Lying Lyrics

I was supposed to marry Marco DeLuca, the man of my dreams, in just three days. He was the mafia don of the South—dangerous, ruthless, the kind of man everyone warned you about. And I came from the Moretti family, just as powerful, a dominant force in the North. But just when I thought I had it all, fate had other plans. What was supposed to be a simple drug deal negotiation—one Marco had asked me to cover—quickly spiraled into a gunfight. In the chaos, a bullet tore through my chest. Marco made sure everyone in that room paid for my accident, but no matter what he did, it didn’t change the fact that I was lying here, wondering if my life would ever be the same. And it only got worse. In the haze between consciousness and dreams, I overheard Marco speaking with his family doctor. “After removing the bullet from Miss Moretti’s chest, we found fragments near her heart,” Dr. Levois said. “She may need another surgery.” “There’s no need for another surgery. As long as she can breathe, I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. But if you treat her now, she’ll wake up and ruin everything I’ve planned.” Marco’s words hit me hard. “And I promised Camilla I would bring our daughter, Violetta, into the family,” he continued. “It’s better this way. Gianna won’t be a threat to her then.” So the wedding I’d longed for, the love I once believed in, was nothing but a cruel illusion. What Marco wanted, what I thought was mine, had twisted into my worst nightmare. If this was what Marco truly wanted… so be it. It wasn’t like I cared anymore.

As dangerous as his grip on her, he yanked her nearer to his face. "Are you trying to do-" her words got stuck in her throat immediately. Alpha Syrill gazed into her eyes, rolling his as if searching for something. The smell of her lineage came flooding his head as he tried to fight against his wolf from digging deep into her, sensually, without any delays. "The sparks in your eyes drills every ounce of my blood, making me want to do to you what you'd love me to!" "W-what?!" she exclaimed, as confusion washed her. "I just feel like to fuck you this minute and always each time I'm close!" ~~~~~~~~ As pretty as she is, Angela Brandford is ill-treated by her step mother after she found out that she knows too much about her true identity. Angela, a 'journey just come' with a twisted fate, resumes a local training in her formal pack where they left due to a situation whereby her stepmom committed a grievous and unpardonable offense, leaving her father lying critically ill at the hospital for months now. And Syrill Madison, the new Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, was attracted to her scent the very first time she resumes her training, and notices that she's his one, true mate he has been longing for her coming. Everything changed automatically!

The woman dreamed of sleeping on an incredibly soft and comfortable bed. Her skin was pampered by the smoothness of the vast expanse of fabric. Perhaps she was lying on a giant fluffy marshmallow. The pleasure made her smile, a wide grin that revealed her white teeth. Her hands moved around on the bed, enjoying the comfortable touch between her skin and the oh-so-soft fabric. When was the last time she enjoyed such a soft and comfortable bed? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was during her last business trip to London. Back then, Big Boss had rented a luxurious suite for her to stay in with his only child who couldn't be far from his daddy. The business trip felt more like taking care of a toddler. No, actually, she was taking care of two toddlers - Big Boss's favorite child and Big Boss himself, the big baby who was more troublesome than his little daughter, Nora. Hmn! The difference was that on this comfortable bed, she could get a good quality sleep. There were no interruptions from Big Boss's children, no annoying single daddy shouting.

"I'll build you thousands of empires and mansions, adore you with precious pieces of jewelry, you will be the only known queen of this ruthless man," Azrael Thorn Execroz whispered words that marked Andromeda's heart. His minty breath lingers in her senses, particularly in her nose. She wanted to be consumed by the fire of his heart, deep until they can no longer grasp for air. His shoulder shuddered in the darkness, while his body remains to cage the woman who captivated his iron heart. "Azrael..." she said softly with her heart beating erratically. "I...I don't desire your wealth nor your heart," she replied, slightly shivering. She was lying to the young man but mostly to herself. "Then what do you want?" he replied with his eyes beginning to shine as the tears warn to fall. He is breaking. "Let me leave," Andromeda spoke, each word like an arrow piercing through his heart. Sliding her right arm to his chest, she tiptoed momentarily to whisper what ended them. "Free me." And with that, the mighty and dignified Azrael Execroz felt his world crumble into small shards of glass. She tamed him. She was his escape. His solace. And now, she's gone.

Upon hearing about my husband's surgery, I braved a typhoon and torrential rain, driving four hours back to the city. When I arrived at the hospital, my husband, Xander Gray, was lying on the hospital bed, calling out loudly, "I want my wife! Get my wife here!" His buddies around him joked about how his wife had him completely whipped. Everyone said he loved me to death. Blushing, I walked over with a happy smile and held his hand, saying, "I'm here." To my surprise, he shook off my hand in disgust and snarled, "Get lost! You're not my wife! My wife is Beverly Long!"

While my husband was chatting with his friend at the dining table, his friend suddenly spoke in Italian. “You married Lyra to write a pardon letter for River. You’ve been showing more concern toward Lyra, but you’re still lying to her and saying that the contraceptives are antidepressants. Don’t you think Lyra will break down if she learns the truth?” My husband wore a complicated expression as he chuckled bitterly and said, “Why let a child be born if I don’t want it? As for Lyra, so long as she doesn’t interfere with River’s happiness, I’ll keep my promise and protect her for life.” No one knew that I had already learned Italian to keep up with my husband. I stood in the living room with fresh hickeys on my neck. In my hand, I held the “antidepressants” and felt a chill run down my spine. So, my husband’s love for me had been fake? My salvation had actually been a meticulously planned lie? In that case, I would help them fulfill their wishes.

The day I found out that I was a fake heiress who had taken the place of the Jones family’s real daughter, my husband, Timothy Lane, was brought back as the true heir of the Lane family. The man who once said he loved me quickly abandoned both me and our daughter. At that very moment, the real heiress, Nancy Jones, decisively broke up with the fake heir of the Lane family and got together with Timothy. According to them, this was simply ‘making things right’. After losing everything in the blink of an eye, Micah Lane, the fake heir, kidnapped my daughter and me, forcing me to call Timothy for help. However, Timothy ignored our desperate pleas and mocked us. "You two are really something. Of course the fake heiress and fake heir go together. No wonder you make such a perfect pair of actors." On the other end of the line, I could occasionally hear Nancy's raspy, suggestive voice. As I listened to them, Micah stabbed me and my daughter to death. I died a tragic, painful death. After we died, my daughter and I were my husband's final assignment as a mortician before he left the job. The man who claimed he did not care about us fell apart the moment he saw our lifeless bodies. "Wasn't it all supposed to be a lie?! Why weren't you lying to me?! "Please, don't die! Don't leave me!"

“We’re friends,” I said, voice barely steady. Aaron’s lips curled, slow and cruel. “No, we’re not.” “Friendship’s too pure for this.” His hand slid to my waist, hot and claiming as he yanked me flush against him. “Do friends kiss like this?” He kissed me. Hard. Possessive. “Or grab each other like this?” A squeeze to my ass. A gasp. “Or think filthy little thoughts?” His breath burned against my ear. “Touch themselves to it?” My cheeks flamed. My body betrayed me. “Stop lying, Venus.” His voice was a growl. “I feel it. Every time I’m near you.” I whispered, “But you don’t even like me.” His smile was pure sin. “I don’t have to like you to fuck you.” Then the offer: “Let’s get it out of our system. No lies. No strings. Just truth.” He grabbed my chin, eyes lit with hunger. “Say the word, princess.” A whisper against my lips— “I’ll ruin you.” And God help me… I wanted him to. --------- Aaron Sinclair needs a bride to claim his inheritance. Venus Carter needs a miracle to save her dying mother. What begins as a cold contract marriage spirals into a dangerous game of buried trauma, stolen identities, and forbidden attachment. He’s ruthless, closed off, and refuses to love. She’s resilient, lost, and refuses to stay unloved. But when secrets unravel revealing a stolen childhood, a tragic past, and a vengeful stepmother, their fake marriage is the only thing standing between them and destruction. In a world ruled by power and silence, will love dare to speak first or break them both instead?

Yuri's father calls and tells me to send his son, the Alpha heir and my childhood friend, home to meet his further mate. But Yuri Blevin is lying next to me, fast asleep and shirtless. Thinking it's just a joke, I nudge him and say with a light laugh, "Yuri, they said they've arranged a mate for you. What do you think?" He raises an eyebrow and lazily wraps an arm around my waist. "Then make sure you pick a nice suit for me. I trust your taste will impress her." When I freeze and say nothing, Yuri opens his eyes and lets out a carefree chuckle. "Hey, Ophelia, what kind of reaction is that? We're just casual lovers, right? Don't tell me you actually thought I'd make you my future Luna?"

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.