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

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

I hid in a storage room at the mall.

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

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

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

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

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

I froze.

Nora Blake... That was me.

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

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

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

But each time, I lost the baby.

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

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

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

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

It happened again anyway.

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

That's when I found out the truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For fifty years, I bathed in blood for my world, only to return home to find my wife dead and my daughter about to be sacrificed.
The High Priest stepped on my daughter’s head, branding me a traitor, and declared he would burn her to ashes. Scarred, broken, and with my magic depleted, I was bound to the pyre alongside her. Tens of thousands cursed us from below as the flames engulfed the stage.
Weeping, my daughter asked me, "Daddy, are you really a hero?"
I crushed the pendant on my chest.
Dragons, Dwarves, Berserkers—the million-strong allied army I had united over those fifty years descended across dimensions.
The High Priest slumped to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. "Who... who exactly are you?"
Staring into his eyes, I said only one thing:
"Dragons have reverse scales; touch them, and you die. You crossed the line!"

My daughter is fighting for her life in the ICU. The mother of the boy who put her there just offered me two million dollars and an NDA.
To prove she’s untouchable, she flaunted an ultra-exclusive black card.
But she made one fatal mistake.
I recognize that card. I designed it. Because she is my husband’s mistress—and she’s using my money to cover up my daughter’s tragedy.
She wanted to buy my silence. Now, I’m buying her son’s life.

For eight years of our hidden marriage, Caelen never publicly acknowledged my existence, nor our daughter Harper's.
On our daughter's eighth birthday, he threw a spectacular, city-wide welcome banquet for his childhood sweetheart, Seraphina, and her son, Leo.
Watching the glaringly perfect picture they painted as a "family of three," I suggested to my daughter that it was time to leave.
Harper, her eyes red, tugged at my shirt hem and pleaded, "Mommy, can we give Daddy three more days? Just three. If he still doesn't love me by then, we'll go."
Caelen had no idea that those three days were his final countdown as a father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I froze at the podium.

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

I felt a bone-chilling frost.

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

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

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

But the man who deeply loves me is slipping away.

It culminated on the night of the hunter ambush.

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

In the moment he left, I finally let go.

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

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

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

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

When my mafia husband moved his brother's widow and son into our home, I didn't shed a tear or throw a fit. Instead, I quietly packed our bags.

"It's hard for Alessia to raise a boy alone," I told him, not meeting his eyes. "My daughter and I will move out so you can take better care of them."

Later, on my daughter's birthday, my husband gifted her a vintage model car. The widow's son threw a massive tantrum for it.

Without a fuss, my little girl calmly handed it over.

"Papa said since you don't have a father anymore, he is your father now," she said softly. "I'm older. You can have it."

My husband was deeply pleased with our generosity. Yet, over time, he realized something was wrong.

I no longer looked at him with love. His daughter no longer reached for his hand.

He didn't know the truth. In my past life, his twisted devotion to that mother and son had literally killed us.

He threw us out into a blizzard, hoarding all the family's medical supplies and rations for them. He left us to freeze and starve to death in the snow.

Reborn, we won't fight them for him anymore.

Because we will never need Dante Moretti again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The blood in my veins instantly ran cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turns out the boss knows sign language.

Thank God! Perfect!

Then he gets everything completely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

Me: ...

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

My mom runs a laundromat, and that afternoon she had to step out for something urgent.
Before leaving, she made sure to remind me: don't forget to finish the load in machine number seven.
I found the old clunker tucked away in the back room and bent down to reach inside the drum, trying to straighten out the tangled clothes.
That's when my upper body suddenly wedged itself in tight—I couldn't pull back out no matter how hard I tried.
I was stuck there, ass in the air, frozen in the most humiliating position imaginable.
And that's when Matthew Bennett walked in—the college professor who always comes by to pick up his dry cleaning.
To my shock, he mistook me for a sex doll. His hot, thick dick pressed against my thighs...

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

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

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

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

I flew downstairs and pounded on the door.

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

A pregnant woman appeared behind him.

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

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

My world shattered.

My mate died throwing himself between me and a band of rogues.
He left me a twelve-million-dollar debt and a son who wasn't even one yet.
For him, I turned away every wolf who came knocking. I never went looking for a second chance mate. I worked until my body gave out, paying off a dead man's debts one dollar at a time.
Then, on the anniversary of his death, I walked into the wrong hotel suite.
My dead mate was alive. And he was in bed with my stepsister.
They were laughing about the stupid little Omega still crying over his grave, and about the son I'd carried, who was never mine at all.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
I eased the door shut, walked into my meeting, and started planning their real funeral.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room went quiet. Ethan's expression hardened.

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

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

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

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

His eyes were bloodshot. He answered through clenched teeth.

“Just you.”

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

My best friend Lily was brutally assaulted and tragically took her own life.
But I fiercely protected the monster who did it.
Lily’s mom knelt down and begged me, but I just closed the door coldly.
When the villagers came with torches to smash my home, I didn't hesitate to unleash my dog to drive them away.
"Ivy, you cold-blooded monster! We treated you like family, and you protected the beast who drove Lily to her death for a whole decade!"
"Today, I’m going to show the whole world who this man is—the one you’d rather be cursed by everyone than expose!"
But when my deepest memories were violently torn open and the culprit's face appeared clearly on the giant holographic screen...
The high and mighty Emma instantly drained of all color and collapsed to the floor.

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

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

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

After Nicholas got engaged, his assistant handed me a plane ticket.

"Leave. Don’t ever show your face in Silverlight City again."

"Otherwise, Mr. Jackson has more than enough ways to ruin you."

All those years I spent by his side, I was admired by everyone, living in the spotlight.

Yet when I finally left, I was reduced to a pitiful, laughable sight.

I said, "Fine."

But that very night, the flight plunged from over thirty thousand feet in the air.

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

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

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

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

He was too busy celebrating his mistress's birthday.

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

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

I'd had enough.

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

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

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

I watched him crumble.

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

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

It was always mine.

I was carrying his baby when he threw me into the sea. My husband locked me in an iron cage and dropped me to the ocean floor, convinced I’d killed the woman he truly loved. I held up my pregnancy test with shaking hands. I begged him to look. He walked away. I died alone in the dark, my arms wrapped around our child. Then she came back. Alive. Perfect. Crying in his arms. And I could only watch, a ghost he couldn’t see, as he swore to marry her and leave me to rot. He thinks I’m still trapped down there, hating him. He’s about to find out what he really did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what did he say?

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

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

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

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

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

No one… except me.

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

But he didn’t even spare us a glance.

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

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

Seventeen-year-old Sable Thorne has spent her whole life running from a town she doesn't remember. When her mother, Morwen, drags her back to decaying Echo Ridge three days before her eighteenth birthday, Sable assumes it's just another one of her mother's inexplicable decisions.

Then she finds the diary.

Hidden beneath the floorboards of her childhood bedroom, a leather-bound journal belonging to Larkin Crowe — a girl who vanished thirteen years ago — contains a warning written directly to Sable: "Don't let her come back. Sable — run."

As Sable investigates, the town closes ranks. Her mother gaslights her. The sheriff dismisses her. A therapist diagnoses her with psychosis. Only two people believe her: Orion Kael, a cynical local whose brother vanished six years ago, and Corbin Ash, the reclusive groundskeeper who knows more about Larkin's fate than he admits — because Larkin was his daughter.

What Sable uncovers is a pact older than the town itself: every seventeen years, Echo Ridge offers a girl to something buried beneath the well — a root that feeds on blood and keeps the town alive. Morwen was meant to be the sacrifice thirteen years ago. She traded Larkin instead. And the debt was never cleared.
Now the root wants what it was originally promised: Sable Thorne.
With three days until her birthday — and the deadline — Sable must decide whether to run, surrender, or shatter the anchor that binds the town to its curse. But breaking the pact comes with a price. And some doors, once opened, can never be closed.

Isabella believes that her boyfriend can change is way again and be the man she fell in love with. But when she get kidnapped because of him, and he is to busy with another lady instead of saving her. She understands she is better off without him. She gets saved by her boyfriend cousin who has loved Isabella for years. Just stayed in the shadows. Will Alexander help her heal from the broken heart his ignorant cousin leaves her with, and then win her heart?

Eilidh MacLeod thought she had escaped. Seven years after walking away from a cold marriage and a ruthless man, she has built a life of quiet stability with her son, Finlay.
But ghosts don’t stay buried forever. When Ruaridh MacKinnon—her powerful ex-husband—suddenly steps back into her world, her worst nightmare comes true. As the new owner of her company, he is now in control of her professional fate. And if he looks too closely, he may uncover the one secret she swore to protect.

I was the undefeated queen of the underground octagon—a body held together by broken bones and spilled blood, all to build Dorian's fighting empire from the ground up.
But when he'd made it to the top in his tailored suits and polished shoes, suddenly my scars made me too crude, too ugly to stand beside him.
He ordered me to throw my title defense—told me to take a dive for some rich girl whose daddy bought her a spot in the cage. And when that woman shattered both my legs with an illegal knee strike, he just stood there and watched.
I clawed my way out of that wreckage—barely breathing. Left him a blood-stained divorce decree and vanished.
While he mourned over what he thought were my ashes, I was already training alongside the legendary king of the octagon, rebuilding myself from the ground up.
Now I'm back—stronger than ever.
This time, I'm going to break that princess's pretty face and crush his pathetic ego underfoot.

My mate, Rhys, brought his dead brother's pregnant widow into our house.
He swore up and down I'd never have to lift a finger for her.
The next morning he stood by the door with a packed bag and a grin.
"Babe. Big news. The pack called me up. Border post out east, two years. I ship out tonight."
He looked at me like he was waiting for me to promise I'd take good care of his brother's widow.
So I pulled my own bag out of the closet, right there in front of him and the woman in the back room.
"Funny. The alliance called me up too. Medic rotation. Two years."
"We can leave together. Lock up on the way out. Colette can rest easy with the whole house to herself."

At the celebration party, everyone was egging them on.
To kiss ass with the so-called "investor's daughter," James, started playing some flirty card game with Vivian right in front of me, feeding her chips and making out.
I stood in the corner holding his jacket like some pathetic coat-check girl.
When I confronted him, James looked pissed. "Sophie, it's just an act! Vivian's got the company by the balls—don't be so damn difficult!"
I laughed.
He had no idea that the "Vivian" he was desperately sucking up to was nothing but a fraud riding someone else's coattails.
And the real person holding his fate, the one who'd greenlit his precious S-tier project? That was me—the wife he called "completely useless."
The day after our divorce, I pulled the plug on all of James's funding.
He went ballistic trying to meet with the mysterious investor. When the doors opened, I was sitting at the head of the table. Right in front of him, I fed that S-tier project proposal into the shredder:
"James, this deal? I'm out."

My younger sister, Freya, was preparing for her advanced training in New York the following week, so she dragged me to the dance studio to help her correct her movements. I put on my dance shoes as usual and stood in the center of the floor, ready to demonstrate a turn.

The moment my foot slipped, I didn't even have time to react.

My body hit the ground hard, and the sharp pain from the back of my head nearly made me lose consciousness. I lay on the cold floor, my throat tight, unable to even cry out for help.

When Mother rushed in, she didn't spare me a glance.

She immediately helped Freya up and took her to the hospital. I missed the critical window for treatment and died on the way to the hospital.

“Eight hundred million. Pay up, and your son lives.”
The Rogue’s voice on the other end of the line was cold as steel.
“Or are you really going to let your own blood die over a little money?”
Stella’s reply was chillingly calm.
“Do whatever you want.”
She turned, pressing down on her father’s trembling hand before his pen could touch the page—
the deed of their ancestral lands, the very foundation the Moon Howl Pack had guarded for generations.
Her father’s face went pale with shock.
“Stella! You love Dean more than anything… That boy is his only heir. How could you be so cruel?”
She gave a bitter smile, but not a word, before walking away with finality.
Blood-stained memories from her past life surged through her mind—
She had once loved Dean blindly.
The moment she heard their son was kidnapped, she never questioned it.
She emptied the pack’s vault, forced her father to mortgage their territory… and in the chaos, her mother’s illness returned and took her life.

When they crossed paths again after years apart, everyone thought it was fate—of course they'd get back together.
But Charisse Walton only offered a wry smile.
"Not happening. I dumped him, remember? He's probably just here to settle the score."
What she didn't know... was how many times Elliot Grant had silently protected her from the shadows.
Meanwhile, Elliot scoffed, hands buried in his pockets.
"Please. She never even liked me."
What he didn't realize... was that years ago, Charisse had risked everything—even her life—for him.
Two hearts.
Two stories full of silence, sacrifice, and everything left unsaid.
And now, after all this time, the truth is about to break through.

After losing the baby, I finally gave Silas the one thing he had always craved: a trouble-free marriage.

No more interrogations when he stayed out all night. No more hysterical fits over the presence of his first love.

Even when I was discharged from the hospital, and the nurse asked for my husband's signature, I simply replied with chilling calm, "I don't have a husband."

My love for Silas died right alongside our unborn child.

By the time he finally realized the truth and begged me to come back, it would be far too late.

After three years of marriage, my wife finally gave birth to a son.
I was beside myself with elation, convinced I’d finally secured an heir to carry on my family line.
Yet she’d let her so-called "male best friend" name our son: Gu Nianzhe.
Nianzhe. The name literally translates to "yearning for Zhe". Yearning for Lu Zhe?
I stared at the tiny face that bore an unmistakable seventy percent resemblance to Lu Zhe, and my heart was torn to shreds.
At our son’s one-month full moon banquet, my wife looked at Lu Zhe with eyes brimming with lovestruck adoration, and said: "You’re the most important person in my son’s life and mine."
The entire hall erupted into applause for this "heartwarming" pair.
I stepped up onto the stage, a cold smile playing on my lips, and pulled out a paternity test report.
"Don’t get swept up in the tears just yet. Today, I, the world’s biggest sucker who’s been played for a fool this whole time, have a little entertainment lined up to liven up this party for you all."

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

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

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

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

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