They called me the villainess for standing in the way of their 'happily ever after.' For three years, I played the martyr, feeding their ego and playing the part of the disposable fiancée. But the script has changed. I didn't wake up to seek redemption; I woke up to finalize my exit strategy. I’m liquidating their influence, sabotaging their empire, and buying back my own life—piece by bloody piece. They think I’m acting out of spite, but they’re too blind to see that I’m executing a hostile takeover. And the Hero? He’s no longer the protagonist. He’s just another liability on my ledger. Watch closely—because while they’re busy begging for my attention, I’m busy burning their world to the ground. The new script is written by me.

Julian Hale has three rules for surviving his internship at Apex Capital: Don't make eye contact with Samuel Frost. Don't let him see you break. And never, under any circumstances, let him find out about the online account. Six brutal weeks under New York's most ruthlessly brilliant Managing Director have left Julian one rejection away from a complete collapse. The man is a walking glacier—ice-cold eyes, a voice like cut glass, and a standard so impossibly high that even Julian's best work comes back marked "redo." Not a single word of praise. Not once. So Julian does what any sensible, sleep-deprived intern would do. He buys a skirt. It starts as stress relief—posting anonymous femboy content online, face always hidden, just his slender frame and the quietly fierce energy of someone who's been told he's not enough one too many times. He never expects it to take off. Within months, Julian's faceless alter ego has hundreds of thousands of followers, and the internet has decided he and the mysterious, never-shows-his-face creator known only as "Orca" are endgame. Julian despises Orca. Not because he isn't magnetic, or commanding, or infuriatingly compelling in every post—but because he's a carbon copy of Samuel. Same cold authority. Same effortless dominance. Same air of absolute, devastating control. When Orca DMs him about a collab, Julian says yes out of pure spite—and proceeds to spend every session venting about his terrible boss without ever using his name. Then, slowly, Samuel begins to change. He stays after hours to guide Julian through an impossible project, steady and patient. He appears on the rooftop when Julian is silently falling apart, sliding his handkerchief across without a word. And at the victory dinner celebrating the hardest deal Julian has ever worked on, Samuel reaches over in front of the entire team, cups Julian's head in one warm hand, and says quietly: "Good boy. You did really well." Julian falls. Hard. Hopelessly. Fast. Everything is finally falling into place—until a work errand sends Julian into Samuel's private wardrobe. An entire wall of suits in Orca's exact signature style. And a stack of unopened packages, all still tagged, all in Julian's precise size. Samuel Frost has been Orca all along. And he has known exactly who Julian was from the very beginning.

Maximilian Draken is an apex predator. He rules the city with a cold fist and a colder heart, treating everyone he meets as an asset to be exploited. When he brings Kaelen Volkov into his inner sanctum, he thinks he’s gaining a quiet, perfect instrument. He doesn't realize he’s invited a surgeon into his life—one who intends to dismantle him piece by piece. As his empire burns, Max finds that losing his throne is the easiest part. The real agony is the addiction. He’s forced to watch his legacy turn to ash, and in the ruins, he discovers a terrifying truth: he doesn't want revenge. He wants the man who destroyed him. He wants to be the one who bows. Max was meant to lead. Now, he only knows how to beg.

Yulia Farislan woke up as the villainous princess in a world that felt like a fantasy game she once obsessed over. Her fate was already written—execution, exile, or worse. But when her “punishment” sends her straight into the Dark Temple as a sacrifice to a sleeping Black Dragon, something goes very wrong. The dragon doesn’t kill her. He silences the voices in his head. For the first time in centuries… the world goes quiet. And he decides he’s keeping her. Not as prey. Not as a sacrifice. But as something far more dangerous—his. Now trapped in the domain of Caerus, the god-slaying Black Dragon feared even by the heavens, Yulia discovers the truth: The gods are not watching. The heroes are not coming. And the monster she was sent to die to… might be the only one who ever saw her as real.

My fiancé gaslit me for my tech patents. My adoptive sister poisoned my morning tea. And my family left me to cough up blood in a New York alleyway. But the universe made a mistake. It let me wake up three years earlier. The last time I lived this day, I signed my rights away and smiled like a good girl. This time? I grabbed a pair of shears, hacked off my hair, and burned my five-thousand-dollar wedding gown in the penthouse fireplace. By 9:00 AM, I stole the family’s entire database. By 11:00 AM, I leaked my sister’s sex tape with her manager. By midnight, I walked into a private club and offered myself to Alessandro Del Toro—the terrifying "Executioner of Wall Street" and my family’s ultimate nightmare. My ex-fiancé thinks he can still PUA me. He corners me, raising his hand to strike. But before his fingers can touch my skin, Alessandro’s 6'3 frame blocks the light. With a sickening CRACK, Alessandro snaps my ex's wrist, his amber eyes burning with homicidal rage as he locks him to the concrete floor: "You touched my woman. Now, choose which of your family's companies goes bankrupt by morning." They thought they buried a victim. They didn't know I was a bioweapon—and I just brought the devil home as my bodyguard.

“To the world, he is a sinless saint of cinema. But in my private browser, he is a captured outlaw—stripped of his armor, completely at my mercy.” The rules of Hollywood are simple: Never trip on the carpet. Never catch real feelings for your rival. And never, ever let the world know you spend your nights running an NSFW archive dedicated to destroying him. Roxie Wilde has mastered all three. Her daylight hatred for Christian Vance—the arrogant, hyper-controlled British god of cinema—is the only real thing in her heavily manicured world. But to survive her crippling behind-the-scenes stage anxiety, she logs into her anonymous digital empire, @Anti-Christian_666, at 3 AM. There, she dissects his flaws in sharp prose and draws wickedly sinful, dark-academia fanart of him that makes the internet weep. Christian Vance has a dark secret of his own: he doesn’t read his flawless reviews; he reads his worst executioner. He’s been pathologically obsessed with his biggest anti-fan for months, fascinated by the only person alive who sees the monster beneath his tailored three-piece suits. Then, a snow-locked Icelandic movie set forces them into a mandatory, high-profile "Fake Dating" PR contract. The physical tension is suffocating. And then, Christian intercepts her unlocked iPad. He doesn’t sue his co-star. He doesn’t tell his publicist. Instead, the clinical British gentleman enters a state of dangerous amusement and begins using her own explicit fantasies to hunt her down in daylight.

Vanya Volkov is a lethal wraith in platinum—an assassin with nothing left to lose and a target painted on the back of the man she was sent to destroy. Dante Valez is the king of a crumbling empire, a man who knows every sin in the book but has never met someone as dangerous as her. They are two storms colliding in the dark, tethered by a betrayal that threatens to bury them both. As the empire burns around them, the line between vengeance and desire vanishes. When you’re both already dead, is love a salvation—or the final nail in the coffin?

By day, he is Kaelen Thorne—the god of British indie rock, an arrogant, volatile tyrant who uses his tongue like a razor blade. To the music industry, he’s untouchable. To his new plus-size assistant, Melody, he’s a walking nightmare who criticizes her 2XL hoodies and calls her an "out-of-order typing machine." Melody bites her tongue, takes the abuse, and counts down the days until her family's debt is paid. By night, he is a broken sinner drowning in the dark. Suffering from violent insomnia and a dying auditory nerve, Kaelen finds his only salvation in Siren—an anonymous, unmasked voice therapist on a black-market audio app. He doesn’t know what she looks like, but he is obsessed to the point of madness. He crawls to her through the phone line, begging for her whispers, swearing he’d burn the world down before letting her go. He thinks he’s cheating on his real-life assistant with his virtual goddess. He doesn’t know that the mouse he humiliates at 4 PM is the sovereign queen who controls his heartbeat at 2 AM. But when a global stage threatens to shatter his mind, the secret will be dragged into the spotlights. And the rock god will learn exactly what happens when you push a Siren too far.

Olivia parecia ter o casamento perfeito em Nova York — um marido bem-sucedido, uma melhor amiga confiável e uma vida luxuosa. Mas tudo era uma mentira cuidadosamente construída. Quando ela descobre a traição entre seu marido e sua melhor amiga, Olivia não reage como eles esperavam. Ela não chora. Ela não implora. Ela observa. Porque Olivia não é apenas uma esposa traída. Ela é a herdeira de um império bilionário que eles nunca imaginaram existir. E agora, cada segredo, cada mentira e cada traição vai se voltar contra eles.

HELENA is the ice queen of Wall Street. When cancer stole her fertility, she didn’t grieve—she treated her survival as a corporate restructuring. She bought the perfect biological vessel. A million-dollar shadow trust, a flawless isolation period, and an iron-clad NDA. It was supposed to be a clean transaction. Until the child is born, and the surrogate refuses to leave. JULIAN is an aesthetic genius trapped in a concrete cage. Years of walking on eggshells around his powerful wife have left him emotionally castrated. Then Luna moves into the guest suite as the live-in nanny, smelling of sweet milk and submissive warmth, filling every sterile corner Helena left empty. Week one, Luna begins wearing Helena’s discontinued vintage Chanel. Week two, the baby violently screams every time Helena tries to hold him. Week three, Helena wakes up at 2:00 AM to find Luna standing in front of the master mirror, wearing her silk slip, practicing her corporate speeches with flawless precision. In this minimalist mansion of glass and shadows, a parasitic takeover has begun. But Luna made one fatal mistake: she forgot that before Helena was a mother, she was Wall Street’s most cold-blooded executioner.

“You will lose,” Balian Draven said lightly, as if discussing weather instead of fate.“Humans do not fall in love with monsters on command.” Rothgar did not answer immediately. Because monsters, in his experience, always fell in love first. With power. With fear. With inevitability. And humans? Humans always followed. “Define loss,” Rothgar finally said. Balian smiled. “A hundred women,” he said. “Six months. One proposal each. They must say yes willingly.” A pause. Then, amused: “No possession. No coercion. No tricks from the Abyss.” That last part made something in Rothgar’s expression sharpen—barely. “I do not need tricks,” he said. Balian leaned forward slightly. “Good. Then we have a wager.”

He’s the king of the boardroom. She’s the ghost in his machine. Alaric Sterling doesn't have a personal life—he has an algorithm. Every move is calculated, every asset is controlled. His new executive assistant, Vespera Thorne, is the perfect cog in his machine. She’s quiet, lethal in her efficiency, and utterly invisible. But Vespera is not who she claims to be. She is the anonymous hacker who has been dismantling his billion-dollar legacy, one encrypted byte at a time. Her mission is simple: destroy the man who destroyed her family. But when the line between business and pleasure disappears, she finds herself trapped in a trap of her own design. Alaric is obsessive, possessive, and—most dangerously—he’s falling for the woman who’s trying to ruin him. As the corporate war reaches a breaking point, Vespera realizes one terrifying truth: She didn't just break into his files. She broke into his bed. And Alaric Sterling is not a man who lets his secrets—or his women—go. The game is rigged. The stakes are everything. And the assistant is about to run the show.

Every century, the human world pays a debt. One bride is sent to the vampire kingdom. Ruby Kingsley volunteered—not out of bravery, but to save her best friend. She expected political schemes, a terrifying court, maybe even death. What she didn’t expect was the vampire prince who refused to leave her alone. Dion Lancaster is centuries-old, powerful, and deadly. He was supposed to view her as a mere bride, a political pawn. But from the moment she arrived, something changed. He starts showing up where she is, watching her, guarding her, and—despite his insistence that humans are “annoying”—acting jealous whenever anyone else comes close. Ruby, the girl who just wanted naps and quiet, now finds herself navigating: a palace full of secrets and intrigue a prince who is impossibly beautiful, terrifyingly possessive, and strangely… human in his obsession daily challenges of surviving the vampire court without losing her mind—or her life He says he isn’t interested. He says humans are weak. He says she’s nothing special. Then why does he: 🩸 track her movements 🩸 insist on being near her every day 🩸 whisper warnings that only she understands 🩸 look at her like she’s the only person left in the world

In a world of decay, Dante Vane is the only thing that stays white. Serafina Reed spent five years serving as the shield for a base that didn't deserve her. When the breach came, her commander voted to feed her to the infected just to buy himself a chance at survival. Left to die in the freezing Dead Zone, with nothing but a rusted blade and a broken heart, Serafina prepared for the end. She didn't expect the man who arrived to save her. Dante Vane, the Supreme Commander of Aethelgard, is a monster of surgical precision. He incinerates cities with a flick of his wrist and possesses a pathological hatred for the rot of this world. He moves through mountains of gore without staining his pristine white coat—a lethal ghost in a world of filth. When he finds Serafina in the snow, he doesn’t just save her. He claims her. He takes her back to his sterile sanctuary, obsessed with cleansing the grime of the world from her skin. He feeds her, protects her, and burns down anyone who dares to cross his perimeter. He wants to keep her as a prized exhibit in his own private hell. But Dante made a fatal mistake: he thought he was saving a victim. He didn’t realize that Serafina isn’t a trophy—she’s a blade. And she’s finally ready to see if she can cut through his steel heart. “You’re trembling, Tesoro,” he whispers, pressing a cold, gloved hand to her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ve burned the rest of the world just so you could remain pure.” “Then why,” she asks, her voice sharp as the steel she hides under her pillow, “does your touch feel more dangerous than the end of the world?”

Ariel Winter, the Moon-Touched Luna, was born with a destiny no one could predict: two Alpha mates, two kingdoms, and a bond that defies every rule of prophecy. Rhys Evernight, the silent and steadfast protector, sees the heart beneath her responsibilities. Dorian Ashcroft, the fiery and commanding Alpha, ignites a passion she never expected. Neither demands a choice, yet both claim her in ways she cannot ignore. In a world of war, intrigue, and ancient magic, Ariel must navigate love, power, and her own heart. Will she ever discover who she truly belongs to—or is some bonds meant to remain unbroken?

Frederick Heinrich von Herheid never expected to find a girl dying in the middle of his private hunting grounds. She had no name. No memories. No place to call home. With nothing but pity—and a feeling he couldn't quite explain—he brought the mysterious girl back to Herheid Estate. He planned to give her shelter until she recovered. He never planned to fall in love with her. Arabella was sweet, affectionate, and hopelessly spoiled once she realized how much Frederick indulged her. Every day she tested the limits of his patience, and every night she found new excuses to keep him by her side. "Fritz," she would pout, curling her fingers around his sleeve, "I think I deserve a reward tonight." Frederick would sigh, pretending not to notice the sparkle in her eyes. "Greedy little bird," he would murmur. "One day you must learn restraint." Unfortunately for him, she never did. Then her memories returned. And with them came a horrifying realization. Arabella Sofia Sinclair was the only heiress to the Sinclair Grand Hotels, one of Asia's most powerful luxury empires. And somehow— She was already married to Frederick Heinrich von Herheid. Terrified by everything she couldn't remember and the dangerous feelings she still couldn't resist, Arabella waited until Frederick left on a business trip. Then she ran. A year later, Frederick finally tracks her down in Macau. The missing little bird is back where she belongs—surrounded by wealth, adored by her family, and determined to keep her distance from the man she once trusted with her heart. But Frederick has never accepted defeat. And certainly not when it comes to his wife. When a mysterious European billionaire arrives at the VIP lounge of the Sinclair Casino, Arabella is sent to welcome the guest personally. The moment she sees him, her blood runs cold. A wedding ring gleaming on his finger. And those impossible blue eyes fixed entirely on her. "Good evening, my beautiful wife," Frederick says softly. "I've missed you every day for the past year." His gaze drops to her trembling hands before returning to her face. "And you?" A slow smile curves his lips. "Did you miss Daddy?" ◆ "Sweetheart," Frederick whispers, cornering her beneath the glittering lights of the casino, "you wouldn't want your father to discover that his precious daughter is already married, would you?" "You're insane," Arabella snaps. "I know all the bad things you did! You’re a devil!" His smile only deepens. "Oh?" Frederick reaches for her hand. "Then stop struggling, little bird." "The devil wants to hold you now."

Twelve centuries ago, Lady Aurelia Ravenshire died in the arms of the most feared vampire in history. Count Evander Valmont never recovered. For 1,247 years, he searched for the soul he buried with his own hands, watching kingdoms rise and fall, empires crumble, and centuries disappear into dust. Then he finds her again. Not as a noblewoman. Not as the girl he loved. But as Vivienne Whitmore—a sleep-deprived medical student drowning in exams, student debt, and hospital night shifts. She doesn't remember him. She doesn't remember the castle. She doesn't remember the life they shared. And she certainly doesn't remember dying. But her blood does. The moment a single drop touches the floor, the vampire world descends into chaos. Ancient predators begin hunting her. Old enemies emerge from the shadows. And the immortal man who once lost everything is forced to confront the one truth he fears most: Vivienne may carry Aurelia's soul... But she is not Aurelia. As memories awaken and obsession collides with destiny, Vivienne must decide whether the impossible connection pulling her toward Evander is the promise of a second chance— Or the beginning of another tragedy. Because some loves survive death. The dangerous ones survive eternity.

For years, I idolized Eduardo—a co-regent of the vampire clan, a man whose golden-streaked hair and almond eyes made my heart race. I believed I was his chosen one, the one destined for his eternity. But in the cold light of day, I discovered the truth: I was nothing more than another toy in his cruel, unscrupulous game. As the sun rises over his dark, imposing mansion, I take my chance. I’m leaping over the walls of the only home I’ve ever known, desperate to leave his madness behind. But just as I reach for freedom, a single word from behind a closing door stops me cold, threatening to pull me right back into his web…

"I spent three centuries waiting for a ghost to haunt me. When she finally returned, she was wearing a collar." Cillian de Valcourt is the Sovereign of the Eternal Night, a predator who has ruled for three centuries with nothing but boredom and blood in his veins. He isn’t looking for redemption—he is looking for the only woman who ever came close to killing him. Willow Solence remembers everything. She remembers the steel of her blade against his throat, the fire in his eyes, and the final, shattering moment of their past-life duel. She was the Hunter’s Guild’s deadliest elite, but now, she is reborn into the ultimate nightmare: a low-born blood-servant in the court of her greatest enemy. She is his captive; he is her ruin. In this cutthroat game of political maneuvering and lethal secrets, they are the only two people who truly know the monsters lurking beneath each other’s skin. For Willow, the goal is vengeance—a slow, calculated dismantling of his empire. For Cillian, the goal is possession—a desperate, terrifying obsession that defies time itself. As they dance on the razor’s edge of betrayal, Willow realizes the truth: this resurrection wasn’t a second chance. It was a trap. And in their final, inevitable collision, she discovers that for a man who has lived too long, the only thing sweeter than ruling the world is watching it burn to ashes in her arms. One life to kill him. One death to keep him.

Rain hammered against the stone steps of St. Mary’s Cathedral. Mia Clarke backed away instinctively. One step. Then another. Until the cold stone hit her spine and there was nowhere left to go. The convoy had arrived less than thirty seconds ago. Black SUV. Headlights flooding the churchyard. Men in dark suits moving with military precision. And in the middle of all of it— him. Damien Lancaster stepped out of the car like violence wearing a tailored coat. He was devastatingly beautiful. That was the worst part. His looks weren't safe; his charm wasn't human. He was beautiful the way a loaded gun was beautiful: cold, polished, lethal. The priest tried to shield her. Two men pulled him aside instantly. Damien never even looked at them. His eyes stayed locked on Mia the entire time. She felt a sick twist in her stomach—she realized he was furious. Not a loud fury. Not rage. Something quieter. Something infinitely worse. It was the silence of a decision already made. In that quiet, he had already decided the fate of everyone here. “Mia.” Her name left his mouth softly. Almost gently. It frightened her more than a shout ever could. She turned to run. He caught her before she cleared the last step. One hand clamped around her wrist. The other dragged her hard against his chest. No hesitation. No softness. He smelled like rain, menthol smoke, and expensive whiskey. “Mia,” he repeated near her ear, his voice low enough that only she could hear it, “did you really think you could disappear from me?” She pushed against his chest with everything she had. “Let go of me.” That finally made him smile. Slowly. Beautifully. Wrong. “You vanished for eleven days,” he said quietly. “I stopped sleeping on day three.” The church bells rang overhead. Nobody moved. His men didn't even dare to breathe. Damien lowered his head slightly, forehead nearly touching hers. And in that terrifyingly intimate moment— she understood something too late. This man was not trying to win her back. He already believed she belonged to him. Forever.