John Price

After our class reunion, my best friend naturally expected me to play chauffeur and drive everyone home. I agreed. However, halfway down the road, a limited-edition luxury car slammed into the back of my car. The owner, who claimed to be a wealthy businessman from overseas, waved off the idea of filing an insurance claim. He said the crash was fate, and with a grand gesture, handed the luxury car over to me on the spot. From that day on, I drove the million-dollar luxury car every day, until jealousy consumed my best friend. She secretly sabotaged my car, and it ended with my death in a fiery wreck. My boyfriend turned on me, insisting I had simply fallen asleep at the wheel. My parents, unable to bear the shock, both died of heart attacks. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the reunion.

I was a famed assassin. She knew my name. Everyone did. Feral. Death's very own hound. But she was the one that'd left our hut in the dead of night. And I wasn't one to forget something like that. I'd gone looking for her when she left things the way she did. She was nowhere to be found then. Yet here she is now. Standing in my tavern. With her cloak in a pile around her ankles and offering me her body in plain view of every rogue in here. Bold move. But she was nothing if not that. She thought I'd give in and said yes to this venture to rescue someone she loved because of some misplaced honor. Not in the least! I said yes because I intend to wreak vengeance on her, for what she did to me. Every chance I get, I'm going to make her miserable. And I'm going to take great pleasure in doing so. Welcome to my world Warrioress. Where the price of vengeance comes much higher than a bit o' coin.

For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media. The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.] I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?] Lionel called within minutes. “She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped. “How can you be so lacking in compassion?” In the background, I heard her muffled sobs. Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post.  This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.] I knew he bought it to soothe her temper. But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.

Half a month ago, I found out my husband, Vincent, was cheating on me. I accidentally discovered an encrypted burner phone hidden in a secret compartment of his armored SUV. Inside were dozens of explicit photos and countless graphic, flirtatious texts. The other person was his hot chief secretary, Chloe. The fairy tale was shattered by reality. I looked at the positive pregnancy test in my hand and calmly threw it into the trash can. I put the phone back exactly as I found it. That very day, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers and signed my name, stroke by stroke. I opened my phone and replied to an email:[Professor, I officially accept the invitation to the Zurich Institute.] This time, I won't look back.

My name is Cassie Aster. I was born Cassandra Burton. I wasn’t born rich, or with a powerful name. But I was born smart—some would say lucky. At fifteen, I entered a contest for a scholarship to the most prestigious school in the country: Aster Academy of Excellence. Out of more than four hundred applicants, only five were chosen. By sixteen, I was walking through its gates. That’s where I met him—Jacob Aster. The son of the school’s owners. The heir to one of the wealthiest families on Earth. I fell for him immediately, but I rejected him—over a hundred times. My studies, my scholarship, my future came first. To him, that meant only one thing: he had to buy my love. Over a decade later, we’re married. And to the world, I’m the luckiest girl alive—proof that fairy tales come true. From rags to riches, just like that. But I never thought of myself as having only rags. And I didn’t marry him for his riches. Still, every time he strays, he buys my forgiveness—for $100,000. For him, I gave up my career. For him, I live like a caged bird, taken out only for display. For him, I die a little every day. Every time my card doesn’t decline, my heart does. Most of his women at least have the shame to stay out of my sight. But not her. Coral Monroue is shameless. He favors her now. And I can’t help but wonder— will she be the one who finally pushes me to leave?

My younger son, who is seven, is bitten by a snake. I take him to my elder son's hospital to be treated. To my surprise, my elder son's girlfriend thinks I'm his mistress. Not only does she stop the medical personnel from treating my younger son, but she even slaps me. "My boyfriend and I are a perfect match. How dare you bring your illegitimate son here to challenge me!" She pins me to the floor as she pummels and harms me. She even screeches, "A slut like you will only stop going around seducing others once you're incapable of it!" I'm bruised, battered, and bleeding as I'm wheeled into the emergency room. My elder son handles the operation. His hand trembles as he clutches his scalpel, and he looks ashen. "Who did this to you, Mom?"

My husband and I go on a road trip back to my hometown before Christmas. I want to ride shotgun, but he chases me to the backseat so his female colleague can sit in front. He says, "Isabel gets carsick easily. You are my wife, so you should be more considerate of her." He seems to have forgotten that I'm pregnant—my morning sickness is at its peak. Halfway through the journey, he and Isabel Slater start smoking. They make me throw up. The smell disgusts them, and my husband wants to teach me a lesson. He and Isabel leave me at the rest stop. Unbeknownst to them, my family is already waiting there. This time, I'm going back with them and getting an abortion and divorce. Later, my husband is filled with regret when he learns the child is gone.

My brother calls me his princess and transfers money to me as allowance; his wife-to-be misunderstands and thinks I'm his secret lover. She crashes my new apartment, which I've lovingly decorated, with a group of friends and family. "I can't believe you're someone's secret lover when you're so young! I'll teach you a lesson on your parents' behalf! I'm going to spread your illicit relationship online so your teachers and classmates will all know how shameless you are!" They trash my new apartment and rip my clothes off. Then, they make sure to get my student ID in the scene as they record me getting bullied. My brother rushes over, his eyes red and bloodshot. "Have you guys lost your mind? How dare you bully my sister!"

Lyra Cole has spent her life fighting to survive. Burdened with the hospital bills for her ailing mother. Her life has always been a delicate balancing act, working multiple jobs to care for her sick mother and younger brother while hiding her talent in digital art, a skill that could change her life if given a chance. But when her mother's condition suddenly deteriorates, she is faced with a staggering medical bill that she cannot possibly pay. Desperate and heartbroken, Lyra turns to her boyfriend, Steve, for help, only to find him betraying her in the cruelest way, shattering her trust completely. With no money, no support, and now unemployed after being unjustly fired from her restaurant job, Lyra feels the walls closing in. Her world seems to collapse until Alexander Dayn, a cold, calculating billionaire CEO, appears with an offer she cannot ignore. He can pay for her mother's treatment but only under one condition; she must enter a contract marriage with him. With no other options, Lyra reluctantly considers the agreement, unaware of the true complexities of Alexander’s world. As they explore a world of luxury, control, and dangerous power plays, Lyra discovers that Alexander's motives are far beyond getting married to her but linked to protecting her from external threats tied to his empire. Undeniable attraction, different personalities, clashing wills, and forced proximity push them into a tense, addictive relationship. Lyra's independence challenges Alexander's dominic, while his control and secrets test her resilience. Their bond is further tested when outside enemies target Lyra and long-buried secrets surface, forcing both to confront their fears, desires, and past mistakes. Eventually, Lyra's courage and talent give her leverage, while Alexander's growing love for her is more than obligation. Together they must choose each other selflessly.

Isla Bennett survives on poverty math and a meagre $14.22 bank balance until Gabriel Hunt, the ruthless, intelligent CEO known as The Debt Collector, acquires her $250,847.36 inheritance debt and forces her into a clinical, eighteen-month contract marriage. Told through an alternating first-person POV, this dark romance and financial thriller exposes the cold utility assessment behind a billionaire’s search for an asset chosen specifically for maximum compliance. In a world where finance is a weapon and boardrooms are battlefields, Isla is dragged into a thirty-year revenge plot against the Black Swan, a price-fixing syndicate that murdered her father in 1988. As Gabriel deploys mafia-style tactical teams and extraction protocols to protect his interests, Isla begins a weak-to-strong transformation. She evolves from a waitress who feels like breathing, walking furniture, into an interim CEO capable of executing the hostile absorption of forty-seven companies to dismantle her enemies. Behind the silk dresses and staged performances of a perfect couple lies a lethal game of medical hostage taking and manufactured stress tests designed to prove whether she is Option Zero, the only variable that will not break. From the glass towers of Manhattan to the remote Morrison Estate, the bought variable must choose between the $4.7 billion profit of a ghost and her own sovereignty.