Oge Hours Novels & Stories

Seven years ago, Vivienne Vane sacrificed her elite standing, her breathtaking beauty, and her health to save her daughter, Maya, through a secret, high-risk bone marrow transplant that left her chronically fatigued and physically altered. To protect her family from a ruthless shadow syndicate, she went undercover as a plain, submissive housewife, while secretly operating as "V"—the genius quantitative architect who single-handedly built her husband Julian Vance’s startup into a multi-billion-dollar empire. Julian, blinded by historical prejudice and convinced Vivienne drugged him to steal him from her beautiful older sister Cynthia, treats her with freezing disdain. The breaking point arrives when an active gunman storms a high-end restaurant. Julian uses his own body to shield Cynthia, leaving Vivienne directly in the line of fire. Hours later, brainwashed by Cynthia, their six-year-old daughter Maya tells Vivienne she wishes Cynthia was her real mother and leaves her alone in the hospital. Having paid her debt of love, Vivienne cuts the ties. She unleashes the Vane Financial Kill-Switch, strips Julian of his automated algorithmic edge, and walks out. As she enters a premium medical sanctuary to reclaim her health, she collides with Damian Thorne—the dangerous, sharp-witted titan of the city’s shipping cartels and Julian’s most lethal rival. While Julian and Cynthia realize their empire is hollow without "V," Vivienne undergoes a ruthless physical and social rebirth, ascending the ladders of global shadow power alongside a man who craves her mind as much as her body.

“I want a divorce, Sera. It’s time we both moved on.” She had heard those words before, rehearsed in the cold space between them, in the silences that stretched too long over dinner, in the way he never quite looked at her anymore. But hearing them out loud was different. Hearing them made it real. Sera Calloway had spent four years being the perfect wife. Quiet when she should have been loud. Patient when she should have been angry. She had loved Elliot with the kind of love that asks for nothing — and received exactly that in return. She thought their marriage was simply struggling. Broken, maybe. But still theirs. Until she found out it was never only theirs to begin with. Another woman. Another home. Another life he had carefully built in the hours she never thought to question. She hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t shattered. She had simply gone still, the way a person does when the ground disappears beneath them and there is nothing left to hold onto. Sera left without a word. No ultimatums. No tears he would ever see. Because some heartbreaks are too deep for noise. Now Elliot is unraveling. The life he thought he could keep — the one he hid behind — is falling apart without the woman he took for granted holding everything together. He never knew what she was. Not really. Not until she was gone. And now the question isn’t whether he still loves her. The question is — did Sera ever stop?

Today is Morgan Franklin's 30th birthday. It also marks the day he brings up divorce in front of me for the 99th time. He doesn't sound guilty and tentative anymore, unlike his demeanor when he mentioned divorce for the first time. Instead, he has a cigarette dangling between his lips while looking at me mockingly. "I've already called the ambulance for you, Milana. Have you thought about how you're going to commit suicide this time? Are you slitting your wrist or overdosing on pills?" Everyone in the private room bursts out laughing. "I bet she's going down the sleeping pill route! She did that the last time, and she had to get her stomach pumped for three hours!" "Hell no! She's definitely jumping off a building this time! But she'll just wait for the firemen to lay out the safety mat before pretending to jump! She's not going to die at all!" "Nah… Ms. Brook is very creative when it comes to suicide. Every time she commits suicide, she always uses a different method!" Everyone is curious as to which suicide method I will use in order to get Morgan to stay this time. But when I notice the smiles on everyone's faces, I suddenly feel exhaustion weighing down on my soul. The anger that has been sustaining me for so long finally dissipates. I lower my gaze before stating calmly, "I'm not doing any of that. This time, I shall grant you your freedom."

I paid the ultimate price in my last life for being too polite to refuse others. During a summer vacation, four children ended my life. "Talia, we’re already on the way to your place. We should be there in about two hours. No need to prepare anything special. Just keep things the way you normally do. Don’t fuss." I stared blankly as the voice came through my phone. The agony of my skin being scalded raw by boiling-hot stew was still vivid in my mind. When I had struggled and begged for help, those children had dragged me back together. In the chaos, I had fallen from the seventh floor and died with my eyes wide open. I glanced at the calendar on the wall. I had been reborn. In my previous life, my sister-in-law, Vanessa Mercer, had dumped her four kids at my home for the summer and left. I was forced to care for six children alone and was pushed to the brink of collapse. Simply because I wouldn’t let my nephew, Jaxon Mercer, play on his tablet for hours on end, and because I told him not to wander around the house in nothing but his underwear, the conflict escalated until it led to that horrifying death. My whole body trembled at the memory. I rushed into the bedroom, grabbed my identification documents, and fled toward the high-speed rail station with my two daughters, Kaia and Nova Mercer. "Mom, where are we going?" "I'm taking you on a trip. We’re going to have as much fun as we want!"

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

I never broke eye contact as he slicked his already hard cock up with it. It never did take him long to get hard in my presence, especially after working me open when we had stood under the stream of the shower. Shuffling his ass forward just a little, he pulled me close to help me slowly sink onto his cock. Once my ass was flushed against his lap and he was to the hilt, he sighed, and I could see the exact moment that all the stress left his body. “Thank you.” He whispered. ______ I got pregnant after a sizzling one-night stand. I didn’t know then he was the son of a billionaire mafia Don. That night, he walked over to me with powerful strides that announced to the world, that he owned it. The dim light dancing over his sculptured face, Teased me with a glimpse of perfection. His deep baritone voice vibrated thru my core, and before I knew it, we were back at my place, thrusting into ecstasy. For hours he took me to heaven and back, But on earth, he became cold as ice. Then, without so much as a name, He walked out the door and out of my life. I tried to forget him, Until I got unexpected news from my doctor weeks later. and before I had time to digest the information, I was snatched by two men. Now I’m in the presence of the Don of all Dons, congratulating me on my pregnancy. And the man that took me to heaven, is now tasked to keep me in hell.

For eight years, Elara Voss was the perfect ghost. She scrubbed floors, cooked silent meals, and endured the biting scorns of her husband, Ryan, and their eldest daughter, Chloe. To them, she was a boring housewife. A servant. An embarrassment to Ryan’s rising social status. They had no idea that the woman they belittled was Elara Hamilton, the reclusive titan behind Hamilton Global, the world’s most powerful tech empire. She had traded her throne for a marriage she thought was built on love. She was wrong. The breaking point comes at a high-society gala. In front of the city’s elite, Ryan publicly discards her, calling her a worthless weight around his neck. He thinks he is finally free. He doesn't realize he just declared war on the woman who secretly funded his entire life. That night, the housewife vanished. The CEO returns. Within forty-eight hours, Ryan’s world implodes. His contracts are canceled, his bank accounts are drained, and his reputation is in ashes. As the global markets reel from the return of the "Iron Queen," Ryan is forced to face a terrifying truth: he didn't just lose a wife. He lost the only person keeping him relevant. Now, Ryan is a man with nothing, chasing a woman who has everything. From the neon lights of Tokyo to the boardrooms of Manhattan, he must grovel at the feet of the woman he once stepped on. But Elara is no longer the devoted wife who stayed for the sake of the family. She is a queen reclaiming her crown, and this time, Ryan will have to prove he is finally worthy of the woman who no longer needs him to survive.

On the flight home, the plane starts shaking violently. Certain I'm about to die, I call my husband, Rhys Callahan, to say my last words. He hangs up on me, and his auto-reply flashes on the screen. "Driving. On my way to pick up Daphne." I've taken 86 flights in our five years of marriage. Every time I'm about to land, I ask him to come get me, and every time, the answer is the same. "Daphne's getting in too. I have to pick her up." He picks up Daphne Langston all 86 times. The lowest point comes during a rainstorm. I drag my suitcase through the downpour outside the terminal for two hours, unable to get a ride. When I call him, Daphne's voice comes through, laughing. "Oh, Rhys is helping me with my luggage right now. He can't come to the phone." Now the cabin fills with screaming and sobbing. The plane spirals out of control at cruising altitude, the left wing shearing away as flames light up the windows. My phone buzzes with a message from him. "Just picked Daphne up. What time do you land? I'll come get you." I stare at the screen and let out a bitter laugh. After five years, he's finally offering to pick me up. But fire swallows the plane as it plunges toward the ground. He doesn't know I'm no longer coming home.

I gave a stranger my panties on a plane. Not because I'm reckless. Not because I do things like this. But because Damien Cross looked at me like I was something worth destroying himself over, and I wanted to be devoured. Four hours at 30,000 feet. That's all it took for him to unravel every careful thread of the life I'd built. One look. One touch. One whispered promise that I was his. Then he vanished. No calls. No texts. Just a breaking news report showing him married to someone else, while I stood in a hotel bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test. Six years later, I've rebuilt myself. I'm a mother. A success. I've learned to survive without him. Until he walks into my photoshoot and recognizes the birthmark he once traced with his tongue. He says he never stopped looking for me. That his marriage was a cage he's finally escaped. That the twin boys I've been raising alone are his sons, and he wants his family back. But Damien Cross is a man who deals in empires and enemies. Someone close to him wants me gone. The threats start. The danger escalates. And I realize that loving Damien means walking into a war I never signed up for. He says he'll burn the world down to keep us safe. I'm terrified he means it. Some men are worth the fall but men are the wreckage. But Damien is both.

"Get on your knees and fit my shaft between your filthy lips." "What?" "I'll finish if you do. I'll wrap my lips around this..." His fingers sink deep into the flesh between my thighs, and I relish his feel. "I'll let your legs hang around me, fall on my knees and sink my tongue into you." His words are tempting—not the teasing of his lips on my centre part, but the image forming in my mind of him on his knees before me. I want to see that. ** Ruby Mallory Clive loses her life only hours after being served divorce papers. By a stroke of fate, she wakes up days before her wedding, which, unfortunately, must go on. However, this time, she vows that things will be different—she will not, under any circumstance, fall for her husband, the Alpha, who hates her. Alpha Adrain Muaas Knox hates the 'Clive' family with all his heart; his contract wife is no exception. His plan had been to treat her with indifference, but the feisty little fox needed some training. When the lines between desire and hatred cross into obsession, will Ruby be able to let go of the repeating past, find her killer and await the inevitable divorce with her heart intact, or will she succumb to the Alpha's obsessive claim? ** This book can be read as a stand-alone; however, feel free to check out book one of the Lust & Hate Series: Bound to My Wicked Stepbrother.