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As she left the medical facility, Blaine finally decided to let go of her feelings for Stefan completely. The trash bin was filled with discarded tissues, symbolizing a small life that had ended before it even began. Blaine did not cry; instead, she calmly returned her aunt's call. "Aunt, I've been accepted into the graduate program at the university. I'll be heading there in a month to complete my enrollment, and I'd love to move abroad to live with you." On the other end of the line, her aunt's voice was overwhelmed with joy "That's wonderful, Blaine! Our family can finally be together again. You should talk to the Stefan properly, though. After all, his family raised you like their own daughter for so many years. And Stefan has taken such good care of you all these years..."

The day before the wedding, the luxurious wedding dress my husband had ordered arrived. As I gently touched my slightly rounded belly, I asked him for a divorce. Archie's secretary called, tearfully explaining, "Ma'am, it's all my fault for not understanding your preference. Please, don't take it out on Archie." Archie's soothing voice came through the phone, leaving me with nothing but a warning. "Don't say I didn't warn you." I packed my bags and left with determination.

In my previous life, on the day my sister and I were selecting partners from the snake clan, I rescued the distressed Dragon Crown Prince. In gratitude, upon returning to his clan, the Dragon Prince immediately made me his dragon consort. A year later, I hatched a golden egg, giving birth to a dragon child. The prince was overjoyed and, on the day of his coronation, he declared me the Dragon Queen, gaining the respect of all clans. My sister chose to marry a strong wild bear, only to become the least favored wife among them. Her jealousy towards me drove her mad, and during a snake clan celebration, she pushed me off a cliff, leading to my tragic death. When I opened my eyes again, it was the day we were to choose mates, and I saw my sister running towards the direction where the Dragon Prince was in distress. I realized she had been reborn too. However, she did not know that while saving the Dragon Prince was straightforward, bearing a dragon child was a near impossible feat.

My husband, the judge, still didn't know that I was lying cold and stiff in the morgue. After a night of drinking, he lazily sent me a voice message, "Where did you disappear to? I've won the case, and tonight, I'll celebrate with you." Seeing I didn't reply immediately, he sent two more messages, "Not answering me? What's with the act?" "Just because I didn't help you with your case, you're holding a grudge?" I still didn't respond. Frustrated, he blocked me. It wasn't until the third day, when he hadn't heard from me, that he thought to check the hospital. There, he ran into a nurse. When the nurse recognized him, she scoffed. "What? Just now remembering to look for your wife who died on the operating table?" My husband stopped in his tracks, staring at the nurse in disbelief. "What did you say? Who died?" The nurse gave him a look that seemed to question his intelligence. "Your wife, of course. I really don't know how you were her husband. She had kidney failure, and you still made her donate a kidney. You were just asking for her life." Upon hearing this, he completely lost it, desperately trying to reach me. "Alright, I won't yell at you anymore. Just say something, okay?" "Don't do this to me, I'll go crazy!" "Where on earth did you go?" "You're joking with me, right?" "Please, just reply." But my phone would never connect again. We were meant to live happily ever after, but as a judge, he decided to save his beloved, who was suffering from kidney disease, by unilaterally deciding to give her one of my kidneys. I explained to him that I had kidney failure and that another transplant would surely kill me. But he roared at me with disdain, "She was so gravely ill, you're still here, jealous and fighting for attention! Do you have a heart at all?" Under his forceful decision, I was sent to the hospital for the transplant. In the end, my condition worsened, and I died tragically in a deserted corner of the hospital.

My son's kindergarten was hosting a parent-child event. I made a special effort to attend, only to witness him holding the hand of my husband's secretary and saying, "Mom, I wish our family could stay together like this forever." Watching the three of them embrace happily, I was overwhelmed with a sense of weariness. Later, I filed for divorce and chose to spend fifteen years teaching in a rural area. If I couldn't find happiness at home, perhaps I could help others find theirs.

Derek's mistress was causing trouble again. He slid the divorce papers in front of me. "Just sign it for appearances and to keep everyone content." I clutched the hem of my dress, nodding silently. Then, I swiftly signed my name. As I was leaving, I overheard his brother teasing, "Your wife is so easygoing. Is there anything she won't do if you ask?" Derek took a graceful sip of his fine wine. "Wanna bet on it?" They wagered that in twenty days, at the city hall, no matter how teary-eyed I got, I would obediently complete the divorce proceedings. When the marriage certificate was exchanged for a divorce certificate, I held my phone tightly and calmly replied to the message I had just received, "After all this, will you marry me?" "Yes."

My mother kept a notebook of grievances. On one side, it listed the costs of raising me, while on the other, it recorded all my acts of defiance against her. In her notebook, I had all sorts of names. Burden, ungrateful wretch, ungrateful daughter... She hoped for my repayment, yet at the same time, she wished I were dead. Eventually, I did die. I left her with a hollow shell, my heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys all hollowed out, along with a bank card holding eight hundred thousand. "Mother, I've given you back everything, my money and my life. Does this make you happy?"

The day my husband, a Mafia Underboss, told me I was genetically unfit to carry his heir, he brought home my replacement—a surrogate with my eyes and a working womb. He called her a "vessel" but paraded her as his mistress, abandoning me while I bled on the floor at a party to protect her and planning their secret future in the villa he once promised me. But in our world, wives don't just walk away—they disappear, and I decided to orchestrate my own vanishing act, leaving him to the ruin he so carefully built for himself.

When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god. Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires. He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family. In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet. Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it. That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed. I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property. After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash. So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good. A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy.

My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child. Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby. To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner. They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his. The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused. But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.

I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance and cut ties with my family, all for my boyfriend of five years, Ignatz. But just as I was about to tell him I was pregnant with our child, he dropped a bombshell. He needed me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Everleigh. She'd been in a hit-and-run, and her career couldn't handle the scandal. When I refused and told him about our baby, his face went cold. He told me to terminate the pregnancy immediately. "Everleigh is the woman I love," he said. "Finding out you're pregnant with my child would destroy her." He had his assistant schedule the appointment and sent me to the clinic alone. There, the nurse told me the procedure carried a high risk of permanent infertility. He knew. And he still sent me. I walked out of that clinic, choosing to keep my child. At that exact moment, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a glowing article announcing that Ignatz and Everleigh were expecting their first child, complete with a photo of his hand resting protectively on her stomach. My world shattered. Wiping away a tear, I found the number I hadn't called in five years. "Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm ready to come home."

My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

Kaelen was supposed to be my destiny. The future Alpha of our pack, my childhood love, and my fated mate. But one night, I smelled another woman on him-a sickly sweet Omega scent I knew all too well. I followed him and found them under the great oak, locked in a lover's kiss. His betrayal was a slow and deliberate poison. When his precious Omega, Lyra, staged a fall, he cradled her like she was made of glass. But when he sabotaged my saddle during a dangerous jump, causing my horse to throw me and break my leg, he called it a "warning" not to touch her. His care for me afterward was just damage control to avoid my father's suspicion. At a public auction, he used my family's money to buy her a priceless diamond, leaving me humiliated and unable to pay. I finally understood what I'd overheard on the pack's mind-link days before. To him and his brothers-in-arms, I was just a "pampered princess," a prize to be won for power. Lyra was the one they truly desired. He thought he could break me, force me to accept being second best. He was wrong. On the night of my 20th birthday, the night I was supposed to be bonded to him, I stood before two packs and made a different choice. I rejected him and announced my union with a rival Alpha, a man who sees me as a queen, not a consolation prize.

I pulled my fiancé from a car wreck just seconds before it exploded. The fire left my back covered in hideous scars, but I saved his life. For the four years he was in a coma, I gave up everything to be his caretaker. Six months after he woke up, he stood on stage at his comeback press conference. He was supposed to thank me. Instead, he made a grand, romantic declaration to Estelle, his childhood sweetheart, who was smiling from the audience. His family and Estelle then made my life a living hell. They humiliated me at a gala, ripping my dress to expose my scars. When I was beaten in an alley by thugs Estelle hired, Julian accused me of making it up to get attention. I lay in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, while he rushed to Estelle’s side because she was "scared." I overheard him tell her he loved her and that I, his fiancée, didn't matter. All my sacrifice, my pain, my unwavering love—it meant nothing. To him, I was just a debt he had to repay out of pity. On our wedding day, he kicked me out of the limo and left me on the side of the highway, still in my gown, because Estelle faked a stomach ache. I watched his car disappear. Then I hailed a taxi. "The airport," I said. "And step on it."

My husband stood me up on the biggest night of my career—my first solo art exhibition. I found him on the news, shielding another woman from a storm of cameras while the entire gallery watched my world collapse. His text was a final, cold slap in the face: "Kacie needs me. You'll be fine." For years, he'd called my art a "hobby," forgetting it was the foundation of his billion-dollar company. He had made me invisible. So I called my lawyer with a plan to use his arrogance against him. "Make the divorce papers look like a boring IP release form," I told her. "He'll sign anything to get me out of his office."

My fiancé of seven years, the heir to a mafia dynasty, claimed amnesia three weeks before our wedding, forgetting only me. Then I overheard him laughing on a video call, calling it the perfect "hall pass" to sleep with an influencer before he was tied down. He flaunted his affair, abandoned me with a broken arm after a staged car crash to save her from a scratch, and planned to leave me homeless. He called me his "property," a doll he could play with and put back on the shelf when he was done. He thought I’d be waiting for his "miraculous recovery." Instead, I disappeared, leaving behind his ring and a simple note: "I remember everything. Me too."

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.