Is The Peach Worker Worth Reading?

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.

Ten years ago, Rayden’s family was mercilessly slaughtered. He was left for dead, a mere shadow of a once-respected clan. In the eyes of the world, Rayden was gone. But in the darkness, he grew. Honing forbidden arts. Nurturing an unquenchable rage. Now, Rayden returns. Not as an heir, not as a hero. But as a sinner. A cultivator who has chosen a forbidden path for one reason—revenge. Beneath the veil of the modern world, cultivator clans hide their secrets, their artifacts, and their power. The Bramasta family, seemingly clean on the surface, is his first target. But the deeper Rayden infiltrates, the larger the web he uncovers, including a name that has haunted his every waking moment—Lucien Dorne. Every step Rayden takes will challenge the laws of cultivation, uncover old betrayals, and test his own moral limits. Because to destroy a monster, sometimes, you have to become a greater one.

“You,” Hades snarled, his eyes burning into Claudine’s, “are a viper in my bed. A ticking time bomb.” Claudine’s lips curved into a chillingly beautiful smile. “Darling, in your bed, I’m whatever you desire.” ~~~~ This isn’t your typical enemies-to-lovers romance. This is the story of the infamous daughter of the worlds greatest russian Kalashnikov Omerta,a woman driven by vengeance, who wanted the downfall of Hades Vancouver, the dangerous American mafia leader. Death was too merciful a punishment for the man who murdered her parents. But in a twist of fate, she’s caught in his grip and forced into marriage with him—the very man she swore to destroy. To Hades, she’s not simply his wife. She’s a snake he’s obsessed with, a woman he wants to bend to his will and claim in every way imaginable. Her true identity is hidden from him, but he’s been obsessed since the first night he fingered her into a screaming, squirt-filled orgasm that felt like a soul-shifting experience. The same night she stole from him. Now, trapped in a deadly game of forced proximity, where desire is both a weapon and a weakness, one wrong move could ignite a war that consumes them all. But when Hades discovers the tracker in her old gunshot wound, a relic of a past encounter, the game changes. Read on to find out if things were falling out of place for these characters, or perhaps things were falling into the right places.

The contractions were ripping me in two. My vision was going dark. My husband, Don Vittorio, the man who ruled Chicago, squeezed my hand. His dark eyes burned with love. "Just a little longer, mia cara. You'll meet our baby soon." Sweat poured down my face. I still found the strength to smile for him. Then a nurse walked in. She held a syringe. I thought it was to stop the pain. But Vittorio’s hand fell away. He took a single step back. The needle sank into my arm. I heard Vittorio’s voice. It was cold steel. "Dose her carefully. She holds on until midnight. Not a minute sooner. Not until after Ornella delivers." And then I knew. He thought I married him for the money. He was stopping my labor. All for a sick Falcone family rule: the first son born is the next heir. Pain tore through me. I reached for him. Tears streamed down my face. I begged him to stop. He bit his lip. His voice was pure ice. "My brother is dead. Ornella carries his only heir. You will do as you are told. You and your child will not steal his birthright." The drug hit my veins. The violent squeeze in my belly, like some invisible hand, just… stopped.

"Do you want to lose your job to be my lover who will give you anything you want, or do you want to be just jobless for rejecting me?" Daisy just wants peace in her normal life, until she meets River, the owner of the hotel where she works. A rich and powerful man who, in just one night, could turn Daisy into Cinderella. But instead of being River's lover, Daisy became the big boss's personal maid. The maid who takes care of her handsome master's "most personal" parts. So, what's it like for Daisy to work as River's maid? Was it still as lovely as River had promised when life violently shook him from the highest peak to the lowest bottom?

Samantha was one of those who got fired from her job by her Chinese boss who liked employees wearing crop tops, so she decided to accept her neighbor's offer to travel to the city and try her luck as a maid. Will she be able to endure staying if the employer she ended up with is the notoriously grumpy billionaire?