Smug Expression

“Emily,” Olivia Carter said, covering her bruised cheek with a mocking smile, “but the son of that family… he’s in a vegetative state. Been like that for three years. You really want to marry him?” Emily’s expression didn’t change. She simply smiled faintly. “I’ll marry him,” she said firmly. Her voice was calm, resolute, unshaken. Marrying a normal man might have been intimidating. But a vegetative man? Didn’t that mean she was practically not married at all? What could a man in a coma do to her? “Emily, think carefully. If you agree, I’ll contact the family and arrange a meeting tomorrow,” Victoria said, cautious now. “Fine,” Emily nodded. “Once the marriage certificate is ready, I’ll personally come to collect the money. Emily Carter never imagined that a single marriage contract could change her life overnight. Forced to wed a comatose billionaire to save her mother, she steps into a world of unimaginable wealth, ruthless family politics, and secrets that could destroy her. But when Kellan Scott suddenly wakes from his coma—and asks for a divorce—Emily’s carefully balanced life shatters.

The night of our engagement party, I found my best friend playing a dangerous game with my fiancé. The casino on our family's private yacht was where I found them. Clara was sitting on the lap of my fiancé, Killian, the Falcone family heir. Killian held a sharp family dagger, its tip snagging the thin strap of her dress. The blade traced a path along her collarbone. The slightest pressure would snap the silk. It was a dangerous, intimate scene. I stepped forward with a frown, but Killian just scoffed. "It's just a little game to liven things up, Principessa. Don't be so tense." Clara's eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "We're just playing a traditional family game. The knife game. You don't mind, do you, sweetie?" I was about to speak, but Killian's expression hardened. "We just got engaged and you're already trying to control me?" So I said nothing. I just drew my custom pistol from its holster on my thigh. "So, it's a game," I said. "Then let's play for something real."

I took time off work and flew out to be my best friend's maid of honor. The moment my plane landed, she picked me up and took me straight to the hotel. Not long after we got to the room, she handed me a shopping bag. Inside was the newest phone on the market, a bottle of luxury perfume, and a check for ten thousand dollars. She said with a bright, excited smile, "It's your bridesmaid gift. Even if I'm getting married, you're still the most important person in my life." My eyes filled with tears right there. The next morning, I woke up before sunrise. I put on my bridesmaid dress and went to find her. She was sitting in front of the vanity mirror. Stylists were moving around her, busy with her hair and makeup. When she saw me, she turned with a huge smile and waved me over, her face glowing with excitement. But the moment I stepped closer, her expression changed. It was like she had just seen something disgusting. "Get out." Her voice was low, but the disgust in it was clear. "Disappear from my sight. Right now." I froze where I stood.

At the dinner table, my mother-in-law slid a contract across to me, right in front of more than 20 relatives. "Just sign it," she said lightly. "Consider it a favor to me." I looked down. A home mortgage agreement for 150,000 dollars. Across from me, my husband's younger brother, Jim Canfield, watched with a grin. Beside him, my husband's eldest sister, Cindy Canfield, urged impatiently, saying, "Shirley, what are you waiting for? Just sign it." I said I needed to go home and talk it over with Howard Canfield first. My mother-in-law's expression darkened. "What? You can't even make this decision for your own marriage?" That night, I did not sign anything. Later, she sent a three-minute voice message in the family group chat, accusing me of being childish, ungrateful, and heartless. More than 70 replies followed—not a single one in my defense. A month later, I came home from work to find three men waiting at my door, there to seize the house. I pulled out my phone and checked the property registry. The record was clear. [Mortgaged. 150,000 dollars.]

After being condemned across the internet for plagiarism, I stood before everyone and announced my retirement from writing. My boyfriend, Carter Xavier, who had been furiously accusing me just moments ago, froze in shock. “What are you doing? Don’t you still have debts to pay?” Ruby Quinn—his precious and the so-called victim of this scandal—immediately panicked. “Vera, you don’t have to punish yourself like this. I’m willing to give you a chance to start over.” I remained firm, my expression cold and unmoving as camera flashes exploded around me. In my past life, these two had humiliated me, plotting together behind my back to steal my work. My painstaking efforts had built Ruby’s reputation as a so-called genius author. But not this time. Without hesitation, I deleted the pen name I had used for the past six years. I had spent enough time struggling in a cramped rental apartment. It was time to return home and claim my family inheritance. As for Ruby Quinn— Let’s see how you finish the rest of that stolen manuscript without me.

Dans l'écrin feutré d'un appartement qui devient leur sanctuaire, se joue chaque soir le rituel sacré d'Élise et de Julien. Elle est "la Soumise", lui est "le Maître". Leur relation, régie par un contrat tacite de confiance absolue, se nourrit de jeux de pouvoir érotiques où le cuir, la laisse et la lanière sont les outils d'une communication intense et charnelle. Au-delà des marques laissées sur la peau, c'est une âme qu'ils sculptent à deux. Le parcours, semé de découvertes, de défis et de doutes, les mènera à transcender leur simple jeu de rôles pour atteindre une fusion amoureuse totale, où la soumission n'est plus une contrainte mais l'expression la plus pure de leur amour et de leur liberté partagée, trouvant ainsi leur "heureuse fin" dans un équilibre parfait et une complicité indéfectible.

On the seventh year since Winter Lidell's father was diagnosed with a deadly heart disease, he's finally eligible for a suitable heart meant for the transplant procedure. On the night before the surgery, Winter's husband of seven years, Liam Jager, requests that she give the heart to his mistress, Regina Baile. Liam still looks tall and handsome as ever, but the cold and aloof expression on his face is something that Winter has never seen before. "Winnie." His voice is emotionless. "Regina's condition is deteriorating rapidly." Winter feels her heart sinking the moment she hears her nickname being uttered coldly. She takes half a step backward instinctively, feeling a premonition looming over her. "She needs a heart transplant." Liam's gaze is fixed on Winnie, his tone carrying a hint of absolute decisiveness. "Right. Now." Every word feels like a blade made of ice cutting into Winnie's heart, where hope is starting to flare. Winnie's voice quivers violently, her words coming out fragmented and broken. "What… are you talking about, Liam? My dad… My dad has been waiting for this heart for seven years!"

My dad’s crush came back, and my mom decided to fake her death. “Jane, I’m the main character of a tragic story. If I don’t fake my death now, I’ll end up miserable. “Go tell your dad that Quiana killed me.” In my past life, I had done exactly as she said. My dad had flown into a rage and destroyed the Sullivan family. After that, my mom returned to the land of the living. I thought our family would finally be whole again. Instead, she clung to Dad and cried. “I gave Jane my contact information. How could she say I was dead?” To punish me, my dad locked me in a cold storage room. My mom shot me a cold look. “That’s what you get for calling that woman pretty.” In the cold storage room, at −58°F, I froze to death. When I opened my eyes again, my mom had already faked her death and ran off with her devoted admirer. I looked at my dad and asked with an innocent expression, “Dad, what does eloping mean?”

I was the pack's chief healer and my mate was just an ordinary warrior. Everyone thought we were not a good match, but I didn't mind. I accepted his proposal without hesitation. But on my mating ceremony, my mate's ex-girlfriend Serena suddenly came in with a little boy. The little boy hugged Marcus' legs and called him daddy. I thought it was some kind of scam. But when Marcus saw the child's mother, his face went pale. Then he showed an expression I'd never seen before—pure adoration—as he scooped the boy into his arms. "Let's cancel our mating ceremony. I need to mark Serena first and raise the child with her. Don't worry. Even though I'm marking Serena, my heart belongs to you." He thought I loved him so much that I chose to be his second mate. He didn't expect that I would just calmly contact my childhood friend Alpha Dominic. "My mating ceremony is all set up, but I'm missing a male lead. Would you be willing to come mark me?"

Caleb Larson used to be the most insignificant member among my subordinates. That was, until he blocked a stab meant for me. That blade was 0.4 inches away from plunging right into his heart. After that, I insisted on marrying Caleb regardless of my family's objections. Since then, everyone thinks that I, the spoiled and wilful heiress to a gang, have gotten married out of love. Two years later, however, a woman seeks me out. "Are you Quinn Stewart?" she asks. She waves the gold bracelet that has the initials "CS" engraved on it. "Cal no longer loves you. He tells me that he feels nauseous whenever he sees your face. You'd better pack up and leave the Stewart family if you still have any sense left in you." I blow the steam away from my coffee cup. Not even the woman's pained screams are capable of making me frown in the slightest. But when Caleb personally rushes over and demands to know why I've chosen to beat Selene up to the point her face gets disfigured, my expression changes instantly. "Everything is over between us, Caleb!"