No More Side Role: I'm Changing The Plot

~ ALISTAIR ~ I hate him. There’s no point in admiring what you can’t be. I hate his sharp tongue, his smug smirk, the way he looks at me like he already knows how this ends. I don’t like men. Calvin Rutledge is a problem. A problem I can’t ignore. A problem that’s in my face, under my skin, unraveling me one smirk at a time. But the worst part? I want him. And he knows it. Now, every glance burns, every touch lingers, and every fight makes me crave the one thing I swore I’d never want—him. A man. A know-it-all who plays by his own rules. I was never supposed to want him. And yet, here I am… falling. __ ~ CALVIN ~ I know his type. Rich. Arrogant. A cocky football star who thinks the world revolves around him. Alistair Morano is all that—and more. My sworn enemy. My reluctant project partner. My ‘boss’. He thinks I’m just another nerd he can push around. Cute. But here’s the thing—he’s the one being played. By the time he realizes I’m the one pulling the strings, it’ll be too late. Because he’ll be mine. Mine to tease. Mine to break. Mine to ruin. And when he finally falls? I’ll be right there, waiting to catch him, just to break him all over again.

On the day the gynecologist confirmed that I was pregnant, my husband, Austin Jones, pushed me into the operating room to donate blood to save his first love. Feeling frail after the blood transfusion, I almost fainted in front of Austin. However, he pushed me away and went to take care of his first love. Furthermore, he hung up on all my phone calls and stayed with his first love all night on the day I miscarried. Time after time, I was met with disappointment. When I finally decided that I had enough of his mistreatment and no longer wanted to love him, he panicked and begged me to give him another chance.

Two years after we marry, my husband moves his sister and her family into our marital home. The four of them settle down and refuse to leave. So, I quit both my jobs. I laze around at home all day and splurge on various things. I have so many parcels delivered that they pile up by the door. Occasionally, I ask my husband and his sister for allowance. When the management office sends someone to chase for our maintenance fee, my husband breaks down so loudly that everyone in the building can hear him. He asks me whether I've lost my mind—who will support the family if I don't work? How will we survive without money? Am I going to allow our family to starve? So, it turns out he does know that we'll starve without anyone generating income. Why does he and his sister stay at home and plot to take away all my money, then?

Despite a decade of marriage, Simon never once shared my bed, claiming that he had pledged himself to ascetic practices and that it was beneath him. I thought that he suffered from some shameful ailment and guarded his secret like a devoted fool, until my birthday, when I came home to find him entangled with a brothel worker before the floor-length mirror. When I lunged forward in rage, he drove a shard of that broken mirror straight through my heart. When I awoke, I was gripping my phone, its screen illuminating a message Simon had just sent: [I’ll still give you a lavish wedding, but the marriage certificate? That belongs to her.]

I chase my six-year-old daughter out of the house on a cold winter day. I cut her new clothes to pieces and dirty her dainty little face with mud. Then, I give her all my savings. She looks at me tearfully and reaches out for me, wanting me to hold her. However, I harden my heart and push her away, saying, "Leave! Go to Bowen Group and look for their CEO, Logan Bowen. Show him my death certificate and your DNA test—he'll take you in." She sobs while looking at me. "Don't you want me anymore, Mommy? Let's go look for Daddy together." After a brief silence, I say, "I can't go with you. I lied to him back then to have you." Yes, I'm a liar. I orchestrated everything from meeting Logan, dating him, to ultimately leaving him with his child in my womb. Even the death certificate I've given my daughter is fake. From beginning to end, I've lied to him about everything except our daughter.

BLURB: I couldn’t move. My feet were rooted to the spot, my breath trapped in my chest. The soft creak of the wooden table, the rhythmic thud of bodies colliding, and skin clapping against each other, the low, guttural growl that escaped Professor Kai’s lips— as he thrust hard in the man's butt hole, it all carved itself into my mind, raw and unrelenting. I was glued on the spot, I felt my chest tightened. I was pained. I was jealous. Since the first day Professor Kai came to the school I had fallen for him, I had wanted to have him for myself, and now I'm seeing him with someone else. It breaks me! Journey with a student who fell in love with it's Professor. But what if the professor has a dark past life?

On day ten of our cold war, Barry posted a pic—him and Lyla, locked in a kiss. His 'one true love.' I sent in my study abroad application without a word. At our grad party, he strolled in with Lyla, fingers laced with hers, looking at her with all his affection. A friend hesitated. "But what about Amelia? She loves you. You guys are getting married." Barry smirked. "She was just a stand-in. Now that Lyla's back, my fiancée should change too." So I slipped off the ring, handed it over, and disappeared. And he lost it. Tore through everything trying to find me. Years later, he finally did. Saw me with my husband, picking out baby supplies. His eyes went red. "Amelia, come back with me. Please?"

Some rules are meant to keep us pure. These stories spread your legs and make you beg to break them. Stepbrothers who shouldn’t touch you, but shove you against the wall and make you scream their name. Protectors who swear to guard your body, only to break every oath as they fuck you into the mattress. Strangers who taste like sin and don’t stop until you’re ruined. Masked lovers who hide their faces while they spread you open and make you beg. Even supernatural beasts who mark you, breed you, and take you raw until you’re theirs completely. This isn’t sweet romance. It is raw heat that claws, bites, and devours. Dangerous, possessive men you should run from, but instead, you’ll spread wider, sink deeper, and take every filthy drop they give you. Every page is a dare: moan louder, take more, surrender deeper. Because once you give in to the forbidden, you won’t just fall, you’ll beg to be destroyed. Welcome to your new addiction.

Devon menyodorkan surat cerai tepat ke depan muka Rosa. Pria itu tak terlihat main-main. Pada akhirnya pernikahan yang mereka lalui tidak berhasil meskipun Rosa sudah mencoba sebisanya. Rosa menginginkan Devon. Sangat membutuhkan kekuasaan keluarga Wijaya yang berada di genggaman Devon. Dia tak bisa pergi, tak akan mau. Ketika Rosa tengah memutar otak untuk menunda perceraian ini, tiba-tiba saja petir menyambar Devon secepat kilat! "Ja-jangan mati!!!! Ambulans! Tolong, siapa saja panggil ambulans!" jerit Rosa dengan derai air mata bercucuran. Sementara itu, Devon bergeming di tempatnya. Asap-asap hitam mengepul keluar dari sekujur tubuh dan perickan listrik seperti melompat-lompat di atasnya. Namun bukan itu yang penting. Sebuah suara melengking yang pria itu kenal jelas, merasuki kepalanya dengan kurang ajar. Devon bisa mendengar suara isi pikiran Rosa tanpa sepengetahuan wanita itu. Dan darahnya dibuat mendidih. 'Siapa bilang laki-laki ganteng di dunia ini cuma Devon? Cuih! Manusia macam dia mending bertapa di gunung jadi biksu. Percuma dikasih istri secantik aku kalo matanya nggak dipake,' ujar Rosa dalam hati. Gigi Devon bergemeletuk menahan amarah. "ROSA!!"

Fedora Smith was done with love. Finished. Buried. Betrayal had ripped out her heart and torched it—her boyfriend of four years and her best friend of twenty-five caught pants down on the very anniversary sheets she gifted him. And their excuses? “You’re not attractive anymore.” “You took too long to marry him.” Fine. If love was a game, she was rewriting the rules. Now, she runs The Bridal Fix, an elite agency providing fake marriages for a steep price—rent-a-bride services for men needing to fool their families, secure an inheritance, or stage the perfect breakup. Fifteen weddings, fifteen divorces—no strings, no mess. Just business. Until Judah Carlstone. He hires her like the rest—one contract, one wedding, one payday. But Judah asks too many questions. Looks at her too long. And when he smirks and says— "Tell me, Fedora… how does it feel to say ‘I do’ and not mean it?" For the first time in years, she has no answer. Because this was never supposed to feel real.