4777 Book(s) Related to divorcing my secret love in year six

Eliara has always lived at the bottom of the Black Crest Pack.

After her stepfather’s death, pack law forced her under the same roof as her two alpha stepbrothers.

The future rulers of the Black Crest Pack and billionaire CEOs of the most powerful tech corporation in the region.

They hate her.

They strip her of status, turn her into a servant, and remind her daily that she is nothing more than an omega with no protection.

When her mother’s mate's bond weakens and illness strikes, Eliara loses the last protection she had.

Whatever little status she once held vanishes overnight.

What no one knows is that Eliara carries a forbidden secret.

A rare healing power her mother warned would get her killed if discovered.

The alphas are hiding secrets too.

Cursed by the Moon Goddess, they weaken and collapse every full moon, their wolves silent and their throne at risk.

When a violent confrontation leaves the alphas dying before their pack, Eliara makes a choice that changes everything.

She heals them.

The bond snaps.

And Eliara learns the truth too late.

Her cruel stepbrothers are her destined mates.

Before she can escape the consequences of that bond, Alpha Eric Lewis enters the picture.

Alpha Eric Lewis, the Alpha General, billionaire, and their greatest enemy steps in with an offer they can’t refuse.

To save their throne and erase their debts, the twins are forced to give up the one thing they never wanted but can no longer live without.

Eliara is offered as a bride.

Rejected by her mates.

Married to their enemy.

Bound to a man who wants her power and her heart.

Now the alphas must chase the omega they broke.

Because losing Eliara won’t just destroy them.

It will bring their pack to its knees.

"Please don't stop," she moaned, tugging at her restraints. The two cold metal rings dug into the soft skin around her wrists.
"Careful little flower, you don't want to sleep with an aching pussy do you??"
●●●
Lilliana Barnette is your typical timid teenage girl who finds herself falling more and more in love with the handsome Damon Michaelson....her father's bestfriend, a man much older than her and one she's to refer to as her uncle.
Damon Arnold Michaelson, a multi-billionare business tycoon, bachelor in his prime known for his irresistible charm amongst the ladies. He finds himself falling for his neice Lilliana, but.....being his bestfriend's daughter meant she was forbidden to him but his desire for her only grew with each passing day....even when he was being intimate with other women, she took over all of his thoughts without even trying. He knew he had to keep his distance from her but instead, found himself wanting to touch her every chance he got....his mind wanted to own his bestfriend's daughter in ways no one had ever done not even her boyfriend, and all the while she innocently kept thinking he's not affected by her or her body unaware of his filthy need to claim her as his for everyone to see.
Everything changes when his said bestfriend has to leave the city for a business trip, entrusting him with the responsibility of taking care of his only daughter.
Now leaving under the same roof the two find themselves in a love/lust infested dilemma, with each passing day it got even harder for them to conceal their feelings for each other....though they tried at first and eventually their forbidden desire wins....they start meeting up secretly as often as possible, away from prying eyes....most importantly away from Lilliana's father's eyes.

Vivian sat in the corner of the restaurant, staring at the breakup text Theodore had sent to her phone. Eight years of romance had just been ended by a single message.

However, fate's turns are often unexpected. That same night, after being drugged at a bar, Vivian encountered Maxwell Stevens, the richest man in C City. After a passionate night, this master of a business empire actually proposed signing a "fake couple" agreement—he would help Vivian fight against her stepfather who coveted her company, while she would help him navigate various social occasions.

Vivian Ashford, heir to the Ideal Future Group, possessed both beauty and wisdom in equal measure. Faced with her ex-boyfriend Theodore's betrayal and resource plundering, she displayed an iron will—not only did she publicly beat up this scumbag who wanted to exploit her, but she was determined to reclaim the business empire her mother had left behind from her stepfather's grasp. Maxwell's appearance gave her a powerful ally in the corporate battlefield.

Maxwell appeared to be a cold and shrewd business elite, but in reality harbored deep feelings for Vivian. When assassins pursued him, Vivian actually risked her life to venture into the slums for a rescue mission. In an abandoned house, the injured Maxwell held her tightly, and their mutual dependence in crisis quietly warmed their growing feelings.

As they spent more time together, Vivian began to suspect this mysterious man's true identity. The scars on Maxwell's arms and the fine marks on his forehead were strikingly similar to her school friend Liam—that silent boy who had once been injured protecting her. When Maxwell, under anesthesia at the hospital, said "from the day she saved me... I've loved her for so many years," Vivian was shocked to realize that this king of a business empire might be the person who had silently protected her all those years ago.

But even more unexpected was what Vivian discovered while eavesdropping on a conversation outside the hospital room—Maxwell was hiding even deeper secrets behind the scenes. He had mysterious connections to the downfall of a certain family, and that assassination attempt was no coincidence...

When love, revenge, and the struggle for business empire intertwine, can Vivian protect everything she cherishes in this dangerous game? How will Maxwell's true identity, hidden for years, and those unknown secrets rewrite both their destinies? On the edge between fake and real, can this contract couple find the path to true love?

ELENA Brooks has spent her life holding her fragile family together, working tirelessly as a junior clerk at Lunaris Tech Innovations while her abusive, cheating husband, Marcus, drifts further into alcohol and recklessness. For seven years, she endured, hoping her sacrifices would keep her son safe and her family intact.

But one careless night shatters the illusion of peace. When she catches Marcus with someone she once trusted, Elena realizes the life she has been clinging to is built on lies. Determined to reclaim her strength and her dignity, she walks away, filing for divorce and taking custody of her son.

Enter Eamon, the enigmatic and dangerously alluring CEO of Lunaris Tech. A man shrouded in mystery, whose presence is as commanding as it is intoxicating. The day Elena accidentally witnesses a moment she can’t explain, she realizes there is far more to him than the world sees.

As Elena rebuilds herself, she discovers a strength she never knew existed. With Eamon by her side, she begins to rise— not just from betrayal, but toward a life of power, courage, and something far more unexpected: love.

But revenge is a fire that cannot be contained. And when past betrayals collide with dangerous secrets, Elena will find herself walking a path she never imagined— where her heart, her son, and her very life are all on the line.

Will rising from the ashes be enough, or will the shadows of the past consume her before she can truly claim her freedom?

“I found myself craving the one man who was never mine,” Caterina scoffed, her breath brushing his skin. His stoic expression faltered.

“They call it sin… but if this is hell, I’ll gladly burn for you.”

After her marriage fell apart, Caterina returned—divorced, ashamed, and drawn to the man she should never want. Her stepfather.

He was everything meant to repel her. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable.

Yet in his silence, she found protection. In his eyes, she saw the man no one else dared to see.

They called it a sin.

But nothing had ever felt more right.

This isn’t just a story of forbidden love. It’s about survival, betrayal, and a passion that defied fate itself.

Will Caterina and Dante fight for what they share—or lose everything to it?

I fell in love with my stepbrother.

He chose someone else.

So I did what any smart wolf would do—I disappeared into the most brutal academy in the North, where weakness means death and emotions are a luxury I couldn't afford.

Four years later, he's on his knees outside my door, begging me to come back.

"Sia, please. I made a mistake. I need you—"

But before I can answer, a hand fists in my hair from behind. The new Alpha pins me against the wall, his cock already hard against my ass.

"You're not going anywhere," Kaelan growls, his fingers sliding between my thighs. "This pussy belongs to me now."

Cain's still begging outside.

And I'm coming apart under Kaelan's hands, realizing too late—

I never escaped anything. I just traded one obsession for another.

At the engagement banquet, I was publicly jilted, publicly humiliated by the vampire viscount, and regarded as a worthless nobody. Everyone thought I was at their mercy.
Little did they know that beneath my cheap suit lay the holy mark of the chief arbiter who had defected from the Vatican .
The moment the holy light appeared, the darkness trembled.

Freya Ashford's biggest regret in life wasn't marrying me, but that she never truly looked at me. We were sleeping in the same bed but dreaming different dreams; she was researching immortality, and I was researching how to win her love—"It is an eternal power, and an eternal pain." This riddle led us down different paths. On the day of the prom, in front of the entire school, she pointed her finger at me and said, "You can't prove your love for me at all." But she didn't know that she would lose miserably.

For six years I kept the books nobody wanted to touch.
They called me the help. My husband signed my name to a loan I never saw. His mother told the whole family I was the reason there were no grandchildren.
At the anniversary gala, they planned to retire me quietly — and hand my desk to the woman my husband had been paying out of company accounts.
They forgot one thing.
Before I married into this family, I spent six years catching men who move money the way they do. I never stopped keeping a second set of books.
I let them think the game was already over.
It was — for them.

I warned my family and neighbors that the extreme cold would come in a year and a half, but they all thought I was crazy.
I had no choice but to prepare myself a year and a half in advance: renovating houses, building arks, stockpiling supplies...
When the extreme cold arrived, the neighbors who ignored the warnings turned into thugs, yet my brother still wanted to let them into the house; the bandits pretending to be wounded were exposed by me, but my brother still didn't believe me and let them in; I finally managed to defeat the spy bandits, but when I wasn't paying attention, my brother, in order to save his own life, personally handed the Ark to the bandit leader...

After rebirth, I switched wedding engagements with my sister Maya.

In my past life, she was forced to marry the West's most ruthless Alpha—Zane Blackwood. Three years. He never touched her. His "sister" Sienna stole the Luna's position, power, dignity. Maya became a joke. No mark, no status. She froze to death on a snowy night, not even left with a complete body.

And me? Married to someone I didn't love, drifting through life in a daze. When I woke up, Maya was dead.

Then I died trying to avenge her.

After rebirth, I kicked down the door and snatched the engagement: "This time, I'm going."

Rode my bike sixteen hours straight. Got ambushed on the road—cracked skulls with a wrench. Covered in engine oil and blood, I crashed into the Black Moon engagement party.

Sienna screamed: "Psycho!"

Damn right.

I grabbed that stone-faced Alpha, ignoring his death glare, and bit into his neck in front of everyone.

"Listen up," I licked the blood from my lips, "I'm your Luna now. And if that bitch messes with me—"

I leaned close to his ear:

"You're dead first."

My husband Dante's best friend Luigi died three months ago, and with his last breath, he made Dante promise to take care of his pregnant widow, Maggie. From that moment, Maggie invaded our lives, and I was only four months pregnant at the time.

Then Maggie got caught in a gang shootout. She needed an emergency blood transfusion, and she had this rare blood type—Rhnull. Turns out, I'm Rhnull too.

To save Maggie and her baby, Dante forced me to abort mine.

I am Jack Harrison, a useless programmer .
After inheriting my grandmother's mysterious bracelet and foreseeing the end of the world , I frantically hoarded goods, but my scheming girlfriend, disgusted by my behavior, ran off with a Hollywood movie star .
The apocalypse has broken out, the whole city has fallen, and she is crying and begging me to save her life.
Ah, too late!

On my eighteenth birthday, I didn't get a cake. I got a slap from my mother and my MIT acceptance letter crushed under her heel.

In their eyes, I wasn't a daughter—I was a walking blood bank, a spare part for my cousin Jennifer.

They took my blood, made me take the blame, even sent me to prison in her place.

In that car accident, my mother saved my cousin without hesitation and left me to bleed out in the wreckage.

"Save Jennifer first! That wretch is too stubborn to die!"

That's when I gave up on them.

But what truly broke me wasn't being sent to a mental hospital—it was the diary I found hidden in my mother's safe.

At minus sixty degrees Celsius, my girlfriend of three years and my childhood friend teamed up to push me out of the bomb shelter and beat me to death in the snowstorm.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back fifteen days before the extreme cold arrived, and my phone had a new "Doomsday Farm" app.

Rapidly growing mutant crops and an infinitely large, temperature-controlled warehouse became my biggest trump card for rebirth.

Faced with two people who came with luggage under the pretense of "accompanying me" but actually plotted to seize the property rights of my underground research institute, I calmly turned them away, sold all my properties in the city, and headed straight for the suburbs with a huge sum of money.

Within fifteen days, I welded the abandoned research institute into a heavily insulated steel fortress.

When the epic cold wave arrived ahead of schedule, those who had betrayed me were trapped in an old apartment without water or gas, tearing each other apart over a tattered quilt.

I'm sitting in a 20-degree underground farm, eating hot stewed beef, drinking hand-drip coffee, and quietly watching them on the monitor slowly turn into ice sculptures.

In this life, having let go of my desire to help others, I simply want to live comfortably in this Ice Age.

That December night, his first love and I were both rushed to the ER.
Two pregnant women. One operating room.
My doctor husband took three seconds to decide.
"She's an athlete. She can handle it," he told the nurse, then wheeled Sienna into surgery.
Leaving me—eight months pregnant with his baby—bleeding alone in the hallway.
When the nurse called begging him to come back, he said: "I'm at the pharmacy getting supplies for Sienna. Twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes later, I'm still alive.
He wishes I wasn't.

I was at my favorite artist's concert, phone up, recording the Kiss Cam segment. My boyfriend Mason said he was three hours away having dinner at his parents' house and couldn't make it, even sent me a selfie as proof.

Then the Kiss Cam found him.

On the giant screen, Mason wore the exact same gray vintage rock tee and black ripped jeans from his "family dinner photo," his arm around a blonde girl with her head on his shoulder.

The arena erupted: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

He looked like he'd seen a ghost, frantically trying to block the camera.

My phone's location alert read: "Mason is nearby (0.1 miles)."

Three years of us, exposed as a massive lie in front of thousands of cheering strangers.

A computer glitch opened my boyfriend's group chat.
After a cheating story went viral, his friends had talked him into faking an affair to test how much I trusted him.
At the same time, they were sending their richest, best-looking friend to seduce me. They wanted to see how easily I'd take the bait.
My boyfriend couldn't get enough of his little cheating game.
So I pretended to fall for it.

My name is Brianna, Luna of the Sapphire Pack.
I used to think Warren Crawford was the best husband and father in the world.
Until the night of the full moon. My six-year-old daughter, Lydia, was slapped in public by him and locked in a dungeon—all for taking a piece of apple tart.
He claimed locking her up was to save a life.
Three years ago, Beta Roman took a fatal blade for Warren, leaving behind his widow, Lorelei, and their daughter, Clarissa. Now Clarissa was diagnosed with bone cancer, and the only matching trial subject was my Lydia.
My own husband personally sent our daughter onto the operating table.
I knelt outside the operating room, bashing my forehead against the floor until I bled, but he dismissed it as me making a scene.
Covered in blood, I rushed into the VIP ward holding a dying Lydia, begging him to save her. Instead, he ordered his guards to throw us out into the cold street.
Lydia died in my arms. Her last words were: "Mommy, if I die, will Daddy like me just a little bit?"
I had no answer for her.
At that very moment, her father was sitting in a VIP ward, peeling grapes for another woman’s daughter.
I spent three days handling my daughter’s funeral alone.
When I pushed open the front door holding her urn, I was greeted by a sky filled with confetti and balloons. My husband was hosting a lavish birthday party for that woman’s child.

Two hours before the apocalypse, my fiancée stole my gray wolf and giant bear and gave them to a rich second-generation, leaving me only a dying ornamental fish.
"Go and wait to die in the apocalypse with your worthless fish!" she laughed triumphantly, thinking she had seized an invincible trump card.
I almost burst out laughing on the spot.
In their past lives, they died too young and had no idea that without absolute power, mutated beasts would only tear their masters apart first! They also didn't know that the golden dragonfish she had discarded as trash was the true ruler of the late apocalypse!
As the crimson rain of radiation fell, I coldly fed the "Sea God" that had begun to emit an eerie glow. Since you're all eager to pave the way with your lives, then I'll gladly accept the ultimate evolutionary law of the apocalypse!

A vicious-looking hit man, six foot three, was hunting me down.

I hid in a storage room at the mall.

With just a door between us, I suddenly heard what he was thinking.

[Damn it! Where did that rich girl in the white dress and the flat-brimmed hat go?]

[I need to finish this job. I've got a date with my girl!]

[Three whole years before she'd agree to meet me. I have to make this count. I have to make a good impression!]

[Nora. My Nora Blake. My baby. Hehehe.]

I froze.

Nora Blake... That was me.

Tricked onto a wilderness survival reality show, I was forced to act as my fake sister’s backdrop to protect the elderly woman who raised me. My fake sister constantly staged tricks for clout, and my blood brother threatened me with fatal consequences to sweep the family’s skeletons under the rug. I stopped surrendering and uncovered scam after scam during the live broadcast. The Hart family sought to erase my past. Instead, I laid all their shameful secrets bare for the world to see.

I lived on peanut butter sandwiches for three months to buy my boyfriend the sneakers he wanted for Valentine’s Day.
Then I found them in a trash can.
While I waited alone at our dinner reservation, Cole was across town throwing a party for his “best bro,” Sienna. He fastened a sapphire necklace around her neck, laughed about the night his friends left me stranded on a mountain, and bet that I’d never leave him. After all, I was just a broke girl from Ohio, and he was the Whitmore heir.
For three years, I split every check to prove I wasn’t a gold digger. He sent me a Venmo request for my fever medicine, down to the cent.
Then he fired me in front of the whole office, and his bestie tripped me on my way out.
Cole thinks I’ll come crawling back. Sienna thinks she’s won.
They have no idea what I can do with one voice message and four witnesses.

I've been married to my husband Jake for three years. In that time, I've been pregnant twice.

But each time, I lost the baby.

What took my children wasn't a medical condition, but a painting.

A black bird, painted by Jake's ten-year-old blind brother, Billy.

My in-laws claimed he had the gift—a psychic born with sight beyond sight. And the black bird was an omen. It marked my baby as cursed, a threat to the family.

To save my second child, I got the best amniocentesis report money could buy, proving the baby had no genetic defects.

It happened again anyway.

At three in the morning, I woke to the agony of another miscarriage and stumbled to the studio door.

That's when I found out the truth.

For seven years, I dreamed of carrying my Alpha mate's child. But when the day finally came, Caleb didn't celebrate. Instead, he gave our pup's birthright away.

To save his childhood friend Brenna from being executed for carrying a rogue's pup, Caleb publicly swore a blood oath claiming her unborn child as his heir.

He swore to me it was just a temporary lie. He promised I was still his only mate.

But promises can't keep me alive. Carrying his powerful Alpha bloodline is tearing my fragile Omega body apart, and Caleb is too busy protecting Brenna to give me the mate's scent I need to survive.

The High Fae were facing extinction, their bloodlines withering away.

Valerius, the Prince of the Shadow Realm, was a terrifying force of nature—ruthless and utterly cold.

I am Ella, a mere human who accidentally fell into a Shadow Rift, a mortal girl with nothing but survival on my mind.

Left with no other choice, I snuck into this shadow prince's bed in the dead of night.

On the day he pierced my chest to take my heart-blood to save the Witch Princess, I faked my death and ran away—carrying his half-Fae babies in my belly.

Years later, I was busy preening the starry wings of my seven little miracles.

He found me, dropping to his knees, as pathetic and desperate as an abandoned hound.

"Ella... do you really not want me anymore?"

When the car crashed, I took the brunt of the deadly, mangled steel for my brother, Damon, letting half of my face be sheared off and my spine destroyed.

When I woke up in the intensive care unit, he mercilessly tossed an Engagement Termination Agreement onto my hospital bed.

"You're disfigured now, practically a paralyzed cripple. Give Julian up to Lily."

"She's beautiful, healthy, and she's always been in love with him. Having her take your place at the wedding is the best option right now."

The hospital room door wasn't fully closed. I could clearly hear him and our adopted sister, Lily, whispering out in the hallway.

"Damon, you deliberately caused that crash just so I could replace her in the marriage alliance. What if she finds out?"

Damon's tone was indifferent. "She grew up stealing the spotlight as the family heir. Giving Julian to you is the least she can do. Once she signs the papers, I'll put her in the best private nursing home. Consider it compensation."

I bit down hard on my cracked lips. Tears smashed against the deep, bone-exposing lacerations on my face, burning so intensely it made me want to carve the flesh right off.

Lily's sweet voice drifted in: "I'll make sure to compensate her in the future, too."

But Damon, even if I don't sign, you'll both get exactly what you want very soon.

Because the doctor just told me that my body has gone into multiple organ failure due to the severe trauma. I only have a few days left to live.

After my twin sister and I were accepted into the same elite university, our parents fully sponsored the freshman welcome banquet.

They told the university president, "This way, even at school, they can feel that parents will always be their unconditional support."

On the night of the banquet, my mother pressed a piece of paper into my hand.

"Elara, go to the podium. Read the address, and while you're at it, introduce your sister's upcoming toast. She needs the spotlight tonight."

Forcing down the tremors of an impending panic attack, I nodded submissively. "Thank you, Mother and Father, for arranging all of this. I'll read it right now."

Just as I was about to turn and read the address, a voice called out, stopping me.

"Elara, read the gratitude statement first. Remember, there's no such thing as a free dinner."

My father's voice cut through from the main table, ringing with an undeniable tone of command.

I froze at the podium.

Even though it was a perfectly heated banquet hall...

I felt a bone-chilling frost.

My mate, Valerius, was struck by a soul-splitting curse from hunters, fracturing him into a dual personality.

The rabid persona is brutal and cold-blooded. His heart holds only his childhood sweetheart, and he casts me aside like worthless trash.

Yet, when lucid, he is my deeply devoted lover—the man who sees me as his absolute salvation.

But the man who deeply loves me is slipping away.

It culminated on the night of the hunter ambush.

I dragged my shattered leg, barely surviving a sea of fire. Yet, to comfort his startled childhood sweetheart, he turned his back and walked away.

In the moment he left, I finally let go.

Because the eyes that had just abandoned me for her... were the deep, dark gold of his lucid state.

Later, when I accepted a deal to erase all traces of my existence and give them their happy ending, he completely lost his mind...

"Sorry, boss's strict orders. No one is to disturb the top floor tonight."
The bodyguards blocked my way, their guns aimed right at me. I was Dante's wife, standing there holding the soup I'd made for his stomach, yet I was being treated like a trespasser.
I ignored them and forced my way in anyway. Through the crack in the door, I saw everything perfectly clear. Dante didn't draw his gun on the woman who had once kidnapped me. Instead, the notoriously cold-blooded crime boss was using his personal handkerchief to patiently bandage her bleeding palm.

I gave thirty years to the son I raised.
He pulled out my oxygen tube and called me an old hag.
As I lay dying, my mate’s mistress leaned over my bed and told me the truth. The boy I raised was hers. My real son—my Alpha heir—was buried before his wolf ever woke.
Then the Moon Goddess sent me back to the day he was born.
That night, I switched the babies back.
Now she’s raising her own pup, convinced she’s raising my weak, worthless heir. And I’m going to watch her find out whose child she’s been hurting.

My daughter was murdered on her eleventh birthday during a brutal snuff livestream on the dark web.

The chat was flooded with the sick revelry and obscene tips of twisted buyers.

"Break her legs a little more."
"I want to hear her cry out."

Lying in a pool of blood, my daughter cried out in sheer despair: "Mom... save me... it hurts so much..."

Watching my daughter take her last breath amid violent convulsions, I clawed at my own fingers until they were torn and bloody.

The police told me it was her elegant ballet instructor, Serena, who had sent her to hell. And the one who helped Serena cover her tracks was my husband, David.

In my utter despair, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

When I opened my eyes again, I had been thrown back to the very day I was supposed to take my daughter to her ballet class.

Sitting in the passenger seat, dressed in her ballet tutu, my daughter looked at me with eyes full of anticipation.

"Hurry up, Mom. Ms. Serena said we're rehearsing the solo for Swan Lake today."

The blood in my veins instantly ran cold.

I was forced by my father to fulfill an arranged engagement I'd never met face-to-face.

Pushing open the private room door, I found my fiancé Tristan celebrating his secretary Clara's birthday.

"Security! Get this beggar out of here!" Clara screamed, pointing at me.

When I revealed my identity, Tristan sneered coldly: "What bullshit engagement? I would never marry a woman like you."

Clara poured red wine over my head: "Kneel down and lick it clean!"

When I fought back, Tristan exploded in rage: "How dare you touch my woman? Hold her down!"

Four bodyguards pinned me down as Clara started a live stream: "Let everyone see this delusional bitch who doesn't know her place!"

They tore at my clothes while Tristan watched coldly, even urging them on: "Hurry up, let everyone see her true face."

Just as I was about to be completely humiliated, the door suddenly burst open—

"Do you have any idea whose daughter you're humiliating?

As the only mute player in this horror game, I thought I was screwed.

Turns out the boss knows sign language.

Thank God! Perfect!

Then he gets everything completely wrong.

I sign "help me," he reads it as "you're hot."

I sign "danger," he thinks I'm saying "I like you."

I sign "get lost," and he goes, "You want me to come closer? Okay."

The worst part? I curse him out in sign language, calling him a psycho pervert.

He just smiles and says, "Baby, you're so good at flirting. I can't even bring myself to kill you now."

Me: ...

My teammate whispers to me, "Please stop signing. Every time you do, he stares at you even more like a psycho."

My brother Soren is a figure skating prodigy. Every dollar in our house, every hour, every scrap of attention — all his.
Me? I'm the kid who doesn't need to be seen.
The night before Nationals, I told my mom my stomach hurt so bad I could barely stand. She said I was making trouble. Dad told me to take a painkiller and tough it out. Then they loaded up the car and drove two hundred miles to watch Soren skate.
They didn't come home until Sunday night. By then, I'd been dead for over a day.
I called her. Again and again. She had her phone on airplane mode.
Now I'm a ghost, drifting behind their car on the highway home. They're laughing, complaining I didn't even text Soren a congratulations.
I wonder what their faces will look like when they walk through that door.

I had been married for seven years, thinking I had the perfect family.

Until Christmas Eve, when I saw a delivery order for apartment 702. The note read: severe mango allergy.

My husband's allergy. The one that could kill him.

I flew downstairs and pounded on the door.

My husband opened it. The same man who was supposed to be "out of town on business."

A pregnant woman appeared behind him.

And my six-year-old son stood behind her, glaring at me with cold eyes:

"Make her leave, Mom. She's crazy."

My world shattered.

Three months pregnant, I took a part-time job at a bar.

On my first night, I found my husband drinking with his friends in a private room.

Ethan Grant leaned back on the couch and lifted his vape.

“Is four hundred and fifty thousand a month too little to give your wife?”

His friend jumped up. “That's not enough? What the hell is she spending it on?”

“Maybe she's keeping another guy on the side.”

The room went quiet. Ethan's expression hardened.

“She said she was broke last night, so I sent her another hundred and fifty thousand. This morning she asked for a divorce. Said if I couldn't afford to support her, I shouldn't bother.”

I stood outside the door, shaking with anger. Then I looked down at the small swell of my stomach.

I shoved the door open and went straight at him. Before he could react, I slapped him.

“Tell me. How many wives do you have?”

His eyes were bloodshot. He answered through clenched teeth.

“Just you.”

I stared at him. “Then why do I only get a hundred and twenty dollars a month?”

My daughter died on her fifth birthday.
Her first real wish—the first one she was old enough to make herself—was to go to the beach with Daddy.
Gideon promised he would take her.
She waited for him all day. She was still asking for him when she took her last breath.
He never came.
I brought her ashes to the beach she'd always dreamed of. Let her finally see the ocean.
That's when I heard it—a woman's moan, low and breathy, coming from behind the rocks.
Then his voice. Then his name on her lips.
"Between me and Lily, who do you love more?"
"You. Obviously."
He was fucking his mistress on our daughter's dream beach—while I stood there holding her ashes.
When I finally confronted them, I didn't get an apology. I got a slap across the face.
And when his mistress caught my eye and smiled, I realized something.
She knew exactly when my daughter would die.

I had just arrived abroad for a legal conference when my best friend sent me a video.
An unfamiliar woman was chatting while pushing Dexter’s mother, Jenny, around the neighborhood, claiming to be Dexter’s wife.
My hand, holding the phone, froze.
If she’s Dexter’s wife… then who am I?
I immediately called my husband and asked,
“Did you change family doctors?”
He paused for a second, then replied with a laugh, “Yes. Mom didn’t like the old one, so we switched. I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. Why do you ask?”
I forced a casual chuckle. “No reason. I just missed you.”
After hanging up, I rushed home overnight.

I just landed my dream job on Wall Street, but the celebratory champagne came with a bizarre side effect. I can suddenly see the exact probability of someone killing me floating above their heads. My parents? 5% and 70%. The fiancé I ran to for safety? A blood-red 100%.

In my last life, my brother broke my legs and my adopted sister pushed me into the ocean. My father just stood there watching, mad about the blood on his shoes.
They gave her everything that was mine. My territory, my mother's necklace, even my bedroom. I was the real daughter, the real bloodline, and I still wasn't worth half of the stray my father dragged home.
I took it all. Every insult, every slap, every scrap of love that went to her instead of me. Because I thought maybe one day they'd see me.
They never did. They killed me instead.
Now I'm back. Same night, same banquet, same girl sitting across from me with fake tears, begging for my port.
This time I didn't hand it over. I smashed a wine bottle, slapped her face open, and told my father we're done.
He called his guards. My brother pulled a gun.
What they forgot is that my grandfather is the real power in this family. And I already sent him a message.

My influencer roommate paid a small fortune to grow a tub of "all-natural" beauty mud in our bathroom.
Ten days later, the thing crawled out of her face — in front of three hundred people at a party.
And I'd known it was coming from the day I first saw what she was growing.

I gave five years to my husband's ambition—and got betrayal in return.

Forty-three days without a break on the Imperial City project. I collapsed from exhaustion and woke up in the hospital. He never picked up the phone.

He was too busy celebrating his mistress's birthday.

The blonde hair wrapped around his jacket was like a slap to the face. I'd cut my own hair short years ago because he said long hair wasn't "professional." He just meant it wasn't professional on me.

He promised we'd move to Imperial City together once he succeeded. But he was always too busy—except when it came to touring my project sites with her.

I'd had enough.

I froze the accounts. Pulled the funding. Took back everything I'd built.

He tried to push me out of my own position, so I reclaimed the patents and withdrew my support.

He called a press conference to save face. I attended—as an executive at his largest competitor.

I watched him crumble.

For five years, I held him up. And for five years, he treated me like something disposable.

He forgot that the empire he thought he built was never his.

It was always mine.

I came back to New York for one reason: to meet the man my mother arranged for me to marry.
I never made it to dinner.
His "sister"—the woman he'd been protecting since childhood, the one he clearly loved more than he'd ever love a fiancée he'd never met—snatched a twelve-thousand-dollar dress out of my hands at a Fifth Avenue boutique and had me thrown out. When I called him about it, he told me I should be grateful to be marrying into his family at all. Then he hung up.
An hour later, she accused me of stealing her ring. Had me pinned against the wall. Told his men to strip me down and film it for "evidence."
Nico laughed when I told him the whole Ferrante family would answer for this.
"With what? You?"
My name is Sera Vitti.
That's all I'll say.

once believed alpha Fernando was the true mate the Moon Goddess had chosen for me.
He held me tightly during the Blood Moon riots.
He stoked the fire as I brewed purification potions.
He even declared before the entire Blackthorn Pack, “Thalia is my light.”
Until the night before our engagement banquet, when the soulstone in my palm leapt from the gilded invitation—
He was bonding with his cousin Bianca.
That Beta girl who always sneered at me, saying, “A Gamma, touching an Alpha? Laughable.”
Her spirit mark was etched into the corner of the card.
Like a silver blade carved into my heart.
Then alpha Fernando’s voice bled through the soulstone, laced with frost I’d never heard before:
“She? Just a warm body in my bed.”
“She really thought I sent her to the Highland Summit because I valued her? I just needed space for Bianca.”
His laughter, mingled with clinking wineglasses in the background, pierced me like a dagger dipped in silver poison.

I was severely injured and blinded by saving Alpha Caden
After marrying, I became pregnant
Only to catch my Alpha in an affair with Beta Ava
Alpha Caden coldly mocked my uselessness
And even allowed Ava to poison me
Causing a miscarriage and disposing of my body in the sea
When I despaired, I was saved by Healer Zane
After Alpha Caden learned the truth, he was driven mad with regret
Now, I return stronger than ever.
Are you ready for my revenge?

On the winter solstice, I brought my parents to the Higgins Pack, hoping to surprise my Alpha mate and perhaps mend our growingly distant mate bond. But I never imagined that this would become the spark that finally woke me up.

Instead of a warm welcome, my parents and I were humiliated and tormented by Jacqueline—the female Beta housekeeper Alpha Chandler trusted the most. Worse still, Alpha Chandler believed Jacqueline's lies and froze my bank cards, leaving me unable to pay for my parents’ hospital treatment.

My mother died because of that. And my father lost his voice.

“They are your parents too! Have you forgotten all the years they raised you? When you were a stray pup with no name, they were the ones who took you in! Before you were a Higgins, you were a Fleming!”

And what did he say?

“Faking illness for pity? Don’t try to guilt-trip me with your moral high ground.”

My parents weren’t just Alpha Chandler’s in-laws—they were also his adoptive parents...

I went for a prenatal check-up, only to catch my beloved Alpha husband gently holding Omega Rosa’s hand through the crack in the door, whispering,
“Our pup looks perfect.”

He’s my husband.
She’s his childhood sweetheart.
And me? I’m the one they decided was expendable.

Later, he stood in the hallway and murmured,
“For the good of the family, I have to claim her pup—not yours.”

Rosa leaned in with a smile:
“Don’t be mad, Isabella. Once you give birth, we can raise your baby… as our adopted son.”

That was the moment I realized—being Luna meant nothing.
To them, I was just a pawn in a game of betrayal.

And the pup in my belly?
He was never meant to survive in a world this cruel.

My five-year-old daughter, Anna, had barely wandered into the herb garden when she accidentally stepped on a wolfsbane plant.

For that…Alpha Brian ordered his warriors to throw her into a thorn cage—said it was to teach her a lesson.

But no one noticed the soul-eating spider that sank its fangs into the back of her neck. No one heard her crying as the venom tore through her little body.

No one… except me.

I clutched the iron bars and screamed through the thorns, “Alpha Brian! She’s allergic to spider venom—please! She’ll die if we don’t help her!”

But he didn’t even spare us a glance.

He had his arm around her. Vivian. His precious mistress.

“This garden was a gift for Vivian,” Brian said coldly, eyes full of something I once believed was love. “No one enters without my permission. Your daughter needs to learn consequences.”

In their eyes, my wife Emma—an Ivy League tenured professor in biological sciences—is ruthless, rational, and obsessively clean.
For seven years, even when she washed her hands, she would only ever touch the right-side sink—hers.
Until that night at 3 a.m., when I pulled a strand of sandy-golden short curl—hair that belonged to neither of us—out of my men’s shower loofah.
And around the neck of a pre-med student named Lucas, I saw the antique silver cross my dying father left in my hands.
When I confronted her, my always-icy wife protected the little homewrecker, slapped me across the face, and called me a jealous, controlling chauvinist.
She thought I’d swallow it like a coward.
But she forgot: as a top cardiothoracic chief, the thing I do best is cutting out tumors.