Who Killed All For One

Buried deep in the Aster estate was the Heartwood—ancient, sacred, mine. Told my husband, Julian Aster—back when he actually listened—that if it ever fell, I'd die with it. At first, he freaked out. Flew in glacier water, hired a whole squad of plant experts to nurture it 24/7. Then one day, just because his childhood friend—Isabella Duvall—got a scratch from the bark, Julian had the Heartwood ripped out. The second it crashed, I choked on glowing blood—ichor. My power? Gone. Barely standing, I grabbed his arm. "You knew. If the Heartwood dies, I—" He laughed. Straight-up mocked me. "Sera, come on. That fairy tale? Only Grandma still believes that crap. Is that mayo on your mouth? Relax—it's a tree. I'll buy you a forest if you want." Overnight, my hair turned gray. Skin cracked. Eyes dulled. Still, I dragged myself to his grandmother, Henrietta. "I kept your family safe for two hundred years. That's why the Asters thrived. But the Heartwood's gone. Debt's paid. One day left. Whatever happens next? Not my problem."

She took her best friend's comatose brother's identity because she needed the money and she was running out of options. Walked straight into a job working for Lorenzo Moretti — the most feared man in New York — told herself it was temporary, told herself she just needed enough to cover her mother's hospital bills and then she would be gone. By day she is Kia, his quiet obedient male assistant who knows his schedule better than he does. By night she is Alessia, the woman he keeps coming back to in the dark without ever asking her name. This man never once figured out that both people he needs the most are the same person standing right in front of him every single day. She told herself she would never catch feelings for him. She lied.

Yvonne Larson, my housekeeper, has always been punctual, but she ends up being late today. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Carter. Dinner's not ready yet. I hope you won't mind. I had no choice. I waited for over half an hour, but no one got the door for me. I even called Mrs. Carter a few times, but she didn't take my calls. That's why I ended up running late." Halfway through changing into my house slippers, I pause and frown. "Yvonne, didn't Susanna give you the access card to the apartment?" Yvonne looks confused. "The access card? Mrs. Carter never gave me any card." "Never?" "That's right," Yvonne confirms timidly while wiping the sweat off her brow. "For the past month, I've always had to call Mrs. Carter and ask her to open the door for me. She wasn't picking up her phone today, so I had to wait outside…" That's strange. I've checked the logs before. The access card has been used multiple times throughout the past month.

My husband, Zeke Larson, rushed to the police station at night because his childhood sweetheart, Snow Lowell, had run over my father-in-law and killed him. Snow clutched Zeke’s jacket and trembled in fear. “Zeke, I’m so scared. I didn’t mean to kill anyone.” Zeke pulled her into his arms at once and glared at me like he wanted to kill me. “You were in the car too. Why didn’t you stop her?” I almost laughed. He was the one who insisted that Snow drive. He said she had just gotten her license and needed more practice, so he pushed her to take his car and give me a ride. “Forget it. He’s already dead. There’s no point arguing now. “We’ll just say your dad ran into the road without looking, and that’s how Snow hit him. “We can settle this privately. Snow has a performance in Vienne next month. She can’t have a stain on her record.” I froze for a moment. When he repeated himself, I finally realized that he thought the person who died was my father. I looked at Zeke and saw how natural it all seemed to him. I could not help but laugh. “This is not a private settlement I have the right to be part of.”

How does Iris, a boring college student pique the interest of Smoke, a not so human entity. There's a fine like between love and obsession, but he crossed that line long ago.

I help my students gain admission to top state art academies, yet my boss, Sebastian Emerson, withholds every cent of the pay I earned from 24 consecutive days of overtime. When I confront him in anger, he accuses me of stealing 120 thousand dollars in training fees from the students. "Honestly, being poor is no excuse for being shady. And having disabled parents doesn't give you the right to steal. "You've got two days to pay it back! Otherwise, I'll make sure you spend a few nights in jail, and I'll even inform your parents!" When a student calls, he snatches the phone and starts screaming, "There's no money! All your tuition went into buying your art supplies! If you've got a problem, go ahead and sue me, brat!" Meanwhile, Jayla Buckley, who is curled up in his arms, keeps placing order after order of Chaennal haute couture without the slightest hesitation. Watching the two of them colluding so shamelessly, I grip my attorney license in my pocket until my knuckles ache. Take it to court? Litigation? That's my arena. And I'll make sure both of them end up exactly where they belong—behind bars.

🔔🔔 Fair warning: this book contains steamy scenes, forbidden desires, stepdad and daughter taboos and languages strictly 18+ When desire crosses the line, hearts are bound to burn. Isabella has always lived in the shadow of control until one night shatters every boundary she thought she could keep. Drawn to a man she can’t have, she’s caught between guilt and a passion that refuses to die. But when betrayal seeps into their secret world, love turns to obsession. A woman scorned, a man torn between two dangerous desires and a house that hides more than one sin beneath its roof.

I'm in the hills for a project inspection when a sudden downpour hits. I lose my footing and tumble down a steep slope. Lying in a pool of blood, I fumble for my phone and call my husband, Joel Grant, who's supposed to be nearby. "Rachel has anxiety. I only brought her back to her hometown to help her unwind. Can you stop being so paranoid and jealous for once? You're due in two weeks. I'll be there, okay? Just behave." In the background, I hear Rachel giggle softly. "The models have to be in their birthday suit for sketching, right?" Joel hangs up without another word. My sister-in-law—and best friend—Chloe Murphy finds me. She's sobbing as she cradles me, desperately trying to call her husband, Michael Grant, for help. "Are all pregnant women insane these days?" Michael snaps. "Don't start with the same manipulative crap as Anna. Joel and I are busy modeling for Rachel. We don't have time for your petty dramas." Then he blocks her. My injuries are too severe. There's no way help will arrive in time. Despite being heavily pregnant herself, Chloe hoists me onto her back and carries me down the mountain to the nearest hospital. Somehow, I survive. My baby doesn't. Chloe, devastated and physically pushed past her limits, loses her child too. "I want a divorce," I whisper with my eyes swollen from crying. "Me too. I'm done with Michael." We filed for divorce together. That's when Joel and Michael finally lose their minds.

I had been married to Lucius Martin for three years, and in all that time, there was never a shortage of women around him. Each time he brought another woman home, he would give me a necklace worth a fortune. In just three short years, I had accumulated ninety-nine necklaces. When Lucius fastened the hundredth necklace around my neck, I no longer cried or made a scene. Because this time, the woman he cheated with was my own older sister, the one who had beaten and scolded me since we were children. The man I loved most joined hands with the person I hated most to torment me together. At that moment, my heart finally died. This time, I took the initiative and walked up to Lucius, placing a house purchase contract into his hands. "As long as you sign this," I said, "you can do whatever you want with her." A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but in the end, he signed without hesitation. For the first time ever, he even leaned down and gently kissed my cheek. "Good girl," he murmured. "You've finally learned to behave." I personally opened the car door for him and watched as he hurried off toward my sister. When the car disappeared completely from sight, I let out a long breath. Then I reached beneath the documents and pulled out the paper hidden there—a divorce agreement.

I double over in pain after assisting Adrian Randall with a late-night operation. He immediately carries me to a ward to check on me. However, before he can do that, he receives a call from a patient and hurries off. That night, I miscarry. When I come out of the operating theater, I see his childhood friend's social media update. She's shared a photo of her baby bump. "He hurried to come to my side just because I was lost. You have to treat Adrian well in the future, my darling!" I rub my belly, which throbs with a dull ache. I don't cry and demand an explanation from Adrian as I would have in the past. Instead, I like the post and apply for a position on the Borderless Medical Assistance Program. The day I leave, the high and mighty Dr. Randall looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. He asks, "How can you bear to leave me behind?"