Hazbin Hotel Pitch Bible

Emery Sinclair had spent years perfecting the art of being the perfect wife. The devoted, loyal, and elegant Mrs. Sinclair. Even when whispers of her husband's infidelity trailed after her like a ghost, she held her head high, convinced that love—her love—was enough to fix the cracks in her marriage. But the moment she walks into that hotel suite and finds her husband entangled with another woman, something inside her shatters. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. Instead, she walks away, her heart numb, her mind spinning. The life she built is over. The man she sacrificed everything for never deserved her. Then comes Killian Wolfe. Cold, calculating, and ruthlessly powerful, Killian is everything her husband is not. And he is done watching from the sidelines. For years, he’s kept his distance, biting his tongue as his foolish stepbrother squandered the one good thing in his life. But now? Now, Killian doesn’t hold back. He steps in—offering her a way out, a place to stay, and, most dangerously, a deal she never saw coming. "Let me take care of you," he tells her, his voice a low, commanding whisper. She should say no. She should run. Because nothing about Killian Wolfe comes without a cost. But the way he looks at her—like she’s something precious, something worth ruining kingdoms for—makes her wonder if, just this once, she should let herself be wanted. The game changes in a single night. A kiss turns into something more, and before she knows it, she’s tangled in his sheets, in his world, and in his control. But Killian doesn't just want her in his bed. He wants everything—her body, her mind, her soul. And most terrifying of all? He wants her heart.

On the night of my 18th birthday, Enzo Vitale holds me by the waist as he coaxes me to take off my underwear. "Good girl. You have a beautiful body, Isabella. Let me take a good look at you." But just when I'm about to reach my climax, the spotlight is turned on. The floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of me becomes a see-through one-way mirror. On the other side of the mirror shows the faces of all the guests who are here to attend my birthday party. Soon, the racy video of my lustful side is spread all over Newlyn. My reputation gets flushed down the drain overnight, and yet Enzo's reputation remains unaffected. On the night we break up, he leaves me a message. "Your brother had watched my sister getting kidnapped by others back then. Now, it's your turn to have a taste of what it feels like, Isabella. You owe me this much." My older brother, Marco Rossi, is enraged, to say the least. When he tries to demand an explanation from Enzo, he gets his legs broken by Enzo's bodyguards instead. Marco drags his broken legs home. But on his way home, he gets into a car crash due to severe pain and blood loss, reducing him to a vegetable. In order to afford the daily eight-thousand-dollar ICU bill, I become the most famous stripper in Newlyn. For the next three years, I flit between various nightclubs in Newlyn as well as various men's beds. I've been trading my pride and body in exchange for checks. Three years later, I knock on a hotel room's door as usual. The door opens, revealing a man wearing a custom-ordered dark gray suit. It's Enzo. He's thinner now, and his cheekbones protrude even more. His eyes are as glacial as frozen lakes. I smile brightly at him. "Sir, would you like any special services?"

“Relax. It was meaningless. It didn’t mean a thing.” Three years. That’s how long Lena Carter loved Evan Brooks—three years of loyalty, late nights, and believing she was building a future with him. Until she finds him in a hotel suite bathroom, hands braced against marble, whispering excuses while her cousin—and closest friend—fixes her lipstick in the mirror. All this happens during Lena’s promotion celebration. Lena should be home, crying into cheap wine and shattered dreams. Instead, she’s stranded on a quiet Los Angeles street at midnight, phone dead, heels in hand, with a group of drunk men circling closer than comfort allows. Then a black luxury sedan pulls up. The man who steps out wears a tailored suit, calm eyes, and an authority that makes the street go silent. Mason Hart. Billionaire. Tech CEO. And—unknown to him—the elusive owner of the company where Lena works as an executive assistant two floors below the C-suite. He offers her a ride. She hesitates. She takes it. That single decision rewrites her life. Mason doesn’t mix business with emotions. He doesn’t date employees. And he definitely doesn’t rescue strangers with haunted eyes. But Lena’s quiet strength, the way she refuses pity, the way pain sharpens her instead of breaking her—it gets under his skin. Lena just wants to forget the man who betrayed her. Mason offers distraction. Protection. Desire without promises. But Evan refuses to let go, spreading lies and suddenly desperate to “fix things.” Her cousin is determined to destroy what little Lena has left. And the closer Lena grows to the powerful CEO who signs her company’s paychecks, the more dangerous her heart becomes. Because falling for a billionaire who doesn’t believe in love might hurt worse than betrayal.

On the night before our engagement ceremony, Jeremiah Clarke's childhood sweetheart, Kylie Yates, used the opportunity to set an explosion in my marital home while I was out on a gathering with my best friends. She insisted on having a candlelight dinner at home. Before she left, she didn't turn off the gas, nor did she blow out the candles. A short while later, the concentration of gas in the atmosphere exceeded the safety limits. The moment it made contact with naked flames, the entire house went up in a ball of flames and hot air. That was how my parents and my younger sister, Aurelia Shaw, died in their sleep. I rushed to the scene like a madwoman. The moment I did, I saw three charred bodies getting carted out of the wreckage. Heartbroken, I bolted over to hug Aurelia's skinny and frail corpse. Finally, I broke down and wailed at the top of my heart. But Jeremiah, on the other hand, just hugged Kylie gently. "Don't be scared, Kylie. This is just an accident. I'll protect you." With an enraged shriek, I rushed over to attack Kylie. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to rip her apart. But Jeremiah shoved me away, causing me to fall to the ground. "That's enough, Olivia Shaw! This is just an accident! It has nothing to do with Kylie!" Later on, Jeremiah had the audacity to destroy all the clues related to this incident just so he could protect Kylie. Overwhelmed by despair, I used the same method to take down Jeremiah and Kylie with me to hell. When I open my eyes again, I've actually returned to the day before my engagement! This time, I quickly arrange for my parents and Aurelia to stay in a hotel instead. Unexpectedly, an explosion still occurs at night. Three charred bodies are still found at the explosion site. This leaves me feeling very confused. Who are they? What are they doing in my home?

On my wedding day, I jumped from the 38th floor of the hotel. It all started when I got together with my first love, Colin Frey. My best friend, Alice Manning, came to me and said she had bound herself to some kind of love system. She claimed that every guy I dated would fall for her and dump me. I thought she was just messing around and did not believe her. However, just a few days later, Colin came to me and confessed that he wanted to break up because he had fallen in love with Alice. After that, I got smart about it. I stopped telling anyone about my relationships and did not even post anything on social media. Yet, somehow Alice always knew. It was as if she had installed some kind of tracking device on me. No matter who I dated, she would find out. Then, within days, they would all fall head over heels for her and leave me behind. I was completely heartbroken, so I moved back to my hometown to get as far away from Alice as possible. Through my parents' arrangement, I was set to marry a guy through a blind date setup. Yet, on the actual wedding day, he stood up in front of everyone and confessed his love to Alice, saying he wanted to marry her instead. My parents, who were sitting in the audience, were so furious and devastated that they collapsed on the spot. They were rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. They were gone. Meanwhile, Alice was wearing the ring that was supposed to be mine, looking absolutely smug as she boasted, "A man this amazing? As if you deserve him. Now he's mine, so why don't you just step aside like a good girl?" I could not take the blow, so I climbed to the hotel rooftop and leapt off without hesitation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the very moment before Alice had ever mentioned that so-called system.

Warning: This book is an explicit 18+ taboo romance containing graphic sexual content, age-gap relationships, cheating, betrayal, non-consensual elements in a drunken context, strong language, and dark obsessive themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Synopsis Nineteen-year-old Elara Voss is still a virgin a fact she’s fiercely guarded while juggling college classes and late-night shifts as a waitress at an upscale club. She’s only been dating Kael Rivera for a week, and they’ve already planned to lose her virginity together on his birthday. But one reckless night, rowdy customers push excessive alcohol on her. Drunk, dizzy, and unsteady on her way home, Elara is “rescued” by a tall, commanding stranger in his forties. In her alcohol-fueled haze, she throws herself at him, kissing him desperately and begging for his touch. The stranger, Damien Rivera, tries to hold back, but Elara’s need overrides everything. They end up in a luxury hotel where he claims her hard and deep for her very first time. Elara screams through the pain and pleasure, her body arching as she demands more, lost in the most intense ecstasy she’s ever known. Damien obeys, fucking her relentlessly until she’s shaking and spent. The next morning, shame crashes over her. Elara accuses Damien of rape, sobbing that she was saving herself for Kael’s birthday. Damien calmly insists she initiated every moment and even offers to send her money, but she refuses and flees in tears. That same evening at Kael’s birthday party, Kael excitedly introduces Elara to his father. The world stops. The man who took her virginity so perfectly the one whose touch she still craves is Damien Rivera, Kael’s dad. Horrified and panicking, Elara tries to bury the secret and stay loyal to her boyfriend.

On the night of our third anniversary, Killian missed dinner again. Texted me he was working late at the auto shop. I looked at the $5.90 clearance cake on the table. I'd fought a crowd at the grocery store to buy it. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. We need to save for a real house in Brooklyn, I told myself. I put the cake in the fridge. I wrapped my cheap coat tight and walked into the cold to deliver late-night takeout for extra cash. I never expected to run into my "poor" husband at a luxury hotel in Manhattan. He stepped out of a Rolls-Royce in a sharp custom suit, tossing hundred-dollar bills to the valet. A hot woman wearing a priceless pigeon-blood ruby followed behind him, hooking his arm. "Killian, it's snowing so hard. Are you really going back to Brooklyn to play house with your naive little peasant wife?" she whined. Killian looked at the cheap, tarnished silver ring on his finger. A hint of softness crossed his cold eyes. "For three years, she worked five jobs a day to pay off the fake debts I made up. She wouldn't even see a doctor when she was sick." "That's enough. She passed my test. Once I deal with the rat in the family, I'll tell her everything. Give her the glory she deserves as my Donna." The woman bit her lip. "What if she finds out you're a Mafia Don and is just after your money? Why not tell her you have a terminal illness—see if she'll drain her savings to save you. Test her one more time…" Killian stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "One last test. After this, I'm giving her the grandest wedding." The freezing wind howled. I gripped the paper takeout bag. Tears rolled down my face without a sound. I am done with this arrogant, lying love.

My partner, Derek Crawford, calls himself a traditional man. On our tenth anniversary, I bought him a pair of his favorite AJ sneakers. Instead, he gifted me a bag of pastries. "Your cake is extremely tiny, and yet it costs you a few dozen dollars! Look at the pastries I got you—not only are they cheap, but they are also huge in quantity! Now this is what I call worth it!" After that, Derek tells me that he'll make it up to me by throwing an engagement party. He has also invited my parents and my relatives to the party. With anticipation brimming in our eyes, we arrive at the restaurant, only to see Derek serving us with store-bought pickles and dinner rolls. "I'm a traditional man, you see. I'm not used to fancy food and foreign cuisines. This, right here, is the basics of a traditional dinner. You don't see patriotic men like me nowadays!" My relatives' expressions change drastically on the spot. Meanwhile, my parents look very mortified. I can only smile awkwardly at them while doing everything I can to stop them from leaving. But as soon as I leave the hotel, I receive a notification from the bank that 200 thousand dollars have been deducted from my account via a supplementary card linked to it. At the same time, Derek's childhood sweetheart, Renee Young, posts a photo of her 12-layered luxurious cake on her social media account. "When I told Derek that I wanted to celebrate my birthday, not only did he buy me the most expensive strawberry cake, but he also reserved a dozen or so tables that are served with the grandest feast! "If your man loves you that much, he won't need any lessons in pampering you! Traditional men definitely know how to love and pamper their queens!" I tighten my grip on my phone. As I look back at Derek, who keeps claiming that he's a traditional man stuck to his traditional ways, I suddenly find it exhausting to continue being in a relationship with him.

I went skiing alone on Valentine’s Day to clear my head. I never expected that later that night, my younger brother, Mason Cases, would show up after running away from home following a fight with our family. The front desk stopped him and asked for additional registration. I explained, "He’s my brother. He ran out after an argument and didn’t bring his ID. He’s just staying one night. I’ll take him home tomorrow." After hearing that, the receptionist, Riley Rowe, gave us a suggestive once-over, winking at my brother with a look that said, "I get it." "Alright," she said with a flirty smile. "It’s Valentine’s Day. I understand. No need to be shy." Seeing how exhausted Mason looked, I forced myself to swallow the disgust and brought him upstairs. That night, I came across a local post online. "Girls these days have no shame. Bringing some random guy back to a hotel on Valentine’s Day. She got caught and still had the nerve to lie, saying he’s her brother. Like I can’t tell?" Some users questioned whether she might have mistaken them. "I’ve worked in this industry for over ten years. There’s no way I got it wrong! She didn’t dare register him. Obviously, she’s afraid her husband will find out she’s cheating! I’m going to go listen outside their door later and livestream how loud she gets!" I froze. It couldn’t be that much of a coincidence, right? Until I opened the photo she had secretly taken. My blood turned to ice. That was me. Wait. The "random guy" she was talking about… Did she mean the one lying on the floor? But he really was my biological younger brother.

My boyfriend came from a wealthy family. We had been together for seven years, yet he had never given me a single gift. When he proposed, he even asked for the diamond ring back so he could return it for a refund. Later, when we were about to register our marriage, he complained that the paperwork fee was too expensive and said it wasn’t necessary. However, not long after that, he registered his marriage with his childhood sweetheart instead. He even booked the most luxurious hotel in the entire city, eager to throw a grand engagement party. The shock was too much for my grandmother, and she suffered a heart attack. I dropped to my knees and begged my boyfriend to return the salary I had entrusted to him over the years, as I needed the money to pay for my grandmother’s surgery. He simply wrapped his arm around his childhood sweetheart and pretended not to know me. He said he would never help a lazy beggar who only knew how to freeload. Then, he ordered the security guards to throw me out. Later, my grandmother died on New Year’s Eve, her final breaths drowned out by the sound of fireworks outside. While everyone else celebrated the holiday season, I handled my grandmother’s funeral alone. At the same time, I accepted a job offer from a major overseas company. When I returned home to get my passport, the man—who had just finished introducing his sweetheart to his parents and was clearly in a good mood—saw me and assumed I was still throwing a tantrum. For the first time, he spoke generously. “Alright. What could possibly have happened to your grandmother? At worst, I’ll make it up to you with a luxurious wedding.” What he didn’t know was that from the moment my grandmother took her last breath, I no longer wanted to marry him.