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On my eighteenth birthday, a mouthwatering scent filled my nostrils and I was shocked when I saw the professor I hated the most was my mate. Returning home, my stepmom said she was going to introduce to me her new husband which shocked me. My father was disabled from a brutal illness yet she wanted to marry another man. When he came in, he turned out to be him. My Mate and My Professor.

Book 1 – My Dad’s Mafia Best Friend When Lyra is sent to Italy to stay with her father’s best friend, Adrian, after his business collapses in New York, her first concern is for her dad—but right behind it is the forbidden desire she’s harbored for Adrian since they met a year ago. Adrian fights his own battle, struggling to keep his best friend’s daughter out of his mind. But as the fire between them grows, resisting becomes impossible. With their age gap, the weight of taboo, and the dangerous Mafia world Lyra’s father wants to shield her from, how long can they ignore the spark between them? Book 2 – Greg and Kael’s Love Story (M/M) Fashion design student Greg is already overwhelmed—balancing classes, an internship, and the secret that his best friend’s boyfriend is a Mafia boss. The last thing he needs is trouble knocking at his door. But trouble doesn’t just knock—it sneaks in, wearing the name Kael. Greg should stay far away, but danger has never looked so tempting. As their worlds collide in a game of deception, attraction, and secrets too dangerous to expose, the question isn’t just how long Kael can hide—it’s how long Greg can resist. Book 3 – Bella and Quinn’s Love Story (W/W) Bella has spent years burying her dark past, even from her closest friends. But one mistake lands her behind bars, trapped with a mysterious woman who won’t stop getting under her skin. When an attempted poisoning leads to her breaking out from prison, Bella never expects the real shock to come after—the truth about her family, her past, and the undeniable pull toward the very woman she should be avoiding, Quinn.

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.

On my eighteenth birthday, the boy I'd secretly loved for years kissed me first. After a night of passion, I traced the marks on my skin and thought it was all a dream. I was ready to make it official. But the next day, my nude photos were plastered across the entire school. When I confronted him, Damien Ashford laughed with bloodshot eyes: "Blame your mother. If she hadn't turned a blind eye while those girls destroyed Rosalie, Rosalie would never have killed herself." "Now let's see — when her own daughter becomes the school whore, will she still just sit back and watch?" That was the moment I understood. Every tender word from the night before had been a weapon. In the end, my mother slapped me hard across the face and dragged me away. Years later, we met again. He had become the Don — the most powerful man in the underworld. And I was a dealer in his brand-new casino. He offered me up like a chip for other men's amusement, then claimed me himself after the game — the winner taking his prize. I didn't resist. Didn't struggle. Obedient as a puppet. But he froze. His eyes locked onto the stretch mark across my stomach.

After reuniting with my birth family, my wealthy biological father tossed me a black card and laid down one rule: I could spend as much as I wanted, but I was never to call him Dad—that title belonged only to his adoptive daughter. Clutching the black card, I cautiously bought myself a two-dollar-fifty ice cream cone. Just as I was happily licking the sweet ice cream, the adoptive daughter dropped to her knees before me. "Alice, are you mocking me because I can't even afford something that costs two-fifty in the future?" My brother immediately slapped me twice. "You have money now, but you can't split love. Natalie is my one and only sister!" Then my father splashed boiling water onto my face. "No disgraceful wretch deserves to be a Gervais." To punish me, they sent me off to Rimala, forced to work as a child laborer in the mines. Ten years later, I walked into a grand banquet hall with an ice cream in hand and came face-to-face with my brother, Ansel Gervais, dressed in a hand-tailored suit. "All these years and you're still a disgrace," he sneered, but I couldn't be bothered to argue. "Let go. My dad's waiting for me—and if I'm any later, the ice cream's going to melt." He looked down at me with contempt. "Dad? Who gave you permission to call him that? Natalie will forever be the only Gervais girl—no one can take that away from her!" I rolled my eyes. Who said I was talking about that cheap excuse for a father? I was talking about my adoptive father—the oil tycoon with an incurable sweet tooth. I was in a hurry to let him taste some ice cream.

“Absolutely not!! You can not force me to be stuck with her again! I do not want to be in the same room with her again!”