Bing Caratozzolo

For seven years, I played the obedient, "wolfless" wife to Julian Carlisle, the billionaire Alpha of the Black Stone Pack. I endured the pack's mockery, surviving solely on his charity. But on our eighth mating anniversary, he didn't come home. Instead, he took our seven-year-old son out to celebrate with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. When I called them, my own flesh and blood laughed through the phone. "She doesn't even have an Inner Wolf! I wish Auntie Chloe was my mom!" Julian didn't just break our mate bond; he handed the groundbreaking AI project I had secretly built for him straight to Chloe. When I finally walked out and captured photos of them kissing in broad daylight to file for a divorce, Julian ordered his Gamma to crush my shoulder on a public street. He forced me to delete the evidence while he watched coldly from his armored SUV. He looked at me with absolute arrogance, completely certain that a scentless, helpless human would just cry, submit, and crawl back to his cage. He thought he had destroyed my only way out. But as his car drove away, I calmly typed a hidden command into my phone, recovering every single deleted photo from my dark-web server. He didn't know the metal cuff on my wrist wasn't a mark of a genetic defect. I was the true heir to the Supreme White Wolf bloodline, and I was going to tear his empire to the ground.

For five years, I was the perfect, silent fiancée to the most feared Underboss in the Cosa Nostra. On the eve of our wedding, I opened his sacred syndicate ledger and found a painstakingly detailed log of my best friend, Serena. He tracked the exact phases of her menstrual cycle and her preferred brand of imported painkillers. Yet just last month, when I was doubled over on the bathroom floor in agony, he refused to go to the pharmacy for me. "An Underboss does not run mundane errands," he had told me with flat, incurious eyes. He bought Serena a twelve-thousand-dollar blood-red gown, forced me into a cheap off-the-rack slip, and demanded she stand right between us at the altar. Worse, I discovered they were plotting to drain my parents' entire life savings to fund a money-laundering front for his illicit gambling operations. I had endured his coldness and emotional neglect, believing his severe mafia code applied to everyone. I never imagined he reserved every last measure of his humanity and warmth for the woman who was supposed to be my maid of honor. Looking at his handwriting, the blindfold finally fell from my eyes. I calmly photographed the damning pages, wired my parents' money to a secure offshore account, and sent a new directive to our wedding planner. If he wanted to give my best friend my place, I would make sure the entire underworld was there to witness it.

For two years, I endured agonizing chemo for my leukemia, believing my struggling family was sacrificing everything to save me. But right before my surgery, I overheard my brother and mother whispering outside the door. I didn't have cancer. My family, who were actually billionaires in the Syndicate, had been secretly poisoning me. They needed me weak and dying so my betrothal to the supreme Don could be transferred to their newly found biological daughter. "Once the betrothal is transferred, I will find the best specialists to cure Clara," my brother said coldly. But they didn't know I had already made my choice. Thinking my treatments were starving them, I had just swallowed a vial of lethal, untraceable poison in the bathroom. I died in excruciating agony on the operating table before they even made the first cut. When the surgeon announced I had committed suicide, my family's world completely shattered. My brother found my blood-stained suicide note and the meager cash I had saved to buy them gifts. "We murdered our own daughter," my father sobbed. My mother went completely insane, clutching my rotting corpse, while my brother slit his own wrists in a desperate attempt to feel my pain. They kneeled before my grave, weeping and begging the heavens to let them protect me in the next life. Floating above them as a ghost, I watched their absolute despair with a numb heart. I harbored no hatred, but I knew one thing for certain. In the next life, we will be nothing but strangers.

Cecile jolted awake from months of prescription haze, only to realize she was trapped in a live reality show designed to destroy her. Her billionaire husband had orchestrated the broadcast to publicly humiliate her and elevate his own PR image. He ordered her to follow a degrading script. What was worse, her five-year-old son, Damien, was genuinely terrified of her. When an empty wine bottle rolled across the floor, the tiny boy instantly threw his arms over his head, bracing for a hit. The production crew shoved microphones into the trembling child's face, trying to trigger his trauma for ratings. The live chat cursed Cecile as a toxic abuser. The show's golden girl maliciously tried to poach Damien on camera to prove Cecile was an unfit mother. The crew even rigged the game, forcing Cecile and her son into a freezing, rotting mud shack with a collapsed roof. They were all just waiting for her to break down and beg. "A toxic woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother." The crew read the hateful comments aloud, expecting a hysterical meltdown. The realization that she had been manipulated into destroying her own child hit Cecile like a physical blow. How could a father subject his own son to this public cruelty? The weak, easily manipulated Cecile was dead. She threw the PR script away, rolled up her sleeves, and picked up a rusted hammer. This time, she would protect her son and tear down anyone who stood in her way.

On my eighteenth birthday, I expected to find my Fated Mate. Instead, I found my executioner. I shifted for the first time, but my wolf was small and frail. Marcus, the future Alpha and the man I had secretly loved, looked down at me not with adoration, but with cold, clinical disgust. "A weak, scrawny Omega," he sneered, his voice echoing across the silent clearing. "You have no muscle. Your bloodline is nothing." He didn't just reject me; he humiliated me. "I, Marcus, reject you as my mate." The bond snapped, shattering my bones and my spirit. He banished me to the human city, leaving me to die in a freezing alleyway like unwanted refuse. For weeks, I lay in the mud, my body ravaged by fever and the agony of a severed soul tie. I accepted that I was worthless, a mistake made by the Moon Goddess. But just as the darkness threatened to swallow me whole, a pair of strong arms lifted me from the dirt. A stranger with eyes like obsidian fed me his blood and whispered a truth that changed everything. "You are not weak, Ellie," he growled, his power vibrating against my skin. "You are a White Wolf." I wasn't a runt. I was a legend. Now, fully healed and radiating power, I am returning to the pack that threw me away. Marcus is about to marry another, but when he sees me, he won't be looking at a reject. He will be looking at the biggest mistake of his life.

I was the daughter of a wealthy tycoon, deeply in love with my fiancé, Conrad. But on our wedding day, he arrested my father. My ten-year relationship was a lie. He was an FBI agent, and my best friend, Bonny, was his accomplice. The betrayal shattered me. I was forced into electroshock therapy, which erased my talent for architectural design-the one thing that was truly mine. My life fell apart. After a failed suicide attempt, I was saved by a kind stranger and my father's last words. I rebuilt my life from the ashes, becoming a successful photographer. Years later, Conrad reappeared, full of fake regret, begging for a second chance. I looked at the man who had destroyed me and compared him to a cat that had once bitten me. "I forgave you," I told him, "but I will never trust you again." My friend Corey, acting as my fake husband, defended my honor by punching Conrad in the face. Eventually, Conrad's career imploded due to a scandal involving Bonny. He was ruined. As for me? I was in Paris, my photography career soaring, when I picked up a sketchbook. Miraculously, the lines flowed. My gift was returning. I was finally in control of my own story.

On our seventh anniversary, the Capo dei Capi lit up the New York skyline with drones spelling my name, swearing on his life that I was his only Queen. Moments later, he abandoned me on the dock to rush to his mistress—my own sister, Sophia. Sophia sent me a photo of him kissing her belly with the caption: "He finally has a real woman. It's a boy." Lucien wanted an heir above all else. I was just the placeholder; she was the vessel. I didn't scream. I didn't confront him. I simply initiated Ghost Protocol. I left the wedding ring, signed the divorce papers, and erased Eleonora Marino from existence. By the time Lucien found the DNA test proving Sophia’s baby wasn't his—that he had betrayed his loyal wife for a lie—I was already gone. He executed my sister in a rage and spent his fortune burning down the world to find me. Six months later, he bought the high-security Swiss lab where I was hiding, forcing his way back into my life. He stood before me, gaunt and desperate. "I killed her, Nora. She paid for what she did to us. Come home." I looked at the man I had once worshipped. "Infidelity is a choice, Lucien. But murder? That is who you are." "We are enemies now."

For eight years, I thought I had succeeded in my mission to save Mark Johnson, a "high-value target with self-destructive tendencies," as the System called him. I was his fixer, his anchor, the stable force that pulled him from the brink, transforming him into a successful, confident husband. My mission, it seemed, was complete. But peace, I learned, was a language Mark never truly wanted to master. His craving for chaos reawakened with the return of Emily Carter, his old flame. I smelled her perfume on him at 2 a.m., then heard him arranging for her to stay in our home under the pretense of her being his cousin, shattering the world I had built. I confronted him, not with tears or accusations, but with cold, hard facts-the perfume, the late nights, the fingerprint security he' d never deleted for her. He looked ashamed, but still had the audacity to suggest Emily was "fragile" and "needed him," as if his betrayal was a mere inconvenience. Then, the true horror: he suggested, with earnest eyes, that I should "accept her." "Can' t you just… accept her? We could make this work. The three of us." The sheer audacity, the monstrous lack of respect, turned my love into pure revulsion. In that moment, the last ember of affection died. I looked at the man I had dedicated my life to, the "project" I had poured my soul into, and finally felt nothing but a vast, cold emptiness. I picked up my phone. "<System, I need to know my options.>" A white-hot rage, pure and clean, burned through my heartbreak, cauterizing the wound. I accepted the Exit Protocol, ready to forfeit everything to sever ties with this man and this life.

On the eve of my dream wedding, everything seemed perfect with my charming fiancé, Ethan Blackwood. Our partnership was built on mutual respect and shared ambitions, or so I believed. Then, his mother raised a toast to Chloe Hayes, the "dead" childhood friend Ethan rarely spoke of, the girl who supposedly died saving him. The next day, as I walked down the aisle, all eyes were on me, but Ethan' s were fixed on the church doors. A stunning woman stood there, frail but firm, her voice echoing, "Ethan? I came back for you." My groom' s face went white. He whispered, "Chloe?" In front of the city's most influential people, Ethan stumbled towards her, pulling her into a desperate hug, completely forgetting I existed. My white silk dress turned into a humiliating shroud as cameras flashed, capturing my public discarding. He finally looked at me, with no love, no apology, just annoyance. "Olivia," he stammered, "I… I' m sorry. I don' t know what' s happening." His attention quickly returned to Chloe, whom he shielded, calling her "fragile" and leaving me abandoned at the altar. The headlines screamed: "Billionaire Groom Abandons Bride at Altar for Ghost of Dead Girlfriend!" My parents, concerned only about stock prices and reputation, told me to "handle this" and "not look weak." I watched as articles about Chloe' s death vanished from the internet, Ethan already controlling the narrative to protect her. Alone in my hotel suite, I wondered, who was I without him? I was just the woman publicly discarded. That night, my phone rang. It was him. "Liv, are you okay?" he asked, but then Chloe' s voice cut in, dripping false innocence, "Oh, Ethan, tell her I' m so, so sorry." My rage finally boiled over. "Get her off the phone, Ethan!" He defended her, spoke of his guilt, then offered to "compensate" me. I laughed, a bitter sound. "You think this is about money?" I was a placeholder. The moment his ghost became flesh, I was disposable. He pressured me, "Liv, please, just try to be reasonable." I gave him an ultimatum: "You tell her to leave. You come back here and explain yourself to me, alone." Chloe wailed in the background, "Oh, Ethan, she hates me!" His voice hardened, blaming me, "Do you hear that, Olivia? Is that what you want? To be this cruel?" I hung up, the phone clattering to the floor. He was still in love with her. I was the third person in a two-person story. With cold resolve, I pulled off my engagement ring and threw it out the window. Then, I called my agent. "Book my flight. I want to leave tomorrow."

My mother' s voice cut through the party noise. "If it wasn't for my sacrifice, how could Kyle be so successful today?" She was openly boasting that she' d given my college fund to my cousin, Kyle. I stood hidden in the shadows, my hands shaking. Years of scholarships, working dead-end jobs, meticulously saving every penny for my Ivy League dream-all gone. "Ethan was never going to amount to much anyway," my aunt, her sister, added with a sneer. "Look at him now. A dead-end job, a miserable wife." My parents had enabled it all three years ago, when I'd been eighteen, acceptance letter in hand. "There's a family emergency," my mother had said. "Kyle has an amazing opportunity to study in Europe, and they're a little short." A little short for his tuition, but my entire life' s savings for my own education was apparently disposable. Now, Kyle swaggered through the party, designer suit, wealthy wife, a life that should have been mine. And I, Ethan? I was trapped in a mind-numbing warehouse job, just paying the bills for a small apartment I shared with a wife I didn' t love and a daughter who deserved so much more. "Ethan just doesn't have the drive," I heard my mother tell a neighbor. "He's lazy. Not like Kyle." The words hit me like physical blows. My vision blurred. The anniversary cake I bought with my overtime pay, a small gesture of connection, slipped from my numb fingers. It crashed to the floor. "Ethan! What is wrong with you?" my mother shrieked, rushing over, not to me, but to the mess. "You clumsy idiot! You've ruined everything!" My father followed, his face a mask of disappointment. "Can't you do anything right?" They stood there, judging me. My aunt and Kyle smirked. Later, my last twenty dollars, a fruit basket, rejected. "We don't need this cheap junk," my father said, not even looking at me. "Go make yourself useful. Your aunt needs another drink." That night, listening to them celebrate the man who stole my future, something inside me finally broke. The buried resentment ignited. It wasn't just about the money. It was about my life. And I was going to take it back.

For ten years, I poured my heart into Ethan Scott. My father, a New York media tycoon, had groomed Ethan to inherit his empire and marry me, his only daughter. I was hopelessly devoted, convinced he was my forever. That belief shattered today. I walked in on Ethan revealing his true plan to an intern, Maria: he' d marry me for control, then discard me and take over my family' s empire with her. My decade of love was just a stepping stone. Later that evening, as my father asked me to choose a husband from Ethan and two others, Maria' s calculated lie from years ago-the one that made them brand me a cruel heiress-boiled to the surface. Ethan, Andrew, and Brian still believed her, their contempt a constant reminder. They saw me as the prize, but I was just a pawn to them. Why did they believe Maria so blindly? How could they be so utterly wrong about me, and so righteously cruel? How could my deep love turn into such a brutal, calculated betrayal? Then, at my 21st birthday gala, Andrew slapped me across the face, Maria dramatically burst in, framing me for attempted murder, and Ethan publicly shamed me in front of New York' s elite. They thought they had won. They thought they had annihilated me. But they were about to witness a different kind of coronation.

Sarah Miller, with her uncanny gift of foresight, was a sensation. Her "Sarah Sees" livestream, broadcast from her humble Vermont farmhouse, brought comfort and answers to thousands. She was a rising star, a rare and authentic voice in the world of online spiritual guidance. But then, out of nowhere, an old childhood acquaintance, Jessica Evans, appeared. "Mystic Jess," she called herself, launching a strikingly similar channel. Whispers of Sarah being a "copycat" began, subtly fueled by Jessica and an influential local figure, Alex Peterson. The online comments turned vicious, branding Sarah a "fraud" and "liar." Her followers evaporated, her income vanished. The local community, once supportive, grew cold, and the stress bled into her family's life. Then came the vandalism, spray-painted threats, culminating in a confrontation that tragically led to her father's fatal heart attack. I watched my family shatter, my life ruined, all by someone who seemed to mimic my every move, even my private thoughts, always one step ahead. How could Jessica know what I was about to say or do before I even did it? My own gift, once so clear, became a dark, confusing static whenever I tried to foresee anything about Jessica or my grim future. It made no sense. Crushed by grief and public scorn, wishing for an end to it all, I closed my eyes. A snap, a void, then a gasp. I opened them to find sunlight streaming through my old bedroom window, my laptop waiting-showing the exact date I launched my first livestream. I was back. And I wouldn't let it happen again.

The federal courtroom buzzed, a low hum under the harsh fluorescent lights, as my fiancée Chloe begged me to sign a plea bargain for corporate espionage. This exact scene, these same tear-streaked pleas were painfully familiar. I'd lived this nightmare once before, framed by Chloe and her lover Derek, condemned to a brutal prison where I was left infertile, slowly dying alone in a cold cell. But this time, I was reborn, remembering every agonizing memory, every betrayal, burned into my mind. I feigned compliance, signing what sealed my supposed guilt, my heart a brewing storm under a calm facade. Chloe, dripping with false sympathy, celebrated, convinced Derek's narrative of my villainy would protect him as she took over my life, discarding my belongings and claiming our home as hers. She then imprisoned me in the building's damp basement, where she confessed the horrifying truth: she had systematically poisoned me for years to ensure my infertility, then brutally whipped me, counting each lash. The searing pain of the blows, the cold calculation in her eyes, mixed with the shock of realizing her long-term, meticulously planned evil, threatened to break me. How could someone I loved mete out such depravity? Yet, beneath the agony, a burning resolve tempered my spirit. Then, just as I was dragged back to court, battered and broken, seemingly destined for ruin, the doors burst open. Olivia Hayes, CEO of the company I supposedly betrayed, the woman from my true past, strode in, radiating icy power. She not only unilaterally withdrew all charges but then, to the utter shock of everyone, knelt before me and asked: "Ethan, this lifetime, will you marry me?" She remembered. And this time, armed with a second chance, our perfect revenge was just beginning.

My parents were murdered, our family bakery destroyed, and my fiancé walked out. That’s when Detective David Carter, his brother, swooped in like a hero. He promised justice and protection, then proposed. Five years later, I was pregnant, building a new life with him, certain I was finally safe. But that safety shattered one night. I overheard David’s hushed confession: he was obsessively in love with Veronica Hayes—my parents’ killer. He’d married *me* to protect *her*, to keep me quiet, a mere pawn in his twisted game. My entire life, even our unborn child, was a monstrous lie designed to shield a murderer. The betrayal burned deeper than any wound. At his family’s dinner, Veronica brazenly confessed to the killings, taunting me with a chilling detail. I slapped her in a desperate rage. My husband, David, violently shoved *me* aside, his fury reserved for me, not her. I fell, the pain unbearable, losing our baby in a bloody haze. His family cast me out like trash. Abandoned, violated, and gutted by grief, I was just another casualty in his sick obsession across two families. How could the man who promised to protect me be the architect of my deepest agony? How could his love for another destroy everything, even his own child? With nothing left to lose, I engineered my own disappearance, vanished, and then strategically unleashed every piece of evidence hidden by my supposed savior. The truth, now exposed, would finally bury them all.

I, Mike Evans, died young from endless work, a fool who gave everything to build a future. But then, as my soul drifted, I watched my supposed devoted wife, Jessica, calmly discard my ashes, her face devoid of grief. Moments later, she was in *our* bed with Chad Peterson, my best friend, laughing, truly laughing. My son, Kevin, the one I poured every dime into for his surgical career, walked in and called Chad, "Dad." My entire fortune, built brick by painful brick, was now theirs to exploit. Jessica’s "girls’ trips" and Kevin’s "specialized training" were just cover stories for their years-long affair. This sickening truth, this profound betrayal, ripped through me with a pain far more searing than death itself. My life, my sacrifices, had fueled their illicit happiness, making me nothing more than a convenient workhorse to be discarded. How could I have been so monumentally, tragically blind to such a colossal lie? Then, an unexpected jolt, a blinding flash, and I gasped, choking on lake water. I was back, years in the past, at the exact moment I was supposed to "save" Jessica from drowning. The very incident that launched my miserable first life of servitude. But this time, things would be different. This time, the game would change.

My sister and I are twins. In a big fire, my sister died. My parents actually made me marry the prince instead of my sister. After marrying him, he asked me, "Why did you disappoint him, not fulfilling his wish to climb onto the dragon bed, only able to marry him, do you regret it?" He treated me as if I had betrayed his sister, humiliating me step by step...

"No wolf. No family. Harmless. Useful. The second I am done with her, the Luna title is yours." Eira Crawford heard those words through her husband's office door. For four years, she had been Sebastian Vale's hidden mate. She managed his household, entertained his relatives, cleaned up his messes, and lived on the three thousand dollars he gave her each month like charity. Even buying a new coat required an explanation. But for his first love, he casually prepared three hundred thousand dollars in research funding. To Sebastian, Eira was nothing more than a wolfless Omega from an orphanage. A quiet, obedient wife with no pack, no power, and no value beyond being useful. He had never introduced her publicly as his Luna. His family treated her like a servant. His sweetheart mocked her as a woman who could only survive by clinging to an Alpha. So Eira stopped crying. She recorded the affair, filed for mate dissolution, and placed the divorce papers in front of Sebastian. Even then, he thought she was throwing a tantrum. He signed without hesitation, certain she would come crawling back once she realized no one else would want a discarded, wolfless Omega. He was wrong. The woman he left at home washing dishes was a Stanford-trained electrical engineer. The "useless" wife he ignored was the hidden chief engineer behind a national self-developed chip project. Her movements were classified. Her disappearance could alert the federal authorities. Her name, once revealed, was enough to shake the entire scientific community. And Sebastian knew nothing. After walking out of his house with nothing but her freedom, Eira crossed paths with Killian Sterling, the coldest and most powerful Alpha in the north. He did not know her name yet, but his wolf recognized something in her that everyone else had missed. Meanwhile, Sebastian finally realized that Eira was not bluffing. He searched the entire city like a madman. For the first time in four years, he publicly called her his wife. He demanded she return. He begged for another chance. But by then, Eira was no longer waiting in his house. She was seated at the Sterling Pack's dinner table, dressed with quiet confidence, while the most feared Alpha in North America stood beside her. In front of everyone, Killian Sterling placed his hand at her back and said coldly, "Eira is not anyone's discarded Omega." "She is my Luna."

"For the honor of the fallen Nelson Pack, I humbly ask for Lady Kelli's hand." Demonte's voice echoed through the grand banquet hall as he knelt before the Alpha King. The crystal chandeliers blinded me, but it was the phantom pain of jagged silver blades piercing my chest that made my breath catch. I looked down at my smooth, unscarred hands. I was back. Reborn on the exact night of my seventeenth year when my life was bartered away like worthless livestock. Demonte played the chivalrous Alpha, pretending to save a "useless, wolfless orphan" like me. Beside him, his secret lover Baylee shed theatrical tears, playing the selfless martyr willing to share her man. In my past life, I believed their sickening lies. I let them use a twisted marriage rite to steal my pack's million acres and ten thousand loyal warriors, only to be locked in a dark dungeon while they slaughtered my remaining kin. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, but my blood boiled with cold, unyielding fury. Why should this adopted hypocrite be allowed to steal my inheritance and erase the sacrifice of his own pureblood brother? I refused to take Demonte's outstretched hand. Instead, I sank to the cold marble floor before the throne and demanded to fulfill an ancient honor pact by marrying his deceased brother, the fallen hero Edward Wiley. Just as the royal court erupted in mockery over my vow to a dead man, the heavy iron doors crashed open, and a terrifying, blood-drenched warrior stepped out of the freezing northern gale.

"This is Virella, my wife." Three years. And that was all Alpha Kaelen gave me. No welcome. No touch. No recognition. Just another woman at his side, carrying his child. While I ruled in his absence, I was nothing more than a placeholder. A Luna he never chose. So I gave up. And I left. One rejection was all it took to break the bond. When I returned, I wasn't the Luna he abandoned. I was untouchable, respected, and feared. And no longer his to claim. Now he watches me like a man drowning... Because the woman he discarded came back as something far beyond his reach. And this time, I didn't come alone. The Alpha of Ebonmoon stands beside me, his presence crushing, and his hand firm on my waist... "Careful, Kaelen," his voice drops, dark with warning. "Rowena isn't yours anymore." His lips brush my temple, possessively. "She's mine. If you try to take her, I'll end you."

I was the wolfless disgrace of the pack, traded like cattle to a dying monster. When a royal decree stripped away my engagement, my own father gave my fiancé to my cruel sister, Charly. My punishment for being born without a wolf? A forced marriage to Demetri Contreras—the crippled, disgraced Alpha left to rot from silver poison. They threw me into a frozen, forgotten estate, waiting for my new husband to die so I could be buried as a silent widow. Charly laughed as she stole my life, my mate, and my future. My family discarded me, just like they murdered my mother years ago. They thought this exile would break me. They thought I was a helpless pawn. They didn't know that inside this fragile body lived the soul of the top interstellar miracle surgeon. Looking at the ruined, festering Alpha bleeding on my wedding bed, I didn't see a corpse. I saw the deadliest weapon in the realm. The fallen Alpha needs a miracle to survive. Lucky for him, I am the miracle. I will drag this monster back from the gates of hell—and together, we will burn my enemies to ash.

Amy grew up as the Beta's daughter, loyal to the pack to point of losing herself, convinced that fate would one day reward her devotion. When the sacred bond finally marked her as the mate of the future Alpha, she believed she had found her true love. But the ecstasy of one night turned into the dawn of condemnation: in front of the entire pack, she was stripped of her rank, her mate, and her future-all for her own sister, who carried the future Alpha's child. Amy finally learned that destiny could be denied, bargained away, trampled upon. She stood tall as they took everything from her, bowed her head as they humiliated her, and personally prepared the wedding invitations for the man who had chosen her... then abandoned her. At that, something within her froze, fractured, transformed. Rejecting a sacred bond chosen by the Moon Goddess always had consequences, and one day, the pack would face the consequences of defying the Goddess's will.

I was born a wolfless cripple in the Richmond Pack, but by royal decree, I was engaged to the kingdom's Champion Knight, Emory. During the winter banquet, my half-sister Dessie suddenly tilted backward into the royal ice pond, screaming that I pushed her. In my previous life, I reached out in panic to save her, only to be dragged down and framed for attempted murder. When Emory dove into the freezing water, he swam right past my sinking body to rescue her instead. Once ashore, my own father and my betrothed ignored my desperate pleas. They branded me a vicious, jealous traitor. Emory publicly broke our engagement to marry Dessie, while my father threw me to the executioner to wash away the family's shame with my blood. Until my head was on the chopping block, I didn't understand. Why did my own family want me dead just because I had no inner wolf? Why did the knight who swore to protect me conspire with my illegitimate sister to destroy my life? Opening my eyes again, I was back on the snow-dusted terrace, right as Dessie was setting up the exact same trap. "A wolfless cripple like you should crawl back to the gutter," she whispered, falling backward. This time, I didn't flinch or beg for help. Instead, my fingers shot out like iron clamps, grabbing her wrist, and I dragged her into the freezing depths with me.

Narelia has been married for two years to Arvian, Alpha heir to the Howl Blood pack. Despite her love and loyalty, she suffers in a marriage defined by coldness and neglect. When she discovers she is pregnant with twins, she hopes to salvage their bond, but Arvian's indifference convinces her she cannot rely on him. She keeps her pregnancy a secret, leaves the pack, and starts a new life elsewhere. Her journey leads her to a powerful pack, where she discovers she belongs to a noble heritage. She reunites with her family, and gives birth to her twins. Surrounded by love, she gradually mends the scars of her past, hones her abilities, and unveils a powerful Alpha heritage. Meanwhile, Arvian becomes the Alpha. Despite his rise to power, he remains haunted by Narelia's absence. Upon uncovering the deceptions and his misjudgments, he comes to realize the depth of his mistakes and the pain he caused her. When he finally finds Narelia and learns about their children, she refuses to take him back. However, the schemes, inter-pack rivalries, and threats to their twins' safety force them to work together. Will they eventually find their way back to each other?

Emilia Taylor was the most unwanted daughter of the Frostridge Pack. She had no wolf, no status, and no one who truly loved her. After failing to awaken at the age of twenty-two, she was betrayed by her lover, abandoned by her family, and finally sent by her father to the Silver Moon Pack-to become Sebastian Simons' seventh bride. Sebastian was the Alpha everyone feared. Rumor had it that none of his first six wives had met a good end, and every woman who married him eventually became another name on the list of the dead. Everyone was waiting for Emilia to die. But they did not know that her failed awakening had not left her with nothing. Instead, she had gained the ability to read minds. She could hear the malice and lies hidden behind every smile. Everyone's thoughts were open to her. Except Sebastian's. She could not hear his mind, nor could she see through his secrets. When a wolfless girl abandoned by everyone meets a cold-blooded Alpha haunted by the mystery of six dead wives, will she become his next victim-or the only one who can break the curse?

I was waiting at the Registry Hall to formalize my mate bond with Gabe, my childhood sweetheart and the Alpha of our pack. He was thirty-two minutes late. When I finally found him in a private VIP lounge, his hands were buried in my cousin's hair, their lips locked together. Hailee was supposed to be my maid of honor. Instead of apologizing, Gabe looked me dead in the eye and used his Alpha authority to publicly reject me. The severing of our ten-year bond tore my soul apart, but the nightmare didn't stop there. My grandfather immediately called, demanding I clean up a mess Hailee had made. When I refused, he disowned me on the spot, froze every single one of my bank accounts, and stripped me of my family name. Within hours, my entire pack erased my existence, gleefully announcing Hailee as their new Luna. I had given my entire life to a family and a man who discarded me like worthless trash the second I became inconvenient. I was left broken, humiliated, and utterly penniless in the blink of an eye. But as I stumbled out of that sterile hall, a terrifyingly beautiful stranger stepped out of the shadows, radiating a primal power that made my knees weak. He was Caden Sinclair, the ruthless Lycan King, and he was dodging a forced political union of his own. "You need a shield. I need a wife. Marry me." Without hesitation, I signed the Eternal Vow.

As a wolfless charity case at the Hyde Pack's celebration, my world shattered when Braydon, my supposed protector, publicly announced Katherine Parrish as his Luna, erasing me. Heartbroken, I fled into a terrifying contract marriage with Alpha King Dallas Marshall for protection. Braydon's public assault and threats forced me to reveal my secret marriage, challenging the King. My "protection" felt like a prison. Braydon revealed I was a "key" to power, not a mate, confirming my fears. Enraged by my attempt to take a morning-after pill, Dallas forced me to swallow it, then branded my lips with a furious kiss. His chilling silence hardened my resolve. I immediately drafted an addendum to our contract, setting strict boundaries to reclaim control.