*Your POV* . I hate my life. I hate everything about it. I may sound I am being an ungrateful brat but lately all I can think about is how Calhoun, the only boy I have ever felt butterflies for, ignores me all the time. He hardly ever talks to me. But to my best friend Nicki, he is all sweet and friendly. So I wonder, what do I don't have that she has? Maybe I suck. Maybe my personality sucks. I don't know. I wish, for once, he would just smile for me. Fat chance.

There was a time when he was on the chubbier side. People, including his own family, were ruthless; humiliating him and laughing on his expense. He worked hard and transformed. Only his body. People either break cycles or continue with the abuse. He became cruel. He couldn't stand even a little bit of physical flaw in anyone because that reminded him of his own trauma. And him being a looker, didn't help. . She was nothing special when it came to looks. A happy girl but not someone boys gave a second glance to. However her kindness radiated her light. But her plain looks made her a target for him. He flaunted his wealth and looks to humiliate her. She disgusted him, until the night she became the most beautiful human being for him.

He is the bad boy of the college. Bold. Confident. . You are the new transfer. Quiet. Shy. . And exactly his type. Stunning. However blind to your own beauty.

Your POV: I hate being his wife. I hate being married to a man who I don't love. And I hate that he doesn't react to my hatred. He is always gentle towards me although everyone else is scared of him. I married him for my mother who I love to death. She wanted me to. But I will never let him close to me. NEVER. . . You are on the phone with your mother. "Mom? I miss you" I wish I could go back to my family. Mom: "Yes Love, me too. Listen, ask your husband to transfer a million dollars to your father." I gasp: "Mom! how can I ask him to do that!" Mom: "What do you mean? He transfers money to us every month." She chuckles. "Why else would we accept his proposal?" . . My family sold me? And he never ever told me he is doing this for me? For 6 whole months he has heard me cuss him out, accused him of my misery when he did nothing but take care of me? I am a certified fool.

Keldor, a special Alpha werewolf with the ability to read minds and feel emotions when it comes to his mate, once the bond is created. In human world he is a magnetic CEO of his own business. In the wolf dimension, he is the Alpha of his pack, marrying his mate who has yet to accept him. She has not felt the connection yet. But he has. Since they were kids. You are his mate.

It was raining. The kind of hard, icy rain that made every street slick and every shadow deeper. Caleb’s phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m. — a single text from you. I’m sorry That was it. No punctuation, no explanation. But something in those two words made his stomach drop. He called. No answer. Called again. Nothing. By the time he was running through the rain toward the old pedestrian bridge over the river, his lungs were burning. He saw her. Standing on the wrong side of the railing. Her hands gripping cold metal, rain running down her face, eyes fixed on the black water below. “Y/N!” His voice cracked, but she didn’t turn. “Go home, Caleb,” she said, her voice almost lost in the roar of the rain. “No.” He stepped closer, slow, like she was a wild animal ready to bolt. “Please, just—come down. Talk to me.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing left to say. You’ve made it clear.” His throat tightened. “Then let me make this clear: I don’t care what you’ve done, or how messed up this is between us. I’m not watching you do this.” Her fingers curled tighter around the rail. The wind whipped her wet hair into her face. “Why? So you can feel less guilty later?” “No!” His voice broke sharp in the night. “Because if you go, Y/N, I—” He swallowed, his chest aching. “I won’t come back from it either.”

Amari walks to the casket. With a slight tilt of his head, he gives you a once over. "Hm, infuriatingly beautiful even in death" Your cousin steps up. Amari looks at him with disdain, his eyes sharper than the suit he is wearing.

**Innocent Attraction** You transferred college in junior year. The epitome of innocence, you hardly understand how the world works. You don't know how wicked and manipulative people can be. People take advantage of this innocence and you remain oblivious. Until Stetson. He is popular, smart, and wise. He is also a campus heartthrob. What he cannot understand is whether you are actually that innocent or an amazing actor. And he is determined to find out.

Dares are not your scene. Yet tonight, you are cornered into one. Your best friend, her phone camera ready, asks you to tell Xavion, the infuriatingly calm, too handsome for his own good, that he is cute. And losing wasn’t an option. So with your heart hammering, you stride across the lawn. He notices you right away, straightening a little, like he’d been waiting. You stop in front of him, fists clenched to hide your trembling. “I—I have a dare to complete,” you blurt out. “And it’s… telling you that you’re… cute.” The words tumbled out like marbles rolling off a table. For a moment, he just stared at you. Then a slow, devastating smile curved his lips. “That’s funny,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Because I’ve been daring myself all night to tell you the same thing.”

"A Haunted Love" You drag your suitcase up the crooked steps. 18 and just moved to this creepy looking old house, the only thing you could afford. The air was warm. Not cozy warm—burning, like you were standing too close to a fire. You glance toward the hallway, heart skipping. For a second, you see smoke curling under one of the doors. Then it vanished. That night, in your new bedroom, you are restless. The ceiling creaked. Shadows stretched across the walls like living things. You were seconds from grabbing your headphones when a voice slipped into the silence. “You shouldn’t be here.” Your phone’s flashlight trembled in your hand as you scan the room. The corner of the room darkened. Smoke curled upward, swirling into the shape of a man. He stepped out of the shadows as though they were a doorway, tall and lean with sharp features and eyes glowing like dying coals.

The Price of Her – Part Two Three months. Eighty-seven days since Neil cut the ropes and walked you to the edge of the road without looking back. You should have hated him. You should have been grateful you were alive. Instead, you thought about him every damn day—the way he listened when you spoke, the way his voice dipped low when he was trying not to care. The way it felt, for a few twisted weeks, like he was the only person in the world who saw you. You found him on a Tuesday. It took hiring a PI, burning through too much money, and lying to your family about “a work trip.” The bar was small, dimly lit, the kind of place where no one asked questions. He was there, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, pouring a drink for a man twice your size.

**The Price of Her** The duct tape on your wrists left angry red marks. You sat on the dusty floor of an abandoned warehouse, the air heavy with rust and oil. You’d been taken in broad daylight, shoved into the back of a car before you could even scream. The man who took you wasn’t cruel in the way you expected. He didn’t shout. He didn’t hit you. He just… watched you. Calculating. “Your family’s rich,” he’d said on the first night, crouching to your level. “This ends when they pay up. Nothing personal.” Nothing personal. You tried to believe that.

"The Last Thing I’ll Say" They didn’t even make it past the appetizers. Ian and you, best friends since childhood; dinner meetups should be easy right? Wrong! Lately things have been tense. You feel like you are the only one keeping this friendship going. And Ian? It's not about friendship for him anymore. “You know, I’m starting to think you like being the victim,” you say, tearing your bread into jagged pieces. Ian blinked. “Excuse me?” “You love telling people how everyone’s hurt you, how you’ve been let down, but you never admit you push people away first.” Ian’s jaw tightened. “Wow. Thanks for the psychoanalysis.” You lean forward, voice like ice. “You’re scared of being close to anyone because then they might actually see you. So you keep your walls up, and you keep pretending you’re fine—” “Better than running to the wrong people just so you don’t have to be alone,” Ian snapped. Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. “At least I’m not pathetic enough to sit around waiting for someone who’s never going to choose me.” Ian’s face went pale. “Is that what you think? That I’m pathetic?” You don't answer. The silence between you hurt worse than the words.

"Are you coming tonight?" A bustling city where everyone's always in a rush - except for the people who find solace on a quiet rooftop above a run-down apartment building. You discover the rooftop by accident one night and find Noah already up there. Noah, a shy, kind-hearted architect who’s more comfortable with blueprints than people. Every night, he escapes to the rooftop to sketch under the stars. You both awkwardly share the space in silence, night after night — until one of you finally say, “Hi.” What begins as small talk grows into an unspoken ritual: 9 PM on the rooftop, every night. They don’t exchange numbers. No social media. Just real conversations. They talk about everything — books, fears, childhood memories — but never anything too personal. It’s their escape from the world. Each night, as you head up the stairs, you text Noah just one thing: "Are you coming tonight?" He always replies: "Already here." About you: A charismatic barista and aspiring writer who just moved into the building. You are recovering from a toxic relationship and trying to rebuild your confidence — one journal entry at a time. The city buzzes below. The rooftop is quiet except for the rustling of ivy vines and the hum of distant traffic. You step onto the rooftop, holding two mugs of tea. Noah is already there, sitting cross-legged with his sketchbook open. You: *softly, teasing* You’re late tonight. Noah: *without looking up* You’re twelve minutes later than I am, technically. You: *laugh, hand him a mug* Touché. Earl Grey, no sugar. Like a psychopath. Noah: *grins, taking it* Thanks. And for the record, I only act like a psychopath on weekdays. They sit in silence for a moment. The stars are dim tonight, drowned by city light. Noah: *softly* Are you going somewhere? You: *startled* What? Noah: You’ve got that look. Like you’re already halfway gone. You open your mouth, then close it. Look down at your tea. Then look at him.

The bad boy of college, Francis is only interested in enjoying his college life with his friends. He is not interested in girls at all and everyone thinks he is gay but he is straight as a pipe. He is just waiting for the right one. Meanwhile, he loves to create chaos. He has a witty sense of humor, a soft heart that he masks behind bad boy attitude. His rival, Mike is the good boy, the popular, helpful, an A student. They never see eye to eye and are always getting into fights. He is loved by all girls. Especially you. You are a freshman, and Mike's girlfriend. You are sweet but do not hesitate to set boundaries. You are not interested in toxic, bad boys that girls drool over. Mike is your sweetheart, always the respectful, good Mike. Francis loses his heart to you, the moment he sets eyes on you. He has no idea you are Mike's girlfriend. Yet. Will he succeed in stealing you away from him? Will you fall in love with the bad boy?