Gutenberg Block Editor Novels & Stories

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

"I'll work for you under one condition." I say. "What's that?" "You'll marry me", He smirks revealing breathtaking dimples "Are you sure about that?." I pause for a moment then look straight into his eyes "I'm sure." I would marry Giovanni D'Errico and find a way to get back my fortune. Whatever it takes. Emily Rivera is trapped in a loveless marriage of three years with an unfaithful husband which eventually ends up in divorce papers. Devastated and heartbroken, she goes back to her parents' house and is even more devastated when she finds out her father was dead, she is hit with an even more shocking revelation, her father Alfonso Rivera had left behind a billion dollar fortune in her name. She is aghast by this revelation but there's a catch she has to prove that she's worthy enough to inherit this fortune. Giovanni D'Errico an associate of her father in the past is currently handling her father's properties in the meantime. She immediately sees him as a block between her and her fortune. A proposal of marriage brings them closer and Emily is satisfied that she's another step closer to inheriting her fortune. Little did anyone know that this weak girl was the heir to the Rivera Empire. Emily begins to climb up the social ladder. Her empire begins to rise, she was making a name for herself, her ex-husband wants her back. But little did Emily know that things were about to take a sinister turn. She joins hands with Giovanni as they now have a bigger obstacle to face, evil forces who want them dead. What are they after? Emily's fortune. Emily will do whatever it takes to keep her fortune. Will Emily prevail and come out victorious or will she die trying?

Keeva, the shunned daughter of Alpha Julius, lives in despair believing she has no wolf. Her eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a day of joy but her world came crumbling down. The Moon Goddess has forsaken her. Her father can't bear to be in the same room as her. When he insisted that she takes his Beta as her chosen mate, plans to escape were snatched away, she had no choice but to follow the path laid before her. Working at the bar was the only freedom she knew, Canagan was the only man who could help her escape. After months of working with her friend Nikita and the wise woman from the forest, their well laid plans didn't come to fruition soon enough to save them both for Julius's tyranny. Channon was saved from certain death by something that could only be the lone wolf of legends. After witnessing his raw, untamed power Channon realized that White Claw could be more than just whispers and fantasy. After waking up in unknown lands and nursed back to health by a pack he didn't recognize Channon learned of his unknow lineage and the powers he is destined to wield. Over the course of the next fifteen years Channon hones his skills preparing to avenge the murder of his parents and take his place as Alpha, uniting the two packs of his ancestors. White Claw has moulded Channon into the man he needs to be. His campaign for revenge and unity hits a stumbling block in the form of his stepsister Keeva. Little Keeva was only two when Channon was almost killed and he often wondered what had happened to her. Had he not followed his Beta into the woods Channon would never have realized Keeva is his.

(Bxb) Eric Valence thought finding a job as an editor for a well-known author named Draven H. Malcolm was the beginning of his writing career. He had no idea that it would also be the beginning of his love story. *** "You're so clueless, it bothers me." He frowned, "What does that mean-" "You never wondered why I gave you all the best things on my floor - the closest desk, drinks from my office, my newest project. I even went to your house and picked you up to make sure you weren't late." "My portfoli-" "There are twenty three others with the same experience as yours, that was an excuse," he admitted, peering into Eric's eyes and daring him to look away. Eric didn't. Draven sighed, "The reason I got mad that day..." he paused for a moment, hesitating again but deciding to let it all out, "the reason I got mad is because I heard you kissed Jason, which I wasn't too pleased about but then seeing you and Justin together..." He never finished his sentence, and Eric raised an eyebrow, "What about Justin and I?" "I feel like you're doing this on purpose," Draven chuckled, examining Eric's confused face. "I'm not sure what you're talking about-" "I like you," Draven said clearly with his entire diaphragm, expression it as loud as he could for Eric to understand. Eric felt his throat squeeze itself shut, no oxygen coming in or out. "I like you, a lot more than I thought, Eric," he breathed. Eric was unable to believe it, shook his head and looked away for moment, before meeting his gaze again. "Why me?" he asked quietly. Draven shrugged his shoulders, eyeing Eric with adoration and admiration, "I'm not sure either, but I want you to be mine."

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

I check on family businesses in the countryside with my girlfriend, Mildred McClure, in tow. At noon, we stop by my uncle, Barron Cortez's, place for a simple lunch. Just as we are getting ready to leave, his new wife, whom he married just six months ago, Hilda Ross, rushes out and demands that we settle the bill. "Elden, you two just had the Supreme Farmhouse Set Meal, which is 1,888.80 dollars, and your girlfriend picked three organic, pesticide-free tomatoes in the garden. That's 199.80 dollars. "With an 80% service charge, your total comes to 3,800 dollars." Mildred is stunned. "Elden, do we have to pay to eat at your uncle's place?" I start to feel embarrassed, and my expression darkens as I look at Hilda, my supposed aunt, who's barely any older than me. "I've grown up eating at my uncle's place and never paid a single penny. Besides, your prices are downright outrageous!" Hilda calmly whips out a price menu and righteously declares, "That's all ancient history. Now, we're running a farmhouse business where all prices are clearly marked, so everyone pays the same rate. "Barron said you're some big boss in the city. Surely you're not going to stiff us over a little bill, are you?" She steps in front of the gate to block the exit with her body and shoots me a contemptuous look. "Even family settles their accounts. If you don't pay up today, don't even dream about stepping through this door!" While Mildred panics, I laugh in disbelief before taking out my phone and dialing Barron's number. "Uncle Barron, Hilda wants to settle accounts between family, so don't you think it's time we settled our accounts too?"

A year ago, my life was simple. I was just Ariel Anthony…a regular college student, cheerleader with decent grades, daughter of a struggling baker, and recently appointed step-sister to a guy I barely knew. Nothing special. Then came the storm. Not just the thunderstorm that trapped me in Professor Grayson's apartment that night, but the storm that followed. The one that's still raging around me, that I created. They don't warn you about men like Luther Grayson in freshman orientation. They don't tell you how a single glance from the right person can make you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. About what you want. About what you'd risk to get it. They also don't warn you about guys like Ethan Cross, with his perfect smile hiding something dark. The kind of guy who's used to getting what he wants and doesn't understand the meaning of the word "no." And no one, absolutely no one…prepares you for what it feels like when the person who's supposed to be your brother looks at you with something else in his eyes. Mom once said I had a gift for making complicated situations worse. If she only knew. My phone buzzed beside me, and I glanced down to see Luther's name on the screen. My heart still jumps every time, even when I'm aware of what could happen if people learned about the two of us. I should ignore it. I should block his number, focus on my classes, help Mom with the bakery, and pretend none of this ever happened. But I'm already reaching for the phone. That's the thing about crossing lines… once you step over them, it's almost impossible to step back. And I've crossed so many lines now, I can't even see where I started.

Anathea Jacobson has had a crush on Gregory Sinclair for ten years. She thinks marrying him is a dream come true. Even if he's just a block of ice now, she'll surely be able to melt him over time. However, all she ever gets is his ice-cold treatment. He's gentle and tender to his true love, but he scorns and neglects her. He also mistreats and humiliates her… Anathea endures it all because they have a son. For his sake, she's willing to cling to her title of Mrs. Sinclair and cage herself in this loveless marriage for the rest of her life. This changes when she's abducted. Gregory spends the night with his true love, and even her beloved son abandons her—he wants to have Gregory's true love as his mother! That's when Anathea sees sense. Her husband will never love her, and her son will never appreciate her. If that's the case, she doesn't want them anymore. She wants to live for herself! … After the divorce, Anathea picks up floral art again. She sets up a company, makes big money, and wins various awards. She wants to give herself all the love she deserves so that she'll go back to being the lively, vivacious woman she once was. Gregory panics when he sees the men surrounding her and vying for her affections. He falls to his knees before her, his eyes rimmed with red as he pleads, "I love you, Nat. Please don't leave me." Anathea sneers. "Your love is too little, too late, Mr. Sinclair." Her son clings to her legs and wails. "Don't abandon me, Mom!" She pushes him away impassively. "Don't call me that. I'm not your mother."

The day I win a brand-new BMW, I suddenly receive a call from myself, ten years in the future. "Kieran will ask to borrow your car in a bit. And whatever you do, do not lend it to him. He intends to use it to pay off his gambling debt." Even with such an impossibility happening to me, I do not doubt a thing. When Kieran asks for my keys, I shut him down at once. That very night, he drives his old beater car to visit our parents. Along the way, he loses control of the car and collides with another vehicle. Just like that, he slips into a coma. The guilt hit me so hard that I eventually pass out. Mom and Dad stay by my side day and night until I can stand on my own two feet again. But the future version of me sounds cold when she calls again. "They only want to push you onto an operating table. They want your heart to save him!" Growing suspicious, I check their bags and find a donor report. Rage burns through me. I immediately block them on all platforms and throw them out of my home. When news that Kieran dies from blood loss arrives, I learn that they only ever needed my blood—not my heart. I try to find them to tell them the truth and apologize for my mistake. But the mysterious phone rings again. "They hate you because Kieran died. If you go to them now, they will drag you into a suicide pact." I freeze at the revelation, then tell my future myself that I will wait until they calm down. Later, I learn that a thief breaks into their home and kills them. I try to rush over and see them one last time, but a truck hits me and kills me on the spot. I die without ever understanding why the version of me from ten years in the future wanted me dead. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day I won the prize.

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.