At the pre-wedding party, Piper Lennox, my fiancé Neville Carleton's childhood sweetheart, pressured me to jump from the yacht deck into the sea. She waved the marriage license on her phone and teased with a smile. "Anyone here today with no official standing has to take the penalty. Sis, you wouldn't back out now, would you?" Seeing my stunned expression, Neville's friend explained, "Piper's right. Neville and she got their marriage license three months ago. Legally speaking, you're the one who doesn't belong." Piper waved her hand as if she were being modest. "We were both drunk and ended up spending the night together. Neville didn't want me forced into arranged dates by my family, so he got the license with me as a favor. Those in the know will say you're the one getting married next week; those who aren't will think you're trying to steal someone else's husband, Saoirse Chiswick." As the whole room laughed, Neville glanced at me with some impatience. "We've all grown up together. It's just a joke. Don't take it so seriously. The wedding next week will go ahead as planned. She gets the legal status. You will be Mrs. Carleton, the one everyone in the city looks up to. We each get what we want. Isn't that fine?" Seven years of giving everything, and it was nothing more than a joke I was expected to endure. I pushed back the sadness in my eyes and messaged his greatest rival. Saoirse: That business alliance you proposed. Is it still on? I'll do it.

Everyone in our circle knew that Dacian Veyric loved me more than anything, yet hated me just as much. He spent money like water, spoiling one girl after another who looked like me, while leaving me alone in our empty marital home. He was waiting for me to get jealous, to admit I was wrong, and to confess that, back then, money had mattered more to me than he did. I never reacted. Once, he brought his new lover home, and I even closed the door behind them. Dacian finally lost control. With bloodshot eyes, he stared at me and asked, "Anne, do you even have a heart?" I used to. But he'd drained it long ago. Dacian, take your time waiting for that apology. I'm going to attend a funeral that only I will be present at.

I'd had severe asthma since I was a child. Days before our wedding, my fiancé, Dylan Foster, and two childhood friends talked me into joining my best friend at an amusement park. They pushed me into the middle seat on the drop tower and buckled me in themselves. "One ride," they promised, smiling. "We'll be right beside you. It'll be over before you know it." Then, just before it started, all three of them got off. The ride climbed 330 feet into the air and stopped. The wind battered me. My chest tightened. I fumbled for my inhaler and pressed down. Nothing came out. The intercom beside my seat was still on. I could hear them laughing below. "She actually wet herself," my best friend said, watching the monitor. "Look at her face. It's purple. She's really selling it." "I told them to leave her up there for 30 minutes," Dylan said casually. "She uses her asthma to get sympathy. We always have to work around her. She needs to learn." The two men I'd known since childhood laughed along with him. "Save the video. We'll play it at the wedding. Let's see her fake another attack after that." I pounded on the safety bar and pointed desperately at my throat. On their screen, I was putting on a convincing show. They had no idea they were watching me die.

I have been the young stepmother in this household for just one year. Lately, my stepson, Wyatt Mandeville, who is a race-car driver, has been looking at me in a way that feels more and more wrong. He meets my gaze and says, "Stepmother, undo your seatbelt." My fingers twist nervously in my lap. "We are in the underground parking garage. Don't do this—" "Hush. Do as I say." His well-defined hand covers mine, and he leans in close to my ear. "What are you two so deeply caught up in talking about in the car?" Someone raps sharply through the car window. My husband, Hamish Mandeville, had returned from a business trip and stood outside, his gaze dark and menacing enough to kill.

My younger sister lay dying after a car crash. Before she died, she grabbed my hand.   "Adrienne, Heidi is Malcolm's daughter. All I ask is that you take good care of her."   My husband, Malcolm, dropped to his knees, his eyes red.   "I'm sorry. But Heidi needs a father right now."   My parents slapped him and called my sister shameless.   Numb, I picked up the pen and signed the divorce agreement anyway.   After 2 years, I came home early from a business trip and saw my supposedly dead sister in my own garden.   She had one arm linked through Malcolm's and held her daughter, Heidi, by the hand. My parents stood around them, all smiles, like one close, happy family.   I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.   Then my mother took her hand with a look of concern.   "Rosalind, these past 2 years have been so hard on you. You've had to hide all this time just so Adrienne would believe you were dead."   Malcolm looked at her, his voice gentle.   "Give it 3 more months. Once I get promoted, we'll move to a new city."   The crash had been a lie. So had the supposed betrayal.   Everyone had been protecting Rosalind. I was the only one kept in the dark, raising a child for my sister while she played dead, clinging to a marriage that should have ended long ago.

On the day we were supposed to leave for the beach, I had just settled into the car when my fiancé, Daevor Crownhall, suddenly told me to get out. "Mariselle is free today." I froze with my seat belt in my hand, unable to process what he had just said. He continued, "She's been in a bad mood lately and wants to get out of the house for a change of scenery. You can go another time." My childhood friend, Alaric Valecourt, in the passenger seat, lowered his head and stared at his phone, pretending he hadn't heard anything. My best friend, Tessa Wexford, sitting beside me, gently nudged my arm. "Don't worry, Nerys Vexley. I'll definitely bring you a gift." Even with Mariselle Rivenhall joining us, there was still an empty seat in the car. Yet they had already silently agreed to kick me out. Only later did I learn that, over the past six months, my fiancé, Daevor, had invited me out seventeen times, every single time, he had invited Mariselle first. She was busy. She thought it was too far. She changed her mind at the last minute. Only then did he turn to me. All those moments when I thought I was finally being loved were nothing more than the scraps someone else had left behind.

Out of nowhere, dozens of price lists for client services at a strip club flashed up on the big screen at the company's annual dinner, right next to bloodstained medical receipts. A female coworker from my team leapt onto the stage, snatched the microphone, and pointed straight at me, yelling at the top of her lungs, "Don't buy what Mary Francisco's been selling, everyone! She's no hotshot sales lead, not by a long shot. She's just a cheap stripper who slept her way to the top! Last month, she even snuck into the women's restroom on the second floor and secretly popped out some random bastard kid!" The entire room went dead silent in a heartbeat. Every single executive's eyes locked right onto me, and a few regional managers looked thunderous. The coworker preened, staring at me with a smug, triumphant grin on her face. "The CEO is sitting right at the head table today, watching everything. You're a toxic cancer ruining this company's culture. Drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness right now, then get the hell out!" I stared at the blurry photos of a pregnant woman's back on the screen and rubbed my temples, half amused and half exasperated. ‘Un-freaking-believable. She really committed to the bit, huh?’ Lucky for me, the CEO is my baby brother. I've been whooping his ass ever since we were in diapers, and all his allowance went straight to me back then, too. A couple of days ago, I had a super bad period leak, so I left my stained skirt in the janitor's closet to clean later. How the hell did that get warped into me working as a stripper and spawning a kid in the bathroom of all places?

My boyfriend, Grant Lawson, was obsessive about his privacy and security. A childhood home invasion had left him traumatized, so he'd installed the most advanced, secure smart lock on the market. Only he knew the code, and he never invited anyone over.   Even I had to text him before every visit and wait for him to activate my keycard. If he was in a meeting or away on business, I often spent hours waiting outside his door.   Then, the day before our fifth anniversary, I came home from a business trip and saw his secretary, Melissa Price, punch in the code and let herself in.   "I only mentioned it in passing. You actually changed the code to my birthday, Mr. Lawson?" Melissa covered her mouth in delighted surprise.   Grant smiled and stroked her hair. "Well, you have a terrible memory. It's the only code you can remember."   "Won't Audrey be angry if she finds out?"   "She wouldn't dare. She needs my permission just to get through the door."   I'd had to ask in advance to open a door that another woman could walk through whenever she pleased.   I looked down at the keycard in my hand, gave a mocking smile, and tossed it in the trash.   I'd spent 5 years waiting for him to let me in. Now we are done.

On the day of the accident, I lay in a pool of blood and felt relieved.   My phone was still showing Mom's message.   Mom: You're the reason your sister fell down the stairs when you were children. You cost her the use of both legs. You could spend your whole life paying her back and still owe her.   When I was 8, my sister, Erica Sutton, tried to snatch my doll. In the scuffle, she missed a step and tumbled down the stairs.   When she woke up, Mom pointed at me and said, "We found you abandoned. You should be grateful we were willing to raise you at all."   After that, I learned to give in.   When Erica needed a new wheelchair, I gave up my college plans and worked three jobs to pay for it.   When the man she wanted to marry fell for me, I quit my job and left the city.   Then came Christmas last week.   I stood outside the door with Christmas cookies in my hands and heard Dad ask quietly, "Have we been too hard on Natalie? She's our biological daughter too."   Mom sighed. "We can't treat them both equally. If we hadn't told her we found her abandoned, how else could we make sure she'd spend her whole life giving in to Erica?"   The Christmas cookies slipped from my hands and shattered across the floor.   Just before I lost consciousness, a second message arrived from Mom.   Mom: Erica needs surgery. Come home and pay for it.

A 3-year-old boy suddenly ran onto the stage at our engagement party and called Malcolm Renshaw Daddy.   The guests erupted in shocked whispers.   His secretary, Bethany Voss, hurried after the boy, her eyes red as she apologized.   "I'm sorry, Ms. Keene. He has a fever and kept asking for his daddy. I couldn't stop him."   I looked at the man I'd loved for 10 years and waited for an explanation.   Instead, Malcolm gathered the child into his arms, his face full of concern.   "I was drunk that night. I mistook her for someone else. Bethany's health was too fragile for an abortion. I couldn't just abandon my responsibilities."   I raised the hand that bore my engagement ring. My voice shook.   "Then what am I to you?"   Bethany shook her head frantically, choking back tears.   "Ms. Keene, I'm not asking him to marry me. I just want my child and me to stay with Malcolm."   He shielded her behind him and turned on me.   "You're the only woman I'll ever marry. Isn't that enough for you?"   Watching them cling to each other, I suddenly saw everything clearly.   I slipped off my ring and replied to the research institute's message.   Audra: I accept the permanent appointment you offered me.

With 3 months left until graduation, my two childhood friends and my boyfriend, Tristan Voss, took turns borrowing money from me. One said his mother had died. Another said his grandmother was sick. Finally, Tristan took the last 100,000 dollars.   "It's just to tide the business over. I'll pay you back within 7 days. I promise."   A month later, a doctor pointed to my test results.   "Cleft lip repair will cost 150,000 dollars. You'll need at least 2 months to recover."   But of the 200,000 dollars I'd spent 4 years saving, I had only 2,000 left.   Then, while walking past the basketball court to clear my head, I heard them planning a birthday surprise for my sister, Phoebe Bell.   "Let's use the money we borrowed for a beach trip, then put on a fireworks show for Phoebe."   "Maren won't have any money. She'll be too embarrassed to come along."   Someone laughed. "Whenever I see her mouth in a group photo, I can't bring myself to post it."   After a brief silence, someone asked, "She's always been self-conscious about her cleft lip. What about graduation photos if she misses her surgery?"   Tristan sank a shot without touching the rim.   "She's lived with it all these years. She'll be fine."   I didn't go in to confront them. I just texted my roommate, a law student.   Maren: Didn't you say you could help people recover money they're owed? I've got three people for you.

For four years, the fingerprint lock on the door of the home I shared with my fiancé never recognized me. Every time I came home, I had to stand outside and enter the passcode. My fiancé, Caedric Rooke, always said the system was unreliable and complained that I made too much fuss. "Azelie, I've registered your fingerprint so many times. You're the one who keeps doing it wrong." Then one day, I came home early and saw his childhood friend, Sable Duskell, carrying her dog toward the door. The dog's nose lightly touched the scanner, and the lock immediately chimed, "Welcome home." I thought the fingerprint lock had malfunctioned, too. Standing in the hallway, I called customer service for the first time. "This lock can store a maximum of five users. All five slots are already taken, which is why you can't unlock the door," they explained. The list appeared on the screen moments later. Caedric, his parents, and then Sable. The final user was listed as Sable's dog, Lucky. Five slots, and not one of them was mine. Turns out, in the home he planned for us, I didn't even rank above a dog.

On the 3rd day of our honeymoon, Adrian Webb got a call from Evelyn Ross, his widowed sister-in-law. Right after he hung up, he suddenly took my hand. "I'm planning to legally adopt Evelyn's baby. They'll live with us. We've got the best schools and hospitals around here. It'll make everything easier down the road." I told him flat-out that I wasn't interested in adopting someone else's child, and I certainly didn't want another woman's kid living in our home. He stroked my hair and agreed without hesitation. "Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want. Let's drop it." But not long after we returned from our honeymoon, my phone started blowing up with notifications from our neighborhood group chat. A: Congratulations, Mrs. Webb! You just got married, and you're already a mom! B: Just saw Mr. Webb moving his sister-in-law and nephew into your house! The chat was flooded with messages congratulating me on my sudden motherhood. I immediately screenshotted the conversation and sent it to Adrian, demanding an explanation. His reply came almost instantly, and he didn't sound the least bit sorry. Adrian: My brother just died. Do you seriously expect me to let his kid grow up without a father? A moment later, another message came through. This time, it was a voice note, delivered in that familiar, coaxing tone of his. "Come on, baby. Don't be mad. I'll take you to your favorite French restaurant tonight." I typed back. Yvonne: Don't bother coming.

The night before we were supposed to get married, I caught my fiancé, Ethan Parker, locked in a deep kiss with my best friend, Vanessa Reed. "Ethan, we shouldn't. You're marrying Claire tomorrow." Vanessa's voice was soft, half-hearted in her resistance. Ethan reassured her in a low voice. "Relax. I know what I'm doing." Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I reached for it and answered. "Don't marry Ethan. He and Vanessa have been together for a long time now," a voice on the other end warned me. The voice asked, "You don't believe me?"  The next second, my eyesight, which had been gone, slowly began to return. And there they were, right in front of me. My fiancé Ethan and my best friend Vanessa, locked in a kiss, their bodies pressed together. All around us, our friends were laughing, snapping photos, and praising them for being "so wild." Not a single one of them remembered that tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day. The voice continued, "The car accident was their doing too. They arranged it so you'd have no choice but to stay with Ethan, and so Vanessa could have a legitimate reason to remain by his side." I watched Ethan pull away from Vanessa and slowly remove his hands from her waist. My throat was raw as I rasped, "Who the hell are you?" The voice on the phone gave me the final answer. "I'm you, from ten years in the future."

Nolan Whitaker was a renowned jewelry designer. Yet on the day he proposed, he offered me a plain band.   "Paige borrowed the diamond ring for a few days," he explained quietly. "She's young. Don't hold it against her."   Paige Sutton was the new intern at his company.   A crowd had gathered around us. The strangers didn't care about the plain band. They just kept shouting, "Say yes!"   I turned toward the crowd.   Paige stood off to one side, wearing my diamond ring. It fit her perfectly. Nolan had resized it just for her.   The diamonds caught the light, so bright they hurt my eyes.   When we were 20, Nolan had solemnly promised to propose to me with the finest piece he would ever design.   Now we were 28. He was proposing, and that ring was on someone else's hand.   All I had was a plain band.   I pulled my hand away. "I'm not marrying you."

I'd always been a pushover. My twin sister, Daphne Vale, had always made the most of it. She was terrified her online boyfriend would turn out to be a creep, so she made me meet him in her place. He turned out to be Vincent Ashford, heir to one of the wealthiest families in the city. 3 months later, I was his fiancée. He treated me as though I were the only woman in the world. Then came our $9 million wedding. In front of over 1,000 guests, Vincent walked onto the stage holding Daphne's hand and announced he was marrying her instead. "Daphne is the woman I fell for online. You lied to get your hands on my money. You disgust me." I looked toward my family, fighting tears. My mother turned away in disgust. My father slapped me twice and told me to get out. My brother, who had always doted on me, stormed onto the stage and hurled a wedding favor at me. It struck me in the forehead. Even my best friend of 7 years took the microphone to accuse me of stealing my sister's life. The guests shoved and cursed at me. I lost my footing on the open-air wedding terrace and plunged from the 32nd floor to my death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I was supposed to meet him for her. She tossed me her phone, already losing patience. "You're meeting him for me today. You don't get a choice."

The night Marcus Hale clinched the stage win, he never came home. His picture with that female co-driver was all over the trending list, their shoulders pressed together, champagne splashed across half their clothes. When I called, he sounded exhausted and annoyed. "Ava Bennett, don't make a big deal out of it. That's just how the racing world works."  The very next day, Marcus slid the divorce agreement across the table. "You're too boring," he said flatly. "You're cautious, timid, and you can't even handle sitting in the passenger seat." I signed. Three days later, I entered an amateur rally under a different name. Before the race started, Marcus looked at my beat-up car and sneered. "Someone like you actually thinks you can race?" I fastened my helmet. My co-driver's voice came through the headset. "Ava, route confirmed?" I stared at the red light ahead. "Confirmed." He added, "What's the goal?" I smiled. "Make my ex-husband question everything he thought he knew about life."

Three days before my wedding, I got my sight back. I had planned to surprise my fiance, Steward Coleman. Instead, I watched him walk through the front door with my best friend, Vicky Tucker, only for the two of them to wrap their arms around each other and start kissing right there in the entryway. Steward tapped the tip of Vicky's nose and silently mouthed, "Someone's eager tonight." Vicky mouthed back, "Me? Or her?" The moment they turned around and saw me standing in the living room, staring straight at them, they both froze. Only for a second. Then Vicky looked right at me, a taunting glint flashing through her eyes. "Sylvia, we're back," she called out sweetly. Steward immediately came over and took my arm, his voice full of tenderness. "Why did you come out here by yourself again? What if you bumped into something? You know I'd be worried sick." I forced down the fury burning in my chest and gripped the hem of my shirt so tightly my fingers hurt. "I heard the door open, so I came out to see." I caught his arm and looked directly at him. "Steward, do you really want to marry me?" He blew Vicky a kiss over my shoulder while affectionately patting my head. "Of course I do, Sylvia." So this was what they'd been doing all along. While I couldn't see, they'd been carrying on right in front of my face. Steward helped me back to the bedroom. "Get some rest. Our friends will be here soon. Vicky and I are going to start dinner." The second he stepped out, before he'd even bothered to close the door, he pulled Vicky into his arms again. I watched the two of them disappear from view. Then I took out my phone. "Dad, put all cooperation with the Coleman Group on hold."

It was our first Christmas holiday as newlyweds, and my husband, Edgar Barrett, was taking me to a tropical island for our honeymoon.   We were just about to walk out the door when my best friend, Cecilia Burnett, showed up in tears.   "Beatrice, can I borrow your husband for a few days? My mom is pushing me to go on blind dates again."   Last year, she had borrowed my boyfriend.   This year, she came to borrow my husband.   Edgar said, "This isn't appropriate."   But he was already opening the suitcase and pulling my dresses out one by one.   "It's cold in her hometown. Help her find a heavy coat."   I didn't move. "What about our honeymoon?"   He finally looked up, frowning.   "We can go on a honeymoon any time. If she's forced to marry the wrong person, that's a lifetime mistake."   I looked at the dresses piled on the bed.   For this honeymoon, I had switched shifts three times.   But he canceled it just like that, without even a hint of guilt toward me.   I pulled out my own suitcase and put the dresses back in.   "We won't have another honeymoon."

The day before we were supposed to get our marriage license, Henry Wallace told me I could pick out my own wedding ring and brought me to a jewelry store. Celine Bailey tagged along too. Henry said she had great taste, so he'd already asked her to help pick out everything from the wedding invitations to the table centerpieces. The sales clerk slipped a ring onto my ring finger and smiled. "This one complements you so well, bride-to-be." I was just about to gush about how much I loved it when Henry turned to Celine with a grin. "You've got the better eye. You pick for her." Celine pointed at the plain, unadorned band next to the one I was wearing. "Go with this one. Zoe has such delicate hands. Overly fussy designs would just look tacky on her." Henry closed his hand around mine, slipped the ring right off my finger, and set it back in its box with a soft click. "We'll go with what she says. Be good, don't be stubborn over such a small thing." I stared at my now-empty finger, and memories from our childhood came surging up unbidden. Celine had always loved playing her little "choose for her" game. She picked my dresses, my seat in class, even which university I applied to. Even she, decided what message got written on my birthday cakes every year. After so long of letting her call the shots, I really didn't know how to make my own choices anymore. I'd glance at her face before ordering food at a restaurant, ask if she liked something before I bought any new clothes, and swallow down my own hurt if something upset me, scared I'd be called a buzzkill if I so much as cried. Celine smiled sweetly at me. "You don't mind, right, Zoe?" Henry squeezed my fingertip gently. It felt half like a reward for going along, half like a warning not to kick up a fuss. "Cut it out. We're still picking up our marriage license tomorrow." I slowly pulled my hand out of his grip. This was the first time in twenty years I didn't wait for the two of them to decide things for me. My voice was steady, sharper than it had ever been when I spoke, "She picks the ring. She picks the wedding. Then she can be the bride too."

Just before I passed out from period cramps, my fiancé, Brent Lawson, called.   He spoke quickly, his voice anxious.   "Monica, there's a box of little yellow duck bandages in our nightstand drawer. Heidi hurt her hand, and she wouldn't use anything without those ducks on it. Hurry up and bring them over."   Heidi Ellis was Brent's distant cousin. She'd returned from abroad 2 months earlier, and he was far too concerned about her.   Clutching my cramping stomach, I forced out an answer:   "Brent, my stomach hurts..."   His voice turned impatient.   "Monica, why are you putting on an act? She's actually hurt. Don't be so petty..."   My vision went black, and I lost consciousness.   When I opened my eyes again, Brent stood stern-faced beside my hospital bed, Heidi in a white dress next to him.   "Monica, did you deliberately hurt yourself to get my attention?"   I gave a bitter laugh, remembering the business dinner the day before.   Brent had backed out so he could pick up Heidi, who'd just returned from abroad, and sent me in his place.   He hadn't come home all night. The strain of handling the dinner had brought my period on early.   Later, he'd posted a photo of himself with Heidi.   The caption read: A multi-million-dollar contract means nothing compared to you.   I sat up in bed, looked at them both, and gave a soft laugh.   "Sorry. It won't happen again."   'Because we don't have a future anymore, Brent.'

This Christmas, my husband and I invited all our friends over to celebrate.  After dinner, we all gathered around to open our gifts. Just a little while before, I'd found out I was pregnant, and I'd planned to use this Christmas party as the perfect chance to surprise Raymond Thomas with the news. One by one, the other guests finished unwrapping their presents. I was practically buzzing with excitement as I reached for my best friend's gift first—nobody knew what I liked better than she did.  I tore off the wrapping paper and found a pregnancy test result inside, which caught me completely off guard. "Jane, you're going to be a mom too?" Jane Lucas forced a stiff, unnatural smile. "Amelia, you're happy for me, right?" I was so thrilled that I pulled her right into a hug. "Of course I am!" I gushed. "Now spill—who's the dad? You've kept this hidden so well, I had no clue!" But Jane didn't say a word. Her eyes darted around evasively. Before anyone else could say anything, Raymond spoke up, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "Mine." He added like it was no big deal, "Three months ago, when you were out of town, we slept together. It was an accident." The entire room went dead silent. Jane pulled herself out of my hug and hid behind Raymond, while I stood frozen to the spot, a sharp, stinging pain spreading through my chest until it went completely numb. It hit me all at once. My whole life had long been surrounded by an airtight wall of lies. Screw that. I decided to swap out my Christmas gift.

After seven years of marriage, my chat history with Alden Carrick was nothing but short, automatic updates: "Departed," "Arrived."  The man who once looked at me like I was his entire world now wouldn't even type one extra word.  Then the high-speed train he was operating got trapped in a severe blizzard. All power shut off, and the train was completely stranded. As the head of the dispatch center, I rushed straight back to my desk so fast I didn't even put my shoes on properly.  I pushed through every channel to coordinate ice-clearing crews, and finally secured the only working satellite link to his train. The moment the line connected, my hands shook so hard I could barely hold the radio. But through the static, I heard the lead attendant, Nina Lowe, joking with him instead. "Cap, if help doesn't reach us, and we don't make it out of this, what would be your biggest regret?"  There was quiet for two seconds. Then Alden's voice came, soft and calm. "My only regret is that I didn't meet you sooner."  I swallowed the sharp, tight ache in my throat. I held it together, eyes stinging but dry, and stayed at my post for ten straight hours until I guided his train safely into the station. As soon as it stopped, I turned and walked calmly to the restroom. I washed my hands slowly, scrubbing away every trace of cold sweat. Then I messaged the regional director. Jesse: I accept the transfer. I will report to the most remote railway division in the Northern Range.

The night before our courthouse wedding, both families gathered for dinner at our new place. Grant handed me his phone and asked me to cast our digital wedding announcement onto the TV. I opened Recent Files. At the top was a prenatal report. The patient was Sophie Reed, my cousin, who had lived with my family since 15. Sophie lunged for the phone, her hands shaking so badly that she entered the passcode wrong twice. Grant grabbed hold of my wrist first and pulled her behind him. "Nora, don't make a scene tonight." I didn't struggle. I simply put the half-cut cake back in its box. "How far along?" My mother cut in first, "The baby is gone. Sophie has suffered enough. You'll get your marriage license tomorrow as planned, and this ends here." Grant lowered his voice, "I betrayed you, but she never meant to take your place." Even as he spoke, he wiped frosting from my fingertip out of habit. His other arm remained around Sophie. I picked up the photo we had taken for our courthouse appointment and slowly tore it in half. Just as the tear reached Grant's face, his phone lit up again. Appointment reminder: 12-week NT scan, Tuesday morning. Please bring a support person. My mother went deathly pale. My father shot to his feet, his chair scraping across the tile. "Twelve weeks?" He turned on my mother. "You told me she'd already ended the pregnancy." Sophie stopped crying. Grant's first instinct wasn't to explain—it was to reach for the phone. I placed it facedown on the table. My father didn't look at me. He stared at my mother while Grant kept one hand over the phone. Then Sophie suddenly asked my mother, "Are we still going ahead with tomorrow's plan?"

The day after we completed our mating bond, Alpha Asher Black jerked the wheel and made a U-turn on the way to my prenatal checkup.   He dragged me out of the car and straight into the Bond Registry, demanding that our bond be forcibly dissolved.   "You knew Leah's mate had just abandoned her! Why did you have to post about our bond and rub it in? Do you know her depression has come back? She's threatening to jump off a building with Harvey!   "We'll dissolve our bond for now. Once I've calmed her down, we can bond again!"   In my distress, I suddenly felt blood gush between my legs.   Asher ignored the blood on the floor.   He dragged me along, unilaterally severed our mating bond, and rushed out the door.   I collapsed in a pool of blood, and the chance to save our baby slipped away.   Meanwhile, he posted a photo of himself holding Leah and her son.   The caption read: Thank the Moon Goddess. Everyone I love most is here with me.   Those words killed the last of my hope.   I remarried the Alpha King who had always quietly protected me, and we had a lovely daughter.   I never expected to run into them again 4 years later, when I took my daughter to pick up my mate...

For the three years we'd been together, everyone had assumed I was Tristan Harlan's penniless girlfriend, living off his generosity. His business had made him worth tens of millions, yet I still wore canvas sneakers that cost 29 dollars at a discount store. People laughed at how shabby I looked and said it was only a matter of time before he dumped me. I just smiled.   After all, I'd walked away from an inheritance worth tens of millions three years earlier to help him build his business from nothing. How could he let it all be for nothing?   But on the very day I planned to tell him who I really was, Tristan stood in his new luxury home with another woman in his arms. "I'm giving Natalie the penthouse at Duncrest Residences. I'm a successful man now. I can't have a fiancée walking around in worn-out, 29-dollar shoes. Go back to that cheap rental district where you belong!"

We'd been married for 4 years, and I'd put on a little soft, curvy weight since our wedding day. Clifford Ballard hired a female personal trainer for me. Her name was Adele Becker, his childhood sweetheart. She banned me from eating any carbs at all. Even if I ate two extra pieces of fruit, she would write it down. Every day, I took photos and reported every meal to her. I was often so dizzy from hunger that I could only steady myself by holding on to the wall. But Clifford said, "Adele is doing this for your own good. Can't you show a little willpower?" I had always believed they had my best interests at heart. It wasn't until today that I saw him and Adele sitting in his car in the parking lot. He was feeding her cake with a spoon. A smudge of cream clung to the corner of her mouth. He leaned over and wiped it off for her, then kissed her. I raised my phone and recorded a video. When Clifford came back, he said, "Adele said you didn't check in today." "I'm not doing the training anymore." "Are you throwing a tantrum because she's a little strict with you?" He took off his coat. "Do you have any idea how much I paid to hire her?" I calmly slid my phone over to him. On the screen, he was putting a bite of cake into Adele's mouth. Clifford's expression changed abruptly. "Were you stalking me?" "I just went to drop off a file for you," I said. "Clifford, I want a divorce."

After my daughter, Ash Durand, died, I stopped all my pestering of my husband, Saul Durand. I stopped hiring private detectives to watch him. I stopped crying and throwing fits over his nights away from home. I stopped asking why he always chose Fannie Moore first. I turned a blind eye to the lurid texts Fannie sent to him. When he wanted to hook up with Fannie, I moved out of the villa of my own accord. It wasn't until we had to pick out a burial plot for our daughter that we saw each other again. On the way there, we got into a car accident, and I suffered a fractured calf bone.  The doctor asked me if I wanted to notify my family. I said, "No. I don't have any family left."

To please his mistress, my husband secretly injected hyaluronic acid into his genitals behind my back. But the needle slipped straight into a vein. The tissue died, turned black, and was completely ruined. The doctor held out the critical care notice and sighed. "It will cost seven hundred thousand to rebuild the blood vessels, or we can perform the amputation right now." I forced out two fake tears on the spot. "Doctor, I'm just a housewife. I only get a little over a hundred in spending money each month. Where am I supposed to come up with seven hundred thousand? Just cut it off."

Gideon Croft and I had been married for two years, and we'd lived apart the entire time. He insisted marriage needed "breathing room," and the ideal distance between two people was having separate homes. So we lived on opposite ends of the same city, six subway stops apart. For two whole years, seven hundred and thirty straight days, I was the one always making the trip to see him. He never once bothered making the trip over to mine. The day I came down with acute appendicitis, I was in so much agony I could barely think straight. I called him eleven times. In the dead of night, he sent me twenty thousand with a cold message. Gideon: Hire a nurse. I have a merger meeting first thing tomorrow morning. But when the sun came up the next day, I spotted his car in Sabrina Night's social media post. In the middle of that howling torrential rainstorm, the same Gideon who was so obsessed with "boundaries" had driven halfway across the city in the dead of night to change a flat tire for her.  The day I got discharged from the hospital, I handed him the divorce papers. He didn't believe for a second that I'd actually walk away from him. "I'll transfer five hundred thousand to you. Go calm down. Divorce isn't going to scare me," he said, his tone casual, like I was throwing a trivial tantrum. That was always his move. Reduce every messy emotional issue to a number, and he thought he'd done more than enough. I used to cry and tell him I didn't want his money, I just wanted him. But this time, I pulled out my phone calmly, tapped accept, and the transfer pinged through with a soft ding. That sum was exactly enough to cover a one-way ticket out of this city and the cost of getting set up somewhere new. Gideon? That six-stop gap between us? I'm not walking a single step to cover it ever again.

It was my fiancé Lennox Everly's bachelor party, celebrated the night before our wedding. Amara Thalmer, Lennox's so-called "female best friend", swung one leg over and settled right on his lap like she'd done it a hundred times before. "There's my favorite guy, the front clasp of my bra came loose. Use your mouth to fasten it back up for me!" Lennox just smiled indulgently and did exactly what she said. Amara tilted her head back, practically purring with satisfaction. When she lowered her head again, her eyes locked straight onto my chest. "Hmm, they are a little small. No wonder my boy has preferred mine all these years." I froze, my brain short-circuiting for a beat at the disgusting display in front of me, then white-hot rage came surging up my throat. Some guy from the party lunged to grab my arm, yanking me back before I could storm over there. "C'mon, Sylvie, don't take it to heart! They've always been like this. Hell, back in the day, Amara was the one who taught Lennox how to put on a condom!" he said. Laughter roared through the room. Up front, Lennox even tilted his head obediently, letting Amara yank and ruffle his hair, the same hair he'd never once let me touch, not even when we were curled up together being intimate. "Sylvie, Amara's just playful by nature. Since you're marrying me, you've got to cut her some slack, yeah?" Lennox told me. It felt like a giant, cold hand had clamped around my throat, squeezing so hard I could barely breathe. Old memories came flooding in uninvited.  Once, she'd thrown a fit because she craved the chicken soup I made, and he'd dragged me out of bed when I was burning up with a fever just to cook it for her. Then when we went on a trip, she whined that she was scared of the dark, and he'd let her climb right between us in bed, letting her use his arm as a pillow the entire night.  Even when Amara redecorated our entire wedding house to match her own taste without even asking me, he'd just waved it off like it was nothing. "She's family. A little renovation is no big deal," he had said back then. Now she was humiliating me in front of all these people, and Lennox was playing right along with her. He flicked a lazy glance at me, like I was the one overreacting. "Don't pull that long face. You're finally gonna be my wife tomorrow, like you've always wanted. Smile for me, huh?" I stared at him, my cheeks stiff. I couldn't force even the tiniest smile if my life depended on it. It was true. I loved him. I really, really had wanted to marry him. But right now? I don't want any of it... Not a single part of it. Not anymore.

To raise five hundred thousand dollars for my gravely ill boyfriend's surgery, I secretly went to the underground black market to work as a professional human punching bag.    Because I had a background in boxing and a high tolerance for physical pain, wealthy clients paid top dollar to hire me as a living target to vent their violent frustrations.    I endured countless brutal punches, had high heels stomped onto my face, and was doused in scalding hot tea.    Yet, through every blow, I gritted my teeth and endured it all.   My boyfriend once lay on the narrow bed in our rented room, gripping my hands with red-rimmed eyes.    "Sdyney, if I cannot be cured, I will work like a horse to repay you in the next life," he had promised softly. "I will never fail you."   Finally, with only ten thousand dollars left to raise, I accepted an urgent job from a wealthy local heiress.    Instead of putting on boxing gloves, she brought four or five heavyset bodyguards into the VIP room and slammed me beneath her feet without a word.    Covering my head, I prepared to plead for mercy as usual. But the next second, the heiress threw a thick stack of secretly taken photos directly at my face.   "You are the little fox who seduced him, are you not?" she sneered. "Let me tell you the truth: Lincoln Creighton was only pretending to be poor and sick to be with you. He was just tired of luxury and wanted a taste of cheap garbage. Did you really think he loved you?"   In the photos, my frail boyfriend, who was supposed to be lying bedridden in our slum apartment, was standing tall and healthy on a sunny golf course, casually swinging a club.    Only at that devastating moment did I realize that I was nothing more than a plaything in his cruel game.

On our 10th Valentine's Day as a married couple, my husband sent me 214 dollars.   I accepted the transfer, only to find out he'd meant to send the money to a woman we knew as Sutton. He'd sent it to me by mistake.   The moment he explained in our family group chat, my son started sneering at me.   Derek: Mom, you really are greedy. Dad meant that 214-dollar transfer for Ms. Sutton, and you accepted it the second it came through. All you care about is money. You can't hold a candle to her. She never accepts the money Dad sends her. She even spends her own money buying us presents.   When I didn't respond, my daughter sent two sarcastic voice messages.   "Derek was only joking, Mom. You're not going to get all petty and sulk, are you?   "Besides, he wasn't wrong. Ms. Sutton didn't make Dad pay a cent for her exhibition last week."   Apparently, the 3,000,000 dollars my husband had poured into sponsoring her gallery didn't count as money. Neither did the 100,000-dollar designer bag our children had bought her with their Christmas gift money.   I'd waited on them for 14 years, but in their eyes, I was greedy for accidentally accepting 214 dollars on Valentine's Day.   I turned around and poured out the oxtail soup I'd been simmering for 3 hours. Then I cut off my husband's and children's family payment access.   They had no idea that an artist like Sutton would never have given this family the time of day if it hadn't been for me.

It took me 10 years in a dating game to realize I could never win Adrian Hayes's heart. His first love still owned it. I was ready to leave. Then he lost his sight in a car crash while chasing after her. She abandoned him. He lashed out at everyone until they thought he'd lost his mind. But I stayed, feeding him, caring for him, trying to help without making him feel helpless. Eventually, the System sent me the message I'd been waiting for. System: Affection: 100%. Objective complete. Return to the real world to exchange your points for $150,000. By then, I loved him too much to leave. I spent every last point restoring his sight. The day he saw me again, he promised to give me the best life. We got married, had a son. For a while, he kept that promise. Then his first love showed up at our son's school field day. As his wife. My 7-year-old threw his arms around her legs. "I love you, Mommy Vanessa! You're way nicer than my real mom!"

After I found a hickey on Nolan Beckett's neck, I stopped him in the entryway every day when he came home and made him stand there while I checked him over.   I went through his messages carefully, made him stand under the light, and even leaned close to smell him.   "You don't get to come inside unless I'm sure you don't smell like another woman."   Nolan always stood there pale-faced, letting me check him as he quietly tried to calm me down.   Today, though, he came home a full 2 hours late.   The unfamiliar perfume on him drove me into a frenzy. I clawed at his belt.   "Last time you came home 30 minutes late, you had a hickey on your neck. You're 2 hours late tonight. Did you sleep with someone?!"   When I pushed him away after his 21st apology, he finally grabbed my wrist, his eyes red, and flung my hand aside.   "Enough! You check my phone, pull my clothes off, sniff me all over. How long are you going to keep acting like a lunatic? I made one mistake. What makes you think you're so pure? You were dragged into an alley and raped at 16. What makes you any better? You're crazy, Tessa. You don't deserve anyone's love!"   I looked at the disgust on his face. Suddenly, I wasn't angry anymore. I was just tired.   'That settles it. I'm done with this marriage.'

During the Christmas holiday, my husband said he'd been called into work unexpectedly and told me to rest at home. I was 4 months pregnant when I slipped while doing chores and hit the cold tile floor hard. Blood quickly soaked through my white nightgown. By the time I reached the hospital, I had miscarried. I made nineteen unanswered calls to my husband and still couldn't reach him, and I had no other family nearby. Sitting alone in the emergency observation room, I happened to see a Caption my best friend, Valerie Sutter, had posted. In the photo, she was smiling brightly in the Christmas evening air while walking a Golden Retriever. The man beside her was only visible from behind, but he was wearing my husband's gray coat. The man holding the dog's leash was also wearing the custom watch I'd given my husband. Her caption read:   Someone's keeping me company while I walk the dog this Christmas. Another day of being spoiled.   At that moment, one thought became painfully clear. 'I haven't just lost the baby I was carrying. I've lost my marriage too.'

I was born so pretty that the nurse who delivered me nearly swooned. By elementary school, strangers were following me around. My parents had to hire bodyguards to watch me around the clock. Then I was in a car accident at 13. The hormone medication I needed afterward ballooned my weight to 275 pounds. Later, my fiancé, Eddie Terwin, and I ended up at the same school. Someone dug up a photo of me at my heaviest and posted it on the school forum. A: [THAT'S who the hockey captain is marrying? You're kidding.] B: [Wow. Eddie has a type. Wouldn't have guessed it, but okay.] C: [Imagine standing next to her. You'd need room to breathe.] Eddie made sure everyone knew our engagement was just a business arrangement between our families. He swore he'd never marry me. Then Judy Gary, the cheer captain, tagged him. Judy: [Dump her in front of everyone. Make it hurt. Then you and I can date.] No reply. For a moment, I thought he had enough decency to say no. Then my phone buzzed. Eddie was inviting me to the freshman welcome party. What none of them knew was that I'd already lost the weight. I turned toward the full-length mirror, took in the curves looking back at me, and smiled. Me: Sure. Can't wait.

Parents all over the world turned to my husband, Daniel Reed, for advice on raising their kids, but I couldn't get him to help with ours. Our son still wasn't talking after he turned 2. When I begged Daniel to work with him, he sat there in his noise-canceling headphones and scowled. "Ask AI. Do you really need me for every little thing?" Then the bullying started. Our boy stopped wanting to go to school and barely spoke. I pleaded with Daniel to talk to him. "You gave birth to him. You figure it out! You can't even handle one kid?" He slammed the door. I stopped asking. For a while, I told myself he was just burned out. He spent all day dealing with children. Maybe he just needed a break. Then his childhood friend came over with her son. The boy dumped cola on Daniel's precious manuscript and smashed a trophy. My husband couldn't stand mess, but he didn't so much as raise his voice. He spent the entire afternoon fussing over that child. "You're so good with him, Daniel," his friend said, smiling. "Always so patient." Behind the door, our son tugged on my sleeve. "Mommy, can you look up why Daddy doesn't like me?" I'd run out of excuses. My husband knew exactly how to be a good father. He just didn't think we were worth the effort.

A week before our engagement party, Scott Brennan lost a game of Truth or Dare with his best friend—a girl he treated like one of the guys.   Tina Dixon's chosen punishment was to switch places with me for 7 days.   She would sit in Scott's passenger seat, meet his friends with him, and be his girlfriend.   I had to play the "ordinary friend who didn't get jealous."   I didn't want to.   Scott held my hand and promised, "We'll switch back at our engagement party in 7 days."   He said this was his last taste of freedom before marriage. He could even give up his bachelor party.   I frowned. "Don't do this in front of our friends and family, and don't let it interfere with the engagement party."   But on the day of the party, I arrived at the hotel with my bag, just to find Tina wearing the dress and shoes I'd chosen, with the bride's corsage pinned to her chest.   She leaned against Scott's shoulder and asked the photographer to take another engagement photo.   I stood in the hallway behind them, unable to even find my parents.   Scott finally looked over and waved me over. "Wait a minute. We'll switch you back soon."   looked at the shoes under her feet, and suddenly I no longer wanted to change back. I’m calling off this engagement.

My mother-in-law, Marlene Dwyer, had dementia. One day, she slipped the jade bracelet she had once said was meant for her daughter-in-law onto Eliza Merrick's wrist. Eliza was about to take it off when my husband, Conrad Kessler, stopped her. "Leave it on for now. Mom's in a good mood for once." Then he turned to me. "It's just a bracelet. I'll buy you a better one later." I looked at the jade bracelet on Eliza's wrist. I was the one who sorted Marlene's medication, scheduled her follow-up appointments, tracked her dietary restrictions, and kept her medical records. Yet the person she pulled close and mistook for Conrad's wife wasn't me. I didn't fight for the bracelet. I simply took off my wedding ring and slipped it into Conrad's suit pocket. "It's just a ring too. I don't want mine anymore." Conrad's expression changed instantly.

Everyone knew how well my husband treated me. I never went shopping, yet my closet was full of the latest styles. He even removed every last tag for me.   I thought that was his quiet way of showing how much he loved me.   Then I went to Erica Hartnell's designer boutique to help boost her sales. When I pushed open the lounge door, I found Gavin Voss pinning her against a shelving unit.   Erica leaned into his arms. "Vanessa hasn't noticed anything, has she?"   Gavin smoothed her hair back into place. "She trusts me completely. Why would she suspect anything?"   "If you feel guilty about what you're doing to her, pick out one of the new arrivals at my store and give it to her to make up for it."   Only then did I understand. The clothes he bought me weren't proof of his love. Every piece was a souvenir of his betrayal.

I was buried under the rubble with my fiancé, Xavier Shaw, for 72 hours. Just as I was drifting out of consciousness, he fed me the last half-bottle of water and said, "Don't fall asleep. I still need to take you home." After we were rescued, he held me and cried until he lost his voice. The whole internet was sharing our fairy-tale love story. On the flight back to the city, he leaned against me and fell asleep, exhausted. I took off his earphones, wanting to hear the song that had carried us through despair. The next track, however, was a farewell message he had recorded in the rubble. With tears in my eyes, I tapped play, eager to hear what words of love he had left me in the face of life and death. His voice came through the earphones, choked with tears, "Mia… I'm sorry. I promised I'd come clean with her after the trip, but I'm afraid I won't get the chance. Never getting to see you walk down the aisle to me in a wedding dress is the greatest regret of my life." My fingers moved uncontrollably as I opened his messaging app. Pinned at the top was a group chat called "For Mia Only." My mom's message was at the very top: [Mia was so shocked to hear about your accident that she had to go to the hospital.] My dad replied right after: [Yvonne has always been sensible. Once she's back, we'll talk to her properly. She'll give you two her blessing.] I was shaking all over, tears falling one by one onto my phone. So all those countless times he held me in his arms under the rubble, his heart was filled entirely with my sister, Mia Morgan.

I took my father-in-law, Henry Whitmore, to Westbridge Luxury Boutique to pick out a custom-made $20,000 suit for my husband's company's annual gala.   He'd barely slipped into the new suit when a cup of scalding coffee splashing across his arm. Blisters sprang up across the back of his hand instantly.   I grabbed his hand and rushed to hold it under cold running water, but a mocking voice rang out beside me.   "Well, look at you, spoiling your old sugar daddy!"   I looked up and met the condescending gaze of my husband's personal secretary, Vanessa Gory.   The moment she recognized me, she froze for a split second before bursting into a shrill laugh.   "Oh my God! I was wondering who that was. Turns out it's Mrs. Whitmore, spending Mr. Whitmore's money to keep a gigolo on the side! Oh, wait. This guy's so old he's practically falling apart. More like a geezer sugar daddy!   "You're using Mr. Whitmore's money to keep a side piece, and you still have the nerve to show your face in a place this fancy? Want me to call Mr. Whitmore right now? I'll have him throw you and this old geezer out on the street!"   Henry turned to me, his voice tight with barely contained fury.   "So this is the big project you've been telling me Zack's been so busy with lately?"

My father had been poisoned by wolfsbane, and there was only one last vial of Moon Spring left in the entire pack.   Eyes burning with unshed tears, I dropped to my knees in front of Damon, my husband and Alpha, and begged.   "Damon, please... just half a vial, even a single sip! That's all it'll take to save my father's leg!"   He just brushed my hand away coldly, his face impassive.   "Elara, as Alpha, even though you're my Luna, I can't break the rules for you."   Yet only 30 minutes later, I watched my husband use up that vial of Moon Spring on Selena, a pack member, just to treat a faint, shallow silver wound on her palm.   I was just about to confront him when the healer came rushing over.   "Elara, the wolfsbane has spread to your father's bone marrow. We have to amputate immediately, or we won't even be able to save his life!"   My whole body went rigid. Just then, Selena suddenly collapsed to the ground, doubled over in pain.   Her inner wolf was raging out of control, and her mental realm had to be fully opened for treatment.   That was a forbidden space that only a fated mate was permitted to enter.   "If you go in to treat her, the whole pack will mock me, and I'll be a complete laughingstock!" I snapped.   But he just pried my fingers loose one by one and took Selena's hand instead.   "I'm just trying to save a life. Can you stop being so unreasonable and throwing a fit at a time like this?"   The moment their mental link formed, it felt like someone was tearing my mate mark open with a knife.   And my father's left leg was sawed off while he was still alive.   Yet the two of them held each other like lovestruck lovers, watching my father and me suffer, completely unmoved.   At the Full Moon Festival, I stood before the entire pack and sliced open my mate mark.   "I, Elara, reject you, Damon, as my fated mate."

My fiancé's girl best friend, Sue Anderson, was a locally famous tarot reader. She'd done a reading for us once and claimed we couldn't get married for the next three years, so my fiancé, Callum Ashford, made me wait three whole years. Then she said Callum and I had clashing energies that made living together a bad idea, so he made me move out of the fully furnished wedding home we'd planned to move into together. It wasn't until I was three months pregnant that she flipped over the last card in a spread, and her face drained of all color. "Death card. This child can't stay." Everyone's eyes snapped to me. Even Callum went dead silent. I pressed a hand to my stomach and asked him, "You're actually buying her crap over something this big?" Callum darted his eyes away, refusing to meet my gaze. "Better safe than sorry, right?" Sue put on a soft, gentle tone, nudging me like she had my best interests at heart. "Just give up this baby, and you and Callum will have a perfect, happy life together." It hit me all at once: over seven whole years, every single so-called prophecy that came out of her mouth had ended up being an excuse for Callum to push me further and further away. I slipped my engagement ring off my finger and tossed it right on top of the Death card, where it landed with a sharp clink. "A man who won’t even take our baby — I don’t want him anymore."

In the third year after my divorce from Dylan Kerr, we ran into each other at a bus stop on Seaview Road.   I had stepped under the shelter to escape the rain.   He pulled up in an S-Class Maybach and stopped in front of me.   He lowered the window and waved me in.   Looking at the face behind the wheel, at once familiar and strange, I froze for a moment.   I was about to refuse when the drivers behind him began honking impatiently.   I had no choice but to get into the back seat.   It was so quiet inside you could have heard a pin drop. Neither of us spoke again.   Since I still had a client to meet, I took a compact mirror from my bag and freshened my makeup.   As I brushed concealer over the long, narrow scar at my temple, Dylan watched me in the rearview mirror.   I looked up and met his unreadable eyes.   He hastily looked away, then asked carefully, "Does it... still hurt?"   I smiled and shook my head, unmoved.   It had stopped hurting a long time ago.   The old scar remained, but new flesh had already grown beneath it.   Pain could stay with me for a while, but never forever.   Just as I had once loved Dylan. Once, and never again.

My husband, Cody Harrison, and I were heading down to the parking garage when his intern tag-along stepped up right next to us. As we got to the car, she slipped into the front passenger seat like she owned the place. The second the door clicked shut, the screen lit up with an automated voice: "Welcome, Miss Hart. Restoring your custom seat preferences." I stood outside, staring at the two of them. Cody didn't even flinch. He just gave my shoulder a careless pat. "She runs errands for me all the time, babe. Giving her car access just makes things easier." Katie Hart turned around, flashing me this sweet, totally fake smile. "Hope you don't mind!" I fake-smiled right back. Then, I tossed my car keys straight into the trash can, turned on my heel, and pulled out my phone to call an Uber. Cody came rushing after me. "What's wrong with you? Why are you making a scene?" I looked back at him, smirk ready. "Well, since the car has a new owner, I'm good. I don't drive dirty hand-me-downs."

On the wedding day, my stepsister suddenly grabbed my hand. "I'm sorry, Leah. I'm pregnant with Cole's child. Can you let him go for me?" My fiancé looked a little guilty. "I only found out today too. Don't blame her. "But for everyone's sake, please host our wedding." I looked at them in shock. "You're telling me this on my wedding day?" My stepsister covered her face with both hands and started crying. "I didn't mean to. I only found out I was pregnant the day you got engaged." I looked at my stepsister and fiancé and sneered. "Fine. You two get married, and so will I! "Everyone, whoever dares to marry me today, I'll marry him!" As soon as I finished speaking, a tramp in shabby clothes but with an extraordinary aura slowly raised his hand in the corner.

On my son's 7th birthday, my husband came home with a strawberry cake that already had a large slice missing.   "Pippa's blood sugar was low, so I cut her a slice to bring it back up. You're older, Eli. You need to be generous."   My son stared at the flickering candle flame and said solemnly, "My wish is to turn into Pippa's asthma medicine."   My husband froze. "What kind of nonsense is that?"   "The last time I had a febrile seizure, Mom cried while she called you. You thought she was annoying, so you turned off your phone. But when Pippa coughed once, you canceled our family's tickets to Wonderland Adventure Park and drove to another city that same night to buy her medicine."   Eli reached out, trying to catch the tiny flame. "If I were that bottle of medicine, would Dad carry me in his pocket everywhere he went?"   My husband's face flushed. He opened his mouth, ready to explain that he was repaying a debt, not playing favorites.   I blew out the candle before he could.   "It's okay, sweetheart. We don't need this family anymore."

Because I was a useless, broken wolf who couldn't awaken her wolf spirit, Lucas severed our mate bond right in front of the entire pack. At that moment, the pain was so excruciating I nearly died, but all I could do was desperately shield my slightly swollen belly. "Kick this useless trash out. She can't even awaken her wolf spirit." Victoria clung to his arm, a smug smile plastered across her face. "Oh, Lucas, but she's your mate. How pitiful." "A she-wolf who can't even awaken her wolf spirit? She doesn't deserve to be the Luna of this pack!" He didn't even want to spare me a second glance as he coldly ordered my banishment. I dragged my bleeding body and crawled out of the territorial boundary. Everyone thought I would freeze to death in the winter wastelands. But they had no idea who I truly was. When the pursuers' claws were about to pierce my abdomen, my dormant Astral Bloodline fully awakened. A silver light tore through the dark night, forcing every wolf to bow in submission. And that high-and-mighty Alpha could only end up kneeling at my feet, begging for mercy.

On the eve of my wedding, I received a text saying that my fiance, Ethan Whitmore, was having sex with his first love in the home we were supposed to share.   I rushed over and found him tangled up with Melissa Grant on the new bed I had bought. When he saw me, he calmly draped a robe over the woman in his arms and pulled on his pants.   "Why? Men like to have their fun. I'll be faithful once we're married."   He lit a cigarette. Hickeys covered his chest and neck.   "Relax. The wedding I promised you is still happening. I'll keep Missy somewhere else after we marry. It won't affect your position as Mrs. Whitmore."   I gave him a mocking smile and quietly removed my engagement ring. 

For 5 years, my Alpha husband, Adrian Mercer, had given me a gift at every Full Moon Festival. I'd thought it was a sign of how much he cared, until the store mixed up the delivery addresses this year. I received an expensive necklace set, along with a handwritten card. 'Ella, be happy this year, too.' Ella Foster was a low-ranking female werewolf. I called the store to check, and the clerk explained. "Mr. Mercer orders two sets every year. The instructions for the genuine one say to wrap it with care. The cheap imitation goes to the Luna." I pulled out the gifts I'd received over the past 5 years and checked them with the clerk. Each gift looked exactly like its expensive counterpart, but the real thing had never been mine. When he came home that evening, I put the cheap imitation necklace on the dining table. "Adrian, is this the one you bought me?" He froze for 3 seconds, then smiled, picked up the imitation set, and held it out to me. "Of course it is. Haven't you always liked simple designs?" I stared at him and laughed. For the past 5 years, I'd accepted whatever he gave me. This time, I didn't want anything he had to offer.

That weekend, some friends and I tried a viral challenge we'd seen online—Hide in a friend's house for a whole day without getting caught. Everyone scattered to find a hiding spot, each of us determined to win. I crouched behind the clutter on the bedroom balcony, pulling several layers of dust sheets over myself. Before long, my boyfriend, Asher Chandler, slipped into the bedroom with my best friend, Aria Mercer, in tow. They didn't see me on the balcony; instead, they hurriedly ducked behind the heavy floor‑to‑ceiling curtains. "Easy... What if Nova hears?" Asher said, his voice husky and amused, "That idiot is probably too caught up in hiding. Just focus." Then came the unnatural swaying of the curtains, the rustle of clothes, and the wet sounds of kissing that made my face burn and my heart pound. I was less than a meter away, quietly watching the entwined shadows on the curtain. That day, we won. But that was also the end of us.