Without Change There Would Be No Butterflies

Shantal Harver dies with one painful truth in her heart: she loved the wrong man. Ullysis Ray Ford, the cold ruler of a billion-dollar empire, does not care if she lives. Shantal’s life ends in a car accident… and her story should end there. But it does not. Shantal wakes up one year earlier. She remembers everything, every lonely night, every cold look, and the moment she died. This time, she does not beg. She signs the divorce papers first, gives up the five percent company shares that could have protected her forever, and walks away like she was never his. But Ullysis does not let her go easily. The divorce is delayed. The empire shifts. People begin watching Shantal like she is a key they need to control. And Shantal starts to see the truth: her first death may have been no accident. Now Shantal has one chance to change her fate. One chance to uncover who wanted her gone. And one chance to make sure she never dies for love again.

Isla Hart gave up her dreams for love. But when love gave up on her, she had no choice but to fight for herself. After marrying the man she thought was her first, and forever, love, she gave up everything: her career, her family, her identity. For six years, she lived quietly as a devoted wife and mother, convinced that her sacrifices were for a greater good. Until the day he whispered another woman’s name under anesthesia. Until the woman showed up, pregnant with twins, claiming to be the real love of his life. Humiliated, heartbroken, and called unworthy by her husband’s family, she takes her three-year-old daughter and walks into a stormy night with nothing but a suitcase, a broken heart, and a single phone number to call. But rock bottom is where her story truly begins. With the help of an old friend, and a man she never saw coming, she’ll find the courage to start over, the strength to stand tall, and the power to prove that she is, and always was, more than enough. A story of betrayal, resilience, and second chances in love, Unworthy No More is a heart-tugging journey from silent suffering to radiant strength.

The day before New Year's, my younger brother announced he was bringing his girlfriend home for dinner. Excited, I drove my new car to pick them up, taking my daughter along with me. However, as soon as his girlfriend got in the car, her face darkened. "Henry, you didn't tell me your sister was staying at your place—and with a kid!" she snapped. I frowned and was about to explain when my brother quickly interjected, "She's not staying. After dropping us off, she'll be heading to a hotel." Only then did his girlfriend's expression ease. I swallowed my discomfort and asked my brother what he was planning. He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin and said, "Sis, don't cause any trouble for me, okay? My girlfriend is the daughter of the Cromwell Group's CEO!" My eyes widened in shock. Was not the Cromwell Group the same company my ex-husband had just handed over to me as part of our divorce settlement?

By accident, I stumbled upon my husband's secret. There were cameras covering every corner of our house, but I stayed silent and pretended not to know about them. One day, I faked leaving home and hid in the closet, only to hear my husband fooling around with his mistress. Jared's breath was short from exertion. "Faster. We have less than 20 minutes before Vanessa gets back." His mistress giggled. "Relax. Her eyesight is terrible." Jared growled. "Shut up! Vanessa is my wife. Say another thing about her, and I'll throw you out!" What he didn't know was that my eyesight had been cured. My vision was as sharp as anyone else's. I stepped out of the closet with a choked sob and called my brother. "I'll go to Murica."

Lavish London mansions. A hand-painted Rolls-Royce. And eight dead friends. For the British fixer Robbie Chase, working for the Russian's President most vocal critic meant stunning perks – but also constant danger. His gruesome death is one of 14 that retired British Agent QUINTUS NOONE has linked to Russia – but the UK police shut down every last case. QUINTUS NOONE'S investigation reveals the full story of a ring of death on British soil that the government has ignored.

Everyone in the social circle of Kingsford said I was nothing more than a lapdog raised by Charles Mankin. I was always at his beck and call. I did every filthy, ludicrous thing for him under the sun. When he street raced, I rode shotgun. When he drank himself senseless, I made him hangover soup. When he chased girls, I prepared protection for them. Over time, everyone knew: Charles had a dog who never ran, never bit back, no matter how hard he kicked. They all said I must be madly in love with him. Even Charles started to believe it. So he pushed further, more freely, more cruelly, crossing lines as if they never existed. Then came my twenty-fifth birthday. He, in a rare stroke of mercy, said he'd celebrate it with me. But instead, what he got was the news that I was leaving the country. He went berserk, charging through the airport like a man possessed. I peeled his fingers off my wrist one by one, smiling like I'd never been happier. "Don't be stupid," I told him, still smiling. "That was never love." That night, Charles smashed apart his family home like a rabid dog.

They say Don Julian Marconi would burn the world for one tear of mine. Five years ago, at the Met Gala, he spent millions to hang emeralds around my neck and swore I was his Madonna. Five years later, beneath the velvet boxes of our anniversary, I found a lace strap soaked in sin—and a fresh, crimson smear on his collar that told me exactly whose bed he’d left. I smiled. I asked him to sign a blank sheet of paper. And that meant he was agreeing to whatever I wanted. He called it love. I called it the death warrant for his empire. In fifteen days, I finalized our divorce papers. I boarded the Stella d’Oro as Serena Cole and burned Celeste Marconi to ash on the deck. Then I vanished with his fortune, his power and the one secret that would destroy him. I was the saint he worshipped. Now I am the ghost who haunts him. No groveling. No forgiveness. No second chance. Just ashes.

When desire knows no boundaries, every moment counts. Untamed Desire brings you a collection of provocative short stories exploring forbidden touches, secret cravings, and unexpected connections. From strangers trapped in a storm to tangled love triangles and power plays, these tales explore lust and longing in all their raw, intoxicating forms. Each chapter is a standalone story—perfect for quick, sultry reads that ignite your imagination and leave you wanting more.

Alicia Anderson is every man ideal woman, but love was never her forte and she never found herself worth loving. Everything took a turn when she bash into a boy at the welcome back school mixer (Nethean) but little did she know he was a worst type of player. Nethean Adam was an orphan, adopted by he's ruthless Uncle. He's the school renowned player. Love was just a four letter words to him, he's biggest aim was to graduate from university, work hard and become a billionaire, just to make his uncle pay for how he maltreated him. Will Alicia be able to change his ways and get his attention?

Rachel, is a 20 year old outcast woman who has yet to get her Wolf. Where females usually receive their wolf at 16 and the males at 18, Rachel has yet to call hers forward. Being the daughter of a Beta, in the Winter Moon pack, she is expected to be powerful but without her wolf she constantly ridiculed by everyone- including her family. After a run in with a rabid pack shakes the Winter Moon pack, an unexpected change of events brings Rachel face to face with an Alpha of the Blood Cry pack. Once taken to his Pack Rachel must fight to earn the right to be his Luna as well as dodge backlash from the Alphas former lover and those who gathered to their reunion. Will Rachel succeed and find her wolf? Or will she fail and forever be an outcast among werewolves. Follow Rachel through pain, joy, lust, terror as she fights to be Luna.