Wrinkles The Clown Number

The year I was at rock bottom, I took on three "conquest" missions. Number One was a tech prodigy. Number Two was a genius doctor. Number Three was a top dog in the legal world. Judging by how busy they all were, I thought that with some careful time management, handling all three would be a piece of cake. However, I forgot one thing. Three CEOs meant dealing with three difficult girlfriends. That morning, Number One CEO Eric's childhood sweetheart accused me of stealing her charm bracelet. Eric beat me, yelled at me, and made me stand all day. That afternoon, Number Two's Ron's girlfriend tore into me, figuratively ripping my kidney out. Ron warned me that he had only let me get close so I could serve as a stand-in for her. By evening, Number Three's Lance had his girlfriend taking secret photos of me and spreading rumors, and he told me to be gracious, saying she was "just joking." I could not take this nonstop 24-hour torture anymore, so I told the system, I quit. I want to go home. The system replied, "Quitting is simple. Just die in this world." I listened. However, after I executed my death escape, why did all three CEOs completely lose their composure?

I was preparing a gift for our six-year anniversary when my best friend sent me a photo of my Alpha boyfriend kissing another she-wolf. "Wait, when did you get to Chicago?" The she-wolf in the picture looked a lot like me, but it wasn't me. That's when I found out that my boyfriend of six years had been searching for replacements for his dead childhood sweetheart the whole time. I was number 5. The she-wolf in the photo was number 18. I rushed to Chicago and tracked down Lucas using his phone's location. "Dude, this number 18 really looks like Ally, even more than Sophia does!" "Nah man, Sophia still looks more like her. She's number 5 after all - if she didn't look so much like Ally, why would Lucas have stuck with her for six years?" Lucas flicked his cigarette ash, looking completely relaxed: "They both look pretty similar, but number 18's way better in bed. Sophia's too uptight." "I heard you had someone pick out a diamond ring. You planning to propose? To Sophia or this new chick?" Lucas leaned back into the couch with a cocky grin: "Haven't decided yet. Why don't you guys choose for me?" I turned around, my whole body shaking as a chill ran from my head to my toes. After calming down, I texted my best friend: "Your Alpha cousin, the one who had a crush on me and waited four years - is he still single?"

A number one CEO unbothered queen was kidnapped and hidden inside the island with her kidnapper--the mafia leader of the kidnapping syndicate.

SERENA is betrayed, her father is killed, and when she ends up escaping. She finds herself mated to FOUR BROTHERS! Now? She’s in love, not with one, but all…and what more? The Silverstone Quad alphas are also in love with her, but it’s only reasonable that she ends up with one of them. Who will she choose? Blake, whom she feels so drawn to? Kade, who acts kind of mysterious, and she can’t seem to deduce what he’s thinking? Dylan, who acts so uptight and righteous, but has his secrets and ploy? Or Jeremy, the one who acts like a clown yet alluring in his one way? Or wait? Would she end up with all of them? Well, you can find out…you just have to start reading!!!

"I’ve thought it through. I'll marry the Ashford family’s comatose heir." Rhea Vaughn leaned against the doorway of the Vaughn family’s old residence, her red lips curving into a sharp, mocking smile. The cigar in Victor Vaughn’s hand nearly slipped and fell onto the priceless Persian carpet. He jerked upright from his leather chair, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes stretching open as his face lit up. "Rhea, you’ve come around? That’s wonderful! The Ashfords have been pressing hard. You’ll need to marry into Harborwyn within two weeks. What style of wedding dress do you like? I will have someone order it for you—" "That’s it?" Rhea let out a cold laugh. "I’m taking your beloved illegitimate daughter’s place and marrying into that family for you, and you’re not going to show anything in return?"

I had been in a relationship with Zachary Dawson for seven years and engaged for three when, out of the blue, Ruby White, the daughter of his mentor, moved into our home. Sitting casually on the bed that Zachary and I shared, Ruby lounged with an air of nonchalance, her voice playful and teasing. "Zachary, the dental god, sure has a nice bed," she remarked with a smirk. "I can only imagine what it would be like to spend the night with him in this bed." I captured the scene on my phone and sent the video to our family group chat with a brief message: Looks like Zachary might have a new girlfriend Zachary rushed home, wrapping his arms protectively around a tearful Ruby. He pointed at me, his voice seething with anger. "My mentor's dying wish was for me to take care of Ruby! If you can't accept that, then move out!" Honestly, my brows furrowed deeper than the wrinkles on the bedsheets Ruby had sat on. Fine. I didn't need the bed, and I didn't need a fiancé anymore.

The wedding's in half an hour, and my fiancé's assistant, this woman, just hands me this paper. Rule number one: No physical contact with him outside, not unless he explicitly permits it. Rule number two: Intimacy is to occur only when he initiates it. She is obligated to satisfy his desires at least once a month. Rule number three: He can demand his due at any time, any place, and she cannot refuse. ... After I finished reading this entire two-page contract, I had to fight to keep a smile on my face. Swallowing the fire in my gut, I called my fiancé. "Marcus, what the hell is this?" "What do you mean, 'If he fathers a child, she must raise it, no matter who the mother is'?"

On my wedding day, my groom's sister, Nadia Lawson, wears an elaborate ball gown and comes on stage to snatch the emcee's microphone. Before all the guests, she arrogantly says to me, "Can't you see the princess is here? Why didn't you curtsy and greet me? You deserve to be punished! Get on your knees and prostrate yourself before me as an apology!" My expression sours at her insolence. I turn around only to see the indulgent expressions on her parents' faces. The groom, Bowen Lawson, says dotingly, "We spoiled Nad silly since she was a child. You are her sister-in-law now. Don't make things hard for her." I am so mad that I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The clown thinks she's a princess, asking me to kneel before her? Ridiculous.

I quit and dipped. City threw a parade. Only Jenna Blake—my oh-so-gifted junior who claimed she could "see through killers' eyes"—lost it. At her celebration banquet, she went full drama queen: "I owe everything to Kate Mercer. Please, bring her back!" I laughed. Cold. Not happening. Last time around, I was the hotshot detective. But every clue I found? She dropped it first like she read my mind. People started saying I was washed. So I went all in—three months, no sleep, cracked a massive trafficking ring. Led the raid myself. She beat me there. Again. Place was cleaned out. Boom. She's the city's golden girl. I'm the clown with no game. Pressure got ugly. My head snapped. I died chasing the last scumbag. Then—bam. I woke up. Same day. Raid morning. Round two.

Number 1: Kidnap the Mafia's Wife. Number 2: Great, the bitch is gone. Stage an accidentally-on-purpose meet up to get his attention. Number 3: Have his eyes on me the whole night. Number 4: Let him take me home. Number 5: Experiment: take one; put a gun to the bastard's head. The last thing Indigo Mae expected was for a terror from her past to come knocking on her door at midnight. And by all means, the last thing she could have possibly hoped for was this little visit being the reason she gets roped into a twisted and deadly experiment, using the most dangerous man in the continent as her labrat. All Indigo ever wanted was a breakthrough. Unfortunately, life has other surprises. And it all begins with her getting thrown, hands tied, into a sinister Mafia world of conspiracies, lies, desires and death. Or, in other words, this mad man called Alessandro Ferrara.