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Rejected by her mate. Humiliated and branded as unwanted. Cast out like she was nothing. Rhiannon was supposed to break. Instead, she survived. When she finds refuge in the powerful Crescent Moon pack, she crosses paths with Kael—a ruthless Alpha forged by war and loss. He doesn’t trust easily. He doesn’t love recklessly. And he definitely doesn’t save broken omegas. But Rhiannon isn’t broken. She is healing wrapped in steel. Midnight rain before a storm. And when an obsessive enemy rises from the shadows—determined to claim what he believes is his—she becomes the one thing he never expected. Unyielding. As vengeance closes in and blood stains the past, Kael and Rhiannon must decide: Will they let fear tear them apart… Or will they burn the world before they lose each other? This time, she won’t be rejected. This time, she’ll rise. And if the past comes hunting? Let it. They'll face it together.

Caily Galileo believes everyone can change, everyone can become an angel. Everyone except Pietro Giacometti. He is a damned monster who will never change. And not his devilishly charming smiles that are only ever directed to her can change her opinion of him. Pietro Giacometti knows what he wants and what belongs to him and Caily Galileo belongs to him. He has been away from her for years but it is now time Caily knows and accepts that she can only ever belong to one man, Pietro Giacometti... MINE PEACHES NOTE: If you have read any of my books in the past, then you'd know my male leads kill and things can get a little bit dark but this particular book might be darker than all my previous books. Pietro Giacometti is an obsessed man who will do anything and everything to be with Caily even if it's the most unhinged thing ever. He is dark and wild. This book, however does not contain non consensual sex or rape in any form. Thank you for choosing to read 'MINE, PEACHES'. Trigger warnings: Stalking, obsession, explicit violence, BDSM.

I was only eleven when my life changed. My parents were gone, and my innocence was taken away. I grew up in a world where danger wore a suit and love felt like power. I learned to guard myself. But nothing prepared me for him, Lorenzo Vitalio. He is my guardian’s stepbrother. He watched me grow up. He is the man I shouldn’t want. Yet he is the only one I do. He’s 32, and I’m 20. The age difference is wrong. The feelings? Right—so painfully right that it hurts. I’ve loved him for as long as I’ve known what love is. But to him, I was just the girl he had to protect, not the woman he could claim. So I did what any heartbroken girl would do—I pushed him away. I made him notice me. I broke rules, crossed boundaries, and opened up the cracks in both of us. Just when I thought I’d finally lost him, he came back. Now the question is, can love survive the burden of secrets, danger, and years of denial? Or am I doomed to suffer for a man who knows how to protect but not how to love? This is the story of Evelyn Rose and Lorenzo Vitalio. A love too forbidden to begin. Too deep to end. And far too reckless to ignore.

When I was seven, my father brought home a beautiful lady who gave me a mango. That day, my mother watched me happily eating the mango while she signed her name on the divorce papers. After that, she jumped off the roof of our building. From then on, mangoes became the nightmare of my life. So on my wedding day, I told my husband, Alan Holt, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." Alan pulled me into his arms, quiet. From then on, mangoes became off-limits for him, too. On Christmas Eve of our fifth year of marriage, Alan's childhood sweetheart, Larissa Fennimore, left a mango on his desk at the office. The very same day, Alan announced he was cutting ties with Larissa and fired her from the company. That day, I truly believed he was the man I was meant to be with. Half a year later, I flew back from overseas, having just closed a partnership deal worth about 200 million dollars. At the celebration dinner, Alan handed me a drink. After I had finished half the glass, his so-called childhood sweetheart, the woman who had been kicked out of the company, stood behind me with a big grin and asked, "Does the mango juice taste good?" I stared at Alan in disbelief, and he was trying hard not to laugh. "Don't be mad. Larissa insisted I played a little joke on you. I didn't actually give you a mango; I just gave you a bottle of mango juice. But I think she's right. The fact that you don't eat mangoes is a real problem. You were really enjoying that juice just now." My face went cold. I lifted my hand and threw the rest of the mango juice in his face, then turned around and walked away. Some things are never a joke. I wouldn't kid around with mangoes or divorce.

Azmia, a housewife who has to accept the harst reality. When she is pregnant, Bram (her husband) is dragged into the word of coercion by Bram's bos. Azmia' brain tumor and Bram's infidelity accompanied the birth of their baby. Azmia struggle and tries to save Bram and their househode from the abyys destruction. However, happiness only last from a moment. The dead of her six - month - old baby Micca left a wound in her hearth. Losing Micca made Azmia cold and away from Bram. She's back to being a hedonistict women. Reuniting with Baren (a man whos still loves her) and knowing the life stories of her friends makes Azmia realize what she really wants in life. When Baren and Bram fought over Azmia's love, suddenly Azmia's condition was critical.

Found in the marooned ruins of Chavand was a book ripped and torn. Its yellowed pages eaten up and coiled. Forgotten and unheard about was this book until it came to light. His legends lived on, his tales of valour prevailed. His glory seemed enternal and he was worshiped and adored. But his heart remained shrouded in a cloak of mystery. His emotions, his turmoils went unnoticed in an attempt to make him great. Seen as someone who was invincible and immortal, the Rana changes your perspective from his greatness to his soft heart. Written across the pages during his last moments, he wrote his own life. Where bards would be at a loss and poets were simply lost in his glory and valor, the Rana is said to be the only one who could write about himself.