The Player That Cant Level Up Novels & Stories

Casanova, bad boy, innovator, heartless man, perfectionist... Aryan Kapoor was called many things. Success followed him and girls chased him, thanks to the heady mix of his brilliant mind, devilish charm and hunky body. Love, commitment and happily ever after... These were not meant for him. He learnt this bitter truth seven years ago from Chandni, his supposed soulmate. He felt nothing but hatred towards Chandni now. He has moved on. Then why is he still haunted by the romantic moments and passionate nights he shared with Chandni? And why has she come back to ruin his life again, after seven years? That too as the Co Owner and CEO of the company that he successfully built with his hard work and innovation. As they stood facing each other, it was hard to define the feelings on Aryan and Chandni's faces. Hatred? Loathing? A Sense of Betrayal? Or was there somewhere a suppressed feeling of a love that lasted... Despite everything.

What happens when someone stranger saves you from the goons but he makes love to you the same night? And what happens when you commit a "mistake" with a stranger.. being already engaged?Caroline is getting married to Harry that her parents choose for her. One fine day, She met Austin during her best friend’s wedding in New york. From that day her entire life took a U-turn. Accidently due to certain circumstances she ends up spending the night with Austin who saved her from a few men who tried to rape he.r. What will be the consequences of that one mistake?

I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob. Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro. His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally. Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl. Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything." Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around." Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?" Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it." Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things. This time, I was tired. I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else? I said: No. It's all handled. What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family. The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.

She was the price of a debt. He was the punishment she never saw coming. When Piper’s family business crumbles under the weight of betrayal, her father strikes a deal with billionaire Rowan Archer—one that comes with a chilling price: Piper’s hand in marriage. Rowan doesn’t believe in love. And Piper has no intention of playing the obedient bride. In a mansion that feels more like a prison and a marriage built on control, Piper must either fight the man who owns her freedom or risk falling for the one she swore to hate. The contract was only the beginning. What’s brewing between them could burn them both.

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*

Love that heals is a story set in the city with Rich and classy teenagers, main plot is based off a rich girl who is greatly admired faces backlash, betrayal, and family disputed which leads to her opening up her wounds and vulnerability, seeking true love, she will meet an unexpected fellow (male lead) who teaches her things she never knew about herself, together they discover the mystery of the person behind her backlashes. Fall in love eventually and heal from their traumas. But that doesn't make them the one for each other, they depart, but will fate bring them together or will they use the lessons taught to project into their future relationships?

I used to live my life believing that there was something corrupted within me. I had never felt comfortable walking in the searing, bright daylight. It felt as if I didn't belong there. Is that why I felt this sudden attraction to a man who seemed to be the embodiment of darkness? Ashtar Malachious resembled the sum of my sexual fantasies. The shades surrounding him were like a captivating essence. Others called him the predator, the fallen, or the death. I knew that, but my eyes saw him differently. He saved my life in more than a literal way. He seduced me, slowly enticing all my senses. He showed me what a touch could feel like. He let me taste the pleasure I had never thought existed. The one thing he wanted from me was my blood. I knew that if I gave it to him, it would be along with my body, heart, and soul. His irresistible aura blinded me to the dangers that surrounded me. Like a moth to the flame, I stepped closer until the hellfire licked my flesh. Then the wicked flames revealed the cruelest truth—this love kills. In the end, one of us will die.

Father Khatri is a man of God, truly and wholly, he's given his life to loving God and spreading his word until Matthew McPherson walks through the crumbling doors of his old church. Beautiful and achingly pure, Matthew is a temptation Khatri can't banish, no matter how many prayers he chokes out, or how tightly he grips his crucifix. When the boy's family summons him for an exorcism, Khatri goes, armed with holy water and a weak resolve, only to find such temptation even the strongest of minds couldn't resist. What starts as an exorcism unravels into a collision of guilt and lust, as the priest vows crumble in the face of a sin too delicious to resist. In a town that fears the devil, the true possession is the one tying their souls together....and it's a bond no rite can break.

“Do you mean you are a virgin?” “Yes,” “Yes what?” “I.am.a.virgin.” I said holding a tendril of my hair shyly. “One week.” “For?” “I give you one week to come to terms with all these. After one week, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you, dear wife.” *** Trapped in a royal betrothal, Zara hates Zack. Zack loathes Zara. Thus, they won't consummate the marriage or follow any sort of tradition. To punish them, the Queen sends them on a journey to Island Formentera. However, a shipwreck leaves them stranded— stuck with each other. Will they go home and face the enemies of the royal household together? Or be swallowed by each other's pride?

My sister-in-law, Alicia, insisted that her son was a chosen fighter, blessed by God and immune to harm. The truth was far darker: every injury meant for him was being transferred onto my daughter. His congenital heart disease disappeared overnight. While most children his age were still carefully protected, he was already taking part in extreme sports and never suffered so much as a scratch. Meanwhile, my once-healthy daughter weakened day by day. She began to suffer unexplained fractures throughout her body. There was not a single place left uninjured. It was impossible not to see the connection. When I voiced my suspicions to my husband, Jeff Charlton, and my mother-in-law, Kelly Freeman, they dismissed me as delusional. They accused me of being jealous that Alicia had given birth to a prodigy, while I had nothing but a "worthless" daughter. Later, Alicia's son completed a trek across the Saharain Desert and became an overnight sensation, a child star adored by millions. At the same time, my daughter suddenly collapsed from heatstroke and died without warning. Alicia went live on her platform, accusing me of making false claims out of envy. Her followers believed every word. They hunted me down and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment Alicia first proclaimed her son a miracle child. This time, I was no longer a powerless mother. As a specialist doctor, I calmly pulled on my gloves. "Alicia," I said with a smile, "Let me examine my nephew and see if he's truly cured."