Sold for $1 To The Hawthorne Brothers
Three women, three brothers, a single, crumpled dollar bill.
Alina's world shatters the moment she's auctioned off-and claimed by the powerful Hawthorne brothers.
Thrown into Adrian Hawthorne's cold, dangerous world, she becomes his to control... his to protect... and, terrifyingly, his to desire. He's ruthless, possessive, and hiding secrets that could destroy them both. But the deeper she falls into his world, the harder it becomes to tell if she's his prisoner-or something far more dangerous.
Because the Hawthorne brothers don't just take.
They keep.
Viviane has spent her life surviving, so when Julian Hawthorne "buys" her freedom, she knows better than to trust it. Men like him don't save people-they collect them. But Julian isn't as simple as he pretends to be, and the deeper she's pulled into his world, the more dangerous it becomes to walk away.
Especially when she realizes she might be the only thing he's ever been willing to fight for.
Lena doesn't belong to anyone-and she intends to keep it that way. Brilliant, guarded, and hiding more than anyone suspects, she enters Lucien Hawthorne's world on her own terms. But Lucien doesn't play fair, and he doesn't let go.
When her past comes crashing back, Lena is forced to face the one thing she's been running from: trusting someone who could destroy her... or save her.
Three women. Three choices.Stay. Fight.
Or burn it all down.
Because being sold was only the beginning.
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Chapter 12
For a long, embarrassing moment, I forget how to speak. The words are at the tip of my tongue, but Adrian's eyes are boring holes through my face and into my brain, cutting off the part that connects to speech.
"Then again," he murmurs, "I doubt you had any time between the jobs and shifts you had to pick up to learn how to dance."
He releases my hand abruptly and I lose my footing a bit. Adrian's eyes dance with curiosity as he folds his arms. "My brother is...reckless. He does things as he wants, with no regard of how it affects others, as long as he's having fun. I would've expected you to know better, Miss Wilson."
His gaze trails over my body with barely a flicker of interest-not like the gaping stare the bartender gave. And yet, heat travels down the path his eyes take, pooling in my belly. I will myself to ignore it.
He doesn't think it's pretty. He's probably calculating how much it cost and why Julian had to spend so much money on someone like me.
I cross my arms over my chest, defensively. "I'll return it tomorrow. It didn't come with a tag, but I'm sure I can persuade them to take it. After all, it was your brother who suggested something outrageously expensive."
I feel bad for throwing Julian under the boss, but he dragged me into it.
Adrian tuts softly. "It looks good on you."
Huh?
I stare at him, unblinking. My lashes lift and fall, once. Faster, twice. He did not just give me a compliment? I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. "What?" he asks. "Would you rather I said yellow doesn't look good on you? That it doesn't complement your eyes and the way they shine under the chandelier light?"
"I-"
A flush rises quickly to the back of my neck. I feel...hot. I glance around, searching for something. A waiter, a glass of cold water-a drink, for heavens sake. Because either Adrian Hawthorne had a concussion before he came up to me or I'm hallucinating.
"But if you were to throw yourself into the arms of any man here-" his voice turns serious, "-you'll only end up giving them bloody ties. And then, I'd have the unfortunate responsibility of explaining how someone with no social graces got into a party like this."
"So, you see, Miss Wilson," his eyes narrow and his tone deepens with a note of distaste," perhaps you should've stayed home after all."
I take back everything I just said.
Adrian Hawthorne didn't hit his head and sudden become a normal member of society. He's still the arrogant, narcissistic asshole I know. And the heat in my stomach is because I haven't had anything to eat since I left the campus.
Julian promised me overpriced caviar.
"You know what?" I purse my lips tightly with a bitter smile. "I get it. I'm going to stay out of your way. I won't bother you with the insult of watching me make a fool of myself, just because I'm doing my best to fit in with your social circle."
A lump thickens in the back of my throat and my eyes sting with tears. "I'm going to put myself in time-out, find a corner and stay there until you're ready to send me away to where you think I belong."
I march away without another word-without waiting for the response I know will never come-swiping my eyes angrily with the back of my hand. I move out of the way, just in time to avoid a waitstaff carrying a tray of bubbly glasses.
I change my mind at the last minute, snagging one.
"Ma'am," she protests weakly, but I'm tipping my head back already and letting it pour down throat. The liquid is thick and fruity, not like the punch and burn I expected. I scoff with a sharp breath, staring at the glass with disappointment. "You too?" My voice cracks pitifully.
"Here," the server hands me another, a smile touching her lips. She tilts her head when I stare at it questioningly. "The people who asked for it won't miss it anyway. They're probably blacked out by now. And," she says in a hushed, excited whisper as she leans closer, "it's a twenty-year-old bottle of rum. If you can't taste it, why would you drink it?"
I end up with a bottle of rum, standing outside on the balcony, away from the party and the noise. The evening-night-breeze beats on my skin mercilessly. I shiver, wrapping an arm tightly around my chest as I take another swig from the bottle.
It's still sticky and sweet, but it fights off some of the cold.
I hate it here.
I didn't think ending up in the home of the man who picked me up like a discounted tab at a hole-in-the-wall diner was going to magically turn my life around...but I didn't think it was going to be this horrible.
I don't have to worry about money, tuition or a roof over my head, but now I have to deal with a narcissist who doesn't miss any opportunity to remind me of how inadequate I am, compared to him.
Alina Wilson, pauper. Adrian Hawthorne, CEO of Hawthorne Industries, billionaire and recluse.
A tear slides down my cheek. I don't bother brushing it away this time. My lips are all bruised from holding the back and the wind, brushing harshly against the tiny cuts, sting horribly.
I want to go home.
I'm not sure where that is, but I'm done being strong.
I go to take another swig, only to discover that the bottle's empty. "Crap." I shake it, growing furious by the second. I'm nowhere near drunk. The server said it was aged rum, but she must've been confused.
"Oh well," I shrugged. I'm Murphy's Law little experiment. If anything can go wrong, it's bound to go wrong for me. I slowly bend down, placing the bottle on the ground. The floor tilts as I try to stand up and my head lolls forward, dangling off my neck. My vision swims as my surrounding blurs into a mix of hazy colors and distorted images.
"Woah," I mutter as I grip the railing, slurring the word. "That was trippy."
A tiny, high-pitched laugh that resembles nothing like me, pours out. I shake my head. "Gotta try again...slowly."
I turn, raising one foot. The ground distorts, sinking deeper and then magically rising higher than my shoe. I squint in confusion, trying to make sense of it, while balancing on one foot.
Bad idea.
It happens in slow drunken motion. My arms flail out, my shoes fly off my feet, landing somewhere in the dark and my legs give way from underneath me, like a rug roughly pulled forward. And then I'm falling.
I open my mouth to scream for help, but nothing comes out. Just pure horror, coursing through my veins and the late dawning that perhaps I shouldn't have drunk the half-bottle the staff snuck out for me.
It was rum, after all.
I close my eyes, thinking about all the things I thought about doing. The boring goals on my list. My graduation walk in mere months.
This is how I die, I think to myself. In a yellow, expensive dress I was going to return, outside a party where I don't belong, drinking stolen rum. From a split brain.
I wait for the end-
And end up slamming into something hard, with a firm grip digging into my waist. I feel something beating against my ear. Thump. thump. thump. Warm breath floods my ear as an amused drawl fills the thundering silence of my near-death incident.
"Is this a desperate cry for help, Miss Wilson. Or are you trying to appear more approachable due to your lack of social etiquette?"
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9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
9.1
My husband, Dante Moretti, the feared Underboss, signed the divorce papers I slipped him without a glance. Too busy texting his true love, Sofia, he was blind to the annulment decree ending everything. The Reaper couldn't see the death of his own marriage.
For three years, I was Elena, his silent wife, the "Caged Canary," cleaning his messes while meticulously planning my escape from our loveless world.
He dismissed me for Sofia's every whim, publicly shaming me after a past love letter was read, then abandoning me again for her fake crisis.
That night, he violently shoved me against a wall, leaving me bleeding and concussed, rushing instead to protect Sofia. Discarded and injured, my invisible love became a weapon against me.
His crushing blindness, the cold realization I was a mere placeholder, fueled a profound injustice. How could he be so lethal, yet oblivious to his wife, favoring the one who betrayed him?
With chilling resolve, I uploaded Sofia's confession, initiated a massive financial transfer dismantling his empire, and staged my own death. Under a new identity, I fled to San Francisco, ready to build my power, far from his bloody, deceitful world.
7.7
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
8.1
Red Moon
8.1
Blood Moon – Story Description
Blood Moon is a dark, thrilling tale of forbidden attraction, supernatural rivalry, and the fine line between predator and prey. Set in the seemingly ordinary Silver Hollow College, the story unfolds in a world where vampires and werewolves secretly coexist alongside humans, each hiding their true powers while battling their own instincts, rival clans, and the pressures of legacy. In this shadowed world, every glance can hide a threat, every conversation can carry hidden meaning, and every full moon can unleash the beast within.
At the heart of the story are Catrine Nella, a powerful young vampire, and Edwardo Zee, a disciplined yet conflicted werewolf. Catrine is sharp, cunning, and deadly, raised under the constant pressure of her ambitious step-sister who insists she feed on human blood to grow stronger. Catrine's natural talents in both magic and combat make her a force to be reckoned with, yet she struggles with morality, identity, and her own desire for control. Edwardo, on the other hand, is torn between his instincts as a wolf and the manipulations of his ruthless step-brother, who demands that he become a killer to claim alpha status. Edwardo wants to be a true alpha, not through bloodshed, but by protecting others and leading with honor-an ambition that sets him apart from his family and makes him both a target and a misfit among his kind.
The story begins with a violent, electrifying encounter between Catrine and Edwardo in the forest during the full moon. Both are drawn by their own impulses-Catrine performing a vampire ritual, Edwardo struggling to control the wolf within-and the resulting clash is fierce, brutal, and unforgettable. This first meeting ignites a dangerous rivalry, with each recognizing the other's extraordinary abilities while also sensing something forbidden and magnetic between them. Though enemies by instinct and heritage, the connection they forge amidst conflict sets the stage for a tension-filled enemies-to-lovers narrative that drives the series forward.
As the story unfolds, Silver Hollow College becomes a battlefield not just of physical strength but of intellect, cunning, and emotional power. Catrine and Edwardo test one another constantly-through subtle glances in class, tense encounters in crowded hallways, and increasingly dangerous confrontations in the forest. Each battle pushes them further, revealing vulnerabilities and strengths, and slowly transforms their relationship from animosity into fascination, grudging respect, and eventually, desire. Amidst this, both characters are confronted with the pressures of their families. Catrine's step-sister threatens her with weakness if she does not feed on human blood, while Edwardo's step-brother pressures him toward ruthless dominance, creating a constant tension that challenges their morality and tests the limits of their powers.
At its core, Blood Moon is a story about choice and identity. It explores the struggle between instinct and conscience, power and restraint, hatred and attraction. It examines what it means to be strong-not just physically, but emotionally and morally-in a world where strength often comes at the cost of humanity. Through fast-paced action, supernatural intrigue, and the slow-burning, dangerous pull between Catrine and Edwardo, the story blends romance, suspense, and fantasy into a gripping narrative. It is a saga of blood and moonlight, of predators and secrets, of rivalry and passion, and of two young supernatural beings whose lives are forever intertwined by fate, desire, and the power of the Blood Moon.
9.6
I was only three and a half years old, living in a damp basement and beaten daily by Enoch Pruitt with a heavy leather whip.
"Get up, you useless waste of space!"
He always told me I was a stray he had picked out of the garbage.
But during one brutal beating that nearly stopped my heart, time froze, and a glowing figure called The Chronicler appeared.
"You are not an abandoned orphan, Clare. You carry the blood of the highest gods."
He revealed that I was the stolen daughter of the ultra-wealthy Barrett family.
Then, he showed me the horrific ending of my previous life.
I had died right here on this bloody dirt floor.
My real parents and three brothers went completely insane with grief, turning into ruthless monsters who destroyed themselves and the entire world to avenge me.
Meanwhile, the Pruitt family kept torturing me, locking me in a woodshed and feeding me moldy bread.
The memory of my bones breaking and my real mother's agonizing screams crushed my chest.
Why did I have to suffer like an animal while my true family tore the world apart looking for me?
This time, I refused to die in the mud.
I accepted my divine blood, my eyes glowing gold as I summoned a bolt of purple lightning to strike my abuser.
I just needed to survive the night.
Because my real father's heavily armed convoy was already tearing up the mountain, ready to burn this hell to the ground.
8.6
Alia bought her four-million-dollar Manhattan townhouse in cash the day before she married Jerel.
For three years, she worked eighty-hour weeks as a top architect to build their life, until an anonymous text shattered her reality.
It was a high-definition photo of her husband kissing his junior partner, followed by an eight-week ultrasound.
Alia didn't scream. She went home, only to find her mother-in-law throwing IVF brochures at her, screaming that she was a selfish, barren workaholic for not giving the family an heir.
Jerel played the perfect, gentle husband, wrapping his arms around her and urging her to rest.
But later that night, Alia caught them on a secret call with a lawyer.
They were plotting to blindside her with a divorce, claiming his minor financial contributions entitled him to the property, aiming to kick her out with a measly fifty-thousand-dollar settlement.
They wanted to steal her hard-earned home to raise his pregnant mistress's child.
Alia's jaw tightened until her teeth ached. She had paid for every single inch of that estate.
Did they really think her dedication to her career made her blind, weak, and easy to destroy?
She didn't shed a single tear.
Instead, she walked into the office of the city's most ruthless private equity billionaire and struck a dangerous deal to lock away all her assets in an irrevocable trust.
Days later, when Jerel handed her the settlement with a fake, sympathetic smile, Alia poured cold black coffee directly over the ink.
"Tell Tiffany she is never stepping foot inside my house," Alia said smoothly. "I'll see you in court."