I Kept Pressing The 100-million-year Button Novels & Stories

Leon, drink up. Finish every drop in this glass." As my wife, Alice Carr, holds a glass of warm milk, she keeps staring at my Adam's apple intensely. Every night, she needs to watch me finish the entire glass of milk. At first, I think this is Alice's way of showing me her love. That is, until something occurred last month. Back then, my neighbor's fire alarm blared extremely loudly due to a fire breaking out. Yet, I had slept like a log the whole time. Only then do I realize that something is wrong with the milk. Last night, I pretended to go on a business trip. When I secretly go home in the middle of the night, I find out that my bedroom door is locked. When I peek through the gap i

"Sign the divorce papers, Nora." I didn't cry. I simply looked at the billionaire husband who had ignored me for three years and made one final demand. "One hundred days, Silas. Move back into my bedroom. Touch me like a man obsessed with his wife. On Day 101, I will sign the papers and walk away." Arrogant and certain, he agreed, assuming it was a desperate plea to use my body to win his heart back. He had no idea what he was walking into. By Day 20, the cold, untouchable CEO is rushing home just to pin me against our bedroom door. By Day 50, he’s pulling me into his lap, whispering breathless, desperate promises in the dark. He is addicted to the friction, using every sea

"Show me exactly how much you crave this, especially when it’s someone you’re supposed to loathe." One hundred nights. One hundred different men who know exactly how to push you to your absolute limit. This isn’t romance. This isn’t love. This is the dark, intrusive obsession that keeps you up at night, the kind of heat that floods your mind when you think you’re finally alone. Stepbrothers who corner you in the steam of a shower. Priests who hold you captive at the altar. Mafia dons who command your attention and leave you desperate for more. The coach who swore he’d never cross that line—until he shattered it. Every forbidden, unspoken scenario you’ve ever entertained, brought to life in r

Right after I put the invoice of an eighty-thousand-dollar gold necklace into my bag, my Instagram went wild. A woman calling herself “Future In-law” showed a picture of a ring with a diamond the size of a pigeon egg. It was worth two million dollars. [It’s our first meeting, but my future in-law insisted on giving me this. I couldn’t say no.] The next second, the shop attendant handed me a receipt saying that I owed them two million dollars. “The lady from earlier charged you for her daughter’s two-million-dollar diamond ring. She said that you’re her future in-law, so you have to be nice to her too.” I scowled. “Do you have security footage? I’d like to find her.” The shop attenda

I’m just a mortal, yet I’ve been deeply in love with Orion, the heir to Poseidon, for seven long years. When he was about to ascend the throne as the God of the Sea, I thought I could finally stand by his side—in the light, as his true consort. But then he delivered a crushing ultimatum: the condition for his ascension was to produce a pure-blooded divine heir with his late brother’s widow, Selene. Every time he came back from Selene's bed, he’d hold me tight and whisper, "Thalia, you’re my only true love. As soon as Selene gives birth to an heir for the throne, we’ll have our wedding. I’ll give you the title you deserve." And so, over the next six months, he spent a hundred nights in Selene

On New Year's Eve, I went to court for the last time. The judge asked if I still wanted to file for custody of my daughter. I shook my head and said, "I'm here to withdraw my case. I'm going to stop fighting for custody anymore. I agree with the divorce." Vivian and I had been married for nine years, and the divorce had dragged through six hearings. I spent six New Year's Eve in court. There had been no joy, only hysterical accusations. I was tired. My daughter was tired, too. So, I finally stopped holding on. I had already booked my flight home for the year.

Farrah Evans is the definition of the modern-day liberated lady. Get drunk, get laid, and get your freedom. That was what she wants for the rest of her life. Not a percentage, not even in her dreams she imagined of being married and committed to only one man. The plan is to be a forever rich single Auntie who lives alone in a mansion, wears a pair of Gucci gloves on a wedding, and brag about traveling around the world while holding a limited edition LV bag on her Amigas.However, Uno Saldivar is the most persistent and longest suitor she encountered in her life. The man started to pursue her back in senior high days. Uno is a certified nerdy boy who got no fun, he's a studious, hardworking ge

High school was supposed to be simple for Annie—keep her head down, avoid the spotlight, and get through her last year in one piece. But then she meets someone who makes her heart race in ways she never expected. Between navigating friendships, senior-year chaos, and the confusing rush of new feelings, Annie is about to discover that her last year of high school can also be the beginning of everything that matters. “Last Year First Love” is a sweet, funny, and relatable teen romance about friendship, self-discovery, and the unforgettable magic of falling in love for the very first time.

Avery had loved Elliot for too long. She had played some tricks behind his back to get his attention. But, what happens when things don't exceed her expectations. She only wanted to acquire a lover but she ends up being gifted three babies in return. But, things don't go her way after she finds out about the pregnancy. So she runs away to save herself from Elliot's wrath. What will she do when she returns and the man who supposedly hated her is beginning to show signs of warmth towards her?

They Met They Loved Now they hate "Happy Birthday", the card read. Lylah's dark eyebrows rose, who would cross over cities with her just to give her a birthday card? Couldn't be her best friend, or? "No", she yelled. It couldn't be He wouldn't dare