Novel & Cerita Good Goblin Housekeeping

At the Blood Oath ceremony, right as my mate Alistair leaned in to kiss me, a voice suddenly echoed in my mind. [Sex with Gene is electric. Fucking Carys is like fucking a corpse.] It was Alistair's voice. I stared at him in shock, only to find him still smiling at me without missing a beat. Gene was a newborn vampire, recently turned. She was Alistair's subordinate in the North American Vampire Council. Right now, she was clinging to her new boyfriend Silas, a low-level vamp. A second later, Gene's voice rang in my head too. [Silas, that filthy thin-blood, can't even afford a simple moonstone charm. He's good for fetching things and not much else. Once I dump him, I'm going to be Alistair's true mate.] Then came the conflicted voice of the "thin-blood" she was talking about: [The Progenitor's trial is almost over. How do I tell Gene I'm about to be crowned the Prince of the oldest vampire clan?] How amusing. I had unexpectedly awakened the gift of telepathy. Even more surprising: My fiancé got his Council seat because of me. Now, everyone treats him like a king. While the true Vampire Prince was being treated like trash. Holding my goblet of premium vintage blood, I gracefully walked toward the thin-blood.

Six months pregnant with my fated Alpha’s heir, I came home. And ran straight into my Beta ex at the airport. Kyle’s icy gaze raked over my swollen belly, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips. “Amelia. I never thought you’d sink this low. Trying to trap me with a bastard.” “You think you can just secretly have my pup, and I’ll bond with you? Make you my mate? Dream on!” He took a step closer, his scent thick with threat. I said nothing, meeting his glare without flinching. Contempt flashed in his eyes. “I told you before. Only pure-blooded Selena can give me an heir. That half-breed mutt in your belly? I’ll never claim it! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get rid of it yourself!” When I didn't give him the reaction he wanted, he jerked his chin at the two wolves behind him. They tensed, ready to take me by force. "Since you refuse to handle this, I'll handle it for you," he snarled. "And if this ruins my chance to join the Blood Moon Pack, you are dead." I had to bite back a cold laugh. Little did he know, the pup he was trying to kill was the heir of Alpha Ethan—the Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack. He was the one who was truly dead.

My name is Sophia Colombo. I am the youngest daughter of the Colombo family, one of Newarke City's most powerful Mafia dynasties. My father is the Don, and my three older brothers control most of the family's operations across the Rooklyn, Kings, and Canhatte boroughs. On the Veste Coast district, the name Colombo commands power and fear. My best friend, Jennifer, always says I've been too sheltered by my family, that I can't see through a man's lies or schemes. She even offered to "help" me put that to the test. So, under the guise of looking out for me, she seduced my fiancé. After winning him over, she stood there, smug and self-satisfied, watching me like I was the punchline to a joke. "I told you—you're too naive," she said. "Those men are all cunning and full of tricks. If it weren't for me, you'd have been fooled into tears a hundred times over." I was furious—so angry I could barely breathe—but I couldn't find a single word to argue back. This time, I chose my fiancé in secret, keeping it from her entirely. He was the heir to the Lucia family. And just as I expected, the moment she found out… she made her move again. What she didn't know was that this fiancé was someone I had carefully prepared… just for her.

My best friend, Sydney Cox, is a troublemaker by nature. She thinks everyone around her owes her a good life. During summer break, she insisted on working in a factory. I was worried that she might get tricked, so I let her work in my family's factory out of the kindness of my own heart. In fact, I even gave her the easiest position with the lightest work. But I didn't expect her to think that her salary was lower than that of the veteran employees in the factory, leading to her setting fire to my neighborhood. The blaze was far too strong. Even though the firefighters came as soon as possible, my family and I still ended up dying in the fire. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day before Sydney's first day in a factory.

My wife—Nancy Valente—had been "missing" for three months after some fake skiing accident. I spotted her at a bar. She was draped over Finley Bennett's shoulder, laughing like she hadn't wrecked my life. "Good thing you came up with this plan. I almost forgot what freedom felt like." Her crew kept clinking glasses, asking when she planned to pop back up. She glanced down. "Maybe in a week. I'll show up once he's lost his mind." I stayed in the shadows, watching her bask in her little escape act. Then I grabbed my phone and called a buddy at the Vital Records Office.

I don't kick up a fuss when Jasper Sutton's childhood sweetheart once again takes my spot in the front passenger seat. Instead, I obediently head to the backseat to sit with his good friend, Jonathan Clayton. When we drive along a bumpy road, my knee brushes against Jonathan's toned thigh. I deliberately leave it there, and he doesn't move. We stop for a break at a rest area. Jasper's childhood sweetheart clings to him as they head to the restroom. As soon as the door is shut, Jonathan grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. As I descend into the throes of passion, I can't help thinking it's no wonder people like to cheat.

What a small world. As Elaine Johnson was checking in at the hotel front desk, she happened to bump into Jasper Carter's young mistress —a girl who looked like an innocent college student. She was dressed in a simple white cotton dress, pure and demure, with a shy, sweet smile. "Hello, here's your room key. You'll be staying in the executive suite on the top floor," the receptionist said. "Thank you, miss," the girl replied softly, taking the key. Just then, her phone rang. Elaine overheard her speaking bashfully to the person on the other end: "Mr. Carter, I... I'm already here. When will you be coming?" Her tone was soft, a little nervous, filled with affectionate anticipation. A moment later, Elaine heard her add, "Mhm, I'll wait for you. No rush. Please drive carefully, Mr. Carter." The girl's voice was so sweet and tender, it could have melted anyone's heart. Elaine could not help thinking that her husband had good taste — the girl was young and beautiful, gentle and thoughtful, the kind of woman any man would find hard to resist.

Lewis Gordon says he likes older women. Seeing that he's young, energetic, and good in bed, I agree to be his girlfriend. But when he runs into me with his friends while I'm dressed in business attire, he is stunned and doesn't know how to react. Then, he quickly introduces me. "She's just a neighbor like an auntie." What? Middle-aged? I immediately break up with him. He sends a clumsy explanation, "When you dress like a middle-aged woman, it's really embarrassing for me." I block him and don't bother replying. Five years later, I bring my son along to celebrate my husband's godfather's birthday. Lewis shows up, holding hands with his girlfriend. When he hears my son call Johann Tucker "Grandpa Johann," he pulls a long face. He blurts, "This is my son, right? He should be calling him great-grandfather." I shoot him a look of pure disgust. "He's not your son." Lewis points at my son's face and sneers, "Look at his eyes and his face. He looks exactly like me. How can you still insist he's not my son?" All I can think of is my extremely jealous husband. If he hears Lewis claiming that he's my son's father, will he go crazy and kill him?

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story. The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!" In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace. Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public. He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces. With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!" Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was. The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

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.