5686 Book(s) Related to rejected my alpha mate caroline above story

Melina wanted closure but instead, she got a scandal.

One drunken night with hockey superstar Jace Hamilton turns into the hottest headline on campus, forcing two enemies of fate into a fake relationship neither of them wants.. at least... that's what they keep telling themselves.

With jealous exes on both sides, secret enemies, ruthless paparazzi and dangerous secrets closing in, pretending becomes harder than falling in love.. especially when breaking the contract could cost them everything...

In his past life, Ethan was thrown straight to the flesh-eating horde by his bitter rival, Ryan.
Reborn days before the outbreak, he liquidates every asset he owns to build an impenetrable fortress—trading useless paper wealth for heavy steel plates, industrial deadbolts, and hard inventory numbers.
Ten days later, hell opens up, and the suburbs turn into a lawless, blood-soaked meat grinder.
Then comes a frantic knock on his heavy security door.
It’s Mara—Ryan’s drop-dead gorgeous, curvaceous wife—soaked to the bone, desperate, and begging for shelter.
Behind his wall of monitors, Ethan looks down at the security feed with absolute, icy detachment.
"My fortress. My rules. Out here, I call the shots."

In my past life, they drained my blood, kicked me off the rooftop, and said, "Waste doesn't deserve to live."

Reborn into the apocalypse, I opened my palm, and seven beams of primal energy pierced the sky. The woman who cried out "the best in the world" to me just ten minutes ago couldn't even produce a spark now. The brother who wore the boots I sewed and called me trash was being chased and bitten by mutants like a stray dog, his leg broken.

They came to me with memories of their past lives, demanding, "Why did you steal our special abilities?"

In front of thousands of people, I unleashed a net of lightning, scorching those who came to block my way. They knelt in the mud, their heads bleeding from kowtowing; Elena covered her mouth, which had been slapped clean, and David trembled on his single leg, leaning on a rusty steel pipe—yet they couldn't even climb over the iron thorns surrounding my tower.

Later, they rotted into a pile of mud in the arena and among the hordes of corpses, and I didn't even look back.

Until a horde of millions of zombies besieged the city, I went out alone with my sword and shattered the zombie king with a single strike.

The entire ruins knelt down.

They thought I had stolen the light.
No. I was just a fire that burned away what should have been garbage.

I fought for the Vampire Empress, Serena, for a decade, shedding my blood and extracting my own bones to sustain her throne.

Yet, she deemed me lowly, having me dismembered and drained of blood just to please her new favorite. She even trampled my battle flag in public with her high heels, sneering: "A mere dog thinks he can fake his death to vie for my affection?"

Little did she know, the very moment I died for her, the blood covenant chains binding me shattered entirely.

The ancient power of the Silver Wolf King awakened within my broken remains, and the Lycan Empress led an army of ten thousand, falling to their knees to welcome me!

When the unprotected Serena was torn apart and had her heart devoured by the four rogue dukes before the entire court, she wept and begged me to save her.

I merely looked down with cold indifference: "The shield is gone. It's your turn to be the sacrifice."

Woke up with the power to command endless zombies. I guarded the fortress for my sister, only to find her tortured, drained of blood, and used as live bait. A fake hologram fooled me for two years. Now I unleash my million undead army to burn all traitors to ashes.

My name is Michael Carson. On the surface, I'm a small-time analyst in Dallas, but nobody knows that I'm the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar financial empire.

The father's factory was on the verge of bankruptcy, but his wife transferred the money to her mother to open a beauty clinic, saying, "Your dad's lousy factory should have gone out of business long ago."

Her father suffered a heart attack and urgently needed surgery. She then said, "He's over sixty years old, is it worth it?"

I tolerated it. Until she discovered my true identity, she immediately turned on me, threatening divorce and taking half of my assets.

At that moment, I understood—some people don't deserve kindness.

I dialed the family number I hadn't contacted in five years.

They will never forget what happened next.

"Ms. Hayes, Avery got into a fight in the art studio. She hit the son of our biggest sponsor. You need to come here right away."
I immediately dropped the landscape plans I was working on and rushed to the arts center.
When I pushed open the office door, two children were standing side by side against the wall.
A man in a perfectly tailored designer suit stood with his back to me, his posture straight and imposing.
At the sound of the door, he turned around.
My heart sank the moment I saw his face.
"It's been a long time, Emma."
I glanced down at my mud-covered boots and the work pants torn by tree branches before lifting my head to meet his gaze.
"Indeed it has, Mr. Grayson."
Five years since our divorce.
And this was the first time we had seen each other again.

He let his new designer shred my $3 million dress at our engagement party. He thought I’d forgive him like I always did. He didn’t know I was the one funding his company.
Ethan Cole thinks he’s marrying a fallen heiress with no one to turn to. Chloe thinks she’s the next great designer. Neither of them ever bothered to ask about my mother’s family name: Moretti.
They humiliated me in front of two hundred guests. Now I’m going to take back everything—one cut at a time.
And the dangerous, gray-eyed man who’s been watching from the shadows? He’d love to help.

My flame-red dragon Theodore, the one I'd raised for seven years, had become wrong.
Normally, if I left for more than a day, he'd slam into me the second I walked through the door—tail coiled around my arm, head nuzzling my neck, acting like a hatchling fresh out of the shell.
This time I pushed open the door and Theodore didn't even look at me.
I reached out to touch his scales. He shook my hand off, irritated.
That night I tried to let him coil around my arm to sleep like always. He actually whipped me with his tail, then flew up to the top of the cabinet with pure disgust on his face.
I stared up at that arrogant dragon head perched on the cabinet, something tight and cold coiling in my chest.
Finally, I'd had enough. I pulled the crystal orb from my sleeve.

For four years, I tolerated Grayson’s blatant favoritism. He spoiled my roommate Mia with exquisite breakfasts every day, while leaving me with plain biscuits and bitter black coffee. I swallowed every unfair slight, hoping for true love. Yet he finally humiliated me thoroughly by choosing Mia over me for the elite corporate event, sneering that I was unworthy of high society. Hiding my identity as the university’s secret heiress, I stopped my father from ruining his career on impulse. I will let them attend the glamorous party—not out of mercy, but to deliver my quiet, devastating revenge. Now I only need time to decide my next move, and whether to accept my arranged engagement.

My name is Megan, and I am the Queen of the Star Fae.
Sixteen years ago, I left my Mate — Orlando, Alpha of the Darkmoon Pack — and the daughter we had just brought into the world, to hold back an invasion of Abyssal demons.
Sixteen years of war in the Void — and at last, the Abyss was sealed.
I came home crowned in glory, my mastery over the Source of Starlight absolute. I expected my husband's arms and my daughter's smile waiting for me.
I never imagined that setting foot on Darkmoon land again would mean no flowers, no cheering — only the sound of my own child screaming for help from inside a filthy dungeon.

"You good-for-nothing should get out and save your food rations. I'll use your truckload of supplies for you!"

The man-eating scarlet spores swept through the town. My good brother locked the security door tightly and locked me in the corridor filled with blood mist.

He stared intently at me through the peephole, waiting to see the horrific sight of my internal organs being drained by the fungus.

But a second before I was devoured by the spores, I hid in my personal space and with a single thought drained the last drop of water and every grain of rice from the room.

Three days later, in this impregnable "vacuum tomb".

When he was so thirsty that he swallowed blood, and knelt on the ground desperately pounding on the door.

I kicked the door open, tied him up with nylon rope, and hung him upside down in the blood-red storm outside the window.

To get out of an engagement my family had set up years ago, I sent the Carringtons a doctored photo of myself, my face covered in freckles and my skin dull and sallow.

The Carringtons were the richest family in New York, and everyone knew their only heir, Damian Carrington, was picky to the point of obsession.

If he didn't like the way you looked, you weren't getting within ten feet of him.

So I wore that ugly makeup for years. Then I met Owen Holloway.

When he proposed, he told me he loved me for who I was, and that my looks had nothing to do with it.

I believed him, and nothing was going to stop me from marrying him.

But right as we were about to exchange rings, he looked straight past me at his first love, the girl who'd had work done on her face.

Then he dropped my hand and walked out.

Every guest in the room was waiting for me to cry.

Instead, I laughed.

Turns out one wedding is all it takes to see a man for who he really is.

Fine, then. No more hiding. I might as well go home and marry into the Carringtons like I was always supposed to.

I thought I'd signed up for an immersive dating show.

Turns out it was a 99.9% death rate, globally livestreamed horror game.

And me? Half-blind without my contacts, desperate to go viral, I somehow talk my way through a death game like it's a romance.

I mistook blood for ketchup, human eyeballs for sashimi, a murderous child ghost for a kid who just needed some love.

Worst part? I fell for the guy running the place, the one who could kill you without blinking, and tried to get his number within the hour.

My teammate hissed at me, shaking. "You wanna die, fine, just don't take us with you!"

I just waved him off. It's a dating show. Relax.

On the eve of the apocalypse, I awakened a survival system: send me $5,000, and the sender can unlock a safehouse and awaken a life-saving ability.
The first person I told was Chloe, my girlfriend of three years. In return, she humiliated me in public and cheated on me without a shred of remorse.
That was the moment I finally gave up. The "nice guy" she had drained dry was dead for good.
One month later, the zombie horde arrived right on schedule. For old times' sake, I saved her one last time. And she repaid me by shoving me straight into the jaws of the mutated dead so she could save herself.
What she didn't know... was that I wasn't the only one who had awakened powers.

My name is Nora Monroe. Thirty-two weeks pregnant, ready to pop anytime.
This morning, my husband Everett left town, leaving me and my cat, Piper, alone at home.
Deep into the night, a strange woman called. Her voice was gentle, apologetic—she said my cat Piper had somehow wandered downstairs. She was severely allergic to cat dander and couldn't bring her up to me. I grabbed my coat, ready to head down, when the baby suddenly gave me a vicious kick. The pain sent me collapsing back onto the sofa, unable to move.
The woman on the phone urged me over and over. I looked up, my eyes falling on the corner of the living room.
Piper was sitting right there, staring unblinkingly at me...

In my previous life, on the very day of our marking ceremony, my Alpha fiancé met his fated mate at the banquet.
He didn’t break off our engagement. Instead, he chose silence and completed the ceremony with me. He chose to trap me with a twenty-year mate bond.
For twenty years, I fought wars for the Pack, bore him an heir, and ruled the main hall alone as Luna.
Meanwhile, in another Pack’s territory, he spent his entire life with that woman.
Before I died, he told me he was sorry.
But he also blamed me—saying that if I hadn’t insisted on taking the Luna seat, he could have left more completely.
Only then did I realize something cruel. Not only was I never the one he loved, I was also the obstacle to his freedom.
When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of the marking ceremony.
This time, the mate bond had not yet formed, and the mate mark had not yet been sealed.
Whether he would abandon me for his fated mate no longer mattered.
Because this time—
I would never step aside for any Alpha again.

I snapped photos of pale yellow baby clothes I’d bought at Target, posted them on Instagram captioned “Juno's wardrobe.”
Right after I put my phone away, my mother-in-law Genevieve called and berated me. She claimed I’d lost my mind after our stillbirth, insisted I wasn’t pregnant, and demanded I delete the post.
As soon as we hung up, my water broke.
Six hours later, I woke up worn out on a hospital delivery bed at Devereux Memorial Hospital. No baby cried anywhere.
My husband Elias sat beside me with bloodshot eyes. He pulled a lifelike silicone fake pregnancy belly out and set it on my lap, begging me to accept I wasn’t actually carrying a child. I screamed that I’d given birth and demanded to know where my baby Juno was.
Dr. Beckett and a team of doctors walked in, diagnosing me with pseudocyesis—phantom pregnancy. They said I’d only worn a silicone pad to fake a belly. My parents stood nearby, staring at me with shameful pity.
They forced me onto a psychiatric ambulance. I was locked in a windowless ward, drugged nonstop, tormented by the loss of my daughter, until every ounce of my will faded away...

To fulfill a dying comrade's final request, I spent twelve years living in the shadows to protect his daughter. I took bullets for her, laundered her black-market assets, and eventually handed over my entire stake in the security empire. In her eyes, I am her father’s murderer; in mine, she is a mission—the only flicker of light left in my life. Until that fateful banquet, when she personally shoved me into the sights of mercenaries. Watching my blood bloom across her dress, she hooked her arm around my nemesis and ordered coldly, "Clean it up." In that moment, twelve years of devotion collapsed, and a heart that beat only for her finally learned to freeze. This time, I’ve decided to personally destroy the monster I raised.

The child I brought into this world through sheer determination now calls my husband's mistress "mother"; the youth who slew my father for my sake and was imprisoned, now confines me beyond the threshold, forcing me to hear his carnal symphony with his stepmother. Only then did I comprehend: the sixteen-year-old boy who committed patricide for me had long perished within the prison walls.

When I took my late brother's four kids to dinner at the restaurant my grandmother left me, and seven-year-old Leo asked for a refill of the bottomless garlic knots, I didn't expect the new manager to tell him to go eat out of a dumpster.
"I'm the owner's wife," she sneered, and called her husband to come deal with us.
The contact photo on her screen was Adrian. I knew, because I took it on our honeymoon.
Around her neck hung my mother's wedding ring—the one Mom took off after thirty-five years and fastened around my husband's neck the night the doctors said he'd never wake up.
One call to my father would have ended it. I didn't make it. I pulled the kids close and waited for my husband to walk through that door.
She thought he was coming to save her.
She had no idea who was coming after him.

This is a world where humans and fantasy races exist side by side. Werewolves move through city streets between glass towers, and every now and then, a pair of massive wings cuts through the clouds overhead. Twenty years ago, to secure the family's standing, the main house signed a contract with the Dragon Clan.

As the least favored daughter of a branch family, I was chosen to be the Dragon King's mate. The terms were spelled out plainly: if I couldn't get married within five years of coming of age, I'd have to go to Dragon territory and go through with the marriage.

For five years, every wedding I've planned has been blown up by my younger sister, Hannah.

This is year five. I'm finally in a wedding dress, about to marry Derek, the boy I grew up with.

What I didn't expect was that one hour before the ceremony, Hannah collapsed in the dressing room coughing up blood. She grabbed Derek's hand, crying, saying she wouldn't make it through the month.

And my parents are on either side of me, hands pressed down hard on my shoulders.

"Just let Hannah have the wedding. She's dying!"

What they don't know is that if I don't get married today, the Dragon envoys will come for me on the spot.

And I won't be coming back.

Three years since I married into the Hawthorne family, I had already lost two children.
And the one who decided whether my babies lived or died wasn't a doctor—it was a potted plant in the manor's living room: the Crimson Orchid.
In this family, if the petals withered and reeked after drinking the pregnancy blood, it was an unbreakable rule: the child had to go.
The first two times, all I could do was lose my children in despair under the anesthetic mask at some underground clinic.
To save my third pregnancy, I secretly went to a top medical center out of state for an amniocentesis.
The diagnosis, there in black and white, proved it: my baby was perfectly healthy and carried the purest family bloodline.
I thought I was safe this time. But when my finger blood dripped into the black soil again, the orchid once more oozed foul-smelling black water.
My in-laws crushed my medical report underfoot without mercy and had their people drag me toward the operating table.
I couldn't understand it: the scientific evidence clearly confirmed my child was healthy and pure-blooded.
Why did they insist on trusting a mutated, stinking flower and killing their own grandchildren over and over again?

In my previous life, my younger sister, Lilith, married Arthur, the vampire prince.

I married Grant Taylor, a werewolf tycoon and the Empire’s richest man.

Everyone said I was the lucky one.

I traveled in luxury cars, wore custom-made designer clothes, and appeared to have a perfect marriage. The entire Empire admired us.

Lilith, however, was miserable in the vampire royal family.

The royal family’s rigid rules controlled every part of her life. She had to bow and curtsy at every turn while noblewomen looked down on her and humiliated her.

Arthur ignored her, yet one beautiful woman after another moved into his estate.

Lilith cried. She threw tantrums. In the end, she had an affair with a human royal guard.

When the affair came to light, she was stripped of her title and locked inside the dark, windowless Royal Tower.

The day Grant and I attended a banquet at the palace, she appeared before me with hatred burning in her eyes.

“Why do you get everything? Why am I the one who has to rot in here?”

A second later, she detonated the mana crystal hidden beneath her clothes.

The flames swallowed us both.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day we chose which marriage contract to sign.

Lilith moved first. She pointed at the marriage contract bearing the wolf emblem and announced that she would marry Grant.

I lowered my gaze, barely holding back a laugh.

She thought she had stolen a fortune from me.

She had no idea what kind of monster that man truly was.

A year ago, my ex abandoned me when I was broke and buried in debt, choosing the Russo family heiress instead.

On the day of his engagement party, he sent me a vicious text: "Wear a wedding dress to Plaza Hotel. Changed my mind. You're marrying me."

I showed up in white.

Luca and his crew waited at the entrance, ready to watch me humiliate myself.

He thought this was my degradation.

But what he didn't know was—I was getting married.

Just not to him.

To Dante Valentino—the most dangerous man in this godforsaken city.

At our wedding, my fiancé slapped me in front of both our families—all because of his bridesmaid.
That same day, I took off my engagement ring and called off the wedding.
Everyone thought I was just acting out in the heat of the moment.
After all, Charles Harrow and I had grown up together. I'd been in love with him since I was little, following him around for twelve whole years.
But this time, I meant it.
Later, when he finally found me, he stared at me in disbelief and asked,
"Why? Over one slap?"
I answered calmly, "Yes. Over one slap."

"Enjoying the show quite a lot, aren’t you, John?"
I had just shut the suite door, behind which lewd gasps and moans lingered, when Louise, the young heiress of a top tycoon family, walked straight up to me.
Slap!
A crisp, heavy slap landed hard across my face.
"You shameless cur!"
She snarled, her eyes filled with arrogant venom.
I clenched my jaw tightly, my nails digging sharply into my palms.
In this class pyramid forged by capital, I was nothing but a personal bodyguard worth even less than a pedigreed luxury dog.
Yet it was not long before this lofty young lady met with a plane crash. She ended up on her knees before me, groveling and begging for mercy.
"John… take me. I’m your slave."

Fresh off the operating table after barely surviving a miscarriage, I received a $50,000 bill—every cent spent on a waterbed and aphrodisiac aromatherapy on a yacht.
 
I called my husband, the only other person who knew about that account.

Over the phone, he sounded gentle yet aggrieved: "Honey, how could I afford a luxury yacht? It must be a banking error. You just lost our baby; please rest well. My flight to New York is taking off soon, and I'll be right by your side the moment I get back!"
 
I didn't expose the deafening sounds of the wild party in his background. I simply hung up.
 
He thought his lie was flawless. He had no idea that as the hidden heiress of the Windsor Consortium, that priceless yacht, the Poseidon, was actually a coming-of-age gift from my grandmother.
 
I ripped the IV out of my arm and dialed a number I hadn't called in years since marrying beneath my station.
 
"Grandma, you were right. He doesn't deserve me. I'm going to the ship to catch him red-handed."

On the eve of the apocalypse, magical beasts appeared in our world.
They possessed extraordinary abilities, and humans could master these powers by forming a contract with them.
In my previous life, my adopted brother chose a top-tier Wolf King pup.
But shortly after, the extreme heat apocalypse descended. The low-tier water snake I had contracted possessed the ability to conjure water and lower temperatures, inadvertently making me the envy of everyone.
Meanwhile, my brother’s Wolf King was universally despised for its excruciatingly slow growth and lack of immediate combat power.

Now, I have been reborn to the very day we chose our contracted beasts.
This time, my brother rushed ahead and snatched the water snake.
I know why.
He has been reborn, too.
But this apocalypse is not nearly as simple as he thinks!

I am the sole heir to the Hartwell fortune.
But this birthday dinner — the one meant to sign the family trust into my hands on my twenty-second year — was being ruined by the housekeeper's daughter.
Brianna had done it on purpose. She'd stolen the archival couture gown my late mother left behind, then thrown herself into the champagne tower and pinned it on me.
"Oh God, Audrey, why did you push me?" She was already crying, her voice pitched for the crowd. "I know you hate seeing me in this dress, but your father was the one who insisted I wear it. Please don't make me leave."
In my last life, I'd stood there sobbing, waving my hands, trying to explain.
For that, I'd been stripped of my inheritance on the spot, committed to a psychiatric ward, and in the end, every fingernail torn out one by one, I'd died in agony.
But I'd been reborn.
Now I looked down at Brianna crumpled among the shattered crystal, playing the victim, and I didn't waste a word.
I crossed the floor, stood over her, drew my arm back, and slapped her across the face as hard as I could.
"Shut your mouth."

To end two years of a long-distance marriage with my husband, Sutton Brennan, I quit my job and moved halfway across the state to join his top-tier medical center.
But from the moment I clocked in on day one, a nightmare awaited me.
IV pain pumps violently popped open in my hands, medication cabinets rejected my fingerprints, coffee machines sprayed me with boiling water, microwaves exploded in public, and the employee lockers locked me out entirely.
My colleagues laughed at me, calling me a walking disaster. The head nurse publicly berated me for being incompetent. And my husband, the man I trusted most, simply smiled his gentle smile and said, "You're just tense. Give it a few more days."
In my past life, I believed him. I gritted my teeth and held on until the bitter end—and ultimately died inside this very hospital.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my first day of work.

Everyone says I married an iceberg.

Three years of contract marriage. He's never touched me once.

On our wedding night, I tried to move into his bedroom. He refused. I stood in front of him wearing lingerie. He just said, calm as ever, "You should get some rest."

I'm a healthy woman with a normal sex drive. Every day I'm burning up with my own desire.

I thought he didn't love me. So for both our sakes, I signed the divorce papers. Today, I'm telling him.

Then that afternoon, I suddenly heard his thoughts.

When I walked up to him in just a towel, he looked calm, staring at his laptop. But his mind was screaming: Holy shit. She's not wearing anything under that. Look at that skin. Her tits are huge. I can't take this anymore... no, I'll scare her. Fuck. I'm hard again.

Turns out under the ice, there's a volcano that's been buried for just as long.

I slip the divorce papers back into hiding and pour him a coffee.

New plan: make that volcano blow.

"Help! Somebody help me! Julian is trying to kill my baby!" I scream at the top of my lungs, bursting into my gender reveal party.

Just minutes ago, Julian was my perfect, doting husband. Then he opens my unborn baby's genetic screening report. The unadulterated ferocity and revulsion simmering in his eyes makes my entire body shake. He grips my arm, demanding I terminate the pregnancy.

I already died once because of that piece of paper. In my past life, they dragged me to a freezing lab, pumped me full of drugs, and murdered my child before locking me in an asylum.

This time, I hide behind the guests. But my parents storm in. After seeing the report, instead of saving me, Dad kicks me squarely in the stomach.

"You shameless little whore," he spits.

They are about to drag me out the back door when two police officers step through the glass doors. The cop hands me the confiscated report.

I look down at the printed words... and finally understand.

The second the avalanche came down, I called my mate. Karl. Captain of the Pack Guard's First Squad.

He dug me out, carried me onto the helicopter, and told the pilot to take off before the second rescue team even got there.

He didn't know Delilah was buried in the same slide. The girl he'd never gotten over.

By the time they reached her, she'd been under the snow for three hours in twenty below.

Karl stood in the morgue all night.

He came back the next day and just gave me a small smile. "It wasn't your fault. You were carrying our pup. Of course you came first."

For a month after that, he was gentler than he'd ever been. He cleared his schedule to take me to every checkup. Cooked for me himself. Put the crib together, the dresser too. Every single thing in the nursery lined up exactly right.

I thought that avalanche had finally buried Delilah. That it had given him back to me.

Until the day I went into labor.

He sent every doctor and nurse out of the delivery room. There was a silver scalpel in his hand.

The moment he cut me open, I saw the red in his eyes.

Our pup was still crying, small and weak, and he never even looked. He threw us both into the incinerator.

"If it weren't for you, Delilah would still be alive. Your life for hers."

Then I opened my eyes, and I was back at the moment the avalanche hit.

My brother was jealous after I won a $50 million lottery jackpot, so he tricked me into believing an extreme ice-age apocalypse was coming.
Because I trusted him, I spent every last dollar my parents and I had—fortifying the house and stockpiling supplies.
Two weeks later, he told me that there was no coming apocalypse. It had all been a lie.
Just when I was drowning in despair, hail started falling in the middle of summer.
The deep freeze apocalypse had really begun.

My husband, Callum, never loved me. On our wedding night, he panted another woman’s name.
For five years, I endured a cold, loveless marriage. The only reason I held on was my daughter, Tessa.
But on the eve of her fourth birthday, Callum went behind my back and personally delivered her to his mistress Seraphina's underground lab.
The moment my daughter was drained of her blood and her heart stopped beating on that operating table, he was drinking champagne with Seraphina to celebrate their success.
From the moment I walked out of the crematorium holding Tessa’s freezing urn, the submissive wife I used to be died.

I woke up on the same morning I was about to send another payment for my daughter's education.
In my last life, I paid for everything. Every year, without missing a payment.
Tuition. AP tutoring. Summer program deposits. Medical bills. Birthday gifts. The education fund.
Not one payment late. Not one skipped.
I only found out the truth after I died. My daughter wore a blazer that hung off her like a hand-me-down. She glued her shoes back together instead of throwing them out. She got mocked in front of her whole class for owing a two-thousand-dollar activity fee she should never have had to worry about.
She hated me for it.
She said, "You say you love me. So why was there never any money for me?"
I understood the truth only when it was too late to matter. It was never that I hadn't given enough.
It was that my husband had been siphoning it out from under me the whole time, spending it on another woman's family.
This time, I didn't wait to find out.

On my wedding day, my mother walked in and took my gown off the rack. Then she handed it to Coralie — the sister my parents adopted, the one I've given half my magic to every month for five years.
The High Priest says my stars are cursed. So Coralie will marry Roland in my place. My fiancé. The man I nearly died healing.
My father tells me to think of the bigger picture. Roland won't even look at me. Not one of them looks back as they leave me alone in that room.
They think I'll stand here and take it, like I always have.
They don't know about the black whistle in my sleeve — the one a dying man pressed into my hand at the edge of the Abyss. Blow it, he said, and I'll come for you.
I've been good for too long.
I'm done.

I'm sixty years old. My husband Marcus just whipped me with his belt — for burning an egg. My face is bruised, my hair is gray, and I gave up a full ride to Stanford for this man over forty years ago.
Then the phone rings.
The voice on the other end is mine — my eighteen-year-old self, calling on her birthday, gushing about how Marcus is out buying her a cake, how they're running away to Nashville together tomorrow.
She asks if I'm happy.
I tell her the truth: her boyfriend is in a cheap motel right now, in bed with her best friend. And those pretty promises about Nashville? He's planning to use her up and throw her away.
She doesn't believe me. Of course she doesn't.
But I know the motel. I know the room number. And I know what's behind that door.
If she walks away from him tonight, everything changes — for both of us.

The seventh year of being reclaimed by the Alpha family, and I still haven't stepped into the inner circle of the family.

The family’s ancient rules are clear: for a member to return after being cast out, they must submit an application to return, signed by the Alpha and approved by the council of elders, followed by re-recording of the bloodline in the scent registry, before they can be officially accepted back into the family.

My brother submitted ninety-nine times of applications for me, none of which were approved.

On the hundredth attempt, I watched through the ajar door of the council hall as the green wax-sealed "Permission for Return" stamp fell onto my file.

For three years, I believed I was the reason we couldn't have a baby.
I endured endless humiliation from my in-laws and did everything I could to give my husband, Dante Ashbourne, a child.
Then I finally got pregnant.
But a car accident took my baby away.
While I lay unconscious from blood loss, Dante was in the hospital room next door, celebrating the birth of his mistress's baby—and promising her the wedding of her dreams.
As if that weren't cruel enough, he ordered me, fresh from a miscarriage, to take care of his mistress while she recovered from childbirth.
That was the last straw.
I finally decided to leave him, only to discover that our marriage certificate was fake.
We had never been legally married.
Three years of love. Three years of sacrifice. All for nothing.
But even as I dragged my suitcase out of the Ashbourne estate, they refused to let me go.

I’m the only daughter of the Smith family.
To get back early and see my fiancé, I stayed up three nights to finish the cooperation negotiations with Johnson ahead of time.
However, I accidentally run into my fiancé kissing his wife—the one who was supposed to be “dead.”
And through the bedroom door, I heard my fiancé’s voice:
“Ava? She’s just a bargaining chip in this deal. Her family, the underground fighting arena, the port—sooner or later, they’ll all be ours.”

My husband is the heir to the oldest werewolf family in London. He is also my fated mate.
He has never once acknowledged me.
While he was on the phone with his little assistant, I told him I'd filed for divorce.
He didn't even turn around. "Fine. Do whatever you want."
So I did.
It wasn't until my daughter and I had vanished from London completely that he finally panicked.
Three months later, he got down on his knees on a cobbled street in Bath and begged me to come home.
My six-year-old daughter planted herself in front of me and stared coldly at her own father. "You're a bad man. Stay away from my mum! You don't get to be my dad!"

Allene is a woman who has sat in rooms with presidents, negotiated ceasefires between packs that have been at war for centuries, and buried three men who threatened the peace her father spent his life building. Nobody calls her dangerous to her face. They just make sure not to cross her. She is the human face of the most important treaty in existence — the fifty year agreement that keeps wolves and mankind from open war. She knows every clause, every consequence, every line that cannot be crossed.
The most absolute of all of them is the bond. No mating between human and wolf. Ever. The punishment is death for both parties. She helped write the updated clause herself. So when the Alpha of the oldest pack on earth looks at her across a peace summit and every wolf in the room goes completely still — she feels it the same moment he does and understands immediately exactly how much trouble she is in.
Caelen doesn't approach her. Doesn't speak to her. But none of them can deny the buds sprouting and growing between the two of them.
What they don't know yet is that the bond didn't activate by accident. Three generations back her bloodline stopped being purely human. Her great grandmother was a wolf who chose humanity and had the shift surgically severed, which meant she wasn't exactly who she thought she was.
No matter how much they tried to keep the secret, the truth always had a way of resurfacing and when this dangerous truth threatened to take away everything they had, Allene had no other choice but to fight to save her heart.
And when she chose to burn everything down, she waited to see if Caelen would rise from the ash with her.

I was the heir of Sliver Claw Pack, born with a crippled wolf spirit.
From the day I could walk, everyone said the same thing—
Only Harvey, the future Alpha of Black Moon Pack, would ever be willing to take me as his mate.
So when he publicly canceled our mate bond, I still believed every word he said.
He told me the woman had saved his life. He told me their bond was only temporary—three years. He promised that when those three years ended, he would marry me.
So I willingly became the lover who could never stand in the light.
Until the three-year deadline approached. To negotiate with a rival Alpha, he pushed me— a woman born with a crippled wolf spirit, a woman who could not even shift— into a brutal forest trial filled with beasts.
He said it was the last time. He said that when it was over, he would marry me.
But when the leopard tore open my chest, I finally understood— The wolf placed last in the pack…was the one abandoned to die.
Yet the Moon Goddess gave me a second life.
When I returned to the age of twenty-two and saw him holding that woman’s hand again, I finally realized something.
This time, I would never be his shadow mate again.
And his insane younger brother—looked at me beneath the moonlight and blood and said, “Emma, I can be your mate.”

After my mother abandoned me, I did everything to be the perfect "good pup" so I wouldn't be thrown away again.
I smiled as I drank the burning pepper-water my brothers tricked me with. I held out my bleeding hands to take my father's cruel beatings. Even when they locked me in a pitch-black basement to die of a blistering fever, I thought that if I was just 'obedient enough', they would finally love me.
But as I lay dying on that cold concrete floor, something inside me broke forever.
When I finally woke up, I couldn't speak. I couldn't smile. I couldn't even stomach the sight of them. I no longer wanted their affection, their toys, or their love.
And ironically, the exact moment I stopped caring if I existed to them at all... was the moment my cold-blooded father and ruthless brothers fell to their knees in tears, desperately ready to give me the world just to hear me call them family one more time.

The year is 1924. The air in Willow Lane is thick with the scent of red dirt, old secrets, and a storm that has been brewing for a thousand years.

Cassia Marlowe is a woman of the lens, capturing a world that is slowly fading. But when she meets Evan Cole, a man with a violin that speaks to the moon and a past shrouded in shadow, her quiet life shatters.

What starts as a forbidden romance between a photographer and a mysterious musician quickly unearths a truth buried beneath the roots of the Great Oak. In a valley ruled by the powerful and ruthless Board, a biological curse is waking up. Every secret Cassia solves only peels back the mask of a much larger conspiracy, a bloodline war that stretches back to the dawn of the peaks.

Evan is changing. The woods are watching. And the man Cassia loves may be the very beast she’s been taught to fear.

In a world of silver-plated lies and ancient hunger, can their love survive the turning of the moon? Or will they both become casualties of a war that has waited ten centuries to claim its final prize?

One choice.
One bite.
One thousand years of secrets.

In my past life, I spent everything loving Ronald Wright, only to watch him chase after his first love and marry her in the end. I died alone and sick in a hospital, forgotten.

After being reborn, I gave up. On our wedding anniversary, I asked for a divorce. I walked away from being a full-time housewife and became the youngest rising star in the design world.

But something changed. The husband who once ignored me suddenly cared. He came home every day, afraid I might cheat on him.
I sneered, “One day, you’ll be the one begging for a divorce.” He laughed, “Keep dreaming.”

I waited for him to realize, just like in the past, that he still loved the other woman and would force me to leave, giving me millions in return.

But this time, he pulled me into his arms and said, “What’s money after a divorce? I’m worth billions. It’s all yours. But you—you’re mine.”

“Sign the contract. Be my incubator. And I will let you live.”
That was the deal I made with the tyrant named Damon Lexton.
I was his medicine. His prisoner. He did not love me—only the rare blood in my veins that kept him alive. When I died in the fire, he did not mourn his wife. He mourned the loss of his cure.
Five years later, I returned from the dead with a new face and a heart of stone, ready to watch him suffer.
Then my five-year-old son walked into his office.
“Hey, Old Man. Are you the one who made my mom cry?”
Damon stared at the child—the son he once called a bastard. For the first time, the tyrant fell to his knees.
He cornered me against the wall, his eyes burning with madness and obsession.
“You can run, Anna. But you and our son belong to me. I used to need your blood to live. Now I need your heartbeat to breathe.”

Blood pooled beneath Eloise's head just moments after she discovered the truth about her husband. The man she built her world around wanted nothing more than to destroy her. He stole everything, her company, her pride, her future, and left her to die. But as the darkness closed in on her, fate offered a second chance.

**

Now she is back, with bloodstained memories and a thirst for revenge. Desperate and broken, she made a deal with the devil, a man powerful enough to hand her the weapons.

But his help comes at a price.

To be owned by him. For four months. A strict deal with no strings or feelings attached. But nothing about him is simple. He's infuriating, intoxicating, and every second with him chips away at her control.

What starts as business quickly spirals into a dangerous game of possession, secrets, and desire. And when hearts get involved, the real cost becomes something more than she bargained for.

He’s the last man she should trust… and the only one who makes her lose control.