𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. . . . . . . . . . . We've all heard the tales of good and bad, the tales of innocent deceit and her hero, the tales that despite their nature, show us the beauty in contrast. But it's the tales of pure evil that get swept under the rug. The tales of deception, where cruelty is rewarded. The tales that have you questioning who the real villain of the story is. There's a simple philosophy to most thing in life; two wrongs 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 make a right. So what ensues when you put two of the worst kinds of people together? Loyalties transfer, lines blur, and hatred ignites complete chaos. She's cunning. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴. She's dangerous. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴. She's evil. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦. Or so that's what we're told. The devil is always worse. But maybe, just maybe, she's the devil in disguise, playing his advocate... . . . . . . . . . . - 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. -

Aubrey Wilson has the heart of an angel. As the type of person to always trust in others, she's admirable to peers. A total darling, but with a sadness that encases her heart. Anyone could shrink down in fright at the receiving end of Luke Taylor's infamous glare. Tall, muscular, dark-haired, and handsome, he's no stranger on or off the field. Not a kind stranger either. A total brooding asshole, but with a sadness that encases his heart. --- "You didn't have to hit him or anything," I lie my head on his broad, strong shoulder. "He shouldn't have touched you like that," he tucks a curl behind my ear. ~Strong Language~ ~Mild Violence~

Dominic Romanov, a mafia boss who spends the night with a beautiful woman who leaves him wanting more than what he bargained for. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯. "𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘊𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯." 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦. 𝘔𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 - 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵. 𝘐 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. "𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵."

She's a wild, free spirit who sees the good in everyone, and he's the hardened, bad-tempered loner who wants nothing to do with her-yet no matter how hard he tries to push her away, she's the one temptation he can't escape. *** He's never met someone with such a bubbly personality. Not to mention the wildness and odd phrases she says every five minutes. He hates it. He hates how he can't stay away from it. He hates what she does to him; it's not like him to chase after some girl. She gets under his skin like no other. She's never met someone with such a bad attitude. He's ill-mannered and menacing. The glare never seems to leave his face. Considering it all, she can't help but feel the attraction toward him. Dangerous attraction toward a seemingly dangerous man. Maybe it's the tattoos on his arm that gets her attention. Or maybe it's because she can tell there's hope for good under his rough exterior. And she's about to find it, whether he likes it or not. It's no secret that the two of them are complete and total opposites. *** "You like being called Sugar, don't you?" I tease, placing my toothbrush back after finishing. He does the same and gives me a side-eyed scowl. He grips my chin harshly and kisses me. My body temperature raises a good ten degrees and my right leg goes all wiggly. He pulls away. "You like it when I kiss you, don't you?" He teases the same way I did to him and I'm left blubbering. "I think both of our questions are rhetorical," I lower my voice up at him. His lip curls up into a smirk. *** #1 in Young Adult #9 in Badboy #1 in Cold #3 in Goodgirl #1 in Sweetheart #14 in Love *** *Warning* This story contains mature themes (language, scenes)

"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN