Mi Venganza: No Más Ingenua

I chase my six-year-old daughter out of the house on a cold winter day. I cut her new clothes to pieces and dirty her dainty little face with mud. Then, I give her all my savings. She looks at me tearfully and reaches out for me, wanting me to hold her. However, I harden my heart and push her away, saying, "Leave! Go to Bowen Group and look for their CEO, Logan Bowen. Show him my death certificate and your DNA test—he'll take you in." She sobs while looking at me. "Don't you want me anymore, Mommy? Let's go look for Daddy together." After a brief silence, I say, "I can't go with you. I lied to him back then to have you." Yes, I'm a liar. I orchestrated everything from meeting Logan, dating him, to ultimately leaving him with his child in my womb. Even the death certificate I've given my daughter is fake. From beginning to end, I've lied to him about everything except our daughter.

They grew up in a cult community that as a culture killed Russians, Bonnie, Donald and Dr. Markus are Russians. This is because 1000 years ago there was a war and before the war Russians used to oppress the black people so the black people rose up, some good Russians helped the black people rise up and for a time after the black people won the war and got into rule they made laws to stop the oppression and things got calmer and people were arrested for racism. One day, 1000 years later, a black ruler was dying so he gave his crown to his nephew who hated Russians and the nephew turned black people against the Russians and created a whole culture of hating the Russians, this started tensions between the two races and literally got babies killed, mixed people were killed along with their Russian parents, black people who made babies with them would be kicked out of the community that used to be Christians and the nephew's son started a culture of killing Russians 1 time a month on the 13th day of the month. RedBeeSAndAmber2's Real Name is Treasure Marie Denise Jackson and I am her, I collaborated with GOD A.K.A. Jesus Christ To help me write this book. The Writer is an African-American. _________________________________________________________________________ This story is copyrighted. (Copr. ©) The copyright symbol, or copyright sign, ©, is the symbol used in copyright notices for works other than sound recordings. The use of the symbol is described by the Universal Copyright Convention. Copyright refers to the legal right of the owner of intellectual property. ... This means that the original creators of products and anyone they give authorization to are the only ones with the exclusive right to reproduce the work.

"Mo*n louder, Raphael—let the whole palace hear who you belong to." "I hate you. *h—Xavier!" "If you hate me, then why are you drip*i*g all over my c*ck, little prince?" He’s my stepbrother. My enemy. The man I swore to ruin. I wear my pride like armor, and my hatred like a crown. He killed my mother. Stole my dreams. Took the throne I was born for. And yet, on the night I was to marry another… Xavier found me drugged and trembling—and buried himself so deep inside me, I shattered. "You were supposed to belong to him," he growled, thrusting until I sobbed, "but this h*le was made for me." I clawed at his back, cursed him, begged for more. My body? A traitor. "H*rd*r… F*ck, Xavier—d**per—" "You’ll ta*e every inch and thank me." I lied. Told the world he r***d me. Watched the king whip him bloody. It hurt to see. But revenge tasted sweeter. Later, I seduced his enemy. Let another man put a baby inside me—just to break him. But Xavier—cold, ruthless, and proud—still shields me from the shadows, even as he spits hate. And when he f*cks me, it’s war. "You want my hate?" he snarled, balls slapping against me, "Then take it. Take every inch until you forget how to lie." We are poison—dripping obsession, burning pride. And we’ll burn down heaven if it means one more night like this.

Fedora Smith was done with love. Finished. Buried. Betrayal had ripped out her heart and torched it—her boyfriend of four years and her best friend of twenty-five caught pants down on the very anniversary sheets she gifted him. And their excuses? “You’re not attractive anymore.” “You took too long to marry him.” Fine. If love was a game, she was rewriting the rules. Now, she runs The Bridal Fix, an elite agency providing fake marriages for a steep price—rent-a-bride services for men needing to fool their families, secure an inheritance, or stage the perfect breakup. Fifteen weddings, fifteen divorces—no strings, no mess. Just business. Until Judah Carlstone. He hires her like the rest—one contract, one wedding, one payday. But Judah asks too many questions. Looks at her too long. And when he smirks and says— "Tell me, Fedora… how does it feel to say ‘I do’ and not mean it?" For the first time in years, she has no answer. Because this was never supposed to feel real.

Despite a decade of marriage, Simon never once shared my bed, claiming that he had pledged himself to ascetic practices and that it was beneath him. I thought that he suffered from some shameful ailment and guarded his secret like a devoted fool, until my birthday, when I came home to find him entangled with a brothel worker before the floor-length mirror. When I lunged forward in rage, he drove a shard of that broken mirror straight through my heart. When I awoke, I was gripping my phone, its screen illuminating a message Simon had just sent: [I’ll still give you a lavish wedding, but the marriage certificate? That belongs to her.]

Un jeune veuf toujours toucher par la mort de sa bien aimée n'arrive pas à affronter cela Pour partir en paix sa bien aimée lui demande de l'enterrer de ses propres mains Arrivera-t'-il a le faire ? À découvrir

I was reborn back to 1975, when the child in my womb was three months old. I did not tell anyone and quietly had an abortion. However, I still wrapped cotton around my belly every day, pretending the baby was still there. In my past life, my husband Declan Huxley's childhood sweetheart Jane Patton and I gave birth on the same day. She had a healthy, ordinary baby boy. But my child looked nothing like us—he was mixed-race, with features of the Valorian people. Declan and I were both locals, so there was no way our son could look like this. Enraged, Declan scolded me in front of everyone, accusing me of cheating on him and having a disgraceful affair with a Valorian. No matter how many times I explained, no one believed me, and I became the shameful woman everyone pointed at. Worse still, Declan reported me and handed in some foreign letters he found at home, which led to me being taken by federal agents and sentenced as a spy. I spent ten years in prison, and when I finally walked out, I was nothing but skin and bones. Meanwhile, Declan had climbed the ranks for his so-called loyalty to the country. He held Jane's hand and brought along my real son, Seth Huxley, then threw 500 dollars at me like it was charity. He said, "Back then, Jane was accidentally deceived by someone else and gave birth to that brat. Unlike you, she has a gentle nature and couldn't endure hardship, so I had no choice but to switch your children. "This money is payment for your ten years and your reputation. You have a criminal record, and I already filed for divorce long ago to be with Jane. Seth also thinks you're not worthy of me, so you better take care of yourself." Seth also looked at me with disgust. "Mommy Jane treats me very well, and she's not like you; she's never been to prison. I don't want a mother like you!" When I learned the truth, the fury was so overwhelming that I had a stroke and died in despair. In this new life, I want to see how they plan to scheme against me when the child is already gone.

Two years after we marry, my husband moves his sister and her family into our marital home. The four of them settle down and refuse to leave. So, I quit both my jobs. I laze around at home all day and splurge on various things. I have so many parcels delivered that they pile up by the door. Occasionally, I ask my husband and his sister for allowance. When the management office sends someone to chase for our maintenance fee, my husband breaks down so loudly that everyone in the building can hear him. He asks me whether I've lost my mind—who will support the family if I don't work? How will we survive without money? Am I going to allow our family to starve? So, it turns out he does know that we'll starve without anyone generating income. Why does he and his sister stay at home and plot to take away all my money, then?

A year after my divorce, my ex-husband, Harvey Fisher, pings me in a group chat. "This cold war has gone on for long enough. Come home—let's remarry." I reply, "Have you lost your mind?" Everyone in the group chat tries to convince me to take Harvey back. Meanwhile, he asks, "What have you been doing without me in your life?" I turn to look at my current husband, who's putting our child to sleep. I reply, "Recovering after having a child." The group chat members are initially excited, but they instantly fall silent at my words. Harvey angrily calls me countless times, but I ignore him. His mind is not the only thing he's lost—he's also lost the young woman who once loved him more than life itself.

Young werewolf, Evangeline, can do something no other can, hold communication with someone far beyond her realm. What will happen when an Alpha claims Evangeline as his own, and when the most dangerous come seeking revenge?