When Inaya Khan is told she’s meeting a boy for marriage, the last thing she expects is for beetroot juice to play spoilsport. As CEO of Ixora Skincare, Inaya has achieved money, fame and power all at the age of twenty-seven. But to her mother, the only labels that apply to her are overweight and unmarried.

A CEO himself, but of a struggling startup, Ayaz Ahmed has no time or energy to even think of marriage. Until his mother shows him Inaya’s picture and he’s instantly smitten. Despite a disastrous start that included beetroot juice spewage, multiple suitors for Inaya’s hand and judgy onlookers, Inaya and Ayaz are instinctively drawn to each other.

Until Ayaz finds out that his company is being taken over by none other than his prospective bride-to-be. Ayaz may be smitten but he isn’t stupid. And he most certainly isn’t letting Inaya take his precious company from him.

Can love find a way to survive in the heart of business deals, mergers and acquisitions? Or will this bad girl have to go rogue to bring her own ‘Ranveer Singh’ home? 

Book Links:
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Read an Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Rogue

Keeping my face as blank as possible, I sat down and tried my best not to sit too close to him. He sat down as well, a smile on his face, looking sheepish because my mother and his family were looking at us keenly.

‘Sameena, there’s someone I wanted you to meet,’ Ammi said to his mother and taking the hint, both his parents got up and walked away with Ammi, leaving the two of us alone at the table. We weren’t alone per se, because there were so many people around but I still felt my stomach tie up in knots.

Whenever I was in Bangalore, a part of me forgot that I was the CEO of a successful company and not just my parents’ daughter. I had spoken to thousands of men probably, men who worked for me, men whom I had interviewed for jobs at my company, vendors and marketers, and other CEOs. But here, all that was swept away as I became Naseem and Aftab Khan’s younger daughter. Their younger unmarried daughter.

Straightening my back, I turned to him, really hoping there wouldn’t be another disaster like the one that had nearly ruined my dress. I briefly wondered where Ayaz was. Maybe he’d been embarrassed enough to leave.

I put him out of my mind and turned to the man I was sitting with. He looked at me appraisingly, his eyes resting on my shoulders and then glancing down my bare arms. Women were wearing short, strapless dresses here at the party. This was nothing compared to that. I gritted my teeth, thinking that if he was going to shame me for my outfit, I was going to throw this…this…I picked up the glass of juice on the table and sniffed it slightly and then nearly gagged. It was beetroot juice.

About the Author:

Andaleeb Wajid is a hybrid author, having published 40 novels in the past 14 years. Andaleeb enjoys writing in a number of different genres such as young adult, romance, and horror. Andaleeb's recent novels All Drama No Queen and Mirror, Mirror were published by Penguin Random House and Duckbill respectively in 2021. Andaleeb's romance trilogy Jasmine Villa Series is being published by Westland in February 2023. She has an upcoming YA horror novel with Harper Collins later in 2023.

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 “Kissing you means I’m beyond redemption.”

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Read an Excerpt from Once Upon a Kiss

Karam stiffened at the sweet voice and the even sweeter sentiment it oozed. He didn’t do sweet. He turned slowly to face her. 

“Slumming again, Princess?”

Anger flared on those perfect features, but she composed herself a second later. You had to admire that level of control. She would have made the perfect politician’s wife. Kanak, on the other hand…a reluctant laugh huffed out of him. 

“Why are you like this?” she asked now, her tone bored but her eyes alive with something he recognised all too well. The same emotion thrummed through his veins, heating his blood and kickstarting his heart. 

He took a sip from his flask, a deliberately long one. He wanted to smack his lips, the gesture as pointed as it was obscene, when she stepped closer to him.

“You didn’t reply to my last message.” The soft words only stoked the heat.

“Didn’t have time.” The words were a low snarl in response. 

She cocked her head, those pretty hazel eyes seeing right through him and to the lonely, angry, always hungry boy he’d been and apparently, never outgrown. The boy who’d longed for a better life, for a full stomach, for a night without being whipped or beaten, for an affectionate touch, for someone, anyone really, to love him. 

A boy who’d thought he’d deserved better. A boy who’d wanted something pretty, something special in his life. A boy who’d dirtied and ruined everything he’d held in his hands. Including this woman.

He’d kissed her. And she’d lost everything. Her rich, powerful fiancé had ended their engagement, her family had shunned her, humiliated by her actions and her business had lost investors. Apparently, they’d been backing the woman who was going to marry Aakash Thakkar. Not someone who’d kiss an alley rat like him. 

“Go inside,” he told her softly.

But when did she ever listen to him?

“No,” she said, equally softly, stepping forward and into his space. 

“You really need to find a rich, pretty boy to practice this shit with, Princess.” The words were hoarse, his chest starting to heave. 

“But I don’t want to,” she murmured, her fingers pushing the hair back from his forehead, running through the strands. She gripped the back of his neck, the contact feeling like a brand on his skin.

“What do you want?” His hand fisted around his flask even as the other one gripped her hip, the skin soft and satiny under his callused palm. Her saree pallu whispered down one shoulder and slipped to the ground but neither of them noticed, their eyes only on each other.

“What. Do. You. Want?” The words were dragged from him. 

“You, Karam. Always you.” 

This time when she kissed him, he didn’t just go up in flames. He swore he’d burn the world down for a chance to do this again. And again.

About the Author:

A published author with Harlequin India – Mills & Boon India Collection and Juggernaut, Shilpa Suraj’s books have hit both the Hot New Releases and Bestseller lists on Amazon. Her next novel, tentatively titled ‘Wrong,’ has been contracted by Rupa Publications and will release later this year. She is also part of the Flipped Anthology by Harper Collins and had an audiobook book Insta Reddy release with Storytel.

She is, amongst other things, currently working on ‘Frazzled and Fabulous,’ a humorous, true-to-life parenting story that is part memoir and part nonfiction.

An avid reader with a passion for creative writing and storytelling saw her participating in writing competitions at school and dabbling in copy writing for an ad agency as a teenager. Twenty years in the corporate space, including a stint in Corporate Communications for Google, India, and a spell at entrepreneurship all hold her in good stead for her multiple current roles of author, mother and Head of Human Resources & Public Relations at an architecture and interior design firm.

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One wrong choice on the eve of her wedding has left Ananya married to one brother and in love with THE OTHER…

Read an Excerpt from Wrong

There was a special place in hell for men who were in love with another man’s wife. Arnav contemplated the fifteen-year-old scotch in the crystal glass in front of him. It helped fan the

flames of the hellfire in his gut. It didn’t stop his gaze from being drawn to the back of her dress. The outfit shimmered like silver smoke over her lithe body. He could see her husband’s hand resting possessively on her exposed back, a thumb gently gliding over her creamy, unblemished skin.

He clenched his glass and gulped down almost half of its contents, savouring the burning trail it left inside him. It did nothing for the guilt that was his constant companion, but it numbed the pain that clawed through him, be it only for a moment.

She laughed. It was a tinkling burst of sound that cut through the quiet murmur of the sophisticated, high society crowd that had gathered for the charity event. A few tendrils of her hair escaped the complicated hairdo her glorious waist-length mane was caught up in and flirted with the

nape of her neck.

Cursing, he pushed back from the table. He needed a smoke and he didn’t care if the world thought it was rude of him to walk out right now. As he made his way through the throng, a part of him registered the way she leaned against her husband and murmured something into his ear. Turning towards her, he

gave her an indulgent smile that spoke volumes about their relationship.

Oh yes, there was a special place in hell for men who loved another man’s wife. He breathed, crawled and existed in that abyss, for he didn’t just love another man’s wife, he loved his brother’s wife. Amidst the scum that grew in the filthy gutter of the deepest, darkest bowels of hell, he was the slime you scraped off the bottom of your shoe. He lived and breathed guilt, remorse and gut-searing pain. She was his friend, his passion, his endless torment, his curse. And yet, he loved her.

About the Author:

Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.

An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.

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‘Someone is stalking the streets of Sonagachi.’
It’s the 1870s, and Calcutta is bustling with commerce and colonialism. A sea of changes has been ushered in by the relatively new British Raj, which has led to migrants from all over India filling up the city with their hopes and dreams.
Amongst these struggling masses is a serial killer on the prowl. Corpses of sex-workers start turning up at ponds and in the by-lanes of Sonagachi, Calcutta’s famed pleasure district, choked to death and stripped of all their ornaments. Fear has gripped the city and the nascent police department seems to be chasing shadows.
This is the story of Trinoyoni Debi: a sensuous seductress with a silver tongue and a love for all things shiny. But behind those eager eyes lurks a savagery that has made Trinoyoni the stuff of legends. How could such a breath-taking beauty be so terrifying? How many more will she kill before she is satiated? And is there anyone who can stop her? Follow her life as she transforms from a child widow to a famed courtesan and merciless murderer, becoming India’s first-ever serial killer.

Book Links:
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Read an Excerpt from Trinoyoni

Early Life

On a scorching summer noon in 1853, a tired Priyogopal Sanyal entered Purnendu Shekhar Chattopadhyay’s house, wearing an irritated look. The 50-year-old Sanyal had travelled a long distance and could barely sit straight. His drowsy eyes and half-broken walking stick made him look much older than his age. He was chewing on a betel leaf and behaving rudely with his hosts. 

People crowded around the house, inquisitive to learn about the man who would be marrying the prettiest girl in the village. Trina managed to catch a glimpse of the man and felt disgusted. She was appalled and couldn’t understand why God had chosen this tragic destiny for her.

‘Jamai babu was bedridden for two years because of a life-threatening disease,’ Trina overheard her neighbour saying.

‘Even in his bedridden state, he married four girls and rescued them,’ Priyogopal Sanyal’s friend, who had accompanied him, informed Purnendu.

With folded hands and a lowered head, Purnendu Chattopadhyay said, ‘Our daughter is very sensible and compromising. She excels at all household chores. She will not give you any reason to complain. I am grateful to Sanyal babu for rescuing her and agreeing to marry her.’ 

Tears trickled down Trina’s eyes as she saw her father begging Sanyal. 

‘Priyo babu has rescued ten other girls too. But your daughter is much older than his other wives,’ Sanyal’s friend remarked scornfully. 

Purnendu looked at the groom apologetically and pleaded, ‘I am an unfortunate father, burdened with the liability of an unmarried daughter. But as a Kulin Brahmin, I couldn’t commit a sin by marrying her off to a non-Kulin gentleman! Please forgive me.’ 

Priyogopal Sanyal looked at Purnendu and nodded dismissively. 

Sanyal’s friend added, ‘Priyo babu will accept the dowry and marry your daughter tomorrow. He will leave for East Bengal soon after to see his newborn son. Your daughter can continue living with you for now. You can complete the remaining rituals during his next visit.’ 

Purnendu nodded with folded hands and said, ‘We are truly blessed to have found him.’ 

About the Author:

Moitrayee also writes screenplays for TV and freelances with IT firms as a content consultant. Before switching to a full-time writing career, she worked with organizations like IBM, Deloitte, and Oracle, among others, in various writing and people-managerial roles, for 15 years. An alumna of Loreto College and Jadavpur University, Moitrayee also has a certificate in Creative Writing from the University of Oxford.

Moitrayee enjoys conducting writing workshops for children and adults, encouraging them to cultivate a habit of reading. She is passionate about music, enjoys reviewing books and films, and loves dogs. Currently, she lives in Kolkata.

Read an Excerpt from Bad Girl Gone Good

KABIR

The Rajmata of Bannor looked positively hunted as she stared at me.
“She said she’s on her way, beta. I’m sure she will be here soon.”
My brow creased in confusion.
“Who is on her way? I thought we were meeting to discuss how to raise money for the new NICU.”
“We are! But you can’t raise funds without a proper fundraiser. And if anyone can organise a superhit, blockbuster event for you, it is she,” declared Her Highness.
What was the old lady smoking? We weren’t a Bollywood production house. Usha Kiran was a hospital with a reputation for quality healthcare. The manic gleam in her eyes made me very nervous, especially when she started throwing around words like superhit and blockbuster.
“She?” I asked carefully.
“Kabir, you can’t pull off such a big event all by yourself. You need an event manager.”
No. What I needed was for these old farts to get their heads out of their asses and come up with a plan to counter Her Highness’s schemes.
“Your Highness, we’re trying to collect funds, and I’m not sure how blowing up a huge chunk of money on a grand party is going to help us do that.”
The other members of the board nodded in agreement. The very thought of wasting money on a fundraiser made them turn ashen.
She shook her head in disappointment.
“Beta, sometimes you have to spend money to earn more.”
“Well, we don’t have much, to begin with, and I don’t think I can authorise such an expense when I could use the money to buy new ventilators,” I said apologetically.
I knew she meant well, but she needed a dose of reality. There was nothing glamorous about what we were trying to do here. We needed state-of-the-art incubators, ventilators with CPAP machines, as well as a well-trained NICU staff, all of which cost money.
“What if the board doesn’t have to spend a single penny? I will donate the money you need to organise the event,” she replied craftily.
“With due respect, Your Highness, why would you do that?"
She banged on the floor with the end of her walking stick.
“Because it is time to try something new. The world is full of people who have more money than they can spend in this lifetime. And some of them are even willing to share that wealth. You just need to know how to approach them. As for the ones that don’t want to part with their wealth, you need to know exactly how to lure and skin them,” said Her Highness, with relish.
Were we still talking about raising money? I had a feeling there was a ruthless serial killer lurking under that silk-clad grandmotherly exterior. I sighed as I resigned myself to an uncomfortable meeting with the event manager. But I would hear her out before I showed her the door. It was the least I could do.
I looked at my watch pointedly and nodded.
“Fine. Let’s see what this wizard of yours has in mind.”
There was a sharp knock at the door, and it swung open.
“I hope I’m not too old for one of your lollipops, Doctor Uncle,” called a voice that I hadn’t heard for years.
And yet, it hit me with the same force as it had seven years ago.
Her Highness rose to welcome her, but I stayed frozen in my seat, unable to do anything but stare at that familiar face. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck was Aisha Rajput doing here?
She walked into the room and greeted Her Highness with a warm hug.
“Now, where’s my favourite man?” she cooed, pulling away from the Rajmata of Bannor.
I clenched my jaw and stood up slowly to my full height as she turned towards me. When she spotted me, she swayed in place as if she had been dealt a body blow. I shot her a frosty smile that made her turn pale.
“Well, if it isn’t the OG Bad Girl,” I drawled.”

About the Author:
Alisha Kay writes funny, exciting and steamy stories, with spunky heroines who can rescue themselves, and hot, woke heroes who find such independence irresistible.
The first book in The Devgarh Royals series, The Maharaja’s Fake Fiancée, won the grand prize at the Amazon KDP Pen to Publish Contest 2020.

Alisha on the Web:
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Faced with a loveless marriage, Ananya Rajput does what she always does when faced with a tough situation - she runs away!
Except, this time she runs right into the arms of the man she’s dreamed about for years - okay, fantasised about, to be completely honest.
His Highness Yashvardhan Rathore, Yuvarajkumar of Bannor, is so going to burn in hell.
Not only did he help his dead friend’s sister run away from her wedding mandap, he now has terribly inappropriate feelings for her.
All his life he’s lived by one truth - no one has ever loved him enough to stay. And he doesn’t think a known flight risk like Ananya will be the first.
As her restless feet get calmer, the walls around his heart get higher.
Will Yash ever come to trust in love?
And will Ananya let her reluctant Prince Charming claim a runaway bride?

To find out read the third book in the Devgarh Royal series.

Book Links:
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Excerpts from The Prince and the Runaway Bride

An astrologer once told my grandmother that a girl would be my downfall.

      As I stared at the girl in a bridal outfit shimmying down a rope made of bedsheets tied together, I had to admit that he might have been on to something.

      “Are you sure you want to do this, Ananya?” I asked for the third time.

      She turned around to glare at me.

      “Ask me that one more time. I dare you,” she snarled, as she tried to hold her veil in place while hanging on to said rope desperately.

      It was all very well for her to get testy, but I deserved some answers. When I had ducked around the side of Rajput House in response to her sister’s phone call, the last thing I expected was to be coerced into being the bride’s getaway driver.”

What does a lifestyle guru do when her life starts to fall apart?

Alia Dubey is being stalked. The problem is no one believes her. Not the cops, not her family…and well, she doesn’t really have any friends.
Until the day her sister calls in a favour and asks her friend from the Intelligence Bureau to check on Alia and the gifts she’s been receiving.
Officer Avinash Rathore has better things to do than babysit a spoilt socialite with delusions of danger. Until he walks in to find her home broken into and an innocuous bouquet of red roses placed there. While everything points to an obsessed lover, Avinash’s instincts are screaming that there is more at play.
The gifts keep arriving, escalating from roses to far more sinister things…each with an intimate note hinting at a personal agenda. But whose?
The police have a primary suspect – Alia herself. They’re convinced she’s mentally ill and the one planting the evidence that points to a stalker.
But Avinash knows there is more. Far from mentally ill, the ditzy socialite he’d expected to meet is incisively intelligent, staggeringly attractive and devastatingly dangerous to his otherwise sensible mind.
They find themselves in a race against an unknown opponent who has only one thing in their mind – to destroy Alia’s life and leave her standing in the ruins.
And then Alia goes missing. And Avinash realizes that he stands to lose not just the race but, everything. For the ditzy socialite, the one who is All Kinds of Wrong for him is suddenly the only one who can make his world Right again.

Book Links:
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Read an Excerpt from All Kinds of Wrong

“Why?” she asked her big sister, bewildered. “Why is this happening? I’m really not the sort to inspire grand passion.” 

“Oh you inspire tons of passion, sweetheart,” Avinash said, humorously. “Just not the sort that you’d normally expect.” 

She glared at him. He smiled back, blandly. 

“I’m going to go meet the cops I know in the evening, but it would help if I had a little more to give them to go on.” 

“Like what?” she asked, numbly. 

“Why don’t you give me a little information on the neighbours you’ve interacted with?” 

She stared at him, blankly. 

“Right,” he muttered. “I forgot. You don’t do relationships.” 

“She does acquaintances though,” Aria butted in. “Don’t you, Als?” 

Alia stared at her. “What does that even mean?” 

“What do you know about your neighbours, Als?” Aria sighed. 

“Well, there is dog guy on the second floor. He walks all four of his dogs every morning when I’m going for a jog,” Alia said. “Two Labradors, one Poodle and a mongrel.” 

“Great,” Avinash sat down in front of her, nodding encouragingly. “What else did you notice?”

“He looks a lot like his mongrel.” 

Avinash blinked. “Jeez, you’re a piece of work,” he said with a soft laugh. 

“He does,” Alia insisted. “I’ll show you.” 

“Okay.” He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Who else did you notice?” 

“The old lady who lives two doors down always smells of cheese.” Alia muttered. “Stinks up the lift every time. I think she lives alone because I’ve never seen anyone else come out of that flat.” 

Avinash was scribbling on a little notepad he’d produced out of thin air. 

“Oh and then there is the serial killer,” she said, snapping her fingers in the air. 

Avinash froze. “Excuse me?” 

“Gotcha,” Alia giggled. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” 

“There is a big, burly man with tattoos and dreadlocks who lives on the third floor. He uses the gym sometimes at the same time as I do. He’s very sweet and considerate. Always wipes his sweat off any equipment he uses.” 

“A real gem,” Avinash agreed drily. 

“Then there is the girl who always wants to be my friend, no matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested. She lives on this floor too. Oh and the couple on the first floor who invited me for dinner but I didn’t go because I think they’re swingers and I wasn’t looking forward to being proven right that night.” 

Aria stifled a smile when Avinash shot her a look. 

“Then, of course, there is the couple on the floor below us. They have a toddler who sounds like he’s being murdered most of the time. But, of course, that isn’t true. He’s clearly alive because I see him eating sand in the playground when I go for my jog.” 

“A very good clue,” Avinash said. 

“And then there is the eighty-year-old man in the wheelchair who forced himself on me in the elevator.” 

“What?” Avinash snapped to attention. 

“Well,” Alia said, frowning. “He said he wanted to tell me something and when I leaned down to hear him more clearly, he kissed me on my lips. The dirty, old goat.” 

“And what did you do?” Aria asked, aghast.

“Well, I pressed the button to stop the elevator and then I deflated the tyres of his wheelchair while he squawked at me. Once I got the elevator moving, I got off and left without helping him. From what I heard on the building whatsapp group, he was stuck there for the better part of an hour before someone found him.” 

Aria and Avinash just stared at her. 

“What?” she demanded. 

“Nothing,” Avinash said, faintly. “I just finally understand why you don’t do relationships.” 

About the Author:

Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.

An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.

Contact the Author:
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