Quotes On Breakfast

Annabella has spent her life as the invisible daughter, the "little mouse" her brother mockingly named her. As the Beta's third-in-line heir, she should command respect. Instead, she endures her father Eugene's abuse in silence, documenting everything with hidden cameras while treasuring anonymous gifts from a secret admirer who sees her worth. For three years, she's found solace in Lucious, the second-born Alpha Heir who defies his brothers' cruel jokes to love her openly. But on her eighteenth birthday, everything changes. The mate bond doesn't just snap into place with Lucious; it ignites with all six Alpha Heirs. A legendary sixfold bond, the rarest connection their kind has known in centuries. Before Annabella can process this revelation, her world shatters. Her father didn't just abuse her; he sold her. A contract with the Moon Slashers Pack, half a million dollars, and a plan to rip her from Lucious's arms and deliver her to another Alpha's bed. Her brother Tate, her supposed protector, helped orchestrate it all. When Eugene's betrayal explodes at her coming-of-age breakfast, Annabella's forced first shift becomes a desperate flight for survival. Six mates who failed to protect her now race to prove their worth. A father willing to destroy anyone in his path to power. A mother she believed dead for five years: alive, drugged, imprisoned. And hidden camera footage revealing a conspiracy that spans multiple packs, threatens the Alpha's reign, and exposes a trafficking ring built on selling she-wolves like livestock. The little mouse was never weak. She was waiting for her moment to roar. Six mates. One truth. And chains that are finally breaking.

A dark romance, vividly grotesque, morally questionable, fate-defying, vampirically induced tale of happily ever after. With a little bit of dark humor, of course. ****** Tessa was one of the best assassins for hire, she lives for the thrill of the kill. The blood of her victims never tainted her subconscious. Until one day there was a threat to her life. She had three months to live. Tessa was doomed, she had tried everything and she knew she couldn't get out of her impending death. And what did Tessa do when she only had three months to live? She made a bucket list. She had been busy with her lust to kill that she didn't get to live a normal life, after all, she was a psychopath. Within weeks numbers were being crossed off from her list, from having tacos for breakfast, the morning after sex, and somewhere on the list was falling in love. Tessa wrote that as a joke, but deep down she wanted to feel it, she wanted to be able to love someone before she died. Fun fact: Psychopaths are almost incapable of truly loving another. Will Tessa manage to cross everything on her list? ***** The Angel of Death, that was what they called him. Nero Severus Xerxes was a vampire King who was among the oldest. Nero had taken lives, he had taken humans, vampires, and other supernatural beings. Yet none would challenge him. He was a possessive bastard, he was a ruler, a sadistic male who protects what was his. One day Nero was faced with the most beautiful woman with a strange view of death. She even had a bucket list. As a vampire King who had lived a thousand lives her careless attitude intrigued him. Will Nero fall for her?

Thor and I grew up together—we were the definition of childhood sweethearts. We'd promised to attend the same university, graduate, and marry right after senior year. Everyone envied us. They said we were a perfect match, destined for a lifetime together. And I believed that too. I truly thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him. Until the final semester of our senior year in high school, when a new transfer student named Lina joined our class. At first, the two barely spoke. But as they grew familiar, their bond deepened in ways I could no longer ignore. He started staying after school to tutor her, bringing her breakfast every morning. When she was upset, he'd take her for a drive along the coast. If she craved Italian steak, he'd have fresh cuts flown in. Even during her period, he'd quietly prepare everything she needed. I was furious. I confronted him, argued with him, and even threatened to break up. The first time I said it, he thought I was joking and coaxed me out of my anger. The second time, he dismissed it as another tantrum and tried different ways to please me. The third time, he broke down—standing outside my house in the pouring rain all night, half kneeling before me, begging for forgiveness. Again and again, I tried to leave, and every time, he refused to let me go. Yet with each reconciliation, something in him shifted. He started taking me for granted, assuming I would always come back. His patience wore thin. His apologies turned perfunctory. Even when he came to make peace, there was no sincerity left in his voice. So I said it for the hundredth time, and that was the last. That was the moment I finally gave up on him.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.

My Alpha fiancé, Andre Ackhurst, and his brother, Easton Ackhurst, are identical twins. They have the same looks and scent—no one would be able to tell them apart if not for their starkly different personalities. After a savage pack war, Andre dies, and Easton lives. But when Easton takes over as Alpha, he insists on inheriting both lines of the family—he claims to want to care for me, his sister-in-law. When his girlfriend, Callie Wentworth, learns of this, she berates me for shamelessly seducing her boyfriend. That night, I head to my in-laws' room, wanting to ask them to talk Easton out of his ridiculous idea. However, I hear my mother-in-law say, "Andre, Easton is the one who died on the battlefield. Why did you impersonate him and say you're the one who died?" "Easton" sighs. "Callie is an Omega, and she's weak. Her body won't be able to take it when she learns Easton is the one who died. I have to love her for life on Easton's behalf. "Yes, it's unfair to Jane. However, I'm sure she'll stick it out because she's already carrying my pup. Besides, I'll secretly care for her. She's so kind and considerate—I'm sure she'll understand why I've done this." I'm in disbelief after hearing this. Finally, I understand that my fiancé didn't die. He merely pretended to be his brother so he could comfort another woman. During breakfast the following morning, I tell my in-laws my plan. "Thank you for helping me move past Andre's death. I've thought things through, and I've decided to abort the pup. I'm going to start afresh." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, "Easton" suddenly shatters the bowl he holds as he feeds Callie.

"I, Zade Matthews, Alpha of the High-claw pack, reject you, Sierra Whitmore, to be my mate and Luna to my pack. You are to work here and obey every command and to accept my rejection" Nobody wants to hear the word rejection. Especially when you're not even strong enough to handle the aftermath of it. At 18, I had just got my wolf, Mina. I was not supposed to mate with an Alpha. I'm an Omega living an Omega life. But the moon-goddess had other ideas, and I was mated to the cruellest of Alphas there is. I'm what they would call a slave to the pack. In other words. I was dispensable if they didn't want or need me. So, when I was invited for breakfast with the Alpha, my mate, I should have taken that as my first red flag. I have never eaten with them. Even when my parents were alive. 6 Years later, just after my 24th birthday, the mate-less Gala was just around the corner once again, and I was tired. Emotionally and physically tired. I had nothing to live for. I had nothing to hope for. Every Omega knows they don't get a second chance at love and every omega had to accept that. That was simply our fate. So, being assigned to accommodate Alpha Nikolai's room was not one of my top things to enjoy, but here I was. Five minutes was all I wanted to have to myself when cleaning the room on the very top floor for the Alpha of all Alphas, so I stopped and sat down to rest my aching body. And cried. Only...the scent of all scents hits me. His scent. Alpha Nikolai Anderson. He doesn't know me, but he chooses to love me. He chooses me.

My wife and I slept in separate beds for over three years. Then on our wedding anniversary, she suddenly tried to win me over. She climbed into my bed and pulled out all the stops, trying to get me to sleep with her. I stayed calm and collected. When our son started crying, I used it as an excuse to escape to his room, where I stayed all night. Vivian Hartley spent the entire night knocking on the door. The next morning, she acted sweet and gentle, graciously making me breakfast as if nothing had happened. She even tried to hand over her salary card. When my mother-in-law heard about this, she exploded at her daughter. "You pathetic fool! People need some self-respect! If you can't stand up for yourself, just get a divorce already!" Yet Vivian claimed her feelings for me ran so deep that the heavens themselves could vouch for her sincerity. She even defied her own mother. Our relatives and friends looked at us with envy. But my son and I continued to give her the cold shoulder. Finally, Vivian turned to social media for help. "Three years ago, I was busy with work. My husband and I had completely different schedules. I was afraid it would affect my performance at work, so I suggested we sleep in separate rooms. "Now our child is older, and I've swallowed my pride to try to fix things, but my husband won't even touch me." Someone in the comments gave her some advice: install hidden cameras around the house. "We can't just take your word for it. Record everything so we can see what's really going on. Plus, if things actually end in divorce, at least you'll have built up your social media following. It won't be a total loss." Vivian had no idea I was watching from among her followers.

I knock on the door, heart pounding like it always does when I’m about to see him. “Come in,” Justin’s voice calls—cool, smooth, and frustratingly calm. I take a deep breath and walk in, holding the folder tightly. “Here’s the report you requested, sir.” He doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps typing, his expression unreadable. “You’re late,” he says without missing a beat. I clench my jaw. “There was a delay at the printer—” “No excuses, Joanna. Just do better next time.” Ouch. Professional and cold. As always. I nod, ignoring the sting in my chest. “Yes, sir.” I turn to leave, gripping the doorknob—just one more second and I’ll be out of this weird tension-filled office— “Wait.” I freeze. I turn around slowly. “Yes?” Justin stands now, walking toward me. In his hand, a familiar brown paper bag. He holds it out. “You didn’t have lunch.” I blink. “I’m fine.” “You skipped breakfast too. Eat.” I hesitate. “What is it?” “Chicken pesto. No onions.” My breath catches. He still remembers? “Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly. He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “I just… remember things.” My fingers brush his as I take the bag. Warmth. Stupid warmth that shouldn’t still feel this familiar. Then, he looks at me—really looks at me. “You shouldn’t skip meals… wife.” Silence. My chest tightens. “Don’t call me that.” But my voice is too soft to sound convincing. I walk out before I say something I’ll regret. His words echo in my mind like a dangerous lullaby. Cold one second. Kilig the next. God… he’s still him. And that’s exactly the problem.