Silk Carnations

"Do you want me to stop?" Darlington growled, his thick cock buried deep inside her, stretching her with slow, deliberate thrusts that made her tremble. "No," Freya moaned, legs wrapped tight around his waist, hips rocking desperately to take him deeper. "God, no... harder." She was supposed to seduce him. Spy on him. Steal his secrets to save her dying mother. But the city's most ruthless billionaire, Darlington Knight, saw right through her from the moment she walked into his world. Now he's the one claiming her—pinning her against silk sheets, against cold glass walls, in the dark heat of his penthouse—fucking her senseless until she forgets her mission, forgets her lies, forgets everything but the way he owns her body. Every touch is dangerous. Every kiss a threat. He knows she's hiding something... and he's going to make her beg to confess—on her knees, breathless, dripping for him. Freya came to betray him. Instead, she's falling—hard, fast, and filthy—into a passion that could ruin them both. Even though Darlington might have his secrets, will he still see her the same way after finding out she was just a spy sent to seduce him?"

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.

Thirty days. One month. A single, heartbeat-stopping wager. Benjamin Parker was the sun. A golden-haired scholarship recruit with flour on his hands and a heart that he wore—vulnerable and beating—on his sleeve. He spent weeks chasing the school’s "Ice Prince," offering handmade tarts and a smile that could melt the coldest winter. He thought his persistence finally paid off when Jonathan Hayes—the obsidian-eyed, terrifyingly beautiful heir to a tech empire—pinned him against the school gates and claimed him in front of everyone. But the "Golden Romance" was a lie from the very first kiss. Jonathan didn't choose Benjamin because of his heart; he chose him because he was a convenient target for a cruel poker-room bet. The stakes? A vintage motorcycle. The duration? Thirty days of manufactured affection. Now, the countdown is ticking. Between the silk sheets of Jonathan’s penthouse and the shadows of the St. Jude’s library, the line between the game and reality is blurring. Jonathan is the predator who accidentally caught himself in his own trap, growing addicted to the very light he’s destined to extinguish. Benjamin is the lamb who is slowly realizing the wolf isn't just at the door—he’s in his bed. When the moon turns red and the thirty days are up, the truth will do more than just break Benjamin's heart. It will shatter his soul. One month of sweetness. A lifetime of ruin. In the game of hearts, the house always wins... and Jonathan Hayes never plays fair.

“He pressed me to the wall with one hand tight around my throat, the other sliding beneath the thin silk clinging to my skin. I should’ve been begging for help. Instead, my knees went weak when he leaned in, his mouth hot against my ear. ‘Does it hurt, darling?’ he whispered. I shook my head, even as his fingers left bruises. ‘Good. I like it when you take it.’ God, I hated him. God, I wanted him to never let go.” A DARK, EROTIC TALE OF OBSESSION, HUMILIATION, AND HUNGER. They called him the Devil, a sadist with a crooked smile and hands built for breaking men. In the underworld’s most perverse auction, Luca Ruelle is nothing but trembling prey, sold for a price no soul should fetch. Silk-wrapped, bare, choking on shame and smoke, he should be praying for rescue. But Kain Astor doesn’t rescue. He claims, corrupts, and devours. He teaches Luca how it feels to be owned. How pain can bloom where fear lives. How pleasure is just another kind of cruelty. Every command is a dare, every punishment a promise. Under Kain’s hands, Luca learns the exquisite agony of surrender, and the terror of how badly he needs it. He should be fighting for his life. Instead, he’s sinking to his knees, eyes glazed, lips parted, whispering the one word that seals his fate— “Please.”

Clara James is nineteen years old. From the outside, her life looks rich and perfect. Inside, it is a silk wrapped hell. When she was ten, her world fell apart after her father cheated on her mother. Six years ago, her mother died in a car accident, forcing Clara to move in with her father… and that was where the real nightmare began. After her father married Emilia Cole, Clara’s life turned into an open war. Emilia did not only destroy her childhood, or leave her scarred by the trauma of harassment attempts. She made abuse and humiliation a daily routine. Still, Clara did not break. She did not bow. Everything changed when the wrong man entered her life at the worst possible time. Adrian Cole, Emilia’s brother. He is older. Cold. Distant. A criminal investigator hunting a serial killer roaming the city streets. Dangerous to get close to. Forbidden to touch. Yet he was the only one who held Clara when she collapsed, cleaned her wounds with his own hands, and gave her a sense of safety she had never known. But how can she trust a man who belongs to the family that tried to destroy her? Especially after Adrian uncovers a deadly betrayal inside his case… one that could drag them both into the abyss. Clara loves him to the edge of ruin. But when the enemy is closer than anyone imagines… Does love save, or does it kill?

He stole the wrong girl. Or maybe… she chose the right king. Dante Valenti rules his empire with cold precision and a reputation soaked in blood. No one crosses him. No one deceives him. And no one escapes him. So when he kidnaps a woman from the Moretti estate—a trembling little princess meant to be leverage—he expects fear. Instead, the woman chained in his basement looks him dead in the eyes… and smiles. Aria Moretti has spent years hiding behind silk dresses and a porcelain mask, pretending to be the quiet, obedient daughter of the Moretti crime family. But beneath the pretty facade lies a secret no one suspects: She is the Moretti’s most lethal weapon. A phantom. A blade disguised as a flower. And she walked willingly into the lion’s den for one reason— to kill Dante Valenti. Her mission is simple: Get captured. Get close. Get his trust. End the king. But nothing about Dante is simple. The moment he discovers who she truly is, he doesn’t kill her. He claims her. "You came to kill me, little killer... but every king needs a queen.” Now, Aria is caught in a deadly dance between loyalty and desire, betrayal and obsession. Dante matches her darkness note for note—twisted, brilliant, and devastatingly irresistible. He should be her target. Instead, he’s becoming her temptation. And the deeper she falls, the clearer the truth becomes: She isn’t the only weapon in this war. Dante has claws of his own— and he’s willing to use every one of them to keep her.

“I know you’re pregnant, Valentina. That’s why you have to die tonight. Two lives for the price of one. Efficiency was always my strong suit.” On her third wedding anniversary, Valentina is gifted a shallow grave. Her husband, Kennedy, was never a billionaire. He was a fraud who drugged her, watched her drown in a poisoned bath, and buried her so he could marry his mistress. He never expected the gardener to hesitate. Never imagined she would claw her way out of the mud, pregnant, broken, and alive. And he certainly didn’t expect her to return. Dragged from the storm by Ian Kingston, a titan so powerful Kennedy is nothing more than a disposable employee, Valentina finds herself mistaken for Misha, Ian’s vanished wife. “You have 365 days to prove you aren’t her, little bird. Until then, you wear my name, share my bed, and follow my rules.” Trapped in a ruthless case of mistaken identity, Valentina signs the contract and becomes Misha Kingston, cold, untouchable, wrapped in emerald silk and Ian’s dangerous protection. The next time Kennedy sees the wife he buried, she isn’t in a coffin. She’s on his boss’s arm. Wearing a crown. Looking down at him from a throne he can never touch. But Valentina hides a child conceived by her enemy… While being claimed by a king who refuses to let her go. He buried a wife. Now he’ll kneel before a goddess.

I pushed the door open and saw Giovanna standing there in my silk robe—my gift from Enzo—and wearing my heirloom pendant. She lifted a brow and mocked me, “The robe fits, the pendant’s mine, and you—get out.” I grabbed Enzo, demanding an explanation, but he shoved a fake contract in my face, saying, “You signed it.” “I did not. Stop lying!” I snapped. He snapped at me, “This is family business. You know nothing.” It seemed three years together was nothing but an act. That very night, I ran away to Milan. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to until Mark showed up out of nowhere. “Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’ve got you. As long as I’m around, no one touches you.” He protected me, and for a moment, I really thought I’d finally found someone I could rely on. However, when we were practicing at the shooting range later, I stared at him. “Why are you helping me?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because of that mess I left behind.” His eyes flickered for a second before he answered, “Just trust me. That’s all you need to do.” Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. This whole disaster was all one giant setup. And now here I am, gripping a gun, fighting for justice, but am I really avenging myself? Or was I already someone else’s pawn from the very beginning?

Just a moment ago, after nearly bleeding to death, I gave the Rossi family their heir. But my husband, Carter, the Rossi's underboss, let his confidante, Sofia, film me giving birth just because she said she was bored. She captured everything: me losing control of my body, my screams, my face twisted in agony. Afterward, she took screenshots, turned them into memes, and passed them around a private group chat for the family's inner circle. Through the door of my hospital room, I could hear Sofia's wild laughter. "Carter, this is the best entertainment all year. You always know just what I want." "But Sloane's going to throw a fit when she wakes up and sees it." The anesthesia hadn't worn off yet. My eyelids were heavy, and through the haze, I heard Carter's usual, nonchalant tone. "She won't get really mad. You know Sloane. She always does what I tell her." "I'll just have to sweet-talk her a little. Besides, with the heir here now, she wouldn't leave me." My fingers, hidden beneath the silk sheets, clenched into a fist. My mind flooded with everything I had given up for him over the years. Carter had probably forgotten who made him the man who runs these streets. Since you love games so much, I'll play a real one with you. The day I walk away, you will all regret it.

“If you leave this palace tonight, you become prey” Lyra Vale got rejected by her fated mate like yesterday’s trash, hauled into enemy land, and turned into the single most lethal prize a blood-soaked kingdom has ever drooled over. In Dravenhold they don’t chain prisoners. They drape them in silk that costs more than most packs see in a lifetime and call them queen. Kael Draven, the Enemy King, had every reason to slit her throat the second she hit his dirt. Instead he put his mouth to her ear and claimed her protection. Claimed her. Now the whole damn continent whispers the same filthy truth: her blood can make kings. Or drown them. The past won’t stay buried. Rowan, the Alpha who ripped her heart out to “save his people,” creeps back through the shadows with one desperate, cocky demand: come back to me. Stay here and she becomes Kael’s living blade, soaked in power and whatever else he decides to take from her body. Leave, and she lights the match that turns every pack into smoking graves. One man wants her soul to rule with. The other already shattered it and still thinks he deserves the pieces. Lyra’s done being the girl who waits to be chosen. In a world where power gets ripped out of throats, not politely handed over… she isn’t prey anymore. She’s the f*cking throne. And she’s deciding who bleeds for the right to sit on it.