The day after I lost the baby, I sent Alpha Dominic a message. Elara: I want to terminate the mate bond. When he received it, he was holding my sister Serena Ashford in his arms. He replied impatiently. Dominic: What game are you playing this time? Terminate the bond? Then come find me after the baby is dead. He didn't know the baby was already gone. Just before the bond was terminated, he sent another message through the mind-link. Dominic: Can't you learn to be more like your sister and behave yourself for once? I didn't reply. I submitted the Declaration of Severance from My Family along with my application to enter the Silvermoon Sanctuary for closed research. The doors of the Silvermoon Sanctuary closed behind me. 'Since you're using me to keep my sister happy, I'm done being your Luna.'

"I want a divorce." It was the third time I'd asked since discovering I was nothing more than a stand-in for my husband's first love. Ethan Hawthorne didn't even spare me a glance. He answered Celeste Laurent's call and left me standing alone in the pouring rain. "Get out and cool off. I hope this is the last time you throw a tantrum." Ethan was convinced I'd never leave him. I glanced down at my phone. A message from Celeste's brother, Lucien Laurent, lit up the screen. Lucien: The academy will hold your spot until next week. Want me to come pick you up? Celeste wanted my husband? Fine. Then I'd become her sister-in-law instead.

When enemy knights abducted me, Duke Locke was watching the sunrise beside Swan Lake with his new lover. When a messenger delivered my plea for help, Locke barely glanced at it. "Keep her locked up. Let her suffer for a while. Maybe then she'll stop using tricks like this to cling to me." By the time his answer reached the tower, a cold blade had already cut into my neck. I looked at the enemy lord whose name inspired terror across the land. "Duke Ronan, killing me will gain you nothing. But if you're willing to make a deal, I can give you the one thing Locke is most afraid of losing." Ronan lowered his gaze to me. "What?" "His title." When Locke finally remembered me, he stormed Ronan's border fortress himself. By then, Ronan had me in his arms while Locke stood outside, screaming for me to come back. Ronan looked down at me, asleep against his chest. He brushed his fingertips over my cheek, then gave Locke a taunting smile. "Too late. She doesn't have the strength to leave with you now."

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!"

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 husband, Philip Lammeter, was still alive, but our 7-year-old son, Kane Lammeter, had already stopped calling him Dad. After discovering that Philip was spending the time meant for our family with his first love, Nicole Hayes, and her son, Hugo Hayes, I signed a separation agreement and began teaching Kane to call him "Mr. Lammeter." When Kane was trembling with fever, a single phone call from Nicole was enough to make Philip leave. I wiped away my son's tears and told him to look toward the door and say, "Good night, Mr. Lammeter." On Kane's birthday, Philip kept a roomful of guests waiting until the candles burned down because he'd gone to another child's school picnic. I straightened the paper crown on my son's head and told him, "Mr. Lammeter had other plans." Each time, Kane would bite his lip for a long while before finally forcing the words out. Then, one day, Philip finally offered to take a family portrait with us. But at the studio, his phone rang again. "Philip, could you be Hugo's dad just this once? It's family day at school, and he's standing there all alone. He looks so pitiful." Philip had barely bent down when Kane let go of his hand. "Go be with your other child, Mr. Lammeter. Mom and I are enough for a family portrait." I took my son's hand and made up my mind. We were leaving that house together, and we would never go back.

My lungs had completely given out from silver poisoning, yet my billionaire Alpha sister, Valerie Carter, donated a single dollar to my hospice fundraiser. Beneath the donation, she left a comment. Valerie: Lung failure? Let me know when you're actually dead. I'll pop champagne to celebrate. Four years ago, Myron Vance, a rogue werewolf she sponsored, accused me of stealing his guaranteed admission spot to medical college. Valerie forced me to withdraw, stripped away my pack benefits, and threw me out of the packhouse of the Black Pine territory. She said I could only come home when I was willing to apologize to Myron. I never did. So every time I found a job, she ruined it. In the end, the biological sister of the Black Pine Alpha was reduced to dragging a torn sack through the rainy nights of Grayhaven, picking up half-empty soda cans strangers had left behind. Meanwhile, Myron moved into my bedroom and drove the new car my sister bought him. I stared at Valerie's comment for a long time. Then, I called Arthur Bell, the cemetery caretaker. "That plot right against the fence—please hold it for me. I'll pay the deposit tomorrow." The one dollar she donated happened to complete my fundraising goal. I canceled my treatment appointment and signed my name, Faye Carter, on the burial authorization form.

My Alpha husband never allowed our son to call him Dad. But on the day his first love returned, he pulled our son into his arms and drunkenly told me, "Delphine, I love you." Except my name was Linnea Ivers, not Delphine Arden. He was calling his first love. Our son threw his arms around his neck, his face lighting up. Then he carefully asked me, "Mom, what's wrong with Mr. Hollis?" Holding back my tears, I took my son from him and carried him back to his room. When I returned to the guest room, I opened the divorce papers I had left unsigned for so long. I signed them and sent them to my attorney. Linnea: I want to end this marriage. Please handle the divorce for me.

"Daisy, Simon's mother asked about the two of you again. Would you come home to Bellmont and marry him?" Mom paused, then added, "If you're still not ready, I'll turn her down. It was only something we said when you were children. You don't have to marry him because of it." "No, Mom. I'll marry him." The line went silent for several seconds. "You mean it?" "Yes. I'll be home in two weeks. Go ahead and start preparing the wedding." Simon Caldwell was the son of one of my parents' oldest friends. We had known each other since childhood. Two years ago, he confessed his feelings for me, but I turned him down because I wanted to stay in Pacifica. Back then, Devon Hart and Kyle Ford, the two men I had grown up with, were both pursuing me. I couldn't bear to leave them either. Not anymore.

Eight weeks pregnant, I, Elise Rowan, discovered that my mate, Callum Voss, was about to marry my best friend, Sienna Arden. Mom had barely told me their wedding was set for Wednesday when Callum and Sienna walked in. Just two days earlier, he'd promised me, "Wait for me, Elise. I'll stand before the entire pack and declare that you're my one and only mate." Now he stood before me, holding Sienna's hand, asking for my blessing. "Congratulations," I said. Then I turned away, slipped the pregnancy report into my pocket. "Baby, I'm afraid you came at the worst possible time."

On the day my ex-girlfriend Audrey Whitmore got married, I whispered five words in her ear. The next second, she picked up the knife and killed the groom. Six years later, I said the same five words to her again. This time, she killed her own parents. Everyone was convinced I had incited her to murder. It was not until the recording was released that they discovered all I had said was...

My name was Cheryl Dulles. After graduation, I pretended to break my leg. While I relaxed in bed to "recover," my cousin Janet Dulles panicked. In my previous life, Janet had treated our entire class to a graduation trip to Saint Maren Island. Halfway through the trip, she sold me on the dark web, then used the money to party with our classmates. I was tortured to death somewhere in the Azure Sea. When my parents confronted Janet, she acted as though she were the one who had been wronged. "I invited everyone, but I warned them over and over not to leave the harbor. Cheryl just wouldn't listen!" My boyfriend, Samuel Reed, backed her up. "She's the one who went looking for trouble. She snuck off to the red-light district alone at night. Her disappearance is no one's fault but her own!" Every one of our classmates gave false testimony, claiming I had slipped out by myself in the middle of the night. My parents were devastated. As my sole cousin, Janet moved into our home under the pretense of comforting them. Then she and Samuel murdered my parents for the inheritance. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Janet invited our whole class to Saint Maren Island.

At my father's funeral, the scholarship student he had sponsored barged in with a huge baby bump. She dropped to her knees before me, her eyes bloodshot. "I'm carrying Allen's child! We were always careful, but it still happened. Please return him to me. I was his true love!" What she didn't know was that my father was actually a woman.

I was suffering from severe kidney failure and desperately needed a transplant. But not only had my husband, Hayden Agnes, betrayed me—he intended to give the kidney that could save my life to his mistress's mother. I was done with the man who had betrayed me. But my life and the dignity that were rightfully mine? I would take them back. I called Christian Field. He was the untouchable king of Holloway's business world—and the unhinged man who had loved me in secret for years, waiting so long for me to choose him. "I'm going to Holloway for surgery. Come get me in three days." Christian came for me, beside himself with joy. But after I left, Hayden lost it entirely.

On our way to a job interview, Ida Prescott, my best friend, who had always warned me to mind my own business, suddenly sprinted toward a Rolls-Royce that had just been hit by a truck. That was when I found out she had traveled back as well. In our previous lives, I, Delia Avery, and Ida had been the two brightest stars in Kingsley University's finance program. After graduation, we both made it to the final interview at a Fortune 500 conglomerate. On the day of the interview, we came across the company's CEO after his car crashed. I gave up the interview to save him. Ida raced to the interview without looking back. She got the job. I lost my chance at a prestigious firm. Everyone thought it was a terrible shame. Almost no one knew that the CEO repaid me by marrying me in a wedding that cost hundreds of millions of dollars. I married the man at the very top of Ida's corporate ladder and had the world at my feet. She remained an overworked employee crushed beneath impossible performance targets. At the annual gala, I stood beside the CEO dripping in jewels while she faded into the crowd, worn down and invisible. Driven mad by jealousy, she plunged a knife into me in front of everyone. When I opened my eyes again, we had both returned to the day of the CEO's accident.

On the night of our sixth anniversary, I found a case of wedding champagne in my fiancé Adrian Cole's private wine cellar. The card bore the name of Evelyn Bell, his first love—and her wedding date happened to be the same as ours. It turned out he hadn't proposed because he had finally decided he wanted to marry me. He simply couldn't stand the thought of her marrying someone else. So I slipped off the engagement ring that had come six years too late and gently set it atop the champagne case. "Adrian, let's call off the engagement."

After five years with Julian Hale, I had waited through three weddings without a groom. Claire Morris always pretended to be sick right before the ceremony. Julian would tell me to be understanding and move the wedding to the following week. Our wedding had already been postponed three times because of her. After he hung up, I saw the post she had just shared. In the photo, Julian's wedding jacket was draped around her shoulders, and their fingers were intertwined. Her caption read: He always chooses me first. I'm the happiest woman in the world. I took off my ring and called a number I hadn't dialed in two years. Adrian Shaw was my childhood friend—and Julian's sworn rival. "Adrian, you once said you'd come whenever I needed you. Does that promise still stand?" "Adrian, come marry me." "Wait for me." That day, the wedding wasn't canceled. I simply changed grooms.

When I was 13, everyone decided I had murdered my parents. I spent two years in a juvenile treatment center. After my release, I returned to the restaurant my parents had left behind and raised the three younger siblings who hated me. 25 years later, I was sentenced to life in prison for another murder. Then I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My siblings refused to let me die in peace. They connected a memory reader to my brain and livestreamed the feed for the world to see, determined to show everyone exactly what kind of monster I was. But when my memories lit up the screen, the first thing they saw was the life I had never told anyone about.

At my birthday party, a severe allergic reaction landed me in the hospital. When I woke up, I casually asked my fiancé, "Who are you?" He thought I had amnesia, so he pawned me off on his cousin and seized his chance to run away with my best friend. What they didn't know was that I remembered everything. And they had no idea that the man they'd dragged in to pose as my fiancé had waited years for this day.

The world knew me as Victoria Hawthorne, heiress to Hawthorne Group. Aboard a floating casino in international waters, I found my younger sister, Erin Bennett, who was supposed to be studying in Montavia. She had already gambled away everything she owned. Her two childhood friends, the same men who had once sworn to protect her, were now helping a fake heiress force her into signing a 10-year blood donation agreement. Above them, a massive screen played intimate footage they had secretly recorded and doctored. Every guest in the room was waiting for her to surrender. But for our mother's sake, my sister removed the family seal I had left her and wagered her last €50 million. The fake heiress laughed in her face. "Your sister died years ago. No one is coming to save you." I descended the stairs from the second floor and pushed the remaining chips toward my sister. "Who told you I was dead?"

My roommate's snake could understand every word we said. It was also the snake that killed me. In my previous life, my roommate, Vanessa Grant, found an injured white snake beside a forest highway and insisted on keeping it in our college dorm. I reported her to the residence hall director. Vanessa abandoned the snake in a derelict greenhouse, but she went there every day to feed it and told it over and over that I was the one who wanted it dead. Four years later, that same white snake led a swarm into my home. My parents and my 7-year-old sister died in front of me. I became its final prey. When I opened my eyes again, a cold forked tongue was brushing past the tip of my nose. Vanessa smiled. "Erin, it's so beautiful. Can we let it live here?" I looked into those green eyes and smiled too. "Sure."

I used my family's power to secure my husband Damian Kane's place among the Five Families. But ten days before I was due to give birth, he believed his assistant's fabricated evidence and locked me inside a glass wine cellar chilled to 18°F, forcing me to confess in front of everyone. Hundreds of guests raised their glasses and watched the spectacle as he tried to make me sign over my last remaining dock. I proved I had an alibi. Even after he knew the evidence was false, he still let his bodyguards manhandle me despite my nine-month belly. Only when blood stained the floor did he panic and order them to stop. But I had already sent the emergency distress signal my father had left me. Ten seconds later, my father, the man rumored to have been dead for three years, blew open the hall and stormed in with his men. "Who dares lay a hand on my daughter?"

On the day of his coronation, Julian Bennett, the new king, publicly tore up our three-year engagement and made Cecilia Ashford, the prime minister's daughter, his queen. My brother gripped the hilt of his sword. My father produced bonds proving the royal family owed the Harringtons 1.87 million gold coins. My mother ordered the bank ledgers moved. At midnight, I, Evelyn Harrington, stopped the carriage of Adrian Montclair, Duke of the North. "Marry me. I'll raise funds for the North, and in a year, we can have the marriage annulled." Later, the new king lost his crown for murdering his father and conspiring with the enemy. Covered in mud, he knelt at my feet and begged for mercy. The famously aloof Duke of the North took my hand and looked down at him. "She is my wife. You should call her Aunt first."

I deliberately left the lounge window open. Adrian Black was confined across the courtyard, close enough to hear Rowan White and me all night. The next morning, he stood before me with his chest wrapped in bandages and his eyes bloodshot. "You already have Rowan," he said hoarsely. "Why can't you have me too?" I was wearing Rowan's shirt. I looked at Adrian without a trace of emotion. "I thought women like Ivy were more your type. I'm covered in scars and smelling of blood. Wouldn't I make your skin crawl?" Adrian's eyes reddened. Rowan stepped up behind me and calmly fastened the top button of my shirt. The gesture pulled me back to one month earlier, just after the full-moon ceremony. I had still been carrying a fresh wound from defending the city when I went to the medic for medicine to ease Adrian's old injury. The door to the side hall beside Blackwood's oath platform had been left slightly open. I was about to step inside when I heard my name. Adrian and I had fought side by side for ten years. I had taken silver bullets meant for him and retaken the last of Blackwood's six border outposts. I had believed that once the war was over, he would finally keep his promise and marry me. Then I heard Deputy Commander Kyle speaking from inside. "Mara retook all six border outposts for Blackwood. You used to trust her more than anyone. What changed?" Adrian turned the moonstone ring on his finger, the matching half of the one Ivy wore. "Mara?" His voice was cold. "She's covered in scars and always reeks of blood. The thought of sharing a bed with her makes my skin crawl. How could she possibly compare to Ivy?" Kyle hesitated. "But every garrison at those six outposts answers to Commander Mara. What happens if she turns against you?" Adrian scoffed. "Blackwood belongs to me. So what if she leaves? It's not like those outposts would follow her." That was when I understood. He had never intended to keep his promise. He was going to marry someone else. I dropped the medicine I'd brought him into the nearest trash can, pulled out my phone, and sent a message to the one man Adrian hated most. Rowan. Mara: Wanna watch Adrian lose me and all six border outposts?

I was the Blackwood Pack's long-lost trueborn daughter, with the purest Alpha blood running through my veins. The day the Blackwood Pack's Alpha and Luna, my biological parents, came for me with the DNA results in hand, I sighed. I'd read far too many werewolf novels to believe this would end well. "Forget it. You must love the daughter you raised more. If I go back with you, the whole pack will only hate me. I might as well stay here." Mom and Dad swore again and again by the Moon Goddess that they would treat me well. The Blackwood territory was rich, and life there would be comfortable. In the end, I decided to go home with them. Once I climbed into the black SUV bound for the pack's castle, I spent the entire drive scribbling in a little notebook. Mom leaned over curiously. "What are you writing, sweetheart?" "I'm predicting all the ways your adopted daughter might try to hurt me." I pointed to the title on the cover: How to Survive the Sister Who Took Your Place. 1. The injury ruse: she hurts herself on purpose and makes Mom and Dad think I bullied her. 2. The theft setup: she accuses me of stealing the family's ceremonial wolf fang and makes Mom and Dad think I'm a thief. There were a lot more. Mom and Dad read page after page of notes and repeatedly assured me that none of those things would ever happen. When I arrived at the castle, Mia Blackwood, the girl who had taken my place, welcomed me with open arms. Relieved, I decided to try living in peace with her. Before returning, however, I had insisted that security install cameras in every blind spot, with the master controls in my possession. At the time, Mom and Dad thought I was making a fuss over nothing. Then, two days after I arrived, Mia threw herself down the main staircase and claimed I had pushed her. Mom and Dad flew into a rage and raised their hands to strike me. I put a check mark beside "the injury ruse", held up my notebook, and said calmly, "Mom, Dad, I had cameras installed in advance. Why don't we check the footage first?"

My name is Mara Ashford. The day I returned home after a six-month classified assignment, I received one last message from my daughter, Lily Ashford. Lily: Mom, help me. By the time I reached her school, she was chained to a radiator with a dog leash. The girl who had stolen her Bellmont internship stood on her passport and claimed that her father was the CEO of Northstar and her mother headed a classified national project. But I founded Northstar. And I had always been in charge of that classified project. I looked at my husband, standing silently behind the girl, and finally realized something. They had stolen far more than an internship from us.

When college started, I hid my identity as a billionaire heiress to live a few days as a normal person. But the maid's daughter from my house showed up, parading around campus under my name. We locked eyes. She pointed right at me, calling me a broke loser. Alright then. If she wanted to mess with me, she was about to find out she had chosen the wrong person to mess with.

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."

I was Ava, and I had a happy family—until a homeless girl came to our door and destroyed everything. My parents spent their life savings to save Lily, a runaway girl we found on the streets. They raised her like their own daughter. But when her wealthy biological parents finally tracked her down, Lily twisted the truth to win their sympathy and affection. She accused us of being human traffickers who had stolen her. Our reputation was ruined. We were shunned by everyone. My parents died in a car crash she orchestrated. My brother went after her for revenge—they shattered his knees and locked him in a mental institution. And I was pushed off an 18-story building by the men she hired. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she showed up at our doorstep, clutching a worn-out bag, looking timid and fragile.

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 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 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.

On the 129th night postpartum, Elisa Bennett finally felt her husband's long-awaited touch. Under the dim bedside lamp, Dylan Cooper, her husband, pressed down on her, his breath ragged, sweat dripping onto her collarbone. At that moment, she was on the edge of crying out in excitement. For four long months, she'd secretly done pelvic exercises and slathered firming creams on her lower body, all for this moment—to please her husband again. But then Dylan's body suddenly stiffened. He yanked out as if he had been stained by something filthy, his face twisting into a terrifying scowl. "So fucking loose," he spat, his voice thick with disgust. "Plunging into you feels like a pile of cotton. Zero fucking sensation." Elisa felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. Instinctively squeezing her thighs to cling to that fading warmth, she was met only with her husband's colder sneer.