How To Draw Chaos Emeralds

Kylie Watson was sure she is doomed when she learned that her company would be bought and merged and some employees would be laid off. She was even more sure that she was going to be laid off after all she heard that the other project designer in the other company was more qualified than her. She was doomed. She needed to let go of her anxiety and her best friend, Julianna knows how to do that. The bar and getting drunk was the best option. But what happens after she has a one-night stand and he turns out to be her new boss? Will she be able to draw that line between love and professionalism? Will she be able to deal with the pressures of dating her boss?

Ever since my mom gave birth to her second child, everything in the household is tied to drawing lots. Everyone has to draw lots in order to decide whose favorite food will be served for each meal. We have to draw lots to see who among us gets a hug from our parents. Every time, I end up drawing the short end of the stick, so everyone automatically assumes that my younger sister, Anabelle Madden, gets the better lot. She easily reaps my parents' love without having to do anything at all. Whenever I feel like crying because of the injustice, Mom will scold me instantly. "I bought the lottery box because I was worried that you might feel upset about this. I'm doing this just to be fair to both of you. "If you want something, you have to be the one deciding who gets what. Your father and I won't interfere with your decision at all. Since you can't draw the better lot, that just means you have bad luck." Hence, I keep practicing my lot-drawing skills every day, hoping that I can eventually draw the better lot in order to obtain my parents' love. But for ten years, I never get to draw the better lot. Not even once. On my birthday, Anabelle wants to go to the amusement park, so Mom tells us to draw lots once again. I secretly glue two short lots together before giving it to Mom in an attempt to get her to stay with me. Instead, she slaps me and berates me for being a disobedient child who cheats in lot-drawing. Then, she leaves the house with Anabelle. When I fall to the floor, I feel the short sticks piercing through my neck.

“You don’t know the pit you’ve dug yourself in, Ms. Elena Lubov. Can you honestly tell me that if I slit your neck right now, you can still love me?” Michael asked as the knife on Elena’s neck began to cut slowly and draw a bit of blood. Their gazes never wavered. “I’ll cut my throat on your behalf, Michael, if it would make you believe in every word that I say” she said without fear, “I have nothing to lose.” she whispered. When the most powerful mafia boss finds out his past never existed, how can he keep his madness from destroying the future he created? When power and money is useless, what can the words of the dead do for those left behind? “You don’t know the pit you’ve dug yourself in, Ms. Elena Lubov. Can you honestly tell me that if I slit your neck right now, you can still love me?” Michael asked as the knife on Elena’s neck began to cut slowly and draw a bit of blood. Their gazes never wavered. “I’ll cut my throat on your behalf, Michael, if it would make you believe in every word that I say” she said without fear, “I have nothing to lose.” she whispered. When the most powerful mafia boss finds out his past never existed, how can he keep his madness from destroying the future he created? When power and money is useless, what can the words of the dead do for those left behind?

It honestly feels like I've been transported back to the Middle Ages. For the benefit of my pack, I just swore an oath to a man I've never met. The pack where I'm supposed to be the leader. The pack I'm not sure how to lead. I should learn fast, though. Because here he is, out of the blue, almost catching me by surprise. His green eyes, which shine like polished emeralds, make me stop in my tracks. His sharp jaw and short beard give him a dangerous look. His words of superiority, which were as smooth as velvet, hurt me deeply. So, this is my very hot husband who doesn't care about anything. I'm not even close to ready for this marriage. But he just walks into my space, all lean muscle and stalking grace. I have to use everything I have to get myself and the situation under control. What the heck did I sign up for?

I'm a socially awkward omega. They are alphas who live in the spotlight. We are complete opposites, but for some reason they want me. I'm not going to deny it, there's something about them that pulls me closer, but things are complicated. I didn't want to burden them with all my baggage when they have the chance of finding an omega who suited their lifestyle. No matter how hard I try to push them away, they always find a way to draw me closer. And like they say, they aren't planning on stopping until they claim me as their omega. *** AN NON-SHIFTER REVERSE HAREM AGE GAP OMEGAVERSE NOVEL ***

My grandmother only knows how to draw one thing—infants. They're ugly, but people line up to buy the paintings. I watch as she takes those women into unlit rooms. Then, their bloodcurdling screams will ring out. Oddly enough, they always thank my grandmother when they're leaving. One day, I finally find out what exactly my grandmother paints. I discover the truth when I see an infant crawl out of one of the women's bellies—it looks just like the one my grandmother has painted.

The new intern, Cynthia Joller, had posted about me online, claiming the company had made them use their leave for team building. No one wanted to fly all the way to an island to spend time with colleagues. However, what the internet did not know was that our company's team-building tradition involved booking a top-notch five-star resort every year: all-inclusive, family-friendly, with an extra three days of paid leave, and a $30,000 budget per person. The whole internet dubbed me a cold-blooded capitalist, so I decided to give in to their demands and issued a notice. [In response to employee feedback and to honor personal time, this year's team-building retreat has been canceled. Instead, a $500 allowance for personal travel will be provided.] The notice stirred up a commotion in the company. Long-time employees gathered at my office door, pleading for the return of the sunny Madiles retreat.

The day my husband's first love shows up at my house, I catch a faint, cloyingly sweet scent of gardenias in the air. My genetically-linked asthma flares violently at the scent of gardenias. As expected, halfway through the meal, my chest suddenly tightens. I can barely draw a breath before collapsing onto the couch. My younger brother sprints into my bedroom like he's lost his mind, grabs an inhaler, and shoves it straight to my mouth. "Tess!" he roars. "Why the hell is there gardenia perfume?" Everyone panics. My dad grabs a liquor bottle. My mom lunges forward, grabbing the woman by the hair. And my husband positions himself in front of her, protecting his beloved first love as she trembles. Amid the chaos, I muster the last of my strength. I reach into the crack of the couch, grab another inhaler, take a deep breath, and slowly push myself upright. I let out a cold laugh as I fix my gaze on the woman cowering behind my husband. "Finished with your little performance? It's my turn now."

I set up a company cafeteria for employees with an abundant meal daily worth 150 dollars per person. Meals are prepared by a world-renowned master chef. Every day, I only ask my employees to contribute a token of one dollar. Instead of gratitude, all I get is their envy of the neighboring company. "I wish we had that. Their healthy lunches cost them nothing, and the company covers everything." "Yeah. Free salads always seem to taste the best." Before long, this chatter spreads through the office, and the new hires carry it into the company's group chat. "Mr. Shaw, can we switch things up? All this rich, heavy food is just too much for us!" A few of the senior employees quickly jump in. "Yes, Mr. Shaw! We're not asking for anything extravagant. We only want something like the healthy lunches the other company gives out for free!" Perfect. They ignore my lavish 150-dollar meals that cost them almost nothing, yet they pine over the neighboring company's modest lunches. I scroll through the chat, feeling nothing but sharp irony. I immediately send a company-wide email. "Attention, everyone! By popular demand, and so you can all experience a truly free lunch, the cafeteria's daily meal is reduced from abundant to simple starting today. "Snacks and fruit options are discontinued and replaced with the same healthy lunch set offered by the neighboring company. The company will cover the full cost. Enjoy your meal!"

They say Don Julian Marconi would burn the world for one tear of mine. Five years ago, at the Met Gala, he spent millions to hang emeralds around my neck and swore I was his Madonna. Five years later, beneath the velvet boxes of our anniversary, I found a lace strap soaked in sin—and a fresh, crimson smear on his collar that told me exactly whose bed he’d left. I smiled. I asked him to sign a blank sheet of paper. And that meant he was agreeing to whatever I wanted. He called it love. I called it the death warrant for his empire. In fifteen days, I finalized our divorce papers. I boarded the Stella d’Oro as Serena Cole and burned Celeste Marconi to ash on the deck. Then I vanished with his fortune, his power and the one secret that would destroy him. I was the saint he worshipped. Now I am the ghost who haunts him. No groveling. No forgiveness. No second chance. Just ashes.