Midnight In Everwood

"Master, it is done!" At exactly twilight, an unfortunate lifeless head rolled on the floor, completely detached from the body. "Good ! Have the express mail package delivered before midnight today." "BOOM!" the gun went off. Mila came rushing in with only a towel wrapped around her body. "What the fuck happened?" She asked the petrified Brant who sat on the bed with his legs wrapped up and his head cringed upwards. He did not reply her. She followed the line of his eyes and that was when she saw it, a perforation in her roof. The sunlight was literally shining directly on them. She looked back at Brantley in confusion, well, he looked more confused than she was. "What…?" She opened her mouth to interrogate him but decided against it. Instead, she climbed beside him and carefully took the weapon from his hand. He did not protest. "This is not a toy." She said, taking off the bullets and partially dismantling the gun. Just in case his itchy hands decided to touch the pistol again. **** Being the lone survivor of a fire accident that claimed her entire family, Mila Rivers is back to get the company that once belonged to her father. But she's got one problem... Brantley White, the new CEO,  son to the man behind her family's death and her childhood friend-turn-rival. She needs to get him out of her way at all costs, but she can't deny the fact that he's hot and she keeps on finding herself in his bed. He does not hide his desire for her, no matter how high a wall she builds between them. Would she be able to resist her Rival's desire to get her revenge or would she fall for him instead?

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.

Penelope Quinn once Penelope Nowak, a rich successful business woman hasn’t always been the independent rich successful woman she is. She is the daughter of a criminal minded art thief, working for her father as the Midnight Fox. Wanting a better life for herself she plots to leave home only to have her plans thwarted when her father contracts her to be married off. In an act of defiance, Penelope goes out to get drunk and has a one-night stand with a handsome stranger. He turns out to be Noel Greer, the man she was supposed to marry. Noel is furious to learn that his bride-to-be was the innocent blue-eyed, blonde princess who had seduced him the day before and he cancels their marriage. Heartbroken, Penelope runs away from home. A new start. Years later, Noel Greer wants Penelope back in his life and is willing to do anything to get her back – including blackmail. He wants to possess her. Soon after, her father comes back into her life needing her for one more heist. Someone is blackmailing him and he needs Penelope to help him. But there are obstacles. Albert Kowalski. Her father’s former right-hand man who says he is a friend but Penelope is not sure she can trust him especially when he has a seemingly successful business now. Another obstacle is the Phantom. No one knows who is he but seems to be the reason the chain of events begin unfolding in her life. Every road links to him, every heist points at him. He is neither enemy nor foe but he is dangerous nonetheless. Penny realizes old friends can't trusted when she suspects Noel may be her father's blackmailer. Or was it Albert the stunning, cool-headed ghost from her past?

Evangelina had a tough luck growing up with a family that wanted to trade her for security but one day things changed. She met her mate during a ball and sparks flew. They spent the night taking pleasure from each other. It all felt like a dream to Eva and just like a dream, it shattered when the morning came. When the morning light fell on his beautiful face, she realised with a shock that her destined mate is the vicious Zavion Kessler- the infamous alpha of Midnight pack- their swore enemy. Eva does what she thinks is best. She flees, leaving him sleeping not knowing the alpha had already planted his pup inside her. Two months later she finds out that she is pregnant. Her family decides to kill her baby and mate her off to an old chap. Eva runs away for her baby. Fast forward four years, she is a caring mother to a sweet girl and is scraping through life. Then comes a man who stinks of money and offers her millions for pretending to be his mate in front of his family during his big brother's mating ceremony. She agrees, again not knowing that the big brother of her fake mate is her true mate, Zavion. Tricky, isn't it? .................. "What are you doing?" I asked as his large callous hand wrapped itself around my left breast, clutching the lump in a tender yet firm grip. "Your heart remains calm like ocean when with my brother but flaps like a caged bird when I am around. Suspicious, isn't it?" he rasped while drawing circles over my palpitating heart with his thumbpad. I could sense it. He is close to finding out the truth. That I am his mate and that he has a daughter.

The crowd starts a countdown to midnight like New Year’s Eve. I close my eyes and smile, holding Liam’s hand tightly. Everyone yells “ONE!” and cheers. I open my eyes and see the iridescent liquid light of the full moon pouring out of the giant orb flowing down over us. People around us ooh and ahh at the beautiful sight.  When the first rays of moonlight cascade over my skin, I feel a heat inside me turn into a burning fire. I gasp and look up at Liam. He looks at me with wide, surprised eyes. “Mate,” he murmurs and squeezes my hand tighter. It isn’t a comforting feeling. There are no sparks like people describe when they touch their mate. Maybe it takes a few minutes to develop. I smile and try to admire Liam, but I don't want to say it back. Nothing feels different. I still love him, but he’s not the one. Liam is looking at me, but it isn’t a look of true love. It’s lustful and carnal. I feel a pit in my stomach. Liam isn’t my mate. How can this be? And how was he able to call me his mate if he’s not mine? “Zara,” a woman’s voice says in my head, “My name is Lavender. I’m your wolf and you’re in grave danger, my dear. You need to run. You need to run now. Your life depends on it.” “My… wolf?” With everything that happened the past couple of hours, I forgot she was waking up. “L-Lavender, what’s happening? What do you know?” Lavender repeats her order. “Zara, you need to run. I can explain later. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, sweet girl.”

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."