Nicol Bjing Cook

My fiance, Victor Blackwood, is a mafia boss who rules the country's underworld with an iron fist. To the rest of the world, he is the epitome of power. Yet to me, he is the embodiment of love. But I do not realize the cost of loving a man like him. On Valentine's Day, I cook his favorite dishes and wait for him to come home. However, time passes, and his chair stays empty. Uneasy, I go to Queenie Stone's social media page. She is Victor's foster sister. She posts, "All I said was that I felt lonely, and he came right away. "Even when I accidentally spilled wine on him, he didn't mind. Victor is still someone who puts family first, even if it means neglecting his lover. "He never lets me down. I hope things stay that way." In the photo, Victor's shirt is soaked at the waist. Queenie's handkerchief lingers near his most private parts, but he doesn't pull away. He merely looks at her affectionately. I do not make a fuss and give Queenie's post a like. Then, I send Victor a message that reads, "Let's break up." Victor ignores it as always. Later, I discover that when my breakup message popped up, he had said offhandedly, "Vivienne can't live without me. She's just acting out. "If I ignore her for a few days, she'll come crawling back by herself. She's easy to please." What he doesn't know is that I was easy to handle only because I once loved him. But now that I have decided to leave, he cannot make me turn back, no matter how he tries to win me over.

My name is Akira Sy, or rather, Akira Sy Montenegro—18 years old. Yes, I’m married to the man I love most, Kyle Xavier Montenegro. He’s a businessman—handsome, incredibly successful, and has everything. I fell in love with him when I was 16, always dreaming that one day we’d be together, and yes, my dreams came true. The next morning, I woke up to a cold sensation on my face. I opened my eyes and realized it was water, soaking my entire face. I looked up and was met with Kyle’s dark, piercing gaze. I immediately felt a wave of anxiety. “K-Kyle,” I stammered, my voice trembling. He closed his eyes tightly, as if burdened by a huge problem. “Stand up, wh*re. I’m hungry. Cook for me, NOW!” he ordered with authority, making me scramble to get up without even bothering to wipe my face or change clothes. No, we don’t sleep in the same room. He’s in the master bedroom while I stay in the guest room because he finds me disgusting. It hurts so much when those words come from him. He’s always like that. I rushed down the stairs, tying my robe as I went, heading straight to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. Yes, I’m his secret wife. No one knows except our parents and a few friends. Since we got married, there hasn’t been a day when he didn’t remind me that he doesn’t love me. Not a day goes by without him hurting me, but it’s okay because, like I said, I love him so much that I’m willing to do anything just for him to love me back.

My father is the First Warrior of the Moonflash pack. He often takes me to all kinds of banquets, and I always look forward to them. Today, he brings me to a banquet hosted by Judy. I take a bite of raw meat on my plate and immediately spit it out. I once ate raw meat when I was younger, and my stomach hurt for several days. I nearly died. The healer later told me that I'm allergic to the protein in raw meat, and that experience left a lasting impression on me. Judy looks hurt when she sees my reaction. "I went to the forest myself to catch that reindeer," she says. "I killed it just this morning. I didn't cook it so that I wouldn't ruin its freshness. I didn't expect Ray would turn her nose up at it." Dad is angry about how rude I am, so he chases me out of the banquet and locks me up in a cramped lounge. The lounge is hot and stuffy, and I soon start finding it hard to breathe. A sharp pain twists in my stomach like a knife. I want to find Dad, but no matter how much I bang on the door, he refuses to open it. Through the window, I can see Dad and Judy standing in the center of the hall. They're conversing happily, but no one even looks in my direction. I'm suffocating, so I lie on the floor. I want to shout for Dad, but I can't make a sound no matter how hard I try. Then, I realize that I'm standing up and can walk through the door. But why is my body still lying on the floor? That's when it hits me. I'm dead.

My wife, Maya Griffin, has no idea that Harry Quinlan, the infertile heir to an elite family, has just deposited his final jar of sperm cells into the sperm bank. She allows her childhood sweetheart, Elijah Cook, who's also a new intern at the sperm bank, to install a pirated copy of antivirus software into the system, which damages the freezing aspect of the bank and causes the internal temperature to rise. I use my stellar hacking skills to repair the system, thus preserving Harry's sperm. When Harry insists on holding Elijah responsible, Maya is about to defend Elijah when I stop her. "If you speak up for him now, you'll be destroying your own reputation instead. You'll also get blacklisted by all the companies." In his despair, Elijah commits suicide in the freezer. Before he dies, he leaves a video behind that accuses Maya of not saving him out of selfishness. Maya destroys the video calmly. Then, she states that Elijah has reaped what he has sown. Many years later, Maya's cybersecurity company becomes internationally renowned. She lures me into a freezer before trapping me there. Then, she watches me coldly as I beg her to release me. That's how I died with hatred in my eyes. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day when Elijah installs the pirated software he has bought online. This time, I turn off my phone and go back to bed. Without my help in this lifetime, I'd like to see how Maya and Elijah will face Harry's wrath.

My mate Derek, Alpha of the SilverCrest Pack, secretly marked me two years ago. But he still hasn't held our mating ceremony to publicly announce my position. I've been working as his "assistant," helping him manage pack affairs all this time. Every time Derek cheats with his childhood sweetheart, Vivian, he promises to finally hold our mating ceremony. Two years. Ten promised ceremonies. Ten broken promises. The first time, he said Vivian's dog had died. "I can't hold a celebration while she's grieving," he told me, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "It wouldn't be right." The second time, Vivian had a stomach ache. He left the ceremony venue minutes before it was supposed to start, rushing off to cook soup for his precious childhood friend. After that, each scheduled mating ceremony fell through because his childhood sweetheart always had some kind of emergency. I've cried. I've screamed. I've begged. Derek always gives me the same answer: "Viv and I are just friends. You're my true mate. Taking care of pack members is your responsibility too. Don't be so jealous." After the tenth canceled ceremony, I finally gave up. I slid the mate bond dissolution papers across his desk. "The Alpha Council has approved our request to break the mate bond," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "You and I are no longer connected." That’s when the powerful Alpha went crazy...

I've been chasing after Howard Chapman for 20 years. A week before our graduation ceremony, we slept together every night, burning through ten boxes of condoms in just as many days. When I bring him our 11th box of condoms, he turns me away as he's working on his thesis. Worried about his health, I buy him some supplements instead. But as I stand outside his door, about to hand them over, I catch him poking holes in the condoms. His friend chuckles and says, "You're still sneaking Selena Reed birth control pills, huh? You're the only one who'd cook up such a scheme. Selena doesn't know she's already swallowed ten of them, does she? If she did, she'd throw a huge tantrum." Howard snorts. "I wouldn't even touch her if I didn't need her to try the pills and help me figure out which one causes the fewest side effects. "Lizzy's got a weak immune system. She's not as tough as Selena, so I have to be more careful with her. Besides, Selena and I are engaged. There'll be plenty of time to nurse her back to health after the wedding. I won't owe her anything." His friends cackle at his response. "You're not wrong. Selena's been pursuing you for 20 years. She's probably over the moon to marry you. She'd probably hand you her uterus if you asked for it—birth control pills are nothing to her." Howard had just proposed to me yesterday, in front of the whole college. My tears spatter onto the supplement box as I turn to leave. Howard has made his choice, and it's only right that I honor it.

“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.” My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean. He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.” However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship. Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm. He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?” But I had understood him for five whole years. My phone suddenly rang. Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.” I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying. After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

"You slept here?" George asked. "Yes, I…um,” Irene gulped, licking her lips and making a quick calculation in her mind on what to say, “I um…I was feeling hot when reading, so I decided to take a shower and might have fallen asleep after it. You just woke me up, have-have you been standing here? Um what's up, are you ready for work?” She asked while getting up to put on her nightwear. George watched her then sighed, “Irene, can I ask you something?” His eyes was burning red, and he was bitterly angry which was showing on his face “Why did you do this to me, what have I done to deserve the betrayal from you, What haven’t I done for you, what else do you need from a man i’ve not given to, why didn’t you tell me you want to be a model, why do you chose to let me know this way, do you want a divorce?” Irene and George had met in school and fallen in love, then their relationship had led into a beautiful marriage where she had been most happy until she had miscarried two pregnancies. Down and broken, George had decided to make her better by hiring a cook who would bring all her online delicacies to their dining table for her. But who would have expected that her one night of mistake would not only change her but would fill her beautiful marriage with lies? How is she to avoid her sins despite knowing it was wrong and still craving for it? How would she face her darling husband and tell him her darkest secret? But even though the sin was addictive, she had no idea what other secrets lies between, waiting to shatter her heart.

Everyone in Palermo knew Alessandro De Luca had a reputation. He was the Boss of the De Luca family, one of the oldest bloodlines in Sicily — a name tied to the port, the courts, and half the construction contracts in Palermo. Wealth, power, discipline—those things were expected. Romance was not. He didn’t chase women, and he never went back to the same one twice. Until me. When we broke up after a brutal argument, he did something no De Luca had done in generations—he stood outside the gates of the Moretti estate, my family home, for an entire day and night. I watched from behind the curtains and never opened the door. The next day, he came inside the estate kitchen himself. Alessandro De Luca, who grew up surrounded by servants, tried to cook my favorite seafood pasta with his own hands. He burned the sauce. I threw it away without tasting it. On the third day, he found the necklace my grandmother had left me—something my uncle had sold years ago—and bought it back, paying far more than it was worth, just to return it to me. At a formal family dinner, in front of elders and allies, he made it clear: No more women. Only me. It took him a year to win me back. That summer, fireworks lit up the Palermo coastline as he announced our engagement. I believed he had chosen me. Until the night of a private gathering at an old harbor estate. A young woman was being pulled forward in the middle of the courtyard, her dress torn at the shoulder, tears running down her face. Alessandro went still. Then he stood up. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t explain. He just walked toward her. And something inside me went cold. I rested my hand over my abdomen. There was something I hadn’t told him yet. He broke his word that night. So I broke mine.

“Shh, little girl,” he growled, teeth catching my bottom lip. I fought the moan, but he circled my clit, my hips jerked helplessly against his hand. Then he pushed my panties aside and sank two thick fingers inside me. I soaked his palm, knees buckling as tremors wracked me. “That’s it, cum for me,” he whispered against my ear. I did. Waves crashed through me while he held me up, stroking gently, murmuring filthy praise that made it sweeter, deeper, more shattering than anything I’d ever felt with a woman. I’m a lesbian. I’ve always known it, claimed it shamelessly. I’ve mapped women’s bodies with my mouth, hands, loving every touch and gasp. My best friend’s tongue between my legs has made me come countless times. The only man I tried, my ex, was awkward, unsatisfying. I swore off them forever. I love women. I love my best friend. So why does this man, her father, the one I should never want make me wetter with one stroke than she ever has? Why am I aching for his cock, pushed inside me, thrusting relentlessly, filling me, ruining me in ways no woman could? Why does bending over his desk for him feel like the right thing to do? One forbidden touch. One devastating truth: I might never want another woman again. When I rejected the vice chancellor's advances, my best friend's obsessive aunt, she threatened expulsion. My friend took me to her father, the college owner. One look at his body and I was lost. That night in their home, hiding in the kitchen while watching him cook, I touched myself, craving what is forbidden. Will my best friend discover my sudden addiction to her father? Will her aunt ever stop wanting me?