Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Tue, 05 Aug 2025 19:56:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Broken Vows (Marital Privilages #4) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/broken-vows-marital-privilages-4-read-online-shandi-boyes Tue, 05 Aug 2025 19:56:26 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/broken-vows-marital-privilages-4-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >100

Emerson

Mikhail Dokovic comes from a long lineage of politically influential men. Because of his birth order, he was supposed to be at the top of his family’s dynasty, but when our worlds collided in my family’s pub, it felt far from the truth.

Years of physical and mental abuse weighed heavily on his shoulders. Yet, he still had that irresistible charm that left every woman within a five-mile radius desperate for fresh panties.

Myself included.

I fell under his spell in an instant, and we shared three magical years together.

It was perfect… until it wasn’t.

Despite Mikhail’s vow that it was me or no one, his family branded me as “unworthy,” and soon after, our relationship came crashing down.

He left me at the altar, so I have no idea why the man who shattered our relationship ten years ago is now insisting we marry under the promise of a hefty inheritance.

I would ask questions, but a woman with no money to her name and a gravely ill mother doesn’t have the luxury of time. I must marry the man I’m beginning to hate or bury my mother. Those are my only choices.

Mikhail

I attended my grandfather’s will reading purely out of curiosity. I didn’t anticipate being awarded a majority share of his wealth. He had hated me from the day I was born, and his disdain was evident throughout my life until his passing.

To say I was shocked when awarded five hundred million dollars is an understatement. I was flabbergasted. However, that shock paled compared to the surprise that followed when I learned the conditions of my inheritance.

I was to marry my grandfather’s preferred choice by the end of the week, and she now despises me as much as my grandfather once did.

Emerson Morozov is the only woman I’ve ever loved. She was the ember that brought me back to life and made me believe my life was worth living.

But since she is also the woman who left me at the altar ten years ago, I knew we wouldn't survive my grandfather’s strict terms.

I tried to walk away. I am successful in my own right and, as such, don’t need my grandfather’s dirty money. But when I discovered I wouldn’t be the only one benefiting from his unexpected generosity, I had a change of heart.

Emerson’s mother is sick, and although heaven has no rage like a love turned to hatred, when the woman you promised to love to the end of eternity needs your help, you side with the devil to achieve the seemingly impossible—even one six feet under

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Playlist

Half a Heart - One Direction

I Hate That It’s True - Dean Lewis

Someone To You - Matt Hansen

If You Love Her - Forest Black

28 - Ruth B. & Dean Lewis

Before You - Benson Boone

Chapter 1

Emerson

Funerals suck. They’re stuffy, lifeless—obviously—and bring out everyone from your kindergarten teacher to your second cousin’s third wife. I loathe them. But I loathe this more.

Readings of wills are where crocodile tears fade, pushed aside for money-hungry viciousness.

A lawyer’s conference room two hundred miles from my hometown holds as many people as the front rows of last month’s nationally broadcast funeral.

I’m not surprised. Andrik Dokovic Sr. was an extremely wealthy man. The combined sum in his multiple bank accounts could keep the heat on for every family in Russia for centuries to come. He was the epitome of success.

He needed to be for anyone to see past his icy-cold demeanor.

If you can’t tell, I’m not a fan of Andrik Sr. We clashed many times during the period I “associated” with a member of his family, and even with our bone-crushing love only being displayed to him as puppy love, he never let his disdain for my inclusion in his grandson’s life go unnoticed.

That’s why I’m apprehensive to learn why Andrik Sr. named me in his will.

It was probably a last-minute amendment before he croaked to remind me of my place.

“Your name doesn’t belong alongside a Dokovic,” were the last words Andrik Sr. spoke to me before he slid into the back of a chauffeur-driven government-plated car, taking my heart with him.

He uttered his scorn over a decade ago, but it still stings like a million wasp bites.

The hateful words of an angry, lonely man with nothing but money to snuggle with at night are easy to forget. But first love—the gooey, sticky kind that adheres to every damn surface of your mind, body, and soul—stays with you for a lifetime.

It also reminds you that hate isn’t a genuine emotion. It’s a façade designed to blanket your feelings in a manner appropriate for public consumption, and the only thing they give you free rein to cling to when things turn sour.

It is expected.

This, though, walking into a room that smells like old books and even older money, isn’t close to the norm.

Andrik Sr. was right. I don’t belong here.

If I had any other option, I wouldn’t be here.

Alas, beggars can’t be picky.

As my baby sister would say, you get what you get, and you don’t get upset.

After wrangling through suit-clad gents and elegantly dressed ladies, I find a spot at the end of a long mahogany conference table. I hide behind a handful of attendees mingling close enough to conceal my why-the-hell-am-I-here face.

The air is thick with anticipation and another scent I can’t quite work out. It is a little rancid, like everyone feels like they also don’t belong here, so they’re sweating as much as I am.

The thought eases my nerves a smidge, bringing them down to a manageable level.

While breathing through my nose, hoping the overspray of pricy aftershaves filling the space doesn’t tickle the back of my throat, I scan the faces surrounding me. I have allergies—badly. One wrong sniff and I’ll sneeze loud enough to erupt Klyuchevskaya Sopka.

If I want to remain hidden, I can’t activate a volcano.

My sighting of a familiar face partway through my scan makes my quest seem almost impossible. I see Mikhail, the source of the sticky, gooey mess I mentioned earlier, seated at the opposite end of the conference room. Like his designer-clad counterparts slapping his back like he won the lottery, he’s wearing a tailored suit and a fancy, show-every-inch-of-my-muscular-torso button-up shirt. He’s not wearing their hideously pompous ties and has a few buttons undone, showing more skin.

He’s older than the memories that broadcast like a high-budget movie anytime my heart rebels against my head by taking a trip down memory lane, but he still has that fuckboy eat-your-heart-out look that has every woman in a five-mile radius desperate for a fresh pair of panties.

Myself included.

He’s the hottest guy in the room, and he knows it. Regretfully.

My eye roll in defiance of his cocky confidence glitches halfway around. The very essence of Mikhail’s now type has entered the room, and I’m not the only one eyeballing her arrival. Mikhail waves her over with an eagerness I haven’t seen cross his face in over a decade—and I’ve read every tabloid article printed about him in the past ten years.

He seemed happy, but not like this. This is above glee. He looks complete. Whole. Not close to the miserable, sad person I’ve become.

The mysterious woman is blonde, short, and gorgeous. And she has a noticeable yet still tiny baby bump that Mikhail caresses when she joins him in the premium seats.

What the?

My breath hitches in my throat as anger overtakes my curiosity. Mikhail was expected to be here and to interact with a woman with more class in her pinky finger than I have in my entire body. It is, after all, his grandfather’s will reading. But this—a baby—is a slap in the face I’m struggling to ignore.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >100

Advertisement Vengeful Vows (Marital Privilages #3) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/vengeful-vows-marital-privilages-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Mon, 21 Apr 2025 22:20:04 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/vengeful-vows-marital-privilages-3-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >106

Mara

The rich powerful men I work for never associate with the help, so I’m shocked when the latest resident of Myasnikov notices me, and even more astounded that he pays enough attention to decipher that my stutter is a fear-based reaction.

Arkadiy Orlov is the epitome of wealth and power. He’s politically successful, handsome, and has the funds to buy anything he wants.

Except the wife his campaign manager insists he needs to reach the top of the political ladder he’s been climbing for the past two decades.

I could have been the Cinderella of his story if our dark pasts hadn’t collided with dire consequences.

Our union could destroy Ark’s campaign for presidency before it even begins. But with our attraction hotter than the inferno we barely survived in our childhoods, will we risk everything for the chance of love?

Or are not all fairytales meant to have a happy ending?

Arkadiy

My life was meticulously planned. Individual success in the private sector, wealth beyond imagination, and then the ultimate power—domination of the political world.

Then I saw her, the maid with a stutter and a bucket load of secrets in her pretty eyes.

There was something about Mara that drew me to her. I feared it was because a victim knows a victim, but I could have never predicted the similarities of our childhoods.

We faced the same pain, endured the same heartache, but Mara’s life proves that not all secrets need to be shared.

Sometimes burying them is the only way you can move past them—both physically and mentally.

Please note: although this is book three in the marital privilege series, it can be read as a complete standalone.

*

** Check the author's website for TWS**

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

1

MARA

My fingers clutch stiff bedding when a door creaking open reaches my ears. I glance up as multiple footsteps clatter over expensive oak floorboards, catch a glimpse of a gold cufflink, and then shift my focus back to the task at hand.

My job isn’t to pry into the lives of the wealthy residents who call the Chrysler building home. I am here to wash the sheets, clean the toilets, and only be seen when summoned.

Rarely does the summoning come from the people wearing designer labels and tailored suits. They’d never associate with the “help.” They bark their orders at my supervisor, who then passes them on to me for far less than the exorbitant fee charged by the company responsible for maintaining and cleaning the apartments in the most sought-after building in Myasnikov.

A turndown service is the reason for two hours of overtime this evening. It doesn’t take two hours to turn down sheets and fluff pillows. The “help” hadn’t serviced this apartment in over three years, so the floors needed vacuuming, and the opulent, larger-than-my-apartment bathrooms required restocking.

I could have sworn I overheard Mrs. Whitten telling my supervisor that the building’s latest short-stay tenant wasn’t arriving until late this evening. It’s not even seven. Surely they’re not early. I’ve yet to meet a rich person who isn’t chasing their tail.

Curious, I take a second glance at the trio entering the suite from the far entrance. The apartments in the Chrysler building are large enough to require multiple entry points. Only owners and guests may use the main entrance. The rest use the servants’ entrances and corridors wedged between priceless paintings and opulence most can only dream of achieving.

Mrs. Whitten, the building supervisor, leads the procession with such animated gestures that she resembles a headless chicken moments from being dunked into a pot. She is slim and a few decades older than me and has a sharp wit and intelligence. I like her, though I doubt she knows who I am.

I am an expert at remaining hidden. No one pays attention to me, not even the stout man with a thick mustache who tosses his bag onto the bedding I recently straightened before he unbuttons his trousers like he is without an audience.

Mrs. Whitten dips her chin in appreciation when I silently move toward the servants’ entrance. She often says she wants her guests to feel at home while under her roof. The unnamed man looks ready to do just that.

Once I reach the safety of the alcove, I fumble for the EarPods in my pocket. They were a gift from Mr. Whitten. They were dusty enough to show they weren’t new, but they’ve made my commute home far less boring over the past month, and for that, I am forever grateful.

With my head down, I breeze into the employee locker room, grab my gym bag from its hiding spot, and make a beeline for the shower block. I don’t usually change out of my maid’s outfit at the end of my shift, but today is different because it’s Tillie’s tenth birthday.

I promised to meet her and Mrs. Lichard at the bowling alley at 7:30 p.m. sharp. The bus trip home will eat into time I don’t have. My schedule is always tight, but it’s even tighter this week.

The unisex bathroom is quiet. Only the chefs and lead housemaids remain on the premises at this hour. They’re allowed access to the upper levels after hours and take full advantage once their coworkers leave.

While the latest hit from Måneskin blasts my ears, I dump my bag onto an ancient bench inside a wall-less shower cubicle and strip.

Everything in this building is antique, including the radiators. It takes forever for the water to heat up. Since I’m in a hurry, I opt for a deodorant bath instead of drenching my hair as my pounding temples are begging.

In seconds, I smell like one of the women who stand on the corners in my half of Myasnikov late at night, hoping for their Pretty Woman moment. My hoop earrings are cheap, as is the comb I hurriedly rip through my hair, but they add a touch of sophistication to my outfit. They make it look more like a date ensemble than a mom hoping the blowout-budget present she bought will keep her off her daughter’s shitlist for being late to her first and likely last birthday party.

I’m not dressing up with the hope of securing a date. That ship sailed not long after I gave birth. Barely sixteen with a baby in tow doesn’t attract many suitors, and the rare few who assumed my child meant our date would end with more than a kiss never made it past the first course.

I am merely hoping a little glam and a flirty smile will lower the bill of a birthday party for ten of Tillie’s closest friends. I didn’t consider how inflated non-luxury items had become in the past few years. I wouldn’t have suggested a bowling party if I knew it would cost fifty dollars per guest to knock down some pins.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >106

Advertisement Deceitful Vows (Marital Privilages #2) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/deceitful-vows-marital-privilages-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Thu, 21 Nov 2024 13:36:43 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/deceitful-vows-marital-privilages-2-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >187

Zoya

I never imagined a dreaded gynaecology appointment would result in a fire-sparking connection hotter than the sun.

Even in an office designed to torture women, the tension between the sinfully delicious stranger and me is so blistering that we spend the night together, twisted beneath silky sheets.

Although disappointed to wake alone the following morning, I assume aching muscles will be the worst side effect of our night of sin.

If only anything in my life was that simple.

I learn shortly after our night of debauchery that Andrik isn’t just seductively charming and easy on the eye. He is also married.

During an exchange as heated as the night before, he assures me that I have nothing to feel guilty about, that his marriage is a contractual agreement designed to take down a hierarchy that’s been ruling his life since prior to his conception.

His defense is so credible that I almost believe him.

But with one lie unearthing a dozen more, it isn’t solely Andrik’s affair being scrutinized.

A dynasty centuries in the making is about to topple, and I’m unknowingly wielding the axe responsible for its demise.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

ANDRIK

Almost five years old…

“Twik. She’s coming.”

Cold air makes crazy bumps on my arms when Mommy runs past me so fast you’d swear Anoushka, my nanny, was chasing her down with a scratchy, sodden washcloth.

“Quick, Andrik.” Mommy’s smile when she spins to face me makes my heart thump. I love it when she’s happy. It makes me happy too.

I run faster than my feet ever thought possible and then leap into her arms as we reach my bedroom. You’d never know my face is covered with chocolate icing for how tightly she pulls me into her chest. I’m making a mess, even more than I did when I snuck a big bite of my birthday cake just as the baker finished icing it.

It was delicious, and I can’t wait to share it with my friends tomorrow.

“Where should we hide, Andrik?”

I laugh like my mommy is as silly as she is pretty when she throws up the covers on my bed and points to the floor underneath. We’d never fit. There are too many monster trucks under my bed to squeeze in two whole people. It is also the first place Anoushka would look.

I always hide there.

Not anymore. I’m a big boy now.

Well, I will be tomorrow.

I’m turning five and about to have the best birthday party in the world. I’m not the only one who thinks so. All the kids from my hometown want to come to my party—even the ones who made Mommy cry when she found out about them.

I have three brothers, but I am the only one who grew inside my mommy’s tummy. She said Daddy has a condition that makes it hard for him to be faithful. I don’t know what faithful means. It seems important to Mommy. Anytime she talks about it, she gets wet eyes. She also makes me promise at least once a month that when I find someone I want to love more than I love her—which will never happen—that I’ll be faithful to them.

Maybe being faithful means that when I want to have babies, I will only have them with one person. I could be wrong, but that’s very unlikely. My mommy says I’m very smart. Only when I make steam come out of Anoushka’s ears do I take after my daddy.

I don’t like when my mommy cries, so anytime we talk about my brothers, I tell her she has nothing to worry about. I’ll never love anyone more than I love her, but if that ever changes, I will be faithful.

Life is too short to think about ifs and buts.

My mommy says that all the time.

You make a plan and you stick to it.

That’s her second favorite saying, so I do exactly that. I snatch up Mommy’s hand and race for the closet I had planned to hide in when I dashed out of the kitchen with sticky hands and a mouth full of cake.

We almost make it, but my legs are too tired from all the running I did earlier. My grandfather’s house is ginormous. It would have been quicker to run home than to the room I always use when we visit Grandpa. The last time I tried to do that, the secret service agents who follow Grandpa everywhere he goes got mad at me.

I promised them I wouldn’t do it again, and I like to keep my promises. They make my mommy happy, and that feels like my job lately.

I giggle, squirm, and squeal when Anoushka wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me back. My screams are loud enough to wake my grandpa, who went to bed ages ago, until Anoushka’s washcloth takes care of the mess Mommy’s shirt missed. She attacks me with the washcloth like she did in the bath, and I laugh so much I almost pee my pants.

I would have if Mommy hadn’t saved me.

She scoops me into her arms and blows raspberries onto my tummy until the thump I mentioned earlier makes me deaf. I feel warm and fuzzy when she places me in bed. I don’t think it has anything to do with the thick covers. It’s how she looks at me when our eyes lock and the pretty sparkles that dance through her eyes when she tells me she loves me.

“I love you too, Mommy,” I reply, yawning.

I’ve been waking up too early. It isn’t my fault. Party preparation takes time, and I overheard someone telling Daddy that Mommy did not have much time left, so I had to help.

After fixing my hair into place, Mommy twists to face Anoushka. “We will save the Big Angry Bear for tomorrow night.” Her eyes are back on me, happy and glistening. “Someone seems a little tired. I doubt he will make it through story time.”

I yawn again, proving Mommy right. I’m not surprised. She is smarter than me. I’m so tired she only rakes her fingers through my messy dark locks a handful of times before my eyelids grow heavy.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >187

Advertisement Doctored Vows (Marital Privilages #1) Read Online Shandi Boyes http://www.books2020.com/doctored-vows-marital-privilages-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:14:21 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/doctored-vows-marital-privilages-1-read-online-shandi-boyes Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia Authors: Shandi Boyes Series: Marital Privilages Series by Shandi Boyes
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >126

The Ivanov family exudes wealth and power, so when its founder shows up on the surgical roster of a third-year resident, even with me not laying eyes on her previously, I’m thrust under their spotlight.
Her son’s, to be precise.
Maksim Ivanov is a walking red flag. He oozes confidence, and appears to have never been told no, but despite our differences, sparks ignite the moment we trade sultry glances.
The tension is white hot. I’ve never experienced such an immediate mutual connection. But as quickly as his mother was placed under my care, she is removed.
I assume her discharge will be the last I’ll hear from the mysterious family, so I struggle to hold back my delight when I bump into Maksim weeks later.
He’s darker than the man I’d met previously. More unhinged. But I am still drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Regretfully, he tries to make it seem as if the sparks are one sided.
He pushes me away as often than he draws me in, so you can picture my shock when I wake up after a night out drinking, wearing his ring.

I wanted to make him jealous.
I became his wife instead.
It could be mistaken as magical… until more than just the people I placed between us start showing up dead.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

As I exit the medical equipment sterilization room at Myasnikov Private Hospital, I pull off my hairnet to dispose of it and my biodegradable hospital apron into an uncontaminated product waste receptacle. I’m taken aback when I catch sight of my watch while forcing part of my “uniform” into the overflowing bin. It is a little after 3 a.m.

I hadn’t expected a position I accepted solely to pay student loans to take up so much time. Alas, with increased surgeries comes a demand for the sterilization of reusable medical equipment.

When accepted into medical school, I thought the most challenging part of the transition from college graduate to wannabe surgeon would be the long study sessions and textbooks that cost more than my first car.

I was poorly mistaken.

My tuition was more than I could afford. I barely get five hours of sleep a night, and although my studies have now switched to a somewhat paid position, I have to accept jobs on the side just to make ends meet.

By ends, I mean rent. My student loans are still in the red, and I’m drowning in personal credit card debt, but I have a roof over my head, and my family is taken care of, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.

With the surgical department shockingly quiet, I detour through the space that smells like the chemicals that soak through my gloves each night while sterilizing the equipment used by this very department.

The rancid scent is the only reason my grandmother hasn’t questioned my latest moonlighting position. As far as she is aware, I’m doing double shifts at the hospital every night.

I am—just not in the way she believes.

Although there’s no shame in admitting you collect and sterilize medical equipment, I don’t want anything to taint the gleam in her eyes when she tells her Bura teammates that I’m a soon-to-be world-renowned neurosurgeon.

I cringe when I cross theater three. There must have been a last-minute add-on to the surgical register outside the usual operating hours. The room is void of a soul, but used medical equipment is strewn from one side to the next.

My sluggish steps toward the mess slow when a voice from behind me says, “I’ll get it.”

Relief bombards me, but guilt quickly follows when I spin to face Alla.

She looks as exhausted as I feel.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping.”

She rolls her eyes before shooing off my offer with a wave of her hand. “I’m not the one scheduled to return here in a little over”—she checks her watch, which is still hidden by elbow-high gloves—“eight hours.” When she returns her eyes to my face, she shoves her hands in her pockets and peers at me motheringly. Alla is only four years my senior, but since that places her in her thirties instead of her twenties, she acts like we have a two-decade age gap. “You can’t keep running on fumes, Nikita. If you only dip the rag on the odd occasion, it will eventually run dry.”

“I’m fine. I’ve only got…” My words trail off when I recall I only started the third year of my surgical residency three months ago. I’ve got a long way to go—especially if I want to specialize in pediatric neurosurgery.

When I finalize my reply with a groan, Alla twists me to face the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She barges me out of the OR with so much gall I crash into the nurses’ station desk, bruising my hip. “And if you’re good, there could be a пончики or two waiting for you when you finish your shift tomorrow.”

Пончикис are Russia’s version of doughnuts.

Alla smiles when I ask, “Glaze or sugarcoated?”

“Why can’t we have both?”

I laugh. Her imitation of a famous commercial exposes that her English is as poor as my Russian was when I moved here nine years ago. I’m slowly learning the lingo, but I don’t see myself mastering in it anytime soon.

“I’ll bring кофе.”

She jerks up her chin in appreciation half a second before her nose screws up. “Just not that latest craze the hobnobs are raving about. I don’t care if it is the president’s rat. I will not drink its droppings.”

I’m still smiling about her disgust of the latest coffee craze in Russia while darting through the nurses’ station for the interns’ locker room at the back. My pace slows for the second time when I spot the surgical schedule slated to start at 6 a.m. My mother was Russian, so my given name is common around these parts, but my father is British, so my surname is rarely seen unless it is attached to a foreigner.

Hoffman shouldn’t be on a surgical schedule, much less in the box that announces the lead surgeon for a patient’s procedure.

“Ivanov,” I murmur while trying to recall where I’ve heard the name before.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >126