Evans Blue Beg Lyrics Novels & Stories

On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain. The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire. My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars. Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York. The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door. That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment." She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel: "It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act." Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive: "If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?" What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.

Five years into my marriage to the Don, Ives Moretti, he left me for dead during a shootout to get his mistress, Isabella, to safety. I woke up three days later in a private hospital room. No apology. Ives was cold. “You’re my wife. You knew the risks. Stop being so dramatic.” Then, he added, “Isabella’s different. She’s fragile. She needed me.” That was followed by three months of the silent treatment. Like always, he expected me to be the one to break, to come crawling back begging for forgiveness. Three months later, I handed the Irish deal to Isabella on a silver platter. The big one I’d spent half a year building myself. Ives thought it was a peace offering. He smiled, a rare, genuine thing these days. “I knew you’d come around. As a reward, we’ll go to Vegas. I know you’ve always wanted to go.” The next day, Isabella whined about being bored, and he broke his promise. He took her to Vegas instead. Told me it was “urgent family business.” This time, I didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene. Ives was pleased I was being so understanding. He had no idea I was already cutting all ties to the Moretti family. That he’d already signed the divorce papers. I was free.

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.

After four years of marriage, James Lawson, who had never posted anything on social media, unexpectedly updated his status: "What an adorable little foodie!" The attached photo showed a young woman wearing pink cat ears, eating at a Korean BBQ restaurant. Her cheeks were flushed red from the spicy food as she stuck out her tongue. It was Sophie Jones, a new content creator at his company. Within a minute, our mutual friend commented: "Dude, you forgot to switch accounts!" Just like that, James's new post disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, only to show up moments later on Sophie's feed. Then James's name lit up my phone screen. In the past, I would have already taken screenshots and called him first to confront him. It would have inevitably ended in a heated argument. But this time, I calmly watched his call go to voicemail without answering.

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.

Alsie Jones is a homicide detective in the human world. Alsie Neferet is a 24-year-old member of the Far-Side Moon Pack. Alsie is a human-wolf hybrid, or so she has been told her entire life. The Far-Side Moon Pack is the largest, most powerful, pack on the West Coast and it is undergoing a leadership transition, with the 24-year-old Sandolf Triplets preparing to become the new Alphas. However, their father, current Alpha, Kordell, will not step down until the triplets find their Luna. Osiris, Evander, and Andrew know who their mate is. When they decide to discuss the matter with their father, they encounter a deity named Wepwawet who gives them a warning: "Keep Alsie safe, or I will bring ruin to your family and pack." The triplets must ensure Alsie's safety, navigate interactions with the Sheriff's Office, investigate a pack member's murder, and locate an ancient artifact on neutral ground, all before their 25th birthday. While also learning that their story and history isn’t entirely accurate. Alsie is destined to become one of the most powerful beings of the Underworld on the planet, if she can stay alive. Alsie and the Sandolf triplets must join forces with other beings of the supernatural, the underworld, and humans alike to accomplish and fulfill the prophecy of King Sekhemkhet and keep centuries old bloodlines alive. On this journey Alsie and the triplets will come across witches, warlocks, vampires, werefoxes, and a species that was thought to be a myth, the werecats descendants and guardians of Ra. All the while Alsie is still holding on to her job in the human world, as a detective. The more she investigates the death of their pack member the closer she gets to the ultimate enemy Fenrir the evil monstrous wolf of Ragnarok.

I was supposed to expose the Bratva monster's scandal, but instead, I became his obsession. I'm Irina, a librarian determined never to marry so I could care for my grandmother, who suffers from dementia—my only relative and my reason for living. He was Miron Pavlov, the blood-stained leader of the Bratva. He entered my life, but I couldn't fix it. He was here to take control, to make me his contract mistress turned legal wife. I tried to resist, but he was relentless, ruthlessly possessive. His hazel eyes undressed me, dragging me into his cruel world, making me question everything. So I ran when I discovered I was pregnant, unwilling to raise my child in his company. But Miron didn't care about the rules of his family, his cartel, his world. He pursued me, he desired me. Would his dark love change me? Or would she choose an ordinary man who would be much better at raising her child?

Everyone knew that Aria Jackson had loved Larry Spencer for years. The usually obedient Aria got tattoos for him, broke rules for him, and even moved to a foreign city for him. But when she fell into the lake and he rescued her rival instead, leaving her soaking and miserable, her heart finally shattered completely. The man who came after Larry held her protectively in his arms and suggested with a gentle laugh, "Miss Jackson, have you considered teaching your ex-husband a lesson?" She promptly filed for divorce and married Archer Duncan, the heir to the Duncan empire and the powerful CEO of Duncan Industries. That evening, their marriage certificate was posted on social media. The typically aloof Larry finally showed his desperation, begging her not to marry Archer and then turning to threaten him, "You think she loves you? She's just using the Duncan family's wealth and connections!" Archer simply tightened his arm around her waist and replied calmly, "So what? Fortunately, I have both in abundance." What no one knew was that Aria had been Archer's carefully laid plan all along. He had deeply loved this rose from the beginning—he admired her ambition and was eager to support her boldness and independence.

"Why would you try to hurt her?" Victor shouted back. His voice was cold towards me, as he held onto Lily's hand. "So you're just going to believe her over your own wife?!" I fired back. Victor ignored my words and drew his attention to Lily and the broken glass. I watched as he carefully collected the pieces and threw them away. "Are you hurt anywhere? Did the glass get you?" Victor asked softly, giving her hand a light squeeze. "No, no. I'm okay now that you're here." Lily's smile was small. "Please don't leave me alone with her again..." **** I, Emelia Russo, once thought I was a woman who had it all—a successful career, and a loving husband. But when a "childhood friend" by the name of Lily Marino re-enters my husband's life, everything takes a turn for the worse. All of a sudden, my once faithful and loyal Victor was lying for her, favoring her, and trusting her word over mine. I became the outsider in my own marriage. When I finally had enough of his secrets and mistreatment of me and called for a divorce, he begged me to stay. "Please, let's go back to how the way things used to be! I'm begging you! Don't leave me!" Victor pleaded. But what happens when I tell him "It's too late."?

I spent six months and over $20,000 to plan a family vacation. However, when my mate’s childhood sweetheart Victoria heard about our trip, she begged to join us. Alexander didn't hesitate. He cancelled my spot in the protected convoy and gave it to her instead. He forced me to travel alone through deadly Shadow Pack territory - a thirty-six hour journey where three wolves had died last month. The whole family supported Alexander's decision without a thought for my safety. So I changed my travel plans. I headed north instead of south. I spent three months enjoying myself, ignoring their mindlink message. That's when the family started to panic...