Time Of Our Life

At the celebration where Lorenzo Alvarez is crowned the new mafia boss, his men arrange a few performances. A dancer in a backless top and short skirt twists around the pole under the lights. "Don't look," he murmurs, covering my eyes with his hand. "This kind of cheap entertainment isn't worthy of you." His men jump in immediately. "Lorenzo still spoils Ms. Valenti after all these years. That kind of devotion is rare. We're so jealous." "A man as loyal and single-minded as Lorenzo is hard to find." I rest a hand on my belly, planning to tell him tonight that I am pregnant. But when I return from the restroom, I see the same man who had just held me in his arms leaning back in his chair while the dancer straddles his lap. Lorenzo slips his business card and a thick fold of cash into the waistband of her skirt. He laughs, relaxed and unbothered. "Isabella is wonderful, sure, but life needs a little passion. This ragazza is just something new. A bit of fun. "Keep your mouths shut. Don't go running to Isabella and upset her. Otherwise, you'll have a problem." Cold rushes through me. I do not approach or confront Lorenzo. I simply take out my phone and answer the email I have been avoiding for days. "I agree to participate in the confidential experiment."

My husband's childhood friend says she wants her crystal beads to soak up some of the good luck in our home. Because of that, he scatters the beads on the floor, making me slip and miscarry. I'm in agony as I lie on the operating table. I call my husband incessantly, but all he does is block my number. I lie in the hospital ward after the operation. I see my husband's childhood friend's social media update—a photo of him worshipfully holding out a certificate while getting down on one knee. It's captioned, "He loves me so much! I said I'm interested in running a business and he actually set up a company for me!" On the day of the branch company's grand opening, my husband's childhood friend wears an expensive custom-made gown. Meanwhile, I wear her discarded goods. I'm barred from even entering the building. I suppress my bitterness and call my lawyer. "Are the divorce procedures done?"

"You're not having me!" I snapped at his face. "Oh, my little sinner." He licked the bottom of his lips with a sinister smirk on his face. "You're already tied to my bed."

Lena Clermont fell hard for her dad's friend, Andrew Rohan—twelve years older. The first time she saw him, he was all sharp suits and broad shoulders, effortlessly standing out. He smiled, patted her head, and handed her a princess dress. Fast forward to twenty. He got drugged at a banquet. She wore that same dress, offering herself as the cure.

At twenty-eight, I held the dubious honor of being the last unmarried socialite on New York's Upper East Side. Everyone around me was growing increasingly anxious about my single status. In my previous life, my mother arranged a matchmaking cocktail party, where I was told to choose a husband from ten handpicked elite bachelors. I bribed the event planner to place Mark West's profile at the very top—and as I had hoped, I chose him. After we married, Mark treated me with what seemed like tender affection. He even bought me an oceanfront villa in the Hamptons, making me believe I had finally found true love. But that illusion shattered the day I was nine months pregnant, just hours away from giving birth. Mark drove a scalpel straight into my abdomen—then, right in front of me, hurled our newborn onto the floor. "If you hadn't forced me into this marriage with your family's power, Sofia wouldn't have been heartbroken enough to go drinking and get drugged and assaulted. This… this is what you owe her!" He tossed the scalpel aside, then calmly let his private doctor pin down my blood-soaked body. I fought through excruciating pain for six agonizing hours, until I finally bled to death. Afterward, Mark dumped my corpse into the Hudson River. But for Sofia, he hosted a grand funeral—funded with my money, under my name—and paraded himself to the world as a grieving, devoted widower. Given a second chance at life, I refused to step foot in that cursed matchmaking event. Instead, I went straight to my mother with a demand: marry me to Robert Black—the most ruthless, cold-blooded titan of Wall Street, whose scarred face was feared by all. In the end, stripped of my financial backing, Mark's hedge fund collapsed. He became a disgraced fraudster, spat on by everyone on Wall Street.

Second Life CEO’s Shadow is a dark romance and revenge story about power, betrayal, and second chances. It follows Clara Vane, a woman who is betrayed and killed by the people she trusted most, only to wake up three years in the past before her life was destroyed. Given a rare chance to relive her past, Clara decides she will no longer be a victim. Instead, she carefully rewrites her fate, using intelligence and patience to turn her enemies’ greed against them. Set in a modern world of wealth, influence, and hidden corruption, the story blends high society drama with emotional intensity and danger. As Clara navigates her second life, she becomes entangled with Alistair Thorne, a powerful and feared CEO whose presence adds both protection and risk to her plans. The book explores themes of revenge, justice, trust, and transformation, delivering a suspenseful and emotionally driven story that keeps readers invested in every chapter.

After a fateful night, Melissa awakened to the realization that she has given her virginity to a stranger. With only a note and a bundle of money as clues, she embarked on a journey of self discovery and motherhood. Years later, Melissa finds herself navigating the cutthroat world of paparazzi reporting while raising her genius son, Jason. Her quest for a scandalous scoop lead her to the enigmatic billionaire CEO, Damien Ashford. But wait, why does he shares a striking resemblance with her son? As she dives deeper into Damien's world, she can't deny the magnetic attraction between them. Damien, suffering from a haunting secret, feels the same way. Determined to know her, he makes an unexpected preposition. As they explore complexities of their newfound connection, they discovered shocking revelations that bind them together in unimaginable ways. Melissa and Damien each hold a secret that could shatter their fragile bond. Will they find the courage to reveal the truth and embrace the love that fate has brought into their lives? Or will Damien's unexpected encounter with a woman long presumed dead threatened to tear them apart once and for all? Well, let's delve deeper to find out in this intriguing read of Melissa and Damien's love story.

On our first wedding anniversary he told me he want a divorce. I froze, thinking it was a joke. It wasn’t. The man I loved since I was a kid handed me papers, cold and final, like everything we shared meant nothing. I signed. I left. Packed my life into a suitcase and vanished to another state, trying to escape the pain. But leaving didn’t stop the obsession. He’s out of his mind, searching for me, desperate to know where I am. And it’s not just him my so called best friend has been wanting him all along, smiling while she watched our love crumble, while his best friend wants me, whispers lies, and manipulates the truth to make sure he never finds me. I thought leaving would save me. I thought I could forget. But love doesn’t let go that easy. And some mistakes are too dangerous to forgive. He Divorced Me on Our Anniversary is a dark, emotional billionaire romance about betrayal, obsession, and fighting to survive when everyone you trusted is trying to take the one thing you can’t lose your heart.

My father-in-law said he wanted to experience "how the young folks have fun these days," so I took him to my wife's newly opened upscale cocktail bar for a quiet drink. I’d just finished ordering him a custom cocktail when a man from a booth across the room swaggered over, glass in hand. His eyes scanned the drink menu on our table, and a condescending smirk twisted his lips. "Only ordering the cheapest well drinks?" he sneered. "Brought the old man here to enjoy the free air conditioning? Trash like you belongs in a dive bar. Who even let you in here?" Anger burned in my chest. I stood up, my jaw clenched. "We're paying customers. What's it to you?" But before I could say another word, his face darkened with pure rage. He snatched the half-finished beer bottle from our table and smashed it on my head. "My girl owns this place!" he snarled. "Even if I crack your skull open, I can afford the payout! You filthy pauper—either get on your knees and lick my shoes dry, or get the hell out of my sight. You're an eyesore." The beer dripped down my face. My hands trembled with fury as I wiped it away. Then, a cold calm settled over me. I opened my phone, switched to the camera, and went live. "Alright, everyone," I said into the screen. "You won't want to miss this. We're going live to catch my cheating wife and see the double life she's been leading."

When Yelton Group tanked, their CEO and his wife showed up at our door, begging for a marriage alliance. My dad, thinking I was still head-over-heels for Rosie after ten freaking years, threw a million into their sinking ship and signed me up to marry Rosie. Wedding night? She blindfolded me and kept whispering how bad she wanted it. A month later, I tested positive for an STD. Then I caught her bragging to her friends. "Quinn got wrecked by, like, a dozen girls," she laughed. "Wanna guess who gave him the infection?" Her friends were cracking up. "I scouted all the grossest red-light spots," one said. "Each one's got a different flavor." "Just wait," another giggled. "When the symptoms hit hard, we'll know who wins." Rosie added, "Prize money's ready. Soon as we figure it out, she gets paid." That's when it hit me. It wasn't Rosie in bed that night—it was a lineup of strangers she set up. I lost it. Went straight to her, demanded answers. She didn't even flinch. "Mad? Please. If you hadn't dangled that million to force me into this marriage—or scared Caleb off—do you think I'd waste my time on you? "Once Caleb forgives me, you're done." I asked for a divorce. She locked me in the basement. "Chill," she said. "We're still placing bets on who gave you the STD." Six months later, I died down there. Just rotted away. Then I woke up—right back on the day her parents came begging for that deal. Only this time, on the wedding day? She was the one crying.