When I was sixteen, an accident snuffed out the light in my right eye. From that day on, I walked with my head hung low, always trying to shrink myself into the most invisible corner I could find. Then Vince Ellery showed up. He chased me for three years, and every single time I turned him down, I said the same thing. "You deserve someone better. I'm not good enough for you." He didn't say anything else after that. The next time I saw him, his left eye was wrapped in gauze, and he wore a soft, faint smile. "Now we're the same. Will you say yes to me?" I cried so hard I couldn't get a single word out. Everyone said he was head over heels for me, and I believed it too. I bought that story hook, line, and sinker, right up until a week before our wedding, when I went to his office to drop off wedding invitations for his coworkers. I'd just gotten to his office doorway when I heard his childhood friend ask, "Did you really have your left eye removed back then just to chase Lavinia Fenwick?" Vince fell silent for a few seconds, then spoke like he was discussing something totally unimportant. "Lara couldn't find a donor. If we waited any longer, she would have gone completely blind." "Then what's the point of marrying Lavinia?" There was a bitter tinge to Vince's voice. "Anton Dalton has been obsessed with Lavinia for years. He never even spared Lara Pritchard a second glance. If Lavinia marries me, Anton will finally give up, and Lara will have a shot." His friend hesitated before speaking again. "So you're just planning to lie to her for the rest of her life?" Vince cut him off, snappish and annoyed. "Lavinia gave up her whole future for me. It's only right I take care of her. Besides, I'm down an eye now. I'm not good enough for Lara anymore. As long as she's happy, that's all that matters to me." I stood rooted to the spot outside the door for what felt like an eternity, then turned and tossed the wedding invitation straight into the trash can with a soft crinkle. Jaw set, I fired off a reply to that overseas job offer I'd been dragging my feet on for ages. Lavinia: I accept. I can start in a week.

My landlord broke the lease and kicked me out early. It was 11 p.m., and I was locked outside my apartment door with nothing but two suitcases. I typed a message into our five-person group chat. Jessica: Can anyone let me crash at their place for tonight? No one replied. Three minutes later, Kelly Moore sent a photo of her new house keys. Kelly: Finally moved in! Everyone come to my housewarming party on Saturday! My boyfriend, Sean Peterson, popped up first. Sean: I already picked out your gift. You've been eyeing that coffee machine forever, right? The other two chimed in, one right after the other. Harry: I'll bring the booze, all on me. Alexis: I'll order the flower arrangements. I typed another line and hit send. Jessica: I'm stuck in the hallway right now, I really have nowhere to go. Sean messaged me almost immediately. Sean: Can't you just book a hotel for yourself? Stop being a buzzkill in the group chat. Sean: Oh right, on your way somewhere tomorrow morning, stop by and pick up the balloons for Kelly. They're five letters that spell out her name. I plopped down on top of one of my suitcases and scrolled up through the old chat history. When Kelly moved, they brought two cars to help Kelly move. When Kelly had a cold, they took turns dropping off warm soup at her door every single day. Last year, when I had to get surgery for appendicitis? The only response I got in the group chat was a single throwaway line: "Drink more water, get some rest early." There had always been five people in this group chat. Only one of them never actually counted. I sniffled, swiping open my email app with a numb finger, then tapped accept on the message from head office asking me to serve as the onsite lead for an overseas project. No more getting left out, no more getting locked out. This time, I was walking away on my own damn terms.

My alpha fiancé Conrad Winsor's childhood sweetheart, Rosalind Sutter, just loved barging into my clinic with a whole crew to "catch the other woman." When she wrecked all my clinic work and tanked my practice, Conrad sighed and said, "Rosalind's just insecure. Cut her some slack this once, yeah?" The next time she sabotaged my job interview, he just shrugged and said, "If you haven't got a guilty conscience, you don't care what people say about you." I thought that would be the end of it, until I qualified for the final round of hiring at Aethelgard Healing Institute, and she cornered me yet again. This time, I didn't hold back. I called the patrol guards. But then Conrad showed up, and right in front of everyone, he slammed a Luna registration form signed with Rosalind's name down on the table. "She's not making false accusations against you." "Agatha Ashcombe, you're the other woman. You always have been." He knew perfectly well we were the pair the Moon Goddess herself had fated to be together. Even so, he laced his fingers through Rosalind's hand and looked me dead in the eye, saying, "Picking her as my Luna doesn't mean I don't love you. The two don't have to clash at all." I didn't argue. Not a single word. That very same day, I reached out to The Lunar Sanctuary. I said, voice ice-cold and steady, "Please schedule a rejection ceremony for me. I reject my fated mate."

Daniel Reed proposed to me eight times over our 8-year relationship, and I turned him down every single time.   I'd always told him flat out that I'd only say yes if he proposed under the aurora in Norvale.   But year after year, he said he could never snag two tickets to Norvale for us to go together.   He'd always wrap me in his arms and coax me, "Don't worry, baby. I'll make sure it feels special enough for you."   The day before yesterday, I'd planned to book the tickets myself as a surprise for him.   When the airline's booking system flagged a duplicate booking, I opened his phone.   For 8 whole years, there had been eight separate tickets to Norvale, each bearing his name and my sister Mia Kent's name.   I squeezed the phone in disbelief. I'd asked him about it again before we went to bed that night.   He'd worn that same regretful, helpless look he always did.   "I couldn't get the tickets. Next year, I'll definitely propose to you under the aurora," he'd said.   I'd bought those same empty promises hook, line, and sinker, year after year.   In the end, I was the punchline.   I swiped through my phone and pulled up the chat thread from the man who'd texted me 4 days earlier.   Noah Newton: Grace, it's just a flight to Norvale to see the aurora, right? If he won't take you, I will. I'll marry you.   I glanced over at Daniel, fast asleep next to me, and made up my mind. I typed back one word.   Grace: Okay.

During a Category 5 hurricane, the entire city lost power. My asthma flared up, and I desperately needed oxygen. When I made my way to the emergency medical kit in the dark, I found it empty. From the living room came the sound of oxygen hissing out of a valve, followed by Sophie Duskmere, my adopted sister's cheerful laughter. "This pure oxygen feels so cool when it sprays out. The room really does feel less stuffy now." My boyfriend, Luceris Fairwyn, spoke gently in the darkness. "You're too delicate to put up with this musty smell. It's only two canisters of oxygen. If you want to spray them, then go ahead." I clutched my heaving chest, my face deathly pale, and pointed at the empty canisters on the floor. "That oxygen was keeping me alive! My blood oxygen level has already dropped below 80%!" My older brother, Evander Quillmere, let out a mocking laugh. He then told Zephyra Crowhurst, Sophie's friend, to toss me a torn plastic bag. "Novalie Quillmere, every time Sophie is happy, you pretend to be sick to get sympathy. Practice breathing into that bag. You won't die from it, so stop ruining everyone's mood." They always said Sophie Duskmere was too delicate to endure the slightest hardship, so they made me give her everything good before I could have any for myself. Later, they drove to a luxury hotel to escape the hurricane. While backing out, they even ran over my inhaler, which I had dropped near the entrance. In the emergency room, the nurse listened to what had happened and trembled with anger, calling it attempted murder. Wearing an oxygen mask, I looked at the message on my phone from Evander, asking me to bring a phone charger to the hotel. My heart finally grew calm. The first thing I did after getting oxygen was leave the group to chat with all five of them. If they didn't care whether I lived or died, then there was no reason for me to keep any of them in my life.

Mom came up with this little game for the whole family called "Number Bomb". Every now and then, she'd pop a random string of digits out of nowhere in the family group chat. Then whoever managed to "defuse the bomb" by guessing the right meaning behind the numbers got a sweet surprise reward from her. My little sister nailed the code "143" when she poured Mom a warm glass of water, and boom—next thing she knew, she was holding a full set of high-end cosmetics. My little brother hit the jackpot with "520". It was when he helped Mom slip off her work slippers when he got home from his shift, and walked away with a fancy top-of-the-line bicycle. But when it was my turn? The rules for the bomb codes suddenly changed out of nowhere.  If I guessed "777" right, I had to work a part-time job for a whole month to "get some real-world experience".  If I cracked "888", I had to wire some money to her to "prove my affection for her". Every single time I successfully "defused a bomb", Mom would post about me on her social media, gushing about what a thoughtful, amazing kid I was. Our relatives would flood the comments too. A: [Wow, your mom really puts so much thought and effort into you!] B: [Just look at her chat logs, she texts you more than anyone else combined!] I actually bought it. I really thought that was just how Mom showed she loved me.  However, that illusion crumbled on Black Friday, when Mom accidentally left her phone at my place. I picked it up to bring it to her later, and when I swiped to check if she'd locked it, I stumbled on a secret group chat she'd made with my sister and brother—one I was totally left out of. There were no messages of any kind, no small talk, no photos, nothing. Just notifications after notifications of transfer records, one after another. Mom: 4,000 dollars travel fund for my dearest oldest daughter. Mom: 8,000 dollars reward for my precious son, who aced his exam again. And right under every single one? An instant payment confirmation. In that instant, it hit me exactly who Mom was hoarding all her favor for.

As the Alpha's most beloved daughter, I grew up with an unspoken rule in the pack. Whoever became the next Alpha had to take me as their mate. Lucien Ashford, the Delta, and Caleb Ashford, the Beta, the pack's two strongest, most eligible wolf brothers, were constantly jealous of each other over me, always calling me their favorite little wolf. One day Caleb would show up with a whole bouquet of sweet, wild blooms for me; the very next, Lucien would top him with the most glittering, eye-popping gem he could dig up. I was dead certain my future mate would be one of the two of them.   I thought that's how things would go forever. That all changed the day they rescued a rogue she-wolf. She was a beautiful Omega named Elena Everhart, whose parents had been exiled from the pack for attempting to assassinate the Alpha King. She was sweet and soft as melted butter, nothing like my spoiled, bratty, hotheaded self. To let her stay in the pack, Caleb endured the pack's harshest punishment, and nearly lost half his life in the process. He was so beat up he could barely stand for a week. After that, he poured all his attention on Elena, and had nothing but disgust left for me. Thankfully, Lucien stuck by my side the whole time. "Don't be upset, Vera. Caleb's an idiot. I'd lay down my life to protect you," he'd ruffled my hair and told me softly, his voice warm as a campfire. Then came that stormy night. I'd been spooked by the roaring thunder and couldn't sleep, so I'd gone to find Lucien for comfort. I never expected to overhear the two of them arguing inside. Caleb's voice was probing, curious. "I thought you were fighting me for Elena? If you keep wasting time being nice to that dumb little wolf, you're gonna get kicked to the curb before you know it." Lucien let out a cold, sharp laugh. "As if. I already promised Elena the second I become the next Alpha, she'll be my Luna. She's only ever gonna pick me." Ice-cold rain slammed against my skin, soaking me straight through to the marrow. Inside my chest, my inner wolf let out a broken, keening wail.   Then, as if the universe couldn't twist the knife any deeper, I unlocked my second awakening and emerged as a Silver Moon Wolf, fated to be the Alpha King's mate. The second those two caught sight of that, they spiraled into full-blown panic and regret, totally losing their shit.

My best friend always said most men couldn't be trusted and warned me to keep my eyes open. To test my husband, who insisted he'd never stray, I slipped a pair of unfamiliar lace panties into his suit pocket. The next day, while doing laundry, I made a point of pulling them out and blowing up at him. "What the hell are these? Who were you screwing last night?" He went white, dropped to his knees, and swore he hadn't done anything. Someone must have been playing a prank, he insisted, begging for forgiveness with tears in his eyes. I secretly laughed. My little test had worked perfectly. Then I got up for water in the middle of the night and heard him whispering into his phone on the balcony. "Baby, don't put your underwear in my pocket again. My wife nearly caught me today."

I was injured in a car accident while saving Corbin Ashford. The doctors said my vocal cords were damaged. I would never speak again.   The day I left the hospital, Corbin proposed and handed me a voice recorder. It held 3,000 everyday phrases. He had spent the whole night recording them, leaving his voice painfully hoarse.   "Ella, you don't have to learn sign language. I'll be your voice."   A year into our marriage, a woman named Delia Sloane joined his company. Corbin told me she couldn't speak either, though she had been that way since birth.   "She reminds me of you, Ella," he said.   After that, sign language lessons began appearing on his phone. He said they were only to help him communicate with the new employee and told me not to be suspicious.   When a fire broke out late one night, he ran straight to Delia, who was staying in our guest room.   "Wait for me, Ella! I'll come right back for you!"   He never came. When the firefighters brought me downstairs, I was still clutching the recorder.   Delia huddled in his arms, crying pitifully. Corbin signed something to her. I recognized the gesture, and it hurt to watch.   "I love you."   I stood frozen. He probably had no idea I had been learning sign language in secret. I had wanted to surprise him before our anniversary by saying those words in my own way.   I had thought he would be my voice forever. Without my knowing, he had found a way to tell another woman he loved her in a language I couldn't understand.   I watched them hold each other. Then I turned away and dropped the recorder into a trash can by the road.

After my husband's assistant saved him in a car accident, she developed delusions. She claimed she could talk to every object around her.   My husband, a psychiatrist, suggested bringing her home so he could look after her and help her recover.   During the first month, she said the moth orchids I'd spent 10 years nurturing had cried to her about being held prisoner. My husband moved them outside into temperatures of roughly -2℉ to 14℉. They froze to death.   During the second month, she hid in the storage room, sobbing that the wedding portraits on our wall were spying on her. My husband burned every photograph in front of her.   Then he turned to me and said, "This is the most effective treatment. Otherwise, she'll keep having these episodes."   Late one night, a powerful peach scent filled our bedroom. Red welts broke out all over my body. Panicking, I begged my husband, Conrad Hale, to take me to the hospital.   But his assistant, Lydia Voss, blocked the doorway and cried, "You can't open it! The door's asleep. How could you be so cruel as to wake it?"   "All right. We won't disturb it," Conrad soothed her.   Then he told me, "Just put up with it for now. You can go in the morning."   The next day, the doctor said regretfully, "The worsening allergic reaction triggered persistent contractions. We couldn't save the baby."   Lying in that hospital bed, I thought of the door he'd left shut.   The door to my heart would never open for him again.

I had hidden my family ties and spent 2 years living an ordinary married life with Edward Hale in Eastbridge.   When I was 5 months pregnant with twins, he came home in a tailored suit. "I'm sorry, Lena. I'm marrying the Bellandi family's daughter next week. I'm the most promising capo in the outfit. Only a woman with pure Valdoran blood is worthy of the boss I'm going to become."   I froze, one hand over my belly. "Then what does that make me and our children?"   Edward looked away. "I've already slept with her. I bought a villa in Solara and arranged for bodyguards. You'll have plenty of money, but you can't use my last name. And you can never show up in front of the family."   I could hardly believe him. "So I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life as your secret mistress?"   He took my hand. "She was raised to move in the highest circles. As long as you don't provoke her, I can give you everything except public recognition."   My eyes stung. After 2 years together, he still saw me as a nobody.   I tore the prenatal report to pieces and gave him a cold look. "What if I told you my bloodline was every bit as pure as hers? And that I set the rules for the entire Kingsport underworld?"

I'd just woken from a 100-year sleep and was in a hurry to reach Blackmere for the Darknet Financial Summit. But when I reached the garage, my custom bulletproof Rolls-Royce, which had cost over $100 million, was gone. In its place sat an open-top mobility scooter with a Hello Kitty sticker on the front.   I called my adopted son, Victor Voss, and demanded an explanation. He began to stammer.   "Mother, your car was ready. But Megan Pryce, the human blood servant I recently took in, said vampires need more sunlight for calcium. She replaced it with an open-top mobility scooter..."   After a few more questions, I learned that Megan Pryce had imposed some absurd healthy-living regimen ever since she arrived at the manor. She forced every vampire on the estate to do group exercises in the blazing sun, strictly controlled their diets, and dumped the family's entire blood supply, replacing it with carrot juice. The elders had been complaining for ages.   My eye twitched. I asked Victor if he'd lost his mind.   He sounded unconcerned. "Meg just wants the family to be healthy. She means well. You should be thanking her."   At that, I smiled.   Victor apparently thought that being the acting head of the family gave him the right to let a human walk all over us.   "If you want sunlight for calcium so badly, I'll chain you and Megan to the highest cross on the castle. You can stay there until the sun burns you both to ash!"

My husband, Hudson Rook, finally came to the hospital looking guilty after our daughter, Hilda, was out of danger.   "Honey, Hilda's all right now, isn't she? Eunice is a widow raising a child on her own. It's hard for her. I was just helping her out as a friend and didn't get a chance to check on you two."   Hilda had been hospitalized three times. Hudson hadn't been there once. He'd always had an excuse.   The first time, Hilda had an allergic reaction all over her body. He was with his first love's daughter while she got an injection. All he told Hilda was to get some rest.   The second time, Hilda suddenly went into shock. He was teaching that girl to hold her breath and swim underwater.   The third time, I received a critical condition notice. He spent $300 million on that girl's birthday party. Everyone said the three of them made such a happy family.   I felt as if Hilda and I had become a joke.   When he saw how cold I was, he hurried to add, "Nothing's happened between us. Hire a private investigator if you want. I'll spend the whole day with you two, okay?"   Then the ringtone he'd assigned to Eunice Voss sounded again. Hudson hesitated.   Hilda woke up and stared at him in confusion.   "Who are you, mister?"   Hudson froze.   I had nothing left to say to him.   "I don't want to investigate anything. Here's the divorce settlement. Sign it."

At Sterling Group's annual party, the company had organized a cringey contest called "Most Mismatched Couple." As Sebastian Sterling's secret wife, I'd been lumped together with all his rumored girlfriends, my picture displayed on the giant screen. The crowd was hooting and jeering. I watched the vote counts fluctuate on the screen, yet I felt calm. Because Sebastian had sworn up and down that these party games were just meant to liven up the evening and that he'd never participated in these games. Then the screen froze. Our names were right at the top. The host grinned as he read out the most popular anonymous comment: A: [Wendy Wells's such a stick in the mud. What makes her think she's good enough for a man like Mr. Sterling? The new director, Ms. Rollian is obviously a much better match for him.] The crowd erupted in laughter. I turned to look at Sebastian. He was leaning over his phone, typing out a message with a faint smile playing on his lips. I recognized that phone case immediately. It was brand-new, and Sophie Rollian had picked it out earlier. Later, when I checked his tablet, I stumbled across his voting history. That top-liked comment? He'd written it himself. And that wasn't all. He'd used a burner account to cast 100,000 votes for the option that read: [Ms. Rollian and Mr. Sterling are the perfect match.]

My husband, Colin Harlow, was in such a rush to celebrate his childhood sweetheart Brianna Shaw's birthday that he locked the walk-in freezer and left without checking inside. I didn't find out until I got home from work. His mother had been showing mine around the freezer. They'd been trapped in there for 6 hours. By the time the police got them out, his mother was dead. Mine was rushed to the ER. I called Colin from outside the emergency room. His phone was off. I tried every one of his friends. Not one believed me. "Colin's on a 6-day beach vacation with Brianna. You're making this up so we'll drag him home, aren't you?" "Forget it. Brianna turned his phone off for the whole 6 days to keep you from interrupting their vacation. Nobody can reach him." In our 3 years of marriage, Colin had always put Brianna first. I'd cried. I'd fought. All I got was a reputation as the crazy wife among his friends. And he'd only let Brianna get away with more. I hung up and stopped trying to reach him. He could come home in 6 days. He'd still make it for his mother's funeral.

At our joint bachelor and bachelorette party, my best friend suggested a game of hide-and-seek. Anyone we caught had to double their cash gift. My fiancé, Adrian Mercer, and I split up, eager to hunt everyone down. But an hour later, I hadn't found a single guest. I couldn't even find Adrian. Exhausted, I headed back to our bridal suite to get my phone and tell everyone I was giving up. At the door, I heard two familiar voices, breathless and intimate. "Adrian, you told all the guests to hide in their rooms so they wouldn't get caught, then dragged me into your bridal suite for a quickie. Aren't you afraid she'll find out and call off the wedding? Who's going to fund that medical business you're so obsessed with then?" My fiancé gave a scornful laugh. "She won't find out anytime soon. I've still got her phone. Even if she does, she's so gullible she'll believe any excuse. I'll say I was drunk or mistook you for her in the dark. She'll forgive me. Besides, I'm the only surgeon who can operate on her mother's heart." I stood outside the door, numb with shock and unable to stop shaking. Our little game hadn't won me any extra wedding money. It had exposed my fiancé's affair with my best friend. But neither of them knew I'd already contacted a team of leading heart specialists overseas. They'd betrayed me. Now I'd play cat and mouse with them, and I wouldn't spare either of them.

My boyfriend, Holt Anderson, the godfather of the Anderson family, vanished on the day of my initiation. Today was supposed to be the day I officially joined the Anderson family. Holt was also supposed to announce our engagement. Thinking his enemies had kidnapped him, I stormed their headquarters alone and had my kneecaps smashed. As I fought for my life, covered in injuries and taking on anyone who stood in my way, the encrypted group chat that had been silent for a long time suddenly flooded with messages. A: Congratulations to the Godfather and Miss Alice Duskryn on your engagement! One congratulatory message after another appeared. Everyone was there. But Holt's fiancée wasn't Alice Duskryn. It was me. I thought it was a prank. Until I saw Holt's message. Holt: Everyone will receive a $100,000 bonus today and get the day off. I'll also select a new group of members to join the Anderson family and serve under Alice Duskryn. From now on, everyone will treat her as they treat me. The list of names was posted. Mine wasn't on it. Then someone suddenly brought me up. Holt's reply was casual. Holt: She can wait. There are already too many new members. We'll deal with her next time. Then someone suddenly realized the truth. B: We sent these messages to the wrong group chat! Sheila Crestwyn is here! The captain, who had fought through countless gun battles alongside me, sent me a private message. Captain: We told you the Godfather had been kidnapped because we were afraid you'd cause trouble. The Godfather truly loves Miss Alice Duskryn. The adviser, who had always looked after me, tagged me directly. Adviser: If you weren't so domineering, we wouldn't have had to handle things this way. Don't show up before the initiation ceremony ends. Miss Alice Duskryn is terrified of you. Suddenly, I felt that none of it mattered anymore. I didn't want any of it. Not anymore.

On our wedding anniversary, I was deep in negotiations for an overseas acquisition deal. Right at the critical moment, an emergency notification buzzed across my screen, turning my blood to ice: Jericho had been caught in a catastrophic car crash, his life teetering on the brink of death. I abandoned the conference room, my heart hammering against my ribs like a war drum, and sped across the city to the trauma center, only to shove open the private suite doors and find him tangled up beneath the sheets with his managing director, Victoria. There was not a single scratch on him. "Well, your wife must really adore you," Victoria purred, leaning against the pillows with lazy amusement. "One little test, and she came bolting straight back." Catching my shattered expression, Jericho scrambled to pull his clothes on, his face a mask of sheepish embarrassment.  Victoria arched her chest forward, the mottled bruises trailing across her skin swaying right before my eyes. "No need for that sky-is-falling look, Mrs. Madsen," she said, her voice dripping with insolent charm. "It was just a little fun between colleagues. As a stay-at-home wife, you cannot exactly hold your husband to too high a standard, can you?" Once she sauntered out into the corridor, Jericho smoothed his shirt and turned to me, cool as a cucumber. "My year-end promotion rests entirely in her hands, Nora. You have to understand. Everything I do is for this family." I did not say a word. I simply lowered my head, pulled out my encrypted phone, and fired off a direct message to my brother. Me: I have another acquisition target. Your brother-in-law's company. Interested?

At our son's organ donation ceremony, Hannah Loxley, the mother of the boy who received his organs, bowed deeply to me through her tears. "Mrs. Isolde Valehurst, thank you. Your son has given my boy a second chance at life." Beside her, a man gently comforted her. "Stop crying. Your makeup will be ruined, and how are you going to take our wedding photos this afternoon?" His voice was exactly like that of my husband, who had been living abroad for four years. The woman leaned against him and looked at me with gratitude in her eyes. "This is my fiancé. Once our son gets better, we're going to have our wedding ceremony right away." When our eyes met, I recognized his face. It was my husband, Darius Valehurst, the man who had been living abroad. He froze, his hand still resting on the woman's waist. A few seconds later, he gave me a polite nod. "Ms. Isolde, I'm sorry for your loss." It was as if he were not the same man who had sighed over the phone just last night, saying he hated being so far away and unable to come back. The woman suddenly looked at me with tearful eyes and asked with concern, "Where is your husband? Why isn't your son's father here today?" I looked at Darius, who was frowning at me, and forced a small smile. "He's getting ready to marry someone else."

When Vito Crowthorne was choosing the earrings for my wedding, he still let my older sister, Leora Quenleigh, pick first. Leora chose a pair of ruby earrings that he had paid a fortune for at a black-market auction. What he left for me was a cheap pair of plain black earrings that had come free with them. For more than a decade, Vito had always brought two gifts whenever he returned with presents, letting Leora choose first. When Leora chose a ruby necklace, he left me with a cheap fake. When she chose a box of pastries from a European royal collection, he left me with expired snacks. I had tried to choose first before, but Vito had never agreed with me. "Sera Quenleigh, Leora has a strong personality. She always wants the best things, and she'd be very upset if you chose first." This time, he had not even let me choose first when it came to the earrings for my own wedding. I looked at the cheap black earrings and shook my head. Since he always put Leora first, there was no reason for me to attend this wedding anymore.

Paige Sutton, a friend of my husband Daniel Ward, slapped her prenatal report onto the table at the partners meeting. She smiled and raised an eyebrow at me. "Daniel feels bad that your tubes don't work and you can't get pregnant, so he asked me, as a friend, to carry one for you. Strictly a favor between friends. Don't read anything into it." Under the table, Daniel's warm hand closed around mine. He spoke in that gentle voice people use on a child. "Paige couldn't stand the way my mom blames you for us not having a kid, so she offered to help. Sign the Greystone Lane house over to her so she has a quiet place to stay while she's pregnant. When the baby comes, we put your name on the birth certificate, and he grows up calling you Mom." Paige grabbed a pen and pushed it into my hand. She was smiling. "Come on, Nora. Sign it. Once the baby's here, I'll have him thanking you every day for the rest of his life." I let out a short laugh and swept the papers off the table. Paige's face froze. Daniel's went dark. Under the table, his hand clamped down on mine hard enough to make my bones ache. "Paige is going through this for you. Don't be difficult." I bit back the pain and said nothing. I touched the fertility report in my bag, the one with Daniel's name on it. They actually thought I'd just sit there and take it. That rotten marriage, that rotten man—I was done. Not another second.

Only 15 minutes remained before the ceremony. Nathan Walker and I had finally finished greeting our guests. Backstage, my bridesmaids urged me to change into my ceremony gown. "After 10 years together and eight failed weddings, the ninth one is finally happening!" My makeup artist teared up as she secured my veil. I was about to leave the dressing room when Nathan's childhood friend, Leah Miller, spoke from the couch. "Wait. The sapphire bracelet I made for you is tangled. I need to fix it." I stopped. So did Nathan. "That's fine. Take your time." Leah smiled at me as she worked on the delicate chain. "Don't worry, Erin. I'll be quick. I commissioned this bracelet especially for you. Sapphires symbolize loyalty and eternity." Then she casually handed my bouquet to Nathan. "Hold this for me." He took it. The dressing room fell silent. My bridesmaids' smiles disappeared. "Nathan, the ceremony is about to begin. All our guests are waiting." He frowned. "I'm already here. A few more minutes won't matter." I looked at him in his tuxedo, waiting while Leah untangled her bracelet, and suddenly smiled. Then I picked up my phone and texted another number. Erin: Didn't you say that if my ninth wedding fell through, I should consider you? Erin: Get to the hotel before noon and steal the bride.

After Nolan Pierce rescued me from an assault in a client's hotel suite, the first thing he did was fasten a tracking collar around my neck. With tears in his eyes, he said it would keep me safe at future business events. I believed him. Out of guilt, I never took it off. Then, just before I left work on our 3rd wedding anniversary, a gift arrived. Inside were 99 intimate photos of Nolan and his childhood friend, Lily Shaw. My phone lit up with messages. Lily: Nolan gave you that tracking collar so we could use your bedroom. It lets us make sure you're safely out entertaining clients whenever we meet. Lily: If we need more time, he schedules another event to keep you away. The night a client took you to that hotel was his arrangement too. Lily: Don't believe me? Watch how he invents an excuse to come to my prenatal appointment tonight, on your anniversary. An audio file followed. My fingers trembled as I pressed Play, and Nolan's familiar, careless voice cut through me. "Why haven't I divorced that filthy woman? Because I'm transferring her assets and company to our child. After the collection launch in two days, we can force her out." 'Filthy woman?' With a bitter laugh, I tore off the collar that had confined me for three years and dropped it into the trash. Our marriage had rotted into nothing but manipulation. But Nolan had forgotten that the promise he had casually signed when he proposed was legally a prenuptial agreement.

At a party, my boyfriend, Ryan Hale, lost a game of truth or dare. His punishment was to kiss the first woman seated to his right. That woman was Chloe Parker, his childhood friend. The cheering nearly shook the roof. Ryan cupped the back of Chloe's head and kissed her for a full 10 seconds. Someone glanced at me. "You don't mind, do you? It's only a game." Chloe wiped the corner of her mouth, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Ryan's still as good as ever." Ryan ruffled her hair, then looked at me. "It's a game, Elena. Don't be a sore loser." I got up and went to the restroom. Cold water ran over my fingers as I stared at myself in the mirror. I suddenly couldn't remember how many times this had happened. When I returned, Chloe was in my seat, leaning close to Ryan and whispering in his ear. The party broke up after midnight. Ryan draped his coat over Chloe's shoulders. "Elena, take a rideshare. Chloe's been drinking. She shouldn't be out in the cold." Chloe rolled down the car window. "Don't take it personally, Elena. Ryan and I have always been like this." I stood in the rain and watched their taillights disappear. When I got home, one side of the cake on the table had already collapsed. The candles were still in their box, untouched. After midnight, my phone finally lit up. Ryan: Chloe got sick on the way home. I'm staying to take care of her. I'll make up your birthday another day. Our anniversary could wait. Our vacation could wait. Our wedding could wait. For seven years, Ryan had excelled at asking me to wait for another day. I pulled the candles from the box, threw the entire cake into the trash, and blocked him everywhere. This time, I was done waiting.

On what was supposed to be my ninth wedding to Julian Price, he didn't just leave me at the altar—he married someone else. The ballroom fell silent when his video call appeared on the screen. Julian and Chloe Davis stood outside the county clerk's office, holding up their freshly issued marriage certificate. My heart dropped. After eight failed weddings, I had never gotten that certificate. Now another woman held it like it was nothing. Chloe was wearing the diamond ring I'd had made for our wedding. She beamed at the camera. "Claire, Julian only married me to help me cross one thing off my bucket list. Please don't be mad." Julian sounded a little annoyed. "Claire isn't that petty." He looked into the camera and added, "Don't worry, Claire. It's only a formality. We'll file for divorce soon." That bucket list again. Chloe had made a long one the day she was diagnosed with brain cancer. From then on, Julian had abandoned wedding after wedding to help her complete it. I stood alone beneath an arch meant for two and suddenly felt exhausted. If he wanted to marry someone else, he could stay married to her. I called my longtime rival. "My wedding is missing a groom. Interested?"

I've always been stubborn by nature. When I dislike someone or something, no matter how much others try to persuade me, I never change my mind. Lucan Solwick had tried every trick in the book to win me over. But no matter what he did, I never gave him the time of day. I even made it clear that I would never be with him, not in this lifetime. But on my wedding day, I was involved in a car accident. The impact left me with a severe brain injury and erased my memories. When I woke up, Lucan held my hand and told me with deep affection that I was the woman he had loved for years and his beloved fiancée. After we married, he bought me a private island and spoiled me, always giving me whatever I wanted. That lasted until New Year's Eve this year, when he told me he had an important client to meet and couldn't spend the evening with me. Wanting to surprise him, I quietly went to his office. But when I reached his office door, I saw him pinning his new assistant, Elsinne Caine, beneath him. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she asked, "You're not going home on New Year's Eve? Aren't you afraid your wife will make a scene?" Lucan pressed a kiss to Elsinne's lips and replied casually, "People always want what they can't have. Once they finally get it, they stop appreciating it." Elsinne stood up and pushed open the door, only to find me standing there. She looked me up and down before reaching out and ripping the pendant from my ear. She frowned in disgust. "Where did this country come from? What makes you think you can wear the same earrings as me?" I covered my bleeding ear. Only then did I notice that her earrings were exactly like mine. Hearing the noise, Lucan stepped out of his office. Surprise flashed across his face. "Zarela? What are you doing here?" Elsinne seemed to realize who I was. She covered her mouth and let out a sweet laugh. "Oh my God! You're Mrs. Zarela Solwick! I'm so sorry . . . But you really should keep your husband in check. It's already after work, yet Lucan insists on keeping me in the office to work overtime with him. I'm practically sick of it." Lucan didn't offer a single explanation. He simply stared at me, as if waiting for me to burst into tears and make a jealous scene. Instead, I calmly wiped the blood from my ear and gave Elsinne a polite smile. "I don't want this man anymore. He's all yours!" What he didn't know was that my memories had already returned. I finally remembered everything. And I knew he was never the man I had loved.

3 years ago, I worked as a professional girlfriend for a companionship agency, charging by the hour. My job was to accompany clients to meet their parents and help them keep up appearances at events, and it was strictly platonic, with no sexual services involved.   Franklin Baxter hired me for 3 months to cheer up his seriously ill grandmother, Elizabeth.   When Elizabeth passed away, her final wish was for me to become Franklin's wife.   We signed a 3-year marriage contract.   The terms were simple. I would receive $50,000 a month, and once the 3 years were up, we would file for divorce and go our separate ways, without interfering in each other's lives.   But as Franklin and I spent day after day together, I fell in love with him little by little.   I treated that contract as the start of a love story. I couldn't help crossing the line again and again and caring for him beyond what the contract required, secretly hoping he would love me back.   But on my birthday, he spent the night on the beach with his first love, Angela Brady, who had just returned from overseas, watching the sunrise.   When my father was rushed to the ER while undergoing dialysis, I begged him to help me contact a transplant center and ask about the waiting list. All he said was, "That wasn't in the contract".   At a family dinner celebrating our third wedding anniversary, Angela smiled and asked who I was. He didn't even hesitate. "Someone the family hired."   That was when it hit me. To him, I was nothing more than hired help.   That night, I didn't cry. I didn't throw a fit.   I dug that contract out from the very back of my drawer and recited every clause again, one by one.   Starting the next day, I became the most well-behaved Mrs. Baxter on the planet.   No jealousy, no prying questions, no crossing lines. I clocked out on time and followed the contract to the letter.   Instead, Franklin cornered me against a wall, his eyes red-rimmed, and asked what was going on.   I said, "Mr. Baxter, you crossed the line. And one more thing. Our contract is almost up."

On the day of my engagement to Oscar Bolton, I found two hotel deposits on his phone.   One was for our engagement party.   The other was for the one-month celebration of my best friend Bethany Bright's baby.   Both events were held at the same hotel, except that hers was on the third floor and mine was on the first floor.   I clutched his phone and went up to the third floor, trembling all over. I wanted to see it for myself.   When I reached the door, my future mother-in-law's voice came from inside the room.   "This baby is so lively. He looks exactly like Oscar did when he was little."   Then I heard another familiar voice.   "I don't think he just looks like Oscar. His eyes are exactly the same as Bethany's."   It was my mother talking.   Bethany laughed. "Well, our baby really got all the best traits from his mom and dad. He's definitely going to grow up to be a very handsome man." Oscar sounded a little anxious. "Let's hurry up and take the family photo. Alicia is still waiting for me downstairs."   I shoved the door open, my eyes sweeping over everyone in the room.   "No need," I said. "I'm already here."

I was scrambling to scrape together 800,000 dollars for my son's life-saving surgery, so I signed a life-or-death waiver and joined a desert island survival livestream show that had a shockingly high mortality rate. Before the broadcast kicked off, the production team made every contestant record a final message for their loved ones. The other female celebrities broke down sobbing as they bade tearful farewells to their families. When it was my turn, I fished out a crumpled hospital payment slip instead. "If I don't make it off this island alive, please send the compensation payout directly to this hospital. My son's only five years old. He's waiting for that money to get his surgery . . ." The entire livestream comment section went dead quiet in an instant. Then a sharp, icy scoff cut straight through the hush from the investors' section. "Sophie Sullivan. Five years apart, and your little act playing the poor, helpless victim has only gotten more convincing." My head whipped up so fast my ears rang. It was Troy Harrington, my ex-husband. Five years had passed, and he'd grown into one of the most powerful, untouchable business tycoons in the country. "You ran off with 1 billion dollars in breakup money back then," he sneered, his voice icy enough to freeze water. "What's this little performance now? Playing the desperate, down-on-her-luck housewife for the cameras?" I stared at the staggering number he'd just thrown out, my brain short-circuiting completely. "What 1 billion dollars breakup money?" I blurted out, completely bewildered. "Your mom forced me to sign a voluntary departure statement giving up all my claims to any of your assets back then. She didn't even let me leave with a single cent." The entire livestream's barrage of comments went completely dead instantly. For one long, heavy beat, not a single new message popped up. Troy slammed his boot hard into the monitor in front of him, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud crack. Without pausing for a second, hands shaking so badly he could barely tap the correct digits, he dialed his mom's number.

Maddie, the cycling team's newest "one of the guys", had broken up 8 couples in 6 months. At a team party, she showed up in my husband's old cycling jersey, smiling sweetly as she tried to get a rise out of me. "My clothes got soaked on our last night ride, and Luke practically forced me to wear it! "You wouldn't mind one bro borrowing another bro's shirt, would you? Even if he wore it against his skin?" Everyone at the table waited for my reaction. I lifted my cup and took a single sniff. I'd cut pieces from that jersey to line a bed for one of the stray cats in my care. An unneutered tomcat had soaked it in urine for a full month. Now it was pressed against her skin.

I had stood by my husband, Rowan Pedro, for seven years, from the day he founded his tiny startup to the moment it went public and made the Fortune 500. For seven years, I blended custom scents just for him. I was there when he battled depression, insomnia, and crippling withdrawal, holding his hand through every dark day. The worst year, he collapsed and landed in the ICU. I stayed by his bedside around the clock and crafted a custom fragrance just for him. What he never knew was that the perfume I made for him had rewired his body to only recognize me and my scent. Seven years of slow, constant exposure had trained his nervous system to crave that faint, familiar fragrance like a lifeline. With his condition only partially recovered, going without that scent would send him spiraling—irritable, wracked with unexplained pain, even flying into a total rage. Rowan had fallen asleep to that scent, pulled through his lowest points clinging to it, and once told me, his voice thick with emotion, "Lilian, you're my saving grace." He laced his fingers through mine and swore that for every bottle of perfume I ever blended, he'd be the first to smell it. But once he made it big as a famous young entrepreneur, everything shifted. He left before sunrise and came back long after dark, sometimes not at all. I never knew if I'd see him walk through the door. I'd leave freshly blended scents out for him, hoping he'd take a sniff, then smile and tell me what notes he picked up and how it made him feel. But every time, he'd just shut his eyes, exhausted, and say, "I'm wiped. I can't handle strong scents right now." I understood. My heart ached for how hard he was working, so I never brought it up again. That changed when I got invited to a perfume launch. I watched Rowan take a huge bouquet of jasmine from his female assistant, then lean in and inhale deeply, savoring it. My chest tightened as I remembered three months earlier, when Rowan had tossed me his clothes dusted with jasmine pollen. I'd had an allergic reaction that lasted two days. He'd told me he'd brushed against jasmine by accident. I'd believed him. Now I stood there watching as he laughed and smiled while sniffing bouquet after bouquet, sample after sample, even the soft scent clinging to the ends of his assistant's hair. The event ran four hours, and he never left her side. That easy, bright smile never left his face. Oh. So it wasn't that he was too tired after all. He just didn't care to smell the scents I made for him. I didn't march over to confront him. I turned and left early, no fuss, no scene. That same night, I accepted an offer from a renowned French perfumery to join them as a long-term consultant, starting in five days. Before I left, I slipped off the wedding ring I'd worn for seven years. If he didn't want to smell the scents I made anymore, it was time I found someone new to appreciate them. It was time to make him find out exactly what it felt like to have his seven-year scent addiction ripped right out from under him.

For the ninth time, Maria Peterson and my dad walked out of the county clerk's office holding a marriage certificate. Maria came over, messed up my hair, and flashed that smug grin of hers. "Take notes, kiddo. You're looking at the best gold-digger detector on the planet. A woman like your mom, clawing her way up from nothing? She can pretend she doesn't care about money all she wants. I can tell in one second she's just after your dad's billions. I have to test her ten times for your dad. Let's see how long she can keep the act up." My dad, Franklin Johnson, laughed under his breath. "You and your little games. No one else would think of this stuff. Lily has put up with you nine times without complaining. She must be serious about me." He crouched down and tugged at the hem of my old jacket, the one that had been washed until the color was gone. "Go tell your mom this is the final test. Once she proves she doesn't want me for the money, I'll give her a real wedding and tell everyone who she is. She's made it through nine already, so just get her to do this last one, okay?" They walked off together, still laughing, still talking about the wedding. Neither of them saw my eyes turning red. Neither of them saw the hospital notice I was crushing in my fist. The paper said: CRITICAL CONDITION. Ever since Maria came back from overseas, she had convinced my dad that my mom was only after his fortune. What my dad didn't know was that my mom had endured every humiliation of those nine tests in silence. And he would never get his tenth test.  Not ever.

With 10 minutes to go before the wedding, my groom, Blake Harrow, finally showed up. My bridesmaid, Holly Simmons, had just started breathing again when a tearful voice came from the front row. It was his friend Faye Mercer. "Blake, Peanut's not doing well. I need to get him to a vet." Blake's expression tightened. He went straight to her. "Don't panic. I'll drive you." Faye held the dog and gave me an apologetic smile. "Tessa, don't be upset. Blake and I grew up together. You're not seriously going to be jealous of a dog, are you? Blake is Peanut's dad. He can't just leave him when he's this sick." Then she took Blake's arm like it was the most natural thing in the world and headed for the door. The guests exchanged looks. My parents were livid. I stared at his back. "Blake, it's almost 12:00. Come back and we can still do this." Blake turned around, his brows slightly furrowed. "It's a living creature. Can you show a little compassion? Just be patient. I'll be back in 1 hour." Looking at how anxious he was as he held that dog, I suddenly laughed. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. "Meet me at this banquet hall in 10 minutes. You're marrying me."

My older sister, Bianca Sutton, had been beautiful from the day she was born. Everyone had always loved her more. She got the newest dresses, and our parents couldn't bring themselves to scold her even when she'd done something wrong. Every Christmas, the adults secretly slipped her extra presents. When I went to college, I deliberately chose Seabrook, 1,250 miles from home. I thought the distance would finally let me escape her shadow. Then, after graduation, my boyfriend, Reid Langley, came home with me. "Your birthday's tomorrow. Let's celebrate with your family. You can introduce me to them." But the moment he saw Bianca, he let go of my hand. He was so nervous he started stammering. She gave him a seductive smile and slipped the ring box out of his pocket. "It's beautiful. Is this a present for me?" "Yes," he said without hesitating. It was the birthday present I'd wanted for so long. My initials were even engraved inside. Suddenly, I was tired of it all.

The day I caught Brandon Fletcher in bed with my best friend, I took off my wedding ring. He froze for a moment, then slipped it back onto my finger. "Give me 15 days. I promise I'll stop seeing her after that." He used those 15 days to fly her to Ghana, have a wedding dress made for her, and arrange a lavish, romantic ceremony. Even my parents flew out to watch them exchange vows. Late on the 14th night, I'd just finished packing when my phone lit up with an incoming video call. On the screen was the girl I'd been 7 years earlier, wearing a wedding dress and looking full of hope. "I'm finally marrying Brandon! We're happy 7 years from now, aren't we?" I gave a bitter smile and turned the camera toward the wedding video playing beside me. Brandon and Nicole Abbott were locked in a passionate kiss. My parents watched from the audience, crying tears of joy. "There's your happy ending." The girl on the screen gasped. "That's impossible..." My gaze drifted to the wedding portrait on the wall. "Alice, you still have a chance to change this," I said softly. "Please don't marry him."

Right before bed, I snuggled into my husband Elijah Brown's arms, all soft and playful, and asked if we could play "Witch's Poison".   "We each pick a body part on ourselves as the poison, okay? If you kiss the poison, you die, got it?"   He let out a helpless, amused laugh. "Alright, I'll play with you."   The game kicked off.   After a few back-and-forth rounds, the air between us gradually heated up.   The sash of my nightgown had come loose without my noticing, and the collar of his pajama shirt had come open too, faint glimpses of his solid pecs showing through the fabric.   It was my turn again.   My gaze settled just below his taut lower abdomen, and I leaned down to press a kiss there.   I lifted my eyes, my voice soft and sweet.   "Am I dead, Mr. Brown?"   Elijah's body went rigid for a split second, then he chuckled and pushed me away. "Don't tease me like that, baby."   I brushed my fingers across his face.   "We haven't been intimate in forever. Don't you want to?"   His eyes darkened, and he finally bowed his head to press his lips to mine.   When he tried to take things further, I immediately sensed something was wrong.   There was no response from him at all.   He tried a few more times, then finally rolled over onto his side in frustration.   "Sorry, honey. I've probably just been too worn out lately."   Doubt began to creep into my mind, bit by bit.   Elijah had always been energetic, and the two of us had always been in sync in that department. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

My boyfriend, Martin Cole, hosted a radio show.   10 minutes before we went on air, he was still holding me in his arms, saying, "When tonight's show is over, I'll tell everyone we're together."   After the show began, a listener asked whether he knew any eligible single women.   Martin smiled and read out my name.   "Our producer, Paula Bennett. She's 32, easygoing, and tolerates just about anything.   "Anyone who wants a low-maintenance girlfriend should step forward."   His first love, Diana Foster, had just returned from abroad. Sitting in the co-host's chair, she asked with a smile, "But doesn't Paula have feelings for you?"   Martin paused for only a second.   "She's nice to everyone. Don't try to set us up.   "If I really liked her, would I keep it a secret for 7 years?"   The livestream chat instantly flooded with comments about how perfect he and Diana were together.   As soon as we cut to a commercial, I took off my headphones and asked him, "You said you were going to tell everyone. Is this what you meant?"   His expression darkened. "It was just for the show. It's Diana's first time here. Do you have to embarrass her?"   Then he sent me the contact details of a sponsor who was divorced and in debt.   "He doesn't even mind your age. Talk to him, so our coworkers will stop making jokes about us."   I looked at the relationship announcement that had been drafted long ago. Suddenly, those 7 years of my life felt like a joke.   The opening line I'd written for him 7 years earlier was still playing on a loop in my headphones.   "May everyone who cries out in the dark hear an echo answering back."   I'd waited 7 years for an echo that never came. I was done waiting.   And I was done with him.

The day my husband, Felix Foster, told me he'd be leaving for a two-week business trip to the Evermere Continent, I was out working as a professional organizer.   My client was a painter who'd recently moved back to the area.   I followed the address to an exclusive gated community in Crestwood Heights.   The moment I opened the door to her walk-in closet, I froze.   An entire wall of glass display cases was filled from floor to ceiling with Hermès bags and limited-edition designer gowns.   And right in the center sat the handmade wedding dress I'd spent three years searching for.   Felix had once told me it had been accidentally burned during shipping. He'd even moped around with me for weeks over the loss.   My client strolled in with a mug of coffee in hand. Smiling, she ran a finger over the dress's cuff.   "Careful around that, okay? That dress is worth a fortune. My boyfriend spent three years tracking down dozens of artisans to create it just for me. He says I'm the only woman who deserves something this special."   She took a sip of coffee before glancing at me.   "Your job must be exhausting, huh? I don't even see a ring on your finger. Honey, you need to find yourself a thoughtful, attentive man like my boyfriend."   My eyes fell on the handwritten card tucked inside the display case. I recognized Felix's handwriting immediately.   It read: To Wendy Lawson, my darling.   So Felix knew how to be romantic after all. He'd just never intended to share that side of himself with me.   I tore my gaze away and sharply zipped up my storage bag.   "It sure is exhausting, so I decided to start living a different kind of life."

My husband, Evan Sinclair, was obsessed with camping. For 2 years, he hadn't missed a single trip, not even when the wind howled and the rain came pouring down. He was always complaining that I only cared about making money and didn't understand his hobbies or his idea of romance. So, for our third wedding anniversary, I finished a major project ahead of schedule, secretly booked a spot at his favorite campground, and planned to surprise him. But the moment I approached the check-in desk, I spotted my adoptive sister, Wren Lancaster. "Your husband is at Campsite 7," the receptionist told Wren with a smile. I was just about to call out to greet her when the receptionist continued, "You two have such a sweet relationship! You've been married for 2 years, and you're still planning romantic dates for each other. I heard you got married in Frosthaven, right?" Wren nodded, her face glowing with happiness. "My husband says marriage is a once-in-a-lifetime commitment, so you shouldn't cut corners when it comes to the wedding. My parents completely agreed, too. When we got married, they gave us $200,000 as a wedding gift. They even passed down the family heirloom bracelet to me. "And guess what? My husband knows how much I love roses, even though he's allergic to pollen. On our wedding day, he took two allergy pills just so he could pick me up with a whole bouquet of roses." My chest tightened. The moment Wren left, I hurried to the front desk. The reservation for Campsite 7 was under two names: Evan Sinclair and Wren Lancaster. That was my husband's name. Fine. If he was so determined to play the romantic husband for Wren, he could keep their little fantasy all to himself. I was done playing along.

The day I went to try on wedding gowns, Gavin Hart sent me an AI-generated picture of me in one. Gavin: Trying them on at the store is a waste of time. I generated this. Same result. The image was full of crude digital seams. I swallowed the hurt and said nothing. I'd planned countless perfect weddings for other people, yet my own fiancé couldn't be bothered to come to a fitting. Then my best friend, Sophie Lane, posted an update. In the photo, Gavin knelt on one knee, gently arranging the train of her million-dollar custom gown. Her caption read: Someone lost a bet, so now he has to come gown shopping with me. I went home in a daze and found Gavin's spare phone on the sofa. My hands shook as I opened it. At the top of his chats, Sophie had sent him a picture of me standing alone in front of the fitting-room mirror in a sample gown. Sophie: She really believes you're too busy? Gavin: She fusses over everything. An AI picture will keep her happy. Why would I miss your fitting for hers? He'd had time. Just never for me. I deleted the AI picture and threw my engagement ring into the trash. "Forget the wedding. I'm done."

My boyfriend of seven years was going to propose. I spent hours getting ready. I rushed to the restaurant, heart pounding with excitement. Only to find my best friend, Lydia Hayes, sitting in my seat, her hand outstretched, waiting for my boyfriend to put a ring on her finger. "Your proposal ideas are so tacky. Nina Price would never say yes to something like this." Derek Cole slid the ring onto her finger and chuckled. "Well, since my little chaperone isn't satisfied, I guess I won't propose." I stood there, watching the ring that was meant for me slide onto Lydia's hand. Something inside my chest ached so hard I thought it would burst. A year ago, I had already hinted to Derek about marriage. But every time, before he proposed, he cared more about whether Lydia approved. He never once cared about how I felt. If he gave the ring to Lydia, then I would marry someone else.

Being with my boyfriend, Ethan Vale, came with a price tag. Holding his hand once cost ten thousand dollars. Having one meal with him cost a hundred thousand. Having him spend an entire day with me cost a million. Only Chloe Carter never had to pay. She was the daughter of Ethan's mentor, Professor Carter, so Ethan believed it was his responsibility to take care of Chloe. I had paid for Chloe's surgery before. I had also taken out the money I'd saved before marriage to help Ethan's company through a crisis. But all Ethan said to me was, "Thank you, but this money can only buy my time. It can't buy anything else." Over the past three years, I'd paid Ethan a million dollars again and again just to have him spend an entire day with me. But every single time Chloe called, Ethan left early. To marry Ethan, I cut off contact with my family. My parents canceled all my credit cards and froze every joint account I had access to. On our anniversary, I gave Ethan my last million dollars. I said to him, "Ethan, this time, I want you to spend the whole day with me." I was clutching my prenatal checkup report, just about to show it to him, when his phone suddenly rang. Chloe said sweetly over the phone, "Ethan, I want to go see the ocean." The moment Ethan heard that, he stood up. I grabbed him and said, "But I already paid for your entire day." He shook off my hand and shoved the bank card back into it. "My rate went up," he said. "A million dollars only buys 10 minutes now. And today, my time isn't for sale." The prenatal checkup report slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. Ethan stepped right over it and said, "Chloe can't get by without me. You're different. You have money." Then he slammed the door behind him and left. I sat there alone until every candle on the table had burned out. Then I booked a one-way ticket abroad. Ethan's time was expensive. From that moment on, I didn't want a single minute of it.

For this trip to the desert, Aaron Vale had gone out of his way to reserve tents at Starlight Haven Campground.   When we arrived, the guide brought over four keys. My boyfriend, Aaron; his older sister, Diana Vale; my childhood friend, Ryan Brooks; and my friend Sophie Lane each took one.   There were five of us, but the campground had only prepared four tents.   Aaron gave Sophie the best-equipped tent, then turned to me with a gentle smile.   "Sophie had a slight fever last night, and that tent has a heater. I'll only feel at ease if she stays there. You've always been so understanding, and you hardly ever make me worry. Could you sleep in the SUV just for tonight?"   Diana tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and said softly, "Mia, I know this is a little unfair to you. But you can see how Sophie is right now. You've always been considerate of everyone else. Just do me this one favor tonight, okay?"   I clenched my hands, but in the end, I agreed.   I had thought that when the meteor shower appeared after midnight, all five of us could make wishes together.   But when my alarm went off, I woke up to find every tent empty.   I climbed to the top of the highest dune and saw the four of them sitting around a campfire, making wishes on the shooting stars overhead.   Their laughter drifted toward me on the wind. All it did was make the whole thing feel painful and bitterly ironic.   At that moment, I suddenly remembered all the other times something like this had happened.   Whenever the five of us walked somewhere together, they were always ahead of me, and no one ever looked back to see if I was keeping up.   When the five of us went on our graduation trip, I was the only one who had to take a long-distance bus.   Only then did I understand. When you were the one nobody loved, even your presence beside them felt unnecessary.   There were so many stars in the sky, but it felt as though the one meant for me had vanished long ago into the cold desert wind.

On the third anniversary of my secret marriage to Douglas Reed, I wrote a statement announcing his marriage.   But I wasn't the woman it was about.   At 2 a.m., photos of Douglas entering an apartment with his intern hit the trending feed.   In the photos, Gail Brooks wore his suit jacket over her shoulders and a diamond ring on her finger.   Before long, the media dug up more old photos.   When she was 15, the two of them had gone out to see the first snowfall of the year.   Gail's face was red from the cold. Douglas had leaned down tenderly to wrap his scarf around her neck.   At 20, Gail had walked into a company gala with her arm openly linked through his.   Someone even unearthed a photo of them together from more than 10 years ago.   On the back, Douglas had written by hand: I hope you'll be by my side, year after year.   That settled it for everyone.   Gail was the wife Douglas had kept hidden all these years.   And I, the woman legally married to him, was just an assistant who didn't know how to keep her distance.   As I finished drafting the press statement, Douglas had only one thing to say.   "Don't deny it."   In the end, the statement we released contained just one sentence:   Reports that Mr. Reed is married are accurate; as this concerns his family's privacy, we will not comment further.   Congratulations flooded every major platform for what everyone considered the perfect couple.   Watching the well-wishes pour in, I suddenly remembered the day we'd gotten legally married 3 years earlier.   Douglas had said, "Give me 3 years. Once everything's in place, I'll make our marriage public."   Now those 3 years were up.   He had indeed announced that he was married.   But in everyone else's eyes, Mrs. Reed still wasn't me.   I turned off my phone and put the divorce settlement agreement I'd signed long ago on his desk.   The 3 years were up. I was done waiting.

My boyfriend of five years, Desmond Locke, rented out a private island and said he would hold an engagement banquet for me.  I stayed up three nights in a row and personally sewed the guest favors for every attendee with my own hands. But when I tried to board, the yacht stopped me, claiming it was overloaded.  Desmond and my best friend, Astrelle Wren, stood protecting the long-lost biological daughter, Avelisse, in the middle, and said to me in a matter-of-fact tone, "Avelisse gets seasick and can't stand the rough ride. You take the supply boat at the back and make do with it for now." My older brother, Zevian Duskwood, also frowned and urged me, saying not to delay the start of the banquet just because of me.  I stepped back silently down the gangplank, and the engagement ring in my hand slipped and rolled to the edge of the dock.  By the time I found the ring again, all I saw was the white wake the yacht had left stretching across the horizon. At that moment, the sea wind blew right through my thin clothes.  I finally understood, I was never meant to be the main character at this grand feast.

The day Dominic Vale left the underworld business behind, he rescued a cocktail waitress, Vanessa Cole. She was the kind of woman who could turn a man on at first sight. "Dominic, I was serving drinks in the private lounge next door when Noah grabbed me and forced me onto a couch. He shoved his hand under my clothes and pinched me so hard... I serve drinks for a living, but I don't sell my body. If someone tries to force himself on me, I won't suffer in silence." Dominic's face darkened. "Tell me which hand Noah touched you with. I'll break it!" I rushed to stop him. "You know my brother has an intellectual disability. He wouldn't understand any of this. Someone might have put him up to it!" Before I could finish, Vanessa cut in. "Claire, so your brother's life matters, but what happened to me doesn't? He may have an intellectual disability, but that doesn't mean he can't hurt me. If that's how you feel, I might as well die!" She snatched up a paring knife and raised it to her throat. To appease her, Dominic ordered his men to break my brother's arm on the spot. "Claire, she suffered! A broken arm won't kill your brother!" That day, through my tears, I called my wealthy father.

The giant screen at the content creator convention was playing the kissing challenge that had gone viral across social media. The woman onscreen was Stella Reed, a rising relationship influencer. The crowd erupted in cheers, but I felt as if I'd been plunged into ice water. Because the man kissing Stella like he couldn't get enough of her was my husband, Ryan Carter. In the third year of our marriage, I quit my job so we could start a family. On a whim, I decided to launch a vlog channel. I sacrificed sleep to film and edit every video, but Ryan called it a waste of time. He had always hated being photographed. In our five years together, our wedding portrait was the only picture we had taken as a couple. No matter how much I begged or coaxed him, he never let so much as half his face appear in my videos. Yet there he was, passionately kissing another woman for everyone to see. During the networking session, Stella waved excitedly at Ryan, her voice bright. "Ryan, I met someone backstage. You have to meet her! She's incredible. She films and edits everything herself." Ryan watched her chatter with an indulgent smile. Only then did he look away from her. The moment his eyes met mine, he froze. I smiled and held out my hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Nora Blake."

After helping my husband, Conrad Mercer, drink his hangover remedy, I leaned against the headboard and scrolled through my phone. A news story about the meteor shower over Iceland appeared on my screen. It described a rare, spectacular sight and claimed that wishes made beneath it were especially likely to come true. "It's so beautiful... But it's a long way away. We'd have to go all the way to Iceland, and you get terribly seasick. Let's forget it," I murmured. Blind drunk, Conrad suddenly let his head sink into the crook of my neck. Reeking of alcohol, he nuzzled against me and whispered, "That meteor shower... wishes don't come true there. Lydia and I go every year. We've been going for 10 years. For the past 5 years, I've made the same wish every time: to go back to before I knew you. But it never works." The room fell utterly silent. I froze as the cold crept through my fingers to their very tips. Everyone knew Conrad loved me more than his own life. To marry me, he had even turned his back on Lydia Ellison, the girl he'd grown up with. Yet whenever he woke from his dreams in the middle of the night, he'd been praying to heaven that he'd never met me.

Over 7 years, I stood by Daniel Hall as he went from a law student who couldn't afford his rent to the most sought-after trial attorney in Westbridge.   I even gave up a spot in a doctoral program in law, happy to stay the unseen hand behind his case files.   Yet on our third wedding anniversary, I asked Erin Walsh to prepare my divorce papers.   Over the phone, she kept asking if I was sure.   "You turned down an exceptional offer from the State Attorney's Office just to help him get his law firm off the ground. Now it's about to merge with a national legal group, and you want to walk away?"   I held my trembling fingers still. "Prepare the asset division papers first. Send them over as soon as you can."   "What happened?" Erin asked.   I looked at the trash can.   "All because of one drink."

There was a shared secret among Bellmere's wealthy circles. If you ever saw a man driving a Ferrari with the license plate 9999, you stayed the hell away from him. Auden Nightingale was the one driving that Ferrari with the 9999 plate. Everyone in Bellmere knew he loved me more than his own life—he'd even fallen off a cliff trying to protect me, which left him with amnesia. After he regained his memory, his savior, Victoria Blaine, threw her arms around his waist, sobbing. "I've been taking care of you for the past month. You can't leave. You said you'd stay with me in the mountains for the rest of your life!" Auden pushed her away at once and rushed to explain to me, "Don't misunderstand. She's just a wild girl who hasn't seen much of the world. You're the only one in my heart." Yet without him noticing, Victoria began to fill every corner with our lives. I am allergic to shellfish, but he ordered the spicy crayfish Victoria loved as if it were second nature. On my birthday, the gift he gave me was a handwoven bag Victoria had once mentioned she liked. Even the passcode to the home we planned to share after marriage had been changed to Victoria's birthday. I could bear it no longer and told him to give Victoria a sum of money to end things for good. Auden was silent for a long time, then finally nodded and agreed. But on the day we were meant to register our marriage, the clerk told me our appointment had already been claimed. I reached for my phone to call him, and saw him across the street, outside a dessert shop. Auden was gently wiping ice cream from the corner of Victoria's mouth, and they were smiling, bright and happy together. My asthma struck all at once. Fighting for breath, I dialed his number and begged for help. It rang twice, and then the call was disconnected. At that moment, I finally understood. The Auden who once loved me more than life itself, was never coming back.

I had ordered my main wedding gown 6 months in advance.   I had gone through 99 fittings. I'd even chosen my wedding shoes to match the gown's hemline.   But when I went to collect it that day, the bridal boutique manager looked deeply uncomfortable.   "Miss Bennett, Mr. Mercer had your gown altered a few days ago."   Before I could speak, someone pulled back the fitting-room curtain.   Lydia Foster stepped out in my wedding gown.   The waist had been taken in two sizes, and part of the skirt had been cut off.   My brother, Martin Bennett, was crouching on the floor, arranging her skirt.   Adrian Walsh, a friend I had grown up with, held up his phone to photograph her.   And my fiancé, Dominic Mercer, was putting her veil on, his head lowered.   When he saw me, he said flatly, "Lydia's always wanted to try on a wedding gown, just once, so I had the shop make a few alterations."   I looked at the gown she was wearing.   "Then what am I supposed to wear the day after tomorrow?"   Martin didn't even look up. "There are bridal boutiques everywhere. You can find another gown, can't you?"   Adrian laughed too. "Besides, you'll be Dominic's wife every day from now on. Lydia only gets this one chance."   Her eyes red, Lydia reached up to take off the veil. "Maybe we should forget it."   But Dominic caught her hand and gave me an impatient look. "Lydia's already wearing it. Let's finish the photos first. Don't ruin everyone's mood over a dress."   So they knew a wedding gown was meant only for the bride on her wedding day. They just didn't think that bride had to be me.   I looked at them calmly and called the wedding planner.   "Cancel the wedding. You can keep the deposit. I don't want the groom anymore either."

After we divorced and then remarried, I once again found a box of condoms in Alex Whitmore's coat pocket.   This time, his new girl was a hottie who worked at the food truck on the corner, Hailey Monroe.   That night, Alex stood beside the food truck with his friends, dressed in a bespoke suit.   Looking at the girl selling wraps, someone asked with a laugh, "Alex, got a new girl? Aren't you worried Evelyn will get mad this time?"   "Why would she? She was the one who cried and begged Alex to take her back after the divorce."   Alex remained expressionless. He simply lit a cigarette.   "The house is as cold as a morgue. At least this place feels alive."   Then he turned his head and spotted me standing in the shadows. His brows drew together, impatience clear in his voice.   "Following me again? Evelyn, don't you think this is getting a little pathetic?"   It was pretty pathetic.   I smiled and held out the box of condoms to him.   "You're overthinking it. I just came to give this back to you."   There was no reason to keep holding on to a marriage that was already broken beyond repair.   So I had already signed up for the Global Health Relief Program.   Soon, I would be leaving this place for good.

Before I started dating Xavier Zane, I was his friend's girlfriend first. He took me from his friend. The moment we made our relationship official, he became possessive and jealous, keeping a close eye on every man who even came near me. If I so much as glanced at another man twice, jealousy would eat him alive. He'd pull me tight and required me, with his low voice, to repeat "I love you" 100 times. On our first anniversary, fireworks lit up the entire bay, filling the night sky just for me. On our second anniversary, he raised his bid card at an auction and won a rare, unheated pigeon-blood ruby. Then he slipped the ring onto my finger himself. As the entire room erupted in applause, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to my fingertips. "Maya, you're finally my fiancée." I didn't find out the truth until we'd been together for two and a half years. I happened to spot him outside a baby supply store, his hand resting gently on the swollen belly of his young assistant as they walked through the door together. The clerk gushed about what a gorgeous couple they made and how perfectly matched they looked. A bright smile spread across Xavier's face as he looked down at the woman's flushed cheeks. I stood frozen outside the glass storefront, my fingers trembling as I crushed the prenatal checkup report in my hand. Suddenly, everything made sense. That was why he'd been working late and going on business trips more and more often over the past six months. If he wanted to split his heart between two people, then I was taking every last piece of my love back. I was keeping it all for myself.

Massimo Vitale loved watching me get jealous more than anything.   He said a man like him, whose life could end with a bullet any day, needed constant reassurance that his wife loved him. So every year on our wedding anniversary, he indulged his childhood friend Sofia Bellini in an absurd game that let her spend 7 days as the Godfather's wife.   Sofia wore my gown and accompanied Massimo to the family dinner. I was so furious that I smashed my wineglass, but he happily pinned me to the bed and kissed me again and again. With his lips against my ear, he said he finally knew how much I loved him.   He let Sofia wear the family crest reserved for the lady of the house. When I demanded through red-rimmed eyes that she take it off, Massimo merely took a leisurely sip of his drink.   "It's only a lifeless piece of metal. You can't even tolerate this?"   Once he had tasted the thrill, the game grew crueler every year. Eventually, Sofia took my seat, and everyone on the estate called her Mrs. Vitale.   When I pushed open the doors to the family council chamber, Sofia was pressed intimately against Massimo.   "Massimo said he wants me to find out what life is really like as the lady of the house this year. You're so generous. You won't mind, will you?"   Everyone looked at me. They were waiting for me to smash another glass, lose control, and throw myself into Massimo's arms as I had every year before. Massimo had even opened his arms, ready for me to run into them.   This time, I simply walked over and placed my wedding ring in his palm.   "Since she wants it so badly, she can have all of it."

Before leaving home, I always unplugged any charger by the bed that wasn't in use. But for the past month, every time I came home from work, the old charger we'd stopped using was plugged back into the outlet. I assumed Ansel Bostwick had used it and forgotten to unplug it, so I reminded him in passing. "Unplug it when you're done. Leaving it plugged in isn't safe. It could start a fire." He frowned at the reminder, still looking down at his phone. "It's just a charger. Don't you get tired of obsessing over this stuff every day?" That shut me up. Leandra Cresswell came over for dinner that day. Ansel tossed his jacket onto the couch. When she noticed it, she reminded him with a smile. "Ansel, hang up your jacket so you don't spend tomorrow morning searching the whole place for it again." He complained that she was nagging him, but a moment later, he got up and hung it up anyway. I was taken aback for a moment, then quickly lowered my eyes. They'd known each other for over a decade. Maybe this was just how they'd always been with each other, ever since they were kids. Then I went out of town on business. At 2 a.m., someone suddenly posted several videos of a fire in the building residents' group chat. In the footage, Ansel rushed out of the thick smoke, shirtless, with Leandra in his arms. His black jacket was draped over her. She was barefoot, with tangled hair clinging to the side of her face. I suddenly thought of the old charger at home, the one that kept getting plugged back in every day. Ansel had stopped using it long ago because it charged too slowly. 'So who has been plugging it back in, over and over, all this time?'

My boyfriend came back from his business trip to Valenne with gifts for everyone. "Elise, thanks for all your hard work on this trip. I brought you two necklaces so you can alternate between them." His executive assistant, Elise Dunleavy, took the necklaces, looking surprised and delighted. "Thank you, Mr. Voss! You're the best boss anyone could ask for!" she said sweetly. Even the company's security guard got a local souvenir he'd brought back. But the necklace I'd been talking about for 2 whole months had slipped his mind completely. Everyone turned to look at me. Nolan Voss slapped his forehead and gave me an apologetic smile. "Honestly, my memory is terrible. Elise kept rushing me so we wouldn't miss our flight, and I forgot yours." The coworkers who'd been joking a moment earlier suddenly stopped smiling. I looked at him. "I asked for that necklace for my birthday. I reminded you more than once." He frowned. "Everyone's watching. I'll buy you one later, all right?" Watching him act as if this were perfectly reasonable, I suddenly smiled. 'This is the 21st time in 3 months he's forgotten something that matters to me because of Elise.' I looked down and picked up my phone to message the studio that had just offered me a job for the fifth time. Tessa: I accept the offer.

On the third day after a birth that nearly bled me dry, I was working a shift at a human bar with my dying pup in my arms. And there he was. My mate, Alpha Ryker, was drinking with the elders in a private room. Ryker rubbed his temples, his voice worn thin. "Is one cup of Sacred Elixir a day not enough for her and the pup?" One of the elders gasped. "That is Sacred Elixir! You give her that every day?" "Alpha... I heard she slips out to fool around with humans." The room went dead silent. A terrifying pressure erupted from Ryker. "Last night, she said the pup needed nourishment, so I cut my wrist and gave her half a cup of Alpha Lifeblood. But this morning she called me cold and heartless and said she wanted to dissolve our mate bond." I looked down at the pup in my arms, barely breathing because he had no wolf power to feed on, and my own breath came fast and hot with rage. I shoved the door open and slapped Ryker hard across the face. "You liar. Can you stop lying to everyone?" Ryker's pupils shrank. "I have never lied." I let out a cold laugh. "Then why have I never seen Sacred Elixir or Alpha Lifeblood? Why is what I drink every day nothing but rancid animal blood?"

My boyfriend, Charles Hart, was a relationship streamer who claimed he understood women better than anyone. He said that if a guy didn't make the first move, he simply wasn't that into you. If he blew hot and cold? He was definitely stringing multiple women along. And if he refused to make your relationship public? There was already someone else in the picture. His fans all gushed that whoever got to be his girlfriend had to be the luckiest woman alive. What none of them knew was that Charles had hit every single one of those red flags in our relationship. Take Valentine's Day, for example. He'd told me he was swamped with work and couldn't make time to see me. No sooner had he said that than I saw a post on Facebook from someone claiming they'd run into him at the movies with another woman. Right before we were supposed to get married, I made a fake account, joined his livestream, and requested to call in. I switched on a voice changer, then told him the whole story of our relationship. "Is there any point in staying in this relationship?" I asked. His answer came immediately. "Girl, listen to me. Cut your losses now. However badly he treats you now, it's only going to get worse from here. Guys like this? The more you put up with them, the more they'll think you're a doormat." I let out a bitter laugh. After all, Charles knew everything. In the end, I heard my own voice come out. "Alright, I hear you. I'm cutting my losses right now."

My friends set up a little game that day—they wanted to see whose husband would send money first. The other women got transfers of five or ten thousand dollars. I wanted to protect Anthony Ingram's pride. I only called to borrow $1,000 for an emergency. The call was on speakerphone. His cold voice filled the whole private room. "Abigail, we agreed to keep our finances separate after marriage. You have to beg me for 1,000 bucks. Aren't you embarrassed?" I hung up, flushed with shame, under my friends' pitying stares. About 30 minutes later, I headed to the mall to pick up the anniversary gift I'd ordered. I ran into him at the jewelry counter. He was holding a diamond necklace worth $100,000 and clasping it around the neck of a new intern, Debra Walsh, himself. Debra spoke in a soft, sweet voice, "Anthony, this is so expensive. Won't Abigail get mad if she finds out?" He let out a mocking laugh. "It's my money. She has no say." I stood a short distance away and clutched the $200,000 Patek Philippe watch I'd planned to give him. I'd saved up my own money to surprise him and celebrate his promotion. Right then, I turned and walked to the Patek Philippe counter. "Hi, I'd like to cancel this watch and get a full refund right now."

Gilbert Krueger, the director and my secret boyfriend, hated surprises. On our anniversary, I, Irene Raines, put on a sexy nightgown to surprise him. He frowned and said he had editing to do later, telling me to book an appointment next time. When we went to get married, I showed up five minutes late because of an unexpected delay. He left right away and told me to reschedule. I slipped and fell, in agony, and I called him. His voice was cold. "During work hours, every minute I step away costs us the maximum possible loss. So whatever new emergency you've got this time, schedule it first." I kept telling myself he was just rigid about routines. He hated plans getting messed up, and he treated everyone the same way. That all changed on an overseas work trip. My mother, Janice Raines, was rushed to the hospital after a sudden heart attack. I called Gilbert. He sounded worn out. "Irene, the whole film crew is waiting for me to shoot outdoor scenes. I can't waste all their time for your mother alone. Set up a meeting with my assistant, Larry Egan. I'll visit her once I wrap up." I had to drop my own work and booked the earliest flight home. When I got to the hospital, I spotted him in the waiting room. He sat side by side with Karina Phelps, the popular new actress his studio had just signed. Karina said, "Mr. Krueger, you should head back. The crew still needs you. I'll be fine on my own." He shook his head. "Don't push yourself. The shoot can wait. Your foot matters more." In that moment, I finally understood. He didn't hate surprises. He only hated surprises that involved me. Fine, I would give him a future with no unexpected interruptions.

My twin sister, Layla Blackfang, was the kindest soul you'd ever meet, while I'd always been the calculating, scheming one. Layla was the only family I had, the most important person in my whole world. But on the day she was supposed to awaken her bloodline, she ran into Emily Grimm, the only daughter of the Alpha King, who had been kidnapped by a hostile race at the edge of our territory. Good-hearted as she was, Layla saved Emily. But the second she was out of danger, that ungrateful wretch ordered her men to kill Layla, and had her wolf pelt flayed and made into a shawl. Emily ran her fingers over the pelt, sneering, "Who asked her to stick her nose in my business? Acting all high and mighty like she's better than me! "I'm the only heir of the great Alpha King Victor Grimm, the future ruler of the Black Wolf Clan. No one breathes a word of what happened today, got it?" That stuck-up, entitled little princess had no idea that the very day Layla died, I scraped my sharp claws down to blunt nubs, disguised myself as a lowly servant, snuck into the Black Wolf Clan's castle, and wormed my way into her father Victor's bed. I was born hyperfertile, so it wouldn't be long before Emily stopped being the only heir to the Black Wolf Clan's royal line. I'll drag her straight down into the muck with my bare hands, spill her blood as the perfect offering for Layla.

"Now, Alpha Kyle, please place the Moon Goddess's amulet around Ella's neck."   The elder's voice echoed through the hall.   Kyle picked up the amulet and walked—right past me.   As the entire pack watched in stunned silence, he put the amulet symbolizing a Luna's authority on Selene, the Beta who had grown up with him.   My hand froze.   "Kyle, what are you doing?"   My father jumped to his feet. Growls filled the hall as claws sprang free.   Kyle seemed to snap out of a trance and jerked his hand back as if he had been burned.   He strode back to me and lowered his voice. "Ella, don't make a scene. The lights were blinding, and both of you were wearing champagne-colored gowns... It was just a mistake. We'll do it again."   His eyes were deep and dangerous—the same eyes I had been infatuated with for 3 years.   "It's fine."   I gritted my teeth as rage churned in my chest, threatening to burn through the last of my restraint.   If it had been me, I would have chosen the person who mattered most too.   But I forced my anger down and glanced at the newly appointed guard standing in the corner.   He carried Gabriel's scent, my first love, who had supposedly died in an attack 7 years ago.   So it really was fine.

During the ring exchange, my older half-sister, Avery Leclair, burst in, grabbed my fiancé's arm, and sobbed so hard her whole body shook.   "Dr. Hayes, it's acting up again. Please, help me..."   I clutched my wedding dress and said under my breath, "Just exchange the rings. 30 seconds, that's all."   But Adrian Hayes didn't even look at me. He supported Avery and led her toward the lounge.   My mother stopped me. "You know your sister's condition. If treatment is delayed and something happens, can you take responsibility?"   Of course I knew.   Avery suffered from severe somatic symptom disorder, manifested as pain throughout her body. Supposedly, only Adrian's hands-on physical therapy could ease her symptoms.   Every time he treated her, he locked the door and refused to let anyone come near.   In my previous life, I believed him.   That was until Avery had an episode in the parking lot. She threw herself into a rideshare driver's arms and took off her clothes. The security cameras captured everything.   The so-called therapy was having sex.   After the video went viral online, Avery swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills.   Adrian held her hand and yelled, "You forced her into this."   My parents called me cruel and heartless outside the ICU.   8 months pregnant, I fell down the stairs.   They said outside the delivery room that I deserved it.   Adrian shoved the divorce papers in my face.   "My spouse on the marriage certificate will always be Avery."   I died on the operating table, and no one claimed my body.   When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on my wedding day. "You may now exchange rings."

After more than 20 years apart, my birth parents finally found their biological daughter—me. When the Caldwell family brought me home, the fake heiress was still there. "Dad, Mom, you aren't going to stop seeing me once Eliana comes home, are you? She may be your biological daughter, but I'm the one you raised. You can't play favorites!" My parents promised her they wouldn't, then set down three rules for me: "First, whenever Clara is around, you will give in to her, and everything will revolve around her. "Second, whenever Clara is unhappy, you cannot call us Mom and Dad; you will call us Mr. and Mrs. Caldwell. "Third, we will make your identity public only after Clara agrees to accept you." In other words, if I wanted to stay with the Caldwell family, I had to earn Clara's acceptance. Otherwise, they wouldn't acknowledge me as their daughter. But I didn't come back to be reunited with them. I came to assess whether the Caldwell family was a sound investment.

After the twins turned 1 month old, my husband, Ethan Whitmore, had only 7 days of love left for me.   Ever since I was little, I had been able to see how long every relationship would last.   Once it fell below 30 days, no love, no matter how deep, could continue.   When my father took all our savings and abandoned my mother and me, his love for us dropped straight to 0.   When my boyfriend in college spent the night away with a sophomore, only 7 days remained of his love for me.   After that, whenever I started a relationship, I prepared in advance for its end.   Only with Ethan had I let down every guard.   The timer on his chest read: Forever.   I married him in a rush of happiness and gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.   Yet on the day we left the postpartum care center, he came to pick us up.   He smelled of another woman's perfume.   I looked at his chest. Forever had become 37 days.   He dropped me at the front door. "There's a major project at the company. I have to handle it myself. Honey, take good care of the twins. I'll try to be home as early as I can. Tell me whatever you want to eat. I'll bring it back."   I knew I needed to divide our assets and prepare to leave.

As the High Priestess of the Silver Wolf Pack, I had grown up alongside three Alpha princes. Our pack had one ancient law. Whoever took the High Priestess as his Luna would inherit the throne. I had always believed my Alpha would be one of them. 3 years ago, all three princes were struck by the Black Moon Curse. To save them, I drained nearly all the wolf blood from my body. I managed to pull them back from the edge of death, but the price was permanent.   From that day on, I could no longer summon my wolf under the moonlight. In the eyes of the pack, I had become useless, a wolf who could no longer shift. But when the princes woke, they mistook Seraphina Montclair for their savior. From then on, they worshiped her as the "Daughter of the Moon Goddess" and gave her everything. They even forced me to give her my blood when she was injured, and now they wanted me to hand over my title as the High Priestess too. Standing before the Sacred Blood Spring, I smiled. "Fine. She can have it." It did not matter anymore. Soon, I would be marrying the Alpha King of the North.

At my birthday party, my boyfriend, Joel Wheeler, rolled out the cake. But on top, it read: Happy Birthday, Iris. I froze mid-reach for my prenatal checkup report. Iris, wearing the birthday dress I was supposed to change into, threw herself into Joel's arms. "Joel, you actually gave Olivia's birthday to me?" Joel ruffled her hair. "It's just a birthday. She gets one every year. You just went through a breakup. What's the harm in letting you be happy for once?" When the cake was cut, Iris grabbed the first slice and held it up to Joel's mouth. Only after everyone had finished singing Happy Birthday to Iris did Joel walk over to me with a slice of cake, a candle leaning crookedly on top. "Make a wish. Don't ruin the mood." I watched the candle burn down to the wick, and suddenly remembered what my friend Nora had asked me that afternoon. "The guesthouse in Southford opens at the end of the month. I need a partner. Are you in?" At that moment, I finally had my answer.

My best friend, Jenna Brooks, and I were kidnapped together, and the kidnappers gave my husband, Ethan Pierce, 10 minutes to choose which one of us to save.   Ethan picked me without a second thought.   By the time I was rescued, Jenna had already sunk into the deep sea.   Ethan locked down the entire dock, put up a 10 million bounty, and searched the area so thoroughly that he might as well have turned the whole place upside down.   And the mastermind they finally uncovered? My older brother, Ryan Hayes, who had been missing for years.   Ethan immediately jumped to the conclusion that I'd asked Ryan to plan the entire kidnapping.   On our wedding night, he slammed me into a bathtub filled to the brim with seawater.   "You took advantage of how much I loved you, paid off those kidnappers, and killed Jenna," he snarled. "I'm going to make you spend the rest of your life paying for what you did to her!"   Later, he personally made sure Ryan was sent to death row and executed.   He slept with one woman after another who looked strikingly like Jenna. Ethan said this was all the retribution I deserved. It was not until ten years later that Jenna appeared before me again, tangled in desperate passion with Ethan on our marriage bed. Only then did I learn that Jenna had never died. In the days that followed, I was forced to watch Jenna and Ethan love each other tenderly, and in the end, I died of grief. *****   When I jolted awake, I was right back on the day Jenna and I were kidnapped together.   The kidnapper was barking demands into the phone, forcing Ethan to choose right then and there.   This time, I spoke first, my voice steady and unwavering.   "Save her, please."

The moment the rings were about to be exchanged at the wedding, Ruby Tennyson, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, burst through the doors in a frenzy to steal the groom. Alistair Whitaker, my supposed-to-be husband, halted the ceremony on the spot and ran off with her. Just like that, he vanished without a trace for two whole years. Then, two years later, the man had the audacity to show up at my doorstep, bold as brass, announcing he wanted to marry me all over again. "Kiara, I told you once... my bride will always be you. Running away back then was just me keeping a promise to take Ruby on a trip together. Only... last year, she unexpectedly had my child. I figured, why not set the wedding on the kid's first birthday? It might make her feel a little better to know the kid will be taken care of by you and I." I could scarcely believe my ears. I'm a daughter of a powerful family, raised like a princess, cherished by everyone. He had already betrayed me, and now he had the gall to try and make me play stepmother to his illegitimate child? My stomach churned violently. I clamped down hard on the wave of morning sickness surging up my throat and fixed him with an icy glare. "Alistair, I'm warning you, don't you dare set foot in my house again. Or you'll live to regret it, I swear." Quentin Marshall, the man who made all of Sicily tremble. If he ever found out someone was harassing his wife and child... he would put a bullet in him with his own hands.