Then We Held Hands

My boyfriend, Vincent, was behind the wheel when he tragically struck and killed Lycan Aaron's girlfriend. Driven by love, I made the fateful decision to shoulder the blame on his behalf. But I never thought that Lycan Aaron was my mate. Vincent betrayed me, and Aaron, consumed by a vengeful fire, held me captive in his clutches. ** Lying on Aaron's bed, I could feel the warmth and desire of his body. "When will you release me, Lycan Aaron?" I whispered, my voice laden with longing and uncertainty. "Do not entertain thoughts of escape, Olive. For if you dare, the consequences will be more agonizing than death itself," Aaron murmured softly into my ear as we surrendered to sleep, his words lingering in the air like an ominous but sweet melody.

There is nothing more embarrassing than approaching a man with a marriage proposal while you're still intoxicated! Chelsea Leigh Garcia is a young woman who got wasted in a well-known club and ended up as the bride/personal maid of a well-known CEO of a huge company, but he is also a pervert who is continuously teasing her. Will the course of his life change forever in the hands of Red Chandler Buenavista? But what if there are a lot of challenges they need to overcome to prove their undying love for each other? Make sure to fasten your seatbelts because we are about to witness the rollercoaster life of Chelsea Leigh Garcia and Red Chandler Buenavista.

"Do you feel it coming alive?" he whispered. His hand holding mine on his bulge. "If anyone sees us—" I stuttered. We weren’t alone in the house. "If you agree to be my good little stepsister—they’ll treat you with respect too." His dark eyes held a wicked amusement that sent a shiver down my spine. "I know you had a crush on me." "I—I didn’t know you were my stepbrother," I tried to explain, but he silenced me with a finger to my lips. That touch! That gentle press of dominance. It was dangerous. It was temptation itself. "Then no one has to know our dirty little secret." His voice was a trap, laced with seduction. "Be my stepsister by day… and my whore by night." I had thought I was inching toward freedom. That escape was just within reach. But the noose had been tightening all along. And this time, it wasn’t fate or circumstance pulling it tight. It was the hands of my own stepbrothers. .. Lavender wanted a normal life—one where she was respected for who she was, not judged for being born from rape. But everything changed when she helped a wounded stranger– and unknowingly walked into the world of the mafia. She thought she could escape the ruthless mafia boss she saved—until she found herself in his mansion, introduced as his stepsister. When her mother made her meet her new family, Lavender’s world shattered. How could she tell her mother that her soon-to-be stepbrothers were mafia bosses, who saw her as nothing more than a pawn? Lavender is left with two choices: fight back or submit to her stepbrothers' control. But can she escape the grip of the mafia? But how can one ever escape the mafia?

His hot breath fanned my ear and I nearly died the moment the straps of my dress fell away. Revealing a part of myself that left me vulnerable to his hungry gaze that moved over me. I pride myself on decency, to always be appropriate but the way he clenched his jaw and ran his large hands on my thighs made me go. . . to hell with decency. Reaching out, the need to touch him no longer bearable, I traced the outline of his torso through the fabric of his shirt. But even that wasn't enough as my hands moved underneath the fabric to trace the muscles there. He shifted slightly away triggering a fear in me that I had done something wrong. However, the fear diminished when he removed the fabric- granting my eyes the chance to feast on seeing more of his skin. He moved forward peppering light kisses all over my neck and torso only to latch onto my nipple tugging gently on the hard nub. I cried out at the movement of his teeth and tongue as his hands kept me close hindering any chance to reduce the contact to damn near impossible. Reducing the contact was the last thing I wanted, especially considering how far we had come. . .

Edward and I held our engagement party in Las Vegas. Everything seemed perfect—until someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. One of Edward's female coworkers looked me straight in the eye. "I am pregnant. It is your fiancé's baby." Laughter burst out around us. Everyone thought it was a joke—except Edward. After the trip, we returned home. He looked uneasy. "I'm the father of Juliet's baby," he admitted. "Don't overthink it. We were on a business trip and got too drunk with a client. We accidentally spent the night together. "She is from a British aristocratic family. Reputation matters a lot to her. She will never marry me. She only wants to have the baby and raise it alone." "So what are you saying?" I asked. "I am the father. I have to take responsibility. I will stay in the apartment I rented for her and take care of her pregnancy on weekdays, and come home on weekends. "Our wedding will be delayed. We will get married after the baby is borned." I gave a small smile. So he had it all planned out. He was just here to inform me. He let out a sigh of relief, picked up his Rimowa suitcase, and walked out without looking back. I wiped the tears off my face and began packing away all the memories of our relationship. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. The voice on the other end sounded messy and emotional. "Margot, I freaking love you. Don't marry him. Marry me instead." I froze for a second, then replied, "Okay."

For five years, I was married to Joshua Grayson. He was known as the gentleman of the tech industry and was never arrogant. In fact, he was always cool and collected. A shame we never had any children of our own. I asked every single doctor I could get my hands on, but nothing helped. For that, I kept beating myself up. Joshua told me that it was fine if we had no children, and that what mattered was that our souls were perfect for each other. We did not need any children to secure our bonds. I believed him. And then I found an unsealed box of Plan B in a secret space in his study. It looked exactly the same as the vitamin tablets he fed me all the time. A phone sat under the box. The screen was a photo of him with his top secretary, Yvonne Wellington. It was a family of three. Then, a message popped up on the screen. 'Our girl's born, Joshua! Haven't thought of her full name yet, so we'll call her Cece for now.' 'Oh, right, you fed your wife contraceptives for five years. Now that we have a perfect family, you should kick her out and make me your wife instead. When's that going to happen?' The message hit me like a lightning bolt that came out of nowhere. To think I wasted five years beating myself up for never getting a baby. To think I looked forward to one. And now, everything was crumbling around me.

Tommy lunges for my face and bombards me with his mouth. His hands are everywhere and I can feel his erection against my hip. Don’t get me wrong, Tommy gets me hot. I usually end up not minding the things we do, but he is just so damn aggressive. I try to push him off to at least get some air, but he slams my back against the door and pushes his body into me harder. My head slams into the door and I see stars for a second. ********************************** Ryan has had the biggest crush on Carter Moore since her first day of middle school. Now a junior in high school, she not only sees him every day, but sits next to him in Band. Suddenly, Carter asks her out. The two begin dating, but Ryan's past brutality at the hands of her ex-boyfriend, Tommy, threatens to tear them apart, especially with Tommy's sentencing hearing coming up.

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.

My husband's gym was celebrating its grand opening, so I grabbed my best friend and headed over under the guise of "checking the place out," armed with a $10 trial class we had snagged from a group deal. I never once mentioned that I was the owner's wife. The moment we wrapped up the workout, a female trainer slapped a price sheet into our hands and gave us a look that could cut glass. "Let me guess, you two came here to milk the freebies? Our private training sessions cost hundreds. They're not here for people like you to exploit." I let out a disbelieving laugh. "We bought a perfectly valid trial class. How does that make us freeloaders? Get your manager." She rolled her eyes, acting like she was the rules. "Call whoever you want! The owner is my boyfriend, and he can't stand penny-pinchers who show up trying to mooch off his gym." Then, right in front of us, she called him—voice raised, dramatic, dripping with fake indignation. "Babe, there are two cheapskates in your gym demanding the manager. Come deal with them for me!"

“Just stay married to me for three years. After that, we divorce. In return, I’ll help you destroy your husband and the woman who took your child.” I agreed. Not because I was weak. But because I survived. I was once a devoted wife. Obedient. Loyal. Pregnant with a child I believed would save my marriage. Then his first love returned, and everything I trusted turned to blood and betrayal. We were rushed to the same hospital. I was bleeding. She was crying in his arms. There was only one operating room left. He chose her. He wheeled his mistress, his first love, into surgery and left me behind to miscarry alone. I lost my baby on a cold hospital bed while my husband held another woman’s hand. I divorced him. But some wounds do not heal. They sharpen. Now I have a contract marriage, a man with no love to give, and a plan written in patience and pain. I will take everything my ex-husband values, piece by piece, and make him beg for what he threw away. Forgiveness is for the dead. And I am very much alive. Watch out, husband. I will ruin you.