Our family drained every penny we had to save a homeless girl named Lily. We raised her like she was our own. But when her wealthy biological parents finally came looking for her, she turned on us. To win their pity, she accused us of being the traffickers who had stolen her. She staged the car accident that killed my parents. My brother's kneecaps were shattered. Then they had him locked in a psychiatric ward. And I was pushed off an 18th-floor balcony by people she hired. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she stood at our front door, clutching a filthy backpack, looking terrified and helpless. I stared at the birthmark on the back of her neck. This time, I would tear up her ticket back to the rich life with my own hands.

For five years, I kept my marriage a secret while designing the Bay Arts Center for my husband. Then he gave the credit to his first love. The day after I learned I was pregnant, his first love walked onto the stage on his arm and claimed five years of my work as her own. I exposed her in front of everyone, but my husband reported me for stealing the plans and locked me away in an island villa. I escaped and slipped into an old theater to find the ledger that could clear my name—only for someone to blow up the building. With our lives hanging in the balance, he saved her first. I plunged into the freezing water and was presumed dead. He searched for me until he nearly lost his mind. But when I returned two years later with a major award, I discovered that there was more to his supposed first love—and his betrayal—than I had ever known. He had never loved her at all. From beginning to end, I was the only one he loved. But I had already moved on.

My ex-husband, Keller Thorne, once spent an entire night on his knees outside the Federal Technology Safety Commission, begging A.G. to save his company. He had no idea he was begging me. By morning, torrential rain had flooded half of Harbor City. Keller's tailored suit was soaked and wrinkled, all trace of his usual confidence gone. "If A.G. agrees to step in, I'll resign as CEO." The commission's executive secretary looked down at him. Her voice was calm enough to be cruel. "Mr. Thorne, she doesn't want your job." Only months earlier, Keller had sent me divorce papers through his attorney. Then he had told the press that I had never even gone to college—that a woman like me could never understand his world. But A.G., the woman he had spent 3 years trying and failing to meet, was me.

On the day I took my sister's place and married into the Moretti family, I watched my new husband put a bullet through a traitor's right hand. If I wanted to make it out alive, I needed to look harmless. So I slipped on an old hearing aid my stepfather had given me and pretended I couldn't hear a thing. Luca believed me. After that, the most feared man in Greyport started saying exactly what was on his mind whenever I was within earshot: "You smiled at Bruno four times today. Not once at me. He's not coming into the house tomorrow." "Noah knows a few signs. Why were you talking to him for so long? I'm sending him to East Docks tomorrow." "You keep saying this marriage contract ends in 6 months. Who says I'm letting you leave when it does?" To his face, I feigned confusion. Behind his back, I used the sign language he couldn't understand to call him bossy, petty, and impossible. Then Luca went to his knees before an enemy for me—and began learning sign language in secret. The night my lie finally came to light, he closed the bedroom door, removed my hearing aid, and signed back every insult I'd ever thrown at him. Then he stepped closer, his eyes rimmed with red. "You could hear me from the very first day?" "When I told you I wouldn't let you leave—when I told you I loved you, that I wanted to keep you forever—you heard all of that too?"

I had spent years waiting for my fated Alpha to mark me, only to watch him give another woman the scent meant for his mate alone. He let her take over my bedroom. He handed her my deepest secrets and watched as she tore open my oldest wounds. Again and again, he abandoned me because she was weak and I was strong enough to endure it. Then he used that same excuse to let my most trusted comrade die. So I stopped enduring. And I stopped needing him. At the full-moon ceremony, I rejected his mark before the entire pack. His face went deathly pale. Then he coughed up blood and fell to his knees in front of them all.

For Caleb, I chose to remain—a human in a wolf pack that had never welcomed outsiders. I built a hospital and prepared medicine. I gave everything I had to keep his world running, until I made Caleb both Alpha and chairman of the consortium. Then he brought home a timid pure-blood she-wolf. "Lyla, I need a pure-blood heir. I have no choice." I stared at the woman sheltered in his arms. "No. I won't accept it." Caleb's expression hardened. He broke his promise to love only me and let her stay. Every day after that, their intimate sounds drifted through the wall from the guest room next door. I silently counted down the days until I could leave. I had endured enough. I was leaving him.

I'm Lyra Hale, one of the poorest wolves on the East Coast. For a six-figure salary, I became the secretary to my high school archrival, Ethan Voss, the Alpha of Silvermoon Pack. He was sharp-tongued, impossible to please, and constantly complained that I dressed like a nun. What he didn't know? I was the reason he bombed the SAT and lost his shot at Wharton. When that insufferable Alpha called me in to work on a holiday, I couldn't help but vent on TikTok from my office, "If I sold off everything in the boss's office, I'd have enough to quit, live it up, and hire a dozen male strippers for a three-day bender." The video went viral. The top comment was from my Alpha boss himself: Ethan: [Are you insane? Why not sell me too? Am I not worth enough?] Terrified, I handed in my resignation. But my boss tracked me down across the country. His eyes were bloodshot, like he wanted to devour me, and he wrapped me in his pheromones. I thought this was revenge. Then I heard the Alpha—the one who always looked down on everyone—sigh, "I'd been waiting for you for ten years."

My husband risked his life to save his assistant—and became a national hero overnight. That assistant was his mistress. He scolded me for not understanding the bigger picture, certain I would swallow the humiliation and stay. I signed the divorce papers without a word. Then I released every last recording of their affair—the ones they'd thought were safe. He fell from grace. He knelt and begged for my forgiveness. I felt nothing but disgust. I'd held back my disgust and saved both their lives under gunfire. I could just as easily—without mercy—send them both straight to hell.

Three years ago, I handed over the evidence that my ex-husband's mistress had drowned our son. My ex—a mafia don—threw it straight into the fireplace, pulled his new woman close, and told me to stop being dramatic. I didn't stop, so he threw me out like trash. Now I'm back in New York—a top darknet operative with a federal agent husband at my side. First day home, I walked into the wrong VIP booth and got humiliated in front of my ex's whole family. I didn't argue. I didn't even raise my voice. I just set a trap for him at the hospital, and on live TV, in front of millions, I exposed his mistress for the killer she really was. His family's reputation shattered. Their stock crashed. They cornered me and demanded payback. My ex hesitated, pretending to weigh whether to save his family or save me. The next second, my husband crashed an armored vehicle straight through the hospital entrance, federal agents swarming in behind him. He shut down my ex's hospital and his entire family. They both knelt and begged. Sorry. Blood debts demand blood.

"You're as unfeeling as a stone and give me no pleasure at all. Hurry up and go see my brother to get your useless body cured!" The husband I had supported with all my family's fortune pushed me away with a look of disgust. Yet he turned around and pulled his future sister-in-law into his arms, plotting to poison my medicine, drive me insane, and seize my company. Watching this pair of clueless scumbags, I turned and walked straight into his eldest brother's private clinic. He had no idea that with a single word from me, the hundreds of billions in assets he coveted could be completely frozen. He also had no idea that his unapproachable, cold-blooded, ascetic medical genius of an eldest brother was right now kneeling before me, red-eyed, begging me to give him the chance to help me get my revenge. No matter. I can't wait to see him kneeling on the ground, respectfully calling me his sister-in-law.

I went to the black market to sell blood just to pay off my bankrupt boyfriend's debts. But when I came home, I saw him mocking me in a group chat: "Trash from the slums trying to climb the Ashford family tree? She's just a stray dog I keep for entertainment—she doesn't deserve me." To make the act convincing, he let loan sharks come after me, watched coldly as I collapsed from blood loss, and even allowed his men to beat my cat to death. I turned around, smashed the flower shop I had opened for him, and dialed the number of the billionaire father I had never contacted before: "Make the Ashford family company go bankrupt, and I'll agree to the arranged marriage." My ex-boyfriend thought I was penniless and would come crawling back to him eventually. Until the inheritance gala. He actually knelt at my feet, eyes red, begging me to take him back. I lifted his chin with the tip of my heel and looked down at him. "You don't deserve me."

In my past life, I went in to administer a sedative during the Mafia Boss's manic episode, only to be forcefully claimed by him when he completely lost his mind. But when he sobered up, he accused me of setting him up. He left me to die in childbirth, giving all his affection to my half-sister instead. Reborn, I stood outside his door, listening to the maddening sounds of destruction inside. My sister shot me a provoking glare. "You're a doctor. Are you just going to stand here and do nothing?" I simply stepped aside, handing the death trap over to her with a faint smile. "He doesn't need a doctor right now; he needs a sacrifice. Want to be the Madame? Be my guest." She eagerly pushed the door open. Soon, her gasps and tearful whimpers echoed from within. I turned around, went back to my room, locked the door, and went to sleep. On the day of their engagement, I left the estate for good. Later, my sister's incompetence caused his mania to severely worsen, pushing him to the brink of death. With bloodshot eyes, the once-ruthless Boss dropped to his knees before me. Desperately clutching my hem, he begged, "I was wrong... I realize now that it's always been you. Please, come back and save me." I pried his fingers off, one by one. "Get out of my way."

At our fifth-anniversary dinner, just as I was about to take out a positive pregnancy test, my husband pulled me into his arms and whispered in French, "Elena hasn't been able to conceive in five years. Chloe is so much better; she got pregnant in just three months." Chloe is my step-sister. What he didn't know was that I am completely fluent in French. My step-sister sent a video of her pregnancy to usurp my place? I responded by forwarding irrefutable proof of their fraud and illicit asset transfers straight to the prosecutors! Then, I smashed my phone, reclaimed my true identity as a genius designer, and flew overseas. I heard that later, facing bankruptcy and prison time, my husband discovered that the child my step-sister was carrying was actually another man's bastard. And when, in his absolute despair, he opened the "fifth-anniversary gift" I had left behind, he completely lost his mind. Inside were only two things: a signed set of divorce papers and a positive pregnancy test.

I'm the heir to a business dynasty. For three years, I kept my identity hidden while quietly funding my husband's rise, turning a low-level finance associate into one of Wall Street's hottest rising stars. His pregnant mistress, convinced I was nothing more than a trophy wife living off his success, cornered me while I was out with friends and shoved the check at me, expecting me to cover the bill. My husband even demanded I pay him back ten million—as compensation for the mistress's emotional distress. I nodded calmly. "Fine." Three minutes later, a helicopter thundered overhead as a convoy of armored vehicles sealed off the street. I stopped hiding who I was. I scattered cash at his feet and said coldly, "Take it. Consider it the price of your life." The Wall Street rising star who had been so full of himself only moments earlier suddenly buckled. He dropped to his knees amid the scattered bills and desperately begged for mercy. I tossed my wedding ring into the trash and turned away without a second glance. Begging now? Too late.

I kept my billionaire heiress identity a secret, quietly keeping my boyfriend's startup afloat with my personal black card for five months. His repayment? Backing his scheming new assistant and using doctored receipts to publicly frame me for embezzlement. The ungrateful bastard I'd built with my own money used the chance to seize power: "Hand over your clients and get the hell out." I didn't waste a single breath defending myself. I just threw my keys on the table and walked away. The next day, the fallout began. I cut off my secret funding, and his cash flow collapsed instantly. When he brought his new fling to beg the city's top billionaire for a bailout, I linked arms with the investor—my uncle—and had security toss them out like trash. When he went live online to play the victim and smear my name, I dropped the unedited bank statements—along with the deed to the very office building they worked in—canceling him permanently. Looking at my desperate, bankrupt ex, I smirked. "You wanted to convict me of embezzlement? Fine. Consider your entire company liquidated!"

"I was bleeding out on the delivery table, fighting for my life. But my tycoon husband's personal assistant refused to release the 150,000-dollar surgery deposit. ""The boss is in a meeting. Don't bother him with such a trivial matter."" Because of that missing 150,000, I lost my baby, and my uterus. And that so-called ""meeting""? He was teaching his assistant how to play golf, his hands wrapped around hers. Afterward, my husband showed no remorse. He even threatened to cut off my credit cards—to teach me a lesson. I threw the divorce papers in his face. He thought I couldn't survive without him. But he had no idea who I really was. I was a Wall Street titan, a master of capital. He wouldn't part with 150,000 to save my life. So on the day of the divorce, I'd rally the entire market and watch his empire crumble."

Jason Smith, my partner of four years, and Mia Scott, who I once called my best friend, were indebted to me for four years of rent, a $32,000 student loan, 47 dinners, two fever pills, half a loaf of frozen bread, an unborn baby, and two lives.   When the brutal apocalypse descended, in their greed for two loaves of bread, they murdered my baby and used me as zombie bait, leaving me to die.   Clinging to life, I cut my wrist to lure the zombies, determined to bring those backstabbers down with me.   Reborn 30 days before the world went to hell, I swiped their IDs and took out massive loans in their names. This time around, they would pay for every single debt with their lives!

My name is Evelyn Sutton, twenty-seven years old. I used to be a prodigy designer whose talent outshone all her peers. Five years ago, for my husband Sebastian Locke, I put down my pen, turned down all major international contracts, and hid away my brilliance — willingly becoming a full-time wife. Later, after ten months of pregnancy, I gave birth to our son, Aiden. I poured all my time, energy, youth, and passion into the family and the kid. Today was supposed to be the parent-child activity day at the kindergarten. No one expected that a fire would break out at the school.A beam collapsed in the flames and landed heavily on my calf. In the face of danger, everyone instinctively shielded their loved ones and desperately ran toward the emergency exit. But when the fire came, my husband and my son, not one of them looked back at me.Without exception, they all rushed over to protect my husband's childhood sweetheart: Cassandra Lindon.

My name is Liana Nolan. I'm 22 years old, an ordinary nurse in the Neurosurgery Department at Silverwood General Hospital. Few people know that I have another identity: a neuroscience prodigy and a doctor of neuropharmacology, under the pen name LinN. The global medical community and powerful figures from all over the world are eager to meet LinN. At this very moment, wearing my faded, worn-out nurse's uniform, I'm standing in the corner of the nurses' station, being ordered around by Dulcie Sage — who only started working here three months ago. All because she is my boyfriend's assistant nurse — and also the one he's cheating on me with.

My CEO husband's manic episode hit just as the company's core formula was destroyed. In my past life, I cut my own veins for a blood remedy. Pregnant, I stayed awake three days straight to save his life. Then I miscarried, died, watched him hand all the credit to his little damsel in distress. Reborn, hearing him howling through the wall, I called her right away. "The chance to save the CEO is all yours." Husband's doomed? I'm going to bed. The next day, she showed up clutching a half-baked draft she'd fished out of my trash. He rewarded her by smashing my signature perfume—our love token—and asked me to piss off. I calmly destroyed every last trace of the life-saving formula he depended on and walked out with nothing. What they didn't know was that discarded draft was defective. It'd trigger a lethal toxic crisis. Without me, his only future was despair, insanity, and a very slow death.

Inside the prison, the matriarch slammed fifty million on the table. "Break up my son and his girlfriend Chloe. My family cannot have such a scheming woman as its mistress." I pocketed the card, smiling. "By fair means or foul?" "Yes. Whatever it takes!" I became the matriarch's adopted sister and entered their family. When Chloe staged a fall and framed me for pushing her, I kicked her down the stairs in front of everyone. She hired hitmen to take me out, then I threatened the kidnappers into turning on their own employer. She was vicious, yet I was even more so. Looking down at Chloe's ashen face, I let out a cold, contemptuous laugh. "Play dirty with me? You're not even in my league!"

I lifted the hem of my nightgown and let my trembling hand find its way between my thighs. The moment my fingers brushed the place that had been ignored for months, a wave of suppressed need crashed through me. I closed my eyes. I let myself imagine something hot and hard pushing into me. My fingers moved harder, faster, my breath coming in short, ragged pulls. I was right on the edge—— Then the bathroom door was kicked open.

"You embezzled thirty-five thousand dollars from the firm. Get out." My lawyer boyfriend shoved the termination letter in my face. Right next to him stood the intern I had personally hired. I didn't get angry at their pathetic setup. Instead, I smiled. He had no idea the building his precious law firm sat in belonged to me. He had no idea the billionaire he'd been sucking up to for three years was my mother. And he definitely had no idea that every single client in that contact book he just stole? They worked for my mother. And they all knew exactly who I was. All he knew was that I was the idiot who loved him enough to give him everything. That's fine. Tomorrow, he'd find out the truth.

I once believed that Aaron was my fated mate, a gift from the Moon Goddess. Three years ago, I took a fatal silver bullet for him, leaving a permanent, unhealable scar on my collarbone. But when he woke up, he caught the scent of a white camellia ribbon that my sister had picked up, and he mistook her for his savior. From then on, I became the vicious older sister in his eyes. And she became his redemption. On the night of the full moon, I witnessed him losing control in heat outside the guard room. He clutched my sister's ribbon as if it were his only reason to live. Later, to vent his anger for my sister, he locked me in a water dungeon and tortured me with fifty pure silver poisoned needles until I was nearly dead. In that moment, I finally decided that I didn't want him anymore. I accepted my father's arrangement and agreed to marry the rumored dying Wolf King of the Northern Pack. Before leaving, I left behind two documents. One was a guard termination contract. The other was an application to sever the fated mate bond. One month later, Aaron finally discovered that I was the one who had saved him all along. Dragging his broken body, he knelt outside my Wolf Queen coronation ceremony, begging me to come back. But by then, I was no longer his fated mate. I was the Wolf Queen of the North.

"Serra, don't make a scene." At the Rite of Union, Kyle looked at me coldly. "Other than Elara, I will never love anyone. But if you admit your mistake now, I can still leave you half of the Alpha's mate position." Everyone in the hall thought I would back down. After all, in my past life, I bled for him, hunted for him, brought him resources, and sacrificed everything to raise him to the position of Alpha. But no one knew that when I died in the blizzard on the border, I saw with my own eyes this man, who was supposed to have died in battle, passionately kissing Elara. In this life, I publicly broke off the engagement, bypassed Kyle, and chose his archrival, Zane. That blood-soaked man pulled me into his arms and shielded me against his chest. Later, he caught me when I fell from the platform; he jumped down to save me when I broke my leg and fell into a well. Kyle, for his pure first love, knelt in the blizzard for three days and three nights. And finally, when the truth came to light, he learned— The one who had truly saved him back then was never Elara. It was me. That night, the wind and snow crushed down upon the camp. I lifted the tent flap and saw that man, once so proud and untouchable, still kneeling in the snow, his knees sunk deep into the frozen earth, his body covered in frost. He looked up at me, his eyes rimmed red, his voice hoarse as he trembled: "Serra... could you, just once more, look at me?"

Everyone believed Mark Snyder, the racer with five championship titles, was head over heels for his wife. But I alone knew the truth. He had callously tossed my engagement ring, a symbol of my dedication, into a dumpster overflowing with used condoms. He cruelly joked to his mistress, "Once I've conned her into handing over all her secrets, I'll get rid of her." Little did he know, on the eve of the championship award ceremony, with his ego at an all-time high, I erased every shred of the team's confidential data. I incinerated 1,800 pages of meticulously detailed track notes. Then, with a smirk of icy satisfaction, I broadcasted his infidelity live to the world. I couldn't wait to see how he would manage to win without the brains behind his success.