Novela Translation

In the neon-lit shadows of Novela, Isabella Hart, a red-haired outcast, is drowning in betrayal. Bullied at school and abused by her family, her world shatters when her boyfriend spreads fake nude photos, driving her into the arms of a mysterious stranger for a reckless one-night stand. The next day, she’s stunned to find him—Sebastian Wolfe, a smouldering history professor and Lycan—standing at her lecture podium, his green eyes taunting her with their shared secret. But her life is about to get even worse as Caleb Reed, a charismatic senior with a demonic edge, who hides a deadly mission behind his seductive smile walks into her life. Both men are mated to Bella by the Moon Goddess, their rivalry igniting a lustful, dangerous love triangle. As Bella navigates forbidden passion and relentless torment, she uncovers a shocking truth: she’s a half-werewolf Moonborn, her red hair a mark of a rare lineage destined to destroy the BloodMoon pack’s evil Alpha, Marcus, and his Beta, Veron—Sebastian’s father. With Caleb’s obsession turning violent and Sebastian’s secrets threatening their love, Bella must embrace her powers to survive kidnappings, near-death ambushes, and betrayals that tear her heart apart. When her long-lost father resurfaces, Bella’s fight for her throne becomes a battle for survival, love, and redemption. In a city where werewolves lurk beneath skyscrapers, Bella’s destiny will burn bright—or consume them all. The Professor’s Mate is a dark, sensual werewolf romance, weaving lust, betrayal, and supernatural intrigue in a novel saga of a common human girl rising from ashes to claim her power as an Alpha in the werewolf realm.

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.