Monkey D Mikasa Novels & Stories

My dad never got over his first love, so he traded me for her daughter, Irene. I spent twenty years like that before they finally took me back and named me the real heiress. So when it was time to pick a husband, I didn't care about anything else. I just wanted someone with a clean past. Like Shane Terrell. Detective captain. Cold, intimidating, and known for ignoring women—yet when he confessed, his ears went red. "Lana Laurent, you're my first. You have to take responsibility for me." I believed him. Thought I'd found the one. Then Irene came back. I stood in our house and watched Shane hold her, crying. "Why'd you make me lie to her? Why'd you make me marry her? You're the one I loved first!"

Five years into my marriage to Ethan Morgan, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. He'd bought a private island in my name. He'd asked me to quit my career to rest. He called me his queen. What he didn't know was that I never stopped designing — under a different name, a secret identity no one knew about. Not even him. Then his secretary left a review on my designer account, raving about the dress her "billionaire boyfriend" had gifted her. The island in the photo was mine. The man beside her was my husband. [He says his wife doesn't satisfy his real needs.] [Only if he didn't need an heir from her, she'd already be gone.] I was pregnant with that heir. And he would never know. I made one call: "I need a new identity. And a divorce agreement."

By year's end, I'd closed a huge deal and snagged a $2.5 million bonus. The company even sent me on early maternity leave—nice perk for being eight months pregnant. Pauline found me lounging on the couch. "Why aren't you at work?" I cracked a joke. "Got fired. Guess I'll be stuck here playing housewife." Her response? A slap across my back. "Then get off and do the laundry! You're having a girl, not a son, and you think you can sit around like some princess?" My husband, Logan, walked in right then. He just pulled her into the nursery. Feeling hurt, I switched on the hidden cameras I'd secretly installed. I thought maybe he'd defend me. Yeah, no. What I uncovered? It was so much worse. Twisted secret after twisted secret.

My fiancé was sleeping with my maid of honor. I caught them the night before our wedding. I didn't make a sound. I closed the door, walked back to my bridal suite, and sat at the vanity until my hands stopped shaking. Then I grabbed my keys. At two in the morning I drove forty blocks across Manhattan and knocked on Atlas Marchetti's door. Two years ago I'd told my family I wouldn't marry him. He hadn't said a word about it since. He opened the door in pajama pants. "Marry me tomorrow," I said. He didn't say yes. He poured himself a drink first, listened to everything, and then handed me a piece of paper with terms I should have read more carefully. I signed at dawn. Six hours later I walked down the aisle Carter and I had planned. The Plaza ballroom. The dress I'd chosen in spring. Three hundred guests who came to watch me marry the wrong man. I married someone else instead. Carter watched it happen. He didn't understand yet what he'd lost, and he wouldn't understand for months. Not until he found out who owned the company he ran, and how long Atlas had been bleeding it. I went to Atlas for revenge. He'd been writing this for two years.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

I was born into the Valerie family, with the noble blood that could give a vampire a powerful hybrid heir. I was meant to marry Ethan, heir to the Prince. But the night before the engagement, his younger brother Adrian knelt in the rain in front of me. “Elena, I’d give up everything.” “I love you. You’re all I want.” So I broke the engagement, let my family disown me, and married him without a backward glance. Then I got pregnant. He started keeping me at arm’s length, finding reasons not to touch me, not even willing to stay in the same room as me. Until the night I heard him tell his men: “Once Elena has the baby, we’ll hand it over to Ethan and Sophia.” “Sophia’s health is fragile. I can’t bear to put her through a pregnancy.” That was when I finally understood. Adrian had never loved me. He’d married me only to free up the place beside Ethan for my cousin Sophia. Even the child I’d struggled so hard to carry had already been promised away to the woman he truly loved. I rested a hand on my belly and called my father. “Dad, I was wrong about him.” Adrian thought I’d stay trapped in his web of lies forever. He had no idea. Two months from now, I would vanish from his world for good.

THIS BOOK CONTAINS EROTIC, AND BDSM SCENES AS WELL. SECOND PART OF THE CEO'S DIVORCED WIFE IS SEXY DOCTOR. “Daddy,” she had whispered, so softly it was almost a sigh. “Teach me.” God, how could I have resisted her then? I remembered how I’d taught her, how I’d guided her trembling hands over my body, how I’d whispered instructions in her ear, making her repeat every dirty word back to me. “Call me ‘Daddy’ again,” I’d commanded, my lips brushing against her neck. “Daddy,” she had moaned, her head falling back as I kissed my way down to her collarbone. “Please…” Lily left the city when she found that her best friend and Isaac, his brother's best friend whom she dated secretly, had been cheating on her. She left the city and hid herself from her past and Isaac, the man who broke her heart. She’s raising their daughter, Ayla, in secret. When Ayla was diagnosed with leukemia, Lily was a doctor who returned to Los Angeles for lab research, unknowingly entering Isaac’s world again. As she seeks help, Isaac discovers she’s back, and old feelings resurface. Now, Lily must protect Ayla’s secret while facing the man she once loved, all to save her daughter’s life.

“You want me to pretend to be your fiancée?” Paige’s voice trembled quietly. Leonardo D’Angelo, her boss, the man she’d spent way too many nights secretly pining over, was holding her by the shoulders. His eyes beseeching. Paige, I know this might come as a surprise to you,” Leonardo’s voice was softer, almost hesitant. “But I need you to be my fake fiancée.” Her heart slammed against her ribs. This had to be a joke. “I—what?” she stammered, staring at him like he’d grown another head. “It’s only for three to four weeks,” he pressed, his grip tightening slightly on her shoulders. “I’ll pay you double, or a vacation, whatever you want. Just say yes.” Paige opened her mouth to refuse, because this was insane, but the look in his eyes stopped her. For once, the arrogant, self-assured Leonardo D’Angelo looked… vulnerable. “Please,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper. She should have said no. She should have walked away. Instead, the word slipped from her lips before she could stop it. “Yes.” The relief on his face was immediate, but Paige’s stomach twisted with nerves. What had she just agreed to? And yet, somewhere beneath the chaos, was the dangerous thrill of being the woman by his side.

"Lisbeth, you'd better agree to this divorce quickly! Otherwise, I'll make these photos public and let all your fans see how their beloved star with millions of followers was once molested by an old man!" "What?" Lisbeth Whitaker looked up in shock, unable to believe what she was hearing. This was her husband of five years, who had cheated on her with the female caregiver she'd hired to look after him. Now he was resorting to blackmail to force her into a divorce so he could make room for his mistress!

"Don't worry, I'm not such a barbarian that I'd take my wife against the wall of my living room. I like to take my time, so I'd make a list of the things I'm going to do to you." His sultry promise only made her melt beneath his touch, just wondering what he'd do to her... When her twin Cindy ran away from her wedding, Rella found herself torn between duty and love. From the moment she set eyes on Stefan Diamond, Rella knew her heart wasn't hers anymore but there's just one problem, he was her sister's fiancé and she knew there was no going back the moment she started down the isle towards him as Cindy. But when she realises he had known who she was all along Rella couldn't help but wonder what else he was keeping from her.