Playing Cupid Meaning

Marcus Thorne wears several masks in his life—playing retired pirate, Captain Hawk, is his favorite, but if his secret is discovered, he could die. Captivated by his enemy’s daughter, Marcus kidnaps her, but in return, she captures his heart…until he discovers Isabelle is one of Napoleon’s spies with the power to endanger his life and the lives of his friends. After her release, Isabelle can’t stop thinking about her masked abductor and how he’d stolen her heart before ridding her of his presence. Betrothed to a man who strangely reminds her of the man whose kisses set her ablaze, she marries him, only to discover he’s not who he seemed to be as he is withholding secrets. But then…so is she.

"There are over a hundred thousand werewolves in existence, but the moon goddess choose to mate me to the one I hate the most, the one behind my misery, the one that killed my father." ****** "Why do you play with me?" I whispered, my voice almost inaudible. "I don't mean to, but I cannot stop myself from wanting you." ***** Natalia's world crumbled when Aaron killed her father and took over the pack as the Alpha. She wanted nothing but to avenge her father's death. But life always had a way of playing tricks on her. She discovered that he was her mate on her eighteenth birthday and he wanted her as his Luna. Was Natalia about to experience a life of terror, or would Aaron turn out to be an Angel in disguise?

When I report at Brookley College, I'm told that Deborah Larson has already completed the enrolment. She's also moved into the villa my father bought for me. She and my fiancé have already become a renowned loving couple on campus. I feel the calluses on my fingers from years of playing the guitar. This is so creepy. If she's Deborah Larson, then who am I? And is this contemptuous man before me really my fiancé?

After dating Scott Kenta for 10 years, I said to him, "Scott, I'm pregnant." The file in his hands slipped and hit the floor. He frowned, clearly irritated. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "This is a critical moment—my company's going public. I never planned on having a child." "It's fine. Your career matters more," I said, smiling gently. He didn't catch the meaning behind my words. I was pregnant, yes. But he wasn't the father.

His eyes traveled all over my body, from head to toe. It made me self-conscious for some reason. "The dress fits you well,” then he paused and murmured, looking at the floor. "I was wondering if you'd like it or not." "Huh?" His head turned to me again as if he was freed from a trance. "So now will you tell me what I have to do for you, sir?" I said sarcastically. "What?" He looked at me with surprise. "What? You have to have some purpose for keeping me here by force," I said, pressing on the last two words. He paused for a few seconds and then the lamest thing I could have ever imagined came out of his mouth. "Yes, you are here to serve me," he stated blankly. "What? Did I hear you right? You knocked me out, kidnapped my sister, and blackmailed me into coming here just to be your servant?" I cried out in disbelief. A smirk began to settle on his face as he took in my reaction. He was enjoying this absurdity even more! "Yes, dear. You are here to serve me. From now on, you will be with me 24 hours. All matters regarding me are your responsibility from now on." This is insane! Is he really a pervert? What is he trying to pull? "But you already have a lot of servants!” I protested. “And they're always at your beck and call too! Why the hell would you have me kidnapped for this? And who gives new clothes and breakfast in bed to a servant?” This was driving me crazy. Was he playing with me? Probably, a rotten rich vampire prince playing for fun. But I was not going to play hooky with him. No way!

"The Prince I Love to Hate is an absolute must read! This romcom will have you rooting for Niamh and Olivier right from their hilarious first meeting. - Harlequin Junkie Blog top pick This prince? He’s anything but charming. I’ve never been the girl who’s dreamt of a prince rescuing me from a fire-breathing dragon before whisking me away to his castle. So when I fly all the way to Ireland to find my long-lost dad, I have no intention of playing the damsel in distress to some dude. But the night I encounter—and accidentally wallop upside the head—Prince Olivier of Salasia, my plans are completely upended. This prince is the opposite of charming, though. After thirty seconds in his presence, I want to feed him to a dragon. But fate is a fickle b*tch. Before I know it, I agree to team up with Olivier in the search for my dad. As I travel across Europe with this actual honest-to-god prince, I wonder, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like I’ll be stupid enough to fall in love with Prince Charming."

Emma lost her parents at a young age. Determined to solve their mysterious death, she became a detective. Not the best at her job, yet, she decided that only death would make her give up her quest for truth. Years gone by, she received a tip that led her to raid a warehouse. In the process, she stumbled upon a truth that a different world has tried to keep hidden. Werewolves were real. At the point of almost getting killed by these vicious creatures, the unexpected happened. A man with the speed of light and the calmness of water saved her. It didn't stop there, whenever she was in danger, the man appeared. It seemed like he could hear her distress. Indeed, he could. Alpha Clyde wasn't one with a lot of free time on his hands to be playing a vigilante. He only did it for his Mate. Getting the news that she was Alpha Clyde's mate, Emma knew that everything was about to change. What she didn't know was that this change had everything to do with her past, present, and future.

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

“I want to kiss you.” He stroked my neck slowly. “You are playing with fire,” I breathed.“Burn me,” he whispered.***The Malta elite society never interacts with the lower class. This did not stop art curator Wade Malkiel from falling in love at first sight with Vaughn Everette, the mayor’s son. But things did not go as planned, and Vaughn rejected Wade, so he vowed never to trust anyone and closed his heart to the feeling of love. He left Malta for Italy where he spent ten years until the ultimate demise of his godfather forced him to return home to Malta.His return to Malta catches everyone off-guard especially now that he is no longer the poor boy but a rich man whose investments span the entire elite society businesses.Will Wade be able to open his heart again to Vaughn after the heartbreak that ended in him leaving Malta? The Art Collector and His Billionaire Lover is created by Anna Baibe, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

I fell in love with the nanny's son. After boldly pursuing him, he reluctantly agreed to marry me. But I never expected his young lover to storm into my home like a madwoman, prying my mouth open to pour scalding water down my throat, pressing me into a sink full of dirty water, and finally pushing me down the stairs. My husband stood by my hospital bed, looking at my broken body with disdain. "Irene, every moment with you makes me sick," he spat, barely able to hide his impatience for my death. Yet, when I finally died, he sobbed uncontrollably in public, playing the role of the devoted, heartbroken husband. "Irene, don't leave me! You have no idea how much I wanted to die with you!" At that, I spoke softly from behind him. "Is that so?"