Fierce Face

I cringe in fear, he traces his finger down my half naked body feasting his eyes on me, I can tell my already wet transparent outfit isn't helping matters, I feel his hand graze through my nipple slightly he turns me over making me face the wall, I feel his bulge rub against me,I try pushing him but he pins me down with no effort at all, "It won't be fun if you don't resist" I'm hit by a sharp wave of pain as he thrusts into me gradually it turns to pleasure as he thrusts faster,harder and quicker my brain tells me to fight him off and run but my body aches for more pleasure than ever,I've always been this kind of slut but tonight I feel violated, He turns me over to face him I watch his lips move closer aiming for a kiss,disgusted and irked I kick him in the groin causing him to fall and sprawl on the ground ,I reach for my jacket, he pulls me by my ankle I try kicking him off but he's holding on too tight, restless and impatient I reach for the gun just before me pulling the trigger without second thought, he stays still not moving seconds after blood come gushing out from his abdomen,I hear claps come from behind "Well-done Nikita, welcome to the crib"

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

"I can't do this no more. I'm leaving you, Rupert Peter Myrie," Tasha said, her heart thudding in her chest. He turned, locking his eyes with hers, but she didn't flinch. Rupert snorted softly, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approached, each breath husky, each movement heavy until he stood just an inch away. "Tee, you must be really angry for you to be calling me by my full name." "Stick to the point," she said, turning her face from his intimidating gaze. "I want to end things with you." Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out. He closed the space between them. "You want to end things with me?" His voice dropped. "Who teaching you this 'strong woman' crap?" He wrapped his arms around her, gently rocking her and pulling her to his chest. "The only way I'll ever let you leave me... is in a body bag." ****** After escaping a toxic relationship and years of being controlled, Tasha Mackenzie finds herself under the protection of Joseph Grind, America's most feared Mafia boss. He’s cold-blooded. Untouchable. And hiding a secret darker than his empire: he's also the Alpha of the Stinging Vipers werewolf pack. As Tasha is pulled into his dangerous world, she learns the man protecting her has a fiancée he claims is just a business deal. But how can she trust a man feared by an entire country, let alone love him? Can Tasha survive the war between her heart and his secrets... or will loving a monster destroy her for good?

"Don't you know how to fake a smile anymore? Those irritating little smiles of yours that screamed nothing but desperation? We're making an appearance in front of several high calibre people for goodness sake. You must carry this facade on without any slip, Rosalie.” He said.  My chest pinched, and I looked away, pretending to adjust my bracelet to hide the pain. “I know."  ~                                    ~ “Rosaline...” Ezra murmured. “Why help me to ruin a man you once loved?”   "Why?" I repeated. "Because they took everything from me—the one thing I loved more than life itself. They destroyed my life, my reputation, my happiness, all to serve their own selfish agendas. Him and his mistress. I've been maltreated and betrayed severally, countlessly! But no more. It's my turn to take what I deserve: their pain, their humiliation, their downfall." I paused, my face hardening into an expression of pure, vengeful rage. "And I will make them suffer for it.” *                  *.             * Rosalie’s journey had been a tumultuous one– betrayal and pain. The transactional marriage that she had entered into, hoping one day it would turn around to be a marriage for love, had instead left her heartbroken and betrayed. Her ex- husband’s infidelity, coupled with an unimaginable cruelty that he had subjected her to, had shattered her beyond repair.  Now, fueled by a desire for vengeance, Rosalie had returned to seek revenge on those who had wronged her. Joining forces with her ex-husband's rival, a ruthless business tycoon who harbored his own grudges against her ex-husband, she plotted a scheme that would bring them both justice...and ruin.

By a twist of fate, my husband, Morgan Lancaster, and I perish together in a sea of flames. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the very day we received our marriage certificate. In my previous life, we appeared to be a loving couple in the eyes of others, yet Morgan refused to share a bedroom with me the entire time we were married. It was only moments before our deaths that I discovered I was merely a substitute for his first love and that he had chosen to remain chaste for her for life. After getting another chance at life, neither of us mentions the past. Instead, by mutual understanding, we file for divorce that same day. From that point on, we go our separate ways. Eight years later, Morgan shows up arm in arm with his childhood sweetheart, Freya Springer, at a business summit. He is now a prominent and celebrated rising star in the business world. Seeing me dressed in a plain outfit, he approaches with a glass of champagne. His tone drips with mockery as he asks, "Ms. Smith, even if you still have feelings for me, there's no need to dress like a waitress just to get close to me. You aren't hoping for a reconciliation, are you?" I say nothing and simply smile as I wave at someone in the distance. My son, Theo Coltrane, toddles over and tugs at the hem of my shirt. "Mommy, Daddy says that he's tired from waiting so long. When are you coming home with us?" The smile on Morgan's face freezes instantly, and he nearly loses his grip on the glass in his hand.

Over the Fourth of July weekend, I took my boyfriend's sister to his flashy new influencer hub. Fresh off brain surgery, Benedetta Griffin needed a break from her recovery, and I hoped the trip would lift her spirits. In the hub, a streamer was hawking a face cream like a carnival barker. "Listen, fam! The boss lady is slashing prices. Get this $3,800 cream for just $398 today!" Benedetta tugged my sleeve. "That cream is bad news." She'd interned at the FDA last summer and could spot a scam from a mile away. "It's packed with steroids. Long-term use will ruin your skin." Driven by her sense of justice, she marched up to the streamer. "You can't sell this unlicensed junk. The steroids exceed legal limits. Pull it from the shelves." Morgan Lamb froze, but then her fake smile twisted into a scowl. "Who the hell are you to trash my product?" Benedetta didn't back down. "You're scamming people, and you know it." Morgan planted her hands on her hips. "I'm the boss lady here. How dare you slander my brand? Nobody leaves until you cough up $500,000 for damages." "Boss lady?" My stomach churned. My boyfriend's sudden venture into the streaming industry now made sense. He was sinking money into this hub to bankroll his lover. I fumbled for my phone to call him, but Morgan was faster. "Babe, get to the hub. Two haters crashed the party, trying to tank our business."

I stood up fiercely with anger that was boiling in every part of my body. Who the hell is he to tell me what to do with my body! I moved closer to him and stood face to face with him. "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do! I am not keeping this child and you have no right to force me!” He growled. ****************************** Neoma’s life is devastated when she finds her fiancé in bed with another woman, a werewolf—the very people she despised so much. Now pregnant with another man’s child due hospital laboratory error during artificial insemination, she is forced to carry the child as it belongs to a powerful, fierce Alpha. Amarok is driven by a deep desire to become the mayor of the werewolf community to change rules by the older alpha that caused the death of his first love, finding out a human is carrying his child. He must keep the child alive by any means to achieve his mayor ambition, even if it means forcing the human woman to pretend to be his fated mate and to marry him. Will Neoma and Amarok overcome their differences? Will their love thrive after Neoma finds out that Amarok’s father was the one who killed her mother and made her father insane?

On April Fool’s Day, my CEO husband cut out my heart to save his childhood sweetheart's son. After the surgery, he tossed me into a cold rental apartment, where I died in agony. Three days after my death, my five-year-old daughter played in the room as usual. Walking by the sofa, she wrinkled her little nose and mumbled, "Mommy, there's a weird smell in here." She touched my face and murmured, "Mommy, are you pretending to be Snow White? Why are you so pale?" She shook my arm harder and raised her voice, "Mommy, it's my birthday today—get up and blow out the candles!" Confused, she picked up the phone and called her father. “Daddy, did I make Mommy mad? I lit the candles, but no matter how much I call her, she won’t wake up.” On the other end of the call, Patrick Hart’s voice was cold and impatient. “What could possibly be wrong with her? She’s just pretending to be asleep for sympathy. It’s Johnny’s birthday, I’m busy. Don’t bother me! Tell your melodramatic mother to stop playing her little tricks. I don't have time to humor her." My daughter removed the candle from her bun, pinched off a piece of the bun, and fed it to me. "Mommy, I made a secret wish… I really wish you could hold me again, just like before."

At graduation, I invited my classmates to attend my engagement party, but what I didn’t expect was the total meltdown one of my classmates had when she saw my engagement photos. She strutted over, full of herself, and demanded that I take off my dress so she could use it to polish her shoes. I blinked in confusion, thinking she must have lost her mind. I laughed and suggested she head over to the campus clinic to get checked out. Instead, she exploded, pointing a finger right in my face as she started yelling. “You leech! How dare you wear something so expensive?” she screamed. “You’ve been spending all of my boyfriend’s money on your filthy clothes! Have you no shame? Get down on your knees and apologize, or I guarantee you'll regret it. Who knows where you'll end up tomorrow? Maybe in the hands of some trafficker?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Who would’ve thought that my fiancé, whose tuition fees I paid for, had the nerve to keep a secret mistress behind my back?

"Nyla, stop being dramatic. Raise Jordyn's baby, and I'll come home for dinner once a month." Those were the terms Clark Summer offered his wife after she discovered his affair. When Nyla demanded a divorce, Clark laughed in her face, treating her pain like a childish tantrum. "You love me too much to leave," he scoffed, convinced she was nothing without him. He was wrong. Nyla didn’t just leave; she leveled up. She walked into a bar and set her sights on Damon Summer—Clark’s estranged, ruthless, and terrifyingly handsome uncle. Clark is losing his grip on the company and his sanity, consumed by jealousy as he watches his "boring" wife shine beside his powerful uncle. He stands in the rain, begging for a second chance, but Nyla only has one question left for him: "You chose the mistress. Why are you crying now that I’ve chosen someone else?"