Vince Mcmahon Plastic Surgery

The night before my wedding, my mom got into a car accident—she needed a blood transfusion, fast. Her blood type was rare. Mine matched. I was pregnant, but I didn't think twice. I donated. While I was bleeding out, losing my baby, my fiancé, Joffrey Habsburg, and his brother—my so-called childhood friend—Mateo, were busy holding Nancy's hand during her cosmetic surgery. I begged Joffrey to save my mom. Only then did he bother to pick up a scalpel. When it was over, he said, "Surgery failed. She's gone." Two days later, I overheard Nancy purring through the door, wrapped around the Habsburg brothers. "Mateo really is a racer—he hit that old hag dead on. And Joffrey? You were amazing too, making sure she didn't survive the surgery. Thanks to you both, I got Lori's blood for my operation."

She-wolf is saved by a human who needs her. Enjoy the ride.. ************** Excerpt..... My family found me and carried me home to the Pack doctor. After surgery and a few weeks of rest, I was back to normal. Physically, I'd fully recovered, but I was far from well. My wolf pined for her mate, and I was going nuts, wondering where he was! His absence left a hole in my heart that I couldn't fill. We didn't have many clues. My brother had tracked his scent to the trailhead where he'd parked his truck. After that, nothing. My family fully supported my search for my mate. After all, he had saved my life and was my one chance at true happiness in this life. Family members ran the mountains every weekend until the heavy snow arrived, but we never caught his scent again. The longer it went on, the more distraught I became.

“In his world, love is a luxury she can’t afford… but he’s made sure she pays the price anyway.” Liara Kane is drowning—her younger brother teeters between life and death, and every bank account is bone-dry. When ruthless billionaire Asher Kane reappears under the hospital’s flickering lights, he offers her a deal darker than the storm raging around them: one year of marriage in exchange for two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of life-saving surgery, a lavish penthouse, and a monthly allowance that could erase her debts. No vows. No emotions. Just a contract. But Asher never does anything by halves. With boardroom pressure and a family hungry for scandal underfoot, he demands compliance in public and possession in private. As Liara signs away her freedom, she ignites a fire in Asher’s cold heart—one he didn’t know existed. Torn between desperation, defiance, and a dangerous attraction, Liara must decide: is salvation worth a lifetime of chains?

My grandfather is hit by a car, and his skull is shattered. I take the driver to court. That's when I find out my husband, Stuart Creed, who was supposedly abroad on a business trip, is suddenly at the hospital. He looks at me coldly and snaps, "Do you have any idea how important Maddy’s valedictorian announcement is? Her future can't be ruined by some car accident! Drop the case right now, or I'll cut off all your credit cards and have your grandfather kicked out of the VIP ward!" He slams the door and storms out. Before that, he snarls, "Come home when you agree. Until then, forget about calling yourself Mrs. Creed!" While I'm out desperately trying to gather money for my grandfather's surgery, a team of lawyers contacts me. Turns out the patent my grandfather once authorized to Creed Group has expired. And now, I'm the new legal owner.

Susie Chance always claimed to value fairness above all else. Because of that, she ordered a specially designed chip implanted into my body. Whenever her childhood sweetheart suffered bouts of stomach cancer, all his suffering would be transferred onto me. On the day he underwent tumor-removal surgery, I collapsed in agony in the hospital corridor. Meanwhile, Susie gently comforted him in the ward. “So? It didn’t hurt at all, right?” Later, she said she wanted to hold a wedding with her childhood sweetheart, so he could experience being a groom as well. “Even though the one marrying me is Mark, the one I’ll register with in the future will still be you. I told you… I’ve always treated you both equally.” I said nothing, simply returning the wedding ring she had once placed in my hands. However, when the wedding march finally began to play, I boarded a one-way flight far away.

PHOEBE - Holy mother of craps! I had lost my virginity to the college’s bad boy, Asher Gilbert. And, he told me it meant nothing to him. He told me to get lost! ********* ASHER - All my life till now, no one had ever intimidated me. Not anyone. Not my dad, nor the school principal… Not those street gangs… lastly, not the mafia. But this strange girl— a Maserati shows up. Making me urge to brand her, as mine. ********** “Why are you like this to me?” “What do you mean?” “Why are you so dismissive but save me, every time I land in trouble?” He didn’t reply that. Instead, he sighed, crunching the plastic bottle in his hand. He threw it in anger to the other side of the room. Then he approached me. I took three steps back, timidly. His intimidating gaze dropped towards mine. He didn’t stop until the back of my head contacted the wall. Only then did his both hands angle at the sides of my head. My eyes immediately gorged at his hard-on. Flash backs of the night we had together immediately ran through my brain. The only thing I could think of was the way my mouth was wrapped around him. His Adam’s apple swallowed numerous times, making me wonder what he thought of. It was like one of those scenes of movies. Like he was in a battle with himself. But the question was, what was he so protective about? Why didn’t he like making conversations with females? “I’m never gonna change, Phoebe. Remember that,” ********* What is worse than drunken one-night-stand, with the college’s bad boy? Or a cold treatment thereafter? However, one pregnancy changes it all. In this love so wrong, can they ever make things right?

I’m in love with my boss. He doesn’t even know I exist. … Until today. My name is Rowan St. Clair. For five years, I’ve tried to pretend I’m not head over heels for a man I can never have: Vincent Akopov—gorgeous, ruthless, and completely out of my league. But one fateful errand changes everything. When I walk in on him thoroughly “occupied” with another woman, I expect embarrassment. Instead, I get a saucy wink that sets my body on fire. And the next day? A promotion I never asked for. "Congratulations, Ms. St. Clair. You're my new personal assistant." Suddenly, I'm thrust into Vincent's world—Park Avenue penthouses, private jets, and a boss whose meetings put the "DIC" in "dictation." He tests my limits. Filthy promises whispered in my ear in the middle of a boardroom, explicit Polaroids left in unexpected places, sneaky gropes in dark hallways… And I push back. Sexts send both ways, after all. Our game escalates with each passing day. There's just one problem: to inherit his father's empire, Vince needs a wife. So guess who gets to accompany him on every awkward get-to-know-you date? Me—sitting beside him, trying to ignore his hands wandering up my skirt while he interviews potential brides. I tell myself it's just physical. Just temporary. Just a fantasy that will end when reality comes knocking. And reality does indeed knock— In the form of two pink lines on a pregnancy test.

Under the Moon Goddess, I was once the happiest Luna of the Black Pack. Alpha Mike cherished me, cradled me in his palms, and bestowed upon me a name and glory. But on that day— I lay on the operating table as he slit open my abdomen himself, offering my liver to his white moonlight, Lina. My husband held Lina’s hand, whispering tenderly in her ear: "Don’t be afraid. Anna’s life is worthless—yours is the one that matters." As the anesthesia wore off, agony seared through me. The doctor gasped: "She’s in her differentiation phase! Forcing the surgery will cripple her for life!" Yet Mike didn’t even glance back, leaving with Lina in his arms: "Just an Omega. Saving you is her privilege." Later, I knelt before the witch Jery, trading all my memories for freedom. When Mike stormed into the shop, roaring at my amnesiac, bubble-blowing self— I shrank into the witch’s arms, trembling: "Sister… who is this madman?" His eyes burned crimson as he tore our contract to shreds.

Mom and Aunt Denise Taylor fell off the balcony in the midst of their heated argument. Dad rushed in just as they hit the ground, each with a broken arm. Without hesitation, he left Mom behind and hurriedly took Denise to the hospital instead. Later, Mom filed for divorce. Dad's face twisted in anger as he yelled, "Enough, Nicole! So what if you broke an arm and can't hold a scalpel anymore? What's the big deal? Dee is a genius designer. If she had lost her hand, her life would've been over! Of course, I had to save her first!" Watching all this in my ghostly state, I couldn't help but laugh. Did Dad really think that Mom had only lost the use of her hand? Mom didn't just lose her hand. She lost me. After all, I had severe heart failure, and the only person who could perform the life-saving surgery was Mom, the medical master herself. But none of that matters now, because I'm already gone.

On the very day I sold my company shares to raise money for my wife’s medical treatment, my phone flashed with a notification about a trending post. "My husband or my lover, which should I choose?" An anonymous reply shot to the top of the comments. "Why choose? I want both." What followed was a casual, shameless confession. A staged car accident right after the wedding, a fake overseas treatment plan, parents who helped maintain the lie, and millions siphoned off under the excuse of life-saving medical fees. The money was never for treatment. It funded luxury vacations, hotel suites, and a long-term affair. Someone asked if she was afraid her husband would find out. Her answer was chilling. "Why would I be afraid? He thinks he took my first time and swore to take responsibility for me forever. He doesn’t know it was just a repair surgery I did for his sake." The post ended with a vacation photo. A woman in a bikini, smiling under the sun. And on her waist, a tattoo with the letters 'NG.' The same tattoo worn by my wife.