Lene' G. Mitchell

I'm locked in a cage in my wedding dress. How did I end up here? Three days ago, I was a normal girl living a normal life. My adoptive parents came over to my apartment for dinner, just like they do every week. But this time, they brought bombshells. They tell me I'm not who they said I was. And all those dance lessons, those etiquette classes? They weren't just for show. They were to groom me. To mold me into what I'm about to become—the forced wife of a don. Then, with my jaw on the floor, they opened the door and let the nightmares in.

An old love letter found in the glove compartment of a young woman's inherited '72 Volkswagen propels her to leave her life in Los Angeles and go to the small town of Capitola, California. There her dream of finding the writer of the letter leads her on an unexpected journey that changes her life forever.

I never should’ve fallen back in love with Quinn. I always knew we wouldn’t make it. And to make matters worse, not only did I lose my soulmate - I lost myself as well. Everything was stripped away, leaving me bare and unable to breathe. No one told me it could hurt this much. I was unprepared for this level of agony from the horrible weight of grief. I planned to love him infinitely. But what is infinity, when love always ends?

Sawyer Beckett does everything full throttle - he's fiercely loyal to his friends, always the life of the party, and impossible for the parade of women in and out of his bedroom to forget. Surrounded by true love and happily ever afters, Sawyer's not sure if he's enhancing the what-ifs in his head or if the goddess onstage that night really is worth the search and nagging in his chest. At the most inopportune moment possible, Emmett Young comes "skipping" back into his life...and for the first time, Sawyer is the one left wanting more.

Marry the girl I've had a crush on my whole life. Check. Inherit a $100 billion company. Check. Produce an heir...Wait. What? I have 90 days to knock up my brand-new fake wife. There's only one problem: she hates my guts. And in the fine print of the contract? The requirement that we produce an heir. She can't stand to be in the same room with me and says she'll never be in my bed. But I've never backed down from a challenge, and I'm not about to start now. Mark my words, I'll have her begging for me, and it won't take 90 days.

I use people. Not in a malicious way, but in the way an addict abuses their substance of choice. People are my vice - men specifically. I crave the emotional high they give me, with a unique and reckless disregard for my own well-being - eagerly floating into an unsustainable euphoria, knowing full well that after every high comes an equal, if not more powerful, plummet into a devastating abyss. But like every junkie, I crawl willingly back into the arms of my demons.