyes that stalled when they dropped to my tits. He tried to be decent. Tried to be safe. But I’ve been wet for him since day one. He’s twice my age. Raised my half-sister. Taught her to say “Dad” like it was gospel. But I know what she really wants. I see the way she watches him. The way she watches me when I bend over the kitchen counter, tank top riding up, no bra in sight. This house is full of secrets, soaked sheets, and girls who know better. He pretends not to want it. She pretends she’s not touching herself at night. And me?

When Damian Voss lets his wife walk in on him kissing his first love against their kitchen island, he believes he's finally free — done with the quiet woman he married in secret, ready to claim the powerful public life he always wanted. What he doesn't know: the woman he just handed divorce papers to carries his child, his most dangerous competitor's personal vendetta, and a surname worth ten billion dollars that was stolen from her before she could walk. For three years, Lila loved him in secret — no announcements, no red carpets, no credit. She covered for his late nights, ignored the suspicious texts, and carried champagne and silk to a penthouse where she planned to give him everything.

Someone texted me halfway through the wedding. The message read, "I had sex with your husband. Doesn't matter if you don't believe it." The message hit me like a hammer, and I stood petrified. Then, the texter sent another message, "Second pocket on the inside of his coat. There's a used condom there from last night. Strawberry. We were setting up the room, and one thing led to another. "We did it everywhere. Balcony, kitchen, and even in your car. He's not allergic to women. He'd gladly sleep with someone before marriage. He lied to you." Everything began to spin. I walked ahead, but my movements felt stiff. I felt as if someone was yanking me forward. I approached the aloof, abstinent

I went to try on my wedding gown with Lorenzo—my fiancé, the Don of the Morretti family. My younger sister, Serafina, begged to come along. I stepped out from behind the velvet curtain. There she was, pinning a brooch to his lapel. I opened my mouth to say, “Let me do that,” but the photographer had already turned to her with a grin. “Newlyweds, look this way.” They both turned. The camera clicked twice, and the photographer brushed past me. Ninety-nine shots. Every single one of Serafina and Lorenzo. Not one of me—the actual bride. I stood there, hollow. When we were children, they always played bride and groom. I clapped on cue. When we grew up, they sat at the head of family councils; I m