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When Elena Rodriguez fled her abusive billionaire husband while pregnant, she thought she'd never see Alexander Blackwood again. Eight months later, a catastrophic accident steals his memories—erasing six years, including their marriage and the monster he became. The man who wakes up is Alexander at 27: kind, humble, horrified by evidence of his paranoid jealousy and controlling behavior. As he embarks on an amends tour, apologizing to everyone he hurt, Elena watches the man she once loved fight to become worthy of redemption. But Elena harbors a secret: their daughter, Sofia. When circumstances force them together at the hospital, Alexander meets his child for the first time—and Elena must decide if she can forgive a man who doesn't remember his crimes. As Alexander's memories gradually return, both face an impossible question: Can someone truly change, or will he become the monster again? With Sofia's future hanging in the balance, Elena must choose between protecting her heart and believing in second chances. Some scars run too deep. Some loves refuse to die.

I have two kidneys. I've given one of them to my wife, Teagan Holt. In just one year, Teagan and her childhood sweetheart, Morgan Backman, have gone through all 72 karmasutra positions in bed. They can't wait to experience them all over again. My other kidney is given to Morgan. They've used 365 condoms, and the water bill is more than five times its regular rate. Teagan can't even get out of bed every day from how sore she is. Two years later, when Morgan needs another kidney transplant in order to survive, Teagan steps into the manor on her own. She looks everywhere for me, only to see our nine-year-old son, Milo Shepherd, crouching at the doorway. "Milo, as long as you can convince your dad to donate his kidney to Mr. Backman, I'll allow you to come home with me." Milo just stares up at Teagan innocently. "But Mom, you have Dad's other kidney inside you."

At the moment, my dick was gracefully ready start working with her pussy, she felt a little be shy, but when I rubbed onto her and dipped two fingers in it, my shyness was replaced with intense pleasure, fuck it felt too good to ignore. “Ahhh,” she moaned, as i slipped the third finger into her pussy. “I will ensure you come for me six times before calling it a day,” I said, huskily. came to my front, while he kept fingering her pussy, mercilessly. I forcefully pushed my hard cock into her mouth, till it touched the back of my throat. “Suck it,” i instructed and without thinking, she started sucking my cock, while I fingered from behind. The pleasure was intense, her legs began to shake, and she couldn't suck any further, she just wanted to moan, but my cock prevented her. When i noticed she couldn't suck my cock any further, I started fucking her mouth, while my fingers fucked her asshole. “You have a fucking nice ass, and I would enjoy fucking it,” I grunted, pressing his fingers in my pussy. Soon, she was coming all over the place, and my eyes had already rolled back, but that didn't make me stop fingering or mouth fucking me. I fucked her mouth till my come fills them. “Drink it,” I instructed and in one swallow my cum was down her throat and to be honest…. She want more? As she shakes with pleasure, her moan turns deep, and she whispers, “She wants more”—a need that will break everything apart. will this forbidden ecstasy unravel their secrets or seal their fate?

Seven days before our wedding, Danny Wagner—my childhood sweetheart—got down on one knee for Mia Kant, the broke girl he'd been sponsoring. Right in front of me and his buddies. I didn't cry. Didn't lose it. Just slapped a smile on my face and said, "Wishing you two a lifetime of happiness." His buddies? Oh, they had the nerve to tell me to be generous and let Danny help Mia finish her "wish list." Danny, unsatisfied and ticked off, said I was overreacting and demanded an apology. Dismissive, he sneered, "I said I'd marry you after Mia's wish list was done. Stop being so unreasonable." I knew this was the last item on her list. I opened my notes app, scrolled to my wish list, and deleted all thirty-three bullet points. Done. Then I made a call. "I'm willing to marry you."

After I was reborn, I was the one who changed the name on my blood bond with Prince Mortlock. I wrote in “Isabella”—the other vampire he’d always cherished, always protected. When Isabella wanted the ruby necklace, the one that marked the Prince's Mate, I let her have it. The wedding dress Mortlock had prepared for me? I gave that to Isabella, too. I did it all because in my past life, I got my wish. I became Mortlock’s mate, but I lived every moment in Isabella’s shadow. In the end, during a battle with vampire hunters, Mortlock ran to a wounded Isabella first. I was the one left to take a silver stake through the heart. So this time, I decided to let them be. To stay far away from Mortlock. But this time, the cold, distant Prince wept and begged me to be his mate again.

Seren has never belonged to herself. Sold by her own father and brother to pay off a debt they could never afford, she is forced into a life she never chose, the wife of Rafael De Luna, the ruthless heir of the De Luna Syndicate. A man feared by everyone. A man who looks at her like she already belongs to him. Seren hates everything about him. His power. His cold voice. The way he reminds her every single day that she cannot escape him. Because in Rafael’s world, there are only two ways out of the marriage: Kill him or pay the debt with ten times the interest. Desperate to run from the life that suffocates her, Seren agrees to marry someone else, Nicolas, the only man who once promised to save her. But Rafael is not the kind of man anyone can escape from. Not when he has already decided that she is his. The more Seren tries to hate him, the more confused she becomes. Why is the man who terrifies her also the one who keeps saving her? Why does she feel safer in his arms than anywhere else in the world? And why does Rafael look at her like losing her would destroy him? In a world ruled by power, secrets, and dangerous love, Seren must decide whether to keep running… or face the truth she fears the most. Because the man she was forced to marry might also be the only one willing to burn the entire world just to keep her alive.

When Mom and Dad went broke—$30K in debt—they let collectors sell me to Nyamara, a lawless border strip full of trafficking, forced labor, and private prisons. I slept in flooded cells. Ate rotten food. Tried to run. They smashed both my legs with iron rods. I dragged myself home—and walked in on them planning Nina's sweet eighteen. Dad flicked his hand and dropped $3 million on a top-tier jewelry set for her. Mom smiled, then mentioned me. "I heard Talia cries every day, begging to come home. When do we tell her the truth and bring her back?" Dad shook his head, smug. "What's the rush? This is her gift. Let her tough it out one more month. Otherwise, how's she supposed to inherit our billions?" I tightened my grip on the medical report—severe infection in both legs. Mom. Dad. I don't even have a month left.

My wolf had been wounded by silver. It took me two years to find a rare herbal cure. But before I could use it, my mate, Gary, gave it away—without hesitation—to my adopted sister, the Black clan’s darling, Jane. The healer told me I had only one week left to live. So, I made a decision: I would freeze my body. Preserve it. I donated myself to Jane’s Werewolf Research Facility—the one she took such pride in. The day I signed the donation agreement, my pup threw himself into my arms and said, “Mommy and Aunt Jane are finally getting along again!” My parents praised me, saying I had finally learned what sisterhood meant. Gary looked relieved. “You’ve finally let go of your resentment,” he said. “I’m proud of you.” I smiled faintly. Yes. I’ve finally learned to obey. I would return the title of Black clan heiress to Jane, and did my best to grant everyone their wishes. But it was only when they realized I could no longer fight back— when my body had been sealed away in cryostasis, cold and silent— that the regret began. Suddenly, they wanted to bleed for me. They wanted to compensate. They wanted to follow me into the grave. But where were they when I needed them, when I was still alive?

To help my surgeon husband with his erectile dysfunction, I made an appointment with an expert six months in advance. But as the day approached, Isiah Coleman canceled it without explanation. Just as I was about to call him to demand answers, I spotted a post from his female friend on her social media. My usually stoic husband was beaming as he wrapped his arms around her. The caption read: [Only I can cure your illness.] What struck me, though, was the telltale bulge in his pants in the photo—a reaction I'd never seen from him with me. With a cold laugh, I liked the post and left a comment: [What a miracle worker!] The post exploded, with everyone speculating whether I'd confront the mistress. But what awaited him after the holiday was our freshly printed divorce certificate.

Three days after I died, my fiancé got a call to ID the body. He just scoffed. "She's dead, so what? Call me when she's in the ground." The cops, out of options, hit up my backup contact—my childhood friend. He actually laughed. "She's really gone? Not my problem. Burn her or whatever." Then my body hit the internet— And suddenly, both of them looked like ghosts.