264 Book(s) Related to I

Three years of passion between the sheets, three years of sweet promises—all just foreplay to the perfect betrayal.

When Felix publicly declared Scarlett Wilson as his "artistic partner," when he said dating someone "at my level" would be "professional suicide," I finally understood—I was nothing but his stepping stone to the Wilson family fortune, a used rag to be discarded.

Even more pathetic? The bitch who stole my man wasn't satisfied with just that. She had to destroy my art career too. Plagiarism accusations, vicious smears, "accidental" artwork destruction... Scarlett Wilson used her family's power to systematically push me into the abyss, wanting to make sure I'd never hold my head up in the art world again.

Did she think I'd just take it like some pathetic victim?

Wrong.

When I played that recording of her confessing to every single crime under the Whitney Museum's spotlights; when the entire art world watched this "socialite princess" screaming hysterical denials; when Tate Modern personally invited me to exhibit and Gagosian Gallery offered me a $500K guarantee—

That's what total destruction looks like.

But the most satisfying part? Watching Felix's pathetic transformation: from the arrogant gallery owner to a broken man in wrinkled shirts, begging for my forgiveness. When he cried, "I've lost everything, please give me another chance," all I wanted to tell him was—

Fuck off. You're not worth it.

My name is Iris Hollow. I'm six years old, and I talk to dead people.

Four months ago, my stepmother tried to push me down the basement stairs of our funeral home. Not because she didn't love me—but because she loved me too much to watch me become a monster.

The dead whisper their secrets to me. They tell me about the pain they left behind, about love that transcends death. But the living? They're the ones who truly terrify me.

Because when your own stepmother looks at you with murder in her eyes, when she sees your gift as a curse that must be destroyed, you learn that sometimes the most dangerous ghosts are the ones still breathing.

What if your greatest sacrifice became your deepest regret?

Sarah Miller believed love meant unconditional support—abandoning her nursing degree, working double shifts, and funding her husband's coding dreams. When Jake's app hit one million downloads, she thought they'd finally taste success.

But success brought shame, not gratitude. Jake demanded a "low-key marriage," listed himself as "Single" on LinkedIn, and denied his family on national TV. Sarah wasn't a wife anymore; she was a stain on his success.

When their daughter Emma was dismissed as "the help's kid," Sarah understood a brutal truth: gaining everything means losing yourself, while losing it all can make you whole.

A car crash stole my memories, but gave me the perfect "boyfriend."

When I woke up, tattooed Knox held my hand and said: "I'm your boyfriend." I believed him. His tenderness, his daughter's affection, those photos of "us together"—what a beautiful lie.

Until a children's choir sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and shattered memories flooded back: I was a kindergarten teacher falsely accused of child abuse, my ex-boyfriend Zephyr abandoned me for his career, his new girlfriend Sterling orchestrated the entire trap that even led to my car crash and amnesia...

And Knox? He was a complete stranger!

The most twisted part—I actually fell in love with this man who lied to me.

When Zephyr returned with regret, when Sterling threatened with malicious intent, when Knox waited in fear for my judgment... I made the craziest choice:

"I choose this lie."

Five years ago, I walked away pregnant and heartbroken.
He chose someone else.
He let me go without looking back.

Now I’ve returned—with a son who carries his blood
and a strength I never knew I had.

He kneels, begging for forgiveness.

I died in his fire.

Lucian Cross made me Ghost—the deadliest assassin in New York's underworld. Thirty-seven kills. Ten years of loyalty. Then he locked the cuffs himself and told me I was too soft to live.

But death gave me a second chance.

When I open my eyes again, I'm back in that warehouse. This time, I'm not crying. This time, I'm escaping. And this time, I'm taking everything he built and burning it down.

There's just one problem: Kael Vaughn, Lucian's sworn enemy, pulled me from the rubble. Now I'm hiding my identity while falling for the one man who'd kill me if he knew the truth.

Except when my secret comes out, Kael doesn't pull the trigger. He hands me a gun instead.

"I don't care who you were. I care who you choose to be now."

But Lucian never lets go of what's his.

Three years ago, my Luna was driven to the edge of a cliff by an enemy pack and forced to fall.
After that, I all but lost my mind. I tore through forests, rivers, ravines—every place a wolf could reach—but in the end, I had to face the truth: she was gone.
During that first year without her, hatred was the only thing keeping me alive. I wiped out the pack that killed her so completely that even my own son started to fear me.

In the second year, I planted lilies in every corner of our territory—her favorite flower.
By the third year, the strange illness hit me hard: fevers out of nowhere and blood I couldn’t stop coughing up. Every healer failed, and no one realized I was being eaten alive by grief.

Then one day, a healer walked into our pack, half her face hidden behind a white mask.
The moment I saw her—the way she breathed, the quiet in her eyes—something inside me cracked open.

I shouldn’t have held on to that impossible hope.
But before my mind could deny it, my soul had already spoken her name.
She was Lily. My Lily.

I never expected that 2 AM emergency call would change everything.
When the ambulance pulled up to 1847 Ashford Heights, my stomach dropped—my in-laws' house. Five years of being "just a nurse," never good enough for their precious son. Five years of my mother-in-law's cutting remarks at every family dinner.
Now I was here to save her husband's life.
But something was wrong. When Constance saw me walk through that door, her face didn't show relief—it showed fear.
As we loaded Lawrence onto the stretcher, his eyes fluttered open. His cold fingers gripped mine, and he whispered four numbers with his dying breath:
"Seven... two... nine... nine..."
What was my father-in-law trying to tell me?

My name is Aurora McNamara, federal fire investigator.

For seven years, I've endured the same three words from my husband every single day: "Get out, murderer."

Yes, my husband Phoenix—the fire captain who once whispered "I love you" in my ear—now looks at me with pure hatred every day, as if I'm the monster who killed his teammates.

But I didn't set those fires.

I was framed.

What's more twisted? The real killer sits on our couch every evening, gently providing "psychological therapy" to my husband, telling him he should "forgive his wife's mistakes."

That, Phoenix made his choice—in the raging inferno, he chose to save her instead of me.

Then I return to three months ago, before everything fell apart completely....

"Not pregnant again?"
Those three words have become more familiar than "I love you" in my marriage. For two years, I've dreaded the monthly ritual—the single line on the test, Damon's disappointed sigh, his mechanical "We'll try again."
Until yesterday.
"Congratulations, you're four weeks along," the doctor beamed, sliding the report across her desk.
I gripped that paper like a lifeline, tears streaming down my face as I touched my still-flat belly. Finally, he'll look at me the way he used to.
But some victories come with a price I never saw coming...

Selene thought she'd found true love with Alexander Morrison. She was WRONG—she was just a stand-in for Jessa, the woman he really wanted.

When Alexander and his twin brother Adrian's yacht exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, Alexander came home with Adrian's ashes, claiming to BE Adrian. His goal? To steal Adrian's wife Jessa—the woman he'd always loved.

Selene knew instantly he was lying, but when she told everyone, no one believed her. Alexander called her "crazy from trauma" and locked her away in a mental facility. She was PREGNANT.

They drugged her daily. After she gave birth, Alexander told her the baby died. She broke completely.

Three years later, dying in that white hell, Selene heard Alexander's final confession:

"I always loved Jessa. Adrian just got to her first. YOU? You were just her replacement."

"The kid's alive. I gave him to Jessa. He calls her Mom now."

Selene died full of rage—then woke up reborn, back to the moment Alexander walked in with that urn.

This time, she'd expose his lies and make him PAY.

Three years barren, and Jessamine walked on thin ice in the elite household. Her mother-in-law spat venomous curses daily, calling her a "worthless waste of space" and threatening to force her son into divorce.

She could still remember when Damien had severed all ties with his family to marry her—kneeling outside their door in the pouring rain, begging his parents to accept her: "Jessamine is my one true love! I can't survive without her!" Back then, she was the only woman who existed in his eyes.

But now, for the sake of family inheritance, he had the audacity to demand her consent for his childhood sweetheart Celeste to bear their child. Jessamine endured the soul-crushing agony of watching her husband entwined with another woman, night after torturous night.

Even more devastating—after Celeste delivered a daughter, Damien had the shameless nerve to declare: "The family still needs a male heir."

In that shattering moment, Jessamine finally saw the brutal truth.

I thought I'd buried the past. Built a new life, won my first major award. Then a six-year-old video surfaces—me, obviously pregnant, at a private clinic. The world wants answers about the baby that never was. But more dangerous than the media frenzy is the man standing at my door, asking for what I can never give him: a second chance.

The night before my wedding, I heard my sister on the phone.
"Six months, baby. Then Theo can finally call him Daddy."
Theo. Her "godson." The little boy with gray eyes—just like my fiancé's.
Three years together. A year of planning the perfect wedding. And the whole time, Garrett was building a family with my sister behind my back.
I could cancel everything. Cry, scream, play the victim.
But I'm a wedding planner.
I plan weddings.
And sometimes, I plan endings.