Obsessive Possession

My husband, who's a negotiation expert, allows his intern to recklessly anger some criminals. It causes me, the hostage, to suffer severe injuries in the explosion, and my right leg breaks because of it. Yet, my husband once again issues a letter of forgiveness for her. "My wife, as a reporter, ignored warnings and forced contact with the criminals to get the scoop. The main responsibility lies with her. Kimberly, being a newcomer, should not bear major fault." I don't cry or make a scene. I simply pull out a divorce agreement. However, he sneers at me. "I know you're just jealous and want me to comfort you, but don't cross the line." For the past three years, I've brought up the topic of divorce 47 times, and each time, he treats it like I'm just throwing a tantrum. But it's different this time. His name has already been signed on this divorce agreement. As long as I add my signature to it, it will take effect immediately.

All it takes for me to be locked inside a sauna for eight hours is an accidental splash of hot water on Wayne Miller's secretary's hand. Right before I lose consciousness, he finally orders someone to let me out. He hisses, "Consider this a warning. If I ever see you lay a hand on Naomi again, I won't let you off so easily." I lie on a stretcher and answer with quiet composure, "Understood."

Ian Tost was the prince of the notorious underworld. Everyone in Harbor City knew he spoiled me rotten. He even went so far as to hire ninety-nine female bodyguards to keep me from harm. It did not prevent a kidnapping attempt on me. One of those bodyguards, Cece Yates, ended up with nothing more than a scratch. Ian immediately brought in the nation’s top medical specialists to treat her. To comfort her, he even took her to the Maldives for a vacation and gifted her an island. Not long after they returned from their trip, Beatrix Kazinsky, my mother, suddenly suffered a stroke and was hospitalized. Then, Michael Kazinsky, my younger brother, died in an accident during a competition. I burst into the morgue while in tears, only to overhear Ian comforting Cece. “All right now, it was my fault you got hurt last time. I’ve made Mira’s family pay for it. You’ve got too much grace to hold a grudge against her.” With my nails digging into my palms, I finally realized everything that had happened to my family was Ian’s doing. It was all just because his precious bodyguard got hurt because of me! I stumbled out of the hospital with my brother’s death certificate in a daze. On my phone, messages from that person kept coming. It added up to ninety-nine share transfer agreements, along with his promise. [As long as you want me, my arms will always be open for you.]

My mother fell critically ill and was rushed to the hospital. Desperate, I knelt before my fiancé—the department's chief surgeon—and begged him to take charge of her operation. But outside the ICU, he was carefully tending to a scraped knee. Lucy Wendell's scraped knee, to be exact. Just as I was drowning in hopelessness, Cameron Mitchell—the hospital director and my childhood friend—pushed open the operating room doors and handed me a marriage proposal. "Marry me, and I'll personally perform your mother's surgery." With trembling hands, I signed my name, clinging to the last shred of hope that she could be saved. But she never made it through that stormy night. Cameron handled all the funeral arrangements himself, and our wedding proceeded as scheduled. Seven years later, in the hushed silence of the hospital archives, I overheard Cameron speaking with the deputy director. "Cameron, why did you transfer your mother-in-law's organ to Lucy's mother during that surgery? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?" "I owed Lucy," he replied. "If I hadn't hesitated back then, Lucy never would've chosen medical aid work in Africa… and her mother wouldn't have fallen ill from the grief."

Everyone knew I, Isabella Marino, was Vince Moretti's greatest weakness—the one thing the mafia boss would never tolerate being touched. Years ago, when I was kidnapped, Vince disarmed himself at gunpoint, risking death to get me back, even paying his entire fortune for my ransom. To keep me from harm, he walked a razor's edge, navigating danger at every turn. After I got pregnant, he waited on me hand and foot, barely letting my feet touch the ground. There were rumors that he kept a pampered mistress outside—some woman he spoiled rotten. I never believed them. But then she flaunted herself in front of me. To beg for my forgiveness, Vince cut off his own finger. The next day, that woman slapped her pregnancy test results in my face, sneering, "Vince wanted a baby with me so badly, he just couldn't help himself!" I was already frail. The shock and rage sent me into a miscarriage.

“I would do anything to keep you, I swear Rodri” The obsession of a lover can't be undermined, but Rodri wants to run, far away from Damian's reach. A lonesome night made Damian Moore,the heir of the US minister crave a young blood, and Rodri seems to be his match, with Rodri mother on the sick bed and his secret fantasy to be ruthlessly claimed by a man. He agreed to Damian terms for the night, In exchange for some cool cash… Damian was his answer, but will just a night of forbidden desire and pleasure be enough for both? Or will the crazy, overwhelming love making they had, build the growth of a possessive, and obsessive love?.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."

My mother is an extreme misogynist, even toward me, her own daughter. She's wanted to kill me since the day I was born. She hits me if I wear lip gloss, wear a dress, or even get close to my father. Before sitting for my SATs, she spreads rumors about me trying to seduce my father. Ultimately, she pushes me so hard that I jump from the 15th floor. This pleases her to no end.

Conned by Francis Slade, I sold my kidney to raise funds for his failed investment. And the house was bought with all my savings. But now, it had become their love nest. "Ms. Lane, you look like you were rolling around in a mud pit. What happened to you?" Whitney Jones smiled smugly. My already injured body trembled with anger when I saw her smug expression. Forcing myself to remain calm, I answered, "This is my home. What are you doing here?" In response, Francis glared at me angrily. "Whitney caught a cold, so I invited her over to take a hot shower. Can't you even tolerate such small acts of kindness?" Whitney had accidentally stepped on blood that was flowing from my leg. She instinctively grabbed Francis out of fear. With a trembling voice, she told him, "Francis, I think she's injured." I knew Francis thought I was just trying to gain his sympathy again. "Alright now, Whitney will be sleeping in your room tonight. Once you're done with the act, go clean yourself up and set up a bed for her." If she was after my room, she could have it. If she was after the man who never loved me, she could have him.

Seven years ago, I turned my back on my powerless fated mate, Soren, and chose a powerful Alpha instead. Now, I’m dying alone in this shitty apartment with seven days to live. The Moon's Glow is fading inside me. Without the Final Rite, my soul will be chained to this earth, a ghost doomed to an eternity of torment. And no Alpha will perform it for me. Coughing up another mouthful of blood, I dialed the one number I swore I’d never touch again. Soren. The mate I rejected. Now, the most powerful Alpha in the North. I begged him for the Final Rite. Moments later, his engine screamed down my street. But the boy I once knew was gone. The man staring back at me now held nothing but pure, undiluted hatred in his eyes. "Well, well. Look what we have here," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "The fallen princess. When are you going to finally drop dead? The second your heart stops, I’m dumping your corpse in the Feral Lands for the scavengers."