My super sexy roommate

The Billionaire's Daughter in Danger

Emma had always thought of herself as untouchable. With her sharp tongue, enviable beauty, and spoiled rotten demeanor, she had managed to stay several steps ahead of anyone who dared to challenge her. But somehow, Will Knight-cocky, impatient, and slightly dimwitted-had managed to kidnap her and her best friend not once, but twice. How? She was still trying to wrap her head around it. The first time had been a chaotic mess. Will had bungled the plan, getting caught halfway through, and yet, somehow, he still managed to pull it off. The second time was almost laughable. Emma had expected a more elaborate scheme, but instead, Will had used his brute force and complete disregard for any semblance of intelligence. It was absurd, really. He had no finesse, no strategy, and yet here they were, locked in his uncomfortably shabby hideout for the second time. "Seriously?" Emma muttered, pacing the room, hands on her hips. "How does someone this clueless get away with kidnapping?" Will shrugged with that stupid grin of his. "Dunno, guess I'm just lucky." Emma shot him a withering look. Maybe luck had something to do with it, but she had a feeling there was more to Will than met the eye. Perhaps he wasn't as dimwitted as she'd thought. That idea made her stomach twist in an unsettling way.

The Billionaire's Husband

After the death of Peter McKinley, the fate of the McKinley Inns was left in the hands of Peter's firstborn son, Alexander. Thrust into leadership, Alexander was determined to protect the legacy his father built from the ground up. But when he uncovered the company's seemingly unending debts and mounting pressure from creditors, he found himself drowning in financial ruin. Desperation clawed at him as he scrambled for a solution to save the family's name and keep the company afloat. Then came an unexpected offer-one that both intrigued and infuriated him. George Garrison, a young billionaire and hotel magnate, approached him with a proposal: he would buy McKinley Inns, settle its debts, and keep Alexander on as the face of the brand. But there was a condition-George wanted to marry Alexander's younger sister. The deal sounded like a lifeline, but to Alexander, it felt like a betrayal. His sister was in love with someone else, and the thought of trading her happiness for a business deal sickened him. Refusing to give up so easily, Alexander sought out other options, determined to find another way. Meanwhile, George Garrison, under pressure from his late grandfather's will, was required to marry in order to claim full control of his inheritance. The catch? He was gay-and had no desire for a wife or a marriage of convenience. He saw Peter McKinley's daughter as a solution, a name to satisfy the will. But when Alexander stormed into his office, angry and desperate, George found himself considering a far more intriguing arrangement-one that just might change everything.

The Divine Pact

Thea Gibson lived a perfectly ordinary life. By day, she served drinks at the local bar, earning just enough to pay the rent and keep her bills from piling up. She wasn't one for extravagant spending, preferring quiet nights at home with her nose buried in the latest paranormal fantasy novel. It was easier to get lost in a world of mythical creatures and epic battles than face the real one, where she tried-and often failed-to suppress the awkwardness that followed her like a shadow. Most nights, she relished her solitude, but that didn't stop her best friend Shae from dragging her to parties. "You need to get out more!" Shae would say with that infectious energy that made it impossible to say no. Thea would end up surrounded by strangers, nursing a drink in a corner, wishing she could escape into the pages of her book instead of pretending to enjoy herself. The only bright spot? Detective Josh Cooper. He was always there, with his captivating smile and those deep eyes that seemed to see right through her. Thea had a secret crush on him. But that was all it was-a harmless fantasy. That all changed one fateful night. The bar was quieter than usual when a figure appeared in the doorway. The air seemed to crackle with electricity as Thea stared at him. He was tall, his presence undeniable, with a calm confidence that seemed at odds with the tension in the room. Before she could even process what was happening, a group of monstrous creatures-Titans, she later learned-charged toward her. Panic surged in her chest. But before they could reach her, the man was there, moving with blinding speed, his hand raised. A bolt of light shot from his fingers, and the Titans disintegrated into smoke. "I'm Hermes," he said, voice smooth as silk. "Messenger of the Gods. And you, Thea, are a reincarnated deity with a destiny you've yet to remember." The words felt surreal. Thea opened her mouth to protest, but the world around her seemed to shift, and suddenly she wasn't sure what was real anymore. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. Hermes smiled, the corner of his lips curling up with a mysterious knowing. "You're about to find out. The Titans are free. And it's up to you to send Cronos back to Tartarus." Thea shook her head in disbelief. "This is insane." "You're not the first to refuse the truth," Hermes said, his tone soft, but unwavering. "But you will be the one to stop him." Everything she'd known, every bit of normalcy she clung to, crumbled in that instant.

The Werewolves: Land of Serenity

Young aspiring writer Norah Jacobs needs to escape. In just two weeks, her life has been turned upside down. Her brother, a brilliant but deeply corrupt lawyer, is incarcerated for murder. His name, once synonymous with success, is now dragged through the mud by the media. And as if that weren't enough, his former partner-a man as dangerous as he is relentless-now lurks around her home, throwing half-threats her way, making it clear that her silence comes at a price... The peace she had been desperately trying to hold onto crumbles. So, Norah makes a radical decision: she packs her car, abandons her apartment, shuts off her phone, and disappears. Her destination is Bellvale, a small coastal town, far removed from the chaos she left behind. But in Bellvale, calm is only an illusion. Soon, Norah realizes that this secluded corner of the world harbors its own darkness. Strange whispers in the woods, too many piercing gazes, and an unsettling feeling of being watched... She finds herself drawn into an ancient power struggle, one between creatures she thought were only found in fairy tales. And she quickly learns an undeniable truth: no matter how hard you try to run from your problems... they always find a way to catch up.

Burned By Him, Reborn A Star

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

The Scars She Hid From The World

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

The Rise Of The Ugly Luna

Lyric had spent her life being hated. Bullied for her scarred face and hated by everyone-including her own mate-she was always told she was ugly. Her mate only kept her around to gain territory, and the moment he got what he wanted, he rejected her, leaving her broken and alone. Then, she met him. The first man to call her beautiful. The first man to show her what it felt like to be loved. It was only one night, but it changed everything. For Lyric, he was a saint, a savior. For him, she was the only woman that had ever made him cum in bed-a problem he had been battling for years. Lyric thought her life would finally be different, but like everyone else in her life, he lied. And when she found out who he really was, she realized he wasn't just dangerous-he was the kind of man you don't escape from. Lyric wanted to run. She wanted freedom. But she desired to navigate her way and take back her respect, to rise above the ashes. Eventually, she was forced into a dark world she didn't wish to get involved with.

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.