Bulletproof Heir
By @john1208
Bullets are tearing through the drywall of the cliffside mega-mansion. Nivesa Corval, a shy but fiercely stubborn architectural designer, is trapped in the crossfire - until the mansion's owner, ruthless magnate Tavros Morillo, drops from a helicopter with his tactical team to annihilate the intruders. Tavros thinks she’s just his talented new lead designer. He doesn't know that five years ago, during the Great Corteza Blackout, Nivesa stumbled into the wrong hotel room and shared a desperate night with him in the pitch dark. And he definitely doesn't know about Loris, her four-year-old son who just casually diagnosed Tavros’s lead bodyguard with a rare, fatal genetic blood disorder just by looking at his skin tint. But when Tavros finally connects the dots, he doesn't storm in with lawyers. Instead, he becomes a ghost. As Nivesa plans her escape with the help of her trusted, father-figure mentor, Bramen, she notices her enemies mysteriously dropping dead in the shadows. She thinks she's lucky. She doesn't realize her baby's billionaire father is violently purging threats from the rooftops - and that her beloved mentor is the very syndicate mastermind trying to kill them. Will Nivesa realize her invisible guardian is the tycoon she’s terrified of before Bramen's lethal trap snaps shut?
3
Countdown in the Crimson Wastes
By @john1208
All I wanted was a quiet life and a long nap. Instead, my morning was ruined by a mechanical falcon dropping two documents on my chest: a bill of sale auctioning me off as a warlord's concubine, and a forged military draft notice for a brother who didn't actually exist. Naturally, I hacked off my hair, stole the fake draft, and fled to the Brass-Blood Cohort. Living as 'Khyr' was supposed to be a breeze. My plan was to slack off, do the bare minimum, and sleep through the battles. Unfortunately, my combat reflexes betrayed me, catching the eye of Jalrek, our terrifyingly intense squad leader. Now, Jalrek is forcing me into sweaty, exhausting close-quarters dagger spars every single day. Even weirder, he's acting utterly frantic, secretly demanding tonics from the camp doctor to cure his 'aberrant heart palpitations' whenever I pin him. I'd find his panic hilarious if the Commander hadn't just dropped a bombshell: we have exactly thirty days to cross the monster-infested Ghol-Kadar dunes, or the runic brands on our necks will detonate. With a toxic sand-fever brewing in my veins and a time limit ticking down, can I survive the march without my squad leader discovering the truth beneath my tunic?
2