The Surgeon's Scars: Running From My Past

For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist. The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran’s "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite." When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome. I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out. But Kieran forgot one thing: my father’s multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city’s most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy. I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins—the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street—and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake.

For years, I, Alyssa Peterson, worked tirelessly as a firefighter, striving for the approval of my father, Battalion Chief Michael Peterson, and my brother, Captain Eric Peterson, while constantly eclipsed by my adopted sister, Chloe, their undeniable favorite. Then, during a ferocious wildfire, a critical warning identifying an imminent, life-threatening flare-up was deliberately withheld from my crew by my father and brother, a decision made solely to protect a "distressed" Chloe, who was safely removed from any real danger far from the front lines. My team and I miraculously survived, coughing and scorched, only for my family to coldly dismiss our near-fatal ordeal, prioritizing Chloe’s dramatic performance over our genuine trauma, making it painfully clear they’d sacrifice me and my crew without a second thought. How could the very people sworn to protect, my own family, so cruelly abandon me and my fellow firefighters to near-certain death for the sake of a melodramatic, manipulative girl who had never truly accepted me? Realizing I was and always would be disposable in their eyes, I ripped myself free, moved out, and meticulously filed explosive complaints with Internal Affairs and OSHA, defiantly recording their furious threats to blacklist my career, prepared to burn down their carefully built empire and forge my own path.

My husband Jeremy crashed a wedding for his ex, Donnie, and the video went viral. I was at home, pregnant and making his favorite lasagna, when I saw him screaming about saving her from the groom. This wasn't the first time. Three years ago, his obsession with playing her hero cost me our first baby. He swore it would never happen again. He had promised to be there for my prenatal check-up, but he abandoned me to rescue her instead. When he finally came home that night, he fell to his knees, crying and begging for another chance, just like he did before. He looked pathetic. But this time, I felt nothing but a cold, hollow emptiness. The woman who loved him was already dead. I looked him straight in the eye and calmly delivered the final blow. "I had an abortion today. The baby is gone." "Sign the papers, Jeremy."

For ten years, I lived as a powerless Omega, my only joy being my brilliant daughter, Michelle. I had bound my true nature—a powerful White Wolf—to protect her from my family's enemies. When she won a coveted internship at the International Council, I thought our quiet life was finally secure. But a week later, I found her crumpled in a corner of her school, bound by silver ropes that burned her skin. Her dreams were being torn apart by Lacey, the daughter of our pack's Alpha. "This little nobody thought she could steal my spot," Lacey sneered. "The internship my Alpha father secured for me." My world shattered. The Alpha was my husband, Vincent—my fated mate of ten years. When I reached out to him through our sacred bond, he dismissed my panic with sweet lies, even as I watched Lacey and her friends torture our child for sport. The ultimate betrayal came when his mistress, Ivy, flashed the Alpha's Mate card—"my" card, which he had given to her. He arrived only to deny knowing me in front of everyone, a sin that shattered our bond. He called me a trespasser and ordered his warriors to punish me. As they forced me to my knees and beat me with silver, he just stood and watched. But they all underestimated me. They didn't know about the amulet I'd given my daughter, or the ancient power it held. As the final blow landed, I whispered a name into a hidden channel, calling in an oath my family made generations ago. Seconds later, military helicopters swarmed the building, and the High Council Guard stormed the room, bowing to me. "Luna Harper," their commander announced, "The High Council Guard is at your command."

For five years, I was the Alpha's mate, but my husband, Mark, saved all his affection for another woman. At a grand pack gala, our fragile charade came crashing down when a massive crystal chandelier tore from the ceiling, plummeting towards the three of us. In that horrifying second, Mark made his choice. He violently shoved me aside-not to safety, but directly into the path of splintering debris. He used his own body as a shield, but only for Isabella, his mistress. I woke up in the infirmary, my body shattered and my connection to my wolf spirit crippled for life. When he finally visited, it wasn't with remorse. He stood over my bed and performed the ultimate betrayal: the rite of severance, brutally tearing our sacred bond in two. The spiritual agony was so profound it stopped my heart. As the monitor flatlined, the pack doctor burst in, his eyes wide with horror as he looked from my lifeless body to Mark's cold face. "What did you do?" he screamed. "By the Moon Goddess, she's carrying your heir."

My name is Jennifer Smith, and for eight years, I believed I was the luckiest woman alive. I was marrying Ethan, the charismatic musician who' d promised to be my rock, the one who saw past my severe stutter. At our rehearsal dinner, my parents gifted us millions: a trust fund and a historic Beacon Hill brownstone. Then, Ethan' s mother, loud and sharp, mocked my stutter, questioning my ability to speak my own vows. Before I could even react, Ethan, my supposed protector, brazenly addressed my parents. He claimed that due to my "condition," managing such assets would be overwhelming. He suggested all wedding gifts be put under his name, for my own protection and to prevent anxiety that triggered my stutter. My father roared, slamming the table, refusing to make his daughter a business deal. The stress and betrayal were too much; he clutched his chest, gasped, and collapsed onto the floor. My father suffered a heart attack. While he fought for his life in the hospital, Ethan' s mother posted a viral video, painting us as cruel rich people who gave my father a heart attack for refusing to give them money. This malicious lie, going viral as #JusticeForEthan, reached my father's tablet. He saw it, and his heart gave out. In that moment, I knew. They killed him. Grief consumed me, but underneath it, a cold, hard fury solidified. I saw Ethan in the hospital, smirking, already plotting his next move to exploit my father' s death for gain. But he didn't know the game had just fundamentally changed. My father' s funeral would be the beginning of my war.

Two years of marriage left Brinley questioning everything, her supposed happiness revealed as nothing but sham. Abandoning her past for Colin, she discovered only betrayal and a counterfeit wedding. Accepting his heart would stay frozen, she called her estranged father, agreeing to the match he proposed. Laughter followed her, with whispers of Colin's power to toss her aside. Yet, she reinvented herself-legendary racer, casino mastermind, and acclaimed designer. When Colin tried to reclaim her, another man pulled Brinley close. "She's already carrying my child. You can't move on?"

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.

"Anya, a 'wolfless' in a world of powerful werewolves, was invisible, drowning her sorrows and desperately lonely. One drunken text, a desperate cry for attention, accidentally reached the Alpha, pulling her into his terrifying orbit. Now, she's trapped, a pawn in his game, forced to warm his bed while he waits for his true mate, her heart breaking with every stolen moment. As a 'wolfless' in the Blackwood Pack, Anya felt like an outsider, always yearning for a connection. One night, in a drunken haze, a misdirected text meant for her best friend landed in Alpha Declan Blackwood's inbox: ""Send me something hot."" Minutes later, the most powerful, terrifying man in the Pack stood at her door, claiming her with a possessive kiss that ignited a dangerous, unwanted fire. The next morning, his cold indifference shattered her world. Publicly humiliated and instantly fired, Anya became a pariah. Her dying mother's urgent need for a million-dollar heart transplant left her with an impossible choice: accept the Alpha's cold, transactional marriage proposal or watch her mother die. She became his ""placeholder"" wife, a contract, not a partner, all while battling a confusing attraction to the man who treated her as property. Why did he demand her, only to remind her constantly of her worthlessness, especially when everyone knew he waited for his true mate? Her world crumbled when she overheard Declan tell his returning ""true mate,"" Kristin Larsen, that Anya was ""just a substitute."" Despite the crushing betrayal and a strange, unyielding pull, Anya, fueled by her mother's desperate need, vowed to survive this gilded cage and reclaim her life before she lost herself completely."

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.

"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."

Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."