General He is really miserable, got divorced by his wife.

I woke up strapped to a freezing operating table, a gaping hole crudely sutured over my heart. Joi Rocha, my supposed guardian, stood nearby holding a glowing vial that contained my freshly extracted Phoenix gene sequence. "Don't blame me, sweetheart. Gayla's body is just too weak. She needs this sequence more than you do." In my past life, I endured years of illegal biological harvests for this family. My fiancé Brennon watched with cold eyes as they ripped the gene from my chest, while the elite academy students filmed and mocked my bleeding, broken body. They stripped me of my status, drained every drop of my worth, and left me to die in a freezing tomb just so their precious fake daughter could thrive. Until my dying breath, I didn't understand. I had given them my absolute loyalty, so why was I treated like disposable medical waste? Why did my life mean absolutely nothing to them? But opening my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the exact day they stole my core. This time, I didn't cry or beg. I stared dead into Joi's eyes and smiled. I detonated the residual energy in my chest to incinerate Gayla's stolen sequence, faked my own flatline, and injected myself with a hidden dark matter drive to completely rewrite my DNA. If they wanted to play God with my life, I was going to burn their entire world to ash.

I was happily pregnant with my mate Ronan's child, ready to become the pack's future Beta female. But during a routine checkup, my sister Isolde maliciously exposed my blood test results to the clinic. The baby wasn't Ronan's. It was the consequence of a hazy, primal encounter with a mysterious Alpha during a Pack Run under lunar madness. Ronan ignored my desperate pleas. He dragged me into the pack square, publicly rejected me, and immediately claimed Isolde as his new mate. Exiled and spiritually shattered, I was attacked by rogues in the woods. I lost my inner wolf, and I lost my unborn baby. For five years, I lived as a crippled, Wolfless outcast, scrubbing floors and enduring daily humiliation while they ruled in luxury. My heart was completely dead. So when the terrifying Alpha King suddenly offered me his Luna crown just because I accidentally saved his son, I only felt a chilling disgust. He didn't want a mate. He wanted a convenient political pawn and a glorified nanny for his traumatized heir. "I refuse." I rejected the most powerful wolf on the continent and escaped his golden cage in the dead of night. I walked straight into the brutal Warrior Trials as a Wolfless human. This time, I wouldn't be anyone's prize. I would earn my own power and burn their world to the ground.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my three-year-old daughter Kenisha' s rare illness led to a shocking discovery. A DNA test revealed she wasn't my biological child. That same day, I overheard my husband, Corbin, confessing the truth to his mistress. They had swapped their baby for mine in the delivery room, declaring my real daughter dead-all part of a long con to steal my family's fortune. When I confronted him, they turned the tables. They framed me for killing Kenisha's pet rabbit in a fit of rage, had a corrupt doctor declare me mentally unstable, and imprisoned me in our penthouse under the guise of "treatment." My husband, the man I loved, had not only stolen my child but was now trying to steal my sanity and freedom, all while turning the daughter I raised against me. But they made one mistake. They thought I was broken. With my father's secret help, I escaped that gilded cage. Now, I'm going to find my real daughter, and I'm going to make him pay for every single lie.

My boyfriend, Carter, chose a ski trip with his manipulative "best friend," Bridget, after I gave him an ultimatum. "If you go, we're over," I had warned. He just laughed and told me not to come crying to him when I got lonely. But while he was gone, the stress of his silence and Bridget's taunting Instagram posts sent me to the hospital with a bleeding stomach ulcer. Lying in an urgent care bed, hooked up to an IV, I saw him liking her posts-pictures of them looking like a happy couple, with captions mocking me. He wasn't just ignoring my pain; he was actively endorsing it. In that sterile room, something inside me didn't just break; it turned to ice. The years of begging for his affection, of fighting for his attention, simply evaporated. So when he came home expecting his favorite dinner, I had a surprise for him instead. "We broke up," I said, pointing to the moving boxes that held every last trace of him. He pulled out a Tiffany bracelet, claiming he was going to propose. But it was too late. I had already called the movers.

For five years, I was the cherished ward of Ambrose Aguilar, the man who saved me. I thought he loved me, until his pregnant first love, Katharine, returned. I was just her substitute. That same day, I was diagnosed with a fatal blood disease, my only hope a transplant from family I never had. Ambrose' s kindness turned to cruelty. He watched as Katharine tormented me, framed me, and finally ordered me killed. But the cruelest twist came from a DNA test: Katharine, the architect of my suffering, was my biological mother. She sacrificed her life to give me the transplant. Now I'm starting over, leaving the man who broke me to the ruins of his own making.

The two pink lines on the pregnancy test were a burst of pure joy, and I immediately called my husband, Ethan, a hero firefighter in our Cleveland hometown. His voice on the phone was full of such happiness it brought tears to my eyes as he promised to come straight home. But he never made it; a massive warehouse fire claimed his life, leaving me a pregnant widow, heartbroken and clinging to his identical twin brother' s comforting vow to take care of me. My grief turned into a living nightmare when the arsonist gang Ethan had put away began harassing and attacking me, spray-painting threats on my door and cornering me in dark alleyways. I nearly lost our baby, trapped in a relentless cycle of fear and isolation, with the man I believed was my brother-in-law "protecting" me. Then, fleeing another violent break-in, I overheard an earth-shattering conversation at the Clark family home that revealed the horrifying truth: Ethan was alive. He had faked his own death, letting me mourn him while he lived comfortably with his brother's widow, Molly, who was also pregnant with his child, coldly waiting for "a little more time" before returning to me. The man I loved and grieved watched me suffer, watched me nearly lose our baby, all while orchestrating my pain and prioritizing his other family. How could the hero I adored be such a monster, betraying me so cruelly for a woman he thought more "fragile" than his suffering wife and unborn child? With the image of his charred helmet now nothing but a symbol of his monstrous lie, I made a desperate call, accepting firefighter Andy Lester' s wild offer to marry him-for protection, for escape, for a chance to finally run.