Never Never A Novel Novels & Stories

The Mad Donna He Never Really Married For three years, I was Donna of the rising Valenti family. One day, Enzo was holding a meeting at a private cigar club. I worried about his stomach issues, so I went to bring him his usual antacids. Standing outside the private room, I heard his men laughing. “Don Enzo, are you really going to keep Clara hidden away at the Silver Lake villa forever?” “That mad Moretti heiress in the main house is still parading around as Donna of the Valenti family.” Enzo rubbed the bridge of his nose and scoffed. “If she hadn’t taken a bullet to the head for me and gone insane, and if I hadn’t desperately needed her family’s capital, I never would have married a woman with no blood ties to the life.” “But Clara is my legal wife. The family trust, the marriage certificate at City Hall, it’s all in her name.” “Stella’s just a plaything I keep at the main house. Once Clara gives birth to an heir, I’ll bring her home for good.” My knuckles turned white as I squeezed the small box of medicine, the cardboard crumpling in my hand. He had exchanged blood oaths and rings with me in the church, yet it was Clara who had signed the papers at City Hall. He played me for a fool, all to keep Clara’s reputation clean. Clutching the box, I turned and melted back into the shadows. He had no idea my sanity had returned three days ago. He would never guess I had already sent an encrypted message to my brother, who runs a business empire from our home in Solaria, far across the sea. I was done with this goddamn Valenti title.

I am confused because I thought that I was going to die. I was sentenced to death, not because I wanted to, but I took the blame instead of my best friend. I didn't know what the future had for me in store. I just knew that my life wasn't going to be normal at all. I met someone that I thought was going to be a good friend; I am not someone that easily gave away her trust, yet he earned it the time that we spent together. His name was Robert, and I'll never forget it because he almost killed me. I was unconscious two times now and the second time wasn't like I expected, I thought that I was going to see my mother, but I saw someone else, his name was Rengoku, and I don't think that I'll be able to forget it either. He was able to make me feel something that I never felt before. He said that I was his mate. After meeting Rengoku, we went on a trip seeking different goals; why the world was infected by a dangerous virus that made people attack each other? And what can be the possible cure for it? Rengoku wanted to add one more task to this journey: he wanted to clean his kingdom from the rotten minds that kept lurking around it. I lived two lives, and I decided that in this life, I wasn't going to let them do what they want to me.They say that people won't ever change, that time only shows their true colours, it was true. If they harmed me on, I'd revenge a thousand folds. But the most important thing, I wasn't going to let my love disappear once again in front of me.

My blood ran cold. Not just because of the words, they’d done worse than the scheme. They mocked me. Rewrote my pain as a punchline. Danced on the grave of my dignity like it was confetti. I staggered back from the door, suddenly aware of how my hands were trembling. Of how my chest rose and fell like I was still being dragged underwater. I could still feel it, the betrayal. The nights I cried myself sick. The baby. The blood. The gaslighting. The cold stares. The silence. No, this wasn’t just a memory. It was a resurrection. I pressed my hand to my chest, grounding myself. This body? This moment? It was mine now. Not theirs. Not his. If this was a curse, I’d break it. If this was a second chance? I’d weaponize it. Let them laugh. Let them bask in their borrowed joy. Because from this moment on, I’m not playing the quiet, obedient pawn. I’m the storm they tried to silence. The reckoning wrapped in silk and scars. They don’t deserve peace. Not after what they did to me. I’ll make them feel it. The same agony, the same betrayal. No, worse. Double. And the Kensingtons? Oh, they won’t be spared either. Their blood's just as soaked in my suffering. I lived by their rules in my last life. In this one? They live by mine. And mercy? Yeah, I left that behind in the last timeline.

The day before my wedding, I went to our cathedral early to get familiar with the place. Instead, I found my fiancé and my stepsister, Isabella fucking on the altar. Our altar. I caught them. He didn't even apologize and just threw me out into the storm. I collapsed in the pouring rain. That’s when he found me. Alistair, the Vampire Prince. He moved like a god through the storm. He pulled me from the mud, and gave me a palace. He told the world I was his soulmate. The one he’d spent centuries searching for. His one and only. For five years, his devotion made me the envy of the supernatural world. I thought I was the one exception in his eternal life. Until I found his secret room. My fingers brushed against an ancient scroll. The script was written in blood. The first line was her name: Isabella. Beneath it, in Alistair's own hand: “Absolute priority. Above all else.” Underneath was a healer's log I’d never seen before. A vampire's healing log. The date was from the night I found out I was pregnant. The night I was attacked by werewolves. They brought me back to the castle, covered in blood. The healers never came for me. I woke up alone. The baby was gone. Our child. His blood, my blood—gone. And my clothes were soaked in what was left of it. I cleaned every trace of it. When he came home, I broke down in his arms. I never told him. I couldn’t bear for him to feel the pain I felt. Now I understood. That same night, Isabella was also being attacked by werewolves. And Alistair’s order to his council was: “Send every healer. Isabella is the priority.” My heart stopped. Despair was a poison in my veins. “If I was never the one... then you can keep your eternity. I want no part of it.”

The day my father slid that contract across the table, I should have walked away. I didn't. Instead, I signed my name next to his: Damien Blackwood. The most feared man in the city. Cold. Ruthless. The kind of man who buys companies for sport and destroys lives before breakfast. I told myself it was survival. That I was signing to save my mother and protect what was left of my family. But Damien Blackwood didn't choose me by accident. He chose me because he knew exactly who I was. Because he had been watching me for three years. Because the secret buried between our families goes deeper and darker than anything I was prepared to find. He says this is a partnership. He says we both want the same thing, to burn our fathers' empires to the ground. He says this is strictly business. But the man who shows up at my mother's hospital without being asked, the man who tucks my hair back in a dark car park and calls at midnight just to hear my voice, the man who kept a seven year old photograph and a handwritten note that says she is the one. That man isn't doing business. And neither am I. We started as enemies. We signed a contract. We were supposed to use each other and walk away. But somewhere between the revenge and the secrets, we forgot to stay on opposite sides. It was never just business. It was never going to be.

I am inlove with my Alpha but he is inlove with my younger sister. Younger almost identical sister. She is the more popular and beautiful one, whiles I am the less cool and quiet one. When I turned 19,I was over the moon to find out my mate was the Alpha. But that happiness turn to sorrows and bitterness when I found out he was engaged to be married to my sister. I begged and cried for him but he only rejected me,burning me to the soul and marking my sister. I run that night,and never looked back. Until 10 years later. #1 in Love affair #1 in powerful

When my wife, Rebecca Walsh, misses my chemotherapy session for the 99th time, I come across a post on social media. "I won my lover's heart with a kidney. She will surely love me to death, right?" The attached photo shows a couple kissing on a street in Targon. The woman has a small heart-shaped scar on her neck. What a coincidence—it is exactly the same as Rebecca's. The woman who nearly dies for me falls in love with someone else so easily. The comments below are full of encouragement from strangers. "Man, you're so brave. Wishing you everlasting love." "If I were the woman, I would love you to death." I leave a comment too. "I hope you are together until you are in the depths of hell, you cheating pair. As for me, the husband, I will step aside to make way for you." One minute later, the post disappears. It doesn't matter. I post on my own account. I write, "After I spent three years battling cancer, my wife fell in love with the man who's supposed to be the kidney donor." The attached images are our marriage certificate and the same photo of them kissing from earlier.

My body matured faster than most girls my age. When I turned 18, my overprotective brother worried I’d be taken advantage of, so he asked his best friend to look after me. But the first time we met, that man's eyes never left my body. After I graduated from college, he kept crossing the line, again and again. By day, he was my boss, and by night, I was his "personal assistant." For four years, we kept our affair a secret. He molded me into exactly what he liked, and the worst part? I let him. One day, his ex-fiancée came back from overseas. He slipped out of my bed in the middle of the night and rushed to the airport to pick her up. Humiliated but unwilling to let go, I followed him there, only to watch him gently stroke another woman’s hair right in front of me. He turned to me and said, "Jennifer Huckabee, four years ago, you were the one who crawled into my bed while I was drunk. The way you're behaving now… it’s really pathetic." The way he looked at her was soft, and the way he mocked me was sharp and deliberate. I suddenly realized he was right. This was meaningless. So I lowered my head, texted my brother to tell him I’d accept the Sinclair family marriage proposal, then looked up at that man and smiled. "Alright then. Goodbye."

Connor Lockwood abandons me at the hospital's entrance even though I'm bleeding in the middle of my pregnancy. He insists on sending his client, a divorcée, home. The blood flows down my legs, but he hurries off without another look back. He should've been at the hospital and by my side, but instead, I see him in his client's social media update. It's captioned, "Thank goodness for my wonderful lawyer. Do you know who gets to have hangover soup when they're drunk? Me!" I spend the rest of the night wide awake. The following morning, I calmly dial a number. "Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll return home in three days to take over the company."

I was reborn the year the Blood Moon War began. The first thing I did? I sacrificed my child. The child of my blood-bonded mate, Lord Lucius of the Covenant. In my last life, he chose to protect his childhood sweetheart, Lilith, when she slept with a werewolf. He stole my pureblood heir and replaced it with her half-breed mongrel. They branded me a traitor. In a sun-scorched dungeon, they burned my scarred body to ash with holy light. And my own son, his mind poisoned by Lilith, stood on my ashes and cursed me to Hell for all eternity. When I opened my eyes again, the blood ritual for my heir was already three months along. I didn't hesitate. I went straight to a witch, and with a potion brewed from my own heart's blood, I ended it. Then, I put on something else: an expensive amulet of Blood Illusion. It faked the energy of a pureblood fetus. It masked my true state, cloaking me in the sweet, alluring scent of a pregnant vampire. It even created a perfect illusion of a growing belly. Lucius needed an heir to cover for Lilith’s crime. Fine. I’d play along. This time, I had no weaknesses.