

At a remote psychiatric hospital, the most dangerous patient, Chaim Potter, passes his 144th evaluation and is released. What no one knows is that he’s never recovered—he still sees visions of his murdered fiancee, Keira Kennedy, sometimes as an angel, sometimes as a demon, urging him to take revenge. Four years ago, on the day he’d planned to propose,Keira was brutally assaulted and killed. He arrived just in time to see four perpetrators laughing as they walked away. Now free, with his loyal butler Devon Walsh having prepared everything, Chaim targets the wedding of Walter Hart and Zoie Mckay. He brutally attacks Felix Lindsey, one of the groomsmen and perpetrators, and has him dropped onto the wedding venue as his body rains down with funeral money printed with details of Keira’s death. Walter, Zoie, and bridesmaid Anna Pearson immediately realize: a calculated revenge has begun.

After the war of the gods, Thrud takes on the heavy duty of ruling the Aesir. She resurrects Alviss — once turned to stone for offending Zeus — and elevates him into a god of her own clan. Grateful for everything Thrud has sacrificed, Alviss swears he will cherish her. When Thrud returns to the realm wounded, she finds Alviss being intimate with an envoy named Levia — and Levia is wearing her crown and her sacred marriage band. Alviss claims that Levia cared for him during the years he was stone, and that he has already elevated her to the rank of divine envoy. When Levia deliberately drops the band, Thrud finally reaches her breaking point and strikes her, stripping Levia of her title on the spot and banishing her from the realm of the Aesir.

My daughter, Ruby Pratt, has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant—and fast. Out of everyone in the family, my husband, Dan Pratt, was the only match. I begged him for an entire month before he finally agreed to go through with the donation. But on the morning of the surgery, he went completely off the grid. I stood outside the hospital all day, waiting. No calls. No texts. Not even a shadow. That night, his childhood friend, Valerie Kinder, posted on Instagram. In the photo, Dan was holding Valerie's hand with one arm and carrying her young son with the other—on a beach in Lulabo City. The caption read: [Soaking up the sun! Dan cleared his whole schedule to join us on a month-long trek and we finally made it to the coast! My little boy said Uncle Dan made his ocean dream come true. Pure joy!] My heart splintered. While I was drowning in worry over my daughter, he was off playing happy family with them. I wiped my tears and typed a comment beneath her post: [Not 'Uncle.' From now on, he's your son's father.] That night, I finally got a call from him. "Babe, don't be like this," Dan said. "You're not being fair. "Valerie's son has been bullied at school for not having a dad. I couldn't stand seeing him hurt, so I took them on this trip. It was supposed to help him heal. "I'll catch the first flight back tomorrow and head straight to the hospital to donate the marrow. I promise." I hung up with a bitter smile. The next morning, Dan rushed into the hospital room. But all he found on the bed was a death certificate.