Halsey Gasoline

After my sister, Mona Ramsey, and I graduated from college, our family went bankrupt. Our father gave us two options: One was to marry into the Whites through an alliance. The other was to take over the company and clean up the mess. In my previous life, Mona wanted the rich socialite lifestyle and chose to marry into the Whites. She ended up being brutally tortured by her husband, leaving her disfigured and disabled. I, on the other hand, relied on my talent for business to bring the company back from the brink. For a while, I was riding high and had everything going for me. Mona grew insanely jealous of me. At the company's IPO launch event, she stormed into the venue carrying gasoline and set me on fire. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment when our father gave us the choice. This time, Mona rushed to stand in front of me. "Dad, let Laura marry into the Whites," she said. "She's been spoiled since she was little. She can't handle a hard life. I'll stay with you and face everything that's coming." I couldn't help laughing. Oh, my silly little sister! Staying would be far more miserable than marrying into the Whites.

"I'm a jerk, but you stole my heart"---->Derek"I'm a better person when i'm around you"---->Halsey"I fell in love with you because you loved me when I couldn't love myself"---->NicholasBut what shocked me the most were Alec's words..."I want you. All of you. Your flaws. Your mistakes. Your imperfections. I want you and only you."---->Alec Brad.It all started when i agreed to move in with them. The four bad ass of Greenville. Currently, i had been forced to attend a party with them and we were all playing truth and dare at the moment with other high schoolers.The bottle was spun around and it landed between me and Alec. I was to ask the question."Truth or dare?" I say slightly slurring on my words due to the little drinks i had taken."Truth" he replies with a lot of confidence, smirking at me, his green eyes holding my gaze.This was the perfect time to ask him what has always been bothering me. And then my question rolls out of my tongue."When was your last kiss?"He seemed shocked with the question but covers it up quickly with an evil smile, as he searches around for something, or maybe someone. Having found it, he turned around to face me and answered my question."Now"And with that, he pulls me up in a swift movement, grabs my waist, draws me closer to him,and then you can imagine what happens next. My asshole is kissing me.

We were on a field trip to the Holy State of Aram, when the prom queen, Susie Lambert, complained about the hot weather and called for a bikini party. My boyfriend Ken insisted on bringing the whole class along just to satisfy her whim, even though I warned him, "That's against the law, and visitors who are found guilty will be remanded, if not killed…" He slapped me across the face and snapped, "Don't try to scare us! You're just jealous that Susie's got a nice bod, and you don't want to see us being happy together!" Everyone else in the class roared in approval too. "Exactly! You already took Ken away from Susie, and you'd now come up with such bullshit!" I was furious and frustrated, but for their sake, I spoke to Mrs. Dent, the class teacher. She scolded everyone when she realized what they were doing and called off the bikini party. However, Susie got so upset that she ran off alone and flaunted her bikini at the beach anyway, and she was caught before being executed as a spy by zealots. Ken blamed it all on me. In the middle of the night, he sneaked into my home and set fire to it with gasoline, killing my entire family. Afterward, the entire class testified on his behalf to create an alibi. But I opened my eyes again and found myself returning to that day when Susie goaded everyone to join her bikini party. This time, I simply smiled. "Go ahead, enjoy yourselves all you want!"

Right before the SAT, our scatterbrained airheaded group favourite, the school belle, Priscilla Ashford, volunteers herself to safeguard everyone's admission tickets. My firm refusal of her offer earns me the displeasure of my childhood sweetheart, Justin Kylemark. "You're picking on her again," he says. I ignore his rebuke. On the exam day itself, I personally double-checked every single admission ticket to make sure nothing could go wrong. However, the moment Priscilla gets hers from me, she burst into tears, claiming that I lost her ticket. Justin snatched my admission ticket and tore it to shreds. I run until my legs give out, barely managing to get it reissued before the bus leaves. However, my classmates all kicked me off the bus together. "You lost Priscilla's admission ticket. Do you think you deserve to sit for the exam?" They carry with them the exam prediction I had prepared for them. Thanks to that, they each achieve excellent scores. I have no choice but to repeat the year and become the top scorer. By then, Justin and my other classmates, who are already in prestigious universities and colleges, all return together. They produce fake evidence, accusing me of cheating in the exam. Unable to defend myself, a candidate who flunked the exam poured gasoline on me and set me on fire. When I open my eyes once more, I see myself handing the admission tickets over to Priscilla… except for my own.

Claire Shaw, my wife of 27 years and I had already fallen out of love with each other. Having picked up on that fact, our children, Jason and Monica Bennett, started giving me advice. "Dad, you and Mom are still relatively young. You two deserve to continue pursuing the lives you want." "That's right, Dad. You can't just force a marriage to go on. We support you in getting a divorce." With Jason and Monica's support, Claire and I soon got divorced. Monica took it upon herself to introduce another woman to me. Soon, I began a new relationship. But when I was about to get married, Claire took me to court and accused me of cheating on her while we were still married. Jason and Monica showed up at the court trial as witnesses as well. They proved that I had indeed cheated on Claire in our marriage. I couldn't defend myself at all. In the end, I was forced to give up everything I owned. My new girlfriend, Linda Calcraft, and I were heavily targeted by the entire Internet. "Hey, old geezer! Just how shameless are you to look for a mistress when you're already dying?" "You're already old enough to become a grandfather, and yet you're still filing for a divorce? You and that mistress are better off together!" Some extremists strapped me and Linda to the bed. They dumped gasoline all over us before setting us on fire, leading to our deaths. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Jason and Monica try to convince me to get a divorce.

"I'm a mess, trying to fix what I became and for your own good maybe you should walk away." — Zayn Cole Santiago. On the surface Zayn Santiago has everything. A powerful name, a prestigious law degree within reach and a father who runs the country's most influential firm. But beneath the surface is a man held together by anger and adrenaline, spending his nights in underground fighting rings and illegal street races, chasing the only feeling that drowns out the silence his mother left behind when she took her life. By day he's the son of the prospective president. By night he's a completely different kind of dangerous. He bleeds for fun and calls it living. Aliya Martinez is a 21-year-old pre-law student with an ambition to become one of the best lawyers in the world. She’s the calm to his storm, The light to his darkness, The peace he never knew he needed, And the perfection in his ruin. Like fire and gasoline, they were never supposed to cross paths, but one night was all it took to turn everything upside down. When Zayn saves a drunk girl from a club, he thinks that’s the end of it—until a photograph surfaces of him carrying an unconscious girl into his penthouse at 2 a.m. With his father, Eduardo Santiago, running for the presidency, the scandal threatens everything. The solution is simple. An arranged engagement between Zayn and the girl. For two years. What starts as a fake relationship turns into something far more complicated as real feelings surface and buried secrets threaten to destroy everything they’ve built. Some secrets don't stay buried. Some feelings don't stay fake. Some pasts should never collide. But some ruins are far too beautiful to walk away from.

As my due date approached, a massive discrepancy surfaced in the Galante family's arms accounts. The leadership made a swift decision. They sent me, Sophia Vitale, the Don's wife, the woman everyone claimed had nothing better to do, to personally inspect the armory and verify the inventory. I believed it was a routine check. I never imagined my husband's godsister, Monica Leone, would use it as cover to blow up the entire armory. The explosion was deafening. Fire ripped through the sky. Concrete collapsed around me, crushing my body as a searing pain tore through my abdomen. I did not call my husband on his highest-priority private line. Instead, I sent a distress signal to my father. In my previous life, the moment the explosion occurred, I had used that same priority channel to call my husband. The child had survived. Monica had been obliterated in the blast. My husband had claimed he did not blame me. He had said Monica was an outsider and that an heir mattered more. He had spared no expense, hiring elite obstetric specialists to monitor me day and night. He had told me to stay calm and wait for delivery. Then, on the day I went into labor, he personally locked me and the baby inside an abandoned warehouse drenched in gasoline and burned us alive. "If you hadn't deliberately delayed, she wouldn't have died. Do you really think playing the innocent victim could fool me? Dream on," he said. "You like playing with fire so much? Fine. I'll let you experience her despair yourself." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the armory, at the exact moment of the explosion.

In Alabama’s rot-soaked bayous, Drucilla Drakes survives by three rules: silence, scars, and never letting Louise—her Bible-thumping captor—catch her hoping. But when a schoolyard ambush leaves her bleeding beneath a stranger’s leather jacket, invisibility becomes a death sentence. Enter Dragon Morales: New Orleans’ most notorious runaway, a cartel prince turned outlaw mechanic with grease-stained hands and a death wish. He doesn’t save people—he survives them. Yet in Dru’s lashed flesh and hellfire gaze, he sees his own shattered reflection. Their bond is gasoline and matches. Dragon’s father—Colombia’s cartel kingpin—hunts them relentlessly. Louise, armed with voodoo rites and the chaos-hungry loa Marinette, vows to break Dru. Their only allies? The Lou Nwa, a bayou biker gang trading in bullets and black magic, and Papa Legba, the crossroads spirit who offers Dru a lethal bargain: *“Her soul or yours.”* Fleeing through the Deep South’s cursed underbelly, they dodge cartel hitmen, haunted swamps, and safehouses reeking of betrayal. Dark magic seeps into old wounds; family secrets tighten like nooses. Dragon swears he’s too ruined to love. Dru knows she’s too shattered to trust. But in the bayou’s choking heat, desire is a grenade they can’t outrun. This isn’t a fairytale. It’s switchblade kisses and saintly curses—a collision of fire and ruin where protectors become predators. Dru doesn’t need saving; she needs an inferno. And Dragon? He’s got a lighter and nothing left to burn. Will they raze the South to ashes, or become the sacrifice the crossroads demands? One truth remains: in the bayou, even survival leaves scars. **Warning:** No princes here. Just bayou smoke, blood-soaked magic, and the kind of love that devours.

On Independence Day, I was on my way to my boyfriend's house when a car slammed into me. The stretch of road was deserted. The collision jammed my door shut, and the acrid smell of gasoline filled the air. My car was about to explode. I scrambled for the emergency hammer, only to find it had been swapped out for a pink toy mallet. Panic rising in my chest, I dialed my boyfriend's number. To my horror, his ringtone sounded from the very car that had crashed into me. He stepped out, arm wrapped around his childhood sweetheart. She put on a pitiful face, tears in her eyes. "Oh no, I'm so clumsy. It's my first time driving, and I hit someone." When my boyfriend realized the victim was me, he didn't hesitate to console her. "Don't worry. She must have collided with you on purpose." I pounded on the window, desperate. "Nick! The emergency hammer's been switched out. Help me get out of here!" His childhood sweetheart lit up with a mischievous smile. "Katie, I swapped it! Isn't the pink hammer super cute?" Disgust flickered across Nick's face. "It's just a little crash. Get out on your own." By now, thick smoke was pouring into the car, and the heat was searing my lungs. I begged him to save me. But the girl only giggled, covering her nose in mock annoyance. "Katie, why are you cooking in there? The smoke is awful." Then she patted her stomach. "Oops, my tummy is rumbling. Nick, let's go home and eat." He tightened his hold around her and turned to leave. "Enough already. Stop pretending. My parents are waiting for us at home." Just as suffocation closed in on me, I slammed my hand against the car's emergency distress button.

Bellatrix Sinclair, an 18-year-old weapons prodigy that despises werewolves for destroying her family has been secretly planning to join the human rebellion. However, she is forced into the Mate Selection Process and matched with Lazarus De Loughrey, the ruthless Werewolf King obsessed with claiming her. He shouldn't want her and she should hate him but they cannot resist each other. It's a twisted connection, entirely physical because all I am is his slave. My heart should belong to my best friend Emmett, a human. Atleast the guilt of betrayal wouldn't be eating away at my insides. ___________________________ “Yes please.” She begs. “Then fucking let me in.” I growled, this fury exploding with vengeance. I wanted to destroy her pussy. It was maddening, it was sickening, it was barbaric. But I never claimed to be saint. “Here that baby, that’s the sound of your greedy pussy sucking on my cock. Give me more, drench me.” “Lazarus.” She moans painfully, “Please let me come.” I’m doused in gasoline and set alight, sweat coats my skin as I pound into her faster and harder. I’m definitely hurting her, “Wanna come?” I rasped, “Not until I say so.” Pressing my lips onto hers, pushing my tongue into her mouth until I feel the sweetness of hers. The kiss is sloppy and filthy. She cries as I drive my cock into her, the intensity too much to handle, sweet tears sliding onto her cheeks. “Fuck yes.” I smile sadistically, licking her tears. “Cry for me Ma Cherie.” “Please, please let me come My King.” She pleads. “Say it again.” Lightening shooting down my spine as she begged, “My King, please let me come. I’ll be good.” I chuckled, “Try your luck to kill me Ma Cherie, I dare you.”