3159 Book(s) Related to my second leap on ice

For the sake of my marriage, I turned down a promotion and became the perfect wife and mother.
When my six-year-old son was rushed to the ER with an asthma attack in the dead of night, I sat vigil until dawn.
What I didn't expect was to hear my husband, just outside the emergency room doors, bragging to a friend about his mistress — and sneering that I was "bland and boring."
What hurt worse: my own son had been bought off by the other woman, and was now faking illness with practiced ease to cover for his father's affair.
My husband's scheming, my son's betrayal — seven years of devotion, ground into the dirt.
In that moment, something inside me died for good.
If this family is a filthy, lie-riddled con, then I'm taking back every ounce of love and sacrifice I ever poured into it. And I'm not looking back.

I died on the second Sunday of May.
Mother’s Day.
My biological mother, the top neurologist in the United States, was standing in front of my corpse.
She looked at the bedsores all over my body, at the ribs that had been stomped broken, and explained coldly to hundreds of cameras:
“Trash from the bottom of society, covered in needle marks like this, doesn’t deserve to dirty my dissection table.”
She didn’t know that the “social garbage” she called a pill-seeking self-harmer was the son she had abandoned ten years ago.
When the cold scalpel cut open my chest, an old photograph stained with black blood slipped out.
The moment she saw it, the woman who had stood above everyone else—
went completely insane…

On Thanksgiving, I take an emergency mansion cleaning gig to cover my rent. The second I step into the master bedroom, I freeze. Hanging on the wall is a huge wedding photo. The groom is my husband — but the bride beside him is not me.
Liam has built an entire secret family. Worse still, my own parents and brother happily join his fake perfect life. Even my beloved young son has grown attached to another woman. When my husband finally confronts me and reveals another devastating truth, I leave with a broken heart.
Years later, when my ex-husband and all those traitors come crawling to beg for mercy, I will never soften for them again.

My boyfriend Jams was poor, but he insisted on spoiling his Golden Retriever.
The dog ate premium raw meat; we ate expired discount bento boxes.
The dog slept in a custom climate-controlled kennel; we squeezed into a leaky trailer.
James always said, "Max is our baby, we can't let him suffer."
To make ends meet, I took a second job waitressing at an exclusive country club.
Only to see James sitting there in a bespoke suit, a stunning woman leaning on his shoulder.
Olivia Sterling. New York old money, James's childhood family friend, and the woman rumored to be his arranged fiancé.
A $10,000 bottle of Burgundy sat on the table as he casually fed A5 Wagyu to Max.
"Honestly, James," Olivia giggled, twirling her diamond necklace. "The dog gets better treatment than your dates."
"Don't be jealous," he smirked, handing her a black Amex. "Buy whatever makes you happy."
Looking at my faded uniform and my dish-water-ruined hands, the cruel joke finally clicked.
He wasn't poor. He was just testing me.
In his eyes, his pet deserved royalty, while I deserved to scrub floors.
So, I dropped my serving tray and walked away forever.

Here is the English translation, tailored to match the gritty, dramatic, and satisfying tone typical of apocalyptic revenge web novels:

In my previous life, I was drained to the bone by the so-called "Doomsday Evolution System," forced to watch as my best friend and fiancée stepped over my corpse to scavenge my supplies.

When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed to exactly three days before the apocalypse. When that faint blue, glowing "cheat" materialized once more, I decisively took a step back, watching my enemies fanatically claim it for themselves. They thought they had grasped the key to ruling the doomsday. Little did they know, they had just swallowed a parasite that would devour its host.

Then, the extreme cold descended, and toxic spores blotted out the sky.

Using my knowledge of the future, I struck a deal with a female black-market boss, packing an underground bunker with tons of supplies and heavy firepower. Sipping hot coffee in front of the control room monitors, I sat back and enjoyed the show. I watched my enemies be systematically stripped of their sanity, sacrifice their companions, and ultimately degenerate into mindless, mutated lumps of flesh driven only by base instincts.

In this man-eating apocalypse, I refuse to touch any bizarre parasitic "gifts." Thick alloy doors and an endless supply of ammunition—that is the only true law of survival in the wasteland.

For half a box of rations, my former comrade put a bullet in my back. As I gasped my last, the world reset—three days before the apocalypse. I didn't go after him for revenge. I floored the accelerator, racing toward the Texas borderlands where my grandfather—a Vietnam veteran—had spent forty years hoarding "junk" that everyone mocked. When the heat turned the earth into a furnace and Drake’s war-party smashed into the fence, they were met with a wall of diesel fire. My grandfather had spent three years digging a secret tunnel that bypassed the perimeter, and half a ton of fertilizer sent their entire encampment into the sky. They laughed at his junk pile. I laughed at their graves.

I built my husband Evan's Hollywood acting empire alongside him, and we kept our marriage hidden from the public. I once believed our bond was unbreakable. Until I checked his car's navigation history.
For an entire year, every Wednesday night, my movie-star husband lied about working overnight film shoots. When I followed the GPS route to its destination, I found the apartment of his rival actress, Leah.
Then I found more lies. It was only after I vanished completely that Evan realized what he had lost. But by then, I was no longer the woman he left behind.
Some secrets exposed by GPS can never be erased. Some women can never be found again.

I got dragged online by one of my lead devs.

He claimed my "Incubation Project" was a gilded cage—a trap to exploit the team and steal their personal IPs.

The truth?

I funded it out of my own pocket.

Selected candidates would get a $50,000 no-strings-attached seed fund, plus full Ivy League tuition reimbursement. It was 100% voluntary, with zero penalties for opting out.

Since the internet decided I was a toxic capitalist monopolizing their creativity, I gave him exactly what he wanted. I fired off a company-wide memo:

[To protect your creative freedom from capitalist exploitation, the $50,000 Incubation Fund is permanently abolished, effective immediately.]

[As an alternative, the monthly education allowance for all employees is now a $15 reimbursement for basic coding courses.]

The moment the memo dropped, the employees who were counting on that $50k to pay off student loans or change their lives completely lost it.

Now, they're swarming right outside my glass office door, eyes red, begging me to reinstate the program.

For two years my mother told the whole town that my sister Zoe was in a hospital in Switzerland.
She shut the heat off in my room with a wrench, because Zoe's ward is kept at sixty-five degrees. My dinner was always cold, because Zoe can't keep solid food down. I never got a birthday cake, because Zoe hasn't had one since she was seventeen.
The day I won the state 1600, she pulled the medal off my neck in the parking lot and didn't say one word the whole drive home. Then she walked me down to the basement, dropped it on the floor, and ground it under her heel until the ribbon came apart. She took a picture of it lying there. I'll send this to your sister. So she knows her little sister is keeping her company.
She came back down that night with a pair of garden shears. I fought her. She got a fistful of my hair, put my head over her knee, and cut it all off, because chemo took Zoe's.
Then I found something down there my mother never meant me to see.
My sister isn't where she said. And she isn't sick.

Every herb in Moonspring, I had coaxed to life myself, drop by drop, with a healer's touch.
But to my mate, Rourke, the place was just a backyard for his best friend Boone to use and wreck however he pleased.
I had put up with it for a long time.
I put up with it until Boone, planning his own mating ceremony, trampled half a year of my work into the mud right in front of me. I put up with it until Rourke forced me to my knees through our mate mark, just so his friends wouldn't see him lose face.
In three days, Boone would hold the grandest mating ceremony the pack had ever seen, right here in Moonspring.
And I looked at the land transfer I had just agreed to, and said a single word.

My beast companions are in the middle of my medicinal soak when a soft, dramatic little "ow" drifts in from outside.

Vex, my wolfkin companion, drops my leg. Brom, the bearkin, jerks his hand and a fortune's worth of elixir spills into the water.

They crash through the floor-to-ceiling window and bolt outside without a single glance back — all for some ordinary girl.

I'm still staring at the broken glass when a stream of glowing blue text pops up out of nowhere.

[The main character Ivy literally fake-tripped in the garden and these two idiots jumped out a window for her!]
[Honestly, the original side character Lillia had it so rough. Backstabbed by her own companions, dies a miserable death, and they end up in Ivy's entourage…]
[And she never even figures out what's happening. Just suffers through the whole thing without a clue.]

I read through all of it, and one thought slowly rises: seriously?

If my companions won't behave, just get new ones. Simple.

I go straight to my mom, and before I've even finished talking, she's already pulling me toward the door.

"Any beast that turns on its master isn't worth keeping. Come on, baby — let's go pick you out some new ones. Mom's paying, so make it the most expensive ones they've got."

A madman attacked the concert hall. I threw myself over my son, taking every blow meant for him. My spine shattered in three places.

My husband Arthur subdued the attacker and rushed us to the hospital—the picture of a devoted, loving spouse.

It was only after hearing his conversation with the doctor that I finally saw his true colors.

My crippling injury was merely collateral damage. My son Ethan? Nothing but a living cornea donor for Mia—the cherished daughter he had with his first love.

He treated my child like spare parts, never knowing Mia isn't even his blood.

After my mother remarried, my stepbrother Logan bullied me nonstop every day. I lived in constant agony, isolated and helpless, forced to endure all the abuse alone.
When I was close to giving up, Logan’s best friend Noah reached out to me. He was sweet and caring, bringing me much-needed warmth. I latched onto him blindly, believing he was my only savior and my last ray of hope.
Yet his kindness was all a lie, a cruel trap planned by him and Logan. He gained my trust just to betray and hurt me. My last hope crumbled completely. Broken and devastated by their deception, I cut off all ties and left this painful place for good.

My fiancé, Nathan, always said that decisions shouldn't be based on closeness, but on urgency.
At a car crash scene, he rushed my best friend, Roxanne, to the hospital first because her cuts looked deeper. When my mother was dying of cancer, he gave her hard-won experimental medication to Roxanne’s mother instead, claiming her condition was more critical.
Time after time, I convinced myself he was just being fair. He was just being rational.
On Roxanne’s twenty-ninth birthday, she cried that her secret boyfriend had stood her up. I stayed behind to drink with her. Knowing Nathan was on his way to pick me up, I hid behind the sofa, planning to jump out and surprise him.
But when he pushed the door open and didn’t see me, he didn't look for me. He walked straight to Roxanne, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her fiercely.

Ever since the day I was born, my parents blamed me for every stroke of bad luck that befell our family, calling me a cursed child.
In my past life, when I became pregnant, a child’s whisper began ringing inside my head, and time after time, I chose to trust it.
The first time, I listened to its warning and blocked my parents’ phone numbers. That decision led to them dying in a horrific car crash while trying to reach me.
The second time, seduced by its words, I rushed to a hotel to catch my husband cheating, only to crash a crucial meeting and ruin his multi-million-dollar deal, leaving an unbridgeable fracture in our marriage.
The third time, that gentle voice persuaded me to sign the divorce papers, walk away penniless, and foolishly wait for my husband to come back to me.
In the end, I landed in prison, gave birth in a cold cell, and met a miserable death.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my pregnancy checkup.

My mother gave me her kidney. The price was my husband.
As the orderlies wheeled me toward surgery, Mom gripped my hand and begged through her tears: “Promise me you'll divorce Ansel. Your sister needs him.”
My husband had already signed the papers. “Give me one year,” he said. “Once Tam's back on her feet, we'll get remarried.”
I survived the operation. I signed away my marriage. Then I vanished to London without a word.
Four years later, I walk into my old tailor's shop in Chicago and run straight into the happy family: my ex, my parents, and my very pregnant little sister. They're sure I've come crawling back. They're sure I'm still bitter, still alone, still desperate for the man they handed to her.
So when I tell them I'm married now, they laugh. When I tell them my husband and daughter just landed at O'Hare, they call me a liar.
And when they decide to lock me away “for my own good,” they're about to find out exactly whose family they just declared war on.

"I was bonded with an alien system that issued nothing but 'benevolence' missions.
Supply food to violent thugs, shelter the mutants, embrace the Zombie King, and share our planetary defense technology with the entire world.
It claimed that as long as we were merciful, the civilization could survive.
I nodded, then promptly tweaked the task annotations.
I laced the food with neuro-suppressants, turned the shelter into a bio-sample bank, and activated kinetic overload when I 'embraced' the monster king.
Sharing the tech? Sure—though every defensive line I shared came with a backdoor that I could trigger remotely.
When the system eventually tried to purge me, Professor Sarah retaliated by locking it inside the national supercomputer.
I rewrote its underlying code, replacing 'mercy' with 'absolute order.'
Earth remains a post-apocalyptic wasteland, but the global satellite network is entirely in my hands.
The system’s most crushing defeat wasn't being destroyed; it was staying alive, only to become my tool."

For six years, I wore Pack silver. I sold my blood. I scrubbed silver out of Pack den floors. I slept on a basement floor — all to pay off my mate's Pack debt and buy my brother's wolfsbane antidote.
Today, with the receipt finally signed, my brother looked at me and said:
"Seren, I was never poisoned. Our parents aren't dead either. The Rogue raid six years ago — I arranged it. The only wolf hurt that night was you."
My mate stepped up behind him: "I never lost my Pack rank either. I've been at the estate the whole time."
Then my parents — the ones I'd buried seven years ago — walked through the door.
The Pack physician had given me forty-eight hours left to live.
They were going to remember every single one.

I was drugged with an aphrodisiac by my competitors, and Pierce Pei dumped me in his older brother's room.
Pretending to be delirious from the drug's effects, I seduced his older brother all night long.
The moment I opened my eyes the next morning, I blushed and complained to Pierce, "You were way too rough last night. I can barely get out of bed."
"But you were so amazing last night. I really, really liked it."
Pierce froze. He threw away every gift I had ever given him.
Later, after all his black cards were canceled, he stormed furiously into his brother's office.
There, he saw the cold and aloof eldest son of the Pei family kneeling on one knee, putting shoes on my feet.

I've been to four weddings. I never made it through a single one.
Not because I didn't love enough. Not because they weren't good enough. It was because every time — right at the moment I was supposed to say I do — my parents would appear on cue, fall apart on cue, and burn everything to the ground on cue.
For years I thought they hated me. Thought they'd given all their love to my dead sister, Claudia, and had nothing left. Then my brother-in-law said something that cracked me open: Any one of those three men — if you'd married him, you wouldn't be alive today.
So which is it? Were they protecting me, or destroying me?

Ten years ago, my parents worked for the Bellamys. He was their driver. She ran the house.

Then came the crash. I watched them shove Nash Bellamy out of the wreck, and it killed them both.

That's where the claustrophobia came from.

He knew. He knew all of it.

Then at homecoming, I showed up in a dress that matched Camilla's. She was the girl he'd always wanted. So he shoved me into the abandoned supply closet backstage.

The lock turned. On the other side of the door, he and Camilla were laughing like it was nothing.

"I'm pretty sure she's claustrophobic."

"Two hours in there. She'll learn."

I clawed at my own hands until they bled, couldn't get any air, and ended up wetting myself in a closet a dog wouldn't sleep in.

When the door finally opened, he pinched his nose and laughed and said I was disgusting.

I pushed myself up the wall, inch by inch, and looked at the face I'd been looking at for ten years. And I didn't want to cry anymore. Not even a little.

"Nash. I'm done chasing you."

Thirty thousand feet in the air, inside the sealed cabin of a commercial airliner, my five-year-old daughter vanished into thin air while I took a thirty-minute nap.
I tore through the lavatories, the galleys, and every overhead bin. The only thing I found was her stuffed bunny, the one she never let out of her sight.
What was even more terrifying was the crew and the passengers. As if perfectly rehearsed, they all insisted I had boarded the plane alone. They even gaslit me in front of everyone, claiming I was mentally unstable and had hallucinated a daughter.
They took turns pushing me, trying to force me into self-doubt and submission. Not a single person offered to help me look. The entire plane was covering up a sinister crime.
If this plane was going to hide my child and protect the guilty, then I would tear this hypocritical aircraft apart with my bare hands.

The biggest regret of my life was letting my son intern at our family company.

Jonah had barely started his internship when another intern named Presley Shaw accused him of sexual assault. Of course, the security cameras on that floor just happened to be down for maintenance that day.

I panicked. I listened to my husband, Curtis, and privately paid Presley two million dollars to keep quiet. I thought money could buy us peace.

Instead, she posted the transfer records and a recording of our conversation online, accusing us of paying her to make the accusation disappear.

The backlash was overwhelming. My son, who wouldn’t hurt a fly and spent most of his time painting alone in his studio, was doxxed. Obscenities were spray-painted across our front door. The police took him away, and while he was being held in jail awaiting trial, the pressure kept mounting until he saw no way out.

In the end, he slit his wrists, believing it was the only way left to prove his innocence.

The company collapsed into bankruptcy. In the chaos, Curtis drained our accounts and ran off with Presley.

Only then did I understand. From the beginning, they had set the whole thing up to destroy my son and me.

On the anniversary of Jonah’s death, I jumped from the roof of our company building.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Jonah was supposed to begin his internship.

This time, I would never let my son go anywhere near that hell again.

Four years ago, Giovanni dumped me in front of everyone at an upscale restaurant. Two weeks later, he was engaged to Rosanna. I made a fool of myself begging on his doorstep, became the laughingstock of Ferro City.
Four years later, he runs into me at Casa Valentino, assumes I'm destitute, and offers me a job as a cleaner for him.
What he doesn't know is that the plainly dressed woman standing before him is the wife of Don Alessandro Valentino—the man the entire underworld bows to.

After being lost for ten years, I was finally brought home by my biological parents.
They stood in the cramped basement and asked me, "The family went bankrupt a month ago. You won't hold it against us for being poor, will you?"
Overcome with emotion, I hugged them tightly and shook my head fervently.
Later, my father was diagnosed with uremia and needed a large sum of money for surgery. To earn money, I worked three jobs a day, eventually collapsing from exhaustion and being diagnosed with a brain tumor. With no time for treatment, I rushed to deliver food orders.
Unexpectedly, I ran into my father—who should have been in the hospital undergoing dialysis—having booked an entire shopping mall to celebrate the adopted daughter's birthday. My mother, wearing an gorgeous gown I'd never seen before, smiled as she embraced the girl.
"Lily, our precious, Mommy and Daddy will give you everything you want."
My brother, who they said had died in an accident while searching for me, was dotingly putting a diamond necklace on the girl.
It turned out the family hadn't gone bankrupt at all—I just wasn't worthy.

My best friend Tiffany was obsessed with those novels where a mafia don spoils his woman rotten.

She was convinced she was the type of girl who could make a ruthless boss go soft, so she went after Vincent, the heir of a crime family, and got him.

His bodyguards, his dirty money, even the way he told her not to ask questions and just sit tight. She read all of it as devotion. And of course she had to drag me into it too, always with the same excuse: it was for my own good.

Last time around, her mess got me killed. Vincent's enemies mistook me for one of his people, and I died in a shootout that had nothing to do with me.

The second the blade opened my throat, all I could think about was her holding up a bloody knife, grinning, showing it off to me like a trophy.

"Margot, look. He gave me this. It means we're official now."

I remember feeling disgusted. I never thought that same knife would end up slitting my throat.

Blood pooled across the street while she hid in Vincent's arms, screaming, hands over her eyes. Later I heard her crying to someone, saying it wasn't her fault, that I just had bad luck.

I died inside her little romance fantasy. A nobody side character, wiped off the page without a second thought.

Then I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back to the afternoon it all started.

My chosen mate used his Beta authority to give the entire moonbloom compound to his fated mate's daughter.
The healer had said to split it—half for each child. Both would live. He overrode her. Gave the full dose to Rosalie Blackwell.
He wanted a full recovery. Just not for ours.
Three days later, my daughter Wren's organs shut down. She died on her birthday, still asking why Daddy wasn't there. The dress I'd made her—white with little silver wolves along the hem—she never got to put it on.
That same day, his fated's daughter walked out of the healing hall completely cured. He even threw a feast for the whole pack.
I collapsed at the border of Thornecrest territory. The healers told me it was cancer. Late-stage. Nothing left to treat.
Now I sat alone in our empty house with Wren's unworn birthday dress across my lap and drafted the dissolution papers.

The day my all-powerful wife personally handed me over to the mob's basement, she was shielding my identical twin brother, furiously accusing me of destroying his ability to carry on the family line.
To compensate for my brother's "trauma," my parents stood by and did nothing. Using her influence, my wife pressured me to take his place at a black-market clinic, testing a lethal drug.
They thought I was just going to suffer some physical hardship, that after enduring these two weeks, everything would be happily resolved.
But they didn't know I had already been poisoned by my brother. I was dying.
I died in agony on the cold operating table. As my body was being gnawed and rotted by rats, they were happily vacationing by the sea.
Only when the lies were exposed did my wife kick down the hidden door. Holding my maggot-infested, decaying flesh, she wept until she vomited blood, then went mad and swallowed a bullet. My parents watched their family shattered and wept on their knees.

I had spent ten years rescuing girls sacrificed to the river god.
Then, on the morning of my wedding, my parents drugged me, tied stones to my feet, and placed me on the offering raft.
My brother needed a bride, they said. Her life mattered more than mine.
But the eighteen women I had saved were waiting beneath the water.
This time, they saved me.
And together, we decided to give the county exactly what it claimed to worship:
a river god who demanded sons.

I would often find myself staring into my son Leon's eyes, lost in thought.
One, a deep azure blue, was inherited from his father. The other, however, was amber.
I couldn't understand it. While Leon's lineage is indeed mixed, his other eye should have been silver—the mark of my bloodline, the symbol of the royal werewolf lineage.
Yet it wasn't. This question had haunted me for five years.
Then, by chance, I came across an ancient book in my husband Carlisle's study. It detailed the hereditary rules of eye color for the royal werewolf line:
Regardless of which race they intermarry with, the direct descendants of the royal werewolves will always inherit at least one distinctive eye.
This meant that a son I bore would definitely have silver pupils.
My hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I shared my fear—that we might have brought home the wrong child—with Carlisle.
He flew into a rage, snatched the book from my hands, and threw it into the fireplace.
"Selene, are you doubting my fidelity? Or suspecting that our son isn't your own? If Leon knew you doubted him, his heart would be shattered."
Carlisle stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Watching his retreating figure, my heart grew cold, piece by piece.
His reaction confirmed my worst fear, the one I desperately wanted to deny.
With the full moon just seven days away, I decided to abandon the plan of taking Leon back to the royal werewolf clan.

Terminal. One month, maybe less.
I folded the report and put it in my bag. The doctor asked if there was family I could call. I told him there wasn't.
My husband rang while I was crouched against the hospital wall, waiting for the pain to pass. I could hear waves behind his voice. He didn't ask what the doctor said. He wanted to know why his money hadn't come through yet. His first love needed it for her art show.
So I sent him all of it. My savings, and the last of what my mother left me. Ten years, settled in one transfer.
Then my legs went, and a pair of freezing hands caught me before I hit the ground.
The pain stopped the second he touched me.
"Your kind calls us reapers. Give me your soul, and I'll keep the pain off you until the end."
Weston took one look at him and decided I'd hired an actor to make him jealous.
He thinks I'm trying to win him back.

After Three Thousand Years in Seclusion, My Sect Was Broke

I came out of seclusion expecting incense, bells, and a courtyard full of kneeling disciples.

Instead, dust fell into my hair, weeds covered the mountain road, and the great hall of the Azure Cloud Sect had collapsed so badly that a crooked tree had taken root on its roof.

Then a young woman in a patched blue robe pointed a sword at me and shouted, "Who are you? This is Azure Cloud territory. Are you here to steal herbs?"

I looked at the broken gate behind her.

Then I looked at the blade trembling in her hand.

After three thousand years, my sect had one disciple left.

And somehow, she was the sect master.

At four, they shattered both my legs. At six, they ruptured my left eardrum. At seven, they took my right eye—said I'd earn more sympathy begging blind.
After twelve years in hell, my billionaire parents finally found me.
The girl who stole my life grabbed my wrist, nails digging into my skin. "Dare take what's mine, and I'll break whatever's left of your legs."
I smiled, unclipping both prosthetics to show empty pant legs. "I don't have legs left."
She was terrified.

I once believed that my inability to bear children was my original sin.
So I endured my Alpha husband Ethan’s excessive favoritism toward our“old friend,” Lyra,
and swallowed the growing hatred of our adopted son, Lucas.

Until our eighth marking anniversary, when I obtained irrefutable proof—
Confirmed: Lyra is the biological mother of Lucas.

That very night, Lyra sent me a “family portrait” of the three of them.

Letter by letter, I typed my reply:
May the Moon Goddess bless you.

Ethan kicked the door open in fury.
Lucas called me a “bad mom.”

In that moment, my heart died—and with it came a strange calm.

I took out the long-sealed mate bond termination agreement and placed it on the table.

“I’ve already signed the last page,” I said evenly. “If you have any questions, my lawyer will contact you.”

My stepmother married my father because she mistakenly believed he was an Alpha, and that was the beginning of my tragedy.
In my past life, I was falsely accused by my stepmother, betrayed by my mate, and abandoned by my father, who refused to believe me and sold me to an elderly Omega. In the end, I died with injustice in my heart.
But heaven has granted me a second chance. I have returned to the very day my stepmother framed me for her miscarriage.
This time, I won’t let them have their way.
I have gathered my entire pack to make meatballs together, waiting to put on a spectacular show—exposing the scandal of my stepmother, Odessa, and my mate, Beta Peregrine.

My Alpha was the one who started the fire—he lit it with his own hands, ready to burn his own children alive, just so his little mistress Beta Sasha could become Luna without a hitch.

I ran into the flames, carrying two unconscious pups on my back, and jumped from the fifth floor. My palms were scorched, skin torn, flesh charred.

I thought saving his “future heirs” with my own life might earn me a word of gratitude.

But when I woke up, the tribe’s medic looked at me coldly and said, “The Alpha is with Beta Sasha. She was... frightened.”

That was the moment I finally understood—I wasn’t his fated mate, not their mother, not even part of the pack.

I was just a vessel on their path to power. A body—if it didn’t burn, it could still be used.

My marriage to Lucas was nothing but a cold-blooded mafia alliance. There was never any love between us.
His heart had always belonged to my best friend, Chloe. From the beginning to the end, I was never in his eyes.
And me? All I ever wanted was a sweet, honest love story of my own.
With his silent permission, I went looking for love online. But on the day I met my so-called online boyfriend for the first time, I was shoved into a lake and rescued by Chloe’s fiancé, Damon.
No one could have predicted that a man rumored to have no interest in women at all would react to me and me alone.
From that moment on, he caged me at his side and forced me to become his secret lover.
But this was never the kind of love I wanted. I still kept searching for something sweet, real, and truly mine.

In the fifth year of my mating to Alpha Manfred,his childhood sweetheart, Jessica Bell, was splashed across every tabloid in the territory.
Pregnant. Unmated. And accused of shattering another couple’s bond.
The rumors hit like a rogue’s ambush. But it was his reaction that truly gutted me.
“Jessica’s father once saved me, She has no pack, no family left. Everything she’s accomplished… she clawed her way to it. Alone.”
My fingers clenched tighter around the pregnancy test tucked away in my purse.
“And the only way to protect her now,” he continued, not even looking me in the eye, “is for me to marry her. To claim the pup as mine.”
A muscle twitched in my jaw. Goddess, my wolf let out a low growl inside me, begging to lunge forward and leave claw marks down his perfectly tragic face.
“And what about me?” I asked, barely more than a whisper. My voice cracked.
The Silver Claw Pack and the Eclipse Pack—my pack—had been allies for over a century.

After twenty years of knowing and loving my destined mate, Alpha Martin, we were finally about to get married.
On the eve of the wedding, He skillfully picked out the lipstick shade I wanted from my makeup bag.
That's when I knew: Alpha Martin had someone else.
That girl was wearing the custom evening gown I'd prepared for the wedding banquet, clinking glasses with Alpha Martin in a mate's toast.
Our friends surrounded her, respectfully calling her "Luna."
I didn't cause a scene. Instead, I called the hospital.
"Dr. Fabian, please dispose of the eggs I had frozen."
Then I sent a message to that girl.
"Yvonne Jimenez, would you like to marry Martin Daniels in my place?"

To save my grandmother from the agony of silver poisoning, I signed a mate contract with Frost Pack’s Alpha Charles—trading eight years as Luna in exchange for her medical treatment.
But what was claimed to be a bond of “mutual help” was a carefully crafted lie from the start.
Charles used her life-sustaining potion to force my silence while he betrayed me over and over, parading one female wolf after another through our home.
He stood by as Thalia drove straight into my heavily pregnant body and said coldly, “You're just a surrogate anyway.”
I lay in a pool of blood, watching him walk away with her in his arms, while our Alpha pup suffocated inside me.
And then… my grandmother died too.
When the ashes of that contract scattered before her grave, and my wolf soul Chloe let out a howl that tore through my chest, I finally removed the moonphase pendant that marked me as Luna.
“Charles,” I said, voice steady with fury, “what you owe me is more than eight years of my life.”

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

I was once the supreme ruler of the global underworld, stepping down from my throne just to cook hot meals for my daughter. Yet, my arrogant brother-in-law mistook my silence for weakness. He smashed my home, tried to hand my wife over to a Mafia Don for his own career, and even stole my Black-Gold Skull Coin as a tribute!
Fine. You want to play? I'll grant your wish.
With a single keystroke, I initiated the DEFCON-1 combat protocol. Instantly, one hundred thousand of the world’s most elite mercenaries went berserk, locking down the entirety of New York City!

"I thought you loved me?" Tears stream down her cheeks as she barges into her supposed alpha boyfriend, having sex with another woman right on the bed. Seeing their naked body, she feels like a dagger is thrust into her heart.

"How dare you barge into my room like that? Are you out of your mind?" Alpha Ren roars at her without shame as he stands on his feet, naked. His eyes burns in rage.

"What gave you the right..." A hot slap lands across his cheek before he can finish his statement, but turns out that it was the biggest mistake she'd ever commit in her life. She shouldn't have tried that, but now she did. Will the alpha forgive her for this crime she has committed? Will she be able to take the pain of seeing the man she has been with for three years, just cheated on her?

"You're nothing but a replacement."

My husband said it with his eyes every time he looked through me to see her face. His mistress said it with that slow, satisfied smile. My own brother—the one I would have died for—proved it the night I saw him looking at her like she hung the moon.

I married a man who never once saw me.

I worked myself hollow for a family that used me like a tool and called it marriage. I gave up my career, my research, my dignity. I even gave up the right to be sick—because I have stage-four cancer and I haven't told a single soul.

I'm dying. And nobody knows.

But here's what they didn't count on: I'm not gone yet.

Before I go, I'm taking everything back.

Some women burn quietly until there's nothing left.

I'm done burning quietly.

Rebirth. Revenge. Romance.
In her past life, Delia was blind to love. Betrayed by her cousin and ex, she discarded her "crippled" husband Curtis-only to die disfigured and alone.
Now she's back.
This time, she tears up the divorce papers and clings to Curtis's side-only to discover he's not weak at all. In fact, when he rises from his wheelchair, the world bows.
"You're mine-body and soul," he growls, his voice like velvet and steel.
She's the one seducing him now-until he's addicted, crazed, and can't live without her.
She'll crush her enemies, reclaim everything they stole, and love the man who once gave her the world.
This time, she'll give him back everything-and more.

On the night of her wedding, Evelyn Knight paid the ultimate price for trusting the wrong man—her husband murdered her with his own hands.
But fate grants her a second chance.
Reborn on the very day she's meant to marry Nathaniel Andrews, Evelyn wastes no time. This time, she won't be the victim. She escapes the altar and makes a bold move—straight into the arms of her husband's sworn rival.
"Mr. Everett, will you marry me?"
"This a surrender?"
"No," she smirks. "This is a tactical retreat followed by a counterattack."
What begins as a calculated alliance quickly spirals into something far more dangerous—obsession, protection, desire. Julian Everett never expected to fall for the woman who barged into his life like a storm. But now that he has her, he won't let her go.
This time, Evelyn isn't just rewriting her fate—She's taking her revenge one kiss at a time.

"You're pathetic." Sophia's manicured nails dug into my shoulder. "A wolfless freak who thinks she can fight back?"

The storage room door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

My inhaler was in my locker. My lungs seized. Darkness crept in.

"Help..." I wheezed. "Please..."

But they were already walking away, laughing.

Lynette, the most feared Alpha in the Canadian territories who ruled through blood and ice, dies in an ambush—only to wake up as Elara Grey, a seventeen-year-old wolfless Omega who just suffocated to death from bullying.

The original Elara's life was pure torment. Humiliated by golden boy Blythe Harrison and his girlfriend Sophia Reign, then left to die gasping in a locked room. But that's not the worst part her family faces:

"Your adorable little family," the scarred mercenary held up their photo. "The black market's offering a million for you, Lynette. But them? They're just a bonus. I'll make sure they suffer as well."

Now Lynette's lethal instincts awaken in this fragile, asthmatic body.

She'll protect this family and destroy everyone who dared to hurt them—one brutal lesson at a time.

Katia was the pack's shadow. Overlooked, neglected, and crushed beneath her elder sister's prophecy-blessed glory. Wrongfully accused of pushing her sister off a cliff, she became the pack's most hated sinner.
Tormented by her cruel father and bullied by her own brother, she endured endless beatings and humiliation. She decided to flee from the hellish territory, desperate to grasp a slim chance of freedom.
Her escape ended in failure. She was dragged back cruelly, demoted to an omega, disowned by her family, and trapped in endless suffering. To make matters worse, she was bound to Alpha Xandar. He rejected her as his fated mate, and the agony of rejection caused her to lose her wolf.
Trapped in endless darkness and brutal oppression, she fell into complete despair, waiting to be sent to the Mad King's brutal fighting pits to end her miserable life.
Yet fate wove an irreversible cruel destiny for her.
When the terrifying bloodthirsty Mad King Cahir arrived to attend the grand ceremony, the man who was once her sister's fiancé instantly sensed Katia as his fated mate.
Cold-blooded, domineering and possessive, King Cahir branded his mark on her neck in everyone, binding the broken omega to his side.
Between the ex-mate who abused her relentlessly and the tyrant king who loves her madly, Katia is stuck in a dangerous emotional vortex.
Old grievances, pack conflicts, border disputes and the hidden truth behind her sister's fall gradually surface.
Power once lost begins to revive quietly inside her, and hidden secrets buried by the whole pack are about to see the light of day.
Rejected. Wronged. Abused. Favored by a tyrant king.
Can Katia break away from the fate arranged by others and avenge her grievances?
Most importantly, can she walk out of the shadow of pain, stand firmly beside the Mad King, and rewrite the destiny belonging only to herself?

To help her husband build his business empire, Veyra worked two jobs, skipped meals, and sacrificed everything she had. When her mother desperately needed life-saving treatment, she couldn't even scrape together the money.
Then, on a New Year's Eve flight, fate seated her beside her husband's mistress. That's when she discovered the cruel truth.
Her husband had secretly amassed millions long ago. The wedding ring that belonged to Veyra now glittered on another woman's finger. The $500,000 that could have saved her mother's life had been spent instead on luxury gifts and pocket money for his lover.
She lost her baby. She lost her mother. And finally, she lost every illusion about the man she'd loved for years.
After leaving the airport, Veyra walked into a bar, kissed the most dangerous-looking stranger she could find, and spent one reckless night in his arms. By sunrise, she disappeared without leaving so much as her name. She thought it was nothing more than a farewell to her broken past.
She was wrong.
The stranger was Dorian—the most powerful, mysterious billionaire in the business world.
Meanwhile, her cheating husband finally realized what he had thrown away. He begged on his knees, signed a postnuptial agreement worth billions, and swore he would give up everything if she would come back.
But just as Veyra began plotting to reclaim everything that had been stolen from her, a mysterious car accident brought Dorian back into her life.
Only then did she learn the truth. He wasn't a stranger at all. He was her ex-husband's older stepbrother.
Now two powerful men are fighting for the same woman—one consumed by regret, the other determined to make her his.
Sorry, cheating ex... I choose your brother.