Jadwal Film Di Manhattan

"They say the rich live beyond consequence. That no one bleeds behind a billion-dollar smile. They've clearly never met Rico Zane." Aria Lane didn't mean to sleep with a total stranger. Especially not the battered, bleeding man she pulled in off the sidewalk outside of an elite Manhattan nightclub. He had haunted eyes and a tempest brewing behind them. They had one night of weakness. One unforgettable mistake. And by morning, he'd vanished. Months later, she's now pregnant and swimming in secrets, Aria's life takes another sharp turn when stumbles into the father of her child again. This time, he's not bleeding in the shadows, he's standing in light and power. Rico Zane is not just anyone. He's the cold, brilliant CEO of Zane Industries. A billionaire who built a dynasty from the ruins of treachery and smashes anyone who gets in his path. And Aria? She's unfortunately the daughter of the one man who tried to ruin his family. To make matters more complicated, Rico's brother, who was presumed dead for years, returns to take the company and exact revenge on a past Aria is tied to by blood. While corporate wars rage and enemies loom in designer suits, Aria is swept up in a war of secrets, seduction, and strategy. She's both a pawn and a prize in a game of power where love is a liability… and trust a slow poison. Now forced into Rico's dangerous world for the sake of her unborn child, Aria must make a decision: does she stay with the man who sees her as both his weakness and his salvation? Or does she become the woman capable of rewriting her fate one secret at a time?

J'ai patienté trois heures à la fête d'anniversaire de mon petit ami, Roméo Bossuet. Celui qui devait être le héros du jour dans son costume élégant a été appelé à l'hôpital par son premier amour, Gisèle Favre. Prétextant une entorse à la cheville pour susciter la sympathie, cette femme a même filmé une vidéo d'un baiser avec Roméo. Pris par l'émotion, Roméo, soi-disant invalide des jambes, s'est levé pour la plaquer contre la porte. « Roméo, pourquoi tu dis pas à Nina que tes jambes sont guéries ? » La voix de Roméo était pâteuse : « Si elle l'apprenait, elle insisterait pour que je l'épouse. Mais qu'est-elle pour moi ? Juste une bonne gratuite ! Elle est pas digne de devenir ma femme. » Ils s'embrassaient passionnément. Gisèle, vêtue d'une robe de mariée que j'avais conçue de mes propres mains, regardait la caméra avec provocation. La vidéo s'est arrêtée sur le son de leurs baisers fougueux. À ce moment-là, j'ai compris que Roméo m'avait toujours menti… J'ai jeté le gâteau que j'avais préparé pour lui à la poubelle, puis ai pris mon téléphone pour envoyer un message à ma mère : « Maman, j'irai au rendez-vous arrangé, je te promets. »

"You f*cking recorded me Drego?!" I stood naked, my hands shivering as I stared at the little camera in my hands, still beeping. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Aggravated, I slammed the camera to the ground, shattering it into pieces. "I trusted you! I let you in." My voice crackled. "So all these were your plans right? To fuck and film me?!" "Elena, listen… pls hear me out…" he tried to explain. "GET OUT!" I yelled. He grabbed my arm, but I backed away immediately. "I never want to see you again. You’re sick, and need help!!!" *** Hi, I’m Elena Stone, and my life is a mess. My father forced me into marrying a stranger to save his company from bankruptcy. Two weeks after signing five years of my life away to be married to David Knights, I discovered he had an identical twin, Drego. One night Drego disguised as David, fucked me, the best sex I had ever had all my life. Not only did he fuck me, he filmed me. What started as a mistake turns into an obsession. Drego is reckless, dangerous, and devastatingly good in bed— the kind of man who ruins you and leaves you begging for more. I tried to bury this secret, but everything crumbled when I learned that Drego is already entangled with Cindy, my high school best friend. And yes, Cindy barged into me and him on one of those unplanned lustful nights, and she had sworn to ruin me. Trust me, she’s not one to mince words. With my dignity and sanity at stake, I’m fixed on saving my marriage with David, letting go of my obsession with Drego, and rekindling my friendship with Cindy. Will any of these be possible? Find out!

She hides behind ugly suits and fake names. He's done trusting women. When they meet in a masked sex club, neither realizes they've been fighting each other across boardroom tables for eighteen months. At Taylor Industries, she's Joy Smith—the frumpy CFO who drowns her curves in shapeless polyester and wearing a wig. At home, she's the forgotten wife of a cheating lawyer who hasn't touched her in so long she's starting to wonder if she's broken. When she finds hot pink lace panties stuffed in her couch cushions...definitely not hers, it's not heartbreak she feels. It's freedom. Grayson Taylor doesn't do relationships anymore. Not after walking in on his actress fiancée with another woman. Now he channels everything into hostile takeovers and board meetings, especially the ones where his overcautious CFO fights him on every goddamn acquisition. Joy Smith is brilliant, infuriating, and funny when he pushes all her buttons. But Honey is tired of being invisible. Tired of never having felt real pleasure. So, when her best friend gives her the details of The Velvet Room—Manhattan's most exclusive masked club—she promises herself just one night. One night to find out if her husband's right, if she really is frigid, or if she's just never been touched by the right hands. She doesn't expect the masked stranger who claims her the second she walks in. Doesn't expect the chemistry that ignites between them, the way he makes her body sing, or the orgasms that leave her shaking. Doesn't expect him to hand her an email address with one command: "Only me. No one else touches you."

My younger sister, Lila James, had a heart attack. The doctors tried their best, but she died. On the day we buried her, the men she had been involved with showed up. One was an unhinged lawyer, and another one was a powerful heir from Jovaris. Yet another one was a messed-up top celebrity. When they heard that Lila was dead, they lost it. They tried to dig her out and torture her. I blocked their way and begged them, “She’s gone! If you need someone to blame, take it out on me!” That was the moment I became Lila’s stand-in. They tortured me in every way they could think of. They beat me until my skin tore open and forced me to film humiliating videos. I somehow escaped and tried to bring them to justice. The unhinged lawyer threatened to ruin my life! The powerful heir used his influence to shut every door in my face. The messed-up top celebrity leaked the videos and claimed I had seduced him. I became the center of a national scandal, and my reputation was irreparably damaged. My parents even published a statement and cut all ties with me. I went home to confront them. When I reached outside their door, I heard Lila’s voice. She sounded immensely pleased. “Mom, Dad, your plan to fake my death saved me! I can finally get away from those lunatics. “Good thing we had Yara! Otherwise, I would’ve been the one in all these scandals.” I broke down. I rushed into the house. I was ready to drag Lila to hell with me, but my parents killed me first. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Lila had her heart attack.

Verssa Yanng, at a youthful nineteen years of age, boasts an undeniable allure, his striking visage, height six feet in stature, lean yet sturdy. His attractiveness is undeniable; he possesses a universally pleasing look that captivates from every angle. By the tender age of eighteen, Vers had already ascended to the summit of the fashion world as a coveted Top Super Model, dominating the runways of fashion weeks across nearly all continents. At nineteen, his cameo appearance in a movie unexpectedly seized the spotlight, with the supporting role eclipsing even the film's protagonist. Yet, the rosy facade of fame conceals its thorns. Beneath the dazzle lay the shadows of terror: malevolent letters, corrosive threats, and the persistent nocturnal intrusion of rabid fans knocking on his apartment door. Vers recalls having relocated over five times due to the relentless leakage of his whereabouts to his fanatic followers. One night, after a midnight shoot, Vers almost get kidnaped by a group that blocked his car and forcibly pulled him out. An escape landed him in a hospital bed, where he awoke to the presence of a mysterious figure in black. Gale Anderson, a former war veteran turned professional bodyguard, now stands as a sentinel for Vers. A very quiet and mysterious man, handsome yet frigid. His countenance rarely betrays emotion, six feet and five inches tall. His broad hands lifted Vers's slight frame with ease that rendered him akin to a mere child in his grasp. His aura is shrouded in enigma, withholding the identity of his employer, yet his mission remains unwavering: to keep Vers safe by any means necessary. For Vers, unfortunately, it's like a living nightmare; his freedom was robbed as his watchful bodyguard trailed him incessantly, even to the restroom.

My adoptive parents' long-lost daughter came back. She's a wellness influencer. She eats from crystal bowls she "cleansed." Sleeps with a white noise machine. She will only ride in a custom, climate-controlled car. That's not all. She filled our family's Manhattan law firm with Himalayan salt lamps and energy crystals. The espresso in the conference room? Replaced with gluten-free, organic dandelion root tea. "The energy here is so murky," she'd say. "We need to cleanse the world with love and light!" My guilt-ridden parents gave her everything she wanted. Even my fiancé told me, "Ava, you stole twenty years of her Upper East Side life. Can't you cut her some slack?" The day of the final hearing for our firm's biggest case, the entire court had to wait for her to finish her "emotional cleansing meditation." The judge was furious. I stood up. Delivered a flawless closing argument. I won our client $500 million and secured the future of the firm. But at the party, she had a drunken breakdown, fell into the pool, and drowned. My parents and my fiancé blamed me for everything. "You always have to win, don't you? It was a simple, open-and-shut case. You couldn't even let her have that?" They had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. They destroyed my law license and my reputation. They even had me injected with a fatal overdose of sedatives. I died full of hate. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back. Back to the day she was crying on her Instagram Live, begging for the case. This time, I walked straight into our rival's law firm. This "sure-win" case? I'm going to make you lose everything.

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.

Dr. Elara Vance's life is defined by exhaustion, crushing student loans, and grueling 30-hour residency shifts. Her passion for medicine is her singular focus until the brutal, careless discovery of her boyfriend Daniel’s long-running affair shatters her foundation. Seeking oblivion, she allows her best friend to drag her into Manhattan's elite world, where she collides with Liam Sterling, the notoriously private and ruthlessly efficient tech CEO. ​Their intense, desperate one-night stand is a blur of emotional destruction, a mistake Elara vows to bury. But weeks later, fate delivers an impossible complication: she is pregnant with the tech mogul's child. ​Liam, a master of cold, transactional risk management, moves swiftly to contain the scandal. He ambushes Elara with the "White Coat Contract," an impersonal legal offer promising immediate, full payment of her crippling medical school debt and complete financial security. But his protection comes with a crushing price: Elara must resign or significantly scale back her demanding residency. This requirement threatens to extinguish the medical career she bled for, forcing her to choose between stability and her identity. ​Forced into this high-stakes arrangement, Elara enters Liam's sterile, controlled world, furious at the man who views her life’s work as a liability. Yet, their forced proximity blurs the sharp lines of the contract. She brings chaos and warmth to his ordered life, and he, in turn, sees the fierce dedication that transcends her financial profile. With her professional life precariously balanced, Elara must decide if Liam’s love is worth the risk of losing her identity, and he must decide if his obsession with control is worth losing the only person who has ever truly challenged the sterile efficiency of his world.

His fingers were already at the lace between my thighs when he pushed me against the marble vanity, breath hot, voice darker than sin, his arousal pressing against my throbbing core. "Open your legs for me, Mrs Valentino." He didn’t wait. He plunged into me roughly, his mouth trailing down my neck like he owned it. I hated the way my body arched for him. I hated even more that he smirked when it did. I was supposed to be terrified, not trembling for the man who forced a ring onto my finger two days after abducting me. Before Dante Valentino touched me like that... before he whispered filth and promises into my ears, I was Valentina Morrison: a quiet girl, psychology graduate, volunteer counselor blissfully unaware that my entire life was a lie. I didn’t know the truth about my parents. I didn't know my bloodline belonged to a mafia empire that their hands were filled with blood. I only knew one thing the night I witnessed a murder in a Manhattan alley and it was that I was going to die...until he showed up. Dante, the most feared Italian boss in New York. He was ruthless and calculating. He didn't save me, he claimed me. Only because I’m not just some civilian. I'm the last surviving Castellano heir, the one piece of leverage that can rewrite the entire underworld. So Dante forced a marriage to protect me. To control me. To bind me to him in pleasure and law. And somewhere between running from gunfire and running from him, I made the worst mistake possible: I let the devil touch me. I let his hands teach my body a language my mind despises but my body craves. I let him explore me.