Softly

[MATURE CONTENTS, NO RAPE, VIOLENCE, DARK] She didn't realize she was slowly falling deeply for the handsome billionaire who always hid in the shadows, shrouded in darkness and mystery. Despite the blaring alarm in her head screaming 'danger alert,' she just had to trust him. But he wasn’t just a wealthy heartthrob; he was a bad boy with sinister intentions. He became her weapon for revenge, an addiction that transformed her into a villain. (EXTRACT) Eamon's gaze flicked to the name tag on her uniform, which read "Mia." He smirked, clearly aware of the deception. "Heather, do you think you can save your life from me in a hospital?" he teased. "Well, if... if you're a disease," Heather retorted, trying to regain some semblance of control. Eamon chuckled softly, a chilling sound. "Sure I am. A terminal one." "Anyway, Mr. Eamon, sorry for taking things the wrong way this morning. Perhaps you thought I was mocking your blindness by saying you changed my clothes," she said sincerely. "It's alright," Eamon replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I saw everything though." Heather blinked in confusion. "Huh? But... you're blind. How can you see everything like you claimed?" Eamon's smile widened, and he leaned in slightly. "Let me tell you a secret then, Ms Heather," he said, removing his dark lenses to reveal a set of emerald green eyes. "You have a fading tattoo 'A & H' on your left waist and a tiny black dotty mole underneath your right breast," Eamon said, his voice low and intimate. Heather: "...." Eamon's eyes bore into hers, a predatory glint in them. "You can't hide from me, Heather. Not in a hospital, not anywhere."

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

Ever since I started at the Brooklyn Enquirer as a journalist, I've been reporting on stories nobody cares about. But the other day, I found a story that I was sure the audience would sink their teeth into. One that was front-page worthy and would make our newspaper infamous. Except it centers around a mafia boss and his bloodthirsty brothers.  It won't be easy to get it, but I'm determined to prove my worth. And it starts with Darick Dawson. My heart fluttered as we gazed into each other's eyes. At the same time, we leaned forward, and our lips touched. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he stroked his fingers through my hair, pulling at the roots softly, earning a moan from me. He traced his finger around my lips when suddenly, I opened my eyes and noticed the red in his irises getting darker. My Bloodthirsty Mafia Man is written by Claire Wilkins, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author

"Who the hell are you?!" yelled Rachel Clarke (28) when she woke up in the morning to find herself all naked with a man snoring softly beside her. "I'm your future husband, have you forgotten what happened last night?" said the man beside her with his eyes half-closed. Since that day, Rachel's life has changed 180 degrees. Suddenly she had to marry a young, self-made billionaire named Nicholas Anthony just because of a ridiculous agreement she signed when she was drunk.

My best friend and I had been abducted by the Pendragon brothers—a duo consisting of a religious CEO and a top-billed movie star. We became their secret lovers against our will. "I'm pregnant, Lilith," my best friend said, tears glistening in her eyes. "Me too, Lindsay," I replied softly, caressing my belly. "But I won't go through with it." The brothers heard us. Their control tightened. They watched us during mealtimes, while we slept, and even during our bathroom breaks. We could not endure it any longer, so we fought back. In their anger, the brothers kept mistresses who resembled us. We thought we were free until one day, they found us. They called us homewreckers and hurled insults at us. They broke into our house, scarred our faces, broke our legs, and kicked us until we miscarried. It did not matter how much we tried to explain ourselves. They removed our clothes and paraded us in the street. Finally, the Pendragons arrived. They raised their marriage certificates and declared, "Lilith and Lindsay are our wives!"

Please..." she gasped weakly, her hands now powerless to push him away. "Why... why are you doing this?" Vladimiros didn’t answer. He continued to drain her, savoring every drop. But then, as suddenly as it began, he pulled away. Freya let out a strangled gasp, barely able to breathe as she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. "Why..." she whispered, barely audible, before her vision went black. Vladimiros smiled down at her, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Wow..." he murmured softly, his tone full of admiration. "I’ve never tasted werewolf blood so good."

She moaned softly beneath him, her body arching, craving his touch, even as her mind screamed that this was wrong. “Please, stop. I don’t want this,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. Aurora, eldest daughter of the Alpha of North Pack, was in the one place she should never be—entangled with her sworn enemy, Alpha Hunter, the ruthless Alpha of the Dark blood pack. She tried to rise, her instincts screaming for escape, but Hunter pinned her down with ease. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto hers as he growled, “Did I say you could leave?” His gaze was as dangerous as it was captivating, and his hands roamed over her body, igniting sensations she couldn’t control. Her body betrayed her, writhing under his touch. Hunter leaned closer, his lips hovering just a breath away. Aurora turned her head sharply, refusing him, her heart pounding in defiance. He caught her chin with a firm grip, forcing her to face him. “I’m warning you,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “Don’t you dare defy me.” His strong arms enveloped her as she struggled against him, her voice rising in desperation. “This is wrong! Stop it! We can’t do this. You’re my enemy—my pack’s enemy!” A dark chuckle escaped his lips, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered arrogantly, “Oh, my sweet little Aurora. Have you forgotten? You’re my mate.” His laughter echoed through the room, a mix of menace and triumph. Aurora’s breath hitched as his words sank in, each one more impossible than the last. What will happen when enemies turned into destined mates and rejection is not an option?

Diego strolled into his apartment, his heels clinking softly against the marble floor. He tossed his blonde wig on the couch, and his soft fingers propelled forward to count the dollar bills in his hands. “You're out crossdressing again?” His uncle, Roberto, a tall imposing figure with gray streaks on his hair walked into the room. “I might just have the perfect job for you,” Roberto chuckled softly and tossed a gun at Diego. “What?!” Diego's breath hitched in his throat as he swallowed the weight of the mission his uncle proposed. Cross dressing was one thing that Diego did with ease. There was no way he could do what his uncle requested; assassinating the infamous mafia lord of the Rocco empire. He stood in front of a mirror, holding the gun that Roberto had handed to him. There was no way that this soft and delicate hand could pull a trigger. Diego didn't expect that the mafia lord he was set up against was going to be a man who'll make his heart flutter. He tried to resist, bracing himself to complete his mission. But things only got heated when he found himself “entangled in the rival's hold.”