Culp

Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part. The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys. Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero. Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold. I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth. But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me." Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again. Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.

I was seven months pregnant, happily planning a perfect future with my fiancé, Evan. But my adopted sister, Seraphina, smilingly revealed that the baby in my belly was a bastard. She confessed she had drugged me five years ago, letting a random Alpha violate me, while Evan watched and helped her cover it up. When confronted, Evan didn't even deny it. Instead, he rushed to comfort Seraphina when she faked an injury, coldly blaming me for making a scene. He ended our relationship right there, choosing her. Heartbroken and dazed, I wandered into the street, got hit by a speeding car, and lost my innocent baby. For the next five years, Seraphina stole my life. She became a famous movie star and Evan's fiancée, using her status to ruin my acting career and humiliate me at every turn. I lost my child, my love, and my future all because of their sick jealousy. Why did they get to live perfectly while I suffered in the dirt? I swore I would never let them break me again. Fate took a sudden turn when I accidentally saved a sick, silent little boy during one of Seraphina's cruel pranks. His father turned out to be Barron Valerius, the ruthless billionaire Alpha King of the underworld. Instead of offering me a cash reward, the most powerful man in the city stared at me with intense, predatory eyes. "Marry me. It is the only form of repayment I will accept." With the Alpha King suddenly claiming me as his son's anchor, I finally had the power to make Evan and Seraphina pay.

My adoptive father forced me to sign a marriage agreement with a comatose billionaire just to keep my grandmother's life support running. The Sinclair family looked down on my humble background, shoving me into a dusty closet while my new husband, Hadley, lay in an opulent medical shrine. I thought I was just a cheap pawn in a wealthy family's superstitious bid to wake their phantom heir. But then my underground contact sent me a message. The Sinclairs were the ones who stole my antique locket—the only clue to my true identity—just to cut off my funds and force me into this trap. Worse, while bathing my "vegetative" husband, I noticed a subtle blue tint on his nail beds and a dangerously slow pulse. He wasn't just in a coma from a car crash. Someone in this sprawling mansion was actively, slowly poisoning him with a neurotoxin. Why did they steal my past to drag me here, only to murder the man I was supposed to save? What dark secret was this powerful family hiding? I didn't know the answers yet, but I was done being their helpless victim. I calmly ground up a homemade antidote from the kitchen herbs. "I'm going to wake you up," I whispered, slipping the paste into his mouth. Little did I know, the comatose man I was trying to save was fully conscious, coldly analyzing my every move. But it didn't matter. I would cure this billionaire, take control of his fortune, and burn everyone who had wronged me to the ground, piece by piece.

I was Z, the world's most lethal hacker. But after I died, I woke up gasping for air in a massive, freezing bathtub. Memories that didn't belong to me slammed into my brain. I was trapped in the body of Zero Vance, a notorious "trashy young master" of a wealthy family, who was actually a girl hiding in plain sight. The original owner of this body was a pathetic, lovesick stalker obsessed with an esports god named Maverick Thorne. She wore ridiculous rainbow hair and cheap makeup, sending him thousands of desperate, unread texts every single day. When he completely ignored her, she became the ultimate laughingstock. Bullies at her elite academy spray-painted "freak" on her locker, shoved her around, and her own family looked at her with exhausted disappointment. Unable to take the endless humiliation and his cold rejection, she swallowed a bottle of pills and slipped into the icy water. Looking at the ruined, tear-stained reflection in the mirror, physiological disgust washed over me. Why would anyone throw their life away for an arrogant, frozen block of ice? I grabbed the grooming scissors and sheared off the neon hair until only a sharp, silver-blonde crop remained. I deleted his contact, blocked his number, and put on a perfectly tailored black suit. When the school's head cheerleader pointed a finger at my nose, warning me to stay away from Maverick, I snapped it backward. "I have zero interest in Maverick Thorne." I am alive. And as the new Zero, I am going to take everything back.

Adela stood outside the private room, holding the obsidian necklace she had spent three months hand-crafting for her boyfriend. But through the cracked door, she heard Juston laughing with his friends, calling her a stupid, obedient pawn and her art "garbage." After she shattered the necklace and walked out into the freezing rain, Juston texted her a far more horrifying truth. Her own family didn't just hate her-they had actively tried to kill her. Two years ago, her brother Kayden intentionally slipped deadly shellfish into her food at a gala, sending her into anaphylactic shock. Worse, her parents had covered up the attempted murder as a simple kitchen mistake, all to protect the family name and elevate her adopted sister, Kara. Adela collapsed on the wet pavement, suffocating under the weight of the ultimate betrayal. She had spent her entire life begging for their love, secretly working as the anonymous designer keeping their failing company afloat, only to realize she was nothing but a disposable tool. She had absolutely no one, and nowhere to go. Just as the storm threatened to swallow her whole, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Harmon Holland, the ruthless Wall Street billionaire she was originally arranged to marry, stepped out into the rain. He didn't offer her pity. Instead, he handed her a legal document. "Marry me, Adela. For one year." She took the pen. This time, she wouldn't be an obedient pawn; she would be their executioner.

A car crash erased my husband Apollo's memory. I brought his favorite vintage watch to the club, praying it would remind him of our love. Instead, standing outside the VIP room, I heard him coldly tell his friends that I was just a greedy gold digger. He accused me of slipping drugs into drinks at a party, completely unaware that he was fiercely protecting Brynlee, the woman who actually set me up. He froze every bank account in my name to force me to my knees. When I confronted them and threatened to call the police, he shielded Brynlee. He even grabbed me by the throat, choking me until I slipped and fell backward into a freezing outdoor pool. As blood poured from a deep gash on my forehead, he just looked down at my thrashing body. "Disgusting," he spat, his eyes filled with murderous hatred. The man who used to treat me like his entire world was dead. He didn't just forget our marriage; he forgot my humanity, torturing me to protect a calculated liar. That single word killed the last pathetic shred of hope I had been clinging to. So, when he finally discovered the truth at the hospital and desperately tried to stop the divorce, I didn't shed a single tear. I just handed him the divorce papers claiming zero assets. "I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow at nine."

On our third anniversary, I went to the Pack Registry to submit a design portfolio, hoping to surprise my husband. The clerk looked at me with pity and whispered, "Honey, the system won't let me. Your Mate Bond was severed three years ago." I stared at the screen in horror. Not only had Alpha Bennet quietly rejected me, but he had also registered a "Companion Contract" with Gianna—my former best friend who had maimed my right hand in an "accident." I tracked them to the Sacred Lake. Hidden behind a tree, I heard Bennet laugh. "I love that she's helpless," he told Gianna, pushing her on the swing he built for me. "I love that she can't Shift or draw. It makes me feel like a god." He wasn't protecting me; he was clipping my wings to keep me in a cage. When Gianna later framed me as a Rogue intruder, Bennet didn't recognize me in the dark. He whipped me five times with a silver lash, savoring every scream, unaware he was flaying his own wife. He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die in that basement. Instead, I severed the bond myself and vanished across the ocean. One year later, I returned to Paris as a renowned architect with a mechanical arm and the Lycan King by my side. When Bennet saw me and fell to his knees begging for a second chance, I simply turned my back and revealed the scars he gave me to the cameras. "You didn't love me, Bennet. You only loved my pain."

A suggestive iMessage on the family iPad was the first crack in my perfect life. I thought my teenage son was in trouble, but anonymous Reddit users pointed out the chilling truth. The message wasn't for him. It was for my husband of twenty years, Anthony. The betrayal became a conspiracy when I overheard them talking. They were laughing about his affair with my son's "cool" school counselor. "She's just so... boring, Dad," my son said. "Why don't you just leave Mom and be with her?" My son didn't just know; he was rooting for my replacement. My perfect family was a lie, and I was the punchline. Then, a message from a lawyer on Reddit lit a fire in the wreckage of my heart. "Gather proof. Then burn his entire world to the ground." My fingers were steady as I typed back. "Tell me how."

My husband of five years, Mark, told me he was taking me on a romantic clifftop picnic. He poured me a glass of champagne, his smile as warm as the sun. He said it was to celebrate our life together. But as I admired the view, his hands slammed into my back. The world dissolved into a blur of sky and rock as I plunged toward the ravine below. I woke up broken and bleeding, just in time to hear his voice above. He wasn't alone. It was his mistress, Chloe. "Is she... gone?" she asked. "She fell a long way," Mark's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "No one could survive that. By the time they find the body, it'll look like a tragic accident. Poor, unstable Clara, wandering too close to the edge." The casual cruelty of his words was worse than the impact. He had already written my obituary, crafting the narrative of my demise while leaving me to die in the storm. A wave of despair washed over me, but then something else ignited: a white-hot, furious anger. Just as my vision started to fade, headlights sliced through the rain. A man stepped out of a luxury car. It wasn't Mark. It was Julian Thorne, my husband's most hated rival, and the one man who might want Mark destroyed as much as I did.

The sharp, shattering pain was familiar. This was the eighth time. The eighth baby. My husband, Ethan, the perfect CEO, held my hand as grief suffocated me in the hospital bed. He looked like the picture of a devastated spouse. But then, I heard voices from the hallway-Ethan' s and the doctor' s. "Mr. Hayes, why insist on… eliminating the one in your wife's belly? It's your own child!" the doctor strained. "Scarlett is particular, and she has needs. This is the safest method," Ethan replied, chillingly calm. Scarlett. His proclaimed "childhood friend." The words didn't make sense until their horrifying truth crashed down: my miscarriages weren't accidents. They were harvests, orchestrated by my loving husband to feed his mistress' s mysterious medical condition. My love for him curdled into black hatred, my grief for our children blazing into a white-hot rage. I was an architect who designed buildings to withstand earthquakes; I wouldn't crumble. I closed my eyes, feigning sorrow, but inside, a new blueprint for revenge was being drawn. Then I heard the doctor's terrified whisper: "And the hysterectomy? Paralysis? Ethan, that's going too far. She's your wife." His voice, devoid of emotion, cut through the haze: "She's too strong-willed. This will keep her safe. And quiet." They were going to gut me, cripple me, take everything. They had no idea what they had just created. Later, I overheard Ethan on the phone again, his voice a low murmur: "She's sedated. You can proceed with the surgery. The hysterectomy first. And make sure the nerve block is permanent. I don't want any surprises." Hysterectomy. Permanent. You bastard, Ethan, I thought as darkness pulled me under. You' re not just taking my children. You' re taking my future. You' re taking my body. But you haven' t taken my mind. And it will be the instrument of your destruction.

The champagne shimmered, my fiancé Daniel was by my side, and my parents, pillars of the tech world, beamed with pride. It was my engagement day, perfect as a movie scene. Then, the screens behind us, meant for happy memories, flared to life with my face, but not my body-a horrifying deepfake, accompanied by a torrent of our company' s most intimate client data, all pinned on my mother. The ballroom erupted. Whispers turned to shouts, Daniel recoiled as if burned, and my mother, the renowned ethicist, was swarmed by reporters, branded a fraud and criminal. My father, director of Miller Security, clutched his chest, watching his wife' s ruin and his daughter' s humiliation before collapsing-dead, on the polished floor. The Vance family patriarch declared our engagement off, leaving me standing alone, my world shattered into a million pieces. In ten minutes, I lost everything: my reputation, my family, my future, and my father's life. Three years later, I was married to Ethan Vance, Daniel' s brother, a man I believed was my savior, gently rebuilding my life in a quiet, gilded cage. Until I overheard a chilling conversation between Ethan and his best friend, Mark. "Shouldn't you take down those awful deepfakes? Now that Tiffany is happily integrated into your family, why keep tormenting Chloe?" Mark' s voice was laced with anger I'd never heard. Ethan's reply, calm and cold, made my blood run cold: "The Miller family's influence was too strong. As long as they were respected, how could Tiffany feel secure?" My parents, his mentors, had been destroyed for Tiffany, Daniel's new wife. Every tender word, every protective gesture from Ethan had been a carefully orchestrated lie. My husband, my rescuer, was the monster who had meticulously planned my family' s ruin and profited from my humiliation. I had been sleeping beside my father' s murderer for three years. The realization hit me like a physical blow, stripping away every illusion. I had to make him pay for everything he had done.

The long shadows of the late afternoon stretch across my perfectly curated living room, a silent testament to the lie my life has become. My husband, Liam, a rising star, values perfection-a facade we' ve painstakingly built. Our marriage is a stable, respectable union on paper, a performance, with me, a talented architect, as his willing partner. Then he died, swiftly, unexpectedly, at forty-five. Buried within his belongings, a locked box in his study, I found it: the truth. Letters, photographs-a hidden life with Chloe, his childhood sweetheart, his true love for decades. My entire marriage, my twenty years, was an elaborate charade for his reputation. The pain was a physical entity, suffocating, extinguishing my will to live. I died too, then woke up. Not in a hospital, not in an afterlife, but here, in this cold house, two years into my marriage, twenty-four again. The ghost of a twenty-year lie lived inside me, but it brought a cold, hard resolve. I would not let it happen again, not waste another two decades as a supporting character. I will live for myself this time. The key in the lock, Liam' s flat voice: "I'm home." This time, I remained seated. His brow furrowed, unused to my stillness. "Is something wrong?" "Just tired," I replied, my voice as level as his. He was a stranger now, every gesture filtered through future knowledge, every polite smile a calculation, every question a check on his investment. He funded Chloe' s art studies abroad, a fortune spent while I pinched pennies. That money, even now, was for her. The rage was cold, sharp. Then, he dropped the bombshell: "Chloe is coming back… she could stay with us for a while." My heart stilled. It was happening again. In my past life, I agreed, eager to please, starting my slow erasure. This time, I looked directly at him, seeing the feigned concern, the carefully constructed lie. "No," I said, the word a slammed door. His eyes, cold and dark, narrowed. "What did you say?" "I said no," I repeated, my voice gaining strength. "She can't stay here." A strange power surged. He was dealing with a different woman now, a woman who knew all his secrets.

The heavy scent of grilled meat and expensive cologne filled the private room at Harris' Steakhouse. My tech CEO husband, Mark, called it a "boys' night out," but I was there, a silent fixture at the dark wood table, habitually ignored. His tech bro friends, Kevin and Josh, flanked him, their laughter growing too loud. Then, in a momentary lull, I calmly stated, "I' m thinking about it too," referring to getting a divorce. The entire table erupted, not in surprise, but in loud, condescending laughter, Mark' s the loudest of all. He wiped a tear from his eye and sneered, "You? Divorce me? What do you have without me, Sarah? You dropped out of Vassar, remember? For me. You think you can survive for a week without my money?" His friend Kevin, already flushed from too much wine, then slurred a public dare, "If you actually divorce Mark, I swear, I' ll live-stream chugging a blended concoction of the grossest things!" They truly believed I was a fragile, dependent ornament, easily controlled. They saw only a trophy wife, utterly incapable of independent thought or action. They didn't see the cold, hard knot of pure resolve tightening inside my gut. They certainly didn't know about the countless hours I'd spent in our Atherton mansion's library, diligently studying California community property law. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips as I met their gazes. "No, Mark," I said, standing slowly, my voice cool and even, "I don' t think I will apologize; in fact, I've already had divorce papers drawn up." My lawyer would be in touch with his. Weeks later, when his young intern, Tiffany, smugly tried to announce her fake pregnancy at a family dinner, I exposed Mark's zero sperm count to his horrified mother and everyone present. They had utterly underestimated me, and my meticulously researched plan to reclaim my life had just begun.

My 21st birthday was supposed to be a joyous occasion, a display of family pride and wealth as I chose my future husband. But a horrifying secret simmered beneath the celebratory facade: I was reliving my life, and this very day, my previous choice of fiancé, Ethan Vanderbilt III, had led to my family’s empire crumbling and their agonizing death in a fiery jet crash. The chilling memory of their screams, the inferno, and the realization that Ethan's charm was nothing but a weapon, clawed at my sanity. How could I possibly explain to my loving, unaware parents that their perfect daughter had already lived a nightmare version of this life, where their trust in me—and my choice—had damned us all? Trapped by a past only I remembered, with the venomous name of Ethan Vanderbilt still lurking on my pre-approved marriage list, I made a radical, desperate decision: I would choose a man entirely outside his orbit, defying fate and claiming my second chance to keep my family safe.

The tiny screen showed a pulsing heartbeat, and Doctor Ramirez smiled. I was pregnant, overjoyed, ready to build our perfect family with Michael, my loving husband, and my rock-solid best friend, Chloe. It felt like a dream come true after years of trying. Then Chloe gifted me an antique locket, a seemingly thoughtful "protection charm." But soon after, my baby's heartbeat grew alarmingly erratic. The doctor warned me, while a chilling encounter with an eccentric antique dealer sparked a horrifying thought: Was the locket cursed? Could it be a "vessel of sorrow" meant to "rebalance fates"? His ominous words echoed as Chloe, who’d struggled with IVF, began showing surprising "positive signs." Desperate to protect my child, I tried to banish the locket's influence. That’s when I overheard the insidious truth: Michael’s voice, hushed, conspiring with Chloe. “The locket’s influence is definitely working,” he whispered. “Her inevitable breakdown will make things easier.” “The trust fund... it’ll all be sorted.” Betrayal ripped through me, cold and agonizing. My husband, the man I trusted with my life, and my best friend, were actively orchestrating my ruin. The “curse” wasn’t supernatural; it was a calculated scheme of psychological torture and subtle drugs. It was all designed to induce my miscarriage and drive me mad, all for my family’s trust fund. Every loving glance, every comforting word, a horrifying lie. The terror was instant, quickly followed by a searing, ice-cold fury. They thought I was collapsing, but their vile deception simply ignited a dormant strength within me. They wanted to tear down my world. I wouldn't just survive; I would meticulously expose their every deceit. I would dismantle their entire wicked plot. And I would ensure they faced justice for the monstrous theft of my peace, my future, and my baby.

My husband, Michael, stumbled home one day, not with a briefcase, but a bundle. A baby, he claimed, "found" at a gas station. His too-loud voice, his darting eyes, the wads of cash he pressed into my hand—I saw through the charade immediately. My suspicions, honed by years of his subtle lies and secret Vegas trips, solidified. He wanted me to raise this child, a "blessing" he called it, while he preened as a selfless savior. For eighteen years, I endured Michael's arrogance, his mother’s thinly veiled disdain for my childlessness, and his endless stream of deceit. He believed me a naive, devoted wife, blissfully unaware of his true connections to the baby's birth mother, a woman named Jessica. He bragged about Ethan, "his" son, never knowing I was painstakingly uncovering every detail of his betrayal—the secret payments, the fabricated narratives, the hidden identity of Ethan’s real father, a man with dangerous ties. The injustice of his blatant lies, how he’d used me to build his perfect family facade, fueled a cold, quiet rage within me. I smiled, I nodded, I played the part of the perfect mother to Ethan, the brilliant son I adored. But beneath that placid surface, I was a strategist, meticulously gathering my evidence, waiting for the opportune moment. When Ethan was accepted into Yale, Michael decided it was time for his grand reveal: divorcing me to "reunite" with Jessica and "his" long-lost son at a lavish party. He thought he was orchestrating his ultimate triumph. He had no idea he was stepping into a meticulously crafted trap, two decades in the making, set by the wife he completely underestimated.

I woke up to the stench of rust and rotting flesh, no longer a master botanist who commanded life itself, but a D-class exile dumped on a wasteland planet. Memories that weren't mine flooded in. I was framed by my stepsister, betrayed by my fiancé, and banished by my own family to the Ashfall Peninsula to die. The original girl actually starved to death in despair. The moment I opened my eyes, a scavenger tried to smash my skull with a rusty pipe just to eat me. After I killed him to survive, I discovered a harsher truth: in this universe, plant seeds are classified as A-level strategic resources, completely monopolized by the Imperium. But the universe had a sick sense of humor. A mandatory background scan suddenly triggered a galactic broadcast: I, the exiled trash, was a perfect genetic match for the Imperium's top war hero, General Alexander Orr. The family that ruthlessly erased my existence instantly saw me as a golden ticket. My cheating ex-fiancé was dispatched to drag me back, furious that his "property" was matched with someone else. They all thought I was still that weak, naive girl they could manipulate. But as I held the pure, glowing Life Source Crystals I had secretly extracted from the scrap heap, a cold smile crept onto my face. "I didn't come here to die. I came here to build an empire." I turned my back on the galactic broadcast and stepped into the deadly wilderness.

On my eighteenth birthday, I expected the Federal Matchmaking Bureau to give me the same answer it always had. No Match Found. For years, I had survived as the Greer family's defective male Omega-an embarrassment with no detectable pheromones, no beast-mark potential, and no chance of producing the powerful Alpha heir my father wanted. A failed test meant freedom. It would unlock my late mother's fortune and let me disappear for good. Then the machine demanded a blood sample. The next second, the entire Bureau went into lockdown. Duncan Cain, the Empire's youngest war general. Hollis Beaumont, the crown prince of our enemy empire. A pirate lord, a king, the Alliance's chief diplomat... Six of the most powerful Alphas in the galaxy. All matched to me at 100%. My father, who had treated me like a worthless stray for eighteen years, suddenly seized my arm with greedy eyes. "Ansel, you're going to make this family untouchable." My stepsister watched in horror as the Bureau declared me a Shared Treasure of Humanity. Armed guards surrounded me. The Empire decided my body, my future, and six Alpha suitors all belonged to them now. They had no idea I was never the weak, obedient Omega they thought I was. I was an ace mech pilot, the secret heir to a fortune large enough to buy my freedom, and I had spent years preparing one perfect escape. So while my father dreamed of selling me to the highest bidder, I opened my terminal and sent a single encrypted message. They thought they had trapped a helpless Omega. Instead, they had just started my contingency plan.

Lillian woke in a werecreature universe as a total loser. Good news was that women ruled here and could take multiple mates, yet she still ended up as the one everyone looked down on. Compared to her talented sister at every turn, she watched her first match get stolen and her next four mates reject her without mercy. The first mate was the King of Succubine himself. On their very first meeting, he warned Lillian that he was only staying long enough to recover from his injuries-and that there could never be anything between them. The second mate was a merman. He took one look at her and said he had no interest in a loser like her, tossing her some cash so she could break off their bond herself. The third mate was the progenitor vampire-over a thousand years old. He admitted to admiring her sister instead and made it clear he had no interest in a layabout like Lillian. Lillian cut every bond and chose her own path instead. But as she rose higher and higher, those same men returned, full of regret and begging her to look at them again. The fourth mate was a werewolf Lillian had rescued from an underground fighting ring. She thought he might actually stay-until he revealed himself as royalty. And of course, he wanted to break their bond for more power.

I knelt on the cold stone of the Dragon God Altar, waiting to marry Lord Harper Carney. It was my only chance to escape the gilded cage of my family. But when Harper finally arrived, he wasn't alone. His arm was wrapped tightly around my cousin, Hettie. Right in front of the entire court, he coldly announced that our marriage was a mistake. Hettie leaned into his embrace, wearing a triumphant smile while playing the innocent victim. The assembled nobles openly jeered at me. They mocked my greatest failing—that I was a worthless "Dragonless" born without the inner fire. My own father was furious, not at them, but at me. He demanded I go to Hettie's estate and beg for her forgiveness. When I refused, he threatened to cut off all my funds and revoke my only job at the Royal Scribes' Office. I was publicly abandoned, stripped of my dignity, and left with absolutely nothing. I didn't cry, and I didn't scream. Why should I be the one to apologize when they were the ones who betrayed me? For years, I had endured their abuse, treated like a pawn to be sacrificed at will. But looking at their smug faces, my despair turned into cold resolve. I took off my betrothal coronet and dropped it at Harper's feet, publicly nullifying the contract myself. I thought I would have to face the ruin alone, until a mysterious, powerful man with burning golden eyes stepped out of the shadows. "Marry me," he said. "I will be your shield, and we will crush them together."

For five years, I poured my blood and sweat into restoring ancient manuscripts to save my fiancé Chalmers's family business from bankruptcy. But on the morning of our wedding, he abandoned me at the altar. He rushed off to comfort his childhood friend, Edla, who claimed to have a catastrophic injury. Under local guild laws, if I wasn't legally married by sunset, Chalmers's family would seize the proprietary rights to every single manuscript I had restored. When I went home to pack my things, Edla showed up leaning on Chalmers, wearing bandages stained with fake bakery dye and a luxury sweater that still had the anti-theft tag attached. She cried theatrical tears, begging me not to punish Chalmers. Instead of seeing her obvious lies, Chalmers called me a heartless, spiteful statue. He demanded I apologize, arrogantly offering a cheap steak dinner as compensation for my ruined wedding. He sneered that no man in town would ever marry a penniless orphan like me, and I would be begging on his doorstep by the end of the week. I looked at the man I had supported through 47 of Edla's orchestrated emergencies, feeling utterly disgusted by his endless manipulation and greed. Did he really think my dignity and my life's work were worth so little? I threw his cheap engagement ring directly into the greasy trash can. Then, I walked straight into the municipal registry hall and proposed to Everette Holmes—a paralyzed, debt-ridden outcast who radiated an unnerving, freezing aura. This time, I would rather tie my fate to a dangerous stranger than let Chalmers own my future.

My engagement to Kile, the heir of House Golden, was witnessed by the Duke himself. I thought my days as a helpless orphan were over. But right before our wedding, he coldly informed me that my status was being revoked. I was to enter his family as a lesser consort. The title of primary wife was being given to his lover, Journey. She hid behind Kile, wearing a spotless white dress and trembling like a fragile lotus. "Cassie, please don't blame him, I can live without a title," she cried, playing the perfect victim. Kile shielded her, glaring at me with pure disgust, shouting that I was being completely unreasonable. The next day, the entire Elder Council cornered me in their grand hall. They told me that as a "Dragonless" nobody, I should be immensely grateful for any scrap they threw my way. They all stared at me, waiting for me to swallow my pride and accept a lifetime of humiliation. They thought I was entirely broken. They thought I had no backing and no choice but to bow down to their cruelty. Instead, I looked straight at the Chief Elder and smiled. "I refuse to be a lesser consort," I announced clearly, watching Kile's smug expression freeze. "But to preserve our families' dignity, I will fulfill the contract." I looked right into Kile's shocked eyes. "I will marry your dead older brother, Lord Ayden."

I was forced to replace my sister and marry Lord Gideon Carlisle, a crippled Dragon Lord rumored to be a monster whose brides always ended up dead. But the real danger wasn't my terrifying husband. It was Audrey, the fragile, innocent girl he took in and fiercely protected. She lured me to a cliff, confessed to murdering his first two brides, and tried to shove me into the abyss. When her clumsy attack failed and she nearly fell herself, Gideon's shadow guard rushed in to save her. But he only saw the aftermath. Audrey immediately burst into tears, pointing a shaking finger at me. "It was her! She pushed me! She tried to kill me!" Without hesitation, Gideon chose to believe his precious ward. He looked at me with cold, golden dragon eyes, condemning his own wife without a trial. He threatened me with dragon's flame and locked me in my chambers, while Audrey smiled triumphantly behind his back. I couldn't believe a supposedly brilliant Dragon Lord could be so utterly blind, protecting the very monster who had cursed his life while treating me like the villain. But I wasn't the weak, original bride who would just accept this injustice and die quietly. I calmly walked back into his study, pulled out a vial of Truth Serum, and forced it down Audrey's throat so my blind husband could finally hear the truth.

I entered a contractual marriage with Cyril Sweeney just to protect my antique restoration studio from local developers. I thought he was merely an eccentric, wealthy cargo pilot, but I soon realized I had married a monster. His skin was colder than ice, he could throw a grown man across a room effortlessly, and strangers in tailored suits dropped to their knees calling him "My Lord." But the most agonizing part was his violent rejection of me. Whenever I got close, or accidentally scraped my skin and bled, he would shove me away like I was a plague. His glacial eyes would turn pitch black, his throat convulsing as if fighting a demon. "Run before I kill you!" He roared at me with a feral, terrifying rasp, his hands clawing at his own throat. The final straw came when I found an antique pocket watch on his desk, holding a faded photograph of a young girl. I realized I wasn't a wife; I was just a convenient, nameless replacement for a ghost he still carried over his dead heart. I didn't understand why he looked at me with such desperate agony, nor why my blood drove him to the brink of madness. I didn't know the girl in the photograph was actually me from ten years ago. As I slammed my truck into reverse to escape his haunted glass villa, I had no idea the real nightmare was just beginning.

Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part. The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys. Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero. Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold. I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth. But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me." Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again. Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.

Being stimulated by three overly attractive vampires was the last thing I had ever imagined. "Oh Jasmine, this is a sight to behold," Archer murmured,landing kisses all along my inner thighs. Lucien broke the kiss, I could see the lust in his eyes. Micheal took the turn to kiss me once I caught my breath and Lucien's fingers moved to spread my labia only for me to feel the unexpected lick of Archer's tongue on my clit. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. "Feel it..." Lucien growled into my ear, biting my earlobe, "Feel it how we pleasure you, little mate." ****** My whole life I have known my identity as a human but everything changed once I took the job in the Kings' palace as their maid and their attention fell on me. Black Vale Dynasty was ruled by three powerful Vampire kings. Respected, Obeyed and feared they were the most dangerous predators on the earth. But when my life unknowingly gets entangled with theirs, soon the unimaginable happened—On the night of the full moon, I turned out to be their mate and this puts my whole existence under question. They did not want to leave me but a human couldn't be the destined mate of a vampire, let alone three. However, fate pulled the strangest game on me, linking my life to the eliminated Vaidel-Dynasty which was once ruled by the strongest vampire of all time before the rogue attack…that destroyed everything.