The Bracelet He Bought For Two

For five years, I suppressed my Royal White Wolf bloodline to be Sam’s "Chosen Mate," waiting for a Mark that never came. I cut ties with my powerful family, accepting a paper certificate instead of a soul bond, all because I loved him. But my sacrifice meant nothing. Sam brought his mistress, Lily, and a child into our pack house, forcing me to accept them. He claimed the child was his because I was "barren," humiliating me to protect his fragile ego. The betrayal turned deadly over breakfast. Lily laced my food with Wolfsbane, then slashed her own chest to frame me. When Sam rushed in, he didn't check the facts. He pinned me against the wall by my throat, ignoring my swelling airways as the poison took hold. "If she dies, you die." He threw me to the floor like garbage and rushed his mistress to the hospital, leaving me to suffocate alone. I had to crawl to my room, clawing at the floor tiles, to reach the antidote my father had given me years ago. As I retched up the toxin, the last of my love for him was purged along with it. I stood up and walked to the backyard rose garden—the symbol of our marriage. I doused it in gasoline and struck a match. Before the Royal Guards arrived to take me home, I pinned a rejection letter to the front door with a dagger. "I reject you, Sam. And by the way, check your old medical files. You’re the one who is sterile."

My fiancé Javen sent me to a yacht in the middle of a New York storm to finalize a high-stakes merger with Alfonse Wolfe, a billionaire rumored to have ice water in his veins. I did it for "us," shivering in a soaked evening gown and cutting my hand on broken glass just to get the signature that would save Javen’s company. But when I rushed back to the Doyle estate, the manor was blazing with lights for an unannounced engagement party. Javen wasn't waiting for me with open arms; he was standing on the dance floor with Blossom Vega, the daughter of his biggest competitor, announcing their union to the elite of New York. When I stepped forward, dripping blood and water onto the marble floor, Javen didn't try to protect me. He looked at me with pure disgust and told the gathered press that I was a "charity case" suffering from mental delusions. His mother laughed while calling me a cockroach, and his father claimed my family’s lost fortune was a hallucination. To ensure my silence, Javen leaned in and whispered that he would pull the plug on my disabled brother’s life-saving medical care if I didn't disappear. I was hauled away by security and locked in a dark storage room like a stain on his perfect evening. I lay there in the dust, unable to process how twelve years of love could be a calculated lie. How could the man I was supposed to marry use my brother’s breath as a bargaining chip after I had just sacrificed everything to save him? I escaped through a second-story window and went straight to the only predator powerful enough to tear the Doyles apart: Alfonse Wolfe. I didn't just ask for sanctuary; I demanded a marriage license to unlock my mother’s secret trust and protect my brother. Standing in a high-security vault as the new Mrs. Wolfe, I discovered a truth that changed the game. I didn’t just have the money to ruin Javen; the deed in my hand proved I now owned the very land beneath Alfonse’s mansion. "I’m not the prey anymore," I whispered, watching the Doyle stock plummet on my phone. "I'm the hunter."

For the ninety-ninth time, I stood alone at the altar in a polyester dress I bought from a clearance rack, waiting for a Mating Ceremony that would never happen. Alpha Damian didn't show up. Instead, a photo popped up in the pack group chat showing him feeding strawberries to Hadley, the woman claiming to be his savior. He called my scars repulsive, never knowing that the mangled flesh on my back was the price I paid to pull his paralyzed body from a fire. I drained my White Wolf blood for five years to heal his crushed spine, losing my ability to shift, only for him to treat me like a slave in his own house. But the final straw wasn't the humiliation. It was when my adoptive father had a heart attack in the driveway. I begged Damian for help. Instead of calling a doctor, he tossed my car keys into a sewer filled with sludge and laughed, watching my father take his last breath because I "needed to learn a lesson in obedience." Staring at my father's lifeless body, the love I held for five years turned into cold ash. I looked at the Alpha who thought he was a King, and I picked up the phone to dial a number I hadn't used since I was a Princess. "Come get me, brother," I told the Lycan King on the other end. "I'm done playing the maid. We are burning this pack to the ground tonight."

, I am Colleen Hoover, and I am ready to write. This story will be an emotional surgery, raw and direct, for the American woman who craves that gut-wrenching, heart-healing journey. Let's begin. I married a man haunted by the ghost of his dead son. I gave him a new son, Leo, and foolishly believed our love could heal his shattered past. But then the ghost came back to life. His ex-wife, Georgia, returned with wide, innocent eyes and a diagnosis of trauma-induced amnesia. Suddenly, my husband was walking on eggshells around the woman who broke him, while our son and I became background noise in her twisted play. The day he chose her was the day he destroyed us. After Georgia framed our five-year-old for desecrating his dead brother's memorial, my husband, Calvin, snapped. He grabbed Leo's arm and twisted it until I heard a sickening pop. As I lay on the floor bleeding, I watched him cradle Georgia, whispering comforts while our son screamed in agony. Over his shoulder, her eyes met mine, filled not with confusion, but with pure, triumphant malice. He had made his choice. Now, I would make mine. My fingers, sticky with my own blood, dialed 911. "I need an ambulance," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And I need the police."

Seven days before my wedding, an anonymous email led me to a members-only site called "The Den." The video was raw and explicit. The man in the wolf mask, with his familiar jawline and confident movements, was my fiancé, Damon. But the true gut punch was recognizing the woman with him: my best friend and maid of honor, Katina. Their betrayal escalated into a nightmare-a staged car accident that cost me our unborn child. I soon discovered Damon never loved me; he'd proposed only for my family's connections to fund his startup. My entire world wasn't just a lie; it was a cold, calculated scheme that had left me broken and childless. They thought they had taken everything from me. They were wrong. They had just given me a reason to burn their world to the ground.

My fiancé, Kayson, became my hero after he brutally avenged the miscarriage caused by his ex-wife. He had her face branded and her legs broken, all for the child she made me lose. I believed he was my savior. But on our wedding eve, I found him holding her. She was pregnant with his child, and their entire affair was a lie staged to fool me. He confessed the worst part: after my miscarriage, he had my womb secretly transplanted into her, making me barren forever. To punish me for discovering his secret, he threw me into a room of savage men to be assaulted, leaving me for dead. He thought he was destroying a helpless victim. He had no idea he was awakening the long-lost daughter of a family so powerful they could crush his empire with a single phone call. As their hands tore at my clothes, I calmly pressed the panic button on my bracelet. My real fiancé was on his way.

Everyone in town knew Amelia had chased Jaxton for years, even etching his initials on her skin. When malicious rumors swarmed, he merely straightened his cuff links and ordered her to kneel before the woman he truly loved. Seething with realization, she slammed her engagement ring down on his desk and walked away. Not long after, she whispered "I do" to a billionaire, their wedding post crashing every feed. Panic cracked Jaxton. "She's using you to spite me," he spat. The billionaire just smiled. "Being her sword is my honor."

"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.

Abandoned as a child and orphaned by murder, Kathryn swore she'd reclaim every shred of her stolen birthright. When she returned, society called her an unpolished love-child, scoffing that Evan had lost his mind to marry her. Only Evan knew the truth: the quiet woman he cradled like porcelain hid secrets enough to set the city trembling. She doubled as a legendary healer, an elusive hacker, and the royal court's favorite perfumer. At meetings, the directors groaned at the lovey-dovey couple, "Does she really have to be here?" Evan shrugged. "Happy wife, happy life." Soon her masks fell, and those who sneered bowed in awe.

Brenna lived with her adoptive parents for twenty years, enduring their exploitation. When their real daughter appeared, they sent Brenna back to her true parents, thinking they were broke. In reality, her birth parents belonged to a top circle that her adoptive family could never reach. Hoping Brenna would fail, they gasped at her status: a global finance expert, a gifted engineer, the fastest racer... Was there any end to the identities she kept hidden? After her fiancé ended their engagement, Brenna met his twin brother. Unexpectedly, her ex-fiancé showed up, confessing his love...

My husband Julian celebrated our five-year anniversary by sleeping with his mistress. He thought I was a clueless trophy wife, too dim to notice the vanilla and tuberose scent on his expensive suits. He was wrong. For years, I played Mrs. Vance, hiding my brilliance while Julian claimed my patents. An anonymous email confirmed his ultimate betrayal: photos of him and Scarlett Kensington in ecstasy. My heart didn't break; it solidified into ice at five years wasted. I activated "The Protocol" for a new identity and escape countdown. Playing the doting wife, I plotted his downfall, catching him with his mistress selling my work, and publicly snapping his credit card. His betrayals and stolen work ignited a cold, calculated fury. He had no idea the monster he'd created. I was dismantling his empire. I shredded his patent papers, stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. With a final tap, I initiated "Identity Erasure." Mrs. Vance was dead. Dr. Evelyn Thorne had just begun her counterattack.

Five years into marriage, Hannah caught Vincent slipping into a hotel with his first love-the woman he never forgot. The sight told her everything-he'd married her only for her resemblance to his true love. Hurt, she conned him into signing the divorce papers and, a month later, said, "Vincent, I'm done. May you two stay chained together." Red-eyed, he hugged her. "You came after me first." Her firm soon rocketed toward an IPO. At the launch, Vincent watched her clasp another man's hand. In the fitting room, he cornered her, tears burning in his eyes. "Is he really that perfect? Hannah, I'm sorry... marry me again."