Infinite Level Up In Murim Novels & Stories

Her father owes me and marriage to this baffling woman is something I can't stop thinking about. I'll make that deal where she becomes mine by hook or by crook. Not that I like her, it is purely revenge. The more arrogance she shows towards me, the greater I want to break her and make her bend to my will." - When she finds out about the reason for my irate she is on a run. I find out where she is hiding and it's bigger than anything I had imagined. She has a son who is as fragile as she is but his features match mine. My heart can't stop melting and it thuds faster than its pace. But not everything a man wants is realized by God. Her life is in danger, she is chased by someone, and that someone will end at nothing until he gets the evil end that he desires. **** I didn't want to marry the despicable mafia don. But my father made a deal with the devil and I'm the currency. If I leave, he will destroy my father's fortune and if I stay he will obliterate my heart because in this union the lines between love and hate are BLURRED. I am trapped in the world I despise and a man too wicked to fall for, yet in the heat of night he steals everything from me that I can't repent. His breath burns hot against my neck, pushing me to the wall with a lethal look. “We are married. You are my wife now. Be ready to welcome the life of thorns.” Woke Up Married to a Barbarous Billionaire is a revenge rejection, enemies to lovers, billionaire romance story.

**Contain mature scenes not suitable for young readers** A strong-willed, independent Haley Santorini started having the life she wanted. Her name began to make a splash in the fashion industry as a fashion designer. But her world tumbled down when her dad was accused stealing money from his ruthless hotel employer. Wesley Finn, known for being arrogant and clever billionaire. He's a devilish handsome beast that everybody don't want to messed-up with. Even given a name as "Territorial Billionaire" by the New York press. He's very possessive, manipulative and intimidating.

At our company dinner, my girlfriend, Katherine Hale, makes a detour to get some treats. She hands a glass of juice to my childhood friend, Mark Langley, who is sitting opposite us. Then, she sets down a cup of yogurt in front of me. Mark thanks her with a smile. "How thoughtful of you! You remembered I can't have iced drinks because of my gastric issues." I stare at the cup of yogurt with mango bits in it. Then, I nudge it further away from me, my expression blank. "What's the matter?" Katherine asks casually. I respond, "I'm allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that again?" She freezes for a moment. Then, she smiles and shrugs. "Come on, it's no big deal. Just pick out the mango bits." But she never forgets that Mark doesn't want any cilantro or onion in his food. Also, he only accepts chilled juice without any ice or sugar. Meanwhile, I have difficulty breathing if I take even a single bite of mango, but she thinks it's fine as long as I pick them out. Turns out, if one is biased enough, they can overlook even matters of life and death. On our way home, I sit in the back seat as usual. I look at the two people in the front, who seem perfect for each other. All of a sudden, I feel relief washing over me. Katherine can't even remember my allergies, so what am I holding onto this relationship for?

Our wedding was canceled again and again because Lynn’s childhood friend kept pretending to commit suicide. I was humiliated in front of relatives and friends, and my mother was so angered that she repeatedly fainted and was hospitalized. Lynn Wensley was filled with regret and anger, even swearing, “If I ever run off with that bastard again, I’ll die a terrible death.” I believed her. However, when I finally gathered the courage to stand in the center of the crowd again, Kyle Lane barged into the wedding wearing a blood-stained suit. As a doctor, I recognized at a glance that it was fake blood dye, but when I grabbed Lynn to explain, she slapped me hard and knocked me to the ground. “Someone is dying and you’re still trying to stop me? Are you even human? If anything happens to him, you’ll all pay for it!” Then, she ran after him without looking back. My mother suffered a sudden heart attack from the shock and died in my arms. Meanwhile, Lynn was celebrating Kyle’s safety with fireworks above the city sky. After I finished handling my mother’s funeral, I received a text from her: [Trust me, there won’t be a next time.] My face was pale, but I felt nothing. There was no anger or sadness. There really would not be a next time. It was completely the end for us.

Throughout my ten-year marriage with my husband, Simon Sader, he refuses to let me sleep with him by claiming that he's asexual. I visit my in-laws' home and get urged to give birth as soon as possible. Then, I find out that Simon has a child on the way, and another woman is carrying it. To the outside world, he declares that the child is mine. Behind closed doors, he tells me, "I want this child to be given a legitimate status." As I encourage Simon to let the woman give birth to her baby, I secretly leave my signature on a divorce agreement.

For five years, I quietly supported my boyfriend, helping him rise from a lawyer's assistant to a partner at a top-tier law firm. At the annual awards ceremony, I was thrilled, ready to celebrate publicly and surprise him. But then, he walked on stage with a female coworker, their behavior cozy and intimate. "Cade owes his success to my brilliant strategies behind the scenes," Caitlyn boasted. Cade smiled, echoing her words, "Absolutely, without Caitlyn, I wouldn't be where I am today." The audience erupted in applause, congratulating them. I stood at the back of the crowd, frozen. Leaving the venue, I called my assistant. "Cut off all networking support for Cade Gilliam. End all cooperation. That shady case he took on? Stop smoothing things over. Let him face the consequences."

"Be honest with me," I said, quiet. "If she didn’t leave back then, would you have married me?” Silence. The whole car silent. He looked at me. I looked at him. Heart heavy and shuddering. Dreading the answer but still asking it. “Would you have married me? Would you?" He didn't say anything. Didn't give me the reaction I wanted. He unbuckled his seat belt rather, pushed open the door and out he went. “Stop mentioning her. I've already handled today’s news. It was my mistake. It won’t happen again.” *Bam* For four years, Alma Hartwell was the perfect wife. Patient. Loyal. Always there when her husband needed her. Unfortunately, Damien Ashford never needed her the way she needed him. To him, their marriage was stable, convenient, and exactly what it was supposed to be. Until Alma asked for a divorce. Now the wife he took for granted wants out, the marriage he never questioned is falling apart, and the one woman who was never supposed to leave is walking away. The problem? Damien refuses to let her go.

“Ngh... Stop touching me like that...” I found myself squeezed against a burly man during a trip. Being naturally sensitive, his touch was overwhelmingly stimulating. I could not help but tremble and pant beside him. However, I never expected that halfway through the journey, he would eagerly lift me onto his lap. “The seat’s so hard. Your butt must be sore. Let me give you a proper massage!” By the end of the trip, he had taken everything from me...

When the murderer tortures me to death, my criminal investigator dad and chief forensic pathologist mom are cheering at my brother's match. The criminal saws off my tongue. He answers my Dad's call with my finger. Just before the call ends, Dad's cold voice cuts through. "Playing dead, huh? We should never have brought him back." The murderer chuckles mockingly. "Looks like I grabbed the wrong kid. I thought they'd care more about their real son." When Mom and Dad arrive at the crime scene later, they stare at the mutilated body in shock and rage at the murderer's cruelty. But they never realize that the broken, bloodied body is their biological son.

When my wife, Rebecca Walsh, misses my chemotherapy session for the 99th time, I come across a post on social media. "I won my lover's heart with a kidney. She will surely love me to death, right?" The attached photo shows a couple kissing on a street in Targon. The woman has a small heart-shaped scar on her neck. What a coincidence—it is exactly the same as Rebecca's. The woman who nearly dies for me falls in love with someone else so easily. The comments below are full of encouragement from strangers. "Man, you're so brave. Wishing you everlasting love." "If I were the woman, I would love you to death." I leave a comment too. "I hope you are together until you are in the depths of hell, you cheating pair. As for me, the husband, I will step aside to make way for you." One minute later, the post disappears. It doesn't matter. I post on my own account. I write, "After I spent three years battling cancer, my wife fell in love with the man who's supposed to be the kidney donor." The attached images are our marriage certificate and the same photo of them kissing from earlier.