Next Re Remake

Adelaide should have died on Selection Night. Instead, the Devil carried her across the veil—bleeding, furious, and burning with magic she shouldn’t possess. They're bonded, like it or not. Her power destabilises his realm. Their desire threatens to consume them both. As Hell twists and reshapes itself around her presence, one truth becomes impossible to ignore: Adelaide isn’t just his chosen. She’s the spark that could remake the underworld… or rule it. If she survives him long enough to claim the crown. ****Excerpt**** Adelaide hung suspended in the Devil’s ropes—breathless, trembling, every inch of her alive with flame. He circled her like a predator savouring the final moment before the kill. But he wasn’t hunting her. He was devouring the sight. “Look at you,” Apollo murmured, touching a glowing fingertip to the curve of her hip. Her body jolted, heat spiralling through her so sharply her vision blurred. “My Little Flame… you burn so beautifully.” The ropes tightened at his silent command, lifting her chest, arching her spine. Her breath broke. Magic crackled between them, alive and ravenous. He dragged a slow trail of fire up her ribs. She shuddered. “Tell me you feel it,” he whispered against her ear. She hated how fast the answer came. “Yes.” His grip closed around her throat—not harsh, but claiming—and her pulse leapt into his palm as if reaching for him. “You deny me with your mouth,” he said, “but your body kneels.” Heat built—pressure, light, something too big for her ribs. “Apollo—please—” “Yes,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Give in.” She did. Her flame erupted in a blinding burst, racing along the ropes, lighting the chamber in gold. Apollo inhaled sharply, awe and hunger twisting his features. “Good girl,” he breathed, ruined by the sight. “Burn for me.”

After entering a horror game, I, Anastasia Moreau, begin dating the big boss. At our first meeting, I wrap my arms around his sleek, serpentine body and squeeze him into a corner of the coffin. "Move over, move over." In the next instant, a strikingly handsome young man with white hair and golden eyes appears beneath me. The tips of his ears flush red as he glares at me. "You… You're lying on my hair!" he grits out.

He doesn’t knock. He breaks the door down—and your back with it. In Nailed: Men In Heat, the men are ruthless, brutal, and always hard. They bend you over desks, shove you face-first into pillows, and split you open like they paid for the right. No sweet talk. No cuddling. Just cum, bruises, and the sound of skin slapping skin. You’ll gag. You’ll drool. You’ll beg. And he’ll just keep going. Spit-soaked. Ass-up. Throat-fucked. He’ll ruin your hole, coat your insides, and leave you leaking for days. If you’re not shaking by the end of the chapter? You’ll be begging for the next man to finish the job. These are raw, relentless, hole-filling fucks—and they always finish deep. One thrust and you’re addicted.

"You’re my wife," he insisted, his words tinged with a sense of ownership that made me shudder. “You signed the contract, remember? It’s binding.” I tried to protest, but every denial was met with the same adamant response: “You’re my wife now." *** After a wild graduation party, Brielle's intoxicated state leads her into trouble and she is rescued by a mysterious man. In her inebriated state, the man confuses her by that she is his fiancée. The next morning, Brielle awakens to the shocking revelation that she is about to get married to the same man who rescued her, billionaire CEO, Andrei Carter, whose life has been tainted and scarred by a tragic past. Out of empathy for his situation, Brielle agrees to marry Andrei and soon discovers a love and devotion that she never imagined possible.

We had been married for three years, yet my husband, Richard Thornton, who suffered from touch deprivation syndrome, still refused to consummate our marriage. Every time his condition flared up, he would only press his forehead tightly against the curve of my neck. I assumed he was saving himself for his first love, the woman who had left years ago. Then, I overheard him talking to his friends. "Stop teasing her next time. It makes her tense up every time." "Got it, Richard. But if you care about Valeria so much, why won't you touch her? It's been three years. Aren't you worried she'll leave you for someone else?" Richard shook his head. "You don't understand. The longer we're together, the harder it is to control myself around her. She's so delicate. I'm terrified I'll hurt her. As long as she's mine, I wouldn't care even if she slept with someone else first." His friends burst out laughing. "Richard, you're all talk. If you could really handle her being with another man, you wouldn't keep running to the hospital. You think we don't know what you're up to?" The next day, I found Richard's medical records. Visit after visit, he kept asking the same question, "How can I be gentler in bed? I don't want to hurt the woman I love."

I was done. Done with men. Women say it all the time; they get fed up, throw their hands in the air, and vow a life of celibacy—until the next chiseled chest comes into view and then they’re foaming at the mouth and wiping the drool from their chins. But this was different, I really meant it. I’d been manhandled by the last pig that would ever bring his sausage near me. After one of the nastiest divorces in history, followed by some of the crudest and raunchiest dates, I’d decided to bat for the other team. …At least I tried. But creating the next Brat Pack hadn’t been on the agenda. Neither had my date’s brother, Collier West. And I wasn’t prepared for finding true love at the end of my gal-pal tryst. Girl Crush is created by Stephie Walls, an eGlobal Creative Publishing Signed Author.

The day I decided to file for divorce, Dean Potter couldn’t wait to draft the divorce agreement. Five years ago, he had been forced to marry me, and now he was finally free. On the day we were finalizing the divorce, Dean arrived with his new flame, radiating delight mixed with a hint of mockery. “Veronica Byrd, look at you—you’re miserable.” I watched his figure fade into the distance, my vision blurring. Miserable? In the next life, it wouldn't happen again.

At the reunion, someone asked when I was getting married. Grinning, I pulled out the invites. "Mid-October. Be there." Cheers broke out. Everyone peeked at the girl next to me. "You've been with Daphne forever, right? Finally making it official?" Daphne hurled her drink at me. "Ethan Everett, is this your idea of pressuring me into marriage?" The room froze. I wiped my face, cool as ever, and opened the invite in front of her. "Maybe check the name. It doesn't say you're the bride."

After a wild college party, Isla woke up and her eyes almost pop out of their sockets. Damien Da Silva was lying beside her. He was her crush, her first love, the boy she's dare not look in the eyes because she's not in his league. When he wakes up, he said to her coldy; “Get out of my sight. And don’t tell anyone what happened, or I’ll make the rest of your life hell.” But the next day, the video leaks. He shows up angrily and spat to her face; “You’re just desperate for my attention. Everyone knows you’re not my type.” Eight years later, at a business gala, Isla and Damien bumps into each other. “Isla Pereira?” he calls out. “Khan,” “What?” “It’s no longer Pereira. It’s Khan,” she flashed her sapphire-halo diamond ring before his face. He looks surprised and disappointed. “You’re married?” Isla smirks, “You’d rather I waited for you?”

On my birthday, my husband of five years accompanied his childhood sweetheart to celebrate her dog's birthday. Avery Simpson published a loving post: [The happiest baby in the world. Mom and Dad will be with you. I hope you're always happy.] Seeing the words "Mom and Dad", I commented a question mark with confusion. The next moment, I found myself blocked. Charles Logan called me and lashed out at me. "Why do you always have to mess things up at the worse possible time? You're worse than a dog. How despicable!" Shortly after, Avery changed her profile picture to one of her and Charles, hands intertwined. When I saw the obvious provocation, I didn't get angry like before. That's because I had already made up my mind to get a divorce.