Gothic Table Runner

Five years after I rejected my mate, Shawn, he had become the Lycan King — and most importantly, he now had a beautiful mate. During the Werewolf Alumni Reunion, someone suddenly brought me up. “What’s Kendra been busy with? She hasn’t shown up at a single reunion in years.” Someone sneered. “She’s too busy seducing alphas from other packs — on airplanes.” “On airplanes?” “Yeah. She’s a werewolf flight attendant with FullMoon Airways. They cater to alphas and lunas from all kinds of packs. I’ve seen her on board before. You wouldn’t believe how flattering she acts around those prestigious wolves.” “Really? Kendra’s a werewolf attendant? No surprise — she’s always dreamed of being claimed by some single alpha.” Hearing that, Shawn, sitting at the center of the table, flinched slightly. His fists tightened. “A werewolf attendant?” he murmured. “Yeah, Shawn... but haven’t you gotten over her by now? It’s been years.” He froze for a second, then quickly composed himself and held his mate’s hand beside him. Everyone’s attention turned to the flickering moonstone ring on her finger. “I’ve long forgotten her,” he said flatly. “Come to my bonding ceremony next month. There will be a sacred ritual at the temple.” “Wow...” Applause filled the hall. But only I, whose soul had been drifting in the air all along, slowly lowered my head upon hearing the news.

Claire nodded, then groaned as he withdrew his finger from her pulsing, aching sex. She heard him walk down the hallway, heard him open the drawer in the bedside table, heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper, heard him approach her again. And that whole time, she stayed where she was: legs trembling and open, hands clenched into fists on the wall, heart pounding and pussy fluttering. Suddenly, he was on her, his cock nudging her from behind, his hands on her hips. Claire whimpered again, pushed back against him. **** John “Griff” Griffin lives by rules. Always has. From the Navy to the SEALs to his job as a bodyguard at Solid Security, control is survival. Protocol saves lives. Boundaries exist for a reason, especially during honeypot ops. Break the rules, and people get hurt. Griff knows that better than anyone. The problem is Claire Worthington. Claire is supposed to be a spoiled socialite hiding after a billion-dollar Ponzi scheme. A criminal. A mark. Instead, she’s living quietly in Denver: working, rebuilding, and starting over like she actually means it. She doesn’t look guilty. She looks… real. When Griff breaks every rule and falls for her, it feels like freedom. It’s also a lie. He’s hiding his name, his job, and the truth – that he was sent to get close and gather evidence. If Claire knew, would she forgive him? Should she? And if she really is guilty, will Griff turn her in… or protect the woman he loves, no matter the cost?

For almost four years without her twin brother, Addison Miranda cannot swallow the pain of her brother's death that still haunts her every night. That's why she pours her every emotion on writing which her brother influenced her when they were still young. And as she grows older, she wants to pursue the dream that settles her from the grief of her lost. The only thing that her mind automatically focuses on is becoming a published writer, willing to do whatever sorcery she needs to perform. But just like any other human being, she stumble upon the biggest regret of her life. Meeting Corpse De Chavez is the start of how she wanted to dig her own grave. It is like in a blink of an eye, Addi become blind of how her success will fall on her hands like streaming waters. She found out that Corpse is a big part of her past that has been torturing her for years. And how unfortunate for her to fall for someone that she’s supposed to despise. Desperate to live a peaceful life, she decided to quit everything so she can save herself from falling apart, even though it breaks her heart leaving the person that loves her more than anyone else. Addison Miranda believes that whatever witchcraft that she's been under, she wanted to get out of it as soon as possible before she falls with it. Because just like spilled coffee on the table, Corpse caused a big mess that no one has ever done to her life. 

Addy Walker once believed love was supposed to be loud—felt in bedtime stories, laughter in the kitchen, and the warmth of arms that made the world feel safe. That’s how it was before her mother died. Before her father changed. Grief hollowed him out. The man who once teased and protected became a shell—quiet, cold, unreachable. Then came the bottles. The slammed doors. The bruises. Addy, now eighteen, has learned to survive in silence—walking lightly, speaking carefully, hiding her pain beneath long sleeves and polite smiles. She works long hours to keep food on the table while her father sinks deeper into debt and addiction. One night, she comes home to a dark, freezing house—again. The electricity is off. Again. And she knows why. She confronts him, her voice sharper than it’s ever been. He denies it at first, but the truth is already spread across the kitchen counter in final notice bills and losing betting slips. He’d gambled away the electric bill money on a horse. The argument erupts. He screams, she stands her ground. When he slaps her, she doesn’t flinch. Something inside her shifts. She’s done waiting for the man he used to be. Addy packs a bag. She’s leaving—for real this time. No plan. No destination. Just freedom. But as she storms out into the rain, a long, black car pulls up to the curb. A man steps out—tall, broad-shouldered, older. His face is hard, almost frightening in the shadows, but he’s striking. Dangerous. And calm.

During the holiday break, my wife, Jayda Glover—the hospital's star surgeon and Chief of Cardiac Surgery—suddenly "had to work overtime." Our third-anniversary hot springs trip? Canceled. That night, I was scrolling social media when a post from her intern, Dillon Tripp, popped up. My ice-queen wife always said her "golden hands" were only for patients. Apparently, they cook now too. She was in a cartoon apron, calmly chopping vegetables. The caption read: [Thank you, Dr. Glover, for personally cooking to comfort me after I was bullied by a patient's family!] I tapped like and left a comment. [White coat to apron. Very domestic.] Ten minutes later, the whole hospital knew Cardiac Surgery's untouchable beauty had broken her rule—just to cook for a younger guy. Jayda called. Dishes clattered in the background. "You really had to embarrass me in public? He got hot water thrown on him by a patient's family today. I was just doing my duty as his mentor! "A pampered professor's kid like you wouldn't know the first thing about how hard broke med students have it. "Apologize to Dillon right now. Otherwise, no matter how much you beg later, I'm not going on that trip with you!" Beg her? I looked at the divorce papers that had just arrived on the coffee table and let out a quiet laugh. I wasn't begging anymore. From this moment on, we were strangers.

It was our wedding anniversary when my husband's high school sweetheart posted a sonogram picture on her social media, with her captioning a public thank-you to my husband: [Thank you to the man who's been there for me for ten years, and for giving me a son.] The room spun, and anger surged through me as I quickly commented: [So, you're proud of being a homewrecker?] Almost immediately, my husband called, his voice full of rage. "How can you think such disgusting things? All I did was help her with IVF, fulfilling her dream of becoming a single mom. "And by the way, Ruby only needed one try to get pregnant, while you’ve been through three rounds with nothing. Your body is useless!" Just three days ago, he told me he was going abroad for business—ignoring my calls and messages the entire time. I thought he was just busy. However, it turned out he was with her, attending her prenatal checkup. Half an hour later, Ruby posted again, showing off a table full of delicious food. [I got tired of French food, so Ash made me all my favorite dishes. He’s the best!] I stared at the pregnancy test in my hand, the joy I had felt earlier now completely gone. After eight years of love and six years of swallowing my pride just to keep the marriage alive, I’m finally ready to let go.

The first time Rafael betrayed me, he threw the woman from his club at my feet. His eyes were bloodshot as he told me to take my pick. My love for him was a sickness, so I forgave the transgression. For the second betrayal, I had the dancer sent out of New York, warning her never to set foot on the East Coast again. On the night of our engagement party, sealing the union of our two families, Rafael pinned me against the walnut desk in the study. His eyes burned with rage as he demanded: "Where is Nina? She's carrying a Mancini heir." "It was a mistake. You can take your anger out on me. Nina is naive; she doesn't deserve this. I'm begging you, just let the child be born safely. I swear I'll never see her again." "You're afraid of childbirth. This gives you an heir without the risk." "Listen, Alessia. You are the future Donna of the Mancini family. When that child is born, it will know only you as its mother. I swear on my life." He forced me backward until shards from the vase I'd knocked over cut into my skin, staining my silk dress with blood. I looked at him and smiled, then gave him the address of a safe house in Brooklyn. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him. Shaking, I pulled out my encrypted phone. "You were right about him. Is your offer still on the table?"

After graduation, I struggle to find a job, while my girlfriend easily lands a position at a major company. She has been with me for two years, and to cheer me up, she even lets me hold onto her payroll card. Once I finally start working, she worries about my long commute and immediately buys me a car. Everyone around us envies me for having such a thoughtful girlfriend. To save up for a house, I secretly deposit my salary into her account. A year later, we decide to get married. Excited, she grabs my hand and says, "I know you don't have much saved. I don't need any wedding gift. All I want is your love." I am deeply touched by her consideration. But on our engagement day, she pulls out photos of me with a dozen women and accuses me of cheating. I look closely and realize I have never even met any of them. Then she shows me my card's transaction history, filled with charges at the notorious Solara Club. "You had my payroll card, and you used my money to indulge yourself!" she cries. "I'm not marrying you. Return my car and all the money you spent over the years. It adds up to 800 thousand dollars." I calmly place the payroll card she gave me on the table and say with a smirk, "Fine, let's settle this properly." When I present the detailed account prepared by my top lawyer, she is stunned.

My family was attacked by rogue wolves when we entered their territory. My wolf was gravely injured, and in the end, I was the one who saved everyone.
As I collapsed, exhausted, no one came to me—they all ran to my adopted sister, Fiona, fussing over a few shallow scratches.
By the time pack members carried me to the infirmary, the healer delivered the cruel news: my wolf had been struck by a silver dagger, and the one-month-old pup in my womb wouldn’t survive.
Yet my mate, Luke, had given the only life-saving treatment to Fiona. With no other choice, I refused the healer’s remedies and numbed my wolf’s pain with crude herbs—knowing it would only buy us three days before death.
In those last days, I let everything go. I gave Fiona all my possessions and insurance money while my parents smiled in approval. I signed the bond-severing agreement Luke slid across the table without a second thought. Luke was satisfied, believing I was considerate. Kane, my brother, nodded his head when I told him to give my room to Fiona.
Even my son, Jim, squealed with joy when I asked him to call her “mom.” No one questioned why I gave all my belongings to Fiona, and their approving gazes said it all: “Good. The old Emma is back. But as the clock ticked down, one thought haunted me:
When they find our bodies—my wolf and my unborn pup—will that satisfaction turn to regret?

That night, Liam served me my usual evening tea. I trusted him completely—he was my mate, after all, and a respected healer of Thornpack. I shouldn't have. When I woke up the next morning, my head was spinning. The special safe where I kept the morphing inhibitor—the one I'd spent my entire savings to import from Europe for our daughter Isla—was empty. Racing to the healing center, I found Liam celebrating. He was handing out moon-blessed wine, beaming with pride as Natalie's daughter Anna showed off her perfect transformation. My inhibitor had been used on his first love's pup instead of our own daughter. The shock triggered something in my brain. When I collapsed, they diagnosed me with the rare tumor that plagued our kind. Without inhibitors, I couldn't stop Isla's transformation that came early, her six year old body couldn't handle the massive wolf form and the force ripped through her young body. And I, for one, don't even have enough money to keep her in a treatment center. She died in my arms three days later, her little claws drawing blood as the pain overwhelmed her. Until her last breath, she kept asking why Papa hadn't come. Now, in my cold, empty home, with the white porcelain urn containing her ashes on the table, I touch her and decide to sever our partnership.