Too Late For Regret: His Discarded Rose

Helen was finally brought back to the luxurious Gallagher estate as their long-lost blood relative. But her new family didn't welcome her; they looked at her with undisguised disgust. The matriarch mocked her stench of poverty, while her step-sister Candice treated her like a feral animal. The patriarch, Fredy—who had built his empire by betraying Helen's mother—tried to break her spirit. He blackmailed Helen into attending a high-society gala by threatening to cut off her grandmother's medical funds. At the gala, Candice squeezed into a diamond-encrusted gown, desperate to seduce the guest of honor, Damian Montgomery. Damian was the most powerful man in New York, and he was currently tearing the city apart looking for a mysterious woman named Jane. Overhearing this, a sick, greedy smile spread across Candice's face. She planned to impersonate Jane to claim Damian's wealth and completely crush Helen under her heel. "Hide in the corner tonight. Don't you dare try to speak to anyone important!" They all thought Helen was just a helpless, uncultured country girl they could easily manipulate and step on to secure their stolen legacy. What they didn't know was that Helen was the real Jane. She was the lethal shadow who had saved Damian in the woods, shattered his grip, and robbed his highly guarded vault just the night before. Helen calmly adjusted her simple black dress and stepped into the ballroom, ready to tear their stolen world apart.

Cadence, a modern botanist, woke up to a glaring sun and massive, alien purple leaves blocking the sky. She was stranded in a terrifying, primal world. Before she could process the metallic smell of blood in the air, a white tiger the size of an SUV crushed a giant boar's neck right in front of her. The beast locked its piercing blue eyes on her hiding spot. But instead of tearing her throat out, a blinding flash of silver light erupted, and the monster transformed into a towering, heavily scarred naked man. He was Harlan, a shifter who immediately claimed her as his mate under tribal law. Dragged back to his primitive village, Cadence faced a brutal reality. Unbonded females were targets, and she was expected to take multiple mates just to survive. The tribal women mocked her fragile frame, calling her useless. To make matters worse, her foreign scent attracted a rogue serpent-shifter who violently ambushed her in the river. The icy shock of the serpent's attack plunged Cadence into a deadly, burning fever. The tribe's Shaman tried his healing magic, only to shake his head and abandon her. "She lacks primal fortitude. She will rely entirely on her own weak vitality. I can do nothing." As Harlan held her shivering body in despair, Cadence felt a deep sense of desperate injustice. Was she really going to die in a filthy stone hut in an unknown universe, killed by a simple cold? No. She remembered her grandfather's strict survival lessons. Forcing her heavy eyes open, she grabbed her terrified tiger mate's hand. She didn't need their failing magic; she had science. "I need specific plants to live. I need white willow bark. And a spicy, ginger-like root." She rasped, preparing to show this savage world the true power of a modern survivor.

Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave. He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man. By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him. Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave. This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Giana woke up drugged and burning with fever in a luxurious hotel suite. Standing before her was Cornel Stark, the most ruthless billionaire in New York. Memories of her past life stabbed into her brain. In that life, her adoptive family and her fiancé Gary had stolen her inheritance and left her to die a brutal, agonizing death. She also remembered how fighting Cornel only made him more violent. So this time, she didn't scream. She endured his brutal punishment, escaped the moment he let his guard down, and swallowed a Plan B pill on the freezing streets. Returning to her adoptive family's mansion, she faced the people who had destroyed her. Her fiancé and her stepsister put on masks of fake concern, secretly mocking her. Instead of throwing a useless tantrum like before, Giana deliberately threw herself down the steep wooden stairs. She smashed her head against the marble floor, using her own blood to shatter their plans and win back her mother's trust. She thought she had finally taken control. She was ready to crush the people who had betrayed her and live for herself. But she didn't understand why the billionaire she had just escaped was suddenly turning her life upside down. When she woke up in the hospital, her room wasn't filled with her family's fake tears, but an ocean of blood-red roses. The heavy door swung open, and Cornel Stark walked in, his gray eyes locking onto her with a dark, predatory hunger. "Remember this feeling, Giana. Every breath you take belongs to me now."

Genevieve was heavily pregnant, holding the legal papers that would transfer her massive family trust fund to her loving husband, Clinton. But as she approached his study, she heard a familiar giggle. Through the cracked door, she saw her cousin Carolynn sitting on his desk, her skirt hiked up, while Clinton smirked and poured bourbon. "Once she signs those papers, we don't need her anymore," Clinton laughed coldly. "The kidnapping is staged for tomorrow. She and the brat disappear permanently." Genevieve gasped, and he spotted her. When she frantically tried to run, her trusted housekeeper blocked the stairs. Clinton dragged her back, beat her mercilessly, and locked her in a freezing, underground cellar. Denied any medical help, she endured agonizing hours of labor alone in the dark, only to deliver a stillborn child. Clinton then walked in, ruthlessly tossed her dead baby's tiny body into a pile of dirty rags, and brutally strangled her. As her lungs burned and the world faded to black, her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She had given him everything. How could they be so monstrous as to murder her and her innocent child just for money? Opening her eyes again, the freezing cellar was gone. She was standing in an emerald silk gown at an elite charity gala—the exact night their original kidnapping plot began, a month before she even announced her pregnancy. This time, the naive socialite was dead, and she was going to make them pay in blood.

Isabella thought she had the perfect life as the wealthy Conrad family heiress, complete with a loving childhood sweetheart. Until she woke up drugged in a hotel bed, blinded by paparazzi flashes, as her fiancé pointed a shaking finger at her, screaming that she had drugged and seduced him. "She threatened to ruin Kaylie if I didn't sleep with her!" he yelled to the cameras. Kaylie, the newly discovered biological daughter, stood in the doorway weeping perfectly. Within hours, Isabella's adoptive father publicly severed all ties, froze her assets, and kicked her out into a violent thunderstorm. Fleeing the city, her car's brakes suddenly failed. As Isabella lay dying in the crushed metal of her Porsche, Kaylie strolled up with a pristine umbrella and a genuine smile. "The mechanic was quite expensive, but cutting the brake lines was worth every penny," Kaylie laughed. Isabella coughed up blood, her heart turning to ice. Her twenty years of family, love, and loyalty had been nothing but a cruel joke, destroyed by a calculated frame-up. She died suffocating on absolute betrayal and unadulterated hatred. Then, she gasped for air. She wasn't dead. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her car, staring at her flawless reflection in the rearview mirror. It was exactly four years ago—the day the real heiress first arrived. A chilling smirk curled the corner of Isabella's mouth. This time, she was going to rip their lives apart from the inside out.