More Memoir Novels & Stories

Hurt, wounded and mared, Fiona Johnson is born. Her identity changed, her kind heartedness learnt to be mean and she sealed off emotions until she succeeded in avenging her parents death and getting back her inheritance. Kindness is weakness,she thought. Now she believed in giving to the world what it forced her to swallow. Pain and betrayals have a way of turning the meekest of men to be brutal, it's simply survival. This is the story of Fiona Johnson who used to be Isabella Manor. The story of her weakness to her strength and the triumph of bringing her enemies down on their kneels.

Every week, mt mate Alpha Bruce dragged a new side-chick into our bed. Right in front of me. They clawed at each other like I didn't exist. Each time felt like silver shredding through my chest, my wolf howling from the inside out. He did it to hurt me. On purpose. Over and over. Using their bodies to spit on what we used to be. Then came our ten-year anniversary banquet. He waltzed in with his side-piece—Moye. Five years he'd been screwing her. She wore my heels. My custom gown. Even the mate ring and necklace I once thought meant forever. Bruce stood there, smirking in front of the whole pack. "Don't like what she's wearing? Strip yours and hand it over. And don't bother coming to my bed tonight—she's a hundred times better." The room howled with laughter. I was the punchline. But I stood up, met his eyes, and said, "I want to break the bond." He snorted. "You've said that, what, a hundred times? I'm over it. You begged me to mark you, remember? Gave up your pride for that Luna crown." More laughter. But what none of them saw coming? This time, I was done. Done with him. Done with the Luna title. Done chasing something dead. I was ready to sever the mate bond—for real.

Tiffie, the gorgeous social media influencer broke up with her famous vocalist of Utopia, Jake Cooper. Her world shattered. In order to mend her broken heart, she visited her vacation house in Las Casas de Amore. There, she met the handsome stranger, Bobby, who caught her with his broad shoulders. It happened that they had the same situation. Broken-hearted and in the healing phase. Bobby promised her that he will help her to forget her ex. Is it true that Bobby can love her? Both of them will just playing each other feelings in the long way. What will happen if one day Jake cooper will come back to take her back? Who is she going to choose? The one who got a way or the one who promised to love her.

🔞 WARNING ⚠️ THIS BOOK CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL SCENES NOT SUITABLE FOR UNDER 18! “I gave him everything,” Naya whispered, staring at the papers in her hand. The divorce papers she never saw coming. Her hands trembled, but not from fear. Now, it was rage. Across the room, Chloe smirked, her hand resting on Daniel’s shoulder. “You should’ve seen this coming, Naya. You were never enough for him.”

It was no secret that Lucas, the Alpha of the Redline Pack, had spent ten years pursuing me. He did so patiently and devotedly, never wavering, as if loving me were the only purpose he had in this life. But on the eve of our wedding, one conversation between Lucas and his friend struck me. "You have secretly dated Shane for a while now, but you will Mark Charlotte as your Mate instead?" His friend had asked. "How can the two be the same? How could Shane, a substitute, compare to Charlotte? I might consider keeping her if she behaves herself and doesn't make a scene. Don't worry, Charlotte won't mind," I heard Luca say confidently. But Shane has no intention of behaving. On the day for eh Marking, she stormed the Ritual grounds and pushed me hard making me fall of the center stage unto the grass. Lucas was by her side quickly to protect her not me. Shane had lost all reason from the heart break and had a shard of glass to her her neck. "Choose me or Charlotte right now!" She screamed and I saw Lucas descend into a panic. Shane must have gotten injured in the chaos because I could hear Lucas shouting to clear the way and let him pass, saying he needed to rush Charlotte to a hospital. But I was hurt as well, yet he did not care. "If anything happens to her, you will all pay the price," he had declared. Those words shattered my heart and was the beginning of the end. I now know what to do—booking a ticket and left him forever.

Ellie was never the first choice. On the day of her wedding, she was replaced by her stepsister for not losing enough weight, her name becoming the city's favorite scandal overnight. The humiliation didn't end here. To fix the disgrace, her father married her off to a dying man with a checkered past. However, the man waiting for Ellie in the White mansion wasn't weak or old. Zack was dangerous, infuriatingly handsome, and impossible to read. He called himself her stepson, but the way he looked at her? Felt nothing like family! As Ellie began to uncover truths about her ex's betrayal and her family's lies, she realized one thing. Her new life wasn't a punishment. This was a beginning of something far more dangerous...

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”

On my fifth birthday, my parents showed up at my birthday party later than usual. They brought with them a skinny little girl who couldn't seem to speak at all. I rushed over, hoping to hug Mom, only to get knocked down by her. That was how I fell into the ten-foot cake that my parents had specifically picked out for me. Buttercream filled my nose and mouth, suffocating me to no end. When I managed to climb out of the mess, I burst out in tears and asked Dad to cuddle me. But Dad retracted his hands while looking conflicted. "Don't blame your mom, Willow. From now on, you must take good care of Maple, your little sister. As long as Maple is happy, your mom will be happy." Later on, the mean kids in the neighborhood shove Maple Thompson, my new little sister, into a pile of sand. I rush over to protect her immediately. Once we get home, I mimic my parents by drawing a bath so that I can clean Maple up. That's when Mom suddenly barge into the bathroom and slap me heavily across the face. "You've already enjoyed our love for the past five years! Why are you still greedy for more? I can't believe you're trying to drown Maple right now!" Mom's eyes have gone bloodshot. She drags me by the hair and stuffs me into the washing machine. "Only a washing machine is capable of cleanse that filth out of your soul! You can only scramble out of the washing machine and apologize to Maple once you've decided to quit bullying your sister!" In the living room, Dad lowers his voice. "Keep your voice down when you're chewing Willow out. Maple is about to fall asleep. Don't go around waking her up now." Mom doesn't want to look at me anymore. Instead, she slams the lid onto the washing machine forcefully. I can't get out of the machine. What she doesn't know is that the washing machine will activate. "The 212-degree-Fahrenheit wash cycle has been activated." Scalding hot water is soon dumped onto my body. It hurts so much that I gradually lose my consciousness. Will Mom love me again once I'm squeaky clean after the wash cycle?

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most. Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me." When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot. At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over. When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion. Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes. The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent. Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me." What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably. So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness. The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."