How Old Was Angel Dust When He Died

Restaurateur and self-exiled heir Lucien Lenault's first look at the breathtaking young chef trainee for his trendy Chicago restaurant is a shock. She’s Elise Martin, daughter of a wealthy French fashion designer. She’s also the holder of a secret that could explode his carefully laid plans. Notorious for her flagrant exhibitionism, and for flouting the respectable façade of her aristocratic background, the coquine’s wild streak shocked most people. Not Lucien. He was tempted by it. It was a deliriously punishable offense as far as Lucien was concerned. But taking on Elise is more than a game. She’s a catastrophe waiting to happen, an inferno that’s burned many a lover. Lucien isn’t most men, however, and he won’t allow her to manipulate him. In order to control the defiant beauty—in order to see her submit—he’s going to have to willingly walk in the flames…

Caleb is a bored billionaire playboy. Trina is a beautiful Contessa. They meet by accident in his club and he is struck by lightning. He wants her like he has never wanted a woman before. But Trina is innocent so he takes her and her friend Jess. Jess is a willing partner but Trina escapes his clutches and he must pursue her. Being a Billionaire opens doors for him but will it win him the one thing he truly wants? Trina knows his reputation and refuses to become another notch on his bedpost. Denying her attraction to him she keeps running away but cannot run forever. Can Caleb catch the nymph that haunts his dreams? More importantly, can he convince her it is different for him this time? This time he has fallen irrevocably in love.

I was Claire Vitale, the lost daughter they forgot, the bride my lover betrayed—and the dying girl they failed to notice. For five long years, I lived like a stranger in my own home. The Vitale mansion was a beautiful prison, where every kind word hid a lie, every promise was false, and even Lawrence, the man I was supposed to marry, cared more for Vanessa than for me. None of them saw how my body weakened each day, how the pain grew sharper. They were too busy watching their precious Vanessa. Vanessa—the perfect adopted daughter, was the girl my parents loved more than me. She came into our family when I was lost, and when I returned, I found my place already taken—by her. Just as the illness was quietly taking my future. Now she was gone, and they all pointed fingers at me, convinced I was behind her disappearance. The machine they strapped to my head would pull memories straight from my mind. "Where is she?" my father roared. My mother sobbed in the corner. Lawrence, my fiancé, stood silent—his accusing eyes louder than any shout. But I knew the truth would shock them—how Vanessa hurt me, how she faked accidents, how she made sure no one ever believed me. The machine would show them everything. As the machine began its work, I trembled—from fear and exhaustion. After all these years of being unheard, would they finally see?

She asked her best friend to take her virginity. He said no—at first. Eighteen-year-old Wren Sinclair has always played the good girl—smart, responsible, careful. But a month to her birthday, she asks her best friend for the one thing no one would expect from her: sex. Just once. Just to get it over with. Except Kai Anderson—gorgeous, cocky, and maddeningly protective—doesn’t play by simple rules. Saying yes might wreck the most important relationship in his life. Saying no? That only makes the fire between them burn hotter. As stolen touches, whispered lessons, and forbidden fantasies begin to blur the lines between friendship and something far more dangerous, Wren finds herself spiraling. Her body wants everything Kai offers. Her heart is starting to want even more. Because falling for your best friend? That was never part of the plan. A sizzling slow burn filled with banter, heartbreak, and back-to-back sexual tension.

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

Liam Dunlap, my girlfriend's junior apprentice, bragged that he could defuse a bomb with one hand. Then he slipped. The timer began to race. Terrified, he dropped his tools and ran. I stepped in at great risk and saved the hostage. For that, I was commended. Liam, on the other hand, was condemned across the internet and faced severe disciplinary action. My girlfriend tried to speak up for him, but I stopped her. "If you defend him now, not only will your promotion be revoked—people online will come after you too." Later, unable to bear the pressure, Liam jumped to his death. Every line of his suicide note blamed my girlfriend for not standing by him. She said nothing. She simply burned the letter in silence. After that, she rose step by step from a frontline officer to a model figure in the police force. On the day I was kidnapped by criminals, she came in person to defuse the bomb strapped to me—using only one hand. She looked coldly at the device on my chest and said, "See? It can be done with one hand. Why did you all have to drive Liam to his death back then? If I had protected him at the time, the one in my position today… should have been him." The bomb detonated. I died on the spot. After I opened my eyes again, I saw her running around desperately for Liam. She didn't know—the hostage was the mayor's son.

Camilla Theodore is a symbol of hate and revenge. Living as the sole survivor of an aircraft bombing makes Camilla a traumatic and regretful person. When she knows that the plane was blown up by a man named Kairav and that it has something related to the Buenos Fire Group, Camilla is determined to find the mastermind of the aircraft bombing and avenge the deaths of her friends. Kairav Alejandro is the symbol of ruthlessness. He is the real brain of the Buenos Fire Group, a company engaged in the international trade sector. He hates even the slightest mistake made by his employees. He is typically a very perfectionist, causing difficulties and inner pressure on his subordinates. Camilla manages to infiltrate by being accepted as a secretary at the Buenos Fire Group to get a moment to see Kairav shirtless. The girl wants to confirm the tattoo that is inscribed 'Kairav' that she saw on the body of the mysterious man who blew up the plane. Day after day Camilla lived to hate Kairav, devising such revenge plans, ready to be launched for Kairav if that tattoo was indeed engraved on his body. However, Camilla Theodore is a sexy girl with a mysterious charm. She never thought that her plan would be messed up by a ruthless but full of allurement like Kairav Alejandro, especially when the man appeared shirtless in front of her. Will Camilla be able to avenge him, or will she be entangled in love with Kairav? Then, can Camilla ignore her feelings when she finds out that the plane bombing that killed her friends was part of a conspiracy? Will this complicated love story end happily or will it become a sad and tragic love story?

Cordelia Johnson‘s life seemed like a bed of roses until fate decided to snatch that from her by killing her parents on their way from the Netherlands in a tragic Boeing 737 plane crash. That was the beginning of Cordelia’s misery. Life began to treat her harshly. Objecting to making the best out of life, she used dirty means to gain money, mingling with a Famous streetwalker. Eventually entwining with the Gang Leader of the twelve eyed dragon clan, Jared Lambert, who she never thought could fall in love with her.

I'm the daughter of Don Falcone. After I got back from studying abroad, my family threw a welcome-home banquet, conveniently setting me up to meet the fiancé my father had handpicked for me—Santino Moretti. My father praised the guy to the skies in his letters: he was the heir to the Moretti family, elegant, ruthless, drop-dead gorgeous, and holding half the city’s underground operations in the palm of his hand. I arrived at the Elysium Hotel right on the dot. Just as I was about to take a seat, a hand shoved me hard. A woman's shrill voice pierced my ear. "Livia, what's a Sicilian peasant like you doing here? This is the Imperial Suite. Do you think you even deserve to breathe the air in a place like this?" I recognized the woman. It was Bella, a bitch who had always had it out for me back in college. She was clearly trying to humiliate me. Instead of getting mad, I smirked. "Whether I deserve to be here or not—is that for you to decide?" Bella sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm Mr. Santino's personal assistant. Today, Mr. Santino is hosting the eldest daughter of the Falcone family here. This isn't an occasion for bottom-feeding trash like you." "Be smart and crawl back to your slum." I pulled out my phone and dialed my so-called fiancé. I wanted to ask him if it was a tradition in the Moretti family to let their dogs bark at the front door.

In my fifth year of marriage to Dominic, I'd become the woman all of Chicago knew as the crazy one — the mental case. Jealousy gnawed at me constantly, and my temper frayed easily, my emotions sharp and unsteady, unravelling more with each passing day. So it only made sense when he slid a divorce agreement across the table. "Vivian's pregnant. A Harrington heir can't be born illegitimate, and Mrs. Harrington can't be a lunatic." "Once she's had the baby, I’ll marry you again, and you'll still be Mrs. Harrington." I was forced to sign my name, then locked away in a private sanatorium a hundred miles from the city. The first year, I waited with desperate hope for him to come take me home. Instead, he handed me an ultrasound report. "Twins — a boy and a girl. Vivian's pregnant again. Just wait a little longer." The second year, he had electric fencing installed around the sanatorium grounds. "Harrington Corp is going public. We can't afford any slip-ups right now." By the fifth year, he simply called to tell me to wait one more year. He must have expected me to scream and lose control the way I always did. But this time, I just nodded calmly. "Alright. However long it takes." After all. I didn't have much time left anyway.