Mu Xiaoou

After eight years together, I thought Floyd was my future. But when a wooden frame collapsed at the lake, he ran right past me to help another woman. He didn't even glance at my shattered arm. "Wait a minute, Katerina!" he yelled, scooping her into his arms and sprinting away. His betrayal only got worse. He moved her into our home, into the nursery we had planned for our child. He even forced me to help her try on my wedding dress. When a display rack collapsed and gashed my head open, he left me bleeding on the floor to rush her to the hospital. He didn't just break my arm or my head; he shattered the eight years of love I had given him. He proved I was nothing more than a disposable inconvenience. Waking up alone in a hospital bed, I finally understood. I checked myself out, packed a single bag, and bought a one-way ticket to a new life.

I sacrificed my career as a violinist to save my fiancé, Graham, in a car crash that shattered my hand. For five years, I endured the pain and supported his political ambitions, believing in the future we planned to build around an old, historic theater. That future ended when I overheard him with his campaign manager, Kassidy. He was selling our theater to fund his campaign, dismissing my sacrifice as a mere "distraction." He called me a "drowned rat" one day, then posted a picture with Kassidy the next, captioned "#PowerCouple." He denied me money for a new physical therapy treatment, claiming the budget was tight, only to buy her an "exquisite" gift. He called her his "best asset." I was just a liability. My sacrifice wasn't an act of love to him; it was a "choice" I made that he now held over my head. So on the night of his career-defining gala, when he thought I was at home waiting for him, I prepared my own opening night. At the very theater he tried to steal from me.

I was drowning in the pool, chlorine burning my lungs, but my fated mate, Jax, swam right past me. He scooped up Catalina, the swim team captain who was faking a cramp, and carried her to safety like she was made of glass. When I dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated, Jax didn't offer a hand. Instead, he glared at me with cold hazel eyes. "Stop acting like a victim, Eliana," he spat in front of the whole pack. "You're just jealous." He was the Alpha Heir, and I was the unshifted failure. He broke our bond piece by piece, culminating at the sacred Moon Tree where he slashed through our carved initials to replace them with hers. But the final blow wasn't emotional; it was lethal. Catalina threw my car keys into a pond laced with Wolfsbane. As the poison paralyzed my limbs and I sank into the dark water, unable to breathe, I saw Jax standing on the bank. "Stop playing games!" he shouted at the ripples. He turned his back and walked away, leaving me to die. I survived, but the girl who loved him didn't. I finally accepted the rejection he never had the guts to speak. Jax thought I would crawl back in a week. He thought I was nothing without the pack's protection. He was wrong. I moved to New York and walked into a dance studio, right into the arms of a True Alpha named Daryl. And when I finally shifted, I wasn't a weak Omega. I was a White Wolf. By the time Jax realized what he had thrown away, I was already a Queen.

At our family’s most sacred event, my husband put his mistress’s son on his shoulders—a place of honor meant for our daughter, the true Vitali heir. When our little girl ran to him, he let the other boy shove her to the ground. Then, in front of everyone, he asked the one question that would get him killed. “Whose kid is this, anyway?” I picked up my daughter and delivered his eulogy: "Her father just died."

The video was only fifteen seconds long: a male burlesque dancer, all glitter and bravado, tearing off his pants. My finger slipped, and the screen flashed: Video sent to Liam. Panic seized me, cold and immediate. Liam, my workaholic, rarely-home, contract husband, recipient of my perfectly-crafted façade. I fumbled for my phone, desperately typing a lie: "Oh my god, Liam, you will not believe where Ashley dragged me tonight. I am so disgusted." His reply came instantly: "Okay." Just "Okay." No questions, no suspicion. He bought it. My easy escape was secure. But then, across the pulsing, chaotic nightclub, I saw him. Liam. He lifted his glass, his eyes dark and unwavering, a silent warning cutting through the noise. My perfect, distant husband, who was supposed to be a continent away, was here, watching me. He knew. The easy dance I had perfected–the detached, separate lives–was crumbling. The comfortable silence of our contract was shattered. "Having fun?" he drawled, a glint in his eyes I' d never seen before, cutting through my desperate lie. "I see your friend finally convinced you to enjoy the \'decadent\' lifestyle." He knew. He had known all along, and for some reason, he had played along. Why? I watched him approach, towering over everyone, and for the first time, I felt a knot of fear and something else entirely-a thrill-because this wasn't part of the contract. This was real. As I clung to his arm, playing the doting wife for his colleagues, every interaction felt charged with a new, unsettling current. This wasn't the escape I' d planned; it was something far more complicated. The man I married for freedom was suddenly making me feel trapped, yet strangely, incredibly seen. Who was Liam Patterson, really? And why did his silent scrutiny feel more intimate than any embrace?

The pain hit me so hard it felt like my soul was being ripped out. I was Jocelyn Fuller, wife of Ethan Blakely, living a quiet life rooted in Southern tradition, bound by an ancient pact to guard his family' s fortune through my sacred albino alligator. Then, terror struck. My spirit beast, my very essence, was brutally killed – skinned, burned, leaving me collapsed and vomiting blood, feeling every agonizing second of its death through our shared bond. My husband, Ethan, returned, not with remorse, but with rage, fueled by his "devout Christian" mistress, Maria, and her televangelist, Brother Rufus. He accused me, the woman who gave him everything, of barrenness and jealousy, publicly shaming me, ordering me whipped for a truth only I knew. How could the man I loved, the man I saved from death three years ago using my very life force, believe such monstrous lies? How could he betray me so utterly, sacrificing the very source of his family's power and my own soulmate for a manipulative woman and her supposed "miracle child"? As the whip descended, each lash shattering my skin, the ancient seal holding back my true power fractured, transforming passive pain into an earth-shattering roar of awakening.

For years, my life revolved around the track, every stride a step closer to a college scholarship, my only ticket out. My younger sister, Molly, barely trained but somehow always beat me by a hair, basking in our parents' proud glances. I pushed harder than anyone, bleeding on the track, only for her to effortlessly pull ahead, usually with a smug, "Didn't want to hurt your feelings." But at the Regional Qualifiers, with college scouts watching, she took it too far. Mid-race, she faked a stumble and pointed straight at me, yelling I had shoved her. My own coach, convinced by the rumors she' d spread, disqualified me on the spot, erasing my dreams in one swift, heartbreaking blow. My parents, who worshipped Molly, accused me of jealousy, of being a "sore loser," even as I stood there, utterly numb, my future crumbling. How could someone who barely tried consistently beat me, then maliciously destroy my reputation and chances? Why did everyone believe her effortless lies over my years of sacrifice? Sitting on the cold floor of my room, staring at the wreckage of my life, I finally saw it: her success wasn't hers at all. It was a parasite, feeding on my effort, my dreams. And I realized, with chilling clarity, the only way out was to make the parasite eat itself alive.

My first life revolved around Ethan. I was Jennifer Johns, a simple waitress, utterly devoted to my charismatic husband, believing our love was enough. Then came the phone call: a horrific multi-car pile-up. Ethan and his parents were supposedly killed. On his "deathbed," Ethan begged me to raise his infant "sister," Molly. For twenty-five agonizing years, I kept that promise, sacrificing everything. Every cent, every double shift, every dream. I poured my soul into Molly, sending her to Ivy League, ensuring her success. But at Molly' s promotion dinner, Ethan and his parents walked in, alive and well. Molly wasn't his sister; she was his illegitimate daughter groomed for success by me, her unwitting, free nanny. It was all a meticulously crafted lie, a cruel, elaborate scam. Rage blinded me. I lunged, but Ethan shoved me down a flight of stairs. As darkness consumed me, the girl I loved like my own turned her back, embracing her real father. Then my phone shrieked, jolting me awake. The calendar read October 12th. The day of the "accident." This time, I wouldn't be the fool. This time, I would write the ending.

The roar of the South Philly sports bar was music to my ears, the cheers for my "Oracle" predictions ringing hollow as I saw the smiling faces of my childhood friends. Just one week from now, in a life I' d already lived, these same friends would lose everything on my predictions and leave me for dead in a dirty alley. They' d blame me, screaming King K, the flashy influencer, had called it an hour before I did, beating me until I stopped moving. Now they pressed me for more "sure things," their greed a mask over the rage I knew was coming, their loyalty as thin as their winnings. Then my Uncle Leo, the only family I had, intervened, pulling the "exhausted niece" card, a gesture that filled me with relief, even as I felt a pang of guilt for my coldness. But relief turned to dread when he revealed his "heart condition" and a staggering medical bill, claiming he' d lost all our savings on a "bad tip"-a lie designed to force one last, massive prediction from me. The betrayal of my previous life faded into the background, eclipsed by the desperate reality of his illness, trapping me into playing the Oracle again. I poured my soul into the data, finding a perfect, obscure rookie bet, only to see King K post the exact same pick minutes later, confirming a sickening truth: Uncle Leo was leaking my intel. My blood ran cold when I found the unique Eagles watch I' d given my uncle on King K' s wrist in an old photo, realizing my uncle was not only feeding my analysis to his secret boyfriend but was systematically destroying my reputation to build King K' s brand. The pieces clicked: it was always planned. But this time, I was ready. I cashed out my winning soccer bets (which King K had predictably tried to steal credit for, missing my trap bet entirely), and used every dime on one final, impossible gamble: the "unbeatable" NFL team would lose after their star quarterback suffered a season-ending injury in the first quarter-an event I remembered with horrifying clarity from my past life. I packed a bag, ready to watch King K, Uncle Leo, and every single soul who had called me a fraud, who had plotted my demise, lose everything and face the loan sharks I knew would be coming.

Although Clare was the daughter of the most influential family in the city, her true identity had been hidden from the public by her parents for her to have a healthy upbringing. Even so, her innate genes shortly prompted her to become a popular figure in the prestigious college she attended. Her excellence and good luck brought her many new friends as well as a lot of unexpected romantic interests, plus all the trouble that came along with them. Now among all the charming and handsome boys she met, who will turn out to be the destined lover for the playful girl?

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

For seventeen years, I was the pride of the Carlisle family, the perfect daughter destined to inherit an empire. But that life ended the moment a DNA report slid across my father’s mahogany desk. The paper proved I was a stranger. Vanessa, the girl sobbing in the corner, was the real biological daughter they had been searching for. "You need to leave. Tonight. Before the press gets wind of this. Before the stock prices dip." My father’s voice was as cold as flint. My mother wouldn't even look at me, staring out the window at the gardens as if I were already a ghost. Just like that, I was erased. I left behind the Birkin bags and the diamonds, throwing my Centurion Card into a crystal bowl with a clatter that echoed like a gunshot. I walked out into the cold night and climbed into a rusted Ford Taurus driven by a man I had never met—my biological father. I went from a mansion to a fourth-floor walk-up in Queens that smelled of laundry detergent and struggle. My new siblings looked at me with a mix of fear and disgust, waiting for the "fallen princess" to break. They expected me to beg for my old life back, to crumble without the luxury I’d known since birth. But they didn't know the truth. I had spent years training in a shark tank, honing survival skills they couldn't imagine. While Richard Carlisle froze my trust funds to starve me out, my net worth was climbing by millions on an encrypted trading app. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves. They didn't realize they were just letting me off my leash. As the Carlisles prepared to debut Vanessa at the Manhattan Arts Gala, I was already making my move. "Get dressed. We're going to a party."

After two years of marriage, Kristian dropped a bombshell. "She's back. Let's get divorced. Name your price." Freya didn't argue. She just smiled and made her demands. "I want your most expensive supercar." "Okay." "The villa on the outskirts." "Sure." "And half of the billions we made together." Kristian froze. "Come again?" He thought she was ordinary-but Freya was the genius behind their fortune. And now that she'd gone, he'd do anything to win her back.