2343 Book(s) Related to married to an ugly husband no

I was the most revered pureblood Light heir.

In my past life, I married the Supreme Holy Knight, Arthur, only to give birth to an Ash-blood cub—the lowest of all.

In a rage, he incinerated my baby alive. He then dragged my bleeding, postpartum body into a saltwater dungeon to drain my magic, leaving me to be devoured by venomous insects.

Meanwhile, my lowly Ash-blood sister miraculously birthed a Light-blood cub. Stepping on my corpse, she became the realm's new ruler.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at our Mate-Selection Ceremony. Arthur publicly rejected me and chose my sister.

Seeing his smug, calculating smirk, I knew immediately: he had been reborn, too.

But how could a parasitic knight, who survived entirely by draining his wife's magic to fake a holy bloodline, ever father a supreme dragon?

I bled to death on a cold hospital bed, my unborn child gone, all because I took a shift for my coworker.
Heaven granted me a second chance. I opened my eyes, sitting safely at my office desk. Before I could shake off the nightmare, Vanessa clicked her heels toward me.
"Claire, can you cover for me at the investor party tonight? It’s my anniversary with my boyfriend."
In my past life, I agreed, only to be locked in a private room by monsters and tortured to death. This time, I looked her in the eye. "No."
Vanessa was stunned. Because of my refusal, she missed the crucial meeting and was mercilessly fired by the director.
I thought I had escaped hell and saved her life too. But when I got home to my loving husband, I realized the true nightmare had just begun...

I was rushing to perform an emergency surgery when a woman and her mother charged at me, slapping me to the ground. They accused me of being a corrupt, crooked doctor who prescribed fake drugs for kickbacks.
I begged for mercy, pleading that I needed to go perform surgery on my mother, but they beat me black and blue.
"A quack like you deserves to perform surgery?"
When my husband finally arrived, I thought he would stand up for me. To my absolute horror, he was already having an affair with that woman. He called me an embarrassment and sneered, "If your mother dies, it’s exactly what she deserves!"
I froze.
But, darling... the person dying on the operating table right now is your mother.

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.

Before they threw me into that dungeon, I never imagined my stepsister and fiancé were capable of betrayal.

Reality slapped me hard across the face.

Daniel and Lyanna fucked right in front of me just to rub it in. My grandfather died of a heart attack after I went missing. My uncle was framed and locked away. My fortune was stolen, and my body was doused in boiling fish glue. Every single one of these disasters came down to one thing: I trusted the wrong people.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back three years in the past—Christmas Eve. Standing before me was Milos, devastatingly handsome, radiating the kind of raw masculine energy that made it impossible to look away. I made my decision on the spot: I was going to hold on to this man for dear life and make it up to him for every wrong I'd done.

What followed was a revenge tour against Daniel and Lyanna—and along the way, I happened to crush a few worthless scumbags and pull a few powerful figures out of the fire.

The Godfather of the Italian Mafia: "Audrey is my chosen successor."

The Patriarch of a top-tier noble house: "Audrey is the future head of this family."

A reigning King, overruling every objection: "Audrey is the child of my one true love—and she is my heir."

Milos pinned me against the wall, one hand tight around my waist, his jaw clenched as he growled: "Wife. Tell me the truth. How many secret identities do you actually have?"

I panicked and kissed him to shut him up. "Not that many," I managed. "Just... a hundred or so."

The night before move-in, Vivian Owens’ housing collapses and her best friends betray her.

Her only lifeline? Crashing with her brother and his roommate —
Elias “Carter” Carter, the tattooed star point guard every girl wants.

One accidental aphrodisiac cookie night turns her into his willing little sub as he commands her

“Don’t stop, My Little Bubbles.”

But Carter’s gang past , a situationship with her own reconciled ex-best friend Kelly , draft pressure, and his own demons rip them apart again and again. Two pregnancies. Two brutal runaways. A jealous rival doctor who becomes a monster. Readers will scream at Carter, cry for him, and beg for more.

Some love don’t just break hearts — they start wars on and off the court.

WARNING …. WARNING…. This isn't your regular werewolf romance. This novel is a bloody werewolf romance with rated scenes that you could find disgusting at any time. In case you do not have the heart to read it, please you can quit it. But at the same time, I'll be glad if y'all could support my first story.

Blurb

When a banished Luna became a slave to the most dangerous Three Alpha brothers. Ashina thought everything that was happening to her was just a mere dream, but little did she know it was never a dream but her reality.

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It all started on the night before her birthday When she suddenly received the doctor's reports that she was pregnant. How? When? Not when her husband, Alpha Ethan is an impotent man who has an extremely low sperm count. Secondly, the arrival of her stepsister, who happens to be her husband's long-awaited mate. Everything happened just the night before her birthday.

Ashina thought she didn't have anything to worry about since her husband had chosen her as his wife and cherished her a lot. She thought it didn't matter that her stepsister was her husband's mate.

While expecting the man to reject her stepsister, Jessica just like he said he would, instead she was the one that got rejected and banished from the pack.

“I, Alpha Ethan, reject you as my wife and banish you from the pack, Ashina!” Those were the words playing in her head when she left the pack and finally crossed the border with her maid.

But little does she know that there's more awaiting her when she finds herself begging for her life in front of the three most ruthless alpha brothers.

I accidentally entered an S-rank horror dungeon, but thought it was some immersive dating show.

Facing the bloodthirsty Ghost King BOSS:

Others: Begging for mercy.

Me (blushing): Those pecs, that battle-damaged look—where did they find such a gorgeous contestant? I'm obsessed!

When he tried to strangle me, I touched his hand. "You're so cold, let me warm you up~"

Ghost King: ???

Facing the psycho doctor with a chainsaw:

Others: Screaming and running.

Me (swooning): Doctor, those beautiful fingers are meant for piano, not chainsaws. Be sweet and put that down!

Doctor: ...

Facing the flesh-eating demon:

Me: Raw meat isn't healthy! Here, have some chocolate instead!

Seven days later, the dungeon collapsed.

Me, waving goodbye through tears. "Even though it was acting, you became my family!"

"Maeve, your legs are shaking like that... can't hold them together much longer?"
Julian Kingsley pinned me against the wall with one hand, his gray-blue gaze sliding down shamelessly, sweeping over my rigid legs.
I bit down hard, forcing back that damned tremor between my thighs. "None of your fucking business. Back off."
Just as he pressed his body down, closing in, a cold mechanical voice exploded in my head:
[Welcome to the Truth Room.]
[Now, please complete a session of deep penetrative intercourse with a heart rate exceeding 120 for over two hours, or, upon refusal, surrender secrets.]
I stared at this sworn enemy I'd been fighting for seven years—who I'd accidentally fucked two months ago—and my breathing tightened instantly.
Because my biggest secret was this: I was carrying his kid.

The System told me to do good deeds during the apocalypse.

It also told me to change the world through love.

I've always been the cooperative type. So I raised my blade, brought it down, and carved through the scum of this world—one slash at a time.

The System lost its mind, shrieking inside my head at a deafening pitch:

"AHHH! Host! Why are you killing people?! This counts as evil! Points will be deducted!"

I flicked the blood off my blade and looked up at the ground littered with zombies I'd decapitated.

Then at the man who had just shoved a living person into a horde of zombies as feed—the same man I'd put my blade straight through the throat of.

My fingertip traced the character carved into the hilt: Love.

"What's the problem?"

I shot back. "I'm using my love to send them exactly where they belong. A physical deliverance counts as a good deed."

Five years ago, Leo, the overlord of the abyss who ruled the seven seas, went into hiding and worked as a cook in a dilapidated tavern to save his savior.
When his benefactor was captured by the empire and was about to be executed, the arrogant governor forced him to crawl between his legs in order to see him.
He did as instructed, but was then tricked.
That night, a bone conch shell resounded throughout the seven seas, thousands of ghost warships besieged the city, and the kings of the underworld knelt in unison.
The former "scale-scraping chef" broke through the palace gates, cut through his shackles with a single stroke, and embraced the beauty: "I'll take you home for grilled fish, it's on me."

When I woke up, I was locked at a round table, surrounded by four strangers.

A masked clown said: "Tonight there are only four gifts. The extra person... who could it be?"

The clown invited us to play a game.

The rules were simple—Liar's Poker.

Liars die. Those successfully challenged also die.

In the first round, the tattooed brute beside me lost and was dragged into the "Meat Grinder Ferris Wheel."

I heard the sound of his bones being crushed by gears.

The clown wiped blood from his hands, laughing: "Children who lie must be punished, you know~"

"Did you enjoy the game Penny prepared for you all?"

The moment he uttered "Penny's" name, everyone's faces broke out in cold sweat, because she had been dead for three years.

And everyone present... including me...

Remembered clearly.

My henchman, drunk, accidentally revealed he was a reincarnated individual, claiming that the apocalypse would arrive in nine days and he would kill me to seize all my wealth.
I laughed.
I'd been a pirate king for ten years; what storms hadn't I weathered?
I not only emptied his treasure chest that he considered his for the taking overnight, but also used his money to buy up all the survival supplies in the city.
When the apocalypse truly arrived, he could only kneel on the zombie-infested shore, watching helplessly as I sailed towards the absolutely safe island paradise.

My name is Ethan, and it wasn't until the apocalypse arrived that I realized just how cruel fate could be.

Ability awakening became the new normal. Most survivors gained some kind of supernatural power, ranging from F-rank to the legendary S-rank.

F-rank abilities were barely better than being ordinary, while S-rank ability users possessed the power to face a hundred enemies alone.

My childhood friend Davis awakened a B-rank ability [Thermal Perception], allowing him to sense the heat distribution of all living beings within a hundred-meter radius.

And me? I got the F-rank ability that everyone mocked—[Refresh].

"Hahaha! Refresh? What can that do? Refresh your life?" People at the camp always laughed at me like that.

But I didn't care. I only wanted to protect my sister Leia.

Leia is eighteen this year, one of the few ordinary people in this camp who haven't awakened an ability.

I swore to protect her, no matter the cost.

That evening at dusk, Davis came to find me, but he had already betrayed me and become a lackey of the Gray Mark Gang.

On our twentieth wedding anniversary, I caught my husband, Carter, cheating with our adopted daughter, Ava. My mother threw herself in front of me, and died under Carter's gun.
I had my anterior temporal lobe removed by Carter and lost my memory, then I was framed as the murderer who shot my mother and was wrongly imprisoned for four years.
I clung to his 'affection and loyalty' like it was salvation.
After I got out, I lived in hell-guilt for 'killing' my mother. I suffered severe depression and became addicted to self-harm, yet never realized it was all his design.
By the third year after my release, I overheard Carter and my therapist talking; I knew the truth:
he erased my memory and used drugs and hypnosis to trap me in pain.
It was only because he fell in love with our 16-year-old adopted daughter at the age of 40 that he would stop at nothing to cover up his crime.
Under hypnosis, I finally saw it clearly: the person who pulled the trigger that night was Ava.

Three months into their marriage, Stella Dawson had been diligently playing the role of a delicate, spoiled flower—pushing every button she could—until she finally drove the CEO to the brink of madness.
Alexander Sterling coldly tossed the divorce papers at her. "Let's get divorced."
Tears welled up in Stella's eyes, but inwardly, she was grinning from ear to ear. Good riddance to being the CEO's wife! I'm going back to being the richest woman alive!
Alexander was certain he’d never regret his decision.
That is, until he saw his ex-wife surrounded by admirers, amassing wealth, and dominating every industry she touched. Power players from all fields bowed before her, declaring, "Little sister, just say the word, and we’ll take down anyone who dares mess with you!"
Swallowing his pride, Alexander squeezed his way into the crowd of handsome men. "Sweetheart, I take it back. Let’s get back together."

In the year 2333, humanity has fallen and ruled by werewolves. Bellatrix Sinclair, an 18-year-old weapons prodigy that despises werewolves for destroying her family has been secretly planning to join the human rebellion.
However, she is forced into the Mate Selection Process and matched with Lazarus De Loughrey, the ruthless Werewolf King obsessed with claiming her.
He shouldn't want her and she should hate him but they cannot resist each other. It's a twisted connection, entirely physical because all I am is his slave.
My heart should belong to my best friend Emmett, a human. Atleast the guilt of betrayal wouldn't be eating away at my insides.


“Yes please.” She begs.
“Then fucking let me in.” I growled, this fury exploding with vengeance. I wanted to destroy her pussy.
It was maddening, it was sickening, it was barbaric.
But I never claimed to be saint.
“Here that baby, that’s the sound of your greedy pussy sucking on my cock. Give me more, drench me.”
“Lazarus.” She moans painfully, “Please let me come.”
I’m doused in gasoline and set alight, sweat coats my skin as I pound into her faster and harder. I’m definitely hurting her, “Wanna come?” I rasped, “Not until I say so.”
Pressing my lips onto hers, pushing my tongue into her mouth until I feel the sweetness of hers. The kiss is sloppy and filthy. She cries as I drive my cock into her, the intensity too much to handle, sweet tears sliding onto her cheeks.
“Fuck yes.” I smile sadistically, licking her tears. “Cry for me Ma Cherie.”
“Please, please let me come My King.” She pleads.
“Say it again.” Lightening shooting down my spine as she begged, “My King, please let me come. I’ll be good.”
I chuckled, “Try your luck to kill me Ma Cherie, I dare you.”

Warning: Contains strong language, smuts, abuse and some really explicit content, please read at your risk. "Let go of me…" Arabella said. She grimaced, shaking her head. "Do you think I would let you go so easily?" He questioned, then tutted. Sandro's nostrils flared as he sniffed her hair wrapped in his hands, Vanilla and Strawberry. The innocent yet naughty scent he remembered her with. "That would never happen, Cara Mia." Arabella gasped as Sandro pressed his body into hers. She moved to shove him away but he grasped her hands and pinned them above her head before pointing the gun at her temple. Arabella shut her eyes tightly as the gun cocked. She inhaled and bit her tongue whilst saying her last prayer inwardly. She wanted to run far away from him. Away from the surface of the earth if possible. But she was certain no matter how far she went, he was going to find her. ------------------------------------- Arabella's life took a u-turn after falling into her enemy's hand. She should feel nothing for him, however. He made her lose all her senses, even her clothes. At the mercy of her foe, she discovers some secrets about him and wishes to unravel more, but got what she didn't bargain for. Alessandro, an Alpha werewolf assuming the identity of a mafia Lord. He was the most wanted criminal in COOAN, and his name incites fear in all werewolves' packs. He was a man fighting his demons and needs a saviour before he drowns. After a traumatic childhood event that left him scarred, Blaze often kept to himself and trusted no one until he met Arabella, whom he believed was the perfect mate sent to him by the moon's goddess. However, she was taken. The powerful urge to save her from her...

"What is love!? Carmen did you just mention that!?" With his speaking of rage and burning in anger; he asked.

"Yes... I have always do— I love you" she mouthed with her words stressed.

"You can try and ignore me if you can... Only if you know how eager I am and how badly I want to tame you". With those promising words from her which left a dark creepy smile on her face; she walked out.

"Love did she just call it? Did she think I will fall for that shit? If only she knew how much love is a weakness to every man". He muttered to himself as he sat down worriedly.

As a mafia boss, he must not have compassion nor can he fall in love.

She is the only one who have that fits to talks bravely to him. Even with his powers, his strength have it's limitations as it went down when he is before her.

He's fearless,
Dangerous,
And kills without a sparing a second to think!
He kills to live and lives to kill!
The smell of blood is what he enjoy most!!!

The dangerous man never forgives anyone even if it is blood—"fuck blood relatives when it comes to the smell of blood!"

He's not just all about dangers but handsome! He's a demigod and every ladies hopes for just a nightstand with him.

A girl sold to him by ruthless father and stepmother changed everything...

*She's annoying
*She's irresistible
*She's hot
*She's the goddess of beauty

What follows when she do the undo—...

She's a spy sent to monitor him, find his weakness and win his heart, will she accomplish that? Won't she fall in love in the process? What if the devil finds out?

My wife was sleeping with her assistant.

I didn’t confront her. I was in the middle of a critical funding round and about to take over as CEO, and I couldn’t afford to act on emotion.

Then my PI told me the truth: the affair was only the beginning.

On her birthday night, she planned to drug me, send my secretary into my room, and frame me for cheating—maybe even saddle me with a fake child scandal.

If it worked, my CEO promotion would be dead, the funding would collapse, and my reputation would be finished.

She thought the setup was flawless.

Too bad she forgot one thing:

I’m not good at explaining myself. I’m good at letting people walk straight into the trap I built for them.

So that night, the man carried into the room wasn’t me.

It was her lover.

I’m a werewolf.

Three months ago, I got involved in a back-alley “not my problem”—a man held a knife to a woman clutching her child. I rushed him and tore his throat out with my teeth.

Now the police are hunting me. My pack can’t protect me. The only option left is to slip out of the country.

The fixer at the meet hands me a bottle of “calming meds,” says it’ll get me through the checkpoints.

I smell the drugs anyway. I drink it.

When I wake up, my hands are tied behind my back inside a sealed metal cargo truck. Someone beside me is crying. Someone else is shaking.

That’s when I realize I’ve been sold into a trafficking ring. They slap a number tag on me, lock me in a steel cage, and wait for dawn to ship us out.

A guard cracks my face with a rifle stock—sure I’m just another desperate man trying to disappear.

He has no idea a cage can’t hold a werewolf.

Especially not tonight—under a full moon.

I’m a retired Special Forces soldier. After I got out, I handled problems people didn’t want on paper, and I’ve seen enough dirty work to last a lifetime.

When I finally retired for real, I wanted a normal life.

So I came back to the orphanage where I grew up, planning to adopt a quiet seven-year-old boy I’d kept in touch with for years.

But the moment I arrived, I was told he’d already been “adopted.”

I called the family to make sure he was safe. On the line he said, “I’m fine.”
Then I heard it—fingernails tapping in a pattern: three short, three long, three short.

The distress signal I had taught him.

I stormed into the director’s office and forced the truth out: the adoption papers were fake. He wasn’t taken into a home. He was sold.

They think I’m just a returning orphanage worker.
They have no idea what I’ve done out there—and no idea I’m very good at cleaning up this kind of mess.

I endured in silence for five years, and everyone treated me like worthless trash. My wife sacrificed our daughter for vanity, my in-laws called me bottom-tier scum, and a senator wanted me dead to divide up my fortune. They thought I was just an ant they could trample at will. Until I produced the Supreme Commander's immunity medallion, until armed helicopters hovered above the courthouse, until I forcibly hijacked the national broadcast, they finally realized what kind of existence they had provoked. I am "Night Asura"—the one man in this world who should never be crossed.

At Nico's funeral, the screen of the phone in my hand suddenly lit up, and I accidentally answered a FaceTime call from the Dario Falcone of three years ago.
On the screen, he was still wearing that faded leather jacket, the scar above his brow left from protecting me.
He was still a penniless bodyguard, clutching my ultrasound report with barely contained excitement, his eyes shining:
"Vittoria, isn't our baby adorable?"
"Do you think it's a strong little boy or a beautiful little girl?"
"No matter who he takes after, I'll protect him with my life."
I knelt on the cold floor, staring silently at him.
The Dario from three years ago sensed that something was wrong. The smile slowly froze on his face.
The next second, the heavy church doors were kicked open.
The priest's prayer came to an abrupt stop.
The Dario of three years later, the terrifying Mafia Don, strode inside.
His tailored suit was immaculate, while the bodyguards behind him roughly knocked over the wreaths lining the aisle.
He stopped in front of me, his voice cold and utterly emotionless.
"Vittoria, you actually staged a fake funeral for your own son just to get revenge on Colette. You really are sick."
I didn't look up or acknowledge his fury. I simply stared at the bodyguard on the screen from three years ago, the one who looked utterly bewildered.
Then, numb, I turned the phone around and pointed it at the tiny white coffin in the center of the hall.
Looking at the screen, I answered the man's question from three years ago.
"A boy. He was adorable, and he had eyes just like yours."
"But he's already dead."

I was an orphan, and a rare heart condition ate away at me for twenty years. The night I died in that cold hospital room, a reaper in a black robe came for me.

He told me if I crossed into a world of werewolves, into the Moonheart Pack, and made Estelle's family genuinely love me — Estelle being the real daughter who'd died a horrible death there — and if I rewrote the ending where they all went mad and tore each other apart, I'd get my health back for good. A second life.

For twenty years in that body, I loved every single one of them with everything I had.

My husband Rhett was the youngest Alpha the pack had ever had. I mentioned once that I wanted Alaskan wild berries, and he drove a thousand miles overnight to get them. My mother Sylvia, the pack's head healer, made me tonics herself every single day. My father Everett and my brother Callum spoiled me so much the whole pack envied me for it.

I thought I'd actually rewritten my fate. I thought I was the happiest person alive.

Until that night.

I'm carrying a berry pie I baked myself toward the council hall when I hear my mother's voice, flat and cold.

"Estelle's heart is finally in perfect condition. Now's the best time to take it."

"Her heart buys Lila's life. She should be grateful for it." Rhett says it like it's nothing. "Once we take the heart, I'll dissolve the mate bond myself."

So this is it. All that kindness was just to grow a healthy heart for their adopted girl.

Three years. I've spent three years trying to love them, to thaw them out, to change things.

Then let it end here.

In their eyes, I’m a limping janitor who can’t even hold a cup of hot coffee steady.
The head of security can grind his polished boot on my fingers whenever he wants. The gorgeous CEO looks at me with pure disgust for a coward. Even the front desk girl can yell at me as she pleases.
I sprawl on the carpet like an old dog—stuttering, shrinking, obedient.
But they don’t know that if I wanted to, snapping their necks would take only 0.6 seconds.
Three years ago, I was the Seventh Fleet’s sharpest one-man operator. To uncover a cross-border money-laundering network worth tens of billions, I faked my death and lay low inside this filthy corporate empire, mopping floors for three years.
Until today—when that arrogant European mafia titan dropped to his knees in front of my dirty mop bucket, in full view of the entire company.
That’s when I knew.
Three years of disguise were finally about to be torn apart.

I'm the mafia heir's practice girlfriend.
He uses me to learn how to control his temper, how to kiss, how to make love.
All so he won't freak out his true love after they get married.
His guys worry: "Boss, you're not actually catching feelings for the maid's daughter, are you?"
Michael laughs coldly: "Would you fall for a sex toy?"
Everyone thinks I'm pathetic, but I keep smiling while I hand him knives and light his cigarettes.
Until news breaks that he's engaged.
His mom slaps down a hundred-million-dollar check: "Get away from Michael. Disappear forever."
I take the money like a good girl and vanish.
But that night, I hear Michael tried to kill himself and got rushed to the ER.

Five years ago, my fiancée and a chaebol heir broke my ribs and threw me into the sewer like trash.

Five years later, they implanted a neurotoxin bomb into the back of my sister's neck, forcing me on all fours to crawl between the security guards' legs into their engagement banquet at a Manhattan penthouse hotel.

My ex-fiancée poured champagne over my wounds, while the chaebol heir ground caviar into the muddy water with his leather shoes, forcing me to lick it clean like a dog.

The room full of Wall Street elites laughed at my humiliation, thinking I was still the same bottom-tier temp worker from back then.

They had no idea that through my micro-earpiece, a heavy armored division was already on standby under the cover of night.

When the confirmation came that the bomb had been defused, I slowly stood up straight.

Outside the window, engines roared. Ten heavy Black Hawk helicopters tore through the curtain of rain, their heavy machine guns instantly shattering the banquet hall's reinforced glass.

Looking down at the chaebol heir who was now slumped in the muddy water, I drew my sidearm: "The debt from five years ago—today, I'm collecting it with your family's lives."

After Martina Martinez and Benjamin Walker's breakup, paparazzi captured photos of the business tycoon entering the Walker family mansion with a mysterious woman late at night.

This caused a stir, and this wealthy family was bombarded by various media outlets.

During a phone interview, the gossip reporter asked, "Miss Martinez, how do you feel now that Mr. Walker has a new girlfriend?"

Martina held her painful forehead and looked towards Benjamin, who was adjusting his suit by the floor-to-ceiling window. He gestured for her to come over and help him with his tie.

Holding her phone, Martina responded, "It's... complicated!"

The reporter's heart leaped with joy and asked, "Is it heartbroken?!"

Martina was about to nod, but Benjamin raised his eyebrows and took her phone away.

His deep and alluring voice was heard on the other end of the line, "New girlfriend? Whose?"

Harper spent ten years as Joel's perfect girlfriend... until he dumped her to boost his brand. Now Joel's getting married, and Harper's crashing his wedding on the arm of Crew Lawson, the one player Joel hates most. It's supposed to be fake: three months of PR revenge. But Crew's hiding a dangerous addiction, Harper's hiding real feelings, and Joel's hiding the truth about why he really left. Some fake relationships burn too hot to stay pretending.

He grabbed my hair and dragged me downstairs. His grip on my hands and feet ached terribly. I sobbed and wept, silent tears streaming down my face. I was powerless to break free, my left hand clutching my broken right wrist.

He was a beast inhabiting this mansion, inflicting inhuman torture on my poor soul. He had created a living hell for me, this pitiful girl, within his castle.

On this cold winter night, he threw my wounded body into the icy pool, arrogantly enjoying it all, drinking and smoking expensive cigars. A satisfied, cold smile played on his lips as he reveled in my pain. His face was filled with the darkness of sin.

“How...more...am I…still…standing?” I stammered, my lips trembling.

Zain paused, thinking. Then, turning away from her, he replied:

“Until you die!”

With that, he left. As he wished. At that moment, my wish came true; I died.

But not in a frozen pool; I was struck in the head by a bullet from afar, blood splattering everywhere—that was far more gruesome.

My consciousness began to fade, but suddenly, I opened my eyes again and found myself mopping the floor in an ordinary restaurant.

I was startled: What happened? I was reborn? This is unbelievable!

At thirty-five, I finally die— only to wake up as Isabella Montague, the stunning heroine of a fantasy novel I wrote as a stupid teen.

My plan? A world-class retirement involving heavy naps and bottomless snacks.

But the 'perfect' men I created are ruining the plan.

The brooding Northern Duke won't stop watching me. The Golden Prince is convinced my disinterest is actually a challenge. My knight—and best friend—is ready to burn the world down if I so much as yawn. And a certain Elven noble who swore off humans keeps finding excuses to be near my tea.

They want my heart. I just want my pillow.

Too bad the world is cursed, the Queen wants me dead, and everyone keeps trying to put me on a throne I never asked for.

Can't a girl just chill?

"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...

Lydia's POV

"The patient in Bed 7 has been here three months now, right? Not a single family visit."

"Her husband just pays the bills and leaves. Doesn't even look at her. Poor thing."

I lay in the hospital bed, listening to two nurses whispering outside my door. My fingers rested weakly against the edge of the mattress.

Three months ago, I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer.

My husband, Sebastian Carter, came once. He stood in the doorway—didn't step inside—signed the papers with a blank expression, and never came back.

Sebastian was a writer. He locked himself in his study all day, leaving me to spend night after night alone in the living room. We lived under the same roof like strangers from different worlds.

I'd grown used to this hollow marriage. I didn't even bother calling him anymore.

Footsteps echoed outside.

I turned my head toward the door. Sebastian stood there in his familiar charcoal coat, his face expressionless.

"You came." I was surprised. I forced myself to sit up, my body weak and trembling.

Sebastian didn't answer. He walked straight to the bedside and set a document on the nightstand. "Sign it."

I picked it up. The words at the top read: 'Divorce Agreement.'

The apocalypse arrives, rain stops worldwide, outdoor temperatures soar to 60 degrees Celsius, and everyone fights and loses their humanity over a single drop of water.
But I gave away dozens of cases of bottled water that I had stockpiled at home to my neighbors downstairs for free.
People laughed at my overflowing compassion; my wicked ex even hoarded two tons of water, waiting to see me thirsty and begging her on my knees like a dog.
But what they didn't know was that I didn't need water at all.
Because I'm not human.

I was cursed, trapped in a "Trial of Sincerity"—I could only regain my freedom if she spoke the words "I love you" from the bottom of her heart.
For five years, I’ve taken bullets for her, gone to prison for her, and stood on the brink of death four times. She would only call me "my best friend" or say "I need you," but she never uttered those three words.
Four times, she abandoned me as I lay dying, rushing instead to the side of another man.
The fifth time, with a bullet in my abdomen and my insides exposed, I lay on the operating table. She finally wept, screaming "I love you"—once, twice... twelve times in total.
Too bad. After waking up from that fourth brush with death, I had already signed a Do-Not-Resuscitate (DNR) order.
This time, my heart has stopped beating. Not because of my wounds, but because I’ve made my choice: I won't let her save me.

"Enough, Serafina! The thing rigged to the parasail is just a mannequin. It's not your mother! Cut the damn act!"

I watched helplessly as my severely ill mother plummeted from hundreds of feet in the air, smashing into the bone-chilling ocean.

My husband was holding my stepsister, a doting smile playing on his lips.

My own biological son clapped his hands in glee—because he was the one who had blindly pushed the release button.

They all said I was faking it. They said I was vicious, toxic, and jealous.

It wasn't until I erased every last trace of my existence and vanished entirely from their lives that they dug through the wreckage of our past like madmen, desperate to find me.

When my family went bankrupt, my fiancé teamed up with my best friend and sold me to an underground club to pay off their debts.
To secure an investment, that scumbag handed me over to the most powerful kingmaker on Wall Street.
But the moment the call connected, I froze.
The big shot my cheating ex was groveling to was actually my first love—the man I dumped five years ago because he was poor.
Looking at the smug jerk who still had no idea who he was dealing with, I let out a cold laugh.
A deadly revenge game had just begun.

Nine months pregnant and about to give birth, my husband Zane locked me in the wine cellar.
All because his widowed business partner, Elena, was also giving birth today.
"You almost made Elena go into labor early. You need to think about what you've done."
Agonizing contractions wracked my body. I dropped to my knees, begging him, "Zane, please─the baby is coming now! He will die!"
He just shoved me down the cold stone steps, his eyes icy cold.
"Stop lying! Your due date isn't today. You'll do anything for attention, won't you?"
"Tonight, only Elena's safety matters. You'll stay here until you admit you were wrong!"
The heavy wooden door slammed shut, snuffing out the last bit of hope I had left.
Hours later, Zane was cradling Elena's newborn son, calling the maid.
"Elena had a boy. I couldn't be happier. Let my wife out—I'm willing to forgive her little tantrum today."
But on the other end of the phone, the maid was sobbing.
"Sir... your wife and the baby... they're already gone."

"Let Aria have the Stanford recommendation. Quinn owes her."
I stared at the family group chat—the one I wasn't in—and let out a cold laugh.
In my past life, I went completely hysterical over this, only to earn my family's disgust and a miserable death.
Now, reborn and given a second chance, I looked at the room full of guests celebrating My success, and walked straight to the microphone.
"Everyone, the party is over. I'm turning down the Stanford spot."
Under my family's stunned gazes, I dumped my champagne into the trash bin.
This rotten family? I'm done with them.

“Please!” - I beg, practically throwing myself at your feet. – “You can't treat me like this, not after knowing I'm pregnant.”

He leans into my space, so close that I can smell the spicy notes of his cologne. Then a dark smile comes across his lips.

“And you want me to believe that you, a poor little rich girl, were innocent." He pauses dramatically and smiles as if I had told a very funny joke. “You didn't look like a virgin when I fucked you.”

It was my fault, my fault for believing him, for falling in love with my enemy, for really believing that he would ever love me. Now I was pregnant and alone.

“I hate you!” I say it with all the strength I have in me.

His jaw tightened and he looked like he wanted to break my neck, just like the first time. But now something shone in his eyes, something different. He was uncertain of the accusations he had made, and worst of all. He knew that I was serious. He knew that I would never go back.

Three years ago, billionaire Theodore Chambers handed Victoria Ellis divorce papers with cold eyes and colder words—all for the sake of his first love, Isabella Waters.
Victoria didn't cry. She didn't beg.
She simply signed her name, walked out of that golden cage, and disappeared from the world of the rich.
What the world didn't expect…
Was for the discarded ex-wife to rise from the ashes—not as a socialite, but as the world's most sought-after reconstructive mortician. Behind every high-profile crime scene and closed casket, she was the one restoring dignity to the dead—and building a name powerful enough to shake law enforcement and the elite alike.
Now, at a funeral of all places, their paths cross again.
She stands beside another man, radiant, untouchable.
He watches in disbelief—his ex-wife, no longer his.
"You handle corpses every day. Aren't you afraid of bad luck?" he growls, grabbing her wrist.
She smiles coldly.
"In my heart, the grass over your grave has already grown two meters tall."
But fate has one final card to play.
When Victoria finds Theodore lying in a pool of blood, clutching an old photo of her, everything unravels.
Was it too late after all?
Or is love just another body she's not willing to reconstruct?

Last time, she chased the “true love” a corporate spy sold her—publicly branded me controlling, stole my core tech, and helped him shove me off a rooftop.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back before it all began.

This time I didn’t expose her, didn’t confront her, and didn’t beg her to stay. I set the trap—watched her come close again, test my limits, and steal the “core technology”…

Until the stolen code blew up the rival company, until she was unmasked in front of the cameras and taken away in handcuffs.

Through tears, she demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner he was a corporate spy?”

I answered only, “I did. Last life.”

My name is Damian Lemaître.

In my past life, I was Serafina Camarilla's lapdog for ten years, being drained of my life, used, and squeezed dry of my last bit of value.

I opened my eyes and found myself back at the scene of the blood pact ceremony. She sat on the high seat, waiting for me to kneel down and swear the oath with the same excitement as in my previous life.

"Damian Flamel, are you willing?"

"No."

Intro: I'm an S-Class superhuman, but I was locked in a basement for five full years, subjected to inhuman abuse and torment. All they wanted was to drain my blood and energy dry. I once believed that if I could just endure it all, I would see my family again. Until my wife Valen's voice came through the intercom and revealed that it was all a lie. I will turn my fury into strength and tear it all apart with my own hands.

Before the apocalypse hit, my ex-girlfriend called me, laughing like a maniac: "Jack, you pathetic loser—still playing that stupid farming game? Gonna whack zombies with a hoe? Open the door right now, get on your knees, and beg us, and maybe we'll throw you some table scraps."
I listened to the faint scrape of a tactical knife being drawn on the other end of the line, and silently glanced at my computer screen—at the maxed-out Greenfield Manor game, with its gold cap glowing at [999,999,999] .
"You misheard." I dropped my voice, lacing it with just the right amount of embarrassment. "I was checking the weather forecast."
The other end erupted in unrestrained laughter: "Then forecast this—how you're gonna die today!"
I hung up without changing my expression, flipped open the system, and spent a million on the [Absolute Defense Shield] —then brought out a steaming plate of roasted meat.
Forecast?
I forecast that tonight, you'll be gnawed down to bare bones by zombies.

I was never supposed to exist in the Blood Moon Pack, low-born, no surname, no family to shield me.
Yet the Alpha chose me and called me “his one and only mate for this lifetime”.
He said he loved me.
So I endured. I stepped back. I forgave him again and again.
Until the day I was pushed down the stairs, dragged into the punishment grounds, strapped to an electric restraint bed, and heard them calmly discussing how far they should go this time; what kind of punishment would finally make the “real family” feel at ease?
That was when I understood in their world, I wasn’t a mate. I wasn’t family. I wasn’t even seen as a person. I was just a bargaining chip, but something disposable, something meant to be sacrificed when convenient.
So I learned to stay quiet, to remember everything, and to wait.
They thought I died in that fire.
But when I stepped back into the moonlight, I was no longer an Omega.

My mate—Alpha Jasper—knelt on one knee, proposing to me at my birthday party when Sienna Burrows suddenly appeared.
She was his fated mate once. His first love.
Dressed in the exact same backless red gown I was wearing, she stood there like a queen, regal and untouchable.
She let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Hah. Alpha Jasper, no matter how perfect a copy may be, it will never be me."
Alpha Jasper didn’t even spare her a glance. Instead, he turned to me, gently taking my left hand in his. His voice was deep, filled with emotion.
"Cynthia, will you marry me?"