Novel & Cerita Nina Blackwood Photo

When Mom and Dad went broke—$30K in debt—they let collectors sell me to Nyamara, a lawless border strip full of trafficking, forced labor, and private prisons. I slept in flooded cells. Ate rotten food. Tried to run. They smashed both my legs with iron rods. I dragged myself home—and walked in on them planning Nina's sweet eighteen. Dad flicked his hand and dropped $3 million on a top-tier jewelry set for her. Mom smiled, then mentioned me. "I heard Talia cries every day, begging to come home. When do we tell her the truth and bring her back?" Dad shook his head, smug. "What's the rush? This is her gift. Let her tough it out one more month. Otherwise, how's she supposed to inherit our billions?" I tightened my grip on the medical report—severe infection in both legs. Mom. Dad. I don't even have a month left.

“This is Abraham Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood empire, one of the richest families in the country." The moment I stepped ahead, he turned slowly and my breath caught in my throat. The shock of seeing him again struck me like a bolt of lightning. No… It can’t be him. But it was. Sitting there, casually sipping tea, was him—the man from the bar. The same piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, his expression shifting from mild amusement to disbelief. His sharp blue eyes pierced through the room and locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath freeze in my throat. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The memories of the night in the bar flooded back—his arrogance, his rude comments, his piercing gaze that had felt so unsettling. I stared at Alexander, still in shock. The man sitting across from me wasn't just any stranger. He was a billionaire—an heir to a vast fortune. My brother had been friends with him for years, and their families had arranged this marriage as part of a business partnership.

Solara Hale thought she could handle heartbreak. Being the contract lover of Alpha Lucas Blackwood was never meant to end with real feelings—but she fell for him anyway. And when he shattered her heart, accusing her of being a gold digger, she swore never to look back. Until the masquerade ball. Until the stranger who claimed her like no one ever had. Until she discovered that stranger was Damon Blackwood—Lucas’s dangerous, powerful uncle. Now Solara is caught between two Alphas: one who destroyed her and one who consumes her. Lucas wants her back, obsessed enough to betray his own pack. Damon wants to own her, body and soul, though the ghosts of his past still haunt him. And Nyra Brooks, Lucas’s fated mate, will stop at nothing to ruin her. Torn between loyalty, desire, and survival, Solara must choose: the Alpha who broke her heart, or the one powerful enough to shatter her world. But in Mooncrest, love is war… and only the strongest survive.

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case. Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family. But I still put on my white coat and walked in. Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation. Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes. "I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body." The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety. I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile. But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

Aliyah Rhodes has three rules: 1. Don’t stop. 2. Don’t look. 3. Don’t get involved. She breaks all three when she finds Dominic Blackwood bleeding out in her alley at 11:47 PM. She saves his life. He pays her tuition. She says don’t follow. He buys her building. She says don’t touch. He kills the man who tries. Dominic Blackwood is a billionaire. A don. Wanted for triple homicide. He doesn’t make threats. He makes promises. _You’re safe. That’s the only rule that matters._ Aliyah’s broke, pissed, and done being owned by anyone. But $260K says she’s already his. And his aunt wants her dead. He won’t let her go. She won’t say thank you. Neither of them runs. *Owned by the Don* is a dark, open-door romance where debt is a weapon, “no” is a dare, and love looks a lot like surveillance.

After four years of marriage, James Lawson, who had never posted anything on social media, unexpectedly updated his status: "What an adorable little foodie!" The attached photo showed a young woman wearing pink cat ears, eating at a Korean BBQ restaurant. Her cheeks were flushed red from the spicy food as she stuck out her tongue. It was Sophie Jones, a new content creator at his company. Within a minute, our mutual friend commented: "Dude, you forgot to switch accounts!" Just like that, James's new post disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, only to show up moments later on Sophie's feed. Then James's name lit up my phone screen. In the past, I would have already taken screenshots and called him first to confront him. It would have inevitably ended in a heated argument. But this time, I calmly watched his call go to voicemail without answering.

My sister abruptly returns to the country on the day of my wedding. My parents, brother, and fiancé abandon me to pick her up at the airport. She shares a photo of them on her social media, bragging about how she's so loved. Meanwhile, all the calls I make are rejected. My fiancé is the only one who answers, but all he tells me is not to kick up a fuss. We can always have our wedding some other day. They turn me into a laughingstock on the day I've looked forward to all my life. Everyone points at me and laughs in my face. I calmly deal with everything before writing a new number in my journal—99. This is their 99th time disappointing me; I won't wish for them to love me anymore. I fill in a request to study abroad and pack my luggage. They think I've learned to be obedient, but I'm actually about to leave forever.

To help cover our household expenses, I often sold second-hand items online. Late one night, a new listing suddenly appeared under my husband's account. [Private trainer for sale. Almost new. Obedient and resilient. No upkeep required. Cash only.] The attached photo showed a woman from behind, caught in the middle of a yoga pose. The red mole at her waist stood out clearly. It was me. The comments section erupted within seconds. Men with usernames like 'LocalHunter' started bidding aggressively. [Five hundred. Thirty minutes. Pickup only. No negotiations.] [Are you kidding? Two thousand. All night. I'll bring my own gear.] My husband immediately replied to the highest bidder: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane. [Deal. She's in the bedroom. The door isn't locked. Go straight in.] In the next moment, the bedroom doorknob slowly began to turn from the other side.

I died on the day I was supposed to receive the Pack’s Distinguished Service Award. Three hours after I died, my parents, my brother, and my mate were just wrapping up the graduation party they’d thrown for my sister. While my sister, Ella, was posting a cozy family photo on Instagram, I was locked in our basement, using my tongue to swipe on my phone and call for help. The only person who answered was my mate, Ryan. All he said was, "Sophie, cut the drama. Ella's graduation party is important. Enough with the tantrums!" This was the ninety-ninth time they had let me down. And the last. I lay in a pool of my own blood, my lungs still. They thought I was just throwing a fit, hiding somewhere. That if they taught me a lesson, I’d come crawling back. But they didn't know. I was home the whole time. I was already dead.

When I was struck by a stomach illness, my boyfriend, Charles Fischer, was busy blowing out birthday candles with his assistant, Beverly Wagner. I lay there in excruciating pain, but he didn't even glance at me. Instead, he affectionately stroked her nose.  “Bev is a year older! Make a wish, birthday girl!” Later, after I had fainted and was rushed to the hospital, I called Charles, only for him to ignore me.  Meanwhile, Beverly posted a photo on Instagram. Gifts filled the screen, with the caption, [Yay! Charles is the best ever! Charles and Bev, together forever!] When I confronted him, Charles didn’t care at all. "It's Bev’s birthday. Were you expecting me not to spend it with her? If you can't handle it, we're done!" This was the umpteenth time he'd threatened to break up with me, always confident that I wouldn't dare to leave him.  Not this time.