The Collectors

A forced marriage. A ruthless CEO. And a contract that could ruin—or rescue—her heart. Ayla Morgan thought losing her father was the worst thing that could happen. She was wrong. Within weeks, her family restaurant is seized by debt collectors, her stepmother kicks her to the curb, and her arrogant CEO fires her in front of everyone over a petty mistake. With nothing left but humiliation and bills, Ayla is forced into a blind date arranged by her greedy family… and accidentally ruins the wrong one. That “wrong date”? Damon Cross. Her ex-boss. The coldest man she’s ever met—richer than sin and twice as dangerous. But instead of being furious, Damon makes her a shocking offer: Marry me. Three years. No feelings. No questions. In return, I’ll pay your family’s debt and give you your life back. To him, it’s just a contract. To her, it’s a lifeline. Living under the same roof, working as his personal secretary, Ayla swears she’ll never fall for a man who sees love as weakness. But behind Damon’s icy exterior hides a broken man forced to marry by his dying grandfather—and a loneliness that mirrors her own. As enemies become reluctant allies and fake kisses turn real, Ayla finds herself questioning everything. What happens when the contract ends… but her heart doesn’t? And will Damon let go of control long enough to realize that love might be his only salvation?

This is a diary of dark, depraved thoughts. Turn the page if you dare. *** *** She’s a secret erotic artist. Behind closed doors, she sketches the same man over and over again—filthy, dangerous, and forbidden. Then she sells the drawings to the black market to pay for her mother’s medical bills and her sister’s college tuition. It should be simple. Except the man in those drawings isn’t a stranger. He’s Dominic—her father’s best friend. Every sinful stroke of her brush chips away at her innocence and poisons her love life. Every relationship she tries to build ends the same way—ruined by a man who doesn’t even know she’s obsessed with him. Until the night everything goes wrong. She wants to stop, wants a fairytale love life, but she owes her anonymous collectors one more portrait. Determined to make one final drawing of her darkest fantasy, she locks herself in her studio… only for Dominic to walk in and see the explicit portraits displayed across her walls. Her secret should destroy her. Instead, Dominic makes her a far more dangerous deal. For 365 days, she’ll work for him as his obedient secretary—and in return, he’ll keep her scandalous secret buried. But the closer she gets to the man she’s spent years drawing in the dark, the harder it becomes to remember one thing: Some fantasies should never come to life.

Ivy Cruz is broke, desperate, and out of options. With debt collectors closing in and her brother fighting for his life in a hospital bed, she has no choice but to accept a dangerous deal from the gangster she owes everything to. His demand? Pretend to be the wife of Damon Williams—a cold, ruthless billionaire who was believed to have died in a fire. The offer is impossible to resist. If she plays the part, Ivy can take whatever she wants from Damon, enough to pay off her debts and save her brother. Refusing means certain death at the gangster’s hands. But what Ivy never expected… is that Damon would believe her. Two years ago, Damon lost his wife, Selena, in the fire. Her body was never found. Now Ivy stands before him—identical in every way, down to the secret birthmark only he ever knew. Dragged into a dangerous lie, Ivy becomes the shadow of a woman she never met. Damon, consumed by grief and obsession, is convinced fate has returned his wife to him—and he will never let her go. As Ivy steps deeper into his dark, possessive world, she can’t shake the guilt of living another woman’s life. But with secrets about the fire beginning to unravel, one question burns hotter than the rest: What really happened the night Selena died? And when Damon discovers the truth, will Ivy survive his wrath… or his love? Because when love rises from ashes—it can either heal or burn everything to the ground.

"I thought you were my savior. I didn't know you were the one who set the fire." The day the debt collectors came for my family, I couldn’t even scream. My voice has always been a prisoner of my anxiety, leaving me defenseless in a world of wolves. Then came Ignatius. My brother’s best friend. A man with the face of a saint and the wealth of a king. He didn't just save me; he bought my world. He paid the debts, moved me into his palatial estate, and whispered that I was finally safe. For the first time, I felt the warmth of a "hero." I gave him my trust. I almost gave him my heart. But a saint doesn't keep cameras in your bedroom. The crushing realization hit harder than any blow from a collector: Ignatius didn't buy my debt—he created it. He paid the men who terrified my mother. He orchestrated the ruin of my brother. Every tear I shed was a calculated investment in my total dependence on him. He didn’t want a lover; he wanted a broken pet. Now, the "Saint" has dropped his mask. Ignatius thinks because I am mute, I am powerless. He thinks because I am fragile, I am his. He’s wrong. If Ignatius wants to play the Predator, I’ll find a bigger one. His father, Cane—the cold, ruthless patriarch of the empire—is the only man Ignatius fears. I’m moving from the guest room to the master suite. I’m going to tear this family apart from the inside out, one forbidden dinner at a time. Ignatius ruined my life to own me. Now, I’m going to make sure the debt he owes me costs him everything.

My daughter was born with silver poisoning in her blood—passed down from me—which made it hard for her to sense her wolf, and even harder for her to shift. I worked tirelessly, taking on every job I could, to earn enough money to find a cure for her. One night during a late shift, I saw her. My daughter, dressed like a princess in an elegant, Silverlight-woven gown, sat at a table in a high-end restaurant. With her was my mate—supposedly bedridden and paralyzed—wearing a tailored haute couture suit. Across the table sat the famous she-wolf of our pack, the daughter of a respected elder. They had ordered a lavish dinner, the bill totaling over $500,000. After the meal, I overheard my mate ask our daughter, “You remember how to tell the story, right?” She nodded and replied, “Yes. I’ll tell Mom we were working as werewolf junk collectors all night, collecting waste paper crates, and in the end, we only earned enough to buy half a loaf of bread.” My mate smiled, pleased with the answer. The she-wolf then gifted my daughter an entire collection of newly released moonstone jewelry. Before they left, my mate tipped each waitress $5,000. I stood frozen, tears falling as the truth shattered my heart: my mate—and even my beloved daughter—had been lying to me. Even in dormancy, my wolf mourned. A colleague saw me crying and asked what was wrong. I forced a smile and said, “I’m just happy. I got $5,000 tonight. It would’ve been even better… if it hadn’t come from my mate, the one who’s supposed to be paralyzed and lying in bed.” No one knew what I had sacrificed to be his mate. I waited for an apology. But it never came. So I made my decision. I called my father—the one who had been waiting all these years for me to return as his heir. When I disappeared from their lives, just as they had always secretly wished... That’s when they finally began searching for me across the world.