

Collin and Yvonne were forced into a quick marriage without a meeting. Thanks to fate's hand, they get caught up in crazy events, sparking some feelings along the way. Just as they're about to split, they realize the one they planned to divorce is their true love.

Dr. Finn Zale, a history PhD, accidentally falls during a field study and wakes up as an orphan in a remote village amid chaotic times. To survive, he sets aside his pen, takes up a hoe, and relies on his farming knowledge. Just when he resigns himself to a quiet life, he awakens a special system—using it, he gains allies, joins the military, and rises from humble farmer to legendary overlord!

Someone @'d me on Nextdoor. "Hey, penthouse girl. You're single. What do you need a whole rooftop garden for? My husband's throwing a party. We'll be needing it starting tomorrow." "Don't worry, we'll give you two hundred bucks a month for upkeep. You'll make a couple hundred for doing jack shit. You should be thrilled." I stared at the screen. It was a joke. I was Don Ricci's heir, groomed to run the South Side. But I traded that life for a paintbrush. This apartment was my sanctuary, my quiet place. That rooftop garden wasn't some building perk. It was mine. I'd paid half a million cash for the deed when I bought the place. I turned it into my sunroom studio. And now someone thinks they can have it for two hundred bucks a month? I replied with two words: "Dream on." I didn't expect the building manager and two security guards at my door the next day. Someone had filed a complaint about me "misusing community resources." And now, for the sake of "neighborly harmony," they were demanding my keys. Fine. They wanted to throw civility out the window? They were about to learn what real power felt like.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.

After the great war between humans, vampires, werewolves, and elves, an agreement was made that hybrid offspring would rule the world. Every century, alliances through marriage between humans and those three clans would decide the next ruler. Whoever bore the first hybrid child would claim power for their line. In my previous life, I chose to marry Jax, the eldest son of the werewolf pack, known for his fierce loyalty. I gave birth to our hybrid son, a white-furred pup we named Zeal. Our child became the next world ruler, and Jax gained immense power. My sister had lusted after the elves' beauty and married into their clan. But the elf prince slept with every female in the forest. In the end, my sister caught a disease that left her barren. Jealous and bitter, she set a fire that burned me and my young pup alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the racial alliances. My sister had already slept with Jax first. I knew she had been reborn too. But she didn't know that Jax was brutally savage with his mates, having torn countless she-wolves apart in his bed during his ruts.
![[ENG DUB] Not the Same Ex-Wife Anymore](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
Dorothy Page, a beauty from humble origins, spent over a decade as the pampered wife of wealthy Reece Carter. When he cheats, she divorces him without hesitation. A year later, Dorothy has transformed herself into a wildly successful influencer with millions of followers and a fortune worth hundreds of millions—all built on skills she developed while caring for her family. As countless men vie for her attention, a regretful Reece realizes what he’s lost. But Dorothy has already caught the eye of elite tycoon Gregory Holland, who spoils her daily and is eager to make her his wife.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.