5492 Book(s) Related to my childhood alpha hates me

My husband, Marco, in his bid for the position of Don, was forced to marry the young widow of the previous Don, Claudia.
Every night, after returning from Claudia’s place, he would hold me and swear, "You’re the only woman I love, Elena. Claudia has the connections I need. Once I have real power and secure my position, I’ll make you my wife in name and in public."
But as I waited for him to rise to power, what started as a political act turned into nights where he simply never came home.
Then, on Christmas, I was dragged to their engagement party—where I was beaten in front of everyone.
Our six-year-old daughter, Sophia, knelt on the floor, crying and begging him, "Godfather, please, let my mommy go..."
But Marco stayed silent.
"It’s okay," I whispered, picking up my wounded daughter. "Mommy’s going to take you somewhere that truly belongs to us."
What Marco never knew was this: I never cared about being the Donna of this small city.
I am the only heir of the Rossi family—the most powerful Mafia family in all of Sicily.

The day my daughter was declared brain dead, my billionaire wife was busy making soup for her first love, who was suffering from heart failure.
To fund a heart transplant for her first love , she made a phone call and injected our biological daughter with a large dose of nerve-blocking agents, taking her life .
The night before the burial, I begged her like a dog to come and see our daughter off one last time, but she impatiently scolded me on the phone: "Don't bother me with dead people all the time; the dead can't be brought back to life."
Later, on our sixth wedding anniversary, in front of all the wealthy and powerful in New York, she offered me a top-quality frozen fertilized egg as compensation, promising to give me a "new child."
However, when she opened the high-end gift box I gave her with a smile—
there was no so-called "new life" inside, only a completely drained bankruptcy liquidation document for a conglomerate, a waste receipt for the fertilized egg that had been flushed down the drain, and a high-definition video of her first love laughing at her in a club, saying she was "so easy to fool."

On our wedding day, she vanished wearing the gown I had bought for her.
I didn’t chase her. Instead, I went back to the operating table.
For three years, I had paid off her debts and filled the holes she left behind—enough for her to live a second life. My heart couldn't take it anymore; I had a stent implanted, though she never knew.
Three days later, I died in the hospital corridor. My ECG flatlined.
She didn’t know. She was still at a cocktail party in another city, clinking glasses with someone else.
A month later, she came back, kneeling before my tombstone in tears.
But it was all too late.

They call me a parasite.
An outdated piece of trash. A fraudster hiding in the clouds, sucking the blood of the empire.
They spat at my shadow, threw stones at my door, and made my daughter bind my wrists with spirit-binding silver.
Then they asked me if I had any last words.
I said, "The void is coming."
They burst into laughter.
Now, the sky has cracked open.
Those who once cursed my name are now kneeling in the ashes, begging me for help.
I sat on a cold rock on Greystone Ridge, gazing at the distant firelight.
I could have stopped it all.
But I choose—
To stand idly by.

My teammates viewed me as a mobile food supply and planned to butcher me before they ran out of rations.
They thought that as long as I died, they would win this "survival game."
However, they would never know that what I brought back from the depths of the ruins wasn't fear, but the highest-level administrative privileges of the entire logistics system. While they killed each other for a bag of expired biscuits, I had already locked the exit to this hell. Sorry, but in this settling of accounts, you aren't even qualified to be treated as bargaining chips.

I thought I was the luckiest person in the apocalypse.
My brother, a former special forces soldier, brought me supplies so I wouldn't have to face the horrors above ground.
My girlfriend comforted me over the radio, saying she'd cry in my arms once we could finally get out.
I lived underground for three years, grateful like a domesticated dog.
Until that day, when I pushed open the door, smelled fresh grass, and saw the swimming pool in the sunlight—that's when I understood that the so-called apocalypse was never outside, but behind the door they had locked me in.

I’ve been guarding a door in the Nevada underground for a hundred years. The system marks this place "Abandoned," and the official records claim I don't exist.
When the investigation team arrived, the leader was my old signal corpsman. He pretended not to know me and ordered his guards to drag me out like a piece of dead weight.
They shoved a young lad from the Rex family into the breach as bait, and while everyone screamed in horror, no one dared to move.
So, I jumped down to fish the kid out, using a bottle of beer to force back the tentacles reaching from the dark.
Then, I pulled on that dusty old uniform and pressed my palm against the master console—all thirty-two security protocols verified instantly.
The lead technician collapsed in shock: "This clearance level is restricted to the Chief Architect only."
He was right. I am.
The thing I’ve kept locked behind that door for a century woke up, whispering: "What do you want?"
I said: "Dinner."

"She's wolfless. She's worthless. She's not fit to be my Luna."
Those were the last words her fated mate spoke before claiming another woman as his Luna—after Thalia sacrificed her own wolf in a forbidden blood ritual to save his life.
Broken and abandoned, Thalia thought she had lost everything.
But the Moon Goddess had other plans.
Her wolf didn't die that night.
It split.
Now, three powerful Alphas are bound to the pieces of her broken soul:
The Pack Healer, whose gentle touch awakens a desire she can't deny.
The Rogue Alpha, who would burn the world before letting anyone hurt her again.
And the mate who rejected her, now on his knees begging for forgiveness.
As ancient magic awakens and rival packs close in, Thalia must uncover the truth behind her shattered wolf before it destroys everything.
And suddenly the question isn't who she belongs to anymore...

I am Lyra, the Luna of Alpha William of the Blackthorn Pack.
After the bond, he pampered me and showcased our love to all the packs.
I thought he loved me deeply, loved me for ten years.
I couldn’t help but announce my love to the world.
Until I overheard his conversation with his Alpha friends:
"Let Lyra bear everything, so Yasmine can be safe."
"She’s Yasmine’s shadow, so she deserves to be a target."
For him, I was injured 20 times, and even lost a child.
It turns out, all the pain I endured for him was nothing but a joke...
Since that’s the case, let whoever wants to be the substitute take my place!

Everyone said I’d traded five years of my youth and my unwavering devotion for an engagement that every woman envied.
My fiancé, Felix Smith, seemed to believe it, too. He gave me pearls, promised me a bright future, and wrapped me up in a web of tenderness, layer after layer.
Until that afternoon, when he held me close, yet used a language he thought I didn’t understand to weave the perfect "wedding" con over the phone.
That was the moment I finally realized: over these five years, who had he really been looking at through me? And every pearl he ever gave me, whose tastes was he remembering?
When the elevator failed and darkness crashed down, the person he protected on instinct wasn’t me.
When the wind howled across the empty outskirts, the person he chose to abandon was me.
I’d been learning how to love him, how to become a proper bride. In the end, what I learned was how to exit quietly, out of his world with Serena.
Only when I slipped off that pearl ring did I understand—
Some love stories, from the very beginning, are nothing but long letters written to someone else.

"Jake? You sick fuck. Paid for this? His hands inside me?"

Sophia's voice cracked over the intercom, her oiled ass clenching around the masseur's pumping fingers. Live feed burned: her thighs quaking, pussy gushing slick down the table edge. I gripped the chair arms white-knuckled, cock straining—half rage, half blaze.

"Babe... yeah. Full service. Watch you cum harder," I rasped into the mic, voice raw. "Tell him—deeper or stop?"

Tech's eyes flicked to the camera, smirking as he curled two fingers inside her, thumb circling her clit. She bucked, moan ripping free. "Fuck... don't stop. Deeper—wreck me. Jake, you watching? Perverted cuck."

"Every thrust," I growled. "His fingers owning your tight pussy. Bigger rush than mine?"

Her head snapped up, doe eyes locking the hidden lens—pure fury melting to feral hunger. "Hell yes. Stretch me wider. Tell him flip me—fuck me raw while you beg."

Tech froze, glancing my way. My nod sealed it. "You heard her. Pound my girl. Make her scream your name."

He flipped her prone—tits spilling free, legs splayed wide. Cock out, thick and veined, he notched her dripping folds. "Ready to cum for a stranger, Sophia?"

"Do it," she hissed, hips grinding up. "Show Jake what he's missing."

He slammed home—her wail echoing both rooms. Relationship shattered. Door to real breeding? Kicked wide open.

My name is Jack Morris, a bottom-rung janitor on the docks.
Every day, people walk all over me, and I live on moldy bread.
Until one day, an old man I saved handed me a photograph. "This is my granddaughter. She's being held at the Black Swan Casino."
That used to be my place. Ten years ago.
Her father was a brother who died in my place.
I was once the king of the underground.
And now, at the banquet celebrating the tenth anniversary of my death, they're treating that old man's granddaughter like a toy.
If my disappearance only made those animals more brazen...
Then they can finish that drink and celebrate their own deaths next.

“Aren't you a hooker that anyone could on top of you with money?”
When they met, he became her guest in room...

For the three years since I returned to the Hart family, I had always been the wildly out-of-place “burden.”

Vivienne, the family’s beloved fake heiress, broke a contract on her own and provoked a local gang. She was taken hostage and tortured in an abandoned auto repair shop.

To save his precious sister, my brother, Ryan, did not hesitate to trade me to the gang in exchange for Vivienne.
“She’s a movie star, and you’re just a useless nobody. It’s only natural for you to take her place and suffer a little.”
He looked coldly at the gang members who were eyeing me like hungry wolves, and violently shoved me toward them.
“Tonight, she belongs to you.”

Right before they dragged me away, I managed to call my husband, Alex, begging for help. But he rejected me ruthlessly, acting as if my plea was some cheap scam:
“Stop playing the victim. Why would they ever hurt you? Hurry up and clean up this mess. Don't let a girl like Vivienne face those thugs all by herself.”

Bang.
The heavy iron doors of the gang’s hideout slammed shut.
There were no negotiations. What greeted me was a merciless rain of fists, my clothes brutally torn to shreds, and the blinding flashes of cameras.
Amidst the ultimate degradation, they took photos of me, pinched my jaw, and violated my dignity over and over again.

At 4:00 AM, I was tossed out onto the street in front of my own house like a piece of discarded trash.
Upon dragging myself inside, Vivienne immediately began dropping hints to the family, implying that I was the one who tricked her into signing the illegal gang contract.
My family cursed me, telling me to drop dead.
My heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss of darkness. Numbly swallowing the bloody foam pooling in my mouth, I let out a hoarse, broken laugh.

“Since my return was a mistake from the very beginning…”
“Then why didn’t they just let me die?”

Exiled to the wasteland by wife and children? No problem, I'll open an arms factory there.
Everything stolen by a rival? No worries, his technology is garbage I discarded seven years ago.
My ex-wife throws me a repairman's business card and demands my knees? Fine, see you at the military academy ceremony tomorrow.
Her son, dressed in his rival's "super armor," goes around showing off, only to be exposed in public by my ten-year-old son: "With a 0.7-second delay, an S-class mutant could kill you three times."
My rival brings his private army to capture me?
My wife leads a regular army, smashing the dome and descending from the sky: "Try touching my husband!"
My rival, cornered, releases the Abyss Mother Beast?
I pilot Zero Mech, one-shotting her.
My ex-wife kneels in the ruins, crying. I don't even glance at her.
Betrayed me? You don't deserve it.

After Grandpa passed away, he left two inheritances behind.
One was an underground shelter costing over a hundred million yuan.
The other was a crumbling old house on the brink of collapse in the village.
My younger sister Su Rou rushed to pick the underground shelter first, so I settled for the old house.
No one expected an extreme cold apocalypse to descend just days later.
Su Rou moved into the shelter with her boyfriend.
But her boyfriend leaked the gate password, attracting a mob of thugs.
Su Rou was reduced to their plaything, trapped in a fate worse than death.
As for me, I discovered the old house’s cellar connected to a natural underground hot spring. I managed to survive by sheer luck.
When Su Rou heard the news, she was consumed by envy. She led the thugs straight to me, forcing me to take her place.
"Sister, you’ve always been the nicest to me since we were kids. You’ll save me, right? You take my place and serve them instead."
I could no longer endure the humiliation. I set fire to the place and died alongside them all.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the very moment we chose the inheritances.
Seeing Su Rou pick the run-down old house without the slightest hesitation, I knew she had also been reborn.
I bowed my head to hide all my emotions, then silently chose the underground shelter.
My dear sister… that drafty, ramshackle old house is nowhere near as wonderful as you think it is.

I came home early from a business trip and overheard the woman Joseph always called his “poor stepmother” clinging to him in his office, begging for a kiss. Her swollen belly carried his child.
“When do I get to stop pretending to be your stepmother?” Susan whined.
Joseph’s cold laugh stripped away the last of my dignity. “Soon. Once I drain Emma’s company dry, she’ll be useless.”
I used to think Joseph was my salvation.
After his father died and his pregnant stepmother had nowhere to go, I ignored my family’s objections and brought them both into my home. I poured every resource I had into helping him rise.
I even became pregnant with his child.
Only then did I realize I had never really been his wife.
I was only the stepping stone they used to climb into wealth.
That night, Susan staged a miscarriage.
And Joseph, his face twisted with rage, locked me—pregnant and bleeding—inside a freezing basement.
“A vicious woman like you doesn’t deserve a child.”

I lay there, my face buried in the sticky remnants of my mother's tattered genitals, her exhausted body slumped against me like a conquered trophy. The room reeked of semen, feces, and sweat—our dorm buddies had long since left, laughing hysterically. Sophie's thighs trembled near my ear, her thick labia still twitching, spilling the group sex cocktail onto my lips. My heart raced, and I froze. She saw me watching that filthy show—her facade as an elite lawyer had crumbled, reduced to a slut who drank urine and licked asses for her roommates.

“Mmm…Ethan?” Her voice choked, her throat hoarse from the passion, her breath hot on my forehead. There was no anger—only a shameful desire. “Baby…you’ve tasted it all…through me. Lick deeper. Mommy needs her good boy now.”

Damn. The line is blurred. Should I grit my teeth and run? Or jump in and be the first to eat? Her hips rubbed against me, forcing my tongue inside. There was nowhere to escape. This was our new hell—heaven.

I came home early from a business trip and overheard the woman Joseph always called his “poor stepmother” clinging to him in his office, begging for a kiss. Her swollen belly carried his child.
“When do I get to stop pretending to be your stepmother?” Susan whined.
Joseph’s cold laugh stripped away the last of my dignity. “Soon. Once I drain Emma’s company dry, she’ll be useless.”
I used to think Joseph was my salvation.
After his father died and his pregnant stepmother had nowhere to go, I ignored my family’s objections and brought them both into my home. I poured every resource I had into helping him rise.
I even became pregnant with his child.
Only then did I realize I had never really been his wife.
I was only the stepping stone they used to climb into wealth.
That night, Susan staged a miscarriage.
And Joseph, his face twisted with rage, locked me—pregnant and bleeding—inside a freezing basement.
“A vicious woman like you doesn’t deserve a child.”

I used to be Henry’s adopted daughter. He taught me manners, and kept repeating one rule: “Stay away from humans.”
But I still betrayed him for a human named Avery.
I thought it was love… until the day I started hemorrhaging before giving birth.
Avery dumped me at Henry’s feet in front of everyone, sneering as he asked:
“Didn’t you say humans are low creatures? Well, your unbonded daughter got knocked up by me, filthier than a whore. Are you still going to save her?”
In that moment, Henry didn’t shove me away.
He lowered his head, pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, sank his teeth into my skin and branded me with a mate mark.
That’s when I finally understood I wasn’t his daughter.
I was his fated mate.
And still, we were expelled from the Pack.
Ten years later, Avery had become Eric Jones, a powerful man everyone scrambled to flatter and I was Rory, the underground casino’s whore up for auction.
This time, I was going to make Avery pay.

On the third day of the outbreak, I sat in my company’s executive conference room, gripping the red toy car I bought for my six-year-old son.

Outside the door were zombies filling the building. Beside me were six executives still breathing only because I was.

They wanted meetings. They wanted to wait for rescue. They wanted to chain me with morality.

But I wanted one thing—my son was still in daycare. Three days. No one went for him.

At dawn, I opened the door they’d barricaded shut.

I can shoot. I can clear a path. I will carve my way through to bring him back.

Anyone who stands in my way dies.

In my previous life, I chose the werewolf and gave birth to the Arbiter, only to be burned alive by the younger sister I loved most.
When I was reborn, I knelt before the Oath Stone, handed my marriage pact to her, and watched her gloat in triumph before choosing Sylas, the elf everyone else avoided.
Everyone was waiting to see me make a fool of myself—until the day of the wedding, when he came carrying a gown blessed by the Sacred Tree, lowered his eyes to me, and said, "In this life, I will never fail you."

A gang boss ground my treasured staff into dust with one boot. “A gutter-bred bastard from the slums, and you’re hiding something this delicate? Cripple him. Let him learn who runs this turf.”
I stared at the silver-white powder on the floor. It was the last relic my brothers left me.
I once swore these hands would be used only to save people, never to kill again.
But today, even the heavens refused to allow it.
I lifted my head slowly. The elven ears I’d kept lowered in submission rose one by one in the dark, sharp as a wolf’s.
“You’re asking me who runs this turf?”
My fist snapped out and caved in the boss’s nose.
I twisted backhanded. Three elite enforcers had their bones shattered in an instant, collapsing like sacks of rotten meat.
I grabbed the boss by the throat with one hand and hoisted his two-hundred-pound body into the air, eyes cold as if I were staring at a corpse.
“Three years ago, when I laid down the rules in this district, you didn’t even know where you were playing in the mud.”
“My things are not for you to touch.”

For five years, my marriage was nothing but a lie, a perfect show Aiden staged for the entire family.
I loved him for more than a decade. And for his lover, he threw our five-year-old daughter, Chloe, into the basement to be fed to his Dobermans.
All because Chloe accidentally shattered an antique crystal cup, a so-called love token between Aiden and his precious Sophia.
I dropped to my knees and begged. He looked at me like I was nothing and said Family rules matter more than blood.
When I carried my daughter’s mutilated body out of that basement, fireworks were exploding on the rooftop above, celebrating his grand confession of love to Sophia.
He froze my accounts. And on the day of Chloe’s funeral, he took her to a concert.
I was holding my daughter’s ashes, trapped, desperate, with nowhere left to go when a message from an unknown number appeared. A car was waiting at the side gate. It was Daniel, my childhood friend.
Only after I disappeared with my daughter’s ashes did Aiden finally realize the truth—that the “sweet, innocent” Sophia was the real killer of his own child.

As the most cold-blooded and ruthless Mafia don, Twain Hall had doted on me like the apple of his eye for ten years.
But on the very day we were discussing our wedding, the ring his subordinate delivered had another woman's name engraved on it—not mine.
I pretended not to notice and turned to Twain.
"Did they bring the wrong ring? Who's Dorothy? I've never heard of her."
Twain's expression didn't change. He pulled me into his arms with that familiar, indulgent look.
"My people weren't careful. Made a fool of themselves."
"I'll have them exchange it right away. Can't keep my queen waiting."
I smiled. But the moment I turned away, my face went cold. I dialed a number.
"Didn't you say you'd pay any price to marry me? Twain Hall betrayed me. I want his head!"

I’m just a blind woman whose sight was stolen by the mist.

And yet, for his ambition to become the Alpha King, I begged my brother Mason to venture deep into the forest and bring back the Moon Goddess’s Mark.

On Christmas, I carried that Mark in one hand and my pregnancy report in the other, my heart practically bursting with joy.

Then I caught my husband tangled up with Rory—the Omega who stayed by my side every day.

What shattered me most was this: my son’s death was never a surgical accident.

It was Andrew who wanted to give the heart of my son, Ethan, to Rory, who was sick with heart disease. He lied and told me those papers were for Ethan’s treatment, and tricked me into signing my name.

He mocked me, saying a blind woman couldn’t survive without him. But he didn’t understand what a mother’s resolve looks like.

For years, Ashley Carter built her life around one man.

She gave up her medical scholarship, worked exhausting double shifts, and poured every dollar she had into Weston's hockey dream.

She never asked for anything in return.

Until the night Weston became Rookie of the Year.

Standing beside the man she had sacrificed everything for, Ashley expected to finally hear him say her name.

Instead, he thanked everyone but her.

Then he introduced the woman he'd spent years calling his “cousin” as his girlfriend, and made Ashley painfully understand that being an Omega had always been something he considered a weakness.

That night, Ashley walked away because she finally realized she had lost herself trying to be enough for someone who never saw her worth.

With nowhere else to go, Ashley takes a physical therapy position with a rival NHL team and decides to build a life that belongs to her.

But starting over isn't easy.

Especially when her new boss is Brooks Wayne. The league's most intimidating Alpha.

Arrogant, controlling, Impossible to read, and completely convinced that Omegas are too fragile for the world he lives in.

But no one sees the man behind the Alpha—the broken pieces, the old wounds, or the reason he built so many walls in the first place.

Ashley wants nothing to do with him.

Brooks wants nothing to do with an Omega who refuses to know her place.

Then one unexpected accident puts them in the middle of a media scandal—and suddenly, the two people who can't stand each other are forced into a fake relationship.

It should be simple. Pretend in public and keep their distance in private.

But somewhere between the arguments, stolen glances, late nights and moments Ashley never expected to share with anyone again, Brooks starts seeing the woman she is.

And Ashley begins discovering something she thought she'd lost forever: herself.

She's stronger. Braver. And finally building a life of her own.

The problem?

The Alpha who once couldn't stand her suddenly can't seem to stay away.

And the more Ashley gets beneath Brooks's cold exterior, the more she begins to wonder, what if the man everyone fears is just as broken as she is?

And when Weston finally comes looking for the woman he left behind, Ashley has to decide whether she wants the life she once dreamed of, or the love she never saw coming.

My sister took the blame for me and died in the Abyss Dungeon.

For five years, I knelt at her grave and wept. My husband Jack gently wiped away my tears and told me everything would be alright.

Until the day I ran into a woman at the mall.

The way she held her coffee cup. Her favorite phrase. The slight lift of her ring finger — every detail was identical to my dead sister.

I followed her to a villa on the outskirts of town.

The door opened.

The woman who greeted her was the rival who had fallen to her death from a cliff five years ago.

And the man who stepped out of the car and kissed that rival on the lips — was my husband.

That night I confronted Jack. He simply sighed:

"The truth? Is it really that important?"

In my past life, I squandered all my wealth to support my fiancée's family, but when the extreme heat of the apocalypse arrived, she and her lover broke my legs, brutally drained my marrow, and devoured me alive.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the seven days before the apocalypse.

This time, I will never repeat the same mistake.

I decisively kicked away these cold-blooded parasites, canceled all my credit cards, and, with the true love who died to save me in my past life, built an indestructible, top-tier temperature-controlled fortress.

As global temperatures soared, Los Angeles became a scorching inferno, and the fiancée's family couldn't even get a sip of dirty water, ultimately being forced to resort to cannibalism and killing each other.

And I, sitting in a 22-degree air-conditioned room eating chilled watermelon, coldly watch this bloody live broadcast of dogs fighting each other.

The fires of hell have been lit, and your judgment has only just begun.

There are too many ways of taking revenge on a woman. But he chose marriage. In the past three years, he acted like a ruthless husband, treating her coldly, and even more worse, humiliating her. Even when she was pregnant, he tried to force her to give it up, to retire from film field, to expel her from her country.

In my past life, when the apocalypse broke out, I braved the pressure and opened the fortress gates to take in my mother-in-law and brother-in-law, who had nowhere else to go.
They shoved my wife and me straight into a horde of zombies.
My wife and I were reborn seven days before the apocalypse. I turned my head and saw the same fear and coldness surging in her eyes as mine:
"This time, don't open the door."
"Never." I smiled coldly.
Not only would I keep the door shut—I would watch with my own eyes as those bloodsucking ingrates, who had drained me dry in my past life, were slowly devoured by hunger and despair right outside the gate.

At a lavish dinner, a billionaire with a net worth of four billion embraced my ex-wife and slapped five thousand yuan in my face: "Kneel down, kiss her shoes, and then get out of here."
The entire audience of celebrities burst into laughter, while the ex-wife's eyes were filled with the pleasure of revenge.
Without even lifting my eyelids, I dialed a number in front of everyone: "I'm going to bankrupt one person. Execution level: nuclear bomb."
They laughed at me for pretending to be crazy.
Three minutes later, the entire nation was in an uproar. Four billion dollars in assets were frozen, the FBI broke down the door, and the once arrogant tycoon collapsed to the ground like a dog.
I endured for three years, just to save her grandfather's life. Since she's in such a hurry to break the contract, I don't need to pretend anymore.
This is not just a story about divorce; it's a countdown to the gods regaining control of the Book of Life and Death on Earth.

I’m a convenience store owner.

When the acid rain apocalypse hit, it ate through metal, wrecked power, and turned clean food and water into currency.

Last time, I made one mistake: I opened my door to my ex, Claire Voss, and her lover, Derek Hale. They didn’t come for shelter—they came for my stash. The blade in my abdomen taught me what mercy buys in a broken world. I killed them, but as my vision faded, the radio crackled with one final update: the disaster was ending.

Day thirty. I didn’t live to see morning.

Then I woke up—one week before it began.

This time I do only one thing: lock myself in my underground storage room with exactly thirty days of food and water, and wait for the rain to stop.

But Claire is hoarding again, louder than ever—embezzling money, emptying my shelves, trying to starve me in the first week so I’ll crawl back begging.

That’s when it hits me:

She thinks the apocalypse lasts forever.

She has no idea it only lasts thirty days.

When the apocalypse came, I became one of the military's failed experiments—defective, useless, a waste of space who only knew how to fix machines.
My so-called brother Kane used the camp leader access I got for him to trade away the comms gear I nearly died to secure for a bottle of whiskey. He drained my bone marrow dry to keep me in the dark, then dumped me out in the wasteland to die.
After that, he pinned every bit of luxury and waste on me—
while my little sister didn't even have the medicine she needed to stay alive.
That night, dragging my crippled body behind me, I reached into the substation.
Kane, do you remember what kind of genes were in those five hundred milliliters of bone marrow?

To annul the engagement, the aloof heiress of a wealthy family spent three years planning thirteen accidents to try and kill me.
Car accident, falling object, poisoning... I survived covered in blood, only to be met with her disgusted question: "How come you're still alive?"
She let her scheming childhood sweetheart crush my father's ashes, and even personally drained my last remaining blood to save me, all for her sweetheart's self-inflicted injury.
She thought I would be like a dog, clinging to her side forever without any boundaries.
Until that day, I calmly handed over the annulment agreement, clutching the diagnosis of late-stage brain cancer, and completely disappeared from her world.
Later, when she finally found out the truth, she searched the world frantically, only to find my emaciated, cold corpse.
That arrogant and haughty young lady has completely collapsed.
She personally sent her childhood sweetheart to hell, knelt before my body wearing a veil, and desperately raised a gun:
“Ivan, walk slowly on your way to the underworld... I’m giving my life for you.”

When the apocalyptic red rain fell, my brother and I both awakened spatial abilities.

He awakened a space as vast as a mansion and was hailed by the entire family as their savior.

While I only awakened a "suitcase" and was ruthlessly drained of all my assets by my parents to support my brother, then kicked out of the house.

They mocked me cruelly: "We don't keep deadweights. Go wait for death in the 70-degree furnace outside!"

What they didn't know was that my brother's space had no preservation function—his stockpile of premium ingredients would soon rot into a pile of maggot-infested meat.

But my suitcase had upgrade attributes!

While they fought each other over a sip of putrid green water in the 200-degree hellscape,

I sat in the "Eden" I had created, watching herds of cattle and sheep, drinking ice-cold fresh milk.

At the family banquet, a power-hungry male special assistant projected a dimly lit bed photo onto the massive screen. He claimed he had slept with my wife—the heiress to the family—and demanded I walk away from the marriage with nothing.
While all the relatives were waiting for me to become the laughingstock, my eyes landed on a red rose burn scar in the corner of the photo. I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He hadn't even turned on the bedside lamp. He had no idea that the woman he had just slept with was actually the wife of a psychopathic serial killer.

In my last life, my parents favored my younger brother. They promised him to the angel who would remain on the surface, and shoved me to an abyssal demon.
When the apocalypse came, the angel burned through her divine power and fell. I took my family in out of kindness, and they repaid me with a bowl of poisoned soup.
When I opened my eyes again, our whole family had reincarnated.
This time, my parents couldn’t wait to push my brother into the demon’s arms, dreaming of living off him inside the abyssal lair.
I watched them sign the shadow contract like they were grabbing a priceless treasure, then took the rejected holy-light angel without hesitation.
They had no idea the Abyss’s shelter is paid for in flesh and blood.
But an angel’s loyalty can raise an iron divine kingdom that never falls, even in this world-ending flood.

Ten years of knowing each other, today was our engagement.

I was the Holy Maiden of the Silverglow Clan; Kane was the young lord of the Lunar Eclipse Clan.

The union of the two clans to resist the blood-clan beast tide together had been my wish since childhood.

But on the wedding day, in the sacred hall, my palm faced his, only the final blood pact remaining, when a woman holding a blood-stained swaddling bundle rushed into the hall and said it was his child.

Kane rushed down. He cut his fingertip and tested the blood; the royal mark lit up between the wolf cub’s brows.

He smiled—a gentle smile he had never once given me in three years.

The elder said, first take her as a concubine; the queen’s position would still be mine.

And I walked down from the altar and slapped him across the face.

“Break off the engagement.”

Remove the crown, sever the contract, withdraw three thousand wolf riders, take back the moon-steel weapons and the beacon array.

Kane said I was throwing a tantrum.

He did not know that from the moment I took off the crown, I had already calculated how to make him pay!

I am a mermaid.

To walk toward him, I swallowed a dark potion, shedding my tail for a pair of legs.
Every step felt like treading on sharp blades, yet I endured it all willingly.
He took me in, promising to protect me for the rest of my life.

Then, his ex-lover returned.

She orchestrated one accident after another to frame me—a slashed costume, a staged fall down the stairs... And every single time, convenient "eyewitnesses" immediately pointed their fingers at me.

He believed them all.

Until a falling stage light crushed her legs.
He pinned me to the operating table, personally severed my legs, and transplanted them onto that woman.

What he didn't know was that anyone who walked on these legs would have to suffer the excruciating agony of stepping on knives.
He simply told me coldly: "You ruined her ability to dance, so you will pay with your legs."

That night, alone and broken, I wheeled myself to the beach.
Using only my bare hands, I crawled across the coarse sand, into the crashing waves, and returned to my true home.

——Leaving him to stare at the security monitors, watching helplessly as I sank into the dark sea, never to surface again.

In my last life, a friend I’d trusted for ten years drove a knife into my heart over a single biscuit. When I opened my eyes again, we had both been reborn—right before the extreme freeze arrived.

He was convinced the apocalypse had come. He borrowed from loan sharks, rented a massive warehouse to hoard supplies, and even crowned himself king during the icebound period, killing without mercy.

But he didn’t know the truth:

This disaster would end completely after only thirty days.

While he taunted me like a madman, I didn’t expose him. I calmly requested thirty days of paid leave from my company.

This time, I’ll sit in a warm, climate-controlled room and watch—when the state machine restarts on day thirty—how he drops to his knees and sobs in despair.

"You're being married to a prince," he said, cold and measured. "You claim you can't contribute to this pack as a warrior? Fine. Then this is your chance at redemption."
"Honor?" I spat the word like poison. "You and the king are exactly the same—both fine sacrificing me for your precious legacy."
"Enough." His voice dropped, dangerous and quiet. "Do you want to spend decades unable to shift? Watching everyone you trained with surpass you? Is that the life you want? Really?"
The denial stuck in my throat. We both knew the answer.
"So leave." Softer now. "You're my most stubborn daughter, Elara. This choice is brutal. Unfair. But at least it's a chance to prove you're still the warrior you claim to be."
He paused at the door. "Some wolves come late," he said quietly. "The ones you have to fight for — they're often more beautiful than anyone ever imagined."
Then he was gone.

She trained like a warrior. Fought like a warrior. Thought like one, planned like one, bled like one — just like the legendary parents whose name she was supposed to carry on.
She just never turned into one.
Every wolf shifts. Elara didn't. One failure erased everything else — no command, no place on the battlefield. Just a wedding dress and a one-way trip to vampire territory.
The last bride sent to secure this same alliance took her own life. Elara is the one they scrambled to send in her place — before the ink on the treaty could even dry.
She tells herself she just has to survive where her predecessor couldn't.
She has no idea what's actually waiting for her in that castle — and by the time she finds out, it's already too late to run.

She stole from the wrong billionaire. Now she's his most valuable prize.

Half-fae thief Vesper thought she'd pulled off the heist of a lifetime—until she discovered her mark was a dragon in disguise. Draken, the ruthless CEO who rules Las Vegas with an iron fist and a hoard of gold, doesn't forgive. He doesn't forget. And he never lets go of what's his.

One stolen memento. One impossible connection. One soul-bond that neither of them wanted.

Now she's caught between vampire syndicates, dragon-hunters, and a possessive billionaire who claims her as his fated mate. But none of them saw it coming: her half-fae bloodline wasn't a weakness—it was the perfect vessel for primordial dragon magic, a power no mortal was ever meant to wield.

Now she can see through any lie, bend probability at the casino tables, and challenge the immortal elite who've ruled Vegas for centuries. In a city where money is god and magic is currency, Vesper must master these stolen abilities before her enemies weaponize her gifts—or before Draken's obsession consumes them both.

He wanted a puppet. He got a queen instead.

Elora Frost is used to being the punchline. To her wealthy father and evil stepsister, she's a broken charity case. To the school, she's the weird girl in thrift-store sweaters. The ice rink is her only sanctuary—the only place she isn't hiding.

Enter Cade Rhodes. Arrogant. Dangerous. Elite.

On his first day at Winterbourne, the hockey prodigy completely dismantles the school's social hierarchy—and for some twisted reason, he decides Elora is his new favorite project.

He offers her a terrifying proposition: submit to his complete control for one year as his fake girlfriend, and he'll make her untouchable.

She accepts—because for the freedom to skate, she'd make any deal.

Overnight, the prey becomes the predator. The bullies who tortured her are suddenly terrified. Her family is begging for her favor.

And Cade is about to learn a dangerous lesson.

When you dress a figure skater in armor and give her the power to fight back... she doesn't just survive.

She conquers. And the fake feelings brewing between them might be the most dangerous battle of all.

To save my dying sister, I provoked James Smith, the city's most dangerous Mafia Don.

I thought it was a simple transaction, but he pinned me against the wall, his fingers tracing my lips as he whispered dangerously, "Sweetie, since you call me your sugar daddy, then fulfill your obligations. Remember, your first time was mine, and you’ll never escape me in this lifetime."

I believed he was a heartless monster until, facing death, he shoved his only gun into my hands and placed his ring around my neck. "Ella, run! Hide and wait for me..."

As his black SUV drifted into the gunfire to draw them away, I was left trembling. Would he make it back alive to claim me again?

Everyone thinks I'm the wild child of the family, the one who won't fall in line.

Blake's the young king of the business world—rational, cold, always in those perfectly cut suits.

But every night, he's got me pinned underneath him, breathing my name.

He said I was his, but never let me see daylight. Until she came back—my father's mistress's daughter, in her white dress, smiling like an angel.

On my birthday, he went to pick her up from the airport. When the chandelier crashed down, he carried her to the hospital and left me bleeding on the floor. When she smashed my mother's heirloom, he made me apologize on my knees. He said she was fragile, needed care; said I was strong enough to understand.

Then I heard them on my bed, her moaning his name.

So I left. Married a man who truly loved me. And he went insane.

He kidnapped me, forced a wedding, announced to the world I was his wife.

But this time, I just smiled and shook my head.

"Let go. It's too late."

Ten years into my marriage, I'd traded my paintbrush for a spatula and turned into Mrs. Holloway.

Ever since my sister Brooke moved in, my husband Bennett and my daughter Lucy had picked up a habit. Anytime Brooke and I disagreed, they put it to a vote.

On my birthday I wanted steak. Two hands went up for the salad bar Brooke liked. When I hadn't slept in weeks and wanted to see a therapist, they sided with Brooke, who said I just had too much time on my hands.

We'd decided long ago that for our tenth anniversary, we'd go back to Jenny Lake, where Bennett had proposed. Then Brooke mentioned she wanted to surf in Maui. Another vote. Two to one, again.

Bennett finished booking the tickets before it even occurred to him to look at me.

"There were only three business-class seats left, so we grabbed them. Just book yourself an economy seat, okay?"

I nodded and bought a one-way ticket to Wyoming.

This time, I wasn't going with them.

"Thanksgiving's at Garrett's new place this year!"

My sister Paisley dropped a location pin in the family group chat, followed by a string of party emojis. My fiancé, Garrett, ran a real estate company, and the pin pointed to a model home they'd just finished building.

That evening, I grabbed a pumpkin pie fresh out of the oven and caught a rideshare to the address. When we got there, the driver let me out and drove off.

But there was no house in front of me. Just a ring of chain-link fence around an abandoned foundation overgrown with weeds.

On my phone, Paisley had her livestream camera shoved right in her grinning face. She'd built a following of a few hundred thousand off prank videos.

"Look, you guys, my sister fell for it again!"

The camera swung around. My parents were cracking up and pounding the table. Mom wiped tears from her eyes. "How is she this gullible? Where does she even get it from?"

I called Garrett. He was my last hope.

"Elise, your parents say you're on your own getting home." He sounded bored. "We've done this a million times. Don't be such a sore loser."

I'd lost count of how many times Paisley had pranked me growing up. And every single time, the whole family had been right there clapping.

The old me would've called back in tears, begging them to come get me.

This time, I set the pumpkin pie down on the concrete, turned around, and started walking away from home.

What they didn't know was that tonight, I wasn't going to be the one who lost.

I was the most in-demand wedding planner in Boston. I'd run more than three hundred weddings, and not one of them had ever been off by a single second.

The only wedding I couldn't pull off was my own.

My fiancé, Graham, and I had been together for seven years, and everyone knew he was a perfectionist.

Everyone called his executive assistant, Sloane, Miss Punctual. She was also my best friend.

In Graham's eyes, Sloane was the gold standard, and I never measured up.

At our engagement party, I showed up one song late, and the first dance went to him and Sloane.

On Thanksgiving, I walked in two minutes late, and Sloane was already sitting in the seat saved for me next to his parents.

For the charter flight to Aspen, I was thirty seconds too late to board. The door closed right in my face, and Sloane flew off with her head on his shoulder.

We'd tried to get married seventeen times. Every single time, he stopped it halfway through and had Sloane stand in for me to finish the run-through.

For the eighteenth, I had all four screens in the ballroom running a synced countdown, and I'd practiced at home with a stopwatch for over two hundred nights.

But two seconds before I was supposed to say my vows, Sloane beat me to it and blurted out "I do."

Graham didn't even look at the screens. He just turned to me and said, "You're late again. The wedding's off."

That was when I finally got it. My timing had never been the problem. The problem was that the wrong woman was standing across from him.

He took Sloane's hand. "Watch closely. We'll show you one more time."

I took out the two wedding rings and slid one onto his finger and the other onto hers.

"Don't bother. Here's to your happily ever after."