A flash flood swept me away while I was saving my brother, Nathan Marlow. My parents, Mona and Thomas Marlow, adopted a girl named Poppy Marlow to take my place. Eight years later, I left my mountain village in the Silverlake Highlands and traveled hundreds of miles to Bellgrave to find them. My birth mother clung to me, sobbing so hard she could barely stand. Nathan and my childhood sweetheart, Duncan Bloomer, both had tears in their eyes. They said they had finally gotten me back. To make it up to me, they even decided to send their adopted daughter away. But when she and I later argued, my brother and my childhood sweetheart took her side and shoved me down the stairs. As I lay in my hospital bed, I heard Nathan say, "Sometimes I wish she'd died eight years ago." Duncan lowered his voice. "Nathan, she disappeared saving you." "So what? Doesn't Poppy feel more like family?" My parents said nothing. Mona only said, "Keep it down. I think she's waking up." I opened my eyes and looked at them blankly. "Excuse me. Who are you?" If they didn't want me here, fine. I would give them exactly what they wanted. I hadn't traveled hundreds of miles to win their affection anyway. I had come to use them as my ticket out of the mountains.

My name was Zoe Hartley, and I was born a she-wolf with no control over my tears. I'd cried at the slightest thing for as long as I could remember. Kyle Jackson, heir to the Blackpine Pack, always smiled and called me his little crybaby wolf. Whenever anyone called me a disgrace to the pack, he would step in front of me. "So what if she cries? She hasn't done anything to you." Then Penny Archer transferred from the Redrock Pack during our senior year. She was beautiful and bold, and she took first place in her very first hunt. Every young male wolf flocked around her. Kyle was the only one who ruffled my hair and said, "They're so loud my ears hurt. Our little crybaby wolf is still the cutest." So Penny made a bet with him: within a month, she would make him fall for her. Kyle laughed it off. "Fine. If you lose, you carry my hunting gear for a month." She started following him around every day. At first, he frowned and said she was annoying. Later, he stopped saying that. He even began bringing her up on his own. "Penny can be a lot, but she lives on her own terms. You should learn from her, Zoe. Stop acting like the whole world is picking on you."

In my previous life, my husband, Raymond Emerson, and I were together for 35 years. On my 57th birthday, he told me he had fallen in love with one of his students. I thought it was only a momentary lapse in judgment, so I refused to sign the divorce papers no matter what. Camille Ward never became Mrs. Emerson. She left for Valeria and soon married someone else. On her wedding day, my husband drove into a guardrail and was left paralyzed. I cared for him for 17 long years. Before he died, he clutched my hand and said through his tears, "Marina, marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life. If I could do it over, I'd be brave enough to choose her." Our kids blamed me for ruining their father's life. Later, I fell ill too. One ran a company and the other had a degree from a top university, yet they put me in the cheapest nursing home they could find. After the funeral, Justin and Erica poured my ashes down a storm drain. Justin and Erica said, "If it weren't for you, Dad and Camille would have been happy years ago. You don't deserve to be remembered by us." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my husband confessed everything to me.

An hour before my wedding, I came across a trending post on an anonymous forum. LittleCandice: My sister's wedding is nothing more than him paying off a debt. I'm the one the groom really loves. The attached photo showed a woman in an ivory wedding dress sitting at a hotel vanity. Her face was turned slightly to the side, and her light brown eyes looked so much like mine. A blue iris brooch lay on the vanity. I had personally picked it out as a gift for my bridesmaid. A: [This has to be fake, right?] Seconds later, the poster uploaded a photo of two people holding hands. The man had a crescent-shaped scar on his left ring finger. I recognized it. My fiancé, Dylan Hudson, had gotten it in a car accident three years earlier. LittleCandice: My sister spent 10 years helping him build his company. He says marrying her is how he'll pay her back. LittleCandice: But today, when he says "I do," he'll really be saying it to me. The door opened, and Candice Whitaker walked in carrying her bridesmaid dress. She bent down and whispered in my ear. "Hazel, the ceremony's about to start." She adjusted the blue iris pinned to her chest and smiled sweetly. "The gift you gave me is beautiful."

After his ex-girlfriend betrayed him, my older brother, Philip Walker, decided that no promise a woman made could ever be trusted. The first time I brought my girlfriend, Diana Kessler, home, he wouldn't even accept the wine she offered him. "She's no different from the rest. Sooner or later, she'll betray you too." I kicked him under the table. Diana didn't get angry. She took my hand and looked my brother straight in the eye. "If I ever betray Simon, may I lose everything." My brother gave a crooked smile. "We'll see about that." The two of them never got along after that. Caught in the middle, I kept hoping they would learn to be civil to each other. Then my company sent me to Redmont for six months. The night before I was due to return, I came across an anonymous post. Anonymous Post: I've fallen in love with my younger brother's girlfriend. What should I do? The comments were full of abuse. Then a newly registered account replied: A: Don't blame him. I was the one who approached him first. A: He acts as though he can handle anything, but deep down, he's more afraid of being abandoned than anyone. The more he pretends he doesn't need anyone, the more my heart aches for him. My finger froze. I tapped on the account. There was only one post on the profile—a video of a cat. The moment I saw it, my whole body went cold and my hands began to shake uncontrollably. That was the cat Diana had given me.

I was Ella Marlowe, the weakest werewolf in the Silverpine Pack. I couldn't even shift. Yet for three whole years, everyone in the pack had treated me like their mascot, looking after me as though I were someone precious. I never had to patrol or stand night watch. Our Alpha, Cedric Nelly, had given me a cabin of my own. Whenever Ben Halbrook, our old cook, roasted meat, he always made sure to save me a portion. And when the guards came back from patrol and found me sipping coffee on the porch, all they'd do was remind me not to stay up too late. If I said I was tired, everyone left me alone. Once, when I mentioned a draft coming through my window, I told them the repairs could wait until morning. Someone came and fixed it that very night anyway. Then Kate Harris joined the pack. She'd once fought off three feral wolves single-handedly and led more than a dozen people safely out of a valley. "She can't even shift. Why does everyone treat her like she's someone special?" What Kate didn't know was that I was the one keeping the feral wolves beyond the town limits under control. The peace our pack had enjoyed for the past three years? I was the reason for it. One day, while Cedric was away, Kate snatched the coffee from my hand and dumped it into the snow. Then she seized me by the collar and dragged me all the way to the town gate. "You keep saying you can protect us, don't you? Fine. Let's see what you've got." She shoved me down the stone steps. I hit the snow hard. Before I could even scramble to my feet, the feral wolves lurking in the woods had already begun closing in.

My father was Silver City's most powerful casino tycoon, yet I, Irene Duran, wasn't even allowed in the family photos. When my younger sister refused to marry a man she'd never met, Dad decided to send me instead. I tried to refuse, but he left me with a single ultimatum. "Unless Gavin Harlow gets engaged to you tonight, you're leaving for New Avalon first thing tomorrow morning." At the gala, I waited for Gavin to lead me in front of the cameras. He had promised to pin his grandmother's camellia brooch on me and announce our engagement that night. Instead, he fastened it to the dress of Megan Foster, the scholarship student he mentored. He leaned close to my ear, his voice as affectionate as ever. "Let Megan have one happy night. Her life has been hard enough. Don't worry. As long as I'm here, no one will send you anywhere." I clutched his sleeve, practically begging him. He pried my hand away and let Megan take his arm. "Megan has a clean reputation. No rumors follow her around. The brooch suits her." Laughter rippled around me. I dropped my gaze and let go of his sleeve. The next day, I went to the airport alone. Gavin panicked so badly that he made his family's airline cancel my flight.

During a prenatal checkup for my second pregnancy, I ran into my husband's mistress, Daisy Miller, at a private clinic in downtown Ashbourne. I barely batted an eye, but Daisy looked so terrified that she crumpled her appointment slip in her fist. She really had nothing to worry about. Alexander Walker had had plenty of mistresses before her, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. If I burst into tears and made a scene every time, I'd be lucky to survive long enough to give birth to the babies I was carrying. But that evening, the moment Alexander walked through the door, he demanded an explanation. "I've already told you that everything my family owns will belong to you and the children someday. Harriet, why did you still have to give Daisy such a hard time?" I lowered my head, protectively cradling my belly. I didn't bother defending myself. He smashed the vase on the mantel, overturned a side table, then grabbed his car keys and stormed out to comfort his poor, frightened mistress. The butler stood amid the shattered porcelain and quietly asked what he should do. I simply took a photo and sent it to my mother-in-law, Vanessa Walker. Harriet: Vanessa, how do you plan to handle this one? Ten minutes later, $10 million landed in my personal account.

After my husband cheated on me, I dated 10 men in 6 months. But the night he signed our divorce papers, his mistress sent me a message. Blair: Did those little boyfriends of yours ever tell you who paid their salaries?

When I signed the divorce agreement, my husband had another woman standing beside him. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she stroked her belly, which had yet to show. My father-in-law pushed a check across the table to me—$180 million. "Vera, it's been 3 years, and you still haven't given us a child. We can't wait any longer. Take the money and sign the divorce papers." What he didn't know was that I had a medical report in my pocket too: 12 weeks pregnant with triplets. Months later, at his son's wedding, he would regret every word he had said today.

My name is Tessa Bennett. After I got back together with Dominic Mercer, Blair Collins climbed onto his lap right in front of me again. "You're not mad again, are you, Tessa? Dom and I have always been like this. If there were really anything between us, you never would've gotten a chance with him." I smiled and said it was fine. Dominic was pleased. This time around, I'd finally learned to stop letting his behavior get to me. When they danced close together, I took pictures for them. When they kissed, I kept eating. When she walked out of his bedroom wearing his shirt, I even made her breakfast. Every now and then, guilt would get the better of him, and he'd ask how he could make it up to me. It didn't take much to make me happy. A necklace. An estate. Or maybe a yacht. As long as he said yes, I stopped asking questions. He thought I had finally come to love him so much that I had lost my temper entirely. The truth was, I had discovered a secret. Anything he promised me would immediately be converted into cash and deposited into my account. Blair was still doing everything she could to make me cry over him, just once. Meanwhile, I had already begun to worry— He owned so much. What should I choose first?

After 5 years of marriage, Ethan Whitmore and I had 2 sons. All that time, I devoted myself to my husband and boys, always believing that if I sacrificed just a little more, our family would be a little happier. I thought Ethan would remember everything I'd done for him. Instead, he cheated on me. With his 22-year-old blonde secretary—young, beautiful, and slim enough to fit into the dresses I had worn before we married. I ran crying to my wealthy mother, Catherine Harper. Her expression darkened as she listened. "That bastard certainly knows how to enjoy himself! If he can have a lover, why can't you? I've sponsored more than 12 college students. Take your pick." My sobs stopped short. "Mom, are you telling me to cheat?" She lifted her chin. "I'm telling you to enjoy yourself for once."

On our wedding day, my husband, Ethan Carter, slipped my wedding ring off my finger and onto another woman's. I turned to the three brothers who had doted on me since childhood, waiting for one of them to stand up for me. My oldest brother, Alexander Hawthorne, told me not to make a scene. My second brother, Luke Hawthorne, said we could discuss it later. My youngest brother, Noah Hawthorne, asked, "You already have everything. Is it really so hard to let her be happy for once?" I looked at the four people I had loved most in the world and suddenly wanted nothing at all.

Thirty days before my due date, I spotted my wedding ring in a photograph of a girl I'd never seen before. She was wearing my coat—and the ring he had personally slipped from my finger and placed in my jewelry box. Beneath the photo was an anonymous post written by my husband: Alexander: She reminds me so much of my wife at 19. When I'm with her, it feels like I've gone back in time. I called him, but he didn't answer. He only sent me a message. Alexander: I'll be home this weekend. Don't go anywhere. Staring at those words, I thought about how he'd kept asking me to wait these past few months. Wait until his meeting was over. Wait until he came back from his business trip. Wait until things settled down. Then he'd come with me to my prenatal appointment. I'd always believed he truly didn't have the time. Then I saw that girl in the photograph, wearing my wedding ring while she waited for him to come home. This time, I didn't want to wait anymore.

Before negotiations began on a partnership worth more than $100 million, I willingly gave my interpreter's seat to my fiancé's childhood sweetheart. The first time around, Tessa Brooks had been nothing more than the company receptionist. Then, out of nowhere, she announced that she'd taught herself eight languages in one month. She could translate technical terms that took me a week to verify without consulting a single document. Material that filled three pages of my notebook, she could rattle off without even pausing. Clients called her a genius, while my coworkers began to wonder whether I had bought all my certifications. Then came the crucial meeting that would determine whether our company went public. In front of everyone, she barred me from the interpreter's seat. "This meeting is too important for you to show off. Everyone knows I'm better than you." Grant Mercer was the first to agree. He was my supervisor and my fiancé. I'd spent two weeks working late into the night, only to watch her take my seat and claim all the credit. She became the company's hero. I was demoted to fetching coffee and filing paperwork. That night, I lost my footing beside the Bellmont River and plunged into the icy water. As it closed over my mouth and nose, I finally understood something she'd said before. "You always translate everything in your head first. I can hear every word, so of course I can beat you to it." She didn't know any of those eight languages at all. She could simply read my mind. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she first pretended to be a gifted interpreter. This time, I didn't rush to fight her for the position. Instead, I began reciting the Latin hymns I'd learned in my childhood church choir.

As I walked out of Westbridge International Airport, I saw a new Instagram post from my husband, Darren Hoyle. In the photo, Selena Vance stood beside his car. The caption read: Airport pickup #43. My little scaredy-cat is home safe and sound. When he posted it, my plane was making an emergency descent. Oxygen masks had dropped in front of us, and I hadn't even managed to finish typing a goodbye. Our flights were only 50 minutes apart and landed at the same airport. I had sent him my flight details long ago. In six years of marriage, he had picked her up 43 times. I had made my own way home 127 times. If he wouldn't come for me, I wasn't going to wait for him anymore.

I'd heard that the latest girl to catch Maxwell Spencer's eye had been with her penniless boyfriend for eight years. Maxwell had forced her to break up with him, but she'd sworn she'd rather die than be with him. In the end, she'd been forced to stay by his side anyway. That night, fireworks lit up the sky above the Spencer family's seaside estate until dawn. The following day, cars from jewelry stores lined up outside the girl's apartment building, delivering one velvet box after another to her door. Nancy Clarke, my housekeeper, told me all this when she brought my winter clothes to the psychiatric hospital. My name was Vera Spencer, and I was Maxwell's wife. For refusing to turn a blind eye to his endless affairs, I'd been locked away in this facility for 16 months. Before I could say anything, Nancy took my hand, her eyes reddening, telling me about my brother, Nathan Lawson. "Vera, Nathan made a bad investment. His creditors seized the last house your family had left. He's still deep in debt, and Maxwell's the only reason those creditors are getting paid." My grip tightened around her hand. I wanted to ask how my brother was doing, but before I could get the words out, I coughed up blood and lost consciousness. When I woke, Maxwell was sitting beside my bed. It was the first time I'd seen him in four months. "Vera, promise me you won't cause trouble for her, and I'll take you home. You'll always be Mrs. Spencer." This time, I finally nodded. For my brother's sake, I would learn to look the other way.

When my father, Thomas Morrison, was framed for money laundering and sent to prison, I begged my husband, Greg Norton, to get him out. He promised he would help and told me to wait. I waited three years, only to learn that my father had died in the prison hospital. After his death, the lawyer finally told me, "Your husband got hold of the bank records that prove your father's innocence a long time ago. He never turned them over." I set my father's glasses on the table and asked Greg, "Why didn't you hand them over?" He didn't deny it. He only defended his first love, Wendy Lawson. "If those records came out, everyone would know Wendy's father was the real money launderer. How could she ever show her face again? Her father is already dead. Why keep going after him?" I stared down at my father's glasses for a long moment. "My father is dead too." After a moment of silence, he reached for me. "I never thought it would end like this. Daisy, you still have me." The divorce papers on the table had arrived that very day. So he could marry Wendy, Greg had personally pushed the lawyers to finalize everything. I stepped away from his hand. No, I didn't have him anymore. And I no longer wanted his love.

My name is Joanna Ellis. Six years ago, against my mother's wishes, I moved to Bellhaven to build a life with Colin Freeman. He delivered pizzas and hauled crates of fish, hiding his cracked hands inside his sleeves, until at last we traded our basement apartment for one overlooking the river. I thought we had finally made it through the hard times. But on New Year's Eve, the night I planned to propose, the police called to say my boyfriend had been picked up for fighting and I could come get him. At the station, Delia Monroe clung tightly to his coat. Her son, Toby Monroe, ran over and threw his arms around Colin's leg. "Daddy!" Colin and I had a terrible fight. Only then did he agree to transfer Delia off his team and stop meeting with her one-on-one. After that, their messages really did seem to be strictly about work. Until I found his other phone. In the photos, Colin held Toby while Delia leaned against his shoulder, and their friends and family were leaving comments about what a happy little family the three of them made. Their messages from New Year's Eve were still there. Delia: There's a ring in the apple pie box. Is she planning to propose to you? I'll send it back. Colin: Don't. Keep it for now and pretend you never saw it. Colin: I'm not ready to marry her. Snow was falling outside again. All at once, I missed the Solara sunshine terribly. After six years, it was finally time for me to go home.

At 11:59 p.m., I pushed open the doors to the Silver Pine Hotel ballroom, still annoyed at being jolted awake by a phone call. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm just here to pick up my husband." The New Year's countdown stopped dead, and a roomful of high-ranking werewolves turned to stare at me. "Cora Warren? This is a Northern Academy reunion. What's a wolfless loser doing here?" "So when Justin swapped 'I pledge allegiance to the Moon Goddess' for 'I pledge allegiance to Cora,' that was all for her? Please." "His Luna is a silver wolf from the Rose family now. What could you possibly have that beats that?" Amid the laughter, I looked toward Justin Murray at the head of the table. What none of them knew was that he had once ranked dead last in our class too. He had studied like crazy and trained until dawn—all for me. But that was all in the past. Justin set down his wineglass. "Cora, we ended our mate bond three years ago." I nodded and smiled politely. "I know. Which is exactly why I never said I was here for you, Mr. Murray."

After I swallowed my pride and made up with Nicholas Alder, I found a box of condoms in the glove compartment of his car. I put it back without asking a single question. Nicholas watched me for a long moment, then opened the box himself. "All six are still here. We were out at home, so I grabbed some on the way." I nodded, leaned back in a seat that had been adjusted for someone else, and closed my eyes. He pulled over and took my hand. "Let's go pick out some gifts. I'll go back to White Creek with you for New Year's and visit Mom." I turned my face away, tears sliding down over my reflection in the window. Mom was already dead. My Alpha still didn't know.

On my birthday, my wife insisted we christen the back seat of my new car. Afterward, she hit the gas instead of the brake and crumpled the front end. I was so furious that I kicked her out of the master bedroom. Two days later, she posted on the company's official account. I wrecked my husband's birthday present, and now he won't let me back into the master bedroom. What should I do? I was about to reply when one of the new residents tagged me in the hospital group chat. Derek Vaughn: Why are you sending everyone pictures of my car, Marcus? Trying to pass it off as yours so people will think you're rich? Only then did I realize I'd sent the group chat the pictures meant for my service advisor. Before I could explain, he dumped a string of selfies from the driver's seat into the chat. Derek: My fiancée gave me this as an engagement present. Derek: You take one photo and think you can pass yourself off as Serena Ashford's husband? How desperate can you get? I turned to my wife, who stood in the doorway clutching a pillow. "Honey, when did you get engaged again?"

On Christmas Eve, my husband, Cole Reed, handed our son, Noah, a gift box. "Forty crisp new bills, all with consecutive serial numbers. They're all yours." But when I checked, there were only 39. The one with the serial number ending in 777 was missing. "The bank teller must've miscounted," Cole said. Not long afterward, I came across a photo posted by Blair Black, the newest hire at our motorcycle shop. She'd framed the bill ending in 777 and set it beside a crib. The caption read: C's first Christmas gift to his son. One of a kind, and the most special of all. I stared at the words "his son" and zoomed in again. 'How did the money missing from my son's gift box become a Christmas present for hers?' I didn't make a scene. I liked her post.

In my past life, my roommate, Derek Hayes, sleepwalked toward the edge of a building and tried to jump. I dragged him back onto the balcony and woke him up. He survived, but he never spoke again. He couldn't even hold a spoon. His mother cornered me outside the campus clinic and jabbed a finger at me. "You ruined my son! You're going to take care of him for the rest of his life!" Under the threat of a lawsuit, they forced me to marry his sister, Haley, move into their old house in Stonebridge, and support the whole family. My parents drained their savings to pay his medical bills and even hired a caregiver. All they got in return was, "Can that money give my son his life back?" My job offer was put on hold. Someone splashed paint all over my father's auto shop. Every morning, my mother woke up to fresh death threats on her phone. After our final mediation session, they chased us into the street. A truck plowed into us. None of the three of us made it home. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night Derek was supposed to jump. Out on the balcony, he whispered into the black sky, "Darling, don't leave. I'm coming to join you." This time, I pulled the blanket over my head.

The day my biological parents brought me back to Grantham Manor, I stared at the daughter they had raised for over 20 years and thought: 'A neck that slender probably wouldn't survive a single blow.' 'Getting rid of the body would be a hassle. Still, the rose garden behind the manor is certainly big enough.' The next second, the champagne glass in my mother's hand trembled. My father and brother abruptly fell silent as well. I glanced at them, then let my mind wander again. 'Of the other three, my brother would probably be the hardest to deal with.' 'A direct confrontation wouldn't be worth it. I'd have to wait until he was asleep.' Candice Grantham was still asking me through reddened eyes, "Selena, don't you want me in this family anymore?" I didn't catch what she said. 'If I made a move now, the others would all be witnesses.' 'Four people. That's a lot of work.' By the time I came back to my senses, they were all looking at me like I was a bomb about to explode. Candice suddenly screamed and collapsed at my feet. "Selena, why did you push me?" 'Idiot. If I'd actually made a move, you'd be lying in the morgue by now.' My mother practically threw herself across the room. She yanked Candice behind her, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. "Shut up, Candice! Don't say another word!"

As I walked out of my high school graduation ceremony, I saw my dad, Darren Wright, leaning against a brand-new luxury sports car and waving at me with a big smile. He said his company had been acquired. We were rich now. The whole family would live in a mansion and drive nice cars. I hugged my diploma and grinned like an idiot. Fifteen minutes later, he led me into a cramped, partitioned-off room that cost $500 a month and reeked so badly of chemical fumes that my eyes watered. "Emily, you'll live here all summer. The fried chicken place downstairs is hiring, and I already put in a word for you. At $12 an hour, work there for three months and you'll save $4,000. That'll be enough to buy your sister a decent birthday present." I stared at him. "Dad, didn't you say we were rich now?" The smile never left his face. "Of course. Come on. I'll show you the new house." According to Dad, my older sister, Tiffany Wright, was beside herself with excitement. I relaxed, convinced the room and the job had been nothing more than a bad joke. Then we arrived at our new home.

I was helping my dad, Robert Hayes, sort out the electric bill when I found out he had two homes. That day, my mom, Diane Hayes, handed me an overdue notice and said Dad had forgotten to update his credit card again. I logged in to his Bellhaven Electric account. There were two service addresses. The first was the old house in Northwood, where we'd lived for more than 20 years. The second was Unit 1801 at Harbor One, on the waterfront. I'd never been there. Beneath the address was a custom label. Home. Our house was labeled with nothing but its street number. I stared at that word, my heart sinking. I didn't call Mom over. I just took a screenshot, then looked up the building. Private concierge. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Unobstructed views of Crescent Bay. Units with the same floor plan were listed at $1.4 million.

My name is Elaine Crowe, and I'd been Malcolm Crowe's wife for five years when I found an earring inside the spare helmet strapped to his motorcycle. A little silver snake—one of the pair most often worn by Ruby Bellamy, the girl he had personally brought into the club. Malcolm glanced at it. "It rained tonight, and Ruby's car broke down again. I gave her a ride since she was on my way. Marcus and the others were there too." I set the earring on the workbench and nodded. "Got it. You don't have to explain." The Iron Ravens had plenty of riders, but Ruby was the only one Malcolm let ride behind him time after time. I had cried over her, fought over her, and even asked for a divorce. It wasn't until I lost our baby that Malcolm promised he would never spend time alone with her again. Now I had finally stopped asking questions. But he caught my wrist and stared at me. "Elaine, you don't care at all?" When I used to care, all it got me were fights that lasted all night, doors slammed in my face, and an empty chair beside my hospital bed. Now, I truly didn't care anymore.

Three years into our second marriage, I caught my husband, Derek Prescott, cheating on me at the White Oak Club. Beneath the crystal chandelier, Derek had one arm around a woman as he opened the jewelry box on the table. "Rubies suit you better. Try it on?" He had returned from Bellmont three days ago. I'd found the box while unpacking his luggage, but he'd smiled and closed his hand over mine. "You can't see it yet." Our anniversary was next week. I'd even picked out the dress I would wear with it. But the woman didn't take it. She lounged against the sofa and said, "Derek, you're married. I can't date you." "She'll never know." His friends burst out laughing. "We've kept plenty of secrets for you these past three years, haven't we?" My finger froze on the shutter. It had only been three years since Derek and I remarried.

I was curled up in Damian Ashford's arms watching a movie when I heard Cecilia Hart was returning to the Frostpine Pack. Messages flooded our prep school alumni group text. I looked up at him and teased, "Your high school sweetheart is back. Aren't you going to say anything?" He ruffled my hair and bent down to kiss the tip of my nose. "Sweetheart, you need to stop watching so many love-triangle movies. How exactly do you expect me to react?" Fair enough. They had been apart for six years. Cecilia had married overseas long ago and even had a pup now. I got up to make some hot chocolate. When I returned, Damian was still sitting in the same position, his phone glowing in his hand. The movie credits were already rolling, but he hadn't noticed. I glanced down at my own screen. Someone had just posted in the group text. Classmate: Did you hear? Cecilia's mate broke their bond. She's coming back alone with her daughter. My fingers slowly tightened around the mug. The hot chocolate burned against my palms. Yet I felt myself going cold.

When Tristan Walsh's ninth mistress tracked me down, I was getting my nails done on Kingsley Street. She slapped an ultrasound photo onto the table, her ring striking the glass with a sharp click. "Evangeline, right? I'm pregnant with Tristan's child. I'm the one he loves. It's time you signed the divorce papers." I asked the manicurist to give us a moment, then pulled an envelope from my purse. Inside were photos of her entering and leaving hotels with three different men, along with a screenshot of the website where she'd downloaded the ultrasound image. She flipped through the pages, and the smile froze on her face. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to a whisper. "I'll leave Bellmont tonight." I didn't try to stop her. I simply raised my hand and admired my freshly painted dark-red nails. They'd taken all afternoon, but they'd been worth it. A minute later, I told the manicurist, "Take them all off." I had something to do tonight, and long nails would only get in the way. In five years of marriage, I'd buried my husband's scandals, paid off his debts, and sent away nine women who thought they could take my place. At a charity luncheon in Crestview Heights, someone had once raised her wineglass and asked, "Are you Tristan's wife or his publicist? Does he pay you by the hour?" Every time I cleaned up one of Tristan's messes, he owed me one condition. Jewelry, real estate, a position in the company. I'd claimed them one by one. This time, I wanted a child.

When I returned from a trip abroad, my live-in housekeeper took my husband and me to court. Clutching her stomach, she sobbed so hard she could barely stand. "Nathan Cole and his wife are monsters! They lured me into working as their live-in housekeeper, then locked me in a bedroom and let that man do whatever he wanted to me! The baby I'm carrying is proof of what Nathan did!" Her mother held her and sobbed in front of the gallery. "My daughter is only 24! Her life has been ruined. You have to make that couple pay!" Some people accused me of covering for my husband. Others demanded to know why he was too afraid to show his face. But in front of everyone, I burst out laughing. "My husband was cremated three years ago. So tell me—how exactly did he get you pregnant?"

The night before our wedding, I discovered that Keller Blackwood was the heir to the Blackwood Group. His mother, Octavia Blackwood, handed me a check for $5 million and threatened to destroy my parents' graves if I refused to leave him. After I disappeared, Keller rejected the marriage alliance his family had arranged for him and buried himself in work. Three years later, he'd swallowed up the other family's company, seized control of the Blackwood Group, and offered a $100 million reward to anyone who could find me. He gave me a lavish wedding at a manor, a priceless blue diamond, and a silver tag engraved with the vows he'd made while kneeling before me in a chapel in Caledria. He promised to devote the rest of his life to me. All he asked in return was that I never leave him again. And I believed him. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Barker Hinton publicly rejected me as his mate, choosing Frances Raphael, the Raphael family's long-lost biological daughter, over me. That very same day, I discovered I was pregnant. Eight months later, while Barker celebrated Frances's coronation as Luna, I nearly bled to death giving birth to Finn Raphael in a public hospital. Then, one day, breaking news swept through the werewolf networks. The Alpha of the Blackridge Pack had crossed the border during a late-night hunt and stumbled into a hunter's trap rigged with silver. Frances was critically injured, and silver poisoning had left Barker permanently infertile. Terrified that he would take Finn away from me if he ever discovered the truth, I spent the next five years in hiding. Then, at the last minute, I was assigned to wait tables at a birthday banquet for Sybil Hinton, the former Luna, and Barker's mother. Somehow, Finn slipped out of the staff lounge and ran straight into her arms. The entire ballroom fell silent. My little boy was the spitting image of Barker as a child. Barker pushed his way through the crowd, his voice trembling. "Kiddo, who's your mother?" Finn burst into tears, frightened by the sudden attention. "Mommy... I want my mommy. Her name is Scarlett Raphael."

I joined a dating reality show as a last-minute replacement—and ran straight into the husband I'd been secretly married to for three years. He had two Oscars. To find my name, you'd have to pause the end credits. Before the wedding, we'd agreed: no going public, no interfering in each other's lives. We'd play the loving couple at family gatherings, then go our separate ways the moment we walked out the door. Neither of us had ever considered what would happen if we met on a dating show called "Sunset Chemistry." And so, in the emergency stairwell of an oceanfront villa in Bellmere, we stared at each other like two cheaters caught in the act. "Why are you here?" "What are you doing here?"

In the 10th year of our relationship, I wrapped up my work in Kingswell and returned to Bellgrave to get engaged to Vincent Ashford. At the party, his secretary looked me up and down over the rim of her champagne glass. "You're Dr. Margo Ellison, aren't you? The woman selling videos on that adult site? You're with a different man in every one. Sorry, I've never seen you wearing this much before. I almost didn't recognize you." I set down my glass. "Are you sure it was one of those videos?" She ducked behind Vincent. "I'm sorry. I thought your fiancé knew what you used to do. I guess this isn't something we should discuss tonight." Vincent frowned, but he looked at me first. "Margo, don't make a scene here." Brooke hid a smile behind her hand. "Of course I must have mistaken her for someone else. How could the future Mrs. Ashford possibly have paid her tuition by taking off her clothes?" We had met before. Two years ago, she'd been brought to the emergency room from a private club in Kingswell. I was the one who stitched up her wound. Later, I was the one who handed her the positive HIV test result. I wondered whether she'd been taking her medication on time.

My little sister was back in the hospital. Mom said it was all because I had opened her bedroom window. Outside the hospital room, Mom grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "You knew Allie had a weak heart! If I'd known you would only cause trouble, I never would've brought you home! "If anything happens to her, don't think you'll ever be part of this family again!" At midnight, the clock in the hallway suddenly stopped. A man in a dark coat stepped through the closed glass door and walked toward my sister's bed. "Allie Collins, your time has come." Allie was fast asleep. Mom lay slumped beside the bed, still holding her hand even in her sleep. I climbed down from the chair in the corner and stepped in front of him. "You have the wrong person. That's my older sister in the bed. I'm Allie." The man stopped and looked down at me. I was afraid to meet his eyes. I only glanced back at Mom. Tear tracks still marked her face, and she held my sister's hand against her cheek. I reached out and grabbed the hem of his coat. "Take me instead. But can you wait three more days? I want to see Mom blow out her birthday candles before I go with you."

When I discovered my husband, Mullin Darnay, was having an affair, I took the lab report confirming my pregnancy to the garage and pinned it beneath the president's patch on his leather vest. "Either divorce me or cut that woman out of your life for good." He stared at the report for what felt like an eternity. Then he sank to his knees before me and pressed his face against my stomach. From that day on, whenever he went out riding, he told me exactly where he was going and when he'd be home. My best friend, Iona Hayes, worked at the Iron Thorns clubhouse and offered to keep an eye on him for me. Every night, she'd call to reassure me. "Relax. There aren't any other women hanging around him." She was my best friend. I trusted her. And eventually, I learned to trust Mullin again, too. However, after my C-section, Mullin came to my bedside and finally told me the truth. "It was Iona. She's the woman I've been sleeping with. While you were in surgery, we were upstairs at the clubhouse. I wore her out." I pushed against the mattress, trying to sit up, but searing pain shot through my incision. I couldn't even straighten my back. Mullin pulled the bassinet closer and leaned down to stroke our son's tiny hand. "Every time you sent her to check on me these past few months, she ended up spending the night. "Your mother knew about us, you know. We all kept quiet so you could get through the pregnancy without worrying." As he spoke, he tucked the blanket snugly around our son, one hand resting on the edge of the bassinet. "Iona can be his godmother or his mother. Your choice, Ellery."

After losing my job, I went online to look for work and stumbled across a post. Post: [What's the fastest way for a girl in Westbridge to make money?] One reply had thousands of likes. MidnightPeach: [Find yourself a sugar daddy. Mine gives me $10,000 a month. He remembers everything I like and even keeps track of my period. His only downside is that his sex drive is insane. He wants me every night, but he's hot, so I don't mind.] Another user asked: A: [Where did you find a man like that? Is he single?] MidnightPeach: [He has a girlfriend, but he stopped sleeping with her ages ago. Says she's like a plank of wood in bed. No fun at all.] MidnightPeach: [I met him in Sunharbor in March after he accidentally hit me with his car.] My breath caught. My fiancé, Gordon Pritt, had happened to have gone to Sunharbor on business in March, and he'd hit a girl with his car too. A chill spread to my fingertips as I kept scrolling. MidnightPeach: [I told him I wasn't feeling well today, so he ditched his girlfriend and took me purse shopping on Kingsley Avenue.] The photo showed two hands, fingers intertwined. There was a fresh cut on the man's index finger. It was in exactly the same spot where Gordon had cut himself slicing a pear for me that morning.

On the day of the car accident, Violet Shaw, assistant to my husband, Gareth Blackwood, claimed she had a stomachache and had every healer in the Silverpine Pack assigned to her. Silver-dusted shards of glass had pierced my abdomen. Every time I struggled, they sank deeper. Trembling from the pain, I shouted at Gareth. "Tell them to operate on me now! If you don't, my family will kill every last one of you!" Throughout our five-year marriage, I'd always told Gareth that my family was overseas running their business. I'd never introduced him to them. He didn't know I was Nora Hawthorne, the only normal one in my family. My mother, Seraphina Hawthorne, was a serial killer. My father, Alaric Hawthorne, dissected living werewolves for pleasure. And my younger brother, Lucien Hawthorne, believed that anyone who ever wronged me deserved to vanish from this world. But Gareth just seized my face in his hand. "What family does a packless orphan like you have? I looked past your background and still made you my Luna, yet you're fighting Violet for attention over a scratch! If anything happens to her, Silverpine will lose a deal worth tens of millions!" Then he ordered everyone away. "If your family is so powerful, let them come save you!" I watched him leave, feeling whatever hope I had left disappear. With the last of my strength, I sent a plea for help to the family group chat. What Gareth didn't know was that the moment that message went through, he lost his last chance to stay alive.

During my third year in captivity, I, Vera Winslow, found a post on an old phone that wasn't connected to the internet. Vera, 18: Will the person you fall for at 18 really stay with you for the rest of your life? The girl wrote about a boy who would fight for her and wait outside school with hot cocoa tucked inside his coat. He had even covered the entrance to prom with love letters he'd written to her. Even through the screen, her feelings were impossible to hide. But when I saw the date and the swallow in her profile picture, I froze. That girl was me 10 years ago. Ten years later, the boy who wrote those letters became my husband, and fastened a chain around my ankle with his own hands. On television, he was on his feet applauding as his mistress accepted an award. Photos she'd sent me of herself in bed with my husband lay scattered at my feet. I swallowed the pills in my hand and typed a reply beneath the post. Vera, 28: [Don't say yes to him. The more you look forward to it now, the more you'll regret it later.]

My mother, Nora Bell, claimed she'd saved the life of Vincent Hawthorne, heir to a major shipping fortune. Then she spent 17 years as his lover, waiting for him to marry her. The woman who had actually saved my father had died long ago. Even her body had been cremated. But two days before the engagement party, she came back. She produced a DNA report, demanded that my mother leave, and announced she'd marry my father herself. Then she sent a message: Unknown: Teach that little bastard to call me Mom. My mother was so terrified, all she could do was cry. It was true that Mom had never saved Dad. Even the heiress to a shipping fortune who believed Mom had saved her life only believed it because I'd arranged the whole thing. If Mom was going to marry into money, she needed me to lie her way in. I wiped away her tears. So someone even more audacious than my mother had finally shown up. The only question was whether she could lie as well as I could.

I was in my Alpha husband's car when my hand brushed against a lace thong that wasn't mine. Garrett laughed casually. "See how much fun Tess has? Why can't you learn a thing or two from her?" In the past, I would have smashed every window in the car. But now, I just tossed the thong back into his lap: "Got it." The smile on his face froze instantly. I didn't even glance at him. I was too busy replying to my younger boyfriend's message. Finn: Want to come sleep at my place tonight?

On the very first day my biological mother, Vivian Whitmore, found me, she asked me to apologize to her adopted daughter. The daughter she'd adopted, Vanessa Whitmore, had kicked a 3-year-old child to the ground, so I slapped her. My mother held her and comforted her for ages, then turned to coax me. "She's already had a very hard day. Could you be the one to apologize first?" I nearly laughed out loud. Growing up, my 3 dads were so afraid I'd be mistreated that they took turns rehearsing over-the-top soap opera scenarios about feuding rich families. Grant Mercer would hide a necklace, Calvin Mercer would play the wicked stepmother, and Russell Mercer was in charge of shouting, "Why would your sister frame you instead of anyone else?" They hammed it up so much that even I complained it was unrealistic. Then this family showed up, and I realized— My 3 dads had loved me too much to make the rehearsals truly cruel.