

You're a university student who's just taken on a part-time job during summer break, yet you've somehow triggered the military's maximum alert. Seeing as you're someone who has once modified a tractor into a tank, you're commanded by Commissar Gilbert Lane to repair J-10, a fighter jet that has been retired from duty, so that it can be displayed at an aerospace exhibition.You intend to craft a replica that looks realistic, but little do you know that you'll end up awakening the Omni-Tech System that allows you to breathe life into everything that you make.Some of your inventions now include nuclear-powered engines, a technology that allows aerocrafts to perform vertical take-offs and landings on the spot, as well as advanced technology that allows aerocrafts to go invisible.On the eve of the aerospace exhibitions, even the most leading experts in the industry are stunned the moment they see your blueprints. After all, these blueprints feature technology and innovations that are considered core secrets of the nation.Witness what it feels like to transform scrap metal into treasure with your hands and build exceptional inventions that shock the entire world.

On the eve of her wedding, Isabella’s fiancé, Ethan, lets Rose auction off their wedding in the name of charity. Betrayed, Isabella puts the ruby ring symbolizing her status as the future lady of the house up for auction, starting at just one dollar. She then auctions off every gift Ethan ever gave her—even their arranged marriage—to end it all.Ethan is sure no one would dare marry her. Until Alexander, the sole heir to the powerful Sterling family, walks in and bids for her without hesitation.This time, Isabella won’t beg for love or pay for Rose’s greed. She’ll reclaim her dignity and choose the man who truly puts her first.

To uncover the truth behind his friend Frank's death,mercenary king Tate goes undercover inside the Yates family, posing as a protector to Frank's wife, Caroline. With hostile takeovers, poison from within, and shadow forces targeting the new energy formula, Tate eliminates every threat. What begins as distrust between him and Caroline turns into an unspoken bond. Backed by a global network, he turns the tide and exposes his true identity: the Judicator.In the end, he crushes the conspiracy, avenges Frank, and becomes the one who guards Caroline for life.

Expelled from the elite Turner family, Lucy Turner stages a cheating scandal to save her boyfriend from debt, only to discover years later that he's now a billionaire, her boss, and engaged to her half-sister. Amidst lingering love and misunderstandings, their fates remain entangled.

On her first day at work, the elevator jams. In the dark, a stranger’s hands leave her breathless and trembling. When the lights come back on, she’s staring at her new boss. A forbidden office affair begins—and neither of them can stop.

Everyone in southern Italy knew that Lorenzo Moretti loved me like a madman. And yet he had been keeping a much younger woman in Naples. They said she looked just like I had years ago. He told people she was only a reminder of the woman he had once loved most. He also gave strict orders that no one was to let me hear about her. Until the day I found out I was pregnant. I went to his office to tell him the news myself, only to stop outside the door when I heard a young woman’s voice from inside. “Lorenzo… am I only here because I remind you of her?” The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw a young woman who looked too much like me, wrapped in his jacket and holding his glass. I stood there, barely breathing. Then I heard him answer. “Don’t compare yourself to her.” “She could never be what you are.” I turned and walked away without making a sound. That night, I called my mother. “Mother, I’ve made up my mind.” She was silent for a moment. “I want a fire,” I said. “Something no one survives. By the time it’s over, Sophia Moretti needs to be dead to the world.”

The day before the family purge order was issued, I saw my own name on the Bellini family’s internal network. In the field marked Recommended Executor, the name written there was Adrian Bellini. The current Mafia Don. And my fiancé. When I called him, his voice was flat. “Relax, Vivian. Celine submitted the exit request for you. It was just a joke.” “Go explain it to the council yourself. They’ll cancel it.” Celine. The assistant who followed him everywhere, always in expensive little skirts, the one who adjusted his tie for him in public as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I held the phone in my hand, I had nothing left to say. So the place I had nearly killed myself to protect for three years was, to him, nothing more than a joke. I didn’t withdraw anything. I completed the handover as usual. Signed the papers as usual. Left New York as usual. It wasn’t until much later that Adrian finally realized something was wrong and asked me, “Vivian, I told you to get your name taken off the list. Why didn’t you go?” “Why should I?”

My husband, Dante, is the most untouchable Don of the Vance family in New York. He has one unbreakable rule: After 9 p.m., if he's out on family business, he does not take calls. I understood his devotion to the family, so for five years, I did my best never to disturb him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the docks and walked straight into an ambush by a rival family's armed men. In a panic, I called Dante, begging him to save me. The phone rang for what felt like forever. When he finally picked up, his voice was ice-cold: "Nora, we've been married a long time. As the Donna of the Vance family, you should know the rules." Then he hung up. That night, I barely escaped the hail of bullets by the skin of my teeth. I spent the night in the hospital. But when I came home the next morning, all I got was a reproachful look. He accused me of interrupting a critical family shipment deal—and of sending a fake distress signal. I knew how hard he worked, so I swallowed my hurt. But later, when I used his computer, I accidentally saw his call log. One contact had been calling him almost every single night—always after nine. For five full years. I knew that number. It belonged to Alexa, the Vance family's Capo. The woman everyone in the family had agreed, for all these years, was the one truly fit to stand beside Dante. In that moment, every ounce of suppressed hurt came flooding back. After I calmed myself, I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—to an international art exhibition. And I clicked "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from his world completely.

My husband, Dante, is the most untouchable Don of the Vance family in New York. He has one unbreakable rule: After 9 p.m., if he's out on family business, he does not take calls. I understood his devotion to the family, so for five years, I did my best never to disturb him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the docks and walked straight into an ambush by a rival family's armed men. In a panic, I called Dante, begging him to save me. The phone rang for what felt like forever. When he finally picked up, his voice was ice-cold: "Nora, we've been married a long time. As the Donna of the Vance family, you should know the rules." Then he hung up. That night, I barely escaped the hail of bullets by the skin of my teeth. I spent the night in the hospital. But when I came home the next morning, all I got was a reproachful look. He accused me of interrupting a critical family shipment deal—and of sending a fake distress signal. I knew how hard he worked, so I swallowed my hurt. But later, when I used his computer, I accidentally saw his call log. One contact had been calling him almost every single night—always after nine. For five full years. I knew that number. It belonged to Alexa, the Vance family's Capo. The woman everyone in the family had agreed, for all these years, was the one truly fit to stand beside Dante. In that moment, every ounce of suppressed hurt came flooding back. After I calmed myself, I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—to an international art exhibition. And I clicked "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from his world completely.

The moms at the company post about me online, claiming the free daycare I provide for their kids is a "prison" and a vile tactic to force them to work overtime. What they don't know is that the daycare was set up with imported equipment and staffed by internationally trained professionals. It costs nearly eight thousand dollars a month per child to operate. The internet curses me out, calling me a show-off and disgusting capitalist. So I grit my teeth and send out a company-wide announcement. "To support everyone's desire to handle their own childcare, the company has decided to close the free daycare program. Effective immediately, it will be replaced with a childcare benefit. Eligible mothers will receive 200 dollars a month." As soon as the notice goes out, the moms panic. They crowd outside my office, begging me not to shut it down.