The Chill

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

"Please help me... I'll do anything. I just want my mother to live." I cried, tears streaming down my face in torrents, my body trembling in fear. Kael stared down at me, his glowering eyes devoid of any emotion and a chill ran down my spine. "Anything, you say?" He asked, pointing the edge of his sword against my neck and I stiffened, refusing to breathe. "Anything... " I whispered, my voice small yet resolute. A corner of his lips quirked up, not quite forming a smile. "How about my slave?l ***** “She was supposed to be his captive, not his salvation. When Aira sneaks into forbidden Lycan territory to save her mother, she is caught and thrown at the mercy of the ruthless Lycan King, Kael Drathlor. In a desperate bargain, she trades her freedom for her mother’s life. But as she becomes the king’s unwilling companion, Aira discovers a terrifying truth—Kael is cursed, unable to die, unable to feel the mate bond that should tie them together. As dark forces conspire against them and Kael spirals further into self-destruction, Aira must decide: escape and save herself, or risk everything for the beast who might never love her back. In a world where fate is both a gift and a curse, can she break the chains of destiny before it’s too late?”

While waiting for my husband to pick me up at the parking lot, I came across a trending topic in my city. "How do I deal with an overly-clingy wife?" Amidst a flurry of boastful, lovey-dovey comments, one female username caught my attention. "Just pretend to be incompetent! My childhood friend was forced to marry someone he didn’t love. I gave him the idea to pretend to be directionally-challenged, which he has done for five years now. "When his wife got pregnant, he secretly mixed lubricant into the shower gel, causing her to slip. Then, on the way to the hospital, he pretended to get lost. He deliberately circled the suburbs several times, which led to her miscarriage and now she can't have children anymore." "Coincidentally, today is supposed to be the selection day for her promotion to professor. He offered to drive her to work, but he actually plans to pretend to get lost to make her late so that I can get promoted instead. "When she fails the selection, he’ll use that as a chance to convince her to quit her job, turn her into a useless housewife, and then kick her out!" Reading this suspiciously familiar experience sent a chill down my spine. Before I could ponder further, I heard my husband’s apologetic voice. "Sorry, honey, I got lost. I hope this won't affect your selection."

Inside the tattoo studio, Seth Jones let his fingertips trace the dip of Rita Searle's waist and move slowly up her spine. With a soft rustle, her dress slipped to her ankles. He stood over her, taking in the blood-red rose inked across her chest. They had been married for three years, and this was the anniversary gift he'd be giving her—999 roses tattooed into her skin. A broken sob scraped up Rita's throat. "Seth, it hurts… Please, stop…" Her tears splashed onto the back of his hand, but he only pressed the needle deeper, dragging it along until angry red welts marked her body. "Victor wanted those damn roses so he could give them to another woman, and that led to Tara falling off that cliff and ending up in a vegetative state. I'm just giving him what he wanted. You should be grateful." Lying on the cold tattoo table, Rita felt the chill spreading through her. Her eyes stung, weighed down by grief churning behind them. "Isn't it enough? You bought out Searle Group, you hung Victor over a cliff, and left him for the vultures. What else do you want from us?" Seth grabbed her by the throat and forced her chin up. "And isn't Tara innocent in all this? Rita, you and Victor destroyed her life. Don't you owe her for that?"

“Valerie.” My head snapped up at the sound of my name. The Alpha was standing by the sofa, unbuttoning the neck of his coat. “Come,” he said. “We don’t have much time.” Much time? For what? A chill moved up my arms. I wouldn’t dare ask—not that I needed to. I was not an innocent child anymore. All of my training had been for this moment. There was only one reason why werewolves purchased young, human virgins. Sex. I was a slave. A pet. And my master could do whatever he pleased with me. _________ When the war started. They fought. They slaughtered. We were nearly wiped out on the earth. Surviving humans were classified into three categories: free humans, Servants, and Slaves. My name is Valerie Davis. My parents were accused of committing a crime against the creatures in the war. After their execution, I was captured and sent to the cell as a human slave. I lived in that cell for years before I was transported to a Slave Shop, where I would be picked by a Master. It was during the dry season when I was put in the display box. I wasn't afraid like the other girls, because I was unwanted for my weirdness. I was despised for being the criminals’ daughter. I was lucky, as the masters wouldn’t want to lay a finger on me. But then the Alpha came. When he looked at me, he said he want me. ___________________________ Daily Update!

I gasped, My heart raced as I read the title: Divorce agreement. "Ethan… why?” My voice cracked, tears welled up in my eyes. "I knew things hadn't been going well between us but I think we can still work things out." "It's too late," he whispered, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion. "Celine is back." He blurted out and my heart leaped to my throat as the name sent a chill into my heart. ********************************************* Sonia has put in her best to make her marriage work with her cold and distant, husband, Ethan Adamson whose heart still belongs to his ex-fiancee. She was happy when she found out that she was pregnant, thinking that she would finally succeed in gaining her husband's love when she break the news to him but little did she know that her husband had another plan for her. She planned to surprise her husband with the news on the night of their anniversary but her husband came back home and threw a divorce paper at her, stating that his ex is back. She was shattered and heartbroken. She is aware of the fact that he didn't love her but she wasn't expecting him to throw away their three years together because of his ex who cheated on him. Five years later, she resurfaced as a renowned business owner and came to London with her son for a short business trip but Ethan would go to heaven and hell to get her back into his arms. Would she accept him back?

"I like her," I said as I sat across from my mother unable to keep the frustration from boiling over. "Like who?" "Callie," I admitted, my chest tightening as I said her name. Her expression froze for a moment before she set the papers aside and leaned forward. "You’re joking, right? Callie is your brother’s girlfriend." "I don’t care," I snapped. "I can’t stand seeing him with her. She should be mine, and I’m not going to just sit back and watch them together." "Well, well. This is interesting." She sat back, steepling her fingers. "You really want her all to yourself?" "More than anything," I confessed. A slow smile crept across her face, and it sent a chill down my spine. "Don’t worry. I have a plan.” Whatever she had in mind, I knew it wouldn’t be simple. But if it meant having Callie… I was willing to do whatever it took. **************** Callie was given a choice by her new boss: either lose her job or act as his escort for his family’s Christmas and New Year celebrations, pretending to be his girlfriend. Left with no other option, she reluctantly agrees to be his escort but what she doesn’t realize is that she’s walking straight into a trap. Dive into a story of love, betrayal, romance, suspense, and a Christmas miracle. Second Chances Under the Tree is a gripping and intriguing read that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page.

HIGHLY RATED(18+) Author's warnings: THIS BOOK MAY CONTAIN HIGHLY SEXUAL CONTENT, ABUSE, ILLEGAL ACTIONS AND DEATH. IF YOU CANT WITHSTAND ANY OF THIS MENTIONED ABOVE, KINDLY PASS BECAUSE IT'S NOT FOR SOFT-HEARTED. ------------------------------ "I own this hotel, so don't ask. But I did enjoy your moan last night, and you will be rewarded for putting up with my brother that night." Leonardo stated, placing one hand on the wall and leaning down to her eye level. "What do you want from me?" Isabella's voice quivered with fear as she inquired. "Isn't it obvious Isabella?" he asked before continuing. "Your pussy plumpkin," he stated confidently. "What more can I request, if not for those wet, silky partings right between your thighs?" He smirked, sending a chill down her spine. He leans close to her face, just an inch away. “Can you be able to give that to me, plumpkin?" He asked cockily, staring at her with hunger, as if he yearned for her intensely. Of course, his whole body system was burning for her, but despite his overwhelming desire, he restrained himself, maintaining boundaries cause he wouldn’t want to forcefully take advantage of her. He aimed to make her crave him and beg to have him, and once he had her beneath him, with his cock thrusting deep into her sweet, tiny little hole, he would make sure to dominate her completely, breaking her and leaving her shattered at his will.

Late one night after getting off work, I was scrolling through my company group chat when a colleague shared a piece of news. The headline was horrifying. "Night-Shift Courier Murdered During Delivery, Police Suspect Robbery." I zoomed in on the crime scene photo that had been partially pixelated, and a chill ran straight down my spine. Lying in a pool of blood, the courier who had been hacked to death was unmistakably me. I had scrolled into news of my own death. Almost at the same time, my delivery app began vibrating violently. "Urgent pickup! Destination: Unit 704 Hawthorne Ridge Apartments, Building 7. Time limit: 15 minutes. Penalty for timeout: Death." As I stared at the notification that read "Pickup failed three times", the searing pain of my brutal death surged through my body. So that was it. I had already died three times. When I forced open the half-closed security door of 704 for the fourth time, a thin delivery envelope lay quietly inside. I tore it open. A photograph slipped out. It was a picture of my dismembered body. The timestamp showed tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. On the back was a single line written in fresh blood: "Next time, remember to pick it up on time." At that moment, the red indicator light on the hallway surveillance camera suddenly went dark. I looked up. From the ventilation opening in the exact same spot, a single eye was staring straight at me. The mole at the corner of that eye was identical to mine.