Contemporary Setting Novels

Psychological cognitive, emotional and sexual abuse done toward a sweet and shy young man can turn a pure soul into a addicted, vindictive lost soul, unrecognizable human....

For ten years, I waited for my childhood sweetheart, Adonis, to marry me. But every year, our future was delayed by a ridiculous family ritual where he had to draw a "Fortunate" tarot card. For three years, he drew the "Unfortunate" card, enduring brutal penance that left him scarred and broken. I believed it was fate. Then, on the fourth year, I saw him draw the Fortunate card. My heart soared. We were finally free. But in a swift, practiced move, he swapped it for an Unfortunate one, choosing more suffering. I was frozen in shock. Later, I overheard him confess to his cousin. He' d been swapping the cards for four years. He couldn't marry me yet because of his assistant, Ariel. She' d threatened to do something drastic if he left her. He said he owed her. My world shattered. Every lash he took, every moment of pain I shared, was a lie. A charade performed for another woman. He had chosen his guilt for her over his love for me. He even accused me of monstrous cruelty based on her lies, shouting, "I can't believe I wasted ten years on someone so vindictive. Apologize to Ariel. Now." That was the moment I knew the man I loved was gone. So, I left. I flew to Hong Kong and married another man. But just as I found my new beginning, Adonis burst in, his eyes wild with regret, begging me to come back. And right behind him was Ariel, her face twisted with madness, a gleaming knife in her hand.

My ex-husband returned after a three-year bet, ready to reclaim me and the son he thought was his. He had no idea that I'd secretly aborted his child, divorced him, and remarried the day he left. His world was about to come crashing down. His delusion turned deadly when he and his manipulative best friend, Haylee, kidnapped my son, Leo. I found them at his family's mansion, with Leo suffocating from a severe allergic reaction to a dog they were forcing him to play with. Elliot physically restrained me, scolding me for overreacting while Haylee giggled as my son turned blue. At the hospital, as Leo fought for his life, Elliot grabbed my arm, demanding to know who the man standing beside me was. He was convinced this was all a game to make him jealous. That's when my real husband, billionaire Gregory Morton, stepped forward. "Since when is this child yours, Elliot?"

As far as everyone was concerned, William had married Renee under duress. Now that his one true love was back—and with child—they couldn’t wait for him to abandon Renee. Surprisingly, Renee was candid about the situation. "To be honest, I’m the one asking for a divorce every single day. I want it even more than any of you!" But they brushed off her remark as a paltry attempt to save face. Until William made a declaration himself. "Divorce is out of the question. Anyone who spreads false rumors shall face legal consequences!" Renee was at a loss. What was this crazy man up to now?

Janet was adopted when she was a kid -- a dream come true for orphans. However, her life was anything but happy. Her adoptive mother taunted and bullied her all her life. Janet got the love and affection of a parent from the old maid who raised her. Unfortunately, the old woman fell ill, and Janet had to marry a worthless man in place of her parents' biological daughter to meet the maid's medical expenses. Could this be a Cinderella's tale? But the man was far from a prince, except for his handsome appearance. Ethan was the illegitimate son of a wealthy family who lived a reckless life and barely made ends meet. He got married to fulfill his mother's last wish. However, on his wedding night, he had an inkling that his wife was different from what he had heard about her. Fate had united the two people with deep secrets. Was Ethan truly the man we thought he was? Surprisingly, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the impenetrable wealthiest man in the city. Would he find out that Janet married him in place of her sister? Would their marriage be a romantic tale or an utter disaster? Read on to unravel Janet and Ethan's journey.

My husband' s mistress pushed me overboard while I was pregnant. I lost our baby and had an emergency hysterectomy, leaving me barren. When my husband finally visited the hospital, it wasn't to comfort me, but to tell me to get ready for a party. "You'll need your strength to face the cameras," he said, annoyed that I hadn't touched my food. His grandmother was even worse. She slapped me, calling me a "shameless hussy" for failing to keep my husband in line. "You failed to produce a male heir," she spat. "You're useless, Elisa. Utterly, completely useless!" They thought I was the same woman who would silently absorb their cruelty. But the woman who loved him died with our child. I was just a tool they were ready to discard. So I stopped her hand mid-air. "We're done," I said, pushing the divorce papers and a small voice recorder across the bed. "A man who lets his mistress murder his unborn child... that's not a good look for your 'legacy,' is it?"

The darkness of the Yale archaeological dig site swallowed Eleanor whole, dropping her straight into a lethal, prehistoric jungle. Before she could even process the bizarre time jump, a massive prehistoric wolf attacked her, only for her to be saved-and immediately claimed-by Jace, a towering, blood-soaked savage chief who marked her as his mate. Dragged back to his primitive camp, her nightmare only escalated. When she used her modern first-aid kit to save a dying hunter whose stomach had been ripped open, the tribe didn't thank her. Instead, a jealous tribeswoman named Greta and a ruthless Shaman incited a violent, torch-wielding mob. "Burn the witch before we all die!" They marched on the Chief's cave, demanding Eleanor be burned alive, claiming her life-saving stitches and antibiotics were dark magic that would curse them all. Eleanor was terrified and furious. She had just pulled a man back from the brink of death using basic medical science, yet she was about to be slaughtered by a mindless mob simply because they couldn't understand her language. Was she really going to be burned at the stake for an act of pure salvation? But when the hunter's fever broke and he walked out alive, the angry mob dropped to their knees in absolute reverence. Looking at her dying lighter and finite supplies, Eleanor realized that fear wouldn't keep her alive in this brutal world. She pulled out her tactical pen, deciding to drag this savage tribe out of the dark ages herself.

She burns, he saves. Once I thought you sheltered me from the storm, until later I realised that all the storms started with you. Talented ballerina Olivia has been in a whirlwind of complications since she met billionaire heir Dr Adrian.

Our wedding night. The acrid smell of smoke choked me as roaring flames consumed the beautiful new home I’d bought for Chloe. A heavy vase smashed against my skull. Through the blinding pain, I heard her voice, sharp and cold: "You and Mom and Dad ruined my love. I’ve given everything to Ryan. You destroyed my life. Now you can die with me.” The searing heat enveloped me, then, nothing. I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my own bed, not the master suite, entirely free of smoke or the ominous red decorations. My heart hammered against my ribs; disbelief warred with the dizzying joy of being alive. But then my eyes landed on the digital clock: 11:03 PM. June 12th. This was *the* night. The night Chloe was drugged, the horrifying prelude to my murder. A chilling whisper snaked down my spine as Chloe’s strained voice drifted from next door: “Ethan… I don’t feel good…” The phantom pain of shattered ceramic returned, a stark reminder of her betrayal. My first instinct screamed for me to flee, to escape her, to get out while I still could. But a cold, sharp thought pierced through my fear: Chloe was reborn too, and she was still entangled with Ryan. This time, I wouldn't just run. I would expose their schemes, break free from her toxic grip, and ensure my family’s actual tragedy never happened.

Julius Wellhausen (1844-1918) first published this work in German in 1878. Reissued here is the 1885 English translation of a revised 1883 version. Intended as a multi-volume work, this first book now stands as a self-contained work. A biblical scholar and orientalist, Wellhausen was professor of theology at Greifswald (until resigning for reasons of conscience) and then professor at Halle, Marburg and G??ttingen. An early exponent of scientific philology, he placed the Pentateuch in a historical-social context, setting aside theological traditions. In this work, he sets out his method and argues that the Pentateuch is a synthesis of four independent narratives. He then examines the history of worship, sacrifice, sacred feasts, priests, and the law in ancient Israel. Wellhausen is a central figure in modern biblical studies, his theory dominated scholarship for a century, and his pioneering work remains of great interest in the field.

In the second year of their marriage, Elianna became pregnant. She was overjoyed, but her happiness was shattered when she received a divorce agreement. A car accident left Elianna lying motionless, her body drenched in blood. She begged him to save their child, but all she could do was watch helplessly as he walked away, holding another woman in his arms. Overwhelmed by despair, she closed her eyes. Later, it was said that there was a name that no one dared to speak of in front of him. At her wedding, he fell to his knees. "You want to marry another man while carrying my child?"

The sterile hospital smell was the last thing I remembered. I was Ava, a successful architect, and I was dying. Through a morphine haze, I heard my husband, Liam, and his identical twin brother, Ethan. "Is she gone yet?" Ethan asked coldly. "Almost," Liam replied, his voice devoid of love. Then Chloe' s voice, sharp and satisfied: "She heard us talking about the miscarriage." My heart seized. My baby. The baby they called a tragic accident. "It was for the best," Liam said. "She was never meant to be the mother of my child. You are, Chloe." A wave of nausea and horror washed over me. "And the hysterectomy?" Ethan asked. "Are you sure it' s done?" Dr. Anderson confirmed it, Liam said. Complications. I' d never carry a child again. My world dissolved. They' d not only betrayed me but orchestrated the death of my child and the end of my womanhood. All for Chloe. Then, nothing. Until I opened my eyes again. I was in my wedding gown, in my wedding bed. Liam walked out of the bathroom, that devastating smile now making my stomach turn. He was an actor, and I had been his most captive audience. I remembered the whispers from my deathbed: the cold, calculated cruelty. This beautiful monster had shared me with his brother. I had died and come back, armed with the terrible truth. The man who had pledged his life to me had been orchestrating my destruction. My baby, my womanhood, my very life-all sacrificed for a twisted game. How could this be real? Why was I back? A new resolve settled in my soul. I wouldn't just survive this wedding night; I would be the architect of their destruction.

My mother was dying, her last wish to see the man I'd secretly married three years ago. But as I frantically called his phone, which went straight to voicemail, he was busy marrying my childhood rival in a lavish ceremony right outside the hospital. He publicly denied knowing me, his wife of three years, the secret benefactor who built his entire tech empire from the ground up. To humiliate me further, he allowed his new bride to broadcast a video of my deepest, most private trauma to all their wedding guests, dismissing my pain as "gossip." My mother died heartbroken from his betrayal. But they made a fatal mistake. They thought I was just a poor, pathetic wife they could discard. They didn't know I was the anonymous, globally feared tech mogul they'd been trying to impress all along. And I just gave my second-in-command a single order: "Burn it all down."

Noelle was the long-lost daughter everyone had been searched for, yet the family brushed her off and fawned over her stand-in. Tired of scorn, she walked away and married a man whose influence could shake the country. Dance phenom, street-race champ, virtuoso composer, master restorer-each secret triumph hit the headlines, and her family's smug smiles cracked. Father charged back from abroad, mother wept for a hug, and five brothers knelt in the rain begging. Beneath the jeweled night sky, her husband pulled her close, his voice a velvet promise. "They're not worth it. Come on, let's just go home."

After eight years, I watched the man I loved, Ethan Morgan, celebrate a success he' d stolen from me. He stood on stage with his assistant, Bella, giving her the credit and the massive commission that was rightfully mine. His CEO smile, once reserved for me, was now exclusively for her. He claimed it was punishment for my mother' s engagement to his wealthy father, calling her a gold-digger and me a co-conspirator in her "scheme." Later, he texted that he was "out of town for a few days." But on Instagram, I saw the truth: a selfie of him and Bella on his private jet, on a romantic getaway. In the background of their photo was a small, silver-framed picture of us from our trip to Santorini. The violation was absolute. Our entire life together was a lie. That was it. I sent my resignation, effective immediately, and booked a one-way ticket to Oregon. I was done being his victim.

After a fire stole my family and my voice, my boyfriend Jermain promised to be my shield. I was the silent composer behind our band's success, fighting to speak again-for him. Then I overheard him call me "damaged goods, a millstone around my neck." His betrayal escalated. He let his new flame publicly humiliate me, then abandoned me-injured and deafened-in a storm, calling me a "liability." The boy who promised to be my voice was gone. In his place was a stranger who saw me only as a burden he was tired of carrying. So I vanished. Three years later, with my voice and hearing restored, I returned not as a victim, but as a celebrated artist. He's back, begging for a second chance, but he's about to learn that the "damaged goods" he threw away are now priceless.

I spent hours preparing a perfect anniversary dinner for my billionaire husband, Damien Sterling. Instead of coming home, he appeared on a live broadcast, dropping $10 million on a diamond necklace for his first love, Isabel. Before I could process the public humiliation, the hospital called to tell me my grandmother, my only family, had died of a massive hemorrhage. The trigger was a visit from Isabel, who maliciously taunted her about our sham marriage and revealed Damien's company had wiped out her life savings. When I confronted them with a voice recording of Isabel's cruelty, Damien violently snatched the device and wiped the evidence to protect her. He even forced me to apologize when Isabel deliberately injured herself to frame me. I stared at him, completely disillusioned that he was blindly protecting a murderer who was actively selling his corporate secrets to his rivals. The last shred of my affection for him shattered into dust. Walking out of his manor, I calmly got into the sports car of his most ruthless enemy and made a deal. "I want to see Isabel Goodwin in a prison cell, and I want his empire to burn."

Xu Mobei is my senior from university. When I didn't know him, he seemed like a celestial being to me, even his way of speaking had an ethereal quality. Later, I realized that he is not a celestial being at all; it's me who truly feels like a celestial being for agreeing to be his girlfriend.

I carefully hid my terrifying reality to protect my fragile little brother. By day, I was just a poor, invisible foster kid trying to survive in a chaotic home. Then, my foster parents brought home Jadyn. He flashed a flawless, sunny smile, but he was a manipulative sociopath who charmed everyone while secretly targeting us. He stole my brother's art prize money to buy a luxury guitar, crushed his heartfelt drawings, and played the humble victim perfectly. My foster parents treated him like the perfect son, while I was painted as the jealous, angry villain. At school, he became the golden boy, destroying innocent girls who liked him and throwing them to the wolves to build his saintly reputation. I endured his midnight torture and twisted psychological games just to keep my brother safe. I thought if I kept my head down and suffered in silence, I could survive his torment until graduation. I thought Jadyn was the worst monster I had to face. But I was wrong. During the school's spring festival, while Jadyn was soaking up everyone's worship on stage, a deafening roar filled the sky. A sleek, black helicopter landed right on the field. Eduardo Olsen, the ruthless billionaire who secretly controlled my life in the shadows, stepped out. He completely ignored the frantic principal and walked straight past a stunned Jadyn. He grabbed my wrist and kissed my hand in front of the entire school. My carefully hidden hell was just dragged into the blinding light.

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.