Poc Face Claims

When His Majesty King Dominic Thornfield was attacked, my husband, Roland Wentworth, Commander of the Royal Guard, was busy placating his first love, Vivian Sinclair, who had stormed off in a fit of anger. I did not light the signal flare in my hand. Instead, I used my heavily pregnant body as a human shield to protect the King and help him escape. In my past life, I had lit that flare. Roland abandoned Vivian to rush back and save the King. He was rewarded for his loyal service by being made a Duke Protector. However, Vivian fell into a trap and died on the spot. On the surface, Roland said nothing. Yet, on the very day I went into labor, he threw me into the Beast Dungeon. My face twisted in agony as I demanded to know why. Roland merely glanced at me coldly and said, "His Majesty had plenty of guards around him, so why did it have to be me who came back? You must have done it on purpose, only caring about power and wealth. If you hadn't lit that flare, Vivian wouldn't have died. Whatever suffering Vivian endured, I'll make you pay it back tenfold!" In the end, I was torn apart and devoured by the beasts. Even the child in my womb was consumed completely. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the King was attacked.

For the down on her luck graphic designer, Amy Hart, accepting the live-in nanny job for billionaire Damien Ross's eight-month-old son is easy. What’s not is her promise to herself: never, ever sleep with the billionaire playboy. Damien had a reputation for never pursuing women. Women pursued him. Emotionally closed-off and irresistibly magnetic, the tycoon built his empire believing love is an error, capable of eroding power and legacy. He abandoned his pregnant ex-girlfriend at seven months in order to avoid its clutches limiting him. Amy, however, is different. She neither flirts nor simpers. She draws a clear line, and devotes her entire focus to infant Theo. Her aloofness infuriates him at first … and then begins to consume him. He initiates a quiet psychological war: paying attention to minute details, and uttering words to penetrate her cool facade. Then things change when one night, she is forced to overhear him making love to another woman in the other wing of the enormous apartment. The sound of his muffled, raunchy sounds traveled through the walls of the skyscraper. He is aware that she can hear him; but he makes no effort to stop. Instead of hatred, Amy experiences a swirl of shame, jealousy, and an irresistible craving she cannot ignore. For the first time, she did not only seek to resist the untouchable billionaire. She sought to break him. Within this world of affluence, envious ex-girlfriends, and taboo desire, one question burns in Amy's mind: Can the she actually change a man who built his empire on a cold heart and with claims that he will never fall prey to love again? The Playboy Billionaire's Nanny is a simmering, intoxicating slow burn romance story of psychological seduction, and reckless relinquishment.

I loved eating cakes. My dad would bring me one every day after work, and my mom bought a full set of oven and baking tools, patiently learning how to bake them for me. I once thought I was the happiest little princess in the world until the day my parents divorced. The person who came to pick up my dad turned out to be the bakery owner. My mom turned to me, growling, "This is all your fault! If you hadn't asked for cakes every day, your dad never would've cheated!" She stretched out her hands, covered in burn scars, and screamed hysterically, "I slaved away making cakes for you, and these hands have never healed since. What did you do? You both think the stuff from outside is so much better!" She grabbed a baking sheet and smacked me hard with it. I bit my lip, not daring to make a sound. That night, she brought home a little girl. Ignoring the pain all over my body, I begged for her forgiveness. "Mom, I'm sorry. Please don't throw me away. I swear I'll never eat another cake!" She slapped me across the face, but that wasn't enough to quench her anger. She tossed me into the big oven. "I'm not your mom! You love cakes so much? Stay in there and reflect on what you've done! You and your worthless dad both deserve to die!" After she slammed the door and stormed out, the little girl skipped over to the oven, grinning smugly as she hit the switch. "From now on, your mom is gonna be mine!" The oven kicked on, and the temperature began to rise. I smiled bitterly. At least this way, my mom could finally be happy.

Love…. You could lose yourself in it or find yourself. It all depends on you. Jealousy…. It drives one to the edge of madness. It paralyzes the mind, and drains the heart, damaging the soul. It teaches you what it takes to care. That's what their relationship was made up of. His eyes made her shiver with pleasure, it took her to euphoria. That's what she felt whenever she was with him, but not every day was sunshine and rainbows. He made her cry, he made her feel pain. He taught her the real definition of love; pleasure and pain. She liked how cold and rough he could get and he liked how innocent she played. He liked teaching her new things and she liked learning from the best. They'd survive the intoxication of each other. They made it further than they thought they would on the grounds of love, jealousy and pain. "What are you looking at?” he asked looking in the direction she was looking, “So... That's your type, huh?" he whispered in her ear with his hand on her thigh, clearly pissed. Siana moved away slightly from his warm breathe blasting on her face and his hand squeezing her thigh firmly. "Everyone out now!" he shouted then a smile came bursting through it all. She was alone shaking with fear and anxiety. She knew how he'd get whenever he was displeased, she knew the kind of psycho he was. He pulled her up from the chair and pushed her up against the wall, her hands enfolded in his and her breath breaking. He looked down then back up at her with a tiring look on his face and sighed "You know you really drive me crazy." his lips hovering over hers.

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

He lost his memory. She lost her heart. Now, the past wants them both dead. When Amara Kane pulls a wounded stranger from a burning car, she doesn’t expect him to be Liam Steele—billionaire tech heir, missing CEO, and the man with a target on his back. With no memory of who he is or who wants him dead, Liam finds himself hiding in the one place no one would expect: her tiny apartment. What starts as survival quickly turns into something deeper. Secrets unravel. Passion ignites. And just when Liam proposes and Amara dares to believe in love again… he vanishes without a word—leaving her pregnant and alone. But Liam didn’t just leave. He was taken. Now, Amara must face the truth: she’s not just protecting their unborn child—she’s holding the key to a conspiracy worth killing for.

"Eve Spencer, I just got into an accident. I hit someone, and I think he's your son!" The day after getting her driver's license, my best friend, Esther Lawson, insisted on driving alone to pick up her son from kindergarten. I warned her that the road was full of heavy trucks and told her to practice a few more days. She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm a great driver!" She floored the gas pedal and sped off. Not long after, she called me. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. She said she hit a child at the kindergarten. The boy's face was covered in blood, and he looked like my son. I froze. My son had a fever today. He didn't even go to kindergarten. So who had she hit?

On the first day of New Year's, my good buddy, Vincent Wales, sent me a video. “Leon, take a look. Does this woman look like your wife? It’s all over.” In the video, a man and a woman were making out passionately. As the car rocked violently, the woman’s face came into view. It was unmistakably my wife. My blood rushed straight to my head. My hands shook as I dialed her number. “Hello, honey… What’s the matter?” Her breathing was uneven, like she had just been doing something intense. I was about to speak when she suddenly let out a few loud cries. “A-Ah… It’s nothing. I’ll hang up now. I’m just playing cards with friends." With that, all I heard was the dial tone. Playing cards? She had clearly told me she was working overtime!

Roseline's stomach turned and her fist clenched tightly around the handle of the big travel box beside her. She heard the clanging sound of the metallic head of Thompson's belt meeting the ground. Next, quite footsteps. Then, Thompson appeared in her view, like a ghost she didn't believe existed. He was completely bare, with his hairy chest rising and falling slowly, his cock shooting out in front like a gun ready to be fired, his balls bloated from desire, swinging from side to side as he walked closer to bed. Roseline's feet stuck to the ground and her eyes refused to blink as they looked on. "That's it, my boy. Hmm! I like what I see", the red hair gasped, rolling her eyes longingly at Thompson. As Thompson climbed unto the bed, his eyes totally locked in hers, she drew her breasts closer him, then, proceeded to rock the big pumpkins against the flushed skin of his face. "You like them?", she asked, moaning lightly. Thompson paused. Then, in a defiant move of uncontrollable desire, dug his chin into her breasts, burying his entire face in them. "Ouch", she gasped, then broke into a weak laugh, pushing his head more into her chest. "The damn bra", she spoke again, twisting uncomfortably as she threw her hands behind her to unhook the material. But Thompson caught her hands. Without words, his head still hidden in her cleavage, he slowly returned her hands to his head. Obliging to his silent command, she cackled loudly, pressing her chest even more into his face and then, with her tongue, glided across his neck and ears hungrily. Roseline froze. She wanted to scream but in that moment, she forgot how to.

Jenny Shaw, my roommate and belle of the campus, had been stealing my skincare products for four whole years. She even used them to fake a wealthy and beautiful persona, becoming a million-follower influencer and bagging a wealthy heir. Right before our graduation defense, her face suddenly erupted in severe lesions, completely disfigured. Jenny immediately accused me, claiming that I was jealous and vicious enough to lace the skincare products with poison! In an instant, I was branded online as the Poison Queen and a dangerous figure. Facing the police, I simply smiled at them and showed them my thesis. [Molecular Deconstruction Analysis of Herbal Medicinal Materials: Skin Regeneration and Reconstruction.] "Poisoning you? That's like a pot calling the kettle black. But thanks for providing me with experimental data!"