Fuckboy Face

“You are a virgin, Celine, so I am trying to make things right,” Nicholas said in a whisper and my face flushed with anger and shame. He caught on. He knew I was a virgin. Fuck! I laughed out and slapped his chest tightly. I needed to defend myself and try to appear like a whore. I can't give him the satisfaction of believing he is the one who deflowered me. “Wait, I thought you were drunk? I think you are being delusional here Nicholas. A virgin at this age?” I asked and tried to hide the nervousness in my voice. “Sorry to hurt your ego. I have been with many men before you. Don't think…” I began but Nicholas turned his back to me, ignoring me. ******* Life didn’t truly end when Celine discovered her husband never loved her. He stood by while his cousin tormented her simply because of her size, leaving Celine humiliated and broken. But fate gave her another chance. Celine got reborn three years earlier, on the very night she had a one-night stand with Nicholas. This lifetime, Celine vows not to repeat the same mistakes. This time, she refuses to marry Nicholas. But Nicholas isn’t the man she remembers. Determined and unyielding, he wants Celine and he’ll stop at nothing to prove that her size is the very last thing that could keep him away.

It is payback time! Cynthia Laurent’s comeback is fueled by heartbreak… and a love that won’t let go. The day she was told she had six months to live, her husband’s betrayal cut deeper than any diagnosis. While grappling with a brain tumor, Cynthia overheard her stepsister’s cruel confession: “I’m pregnant.” One look at her husband’s face told her the truth — the affair was real, and the baby was his. Eight years of marriage, discarded like trash. Her pleas were met with her mother-in-law’s venom who saw her only as a nanny, a cook, a housekeeper, a cleaner – never a daughter-in-law and her eight-year-old son’s chilling wish for a “new mom.” Broken and abandoned, Cynthia vanished to Paris, ready to die. But fate had other plans. In Paris, three men of immense power burst into her life, claiming to be her brothers and vowed to protect her at all costs. Titans of industry, speed, and medicine, they rebuilt Cynthia from the ground up. Now, as the Michelin-starred queen of Maison Cynclair, Cynthia returns to the city that destroyed her. Her ex-husband falls to his knees. “We’re still married,” he pleads. Her son cries, “Mom, don’t you love me anymore?” The woman they once broke is gone. “Thank you for your betrayal,” she replied, calm and clear. “It made me a hundred-million-dollar woman.” A man’s love fades. An empire? Never.

When twenty-two-year-old Evelyn Lockhart moves in the next to Connor Everest, bad boy billionaire and head of Everest industries, she makes a promise to herself to have nothing to do with the spoilt bastard. He's wild, untamed and makes her annoyed. And his wild parties almost every night keeps her awake. They get off on the wrong foot when Evelyn, fed up with his shenanigans, call the cops on one of his wild parties. Things get heated when Evelyn starts off her new job the following week and discovers that Connor is her new boss. With the press nosy for gossip, Connor fears his secret project which he's spent years working on would get leaked before it's ready and propositions Evelyn to be his fake fiancee at least until the project is launched. How long can they keep up the façade while still trying not to catch feelings?

Even though I knew cows were sacred to the Indorians, I still supported their biological daughter in her plan to serve beef at the dinner table of Indoria's wealthiest man. In my previous life, the wealthiest man in Indoria had held a nationwide contest to choose a wife. My sister had fought her way to the final round and planned to make a beef and veggie stew for the ultimate cooking challenge. I rushed to stop her, warning that in Indoria's religion, cows were considered holy, and eating beef could have serious legal consequences. However, my sister thought I was deliberately humiliating her for being "uncultured." In a fit of anger, she ran out, only to be struck and killed by a car. My adoptive parents tried to console me, telling me it was not my fault, that it was simply bad luck. Later, thanks to my exceptional cooking skills, I became the wife of Indoria's wealthiest man. Yet on the very day of my wedding, my adoptive parents sold me to the slums. That night, as eight men assaulted me one after another, I cried and demanded to know why. They kicked me viciously and spat: "If you hadn't made things difficult for Janet, she wouldn't have died. You owe her this!" By the end of that night, I had bled to death. Meanwhile, my adoptive parents used the money given by Indoria's wealthiest man to build a lavish tomb for their biological daughter. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister was about to serve her beef and veggie stew to Indoria's wealthiest man.

The company held a management meeting, and my husband's secretary was standing at the door, checking everyone's identity. Every person who entered the conference room was greeted with a bright smile—until it was my turn. Then came a derisive snort. I frowned and handed over my badge from the Cybersecurity Department, but he didn't even bother to look. "Skye, Mr. Fraser only pitied you enough to make you a manager. Don't tell me you actually think you're something special?" I didn't respond. Instead, I turned around and dialed the CEO's direct line. "Someone just said this position was yours to grant out of pity. Is that true?"

I'm the daughter of Don Falcone. After I got back from studying abroad, my family threw a welcome-home banquet, conveniently setting me up to meet the fiancé my father had handpicked for me—Santino Moretti. My father praised the guy to the skies in his letters: he was the heir to the Moretti family, elegant, ruthless, drop-dead gorgeous, and holding half the city’s underground operations in the palm of his hand. I arrived at the Elysium Hotel right on the dot. Just as I was about to take a seat, a hand shoved me hard. A woman's shrill voice pierced my ear. "Livia, what's a Sicilian peasant like you doing here? This is the Imperial Suite. Do you think you even deserve to breathe the air in a place like this?" I recognized the woman. It was Bella, a bitch who had always had it out for me back in college. She was clearly trying to humiliate me. Instead of getting mad, I smirked. "Whether I deserve to be here or not—is that for you to decide?" Bella sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm Mr. Santino's personal assistant. Today, Mr. Santino is hosting the eldest daughter of the Falcone family here. This isn't an occasion for bottom-feeding trash like you." "Be smart and crawl back to your slum." I pulled out my phone and dialed my so-called fiancé. I wanted to ask him if it was a tradition in the Moretti family to let their dogs bark at the front door.

My husband brings a pregnant Meryl Cleat home and lies to me, claiming that she's his stepmother. I'm wholly against the idea, but she says, "The children will call you their mother when they're born, so you don't have to go through the pain of childbirth. Think about how lucky you are, experiencing motherhood without the suffering!" I demand a divorce in the heat of the moment; Meryl is so infuriated by this that she faces labor complications and later dies. Out of guilt, I become a stay-at-home mother to care for her two super male kids. Yet they scaled me with boiling water and blind me in one eye. My health deteriorates under their intense torment, and I'm diagnosed with uremia. That's when I accidentally discover Meryl isn't my stepmother—she's my husband's mistress! I'm in despair when I return home. To make matters worse, I catch her—when she's supposed to be dead—and my husband in bed together. Her two super male sons ultimately stab me to death. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day she fakes her death!

My husband spiked our child's formula with sleeping pills to sneak away for a Christmas date with his assistant. As I frantically rushed my feverish child to the hospital, I unexpectedly spotted my husband carrying his assistant upstairs. "Peyton twisted her ankle, so I'm here to help her get it checked!" Even though our child was in the operating room fighting for her life, he did not so much as glance in her direction. I tightened my grip on the ten-million-dollar winning lottery ticket in my pocket. It was time to end this seven-year marriage.

My husband's first love, the woman he had once idolized, had left him for a powerful and influential school bully. Years later, she found herself in the midst of a bitter divorce and in need of a lawyer. And who else but my husband, now an accomplished attorney, ended up back in her orbit? As he moved toward her once more, I decided it was time to step aside. After all, there was no stopping someone determined to chase after a lost cause.

Christmas Eve was meant to be the culmination of seven years of long-distance longing—the day Lorenzo finally slid an engagement ring onto my finger. Instead, a sudden emergency surgery chained me to the operating table. The patient wasn't just suffering from a premature delivery and catastrophic hemorrhaging; she was riddled with infections, the biological fallout of a reckless, hedonistic lifestyle. The girl on the table spat out orders with a venomous entitlement that made my blood run cold. "My husband is the head of the Corleone family. He’s second to none, and this entire city bows to him. If you can’t save my baby, you’re all dead." My mind went blank. There was only one head of the Corleone family: Lorenzo. "You’ve got the wrong man," I said, my voice wavering despite my frown. "The news said he’s already engaged to a woman from a rival family for a strategic alliance." The girl looked at me as if I’d just told a pathetic joke. She surveyed me with a mocking sneer. "Oh, he’s mentioned that woman. He said she’s like a cold corpse—that even touching her makes him sick to his stomach. She doesn't provide him a fraction of the pleasure I do." She smirked. "He heard something happened to the baby. He’s en route from Sicily right now with his personal detail." She flicked her phone screen open. There it was: a photo of her and Lorenzo, locked in a suffocatingly intimate embrace. I froze. A second later, a notification from Lorenzo vibrated against my palm. “Darlin’, something urgent came up tonight. I’m skipping the engagement dinner. I’ll make it up to you later.” Since they were so utterly in love, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I dialed a number that had been silent for three years—the number of the true mastermind of the underworld, Don Sebastian. "Does your proposal from three years ago still stand?"