Tone Indicators

In Kieran Chase's eyes, I was not his wife. I was a non-performing asset waiting to be liquidated. When I got sick and asked for help, he became impatient. He said, "This is a minor problem. You can handle it on your own. No need to tell anyone." When I broke down in tears, he reprimanded me. "Losing emotional control shows weakness. It exposes the fragility of our alliance. I'll have the PR team teach you emotional management." Even when I called for help after a car accident, he hung up. "Nothing about you is important enough to interrupt a transaction worth hundreds of millions." I spent seven days in the ICU fighting for my life. On my first day home, I found Kieran leaning over another woman, his voice suddenly soft and coaxing as he convinced her to take her medicine. He opened his mouth to explain. I smiled bitterly and handed him the papers I'd prepared long ago. My tone mirrored his perfectly. "Mr. Chase, regarding our marriage project, the return on investment is unacceptably low after comprehensive evaluation. I'm formally proposing we terminate our cooperation. "Here's the divorce agreement. Sign it."

The room is dimly lit, the air is filled with the smell of sex and alcohol; the guy laying next to the girl is panting heavily. She on the other hand is laying next to him, all curled up; soft whimpers are coming out of her lips. The guy wraps his muscular arms around her waist and pushes her a little away from him. She opens her eyes halfway through and stares at the guy, his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; his dark brown eyes are closed. His sharp features are glistening, when the little rays of the sun hits his face that is coming in through the window. Forwarding her hand, she caresses his thin lower lip with her index finger and closes her eyes. "Get out." He says in a harsh tone from beside her. Her eyes flutter open completely hearing his harsh words; she always thinks why he acts so badly with her? Retracting her hand back to herself she sits up, her lower belly aches in the bitter sweet pain. A groan comes out of her mouth and her hands go straight to on top of her lower belly, to caress it. His clothes and hers are scattered around on the floor. The entire room is a mess, the bed sheet is all crinkled; pillows are off the bed.

The air in the Parisian haute couture salon smelled like money and fear. I’d waited six months for my wedding dress. Now, it was draped over the shoulders of Sofia Ross—the trending influencer, and my mafia fiancé Vincent Cassio’s god-sister. The salon manager was sweating bullets, his eyes darting between me and the man lounging on the velvet sofa. Vincent Cassio stood up. He adjusted a fold of the diamond-encrusted train on Sofia with a casual flick of his wrist. “Her premiere next week needs a statement piece. She’s borrowing it. Pick something off the rack and stop making a scene.” His tone was flat, final. Under the crystal chandeliers, Sofia admired herself in the full-length mirror, a triumphant smile on her lips. I looked at my reflection in the same mirror, wearing jeans and a soaked trench coat. I looked like a lost tourist. Suddenly, the entire past year of planning felt like a sick joke. I didn’t yell. I just felt cold. Numb. I slipped the five-carat engagement ring off my finger. It hit the glass coffee table with a sharp, final click. “You’re right, Vincent. I don’t need this wedding dress. This wedding… I don’t need it either.”

Max Siegel loved me deeply and promised me the grandest wedding anyone had ever seen. However, just three days before the big day, everything changed. The custom-made wedding dress he'd ordered for me was given to his stepsister, Fawn Lewis, and instead, he handed me a pill—one that could erase memories. “Kate,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, but Fawn has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She doesn’t have long. Her last wish is to marry me. I can’t have her leave this world with regrets. “This pill will make you forget everything about us for a few days. But don’t worry. After the wedding is over, I’ll give you the antidote, and you’ll remember everything again. Then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Without hesitation, I took the pill and swallowed it. However, what he didn’t know was that I developed that drug myself, and there was no antidote. Three days from now, I would forget the man I loved most—him. And once that happens, there’s no turning back and no chance to start over.

On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card. When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs. “James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.” James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.” Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.” I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement. At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team. “I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

"Now, let's discuss sexual experience," he says, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's essential for me to understand your level of comfort and any potential concerns in that aspect." I feel my cheeks flush, the topic leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before responding honestly, "I... I have not had previous experiences, but I am willing to learn. And... and I can assure you that I am absolutely clean." Alexander's gaze softens, and he almost seems surprised. But he eventually gives a soft laugh as he says, "I understand. Moreover, you still need to go through some tests to ensure that it is a smooth process." *********************** Hi, I’m Sophia, an ordinary college student. I have a happy family and two handsome roommates, but because of an accident, I had to secretly become a surrogate mother in order to pay for my father's enormous medical expenses. What I don't know is that the intended father, a polite and distinguished 34-year-old man, is the most influential and mysterious figure in the city. And what is beyond my control is when I give birth, I’m shocked to discover that my twin babies have wolf ears!

“Look at the mirror, and tell me to whom you belong, Violette.” Noah cupped me in between my thighs harshly, making my breath haywire. “Answer me!” His tone dropped even low, followed by his dangerous growl. “Y..you,” I answered in a strangled whisper and gasped when he slipped two fingers inside me in a swift motion. “Again. To whom you belong, my dear?” He asked again, pumping his fingers in and out on my wet and slickly sex. “You, Noah.” “Good. Remember that before you let someone lay their hand on you. Now, open your legs wider for me.” *** Violette Daley never knew that her life would turn upside down after her brave attempt to escape to the Lycan's land. She only planned to stay for a day or two and then slip away to the human's land. But her plan was ruined after accidentally freeing a dangerous Lycan— Noah, in the cave. What started as a mere promise between the beast and her for her safety suddenly took a twisted turn. Now, she was to follow him, and worse, he claimed her as his mate. Before she knew it. Violette was already trapped in the sea of beasts, and Noah was the only one she could depend on to survive.

He was the Alpha who had only one wish—to find his mate and live happily ever after. But fate has other plans for him. What happened when Javier finally found his mate but his mate turned out to be someone he never expected? Someone whose presence he hates but whose connection to him runs deep. Someone who is not even a she but a he. His stepbrother Henry is an omega. ***** "I Henry Clane, the omega of Dark Moon Pack, reject you, Javier De La Vega, as my mate!" Henry declared, his tone defiant. A smirk played on my lips as I responded, "You think you have a choice in this matter, even if I don't want you as my mate either?" I pulled him closer, our eyes locked in a battle of wills. "Your rejection made me want to not let you go even more. You're mine, whether you like it or not." I hate him, but seeing the pain and struggle in his eyes to get freed from the mate bond only fueled my desire to keep him bound to me. The power I held over him was intoxicating, and I knew that no matter how much he resisted, he would always be mine.

On their first anniversary, Della's husband suddenly found his fated mate Flora, and Della found herseff in a bind ever since. She couldn't give up her marriage and her chosen mate, even though Kylian's family ignored and abused her because she was an omega. The heartbreak was intense, but she couldn't let it go until- Kylian asked her to take the blame for Flora, and questioned her in a hush tone: "If it wasn't for the money or Luna's position, why on earth did you choose to stay after I found my fated mate?!" Della's heart was completely broken, and she chose true freedom. She rejected her husband, returned to her home, and resumed her true identity- the Lycan King's most favored daughter! But who can tell her why Kylian satrted to hunt her like a different person after the rejection? Can he make a firm choice between his fated mate and her this time? When they see the other side of the moon goddess' gift, and when Della's fated mate showed up as well, where their destiny will lead them? Read to find out. *** The novel is co-written by Jane E.L. (aka Juliet Swanson) and Miss EA. The novel is copyrighted by Ideaink Six Cats.

On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain. The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire. My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars. Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York. The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door. That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment." She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel: "It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act." Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive: "If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?" What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.