CEO Wants My Little Rascal

Retired Navy Admiral Arthur quietly returns home to see his governor sister Eleanor, but on the interstate, Police Chief Gavin and his sister Vanessa brutally target him. To cover up their gang ties and hunt for ledgers, they frame Arthur, destroy his ID and mother's photo, and beat him near death. At the last moment, Eleanor arrives—about to reveal who he truly is.

Exiled to a ruthless werewolf academy for being a weak, pack-shaming Beta, Finn accidentally crosses three top-tier Alpha predators. The ultimate twist? All three are bound to him as his fated mates! Between the cold Chris, gentle Simon, and playful Neal... who is his true destiny?,

Blackstone Luna Elara is betrayed by husband Damon and stepsister Selene, poisoned, stripped of her mark, and framed for treason. Left to die, she meets Northern princess Edith, who gives her blood-mark, ring, and identity. As Princess Edith, Elara returns to reclaim the North.

Luna Talia gave everything to protect her husband, Carter, but he secretly marked Ellie. Manipulated by Ellie's scheme, he stuffed her in a sack, and tortured her without mercy. Clinging to her last breath, Talia rejected him and left behind a moonstone necklace carrying the truth… and a set of divorce papers. Then she walked away. For good., shortPlayLibraryIdRemark=LA875,

The second the pool water rose over my lashes, I heard Beth’s stiletto heels crush the crystal champagne tower. “Loyalty?” She crouched at the pool’s edge, the tip of her scissors pressing against the neckline of my wedding gown—its silver gleam stabbing my eyes. “You stole Edward from me for three years, and now you hide behind a chastity monument?” Foam dripped from my chin into the water—green-tinged, like tears gone sour. Guests formed a half-circle around the pool, phones raised, lenses fixed on my soaked lace bodice—where a small patch of dark red bloomed: skin torn open by her fingernails moments earlier. “Look closely.” I seized her wrist—and yanked. The scissors plunged with a dull *thunk* to the pool floor. As Beth shrieked and tumbled in, I whipped off my veil and looped it tight around her throat. At the explosion of water, every livestream feed flickered—three seconds of static snow. A backdoor I’d planted last night, deep inside the villa’s security system. She thrashed, choking, pearls flying from her ears just before vanishing down the drain. I leaned in, lips brushing her burning ear: “Stepmother dear… In your husband’s study safe—the third compartment—you’ll find seven paternity reports.” A sharp, rhythmic *click-clack* echoed from the doorway—leather on marble. Not Edward’s usual Oxford shoes. Boots. Military issue. I wiped foam from my eyes and looked up. Framed in the arched entryway, backlit by the sun, stood a man in black tactical gear. A rusted copper bell dangled from his left ear. The faded eagle insignia on his shoulder patch matched—exactly—the one pinned to the lapel of the officer who stood beside my father’s casket fifteen years ago. Beth froze. Her nails dug deep into my forearm. “...Colonel Lin? You were declared KIA in Afghanistan.” He didn’t glance at her. His gaze locked onto my left hand—my ring finger. Where a diamond should have glinted, only a faint pale line remained. “Anna.” His voice was raw, like sandpaper dragged over corroded iron. “Your mother’s last words were this: *So long as that ring remains, the one who took the fall for you hasn’t died yet.*” The pool water shimmered—an unnatural, electric blue. I looked down. Beneath my waterlogged wedding skirt, glowing digits rose slowly from the depths: **07:23:11** Seven hours, twenty-three minutes, eleven seconds—left on the countdown.

The delivery room lights were harsh and white—like a blade slicing through every illusion of warmth. She held the twins—one swaddled in pink-and-blue striped fabric, the other hastily carried away by a nurse who said, “To neonatology for observation.” No one heard the faint, brittle laugh that rose from her throat. Seventeen years without tears. Seventeen years she’d melted her “Cheer Queen” crown into a dagger, turned cheer chants into incantations, and laced every smile with poison—waiting for this day. Madison Carter ripped off her third audition outfit in the changing room. The varsity uniform was too tight—waistband biting into skin, cuffs frayed, shoulder patches faded to dull gray. Her mother had locked the new uniform in a safe last night: “You don’t deserve that spot, Madison. You don’t even know your father’s name.” Yet when she stormed onto the stage on broken stilettos—her skirt stitched from old team gear, her waist chain strung with pearls pried from her mother’s wedding gown, her hair pulled back crookedly, sweat dripping from her jaw into the glare of the spotlight— The music erupted. She flipped backward, landed hard, knees scraping raw—but lifted her chin, laughing like fire given voice. The judges sat frozen. Then the head judge removed his glasses, voice trembling: “*That’s*… real cheer spirit.” Before the words fully settled— A shattering scream tore through the audience. Victoria Orlando—Liv Orlando’s mother, partner at a top-tier law firm, famed for icy precision—shot upright. Her hands shook so violently she dropped her champagne flute. Golden liquid splashed across her limited-edition Hermès scarf, leaving a jagged, weeping stain. Her eyes locked onto the crimson mole at Madison’s throat—the *exact* match marked on the yellowed prenatal record buried deepest in her safe. And just as every camera in the arena swung wildly toward the ruptured mother-daughter pair— In the labor ward’s surveillance room, the final black screen flickered awake. The footage showed a snow-choked night, seventeen years ago. A nurse pushed an infant cart down the corridor. Inside lay a newborn girl, a silver bell tied to her ankle. The camera drifted slowly downward— Engraved inside the bell, two lines of microscopic script: **“M.D. —— MOTHER’S DEBT.”** **“L.O. —— LIE’S OWN.”** In the bottom-right corner, the timestamp pulsed: **00:00:01** —The countdown had just begun.