Eduino Aitchison

The stench of rot and fear clung to me in the brutal prison pen. I pushed away my uncle’s smile; revenge burned cold. Survive. The gate screeched, a guard's roar herding us out. A scarred man stopped, gripped my chin, sniffed, then barked, "This one. Pull her out." My time was up. Dragged to Alpha Baron Stone—who trembled at the Alpha King’s name—my "unusual" scent marked me. Stripped, lashed by silver, scrubbed raw, every trace of me vanished. From my cell, I watched in horror as others were thrown into an arena, torn apart by starved wolves. My stomach heaved. Why me? Why was I spared *that* gruesome end, only to be prepared for a terrifying king? An old Omega woman opened my door with bread—a chilling sign I wasn't meant for the arena. A cold resolve solidified: I would survive this hell, remember my uncle’s face, and learn what twisted fate the Alpha King had chosen.

For three months, I played the part of the perfect girlfriend for billionaire heir Ansel Schultz. I was the obedient, low-maintenance girl from a middle-class zip code, the one who never asked where he was or demanded expensive gifts. Then, standing in the shadows of a hallway, I heard the truth from his own lips. He told his friends I was nothing more than a "convenience," a "pressure valve for his schedule." Our entire relationship was just a "pure romance movie with a time limit," set to end the moment his real fiancée, the heiress Isela Lamb, arrived in New York. One of them cornered me outside the door, hissing in my ear. "The carriage is turning back into a pumpkin, Cinderella. Pack your bags and get out." They were all waiting for the show. They expected me to break down, to run away crying and become the joke of the city. They thought a girl like me would cling to him like a vine, begging for a fairy tale that was never real. But an anthropologist doesn't cry when the monkeys throw mud at her. I pushed open the heavy door, walked straight to his table under the shocked stares of his friends, and looked him in the eye. "I heard the part about the limited-time romance movie," I said with a smile. "When it ends, can you make sure that recommendation letter includes an introduction to the head of Strategic Investment at the Schultz Group? I need an interview for my summer internship."

My husband, Chase, was having an affair. But when I confronted him, he didn't just admit it-he told me he was tired of my ambition and that his new lover, a diner waitress, was everything I wasn't: simple and undemanding. Then he pushed me down the stairs. The fall cost me our unborn child. As I lay broken in the hospital, his mistress, Joy, visited. Under the guise of care, she forced a foul soup down my throat, whispering it was the "blood and flesh" of my dead baby. When I fought back, Chase walked in, saw Joy on the floor, and ordered his bodyguards to beat me for hurting her. One hundred slaps. Each one chipping away at the nine years of love I had for him. He had promised to be my anchor, but he had become the storm that wrecked me. Why did the man who once cherished my brilliance now despise it? Why did he protect the monster who tormented me while destroying me and our child? Lying on the cold hospital floor, bruised and bleeding, I finally understood. The love was dead. And with it, the woman who had ever loved him. I picked up my phone and made a call. It was time to burn it all down.

On our fifth anniversary, my husband Jacoby posted a tribute to our "perfect love" for the world to see. That same day, I was signing the divorce papers he didn't even know existed. I had discovered he wasn't just cheating with his junior analyst, Bridgette; they were using my secret trading algorithms for a massive insider trading scheme. He paraded their affair, publicly proposed to her, and after their first attempt on my life landed me in the hospital, he moved her into our home. They wanted me gone for good. He called me his "rock" online while whispering to her that I was a "fragile old witch." He thought I was a fool, too weak to fight back. So I gave them exactly what they wanted. I faked my own death. And as the "grieving" widower prepared to claim my fortune at his family's grand gala, I prepared to make my own spectacular entrance.

I was the orphan Marcus Thorne took in. He was my guardian, my savior, and the man I foolishly fell in love with. But when he caught me sketching his portrait, he didn't see devotion. He saw a mess. He called my feelings "inappropriate" and told his fiancée I was just a "minor household issue" before shipping me off to Italy to get rid of me. He thought I would pine for him. Instead, I erased him. I blocked his number, deleted his photos, and sent him a check for every single cent he spent on me with two words: *Debt paid.* Three years later, Marcus showed up in Florence. He looked wrecked, desperate, and furious that his "property" had walked away. He tried to order me home. He tried to claim he finally loved me. He expected the girl who used to worship him to fall into his arms. But I looked at the man who broke my heart and felt absolutely nothing. "You don't love me, Marcus," I said, stepping back into the arms of a man who actually valued me. "You just hate losing." And for the first time, I watched him crumble while I walked away.

I spent three years as the perfect girlfriend to Silicon Valley's "Ice King," August Armstrong, only to overhear him call our entire relationship a "training exercise" to win back my estranged stepsister, Caroline. He used me, then cast me aside, framing me for attacking Caroline at their engagement party after she deliberately broke my late mother's necklace. August's men beat me half to death and left me in an abandoned warehouse. "You're just a problem to be solved," they sneered. Lying broken on the concrete floor, I found August's phone. A text from Caroline glowed on the screen: "They dealt with her. She won't bother us again. See you at the wedding, my love." They thought they had buried me, but they only planted a seed. At their wedding, as they stood at the altar, the giant screens behind them flickered to life. Instead of their smiling faces, the entire world saw a video of Caroline, perfectly healthy, laughing with another man in Europe, followed by security footage of her shoving me into the path of a crashing car.

The valedictorian medal, cold against my skin, was a stark reminder of the ceremony an hour ago. My father' s face was a mask of disappointment, my mother fussed over my adopted brother, Alex, who sat slumped on the sofa. My crime? Not mentioning Alex in my valedictorian speech. An academic speech, not a family showcase. But to them, it was a deliberate act of cruelty, a way to "overshadow" Alex, who had just failed two finals and wouldn' t even get a full diploma. My mother accused, "Every success you have is just another way to remind him of what he isn't." My father added, "Family is supposed to support each other, not tear each other down. We are so disappointed in you." All my life, I'd craved their approval, but it was never enough. Alex was their sun; I, a distant, cold star. I tried to offer a peace offering-a framed photo of us, genuinely happy, from years ago. My mother twisted in disgust, pushing it away. It shattered on the floor, echoing the breaking of my heart. My graduation gift, a car for my internship, was given to Alex instead. My punishment: exile to my uncle' s farm, five hours away. Two hours into the drive, my phone buzzed. It was my mother, not to apologize, but to ask for my student ID for Alex's summer school discount. Then, she demanded I forget my internship and return to tutor Alex. As she listed his needs, a deer appeared. I hit the brake. Nothing. The pedal went straight to the floor. The last thing I heard was the sickening screech of metal against an old oak tree. Time became fluid, I was floating, watching my body in the wreckage. Ten days passed. No one came. My family didn' t notice I was gone. The letter from my internship, rescinding the offer, finally reached them. My father' s brow furrowed, "He's probably trying to punish us." That' s when I saw myself-a faint shimmer. I was a ghost. They couldn' t hear my screams, my explanations. My mother called my physical phone, miles away in the wreckage. Her voicemail, dripping with fury, not fear, echoed in my spectral ears: "This childish tantrum is over. Your brother needs you!" Anguish, cold and sharp, pierced through me. They only thought of Alex. What happened to us? And why was I, who worked so hard, always the family problem? What twisted delusion allowed them to ignore my efforts, my needs, my very existence, all while lavishing adoration on Alex? Why did they choose to be blind, even in my death? The answer would come, slowly, agonizingly, as my spectral presence clung to the home that no longer recognized me. And the truth, when it finally surfaced, would shatter their world just as irrevocably as my body had been shattered on that dark highway.

My twenty-fifth birthday was three weeks away, and if I wasn't married by then, a rare genetic condition would claim my life. My fiancé, Liam, the man I' d loved my whole life, was supposed to be my savior. But then, at a charity auction, Liam publicly awarded Sarah Jenkins-his assistant, whom I had personally recommended for the job-with a diamond necklace he knew I adored, calling her the "brightest star in his sky" right in front of me. The whispers and pitying glances were unbearable. He later showed up, acting as if nothing happened, and offered me a marriage of convenience, telling me, "It' s just a title, Chloe. I' ll give Sarah the public recognition… but I' ll give you my love. My life. You' ll be Mrs. Davis. Isn' t that what you' ve always wanted?" When I refused, the charming mask dropped. He sneered, "Don't be stupid, Chloe. What other choice do you have? You need me. You know you do." He even twisted my family' s genetic condition against me, declaring, "If you walk away from me, you' ll be damaged goods, Chloe. A ticking time bomb. No one will marry you." His words hit harder than any slap. I had given him everything, and he had thrown it all away, not just my heart, but potentially my life, all for a woman I had brought into his orbit. But as I walked away, leaving him stunned and bewildered, a new resolve solidified within me. He had destroyed my future with him, but he hadn't destroyed my future. I had three weeks. I would find someone. I had to.

Friday nights used to be perfect. The smell of roasted chicken, Liam' s smile across the dining table-five years of DINK bliss, just us, no kids, no pets. Then, he dropped the bombshell: a sponsored student, Sarah, was pregnant. And it was his child. He swore it wasn' t an affair, a bizarre tale of stolen sperm and his powerful, bloodline-obsessed family. But the consequences were brutally real: Liam, who "didn't like kids," transformed, devoting himself to Sarah and their unborn child. He stripped our shared office to build a nursery, his tenderness reserved for her. My home became haunted by a happiness that was no longer mine. The final insult came during a fire. Trapped, I screamed his name, but Liam scooped up a cowering Sarah, whispering, "Our little family will be safe." He left me, choking on smoke, as a burning beam crashed down on my back. I survived, barely. But when I woke, he was asking for a temporary divorce. "It's just for the birth certificate," he said. "Then we'll remarry." Was I really supposed to wait for him while he built a life with another woman, using my name for their child? No. Not anymore. I pulled out my IV. I was leaving. For good.

The hospital lights hummed as I leaned against the cold wall, my body aching from a long shift, but my stomach coiled with a deeper anxiety. My fiancé, Dr. Mark Jensen, the rising star surgeon, was an hour late for dinner, consumed by his revolutionary new device. I decided to surprise him in his lab, a small romantic gesture to end a grueling day. But the smile died on my lips as I found him too close to Emily Carter, his research assistant, her hand tracing patterns on his arm, their heads bent intimately over schematics. "The prototype is almost perfect," she murmured, "Just us." The air between them was thick with a betrayal that had nothing to do with medicine. Mark' s head snapped up, his face shifting from unguarded affection to pure shock as he saw me. He tried to dismiss it, to blame his monumental work, but Emily' s saccharine sweetness painted me as a jealous fiancée, and Mark latched onto her excuse. He twisted it, making my hurt seem like an attack on his ambition, until I saw the truth: this was a secret partnership, one that excluded me entirely. When Emily whispered, "He needs someone who supports his dreams, not someone who holds him back," my world shattered. How could the man I was to marry in three months, the man who preached integrity, be so blind, so callous? His words – "You're either with me, or you're in the way. Decide." – were a brutal ultimatum. He had chosen his ambition, and her, over me. I ripped off my engagement ring, the symbol of a broken promise, dropping it onto the floor between us. The small clatter was the sound of our future shattering. With a final, decisive tap, I blocked his number and drove away from the building, leaving behind a life that felt like a lie. I was heading home, towards my waiting family, knowing one thing with chilling certainty: this was over, and a new, terrifying chapter of my life had just begun.

My name is Madisyn, and my story began in a dirty alley in Los Angeles. I was just a baby, a "cannon fodder" character in someone else's tragic script, destined to be a footnote in the tragic ruin of Ethan and Nicole Clark, the self-destructive heirs to a Hollywood fortune. Their parents were absent figures, leaving them in a gilded cage, completely unaware they were about to be ensnared by Jennifer Chavez and Andrew Morris, two ambitious grifters ready to bleed them dry and turn them against each other. I knew their dark future, how Jennifer would prey on Ethan's buried hero complex, and Andrew on Nicole's desperate need for affection, ultimately leaving them broken and estranged. My tiny, innocent form was supposed to be irrelevant, easily discarded by these teenagers hardened by neglect. But I wasn't just any baby; I was a baby with a plan, a knowing narrator stuck in an infant's body. I screamed and cried to force their reluctant bond, giggled to melt their facades, and strategically withdrew my affection to expose the insidious poison the grifters were injecting into their fragile relationship. When an actress framed Nicole for assault and a musician's charade of heroism was revealed, everyone expected Ethan to side with the "victim." But he remembered my tiny cries of terror whenever the actress touched me, my pointed coldness towards the musician, and Nicole's sudden awareness after my clumsy toddler words: "No owe life, sissy." I had broken the script, and I wouldn't stop until their future was rewritten.

An MIT acceptance letter lay on my desk, a full-ride scholarship, my ticket to a dazzling future far from my foster home. But my foster father, Rufus, scoffed, his voice flat: "You're not going." Instead, he' d arranged a "tech internship" out West, promising big money and opportunities, while my foster mother, Sylvia, faked a panicked "premonition" about a bus crash to dissuade me. They were lying. I knew it. All of it. Because I had lived this day before, died a horrific death on a cold metal table, betrayed by the very people who claimed to be my family. This time, I was ready. I swallowed my fury, faked compliance, and prepared to rewrite my destiny.

For five years, I was Senator Ethan Scott' s dirty little secret, a songbird locked in his penthouse overlooking the Capitol. My gilded cage shattered the Tuesday his engagement to Sylvia Chavez broke on the news – a political merger, solidifying two powerful dynasties. The next day, Sylvia' s team swept in, professional erasers, dismissing staff and purging assets, and I knew I was next on their list. A week later, the doctor arrived, claiming it was a vitamin shot to protect my voice. I knew it was anything but, and the next morning, no sound came out; my voice, the one thing Ethan cherished about me, was gone. He assumed my silence was an act of defiance, a petty rebellion of a jilted lover. He didn't know that my silence was a weapon, and this entire charade was just the first step in a revenge plan five years in the making. He didn't know I wasn't just Maria Fuller, his disposable mistress, but David Fuller' s daughter, meticulously collecting every piece of his carefully hidden corruption. He was about to learn that some ghosts don' t stay buried, and a politician' s secrets can bring down an empire.

Fifty million dollars. My cracked phone screen showed the winning Powerball numbers, confirming an impossible match. Twenty years a ghost, living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny Brooklyn apartment, and now, I held the key to a new life. But the buzz of my phone pulled me back to a familiar nightmare. It was Brenda, my "adoptive" mother, calling with fake sympathy, quickly turning to thinly veiled greed for money for my "father's" liver transplant. When I calmly told her I had won the lottery, her manufactured panic vanished, replaced by an ugly, avaricious gasp. My refusal to hand over a single cent unleashed a public tirade; soon, I was plastered across every news channel, dubbed the "Powerball Parasite," buying Birkin bags while my "dying dad" lay in a hospital bed. The world hated me, calling me a monster. Every comment was a venomous stab, every headline a condemnation. They didn't understand the icy calm behind my eyes, the cold precision of my actions. They saw heartless cruelty; I saw the meticulously laid foundation for a justice long overdue. Why would I invite such public scorn? Why play the villain? Because this wasn't some selfish whim. This was a calculated strike. And when the invitation came from 'The Dr. Grant Show' – Brenda's last desperate plea – I knew it was time for the world to see the truth. Not just my truth, but their truth.

My world was a cracked apartment ceiling, water dripping into a rusted pot, somewhere in a forgotten Rust Belt town. I was Ethan Miller, the man Sophia called her "rock," tirelessly coding the core of her tech empire, Elysian, from this grim solitude. I believed her promises of a shared future in California, even as she lived it up in Silicon Valley with her Head of Marketing, Leo. But the last thing I saw before my chest seized with a sharp, final pain, was Sophia' s face, laughing not with me, but with him. Her divorce papers, a "formality," lay discarded nearby, purchased with the money she' d supposedly sent for my living expenses-money that actually funded Leo' s Tesla and his glittering Palo Alto condo. I died knowing the brutal truth: her affair, the stolen millions, the calculated lies that had festered over years. Anger and crushing regret were my only companions in that ultimate betrayal. Then, a jolt. I sat bolt upright in my lumpy bed, the calendar on the wall showing yesterday's date-the day after Sophia had called, her voice smooth, assuring me about a "divorce for show." I knew everything now. Every lie, every betrayal, every stolen cent. This time, things would be drastically different. My hands were steady, my resolve chillingly clear. With just a bus ticket in my worn wallet, I was going to Silicon Valley. My intellectual property, my years of unpaid labor, my shattered life – I was coming to reclaim every single piece of it, and they wouldn't know what hit them.

My life as Sarah Miller, an architect flourishing in New York, felt divinely blessed after marrying the charismatic Michael Thompson. But this dream quickly twisted into a grotesque nightmare when Michael’s twin brother, David, tragically died, prompting his formidable mother to demand he father an heir with my sister, Jessica – David’s grieving widow – to secure their prestigious lineage. Though Michael publicly pledged loyalty to me, I soon discovered him secretly entwined with Jessica, their nightly affair mocking my marriage. I was systematically gaslighted by both families, accused of selfishness, and forced into excruciating public humiliations, culminating in a fabricated "miscarriage scare" engineered by Jessica, leading me to be physically beaten and then compelled to give blood to my sister, who was carrying Michael's child. The man who'd made me feel seen and cherished now personified betrayal, his "duty to David" a vile justification for his actions, leaving me isolated and utterly broken. How could my own husband and sister inflict such deliberate, soul-crushing anguish and still expect my compliance? Consumed by cold fury, I secretly filed for divorce, fled to Florence, and when Michael, oblivious, inevitably pursued me, I initiated my own meticulously crafted, jaw-dropping scheme: I announced I would be bearing a child for another man, a cruel mirror to his own betrayal, ensuring he would finally feel the agonizing depth of his sins.

My parents and brother were heroes, decorated with Medals of Freedom and a Medal of Honor for their profound sacrifice to this country. After their deaths, all my sister Isabella and I had was each other, and the fragile hope that she’d find happiness with her seemingly dependable fiancé, Ryan. But that hope shattered when a frantic call sent me to the ER: Isabella was brutally beaten, Ryan claiming she "fell," though the doctor confirmed blunt force trauma. The real horror began when Ryan’s wealthy mistress, Victoria Jenkins, confronted me, admitting she was Isabella’s attacker and gloating about her power. Ryan, the man who swore to protect Isabella, utterly betrayed her, backing Victoria’s "accident" lie and accepting her family’s blood money to dismiss the assault. The system failed us: police ignored my pleas, lawyers found their hands tied, and Victoria, untouchable because of her family’s influence, literally threw money onto Isabella’s bruised hospital bed, mocking her. Then came the kidnapping, the beating, the chilling blackmail: Victoria flaunted a vile video of Isabella and forced Ryan to confess an even darker secret—he’d previously pushed Isabella, causing a devastating miscarriage years ago. My sister’s spirit broke, extinguishing the last flicker of hope in her eyes, leaving me rage-filled and desperate for true justice in a system that seemed utterly rigged. How could the ideals my family died for be so easily trampled by the corrupt and powerful? But as I looked at our heroes' medals, a cold, unyielding resolve ignited within me; Victoria thought she'd won, but she gravely underestimated a sister with nothing left to lose. We wouldn’t disappear. We would make ourselves impossible to ignore, demanding this country live up to the sacrifices made for its freedom.

I woke up in a hospital, my head pounding, five years of my life a blank. The last thing I remembered, I was a free-spirited 21-year-old artist, alive and vibrant. Instead, my best friend Chloe told me I was 26, married to a man I didn't know: Ethan Hayes. A cold, impeccably dressed stranger who barely acknowledged my existence. This nightmare marriage had erased me: my art, my motorcycle, even the phoenix tattoo on my back—all gone. My husband publicly denied me, flaunted an affair, and when I desperately needed him, he was "too busy." I lost our baby—a life extinguished by his chilling neglect. Then came the ultimate betrayal: I, the rebellious artist, had been obsessed with him, forcing this very marriage, trapping us both. My amnesia had protected me from the monster I became, the architect of my own gilded cage and his profound resentment. How could I be this person? How had I traded everything for a man who despised me? Desperate and enraged, I challenged him to a death race for my freedom, but instead, I plunged off a cliff. Then, I jolted awake, not in a hospital, but at a dinner table—five years in the past. It was the night my engagement to Ethan was finalized. This time, I wouldn't make the same mistake. "No!" I cried, pushing back my chair. "I'm not marrying him!"

My husband hasn't touched me in five years. I thought it was just a midlife crisis, so I sought out doctors and remedies for him, making him drink nourishing soups as if they were free. But then I accidentally saw him ordering contraceptives online, buying them in bulk. It turns out those medicines really worked. He has more than one mistress, and in the end, his first love from years ago won out. He is willing to do anything to divorce me. To become someone else's groom. However, on the day of the wedding, as soon as I appeared, the bride threw off her veil and excitedly ran towards me. "Sis, I finally completed the task you gave me!"

For two years, I was Alpha Jase Davenport's loyal assistant and secret bed-warmer. Because I was a wolfless Omega, I trusted his empty promises instead of instincts I didn't possess. Then, a push notification from a notorious gossip blog shattered my world. Jase was pictured in Paris, his hand intimately resting on the waist of my cruel stepsister, Kira. The headline screamed that he was finally claiming his fated Luna. Before I could even process the betrayal, Jase texted me a cold command to update his schedule, treating me like a soulless employee. Immediately after, my mother called to gloat. "Did you honestly believe an Alpha like Jase would settle for a defective creature like you?" She threatened to freeze my late father's Pack trust fund unless I agreed to marry an abusive, elderly Alpha to be his breeding mare. If I refused, I would be cast out as a penniless stray, easy prey for any Rogue. I was nothing but a convenient placeholder to Jase, and a piece of livestock to my own family. They thought they had me completely cornered, ready to steal my inheritance and leave me to die. But as the panic subsided, a cold clarity took its place. My father's will only required a legal mating bond to unlock my millions; it never said my family had to approve of the groom. I wiped my tears, opened my laptop, and searched for a disgraced, debt-ridden Rogue named Babe Vincent. If I needed a husband on paper to secure my freedom, I was going to buy one.

For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.

As a wolfless charity case at the Hyde Pack's celebration, my world shattered when Braydon, my supposed protector, publicly announced Katherine Parrish as his Luna, erasing me. Heartbroken, I fled into a terrifying contract marriage with Alpha King Dallas Marshall for protection. Braydon's public assault and threats forced me to reveal my secret marriage, challenging the King. My "protection" felt like a prison. Braydon revealed I was a "key" to power, not a mate, confirming my fears. Enraged by my attempt to take a morning-after pill, Dallas forced me to swallow it, then branded my lips with a furious kiss. His chilling silence hardened my resolve. I immediately drafted an addendum to our contract, setting strict boundaries to reclaim control.

Zarelle Feymere-heiress to the most powerful werewolf dynasty in the world-made one mistake: she fell for an Alpha who saw her as nothing more than a rare blood bag. For three years, she endured the humiliation of a loveless mating, her veins tapped like a commodity to sustain the woman Calden Ashmoor truly loved, Thessaly. His fated mate, who rejected him to marry his brother. When a web of lies and betrayal is uncovered, Zarelle does the unthinkable: she walks away. Now, stripped of her disguise as a docile omega, the true daughter of the Missatian Pack returns to claim her birthright-and her revenge. Calden always thought he'd married a nobody. He never expected his discarded mate to come back as a queen.

I thought nothing could hurt more than being betrayed by my mate, until I found out he married my friend behind my back! One night. One mistake. One unforgettable encounter with the one wolf I was never meant to touch: The cold, dangerous Alpha. My ex's sexy older brother. It was supposed to be meaningless. Then I woke up marked. and very much not alone. Turns out, the real danger wasn't sleeping with the wrong brother... It's that he never planned to let me go.

Aria Graves was the perfect Luna. After seven years of a marriage built on lies, She didn't break when the truth surfaced-she burned. Her revenge was clean and her rejection final.  But fate wasn't done with her. To protect his own secrets, her father used her mother's life as leverage and forced Aria to take her sister's place, sending her to the Silverfang Pack as a living offering to their ruthless Alpha King, Damien Rothwell. Cold, commanding, and scarred by war, Damien should have killed her. Instead, he claimed her. Yet the King is not the only one who wants her. His half-brother, Ethan Rothwell, once the blind boy Aria taught to read, now returns a man who sees her more clearly than anyone else. Now Aria stands between two brothers-one bound by duty, the other by love. In a world where loyalty bleeds and desire burns, she must choose: the Alpha King who could ruin her, or the brother who would burn the world to save her.

Lyric had spent her life being hated. Bullied for her scarred face and hated by everyone-including her own mate-she was always told she was ugly. Her mate only kept her around to gain territory, and the moment he got what he wanted, he rejected her, leaving her broken and alone. Then, she met him. The first man to call her beautiful. The first man to show her what it felt like to be loved. It was only one night, but it changed everything. For Lyric, he was a saint, a savior. For him, she was the only woman that had ever made him cum in bed-a problem he had been battling for years. Lyric thought her life would finally be different, but like everyone else in her life, he lied. And when she found out who he really was, she realized he wasn't just dangerous-he was the kind of man you don't escape from. Lyric wanted to run. She wanted freedom. But she desired to navigate her way and take back her respect, to rise above the ashes. Eventually, she was forced into a dark world she didn't wish to get involved with.

For two years, I was the Alpha's secret wife, a duty he resented. But the positive pregnancy test in my hand was a miracle, a blessing from the Moon Goddess. This baby, our heir, was supposed to be the bridge that finally mended our broken mate bond. That night, he left without a word. I saw on a gossip site that he'd gone to pick up his ex-lover, Isadora. Reaching for him through our bond, I wasn't met with his usual coldness, but with her emotions bleeding through him-triumph and smug possession. The next morning, I went to his office, ready to tell him about our baby, believing our child could fix us. But I stopped when I heard him talking to our Pack Healer about me. The healer said I looked fragile, that he should care for his mate. My husband laughed. "You seem to care for her more than I do," Demetri said, his voice dripping with ice. "Do you want me to give her to you? Take her. She's of no use to me." My world shattered. I wasn't just unloved; I was a thing to be discarded. I looked down at the pregnancy report, the proof of the life inside me, and made a vow. He would never know about our child, and I would sever our bond myself.

Luna has tried her best to make her forced marriage to Xen work for the sake of their child. But with Riley and Sophia- Xen's ex-girlfriend and her son in the picture. She fights a losing battle. Ollie, Xen's son is neglected by his father for a very long time and he is also suffering from a mysterious sickness that's draining his life force. When his last wish to have his dad come to his 5th birthday party is dashed by his failure to show up, Ollie dies in an accident after seeing his father celebrate Riley's birthday with Sophia and it's displayed on the big advertising boards that fill the city. Ollie dies and Luna follows after, unable to bear the grief, dying in her mate's hands cursing him and begging for a second chance to save her son. Luna gets the opportunity and is woken up in the past, exactly one year to the day Sophia and Riley show up. But this time around, Luna is willing to get rid of everyone and anyone even her mate if he steps in her way to save her son.

He left her on the streets. His brother-in-law picked her up. and made her his wife. On the day her ex, Mark, married the wealthy socialite Bella, Elena was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on her back-humiliated, broken, and utterly alone. Until Eric Thompson appeared. Bella's older brother. Mark's powerful brother-in-law. And the most feared Alpha in the city. He offered her a hand when no one else would. Then, he offered her a deal: A marriage in name only. A shield against her past. A chance to rebuild. Elena accepted, expecting a cold arrangement between strangers. But behind closed doors, Eric's carefully guarded control unraveled-and so did hers. Their chemistry was explosive, their nights intense, and the lines between business and pleasure blurred beyond recognition. He was the one man she could never have. and the only one she couldn't resist. But when Mark realizes what he truly lost, and Bella discovers the secret behind her brother's bride, Elena must decide: Is this just a contract? Or is this the love she was always meant to fight for?