No Country For Old Men

"You don’t scare me, Llewellyn,” I lifted my chin as I spoke even though my pulse betrayed me. Cesare’s lips curved into a wicked smirk as he stepped closer and spoke in a husky murmur. “That’s the problem, Rose… maybe you should be. Because I’m done pretending I don’t want you. I’ll have you—whether you let me or not.” "But you’ve always hated me.” His fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my face up to his. I felt my skin tingle and goosebumps rising. “Hate? Sweetheart, I’ve never hated you. I’ve only wanted you so much it felt like war.” ~~~~~~~~~ Rosette Jenner had everything—wealth, beauty, and power. But all she wanted was love untainted by power. When she trades her real identity for a normal life with Blake, she thought she’d found it. She was wrong. Betrayed and left to die, she wakes up in the past, before her downfall. This time, she’ll reclaim everything they stole from her. She’ll rise as the Jenner heiress she was born to be. But as she walks the path of vengeance, an old nemesis returns, Cesare Llewellyn. Brilliant and merciless. This time, he isn’t just a rival, he’s an obsessive, morally gray force who wants her on his terms, while she’s consumed by vengeance and refuses to trust love again.

The evening air was biting cold, sending shivers down Cole's spine. She was sure she'd turn into an icicle when, without warning, Vincent gently scooped her up. A soft gasp escaped her lips as he settled them both across the length of the bed, pulling her close as he draped an extra blanket over their entwined forms. A warm blush bloomed across Cole's cheeks as she became acutely aware of their intimate position. But Vincent, with his steady composure, seemed entirely unbothered, simply relaxing into the bed’s softness. "Get some sleep," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble that resonated in her chest. Sensing her gaze, he added, "The power will be back on once the damage is repaired. So… just stay close to me until then." Cole took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to calm. Slowly, she let herself melt into his embrace, resting her head on his broad chest. The faint scent of spring blossoms and cypress swirled around her, a fragrance that felt both comforting and familiar. She nestled closer, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill as sleep began to tug at her eyelids. With each steady beat of his heart, Cole felt a sense of peace she hadn't known she needed. She smiled softly, the rhythm of his heartbeat the most beautiful melody, lulling her into the comfort of dreams. As survivors of a collapsed society, a group of doctors are the world's last hope for a cure. In order to protect each other and the future, they've worked in secret. Preserving resources which become scarcer year after year. Among these survivors, a pair of doctors endure challenges as a deadly contagion spreads. Against better judgment, an unexpected bond develops between them and their patient.

I am Ivy Blackthorne, the Luna of the Graystone pack and a princess of the White Wolf royalty. Tomorrow, when the full moon rises, I will personally place the heirloom upon my nine-year-old pup, Lucas Gowling, as both his mother and Luna. Lucas is not only my pup with my Alpha mate, Alexander Gowling, but he is also the Child of Prophecy foretold to lead the Graystone pack to glory. For nine years, I have believed that moment will be the most perfect in my life. But three minutes ago, I caught a faint yet chillingly bitter scent in my breakfast. It is wolfsbane, a rare poison that can kill wolves. My blood runs cold. Who would poison my food? I force myself to stay calm and not react immediately. I lift my bowl and pretend to drink its contents, but I secretly pour it into a napkin under the table. A more terrifying thought forms in my mind—if my breakfast is poisoned, then what about Lucas' food? I shoot to my feet right away. Without even stopping to grab a coat, I rush toward the training grounds in the back of the mountains. Before I reach it, I hear Lucas' voice from the woods toward the north. "Mother, did I do well today? I watch her eat breakfast with my own eyes." I freeze like I was hit by a bolt of lightning. Trembling, I push aside the bushes, only to see someone unexpected standing there. It is Sophia Crow, Alexander's childhood sweetheart, whom he had supposedly cut off from his life long ago. She crouches slightly and wipes Lucas' sweat off his brow, her movements intimate and natural. "Very good. Just one more day. After the succession ceremony tomorrow, you won't need to call her 'Mother' anymore," says Sophia. Lucas replies, "I've grown tired of calling her Mother for a long time. If she dies, can I openly call you 'Mother'?" Sophia gently pulls Lucas into her arms. "Of course. You are my pup to begin with." In that instant, every breath I take feels suffocating. The pain is unbearable. The pup I raised for nine years is actually the illegitimate child of my mate and his childhood sweetheart.

My fiancé is the heir to a mafia empire. For seven years, I believed our love was the one true thing in a world built on lies. Then, on the night of our engagement party, I found him holding another woman — my own half-sister, the daughter of our family’s oldest enemy — whispering words that shattered everything: "I regret everything. Come back to me, and I’ll call off the wedding." I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I made a phone call instead. Three weeks later, on what should have been our wedding day, I erased my identity and vanished from his world. But not before making sure our wedding would be one he — and every family in the underworld — would never forget.

The supplementary card I've issued for my grandmother shows that an eight-thousand-dollar purchase has taken place in another city. But the transaction records show that the money is used on hymenoplasty. I'm shell-shocked, to say the least. Grandma is 84 years old this year. She's been bedridden and paralyzed for years. Why would she even get hymenoplasty done on her, to begin with? But when my investigation leads me to a plastic surgery hospital, I find out that my wife, Stella Watson, is actually the lead doctor of said clinic. So, I call her to demand answers from her. However, Stella refuses to answer my questions properly. "Don't worry, honey. Something's most likely wrong with the system. Betsy is already this old—why would she have her hymen repaired?" That's just a bullshit answer coming from her. She seriously thinks I'm gullible enough to believe her. I merely huff coldly in return before calling my dad, who works in the Department of Commerce. "Dad, Stella is most likely cheating on me. I want her plastic surgery hospital as compensation for my impending divorce!"

Takuto Kimura, 30 years old, a career elite, always dressed in a sharp suit, with his hair perfectly neat, looking like the lead character from《The Godfather》or《Yakuza Chronicles》. His daily life is a never-ending "battle": meetings, overtime, coffee to stay awake, and piles of reports. To outsiders, he is the epitome of a successful businessman, but inside, he's already overwhelmed by the pressure and suffocating under it. Every day, he finds himself thinking, "If only I could go back to being three years old, I wouldn’t have to deal with these damn files and KPIs." One late night, as he stares at his computer screen, drowning in self-doubt, fate suddenly gives him an unexpected "opportunity" “He is reborn, back to the age of three.”

On her 18th birthday, a lowly Omega named Chloe Vanguard is publicly humiliated and brutally rejected by her fated mate, the powerful Alpha Julian Blackwood. Instead of claiming her, Julian banishes Chloe from the pack to be with her treacherous stepsister, leaving the broken girl to cough up blood on the cold palace floor. Fueled by a new, dark resolve, Chloe accepts her exile and vows that the Alpha will one day regret throwing away a "priceless diamond" for "rotting trash."

I begged my husband ninety-nine times to go with me to Jay Boone's concert. On the hundredth time, he finally bought two front-row tickets. Dressed to the nines, I was stopped at the entrance by security because I couldn't produce my ticket. By the time the concert ended, I still hadn't been able to get through to him on the phone. News broke that my husband and his young girlfriend were at the concert, requesting "Sunny Day" from Jay Boone. The story shot straight to the trending charts. There's no rain in the lyrics of "Sunny Day." Because the only world caught in a torrential downpour was mine.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

I am born with a body that draws men in, but the moment I marry, I develop a terrifying allergy to them. Every time my husband and I try to be intimate, my skin erupts in violent rashes, and I nearly suffocate. Still, I want a child so badly that one night I climb into his bed in secret, willing to gamble with my life. Strangely, nothing happens—no hives, no swelling, no shortness of breath. My husband even takes me to a clinic, where the baby is confirmed healthy. For the first time, I believe life can return to normal. Eight months in, we share a bed again. The allergic reaction hits instantly, worse than ever, and I'm rushed to the hospital. When the procedure ends, he is nowhere to be seen. I step into the hallway and hear him talking with his friends. "Did you see her face? Swollen like that. Ridiculous." Leonard Carter swings a vial of the custom serum he has been giving me and snorts. "I engineered this formula myself. It makes her break out the second a man touches her. It keeps her off me. "She wanted a baby so badly. Fine. She's carrying mine and Hannah's. That should make her feel accomplished. "When she gives birth, I'll let her spend the rest of her life calling herself Mrs. Carter." Blood drains from my face. The child I've been cherishing isn't even mine.