This Is A Work Of Fiction Novels & Stories

In the Sinclair pack, I had always been different. Years ago, my grandfather saved the Elder’s life. To repay that debt, the Elder promised that one of his grandsons would become my mate. In my first life, on the night of the Blood Moon, he asked me, “Evelyn, who will you choose?” Blushing, I pointed to the brightest star of the tribe, Andrew Sinclair. But after our wedding, he kept me at a distance. I was confused—until one night, I opened the wrong door. Andrew was on one knee, clutching my cousin Clara’s portrait as if it were his lifeline. His body moved in a way that made my heart twist. My world collapsed. He had never loved me. His heart—his desire—had always belonged to her. Darkness

When my family was at its poorest, a wealthy family found me and claimed that I was their real daughter. The school heartthrob I crushed on? He was my fiancé all along! Still reeling from all these surprises, a mysterious message suddenly popped up in front of me. "This is where everything changes. The cannon fodder is taken home by the female lead's parents, forced to drop out of school, and then gets pregnant by her fiancé. In the end, everyone thinks she's a harbringer of misfortune, and she's beaten to death." My hand froze as I held the paternity test results. My mom's eyes filled with tears as she took the report from me. "My poor child, you've suffered enough all these years! D

Everyone knew that the mafia family's second son, Luca Romano, loved Serena Vitale to his very bones. Five years ago, Serena climbed into bed with the Romano family's eldest son, Adriano Romano. Photos from that night spread everywhere, but Luca quietly suppressed them all. Four years ago, Serena gave birth to Adriano's child, but Luca raised the baby as his own. He could forgive Serena for anything she did, as long as she loved him. The underworld whispered that Serena stayed with Luca not out of love but to grab at the mafia's power and influence. Luca did not care. He poured every ounce of his strength into treating Serena and the child well, but it was not enough. Serena became Adria

Six years ago, Catherine Bell signed a contract she barely understood. Fifty-fifty, he called it. Fair. Equal. Clean. What it really meant was simple. Everything would be divided. The bills. The responsibilities. The children. Even her suffering. For six years, she carried the weight of a marriage built on numbers while her husband measured love like a business transaction. She gave up promotions, endured lonely pregnancies, raised their twins almost alone, and kept their home together—believing that if she gave enough, one day he'd finally see her. He never did. Until the day she stopped giving. Now, Catherine places a neatly compiled ledger in front of Mason Blake—six years of

Everything was planned, and in one night, ruined. My best friend. My betrothed. Both backstabbed me in the back. But what they don't know is that I have help, and I will live this life again. And I will make sure I get my revenge on the both of them. All Cecelia wanted to do was prove to her father that her and her betrothed Mason were meant to be. After "paying" a shaman to look into the future to say it is meant to be, Cece decides that's not enough and goes on a quest to find Death. She wants to make a deal with him; if Mason and her are true mates, then she will live a long life with him. If not, she wants a do-over, but at WHAT time, or WHEN, Death gets to decide. At th

Difficult to get along with the in-laws, constant arguments with the only brother-in-law, worsened by the man labeled as her husband... it's like having your head detached while your toes are being tickled, making Samanta Kiehl constantly cultivate patience. Until her sincere love is rewarded with a divorce letter. Her question always spins in her head. Is this luck or misfortune for her? But Samanta remains Samanta. She lets it all resonate in her life. She believes that payback will come. Someday, there will be a life and a new man whom she will tread with tranquility. But when? Isn't human patience supposed to have its limits?

I like her since we were high school students. But could this be called love? Precious, who always brings light wherever she goes while I'm just like an ugly dog ​​who follows her. I follow her everywhere she goes like a pet( dog), that's why I'm called Precious's pet. However, love still loves even though it only marvels at a distance and is never conveyed. COULD THIS BE LOVE? is a true life love story of Alex and precious, a true-life story which explains the fantasy of love I hope you enjoy reading it, happy reading

“I, Caleb Dominic Asher, reject you, Scarlett Rose Davis.” Those words were the most heartbreaking words that I'd ever heard and yet, they didn't sound foreign to me. It didn't come to me as a surprise either. Yes, werewolves were destined to be with their mates but we weren't destined to be. It hurt, but I'll take this pain.

At Lycanthrope University everyone knows the ropes - you study hard, play harder, and when you become of age you’re forced to attend a mating ritual where you’re paired with your mate for an eternity. When Devon is “accidentally” paired with his best friend, Nate, his entire world gets turned upside down. Sure, when there was an uneven number in the year, there were some gay pairings, but it was weird and unlikely. And he never thought it would happen to him. Now he has to fight the evil vampyres, prove himself worthy of the title of alpha, explain this his girlfriend why he’s linked to a guy, and tell his best friend he wants to break their mateship. Yikes!

The day my husband, Stellan Montclair, was killed in battle, my cousin, Daphne Langford, wept and declared she would follow him in death. No one asked for my opinion. By the time I arrived, they had already decided everything. In seven days, Daphne would be laid to rest alongside my husband in the Montclair family crypt, bearing the title of his lawful wife. When I stepped into the chapel, I found Daphne reclining on a cushioned chair with a damp cloth pressed to her forehead while my mother-in-law, Vivienne Prescott, personally spoon-fed her warm broth. Meanwhile, my son, Ansel Montclair, had been kneeling before the coffin for six hours straight, both legs so swollen that they were trem