At a Valentine's Day kissing contest, my boyfriend turned away when I leaned in and kissed his childhood sweetheart instead.   I stood frozen as whispers rose around me. Ethan Cole and Chloe Reed ignored everyone, clung to each other, and kissed for 8 straight hours, winning the contest.   I was never the suspicious type. On our anniversary getaway, Chloe said she had never taken a romantic trip, so Ethan brought her along and turned what should have been a trip for two into an awkward vacation for three. On my milestone birthday, Chloe said she had never had a celebration like mine. Ethan put her name beside mine and shifted the entire room's attention to her.   Every time I objected, Ethan said Chloe was an orphan who had no one else and told me not to make a fuss.   Today, I arrived at our engagement party in a gown I had chosen with care, only to discover Chloe's name on the giant screen where mine should have been. Ethan waved it off and told me not to get hung up on one little detail.   That brought back the conversation I had overheard between him and his friend the night before.   "Ethan, aren't you afraid your obedient girlfriend will finally walk if you keep pulling stunts like this?"   Ethan simply took another sip of his drink. "I promised Chloe I'd help her fulfill three romantic wishes. Tomorrow is the last one. After that, I'll marry Vivian and settle down with her."   Now, surrounded by snickers and whispers, I felt strangely calm, and I smiled.   'Ethan, you still think we're getting married, but I've changed my mind.'

Just 30 minutes before the Blood Hunt began, my wolf vanished from my body without warning. Panic flooded through me as I grabbed Elias's hand. Beside him, Camille bent over, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "Elias and I made a bet, to see if you'd even realize you'd taken the Suppressant. And look at you, you're still completely unaware." Elias slipped the antidote between my lips, his fingers brushing through my hair in that familiar, comforting way. "Chloe, you always manage to stumble into danger, don't you? How am I ever supposed to stop worrying about you?" Camille smacked his shoulder, pretending to be offended. "Don't you dare talk about my best friend like that." The two of them playfully wrestled, their laughter slowly fading as they moved farther and farther away, leaving me frozen in place. Cold sweat gathered on my skin as unbearable pain tore through my body. The three of us had grown up together, and those two had always enjoyed making bets. The last time, they bet on whether I'd notice they'd mixed silver dust into my setting powder. My face broke out in a terrible rash, forcing me to stay home and making me miss my dance audition. The time before that, they bet on whether I'd realize they'd replaced the sacred hymn meant for the Moon Goddess. I was branded a heretic and locked away for three days and nights. After every cruel prank, they would run their fingers through my hair with those same smug smiles and tease, "Chloe, you always manage to stumble into danger, don't you? How am I ever supposed to stop worrying about you?" But every danger I'd ever faced had been caused by them. I watched their carefree figures as they laughed and fought with each other, then turned around and bought a ticket to the polar ice caps. It turned out that the aurora over that frozen wilderness was meant to be seen alone.

To prove that art could succeed without capital, I hid my identity, worked three jobs, and helped my penniless boyfriend make his movie.   In public, he reduced me to "the production assistant delivering a receipt." He stood by while his influencer mistress ground a stiletto into my foot. To preserve his image as a principled artist, he even let his PR team portray me as a deranged gold digger and unleash the entire internet against me.   When our three-year agreement expired, I revealed that I was the sole heir to a powerful film conglomerate. I withdrew every cent of funding, bankrupted him overnight, and had him cast out of his family.   As he knelt sobbing in the rain, I linked arms with my childhood sweetheart and fiancé.   "Mr. Clement, when faced with real capital, your performance falls apart."

On Valentine's Day, the boyfriend who had turned down nine of my marriage proposals suddenly dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him. He fumbled through his vows, his voice shaking as he opened his palm to reveal a heart-shaped gold ring. Tears blurred my vision as I watched hundreds of drones light up the night sky above the harbor, forming the silhouettes of a man and a woman. Convinced my happily-ever-after had finally arrived, I held out my ring finger. The moment the ring slipped onto my finger, the giant screen on the rooftop terrace of the Manhattan Hotel flickered to life. A video of Jason and my best friend, Chloe, filled the screen. "I bet she'll show up. All I have to do is use marriage as bait. She'll drop everything and come running to me every single time." The room erupted in laughter. "Come on, Zoe. Are you really that desperate to get married?" "The ring cost $1.39. And it's a chocolate ring. Those drone figures? They're Jason and Chloe, not the two of you. Even the proposal speech was something he copied off the internet." "They bet on whether you'd realize the proposal was fake. Looks like Jason lost again." Chloe's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Surprised? I told him a hopeless romantic like you would cry and say yes without a second thought. He actually argued with me." As if nothing had happened, Jason casually reached for my suitcase. "You didn't really think I don't know Zoe, did you?" Jason said, glancing at Chloe with a grin. "You've been down lately. I was just trying to make you laugh." "Zoe's the 'strong, independent woman'. She proposed to me nine times, even after I rejected her every single time. She even made it through years of long-distance without ever complaining." "So there's no way she'd get upset over something this small... right?" He looked at me expectantly, already certain of the answer. I nodded. Then I smiled along with everyone else. Why would I be angry? At least I found out I was the joke before the wedding instead of after it. Nine years. It was finally time to start a new chapter of my life—instead of wasting another day hanging on to a man who was never worth it.

My husband's adopted sister, Violet Steel, unexpectedly became a widow. To be with her, he kept pushing me to divorce him. Rowan Steel sat on the sofa, his fingers lightly tapping the table. His tone was self-righteous. "Violet just lost her husband. She's emotionally devastated, and as her older brother, I can't let outsiders gossip that she jinxed her husband."  He added, "We'll split the marital property fifty‑fifty. You get custody of Ruby, and I'll pay 50,000 a month in child support. You won't get a raw deal." My blood boiled. Trembling with anger, I grabbed the divorce agreement and hurled it at his face. He covered his face. His gentle facade crumbled, revealing the irritation and impatience hidden beneath. "Why can't you be reasonable? Violet is emotionally fragile right now. If I don't spend more time with her, and she does something drastic, can you live with that?" With that, he slammed the door and left. That night, I had a dream.

Before I married Nathan Carter, his childhood sweetheart, Sophia Reed, mocked me for pretending to be too good for everyone. Three days later, her family was driven into bankruptcy. Everyone knew Nathan had done it to defend me. After we married, the man worth tens of billions became even more insatiable with me, coaxing me into abandoning every last shred of restraint. "Tell me you want me. Say it in your dirtiest voice." Blushing furiously, I said things I never wanted to remember again. For a time, I lost myself in the illusion that I was the only woman he would ever cherish. Then, at a private auction, a price was placed on my voice. I heard myself begging in my most wanton voice, "Nathan... please take me. Please make me feel good. Please... ruin me." No one there had imagined I could be so shameless. Suggestive gazes swept over me from every direction. With Sophia in his arms, Nathan smiled cruelly. "Honey, you sound so beautiful. Wouldn't it be a shame not to let everyone hear you?" I pulled off my wedding ring and threw it to the floor. Then I smiled lightly in the room. "Nathan, you seem to have forgotten that my last name is Bennett." "The last man hailed as a legend of the business world was my father."

I made plans with my boyfriend, Arthur Smith, to go to Valdoria together and watch the World Cup games. On the morning we were supposed to leave for that trip, I got to the airport and ended up waiting there for three whole hours, yet Arthur never showed up at all. I stood there watching a couple next to me—arms wrapped around each other, kissing excitedly as they were about to board. Meanwhile, I kept dialing Arthur's number over and over, but I never got through. It was not until the sky turned completely dark that my phone finally rang and I heard his voice on the other end, "Sorry, Vivienne, I forgot to mention that Leah also wanted to come to the World Cup, and she got so excited about it last night that she couldn't sleep at all, so she insisted on dragging me to leave early with her. We have just landed now. You can still make your way over on your own, right? We'll all meet up at the stadium entrance tomorrow." I froze right there on the spot, completely stunned by what he had just said. I had been looking forward to this trip for such a long time that I had actually arranged to take two weeks off from work, all for the sake of watching the matches with Arthur, and we had also made a promise that after the games ended, we would fly over to Ashford to take our wedding photos together. And yet, with that one casual remark about leaving early, he simply set aside every plan we had made and completely forgot about me. I forced a bitter smile and said to him, "You two go ahead and have a good time. I suddenly don't feel like going anymore." The next day, when I scrolled through my feed and came across Leah Smith's Instagram post, I saw a photo of her posing with Messi, and she was wearing the limited edition jersey that I had custom-made especially for this trip but never even had the chance to put on. Arthur was standing right next to her, pressed close to her side, and the two of them were grinning so broadly that they looked like they didn't have a care in the world. The caption read: Thank you, Arthur, for getting me this picture. You are always so wonderful, and you never miss a single important moment in my life! I calmly tapped the like button, and then, I contacted the wedding planning company to cancel the ceremony that was scheduled for three weeks from now. He never missed any important occasion of hers, but he missed every single one of mine. I pulled the diamond engagement ring off my finger and casually tossed it into a trash can right there at the airport because I no longer wanted any part of this relationship that had never been taken seriously, and I wanted nothing to do with Arthur himself either.

I had been engaged to Kieran Kargin, Alpha of our Pack, for years, but he never once mentioned setting a date for our wedding—until one day I happened to overhear him joking with his friends, saying, "Sofia doesn't even have a wolf spirit. How could a low-rank wolf like her, with no spirit at all, ever be my Luna? Once I've gone through with the alliance marriage, I'll just keep her somewhere on the side, and that'll be that."  I didn't cry or make a scene, nor did I charge in to question him. Instead, I turned around and went straight to my brother Sean Archer's grave, where his ashes rested quietly in the urn. Later, while Kieran was on his way to the Wolf Alliance, I visited his mother and called off the engagement myself. When he came back to the Pack and couldn't find me anywhere, he searched for me frantically. But by then, I was already standing in the Bloodmoon Pack territory, receiving my coronation as queen.

The day my sight finally returned, I kept it a secret from my husband, Adrian Smith. I wanted to surprise him, to see the look on his face when he realized I could look into his eyes again. Instead, I found him in a private lounge, sharing drinks and laughs with a few of his closest buddies. "Adrian, your wife has been blind for over a year now," one of his friends asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "How much longer are you going to let Ethan pretend to be you? How long can you keep up this game?" Adrian casually poured more whiskey for everyone, his face completely untroubled. "Ethan and I have been best friends since childhood. He knows exactly where the line is. Besides, my wife has always been cold and detached. Ethan has not even shared a bed with her this whole time." "Well, that sounds like a tragic waste," another friend joked. "We all know Ethan's the stamina king among us." Adrian's remarks triggered a wave of crude laughter around the table. Over in a dimly lit corner, Ethan Maxwell sat quietly, his head down as he listened to music through his headphones. For over a year, that very man had used his raspy, soothing voice to sing hundreds of songs to comfort me in my darkness. I stared at Ethan, studying him through the crack in the door. He had broad shoulders, a lean waist, and striking, bright eyes. He carried an air of cold indifference, yet I knew he had a deeply warm heart. As I looked at him, a dark thought crossed my mind—it really was a shame that I had never slept with a man like him.

I was able to marry Lance Reynolds only because I had a face that looked very much like his deceased first love.   For seven years, I stayed by his side, accompanied him through the lowest days of his life, and gave birth to Xavier Reynolds for him.   I had thought seven years would be enough to change many things.   Until the younger sister of Lance's deceased first love, Nina Lane, returned home.   He forgot our wedding anniversary completely, yet remembered to celebrate the birthday of the dog Nina raised.   In the past, Xavier had clung to me the most.   But now, he said to Nina, "You're gentler than Mom."   In the family portrait he drew, there was Dad, Nina, himself, and a puppy.   I was the only one missing.   I pointed at the drawing and asked him, "What about me?"   He lowered his head and said casually, "I forgot."   At that moment, I finally came to my senses.   It turned out that there had long been no place for me in this family.   The next day, I pushed the divorce agreement in front of Lance.   But he thought I was only throwing a tantrum, so he signed it in anger.   Before I left, my son did not even look at me.   He said, "I want to stay with Nina."   I nodded.   This time, I could finally be myself again.

By the third year of my marriage to mafia boss Nathan Blackwell, I had turned myself into a silent shadow.   He said he liked simple, understated things, so I locked my closet full of red dresses in the deepest corner of the attic. Every day, I wore cream-colored cotton dresses, arranged flowers, and brewed coffee at home.   He said the business world was too dirty, so I obediently stepped away from the company I had built with my own hands and retreated behind the walls of this mansion.   My world shrank into a gilded cage. The most important thing I did each day was wait for him to come home.   But over the past three months, Nathan had come home less and less. Whenever he did return, his shirt carried the same unfamiliar perfume.   The scent was loud, brazen, and impossible to ignore. It smelled like wild roses.   A friend hinted, "Once the novelty wears off, who stays interested in a housekeeper who spends all day in the kitchen? You have to make him want to win you over again."   So that day, I cooked all his favorite dishes. I pulled out the slip dress I hadn't touched in three years and put on bright red lipstick in front of the mirror.   But when Nathan came home, he brought another woman with him. She was his right-hand aide, Sienna Cross.   She wore a tight bodycon skirt. Her hair fell in long waves. And she carried that familiar perfume.   "Nathan, so this is your... housekeeper?"   Nathan didn't deny it. He didn't even spare me a glance.   I said nothing. I threw out the cold food and texted a number that had been silent for years.   Claire: Book me a flight home.

When I was dragged into the dungeon by the rival family and my legs were crushed to a pulp, my husband, Carlo Vitale, was busy making a baby with his mistress. After five years of marriage, he finally wanted a child. But the mother wasn't me—it was a girl he'd known for only two months, who looked just like his dead first love. When I called him for the last time, he answered breathlessly, "Leave me alone. I'll come back once she's pregnant." Five days later, dockworkers fished out my remains. As the Mafia Don, he came to identify me himself. He put on gloves, lifted the sheet, and stared at the severed arm for a long time. There was an old scar on the inner forearm, from seven years ago when his gun misfired and grazed me. In that moment, he went completely insane. But even with all his power, he couldn't bring back the dead.

For nine years, I helped Ethan Carter rise from nothing and become the tech world's newest star. But before his mother's seventieth birthday gala, he arranged a seat for his pregnant mistress at the main table and ordered me, "Do not wear anything too eye-catching. She will not like it." I smiled and nodded. On the night of the gala, Bellemont's elite gathered under the lights. I walked in wearing the Reed family's heirloom ruby necklace and replaced his mistress's place card with one that read: Ethan Carter's Secret Mistress. Beside it lay her prenatal report, clearly showing that she was thirteen weeks pregnant. The entire room fell dead silent. Ethan's eyes were red with fury as he shouted, "Sophia, have you lost your mind?" I picked up the microphone and smiled. "No. I am simply here to formally inform you that you are about to lose everything."

On my wedding night, I regained my sight. I was about to tell Adrian the good news when I saw my own naked photo in his friends' group chat. The camera was up close. I was kneeling by the bed, my eyes dazed, completely exposed. In the chat, Bianca asked him a question. Bianca: Three years with a blind girl. Aren't you tired of her? Adrian: She's blind, so she makes up for it with skill. Adrian: Lots of moves, loud in bed. Otherwise, what would you all have to look at when I lose bets? It turned out, every time he lost a bet to Bianca, he'd drop one of my bedroom photos into the group, taken to Bianca's filthy specifications, for everyone to gawk at. As of today, that made 98 photos. Bianca sent a laughing emoji. Bianca: One more, and tonight I'm yours. Someone in the group chimed in. Adrian's friend: What if Summer finds out and divorces you? Adrian: She's blind. Who'd take her if I left? Adrian: Besides, she loves me too much. Even if she knew, she'd pretend she didn't. But he had no idea. I was the long-lost biological daughter of the most notorious mafia family. I was done being their entertainment. I was going home.