Couples Next Door Novels & Stories

My husband, Alex Carter, is a top AI engineer. He one day gets drugged by a new intern at his company, and one night of chaos follows. He calls me the next morning, his voice hoarse from a hangover and filled with unfamiliar panic. "Em, I messed up. But don't worry. I gave her enough money to disappear from this city." After ten years together, I believe it is just a momentary lapse in judgment. Six months later, Alex's company suffers the worst cyber attack in its history, with core data hanging by a thread. I rush back from a fragrance exhibition in Astral, only to witness a scene at the data center entrance that sends me into shock. Alex stands outside the tightly sealed door, his face showing a weariness and guilt I have never seen before. The doctor says that the intern, Brooke Anderson, is three months pregnant and has spent 72 hours with him in the high-radiation server room. Now, she shows signs of miscarriage. Later, Brooke gives birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The entire Carter family is ecstatic. I remove the wedding ring that has accompanied me for ten years, my fingertips turning ice cold. I dial the number saved with only one letter "S" and say, "Mr. Sullivan, I accept the collaboration you proposed last time." A low, soft laugh comes from the other end of the line. "Ms. Emma Shaw, that's a wise decision."

Brielle Davenport tells me to test out rat poison on her childhood sweetheart, Trevor Whitlock's live stream, just so the popularity can be boosted. "All you lose is a life, you know. Meanwhile, Trev has always dreamed of becoming a popular streamer." Then, Brielle hands the rat poison to me. I don't turn her down. Instead, I lift the rat poison to my lips and drink it right in front of the camera. Naturally, my actions boost Trevor to the top spot of the platform, making him the most popular male streamer. The delighted Brielle is quick to throw him an afterparty to celebrate his success. The next day, when Brielle opens the door to the studio, she notices my stiff figure on the floor, my lips still bluish-purple from the poison. She has always been cold and aloof, and yet, she crumbles from anxiety on the spot. I used to come back to life within two hours after my death. Yet, this time, I show no signs of life. Brielle keeps calling out my name. Later on, she can only listen in disbelief as the doctor pronounces my death. Meanwhile, I've already stirred awake in my original world and started my life anew. The truth is, I've transmigrated into this book eight times in a row. In the first seven times, Brielle had saved me seven times, but she also hurt me that many times. In the eighth attempt, I return seven lives to her. Finally, I'm able to leave this world once and for all.

Late one night after getting off work, I was scrolling through my company group chat when a colleague shared a piece of news. The headline was horrifying. "Night-Shift Courier Murdered During Delivery, Police Suspect Robbery." I zoomed in on the crime scene photo that had been partially pixelated, and a chill ran straight down my spine. Lying in a pool of blood, the courier who had been hacked to death was unmistakably me. I had scrolled into news of my own death. Almost at the same time, my delivery app began vibrating violently. "Urgent pickup! Destination: Unit 704 Hawthorne Ridge Apartments, Building 7. Time limit: 15 minutes. Penalty for timeout: Death." As I stared at the notification that read "Pickup failed three times", the searing pain of my brutal death surged through my body. So that was it. I had already died three times. When I forced open the half-closed security door of 704 for the fourth time, a thin delivery envelope lay quietly inside. I tore it open. A photograph slipped out. It was a picture of my dismembered body. The timestamp showed tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. On the back was a single line written in fresh blood: "Next time, remember to pick it up on time." At that moment, the red indicator light on the hallway surveillance camera suddenly went dark. I looked up. From the ventilation opening in the exact same spot, a single eye was staring straight at me. The mole at the corner of that eye was identical to mine.

It is the night before our wedding when my fiancee, Whitney Sullivan, reunites with her childhood sweetheart, Steven Foster, a mercenary who has been missing for five years. He is brought to our doorstep by his teammates, bloodied and barely clinging to life after being poisoned with a deadly aphrodisiac on a mission. Whitney, usually so aloof and controlled, immediately breaks down. She locks the door, defying my efforts to stop her, and stays with Steven all night long. I choose to stay outside the door, never closing my eyes. I confront her the following morning with a torrent of accusations, only for her to stand in front of Steven protectively and say shamelessly, "I couldn't just stand by and watch Steven die. Isn't it just my virginity? What's the harm in letting loose the night before the wedding?" In that instant, all my affection for her is utterly destroyed.

Your key card opened the wrong door and you walked into the wrong room… just in time to see his towel drop. You weren’t supposed to be there. You stayed anyway. That’s exactly the kind of bad decision this book is built on. Dark Drippy Desires is an unapologetic collection of explicit erotic stories about strangers who shouldn’t, married men who do, rivals who cross the line, besties who want more, stepfathers who couldn't stay away anymore, step-siblings who choose reality to fantasies and every reckless moment where deep desire wins over common sense. No fade to black. No holding back. Every story stands alone. Every chapter goes deeper than it should. This isn’t soft. This is the kind of book you read with your door locked. Explicit adult content throughout.

She doesn't remember getting married. Why? Sophia went to Las Vegas only to drink her pain away. Little did she imagine, she would end up becoming someone's wife. But who’s the lucky guy? Who knows? Even she doesn't remember. She was fucking intoxicated! All she has is a marriage contract with an expiry date and a bank balance big enough to pop her eyes out. Contractual terms: 1. Do not marry anyone else unless I permit you. 2. Try not to whore around. Your mother-in-law wouldn't be happy. 3. If I request a live-in relationship. You have to comply. 4. Sex is optional. 5. Contract Termination? Sorry Honey... In my family, couples don’t divorce. PS: I was kidding. Let's catch-up after three years to end this shit and get more money. If there are rules against having sex while drunk, there should be rules against getting married while drunk too. Because THIS isn't fair!

The day I went into labor with the twins, I bribed the family doctor to shoot me up with every heavy-duty suppressant he could get his hands on. Anything to stall the birth. Why? Because in my last life, Vincent—my husband, the Don—claimed to have a low sperm count. To guarantee an heir, he lined up ten mistresses and told the whole house: whoever popped out a son first, her kid would be the next Corleone Don. He promised if I delivered first, he'd ditch the others. Said our baby would inherit the throne. I bought every word. When I found out I was carrying twins, I couldn't stop shaking—I thought I'd won. But after I gave birth, he tossed me and the babies into the freezing wine cellar and locked the place down. "Lucy came from nothing. I just wanted to give her kid a name. You started rumors, pushed her into despair, and now she's dead—her and the baby. You're vile. Not fit to be the Don's wife. Think about what you've done. I'll open the door in three days." Then he had the butler seal it shut. What he didn't know? That night, the cellar caught fire. Me and my babies? Burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—right before labor. This time, I'm not staying. Soon as I deliver and get back on my feet, I'm taking my kids and disappearing for good.

I was nineteen the first time Cole Whitfield broke me. Not with cruelty. With a single word. Why. Not did you — why. Like the answer was already settled and he just wanted the story to make sense. I told him the truth anyway. He said nothing that mattered. So I picked up my bag, walked out of his apartment, and decided that a man who trusted a rumor over two years of me wasn’t worth a correction. I spent the next two years becoming someone I actually liked. New city. Graduate program. A published paper with my name on it. I was done with Cole Whitfield in every way a person can be done. Then I walked into Seminar Room 114 and he was sitting right there, gray eyes already on the door, like some part of him knew. I sat down. I opened my notebook. I did not look up. Here’s the thing about studying how people form beliefs: you understand exactly why he believed it. That doesn’t mean you forgive it. That doesn’t mean two years of silence disappear because he’s learned how to look at you like he’s sorry. He wants a conversation. I want my degree. But the campus is small, the seminar table is round, and the boy who broke my heart at nineteen is doing everything right at twenty-one — and I’m starting to understand that composed isn’t the same thing as healed. I hate that I still know the exact sound of his voice.

When you pair two strangers who have a lot of hidden sexual tension towards each other, it's only normal that sensual sparks would fly- as well as their clothes when they're eventually getting wild and steamy with each other. ******** Blue's every day motto was "When life throws you lemons, make lemonade. " But she currently had a lot on her plate, and none of it were delicious lemons. What happens in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas right? Man, did Blue wish that was the truth. . Her life was rapidly falling apart! First, her fiancé had just been brutally murdered, she had also been rendered completely homeless, she was also on the run for commiting a serious felony and next she's drunk, having a wild and steamy night with a stranger in the backseat of his car. Could Blue find a sense of purpose in all the madness? At the brink of trying to escape from the chaotic mess he life has suddenly become, Blue encounters the presence of the Baron of Aston! One thing leads to another and soon, she was all royally prissy-ed up in a tall castle, married to him as the Baroness of Aston. It was definitely a fresh start to a new, unproblematic life- or so she thought. All good things come to an end. So what happens when her past comes back knocking at her door? And the stranger from that stormy night resurfaces in her life? And this time, he wanted more than just one night with her and he wouldn't take no for an answer. . .

Amelia Rose Vale has always been ordinary. Careful. Quiet. Human. Then an impossible letter arrives at her door, accepting her into Waycross Academy—a school she never applied to and cannot find on any map. By dusk the next day, Amelia steps through its gates and into a world where corridors shift without warning, rules are enforced but never explained, and every student around her is something other than human. At Waycross, Amelia is not just unusual. She is impossible. Her presence draws the attention of seven powerful men: a cryptic cat shifter who appears where he should not be, a dragon shifter who looks at her like he has waited years to find her, a restless fae bound by secrets and time, a demon whose calm hides dangerous hunger, a chaotic vampire who knows too much, an ancient guardian who teaches her how to survive, and a controlled mage mentor determined to keep his distance. Each of them recognizes something in Amelia that she cannot see in herself. As her strange power begins to wake, Amelia discovers her family name buried in forbidden records, and her supposed humanity becomes harder to believe. But being noticed at Waycross is dangerous. A jealous incubus queen wants her broken, hidden enemies are watching from beyond the Academy walls, and the school itself seems to be pushing her toward a truth no one will fully explain. Amelia thought she was falling into a nightmare. But Waycross did not choose her by mistake. And the monsters circling her may not be her downfall. They may be the first ones to kneel.