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Lyra is a powerful and independent werewolf living in a world where arranged marriages are the norm for those of royal blood. When her stepsister instigates her destined mate to reject her, Lyra is forced to intervene and take his place to save the only family she has. As she begins to train with a group of rebel werewolves seeking to overthrow the oppressive monarchy, Lyra discovers a shocking truth about her past that threatens to upend everything she thought she knew. Determined to take control of her own destiny and help her fellow werewolves, Lyra teams up with a human detective named Alexander to investigate a series of murders and disappearances in the werewolf and vampire communities. As they work together to uncover the truth, Lyra and Alexander develop a close bond that is tested by their conflicting loyalties. As the investigation leads them deep into a web of lies and deceit, Lyra finds herself caught in the middle of a dangerous power struggle between the ruling werewolf monarchy and a powerful vampire clan. With the fate of both communities hanging in the balance, Lyra must navigate treacherous alliances, dangerous enemies, and a growing attraction to Alexander as she fights to protect those she loves and discovers the true meaning of family and loyalty.

My mother is in the late stages of cancer. Yet, she sits in a wheelchair with an oxygen tube and endures a long train ride just to attend my wedding with Isaac Pudley. But when it's time for him to walk down the aisle, I don't see him anywhere despite screaming his name. It turns out his childhood sweetheart, Megan Ericsson, is having another depressive episode and is threatening suicide again. "Isaac, I can't live without you," she screeches. Isaac is always so stern and composed, but he now holds Megan in his arms and begs me to call off the wedding so they can leave. Relatives and guests watch the spectacle with thinly veiled amusement. To make matters worse, my mother is so angry that she faints. However, Isaac believes that my mother is feigning illness. He only wants to take Megan with him and leave. He even takes away my mother's wheelchair. But he seems to have forgotten that he has hurt me 97 times by now. After he hurts me 99 times, I’ll definitely leave him.

My father found me too rebellious, so he gave me to Marco, tasking him with making a lady out of me. To the outside world, Macro was the ruthless boss to a Mafia empire, but to me, he was just a man with a perpetually stern face. I tried everything to defy him. I smashed his car. Then I swapped his PPT for the lowbrow stand-up he hated most. And he opened it during a company meeting. Yet, every rebellion ended the same. He cornered me, his massive frame dominating mine on the silk sheets of his king-sized bed, the polished oak of his desk, or the leather confines of the car's backseat. His hot skin against mine, his fingers tracing fire along my curves. He moved with a primal hunger that left me breathless. My body arched in unwilling ecstasy, in a dance of punishing pleasure, until my fight dissolved into moans, my will shattered under his relentless claim. I fell for him hard, convinced this was love, and he was the beacon of my dark world. But the truth shattered me: it was all a calculated game to tame me, to stop my war with my sister Karen. My guiding light went out, or maybe it never existed at all. So I became a good girl. I stopped fighting back. He thought he had me tamed, chained to his will. But in the end, I slipped free, leaving him alone with his shattered heart.

"I’m a good girl—until I got drunk in Vegas and married a panties-flaming-hot Irishman. Oops. I’ve always lived my life by the rules. Unlike my two sisters, I’m the good one. The responsible one. Going outside my comfort zone is when I wear red lipstick before five PM. That comfort zone of mine? It’s smashed to smithereens on a wild night in Las Vegas when I met—and married—Liam Gallagher. After one shot of tequila, then two, then too many to count, a good girl’s rules tend to disappear. And so do her panties, and her bra, and various other articles of clothing when she’s with an Irishman who knows his way around a woman’s body. Now my husband wants us to stay married. For six months. He says it’ll be worth my while. Considering our chemistry underneath the sheets, I can’t say that he’s wrong. Liam isn’t safe, though. Liam definitely isn’t comfortable. He’s like the male equivalent of wearing red lipstick in the daytime all wrapped up in an irresistible, dangerous package. Yet this stubborn Irishman isn’t about to let me go, drunken Princess Bride-themed Vegas wedding or no. Now I have to decide if I’m brave enough to break the rules for love."

"My professor gave me my first D. Now my next assignment is due...in nine months. You know when you meet your new professor, and he ends up being the same man you had a one-night stand with three months ago? Okay, maybe not. Let me explain. I hadn’t intended to sleep with my professor. I might be known as the impulsive, prankster daughter in my family, but I’m not insane. I just wanted to have some fun in Ireland at my sister’s wedding, and maybe lose my virginity, too. When I met Lochlann Gallagher at a pub one night, I couldn’t resist him. He was hot, Irish, and entirely set on seducing me. One unforgettable night under the sheets with him, and my V-card went up in smoke. Well, that night had one itty bitty consequence because Lochlann totally made my eggo preggo. And if this story isn’t crazy enough, Lochlann is not just my baby daddy: he’s now my professor and my advisor for grad school. Somehow we have to figure out a way not to reveal this rapidly gestating secret while resisting the explosive attraction between us. Except there’s just one more complication to this story: I think I’m totally falling for my baby daddy. Oopsie daisy."

Another fight with my boyfriend made me agree to my best friend's crazy idea to party at a nightclub. But then, she spiked my drink and I ended up in the arms of a terrifyingly handsome stranger, Michelangelo. We spent the night together underneath his sheets, as he took me through wild realms of pleasure. But the next morning, he was gone. And then I caught my boyfriend with my best friend so my life utterly shattered from that day. Weeks later, I realized that I was pregnant, and I also got hit by the news of my boyfriend's wedding to my best friend. Devastated, I moved to a Pack in New York City to start anew with my unborn child, and then three years later, guess who I bumped into? The one and only Michelangelo, the real father of my son. But then, he lied that night. He didn't give me his full name or his real identity. He didn't tell me that he was the formidable Nico 'Michelangelo' Ferrari, a Mafian Alpha and an insane force to reckon with. Realizing who he is sends me into a panic attack, but for some reason, he won't stop chasing after me, trying to convince me that he loves me, that he's my fated mate and that he wants to be with me and our son. What the heck do I do?!

Alaric and I had been mates for five years, and I had believed with all my heart that I would become the first female Gamma of the pack by proving myself in the warrior’s trial. I had trained relentlessly, sharpening my claws and honing my instincts, ready to fight for my rightful place. But fate had other plans. Three days before the trial, I was ambushed by rogues. They didn't just attack me—they hunted me like prey. They tormented me with the silver knife so that my wolf was dead. The scent of death clung to me, my wolf howling in agony, desperately trying to heal, but the wounds ran too deep. As I lay barely conscious on the blood-stained sheets, I heard my husband's cold, indifferent voice. "Is she dead?" The witch doctor hesitated before answering, "No, but—" "It doesn’t matter," Alaric interrupted, Coat her wounds with wolfsbane and silver—make sure it seeps into her blood, burns through her veins, and poisons her wolf beyond repair. I want her body to reject her own nature, so she will never heal. There will only be one Gamma in this pack, and that's Serina." In that moment, the truth became clear—I had never truly stood a chance in the warrior’s trial I had dreamed of. The battle had been decided long before I ever stepped into the arena.

For as long as I can remember, I've been able to see spirits and ghosts. I can hear them talk, too. Because of that, everyone thought I was creepy. My parents would rather spoil my adopted sister, Sienna, than give me a second glance. Then Sienna got engaged to Felix Floyd, the heir to an old-money family, and she became the family's golden child. But right before the wedding, Felix was in a car crash and slipped into a coma. When the Floyds asked Sienna to honor the engagement— She didn't hesitate. "You want me spending my life changing his sheets and cleaning up after him? No way. I'm not throwing my life away on a vegetable. I'd rather die than marry him!" At that moment— I saw Felix's spirit. His face was pale, almost bluish. He stared at Sienna, hatred burning in his eyes. "I can't believe she's that heartless. The doctor said I'll wake up within six months. As long as someone's willing to take care of me, when I wake up, I'll give her twenty million dollars right away. Just to piss that tramp off." My eyes lit up. I raised my hand. "What if... I marry him?" Getting into a wealthy family didn't matter to me. I just really wanted that twenty million dollars.

He told me I was nothing, stripped me of my worth, broke my body and soul, and threw me out like trash. His rival taught me I was everything and crowned me his Queen. ~~~~~ For nine years, I stood by Vincent's side, as his efficient and loyal assistant, helping him build the empire he inherited from his father while secretly and hopelessly head-over-heels in love with him. But after his first love, Chloe, a money-hungry, manipulative, lying bitch left him without a word and a night I wished never happened, a pregnancy, a forced marriage he loathed me for, and three years of living hell followed. Three years of turning me into his personal punching bag, breaking my body and my soul with each touch. His every word, a reminder that I was nothing but a worthless, disposable stand-in for the woman he truly desired. And when Chloe finally returned, tearfully claiming she'd been forced to raise their three-year-old son alone, Vincent saw his 'true family 'and threw me out like I was less than the dirt beneath his designer shoe. That night, broke, jobless and homeless, I was found bruised and helpless in the middle of the road by Alistair Kincaid, a man with a dark past and a massive personal score to settle with the Ashford family. He didn't just save me. He offered me a home at his side, claiming me beautifully and passionately. He took the shattered pieces of my soul and rebuilt it with his love. He taught me how to rise from the ashes, gave me my voice back, and showed me how to make kings kneel. Now I wear his crown. And my ex? He’ll wish he never threw me away.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.