Mo Er

My treacherous half-sister and my fiancé were holding their grand Mating Ceremony. In my previous life, they conspired against me, stole my mother's perfumery to use as her dowry, and locked me in a cold, damp cellar. My body became a canvas of bruises and broken promises. Amber's triumphant laughter echoed with Preston's sneering voice as they mocked my pathetic existence. My father and stepmother turned a blind eye to my suffering, eagerly handing over my rightful inheritance to secure a powerful alliance with the Alpha's family. I was branded a crazy, wolfless outcast by the entire pack, completely abandoned and reviled. In the end, I was hunted down by a terrifying predator with golden eyes. He ripped my mother's silver locket from my neck and brutally ended my life in the dark. Until my last breath, I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much. Why did my father let them steal my mother's legacy? And who was that monstrous man in the shadows who took my life? Opening my eyes again, I was back on the night of their Mating Ceremony. This time, I put on a simple black dress and walked straight into their perfect celebration with the real inheritance documents in my hand. "This union, I object."

After eighteen years in an abusive foster home, Chloe was finally brought back to her wealthy biological family, the Carlisles. But her dream of a real family was shattered when her fake sister drugged her and locked her in a hotel room with a stranger to ruin her reputation. The very next day, she was publicly disowned, tossed a few hundred dollars, and dumped right back at her abusive foster parents' decaying doorstep. Realizing she was now penniless, her foster parents immediately conspired to sell her to a notoriously violent, rich old drunk in town for a quick payout. "Yeah, the face is still good. Cletus will like it." She had to smash a rusted window and flee into the dark night, carrying nothing but a mysterious black card left by the stranger from that horrific night. She had done absolutely nothing wrong, yet her biological family threw her away like trash, and her foster parents treated her like livestock. To make matters worse, she soon discovered she was pregnant with the stranger's child. Desperate and completely alone, she was forced to swipe the black card to pay for her dying professor's life-saving surgery, knowing the transaction would instantly expose her location. Just as she stood in the hospital hallway, clutching an abortion pamphlet and deciding she couldn't go through with it, she crashed into a solid wall of muscle. She looked up in terror into a pair of familiar, ice-gray eyes. "I'm here to collect what's mine," the stranger whispered coldly.

I woke up naked and drugged on a luxury yacht, only to find a marriage license thrown at my face. The groom was King Bennett, the ruthless, paralyzed billionaire titan. I wasn't supposed to be the bride. My stepsister Kassidy was. But my own father had drugged me and swapped us out like livestock just to secure his corporate deal. Trapped at sea, I hacked the yacht's network to find proof of my innocence, only to uncover something far worse. A hidden video of Kassidy in a hotel bed with Evan, my boyfriend of three years. "She's just so boring," Evan laughed on screen, kissing my stepsister's neck. My family and my lover had coordinated my absolute destruction. When I tried to show King the evidence, a glitch blasted the obscene audio instead. Disgusted, he shattered my tablet, branded me a cheap whore, and forced me to clean up broken glass on my hands and knees until I bled. I was entirely alone, stripped of my dignity, and framed as a manipulative gold-digger by the very people who sold me. The betrayal was a cold, hollowing void. I had no one left to lose, and no weaknesses left to exploit. But they made one fatal mistake. When I helped King back into his wheelchair, I felt a faint, involuntary twitch in his supposedly dead leg. The world's top doctors said he was paralyzed forever, but my medical training told me otherwise. I wiped the blood from my hands and smiled. I didn't need to escape anymore; I had just found the ultimate leverage to make them all pay.

My father' s life depended on a $50,000 payment my billionaire husband could easily afford. But every dollar I spent was controlled by his chief of staff, Keri-a woman who hated me and managed my life through a humiliating expense app. When my father was diagnosed with a rare leukemia, the doctors gave him one chance: an experimental treatment. The cost was exactly $50,000. Keri rejected the request, citing "non-essential family health." My husband, Axel, told me not to be "so dramatic." While I begged them to reconsider, my father died. Hours after the hospital called, Keri posted a photo of her and Axel at a gala, celebrating a business deal. Her caption read: "#PowerCouple." I left a comment. "Inspiring how you celebrate wins on the day my father died because you withheld the $50,000 he needed. Your efficiency is unparalleled. Perhaps you'll find it equally efficient to process these divorce papers."

I spent three years as the hidden mistress of Wall Street tyrant Damon Vaughn. Our no-strings arrangement meant I was his to command, a secret he kept locked away in the dark. Then I saw the Instagram post. It was Damon, raising a champagne glass with his perfect high-society fiancée, the caption hinting that wedding bells were just around the corner. I ended it that night, leaving his black card on his nightstand and blocking his number for good. But a man like Damon doesn't accept being told no. He retaliated by buying the entire building my tech startup was in. He cornered me on the street, slamming his fist into my car's hood, his face a mask of terrifying rage. He was a possessive monster, planning his perfect marriage while refusing to release me from my cage. The humiliation of being his disposable secret burned hotter than my anger. To finally break him, I lied about having a blind date. But the lie became a terrifying reality when my mother forced me into that exact date. Now, Damon has kidnapped me, and as he shoves me out of his car in front of the restaurant, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper meant only for me. "Remember who you belong to."

I returned to New York with two scuffed suitcases and a broken heart, ready to end my three-year exile as a ghost wife. All I wanted was to sign the divorce papers, move my dying mother to hospice, and vanish from the billionaire Spears family forever. But the moment I stepped into the penthouse, I saw a pair of expensive red-bottomed heels by the door that weren't mine. Carlyle, the husband who hadn't spoken to me in years, was already moving his mistress into our home before the ink on our separation agreement was even dry. The humiliation was only the beginning. Carlyle treated me like an intruder in my own house, yet he forced me to attend high-society galas as his "perfect" wife to protect his reputation. When I tried to leave, he froze my bank accounts, leaving me unable to pay for my mother’s life-saving treatment. He watched my desperation with cold, predatory eyes, flaunting his new romance in the tabloids while keeping me trapped in his freezing home. My mother’s doctors warned me she was running out of time, but Carlyle only used her illness as a leash to keep me from running. I didn't understand why he was doing this to me. I had clearly signed away the money and the name, so why wouldn't he let me go? Why did he have me watched for years if he hated me so much? Why was he flaunting another woman while refusing to sign the papers that would set us both free? What did he want from a woman he claimed to despise? When I finally cornered him with the final decree, Carlyle didn't pick up the pen. He snatched the folder, a flicker of cold triumph in his icy eyes. "The terms are wrong, Beatrix. I'm adding an employment clause. You’re going to work for me, in my office, where I can keep you under my thumb 24/7." He didn't just refuse to sign the papers; he had just turned my divorce into a permanent prison sentence.

On my twenty-fifth birthday, I discovered my boyfriend of seven years and my best friend were having an affair. They gave me matching necklaces-a sea and a mountain-the very set I had picked out for him as a symbol of our love. It was their silent confession, a confirmation of the betrayal I had just witnessed. Later that night, my best friend was attacked. I rushed to her side, only to be met with my boyfriend's fury. He accused me of being selfish and late, then broke up with me, leaving me alone and bleeding in the snow after I coughed up blood from my terminal lung cancer. He didn't see the blood. He didn't know I was dying. He just saw me as an inconvenience. My world shattered. I had been hiding my illness to spare them pain, only to find they were building their happiness on my quiet suffering. I received his call from the hospital, not out of concern for me, but because he had just discovered the truth about my cancer. He was too late. I was already on a plane to Oregon, having sent my final message: "I love you both. Always. Find your happiness. I'll be okay." This was my last gift to them-their freedom, bought with my life.

My fiancé, Jacob, crashed another woman' s wedding. I found out from a viral video while preparing his favorite dessert to celebrate our upcoming IVF cycle. It was Kierra Gates, the "struggling artist" he always claimed to pity. This wasn't the first time. Three years ago, he beat a man bloody for her, a public scandal that nearly broke us. I stood by him then, swallowing the humiliation and my friends' warnings. I even forgave him for the miscarriage his violent outburst caused. He swore it was over, that our future, our family, was all that mattered. But as I watched the video of him snatching her from the altar, his promises echoed like a cruel joke. He' d abandoned me again, on the cusp of our dream, for the same woman. My love for him, a fifteen-year constant, finally ran dry. This wasn't just another betrayal; it was the end. I picked up the phone, my hand steady. "I'd like to cancel my IVF appointment," I told the clinic. "And schedule an abortion. As soon as possible."

For three years, I was Alpha Laurence's fated mate, a title he never honored. He was in love with another woman, Rosalie, and I was just an inconvenient placeholder he refused to mark. The night my father lay dying, I begged him for the life-saving medicine he had promised to deliver. He was with Rosalie. Through our mental link, I heard her laugh in the background before he cut me off. "Stop bothering me with trivial matters," he snarled. His lover then faked an illness, pulling every senior healer away from my father's side. He died while my mate was choosing a tuxedo with another woman. My father's life was a "trivial matter" to the man who was supposed to be my other half. In his obsession, he had become an accomplice to murder. But he had no idea what I had done. Days earlier, while he was distracted by a call from her, I slipped a single page into a thick stack of documents. He signed it without reading, and with a flick of his wrist, he severed his own soul. He had just signed the Ritual of Rejection.

The acceptance letters for NYU, side-by-side on my desk, symbolized four years of high school effort and a shared dream with David: studying architecture in New York City. Our entire lives were perfectly planned. Then, I overheard David on the phone, his voice low and excited, revealing a horrifying truth: "California is going to be insane. No, she has no idea. I can't do it anymore. The clinginess... I need to be free." My world shattered. The boy I'd loved since childhood, who held our future, was crushing it without a thought. He admitted he was going to UCLA to study film, and when I asked about our plans, he flatly said, "I' m tired of you. I need space to be my own person." His words hit harder than any blow. I realized my devotion had been seen as a cage. All those years I' d put his needs first, sacrificing my own friendships and passions to support him, believing it was love. Now, I saw it was all to make him feel bigger while I made myself smaller. He' d left me feeling like the villain in our story. I couldn't understand. How could the boy who once declared, "Sarah's not a girl. She's Sarah," now call me clingy and dismiss me like trash? Why did he always pull me back with sweet gestures, only to lash out and abandon me when I tried to look out for him? But a tiny, hard kernel of anger began to form. He thought I couldn't survive without him. I would go to NYU, I would study architecture, and I would prove him wrong. Even if it killed me.

The day my tech startup sold for a cool eighty million dollars, I walked into my Silicon Valley mansion, ready to share the life-changing news with my fiancée, Chloe, and her mother, Brenda. Instead, I found myself accused. Brenda, her eyes narrowed with disapproval, asked, "Ethan, aren't you going to work today?" I made a joke, a test: "The company went under, Brenda. Actually, we're in a pretty significant amount of debt." Her reaction was immediate, explosive. "Ethan Miller, are you seriously telling me that you expect my daughter to marry you and help pay off your pre-marital debts?" Chloe, my fiancée, walked in, shaking her head. "I told you starting a business was a bad idea, but you never listen. Now look what happened. There goes the designer handbag I wanted." Brenda leaned in, her voice dripping with contempt. "A man needs dignity. My Chloe makes good money as an influencer, but she can't just support a freeloader forever." The mansion we stood in, the car and credit cards Chloe used, the very holiday they were enjoying - all mine. Yet, they saw me as the freeloader. The next few days became a twisted game of power, culminating in Brenda moving into my master bedroom, claiming it was her daughter' s house, and banishing me to the tiny, dark maid' s room. "You and Chloe are not married yet. You can't sleep in the same room!" she shrieked. Exasperated, I endured it. But that night, as I passed my former bedroom, I heard voices, low and chilling. Liam' s voice, angry: "When are you going to get rid of that bastard?" Chloe' s voice, calm and cold: "Not yet. If we get rid of him now, we won't get a single dime of his money." Then Liam, a horrifying whisper: "Is the stuff you're giving him even working? Why isn't he dead yet?" My blood ran cold. Chloe' s next words erased any doubt: "Don't you remember how Ethan's father died? Wasn't it from the exact same stuff you were giving him?" My father' s sudden death, the nosebleeds I'd had for weeks-it all clicked into a terrifying, murderous plot. Suddenly, Brenda' s loud, selfish drama, had accidentally saved my life. My family, the people I loved most, were systematically poisoning me, just as they had my father, to inherit my fortune. I knew then what I had to do. I wouldn' t just survive; I would make them pay.

The grand ballroom shimmered with the scent of ambition, a fitting stage for Mark Davis, the rising tech star I, Sarah Miller, had silently supported for five years. I designed his interfaces, polished his presentations, and poured my heart into his vision. Tonight, the launch of his "Aura" project, was meant to be our triumph, a celebration of what we built together. Then the spotlight found him on stage, proclaiming there was "one true genius" behind it all. My stomach tightened, anticipating a subtle nod, a shared glance. Instead, his gaze swept past me, landing on Emily Chen, my junior colleague, angelic in white, her eyes wide with feigned admiration. "That true genius," he boomed, "is Emily Chen!" A wave of gasps, then silence, as he dropped to one knee before her, pulling out a velvet box. "Emily, you are the future. Will you marry me?" The room erupted as he slid a massive diamond onto her finger. I was invisible, erased from my own story. My simple black dress suddenly felt like a shroud. I slipped away, my lungs burning, to a deserted corridor, where he found me, annoyed. "It's just business, Sarah," he said, flatly. "Emily has the connections. You're a great designer, but you're... a placeholder." He offered me a demeaning junior position under her or a "dead-end job" at a struggling startup run by "some nobody." The words, cold and sharp, cut deeper than any physical blow. His smug face expected me to break, to beg. But the humiliation burned away the shock, leaving a cold, hard clarity. My five years of love, loyalty, and hard work meant nothing to him. "I'll take the startup," I said, meeting his gaze, my voice steady.

The first gunshot in the library deafened me to everything but my brother Ethan' s jolt and the dark red staining his white t-shirt. He looked at me, mouth open, no sound. He slumped. My body moved before my brain could. I turned and ran. I didn' t help him, didn' t scream his name. I just ran, leaving him there. Because I had done this before. In my last life, I' d called our neurosurgeon mother, Olivia. "Mom, Ethan's been shot!" I' d sobbed. Her reply, cold: "Stop being so dramatic, Chloe. I' m busy getting my nails done with Ashley." Ashley, our adopted sister, was her perfect princess. Ethan and I were afterthoughts. She hung up. Ethan bled out waiting for a mother who thought he was a lie. At the hospital, she arrived, nails perfectly pink. When he was pronounced dead, her world shattered. She lunged at me, screaming. "You did this! You just watched him die! You were jealous!" She shoved me down the hospital staircase. My head hit the marble floor. I died there, just like Ethan. But then I was back, in the library, the nightmare starting again. This time, I knew. Trying to save Ethan would only lead to my own death, blamed, hated, destroyed by a family that was never truly mine. My parents were incapable of love for their biological children, consumed by Ashley. So, for the first time, I chose me. I ran, leaving them and that broken life behind. Let them live with their choices. I wouldn't be their scapegoat. This time, I' d be a spectator. But when they called, crying about Ethan, I knew what I had to do. Not for them, but to reveal their monstrous truth. Heading to the hospital, I wasn't a grieving sister. I was an executioner, ready to make sure everyone saw the final act.

The sound of shattering glass at a party wasn' t just an accident; it was a premonition. My prized, rare bourbon, Pappy Van Winkle, lay in ruins on the floor. My wife, Nicole, then still my wife, defended the smug culprit, Caleb, her childhood friend, acting as if I was the one making a scene. I banished Caleb to a remote Alaskan fishery, thinking it was a just consequence for his destructive arrogance. But Nicole' s furious promise, "You will regret this," was not an idle threat. Years later, my world crumbled when my father suffered a heart attack, the stress brought on by a hostile corporate takeover of our family' s legacy, Hughes Distillery. It was Nicole's doing, orchestrating a calculated, systematic destruction of everything I held dear. She, now a political strategist, watched impassively as our family, our history, bled out. At the Bourbon Baron's Ball, an auction for the world' s rarest spirits, I returned, a ghost of my former self, "The Palate," hoping to save us. But Nicole was there, with Caleb, radiant and triumphant, publicly announcing she'd outbid me on anything, and then, with a twisted smirk, confirming she'd stolen all my funds, leaving me humiliated and financially crippled. How could she harbor such cold, calculating hatred for a destroyed bottle? How could someone I once loved become this relentless force of vengeance? With my family's legacy teetering on the brink, I had no choice but to fight back, leveraging my last, priceless heirloom to re-enter a game I had to win.

I was Sarah Miller, a decorated SWAT captain who took a bullet for my partner, Mark, leaving me paralyzed. He swore to protect me, to cherish me. I believed him, even as I fought to recover in a rehab center. Then, flames erupted. Trapped in my room, I called Mark, expecting salvation. But his voice was different, cold. "Stop the drama, Sarah. Get yourself out," he said, before I heard her, Chloe, my physical therapist, pleading in the background. My husband chose his mistress over me, leaving me to burn. As black smoke consumed me, I watched, now a ghost, as Chloe immediately spun a web of lies, accusing me of starting the fire out of recklessness, even faking my escape. Mark, the man I saved, the man I married, stood by, silently endorsing her vile accusations, painting me as a fugitive arsonist. My reputation, my legacy, shattered. How could the man I loved, the partner whose life I saved, betray me so completely? The injustice seared deeper than the fire. To die a horrific death, then be slandered by the very people who abandoned you – it was a hell beyond imagination. But unseen, unheard, I watched as my former partner, Detective Maria Rodriguez, refused to believe their lies. She knew the true Sarah Miller. And now, she's digging, poised to unearth the truth from the ashes, and demand a reckoning.

Eight years of my life, my brilliance, my family inheritance-all poured into Mark' s biotech startup, GenLife. I was the unsung architect, coding his prototypes late into the night, nursing his dying mother, while my own career gathered dust. When GenLife finally soared, Mark was captivated by Cassandra, his self-proclaimed muse and my own biological parents' golden child. Then, gravely ill with pneumonia and desperate, I tried to reach him to pick up our son, Ben. Instead of my husband, I found an Instagram story: Mark, Ben, and the Winthrops-my birth parents-toasting Cassandra' s lavish 'surprise promotion.' The centerpiece? A cake featuring my revolutionary molecule design, dismissed by Mark years ago as "too theoretical," now proudly presented as her intellectual triumph. Standing right there, in front of everyone, our son called Cassandra "Mommy" while his father looked on, unbothered. The raw betrayal, the audacity of parading my stolen work and my own child' s shifted affection, was a physical shock that cut through my fever. How could the man I loved, the family I sacrificed everything for, erase my existence so thoroughly, so publicly? They believed they had broken me, reduced me to nothing. But as I walked out of that opulent restaurant, leaving their celebration behind, a quiet, icy clarity settled in: a phoenix doesn't rise from ashes without first burning down the old world. This was my turning point. This was the moment I chose to reclaim my name, my work, and my future, on my own terms.

My name is Sarah Miller. I aced the SATs, my ticket to Stanford and a full scholarship – it should have been the greatest triumph of my life, a hard-earned escape from a mother who despised me and a twin sister who envied my every success. But my mother, Karen, decided it was Jessie' s turn to shine. With a sneer, Jessie snatched my acceptance package, revealing their sinister plot: they' d forged documents, stealing my future and handing it to her. When I tried to fight back, they launched a vicious counter-attack. Faked photos of "me" at wild parties, half-naked and drunk, flooded the internet, all blurred just enough to frame me. My best friend, Ashley, then publicly testified to my "insanity" and "promiscuity" for a bribe. The school believed them. Stanford revoked my scholarship, citing "moral turpitude." I became a pariah, whispered about, pointed at, branded the "psycho slut." The injustice was a suffocating weight. How could my own family do this? How could everyone fall for their lies? The world collapsed, and I fell into the dark, cold river. But instead of an ending, I woke up. Back in my bed, on SAT exam day. My alarm clock blared 6:00 AM. I had a second chance. And this time, they wouldn't win.

The Hayes estate was a gilded cage, ruled by Eleanor’s barbaric decree: the first to conceive would be the next Mrs. Hayes. I was Sarah Walker, once a daughter of privilege, now just one of Ethan Hayes’s many diversions. Last time, I was the one who got pregnant first, and Tiffany, his supposed true love, faked her suicide. The day my son was born, Ethan dragged me from the hospital bed, forcing me to kneel at her elaborate, empty grave. He screamed that I’d stolen her place, driven her to despair, and destroyed everything my parents left me. He knew about my blood disorder, yet he carved into me, watching the life drain out. This life, I wouldn’t play their sick game. This time, I switched my urine sample with Tiffany’s, and her pregnancy was announced. Ethan’s face lit up with manic joy, and he demanded the biggest wedding for Tiffany. Everyone shot me pitying glances, but a small, polite smile played on my lips. I thought I was finally free. But I was pregnant. And my hidden child would trigger a new, terrifying nightmare that would force me to confront his monstrous cruelty.

After three years of marriage, she finally got pregnant. She thought she could live happily with him, but her husband wanted to divorce her and marry the murderer, who killed her parents. She was unwilling to divorce. However, her husband knocked her out, signed the divorce agreement, and married her enemy. She was disheartened and agreed to marry another man. Endless pain, but warmth lurked in it. She had planned to begin a new life, but a conspiracy was coming.

Fear follows Alpha Samson wherever he goes. As the ruthless leader of the Blackthorn pack, he and his beast, Savage, bow to no one. But when a haunting scent leads him to a neighboring pack's dungeon, he finds his fated mate-bloody, broken, and chained to the wall. Alora is a half-wolf, half-witch hybrid falsely accused and left to die. But her abusers made one fatal mistake: they touched the mate of a monster. Rescued by the fierce Alpha, Alora begins a journey of healing that uncovers a lifetime of lies. She isn't just a survivor; she's a weapon. Together, Samson and Alora will unleash hell on those who wronged her, unearthing dark family secrets and claiming the crown that was stolen from her birth.

I was waiting at the Registry Hall to formalize my mate bond with Gabe, my childhood sweetheart and the Alpha of our pack. He was thirty-two minutes late. When I finally found him in a private VIP lounge, his hands were buried in my cousin's hair, their lips locked together. Hailee was supposed to be my maid of honor. Instead of apologizing, Gabe looked me dead in the eye and used his Alpha authority to publicly reject me. The severing of our ten-year bond tore my soul apart, but the nightmare didn't stop there. My grandfather immediately called, demanding I clean up a mess Hailee had made. When I refused, he disowned me on the spot, froze every single one of my bank accounts, and stripped me of my family name. Within hours, my entire pack erased my existence, gleefully announcing Hailee as their new Luna. I had given my entire life to a family and a man who discarded me like worthless trash the second I became inconvenient. I was left broken, humiliated, and utterly penniless in the blink of an eye. But as I stumbled out of that sterile hall, a terrifyingly beautiful stranger stepped out of the shadows, radiating a primal power that made my knees weak. He was Caden Sinclair, the ruthless Lycan King, and he was dodging a forced political union of his own. "You need a shield. I need a wife. Marry me." Without hesitation, I signed the Eternal Vow.

I was three months pregnant when the car hit me. Lying there, barely hanging on, I called my husband-Alpha Ethan-over and over. No answer. When I finally woke up from the pain, I saw a post from his first love, Ivy. "Thank you, Alpha, for knowing how scared I am of the dark and staying with me all night. He even cleared his whole schedule today to take me to the auction, just to give me the best gift in the world. I'm so happy!" Right then, it hit me. While I was fighting to protect our child, he was with another she-wolf. I calmly liked her post and put my phone away. Since he chose his first love, I chose to let go. Seven days from now, I'd leave his world for good-with our child.

For years, Elara Park endured being called "half-breed" and "weak blood" at pack meetings. Because she was a hybrid wolf, she trusted Zack Blackwood's sweet promises. Then he rejected their fated mate bond moments after claiming her body. Before she could even breathe through the soul-crushing agony, the news was already celebrating his engagement to her vindictive stepsister, Selina. The headlines gushed about their "perfect pureblooded union." Her mother's call came like a final blow: "Elara, you're twenty-three now. It's time you contributed to the family." Marry the worthless second son of a prominent Alpha family or lose her father's empire forever. They had her trapped, ready to steal her birthright and leave her powerless. But as the heartbreak bled out, ice-cold determination took its place. Elara went to the arranged meeting at the city's most exclusive club, determined to turn her mother's matchmaking scheme to her advantage. She would agree to marriage-but on her own terms. When she found who she believed was Damian Sterling in the private suite, she cut straight to business: a contract marriage with clear boundaries, separate lives, and a guaranteed escape route. What she didn't know? The devastatingly dangerous man who'd just signed her contract with a predator's smile wasn't the pathetic playboy she expected. He was Dominic Wolfe-the Alpha King who'd been relentlessly hunting her for years. And now, she'd just signed herself over to him completely.

For three years, I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into building Blackwood Group for Alec, my Alpha and the man I thought was my mate. But on the day of our work anniversary, I stood outside his office door and heard him talking with his Beta, shattering my entire world. "Kay is just a wolfless Omega, useful for paperwork," Alec sneered coldly. "The bonding ceremony is just a show for the elders. The real Luna, the one who carries the bloodline that matters, is Breanne. I'm transferring all of Kay's core project files to Breanne tomorrow. Let her take the credit." He even texted me later, telling me to wear a blue dress to the upcoming gala because it made me look "obedient." I had turned down a Wharton scholarship for this man. I had spent countless nights fixing his mistakes, building his empire, and giving him my youth. Yet to him, I was nothing but a disposable placeholder, expected to smile and bow while another woman stole my life's work and my place by his side. The agonizing pain in my chest didn't break me; it forged me into ice. I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't beg. Instead, I wiped his servers clean of every strategy I had ever created, left a wax-sealed resignation on his desk, and accepted a job offer from his most ruthless rival.

I died once before, framed for a murder that never happened. I am Princess Fiona Avery of the Blackwood Pack, forced by my father into a political union with Bowen Mayer, heir to a powerful house. In my first life, my husband's mistress faked a pregnancy, accused me of pushing her into a lake, and watched as I was condemned as a murderer. I spent my final days in a mental ward, broken and drugged, until a lethal injection silenced me forever. But the dead don't always stay dead. I opened my eyes on the very day it all went wrong. My tea was still laced with sedative. My husband's footsteps were already pounding down the hall. His weeping mistress was ready to play her part. This time, I don't beg. I don't cry. I don't kneel. I summon the ruthless Gamma of the royal Shadow Guard. I demand the pack doctor examine his precious lover-right here, in front of everyone. I stake my life on a wager I know I cannot lose. They think I'm still the weak, wolfless princess they once destroyed. They have no idea what I've become.

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.

For years, I belonged to him. Not his mate. Not his love. But his bedmate. His Gamma. His shadow in the night. Alpha Calhoun made sure no man dared touch me, no wolf dared look at me. I was his possession, his secret, his sin wrapped in skin. And I endured it all-his rough hands, his dark devotion, his kisses that tasted like fire and chains because at least, for a while, he was mine. Until she returned. His destined mate. His so-called true love. And suddenly, I was nothing. Cast aside, silenced, left to wither in the shadows of a love that had never been mine to claim. But the thing about being claimed by a man like Calhoun. is that he never truly lets you go. "Try to leave me, Elodie," his voice had been a snarl against my throat, his grip bruising my waist. "I'll burn down every border, tear apart every wolf that stands in my way, until you crawl back to me. You're mine, even if the Moon Goddess herself wants to rip you away." He didn't know then that I already had one foot out the door. And when I finally left his pack. I took more than just my broken heart with me.

"I reject you," Alpha Damon sneered, looking down at the shivering Omega. "I need a Queen, not a servant." Aria bowed her head and accepted her fate, but she took a secret with her when she fled into the night: the Alpha's heir growing in her womb. Five years later, Aria returns to the city, no longer the weak girl who scrubbed floors. She is powerful, wealthy, and stunning. She thought she could hide from her past, but fate has a cruel sense of humor. Her new business partner is none other than Alpha Damon. When Damon sees her, he realizes the mistake he made. He wants his mate back. But then he sees the little boy with his same grey eyes hiding behind her legs. "Who is the child, Aria?" Damon growls, his possessiveness flaring. Aria smiles coldly. "Someone you rejected."

I was born to be Alpha Damien Carlisle's fated Luna. Instead, I lived like a stray dog in his pack. For one year, I watched everyone worship Lilith Vance, his fragile first love, while they mocked me as the barren mate he was too ashamed to mark. Then I learned the truth. His mother had been forcing brutal fertility herbs into my body. His sister threw an illegal sterility poison at me. And Damien, my own mate, had been secretly lacing my food with wolfsbane contraceptives for months. When I confronted him, he did not deny it. "I couldn't let you get pregnant," he said coldly. "If Lilith found out you were carrying my heir, the shock might kill her." I finally understood. I was never his Luna. I was his bloodline. His legal womb. His family's insurance policy. The moment Lilith coughed up blood, Damien abandoned me without looking back. So I ran to the capital and begged the Alpha King to grant me a formal Rejection. He threw my petition away unread. My mate had poisoned me. My pack had betrayed me. And the King himself refused to free me. Fine. If the law would not save me, I would save myself. In my past life, I had been a healer no one believed until it was too late. This time, I remembered everything. In seven days, at the Royal Hunt, the Alpha King would drink a silver poison designed to kill even a Lycan. No royal healer would be able to save him. But I would. I packed my surgical kit, disappeared into the city slums, and prepared the only cure in the kingdom. When the King lay dying, he would finally listen. And the price of his life would be simple. My freedom.