His Unwanted And Pregnant Contract Luna

For five years, Chloe played the perfect, docile wife to Silicon Valley titan Julian Carlisle. Then, she stopped taking the daily "vitamins" he gave her, hacked her own home security system, and caught him passionately kissing their son's live-in tutor. The betrayal cut impossibly deep. The tutor had already brainwashed her five-year-old son, who publicly screamed that he hated Chloe and only wanted his teacher. Worse, after planting a bug in her mother-in-law's study, Chloe uncovered a horrifying truth. Her entire marriage was a calculated trap. They had secretly drugged her daily meals for years to keep her compliant and fertile, using her as a pedigree "broodmare" with no family ties just to produce the Carlisle heir. Julian even gave Chloe's custom wedding ring to his mistress to wear as a trophy, while his elite circle of friends laughed at the naive wife. Her body, her child, her marriage-none of it was real. It was a hostile takeover of her life by a nest of vipers who thought they had her completely controlled. But they forgot one crucial detail about the woman they chose to manipulate. Underneath the perfect housewife facade, Chloe was a top-tier hacker with a military-grade classified past. Logging into her hidden terminal, she shed her gentle disguise and contacted her former commander. "I need to activate the Phoenix Protocol." They wanted a compliant wife, but they were about to get their absolute destruction.

I clutched the black marble urn containing Darien's ashes, my white dress soaking with blood from the gunshot wound in my abdomen. The people I trusted most—my adoptive family and my mentor—had cornered me in an abandoned warehouse. My adoptive sister stepped on my bleeding leg with her stiletto, mocking me as a parasite. "His death wasn't an accident, you know. It was very profitable," my brother laughed, confessing they had shorted the family company's stock. My trusted doctor smiled, admitting she had altered Darien's medication to slowly poison him. Even the uncle who used to bounce me on his knee sighed, revealing he had leaked Darien's schedule to orchestrate the fatal car crash just to pay off his debts. They had brutally murdered the only man who ever truly protected me, and now the doctor was raising a knife to ruin my face out of pure jealousy. I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I pressed the detonator hidden beneath the urn, dragging all my tormentors into a fiery hell before I plunged into the freezing ocean. As the icy water filled my lungs, the agony of their betrayal and the despair of losing Darien tore my soul apart. Why did he have to die for their greed? A splitting headache tore through the darkness, and a cold, furious voice exploded in my ear. Opening my eyes, I wasn't at the bottom of the sea. I was back in my bedroom ten years ago, looking up at a very much alive Darien.

A jagged spike of agony woke Kiana up in a filthy stone room. She had transmigrated into the body of a notorious, exiled matriarch in a brutal wasteland. Before she could even process her new reality, she saw a massive, bloodied man huddled in the corner, trembling in absolute terror. Foreign memories detonated in her brain: the original Kiana swinging a spiked whip, laughing as she tore his flesh open. He was her husband, and she was a monster who tortured her own consorts. The situation was a complete death trap. Another husband stormed in, throwing down a marriage contract and demanding to sever their ties, which would leave her to be eaten by mutated beasts. Outside, her third husband lay dying from a toxic wound while the rest of the tribe mocked her, eagerly waiting for her downfall. Scanning her own body, Kiana discovered her face was covered in ugly purple bruises. The original host hadn't just been naturally insane; she had been secretly fed a chronic poison by political enemies, destroying her beauty and driving her mad until she was exiled. As a survivor from a modern apocalypse, the sight of broken, enslaved men made her skin crawl. She refused to die in this savage wasteland as a pawn in someone else's twisted game. Kiana tossed the contract back to the furious man. "Give me three months. I will save him, and I swear I won't touch you." With her apocalyptic healing powers and a newly awakened Spatial System, she was going to rewrite the rules of this primitive world.

In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled. Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault. For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice. "Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get." She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me. In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed. My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end. As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was. I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart. Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs. I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell. This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away. I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.

My sister Rosalie always played the role of my gentle protector. On the night of my engagement, she insisted I take a secluded canyon road for my own safety. In my past life, I didn't know it was a deadly trap. I fell for the staged ambush and the rival mobster, Julian, who took a fake bullet to "save" me. Because of my blind trust, my entire Falcone bloodline was annihilated overnight. My father was beheaded, my brothers were gunned down, and my sweet little sister was left to die in a filthy alley. I was even brainwashed into betraying my new husband, Damien Moretti. I shot the only man who truly protected me right through the heart, just before Rosalie drowned me in a freezing lake, laughing as she confessed she was just a bastard child stealing my life. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very night my nightmare began. I was trapped in a penthouse, a lethal drug melting my sanity, pinned beneath Damien. But after he brutally sweat the poison out of my veins, he didn't look at me with love. He handed me a Plan B pill with a gaze full of ancient, chilling hatred. "Swallow it," he commanded, his voice a sheet of ice. He remembers. The Dark Don remembers the past life where I murdered him. But this time, I won't be a pawn. I wiped the blood of my traitorous maid from my hands, ready to drag my fake sister straight to hell.

I was kneeling on the cold concrete of an abandoned warehouse, staring at a ticking timer while a masked man held a knife to my throat. My fiancé's nephew, Preston, finally burst through the door, but he wasn't alone. He was clutching my stepsister, Felicia, both of them looking frantic. The kidnapper gave Preston a brutal choice: the bomb was rigged to the door, and he could only take one woman with him. The other would stay behind to burn. Without a single second of hesitation, Preston grabbed Felicia's hand and turned his back on me. "I'm sorry, Annelise," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any real regret. He slammed the heavy iron door shut, leaving me to scream in the darkness as the flames began to roar. He didn't just leave me to die; he did it to protect his inheritance, treating me like a piece of trash that was finally being cleared from his path. Later, in the hospital, he didn't even offer an apology. Instead, he raised his hand to strike me, threatening to finish what the fire started if I dared to speak a word about his cowardice. His stepsister laughed, trying to pour scalding coffee on my face while calling me a pathetic loser who should have stayed in the warehouse. I sat there, cowering and shaking like a broken girl, letting them believe they had won. I watched their cruelty with wide, watery eyes, wondering how they could be so blind to the monster they were provoking. What Preston didn't know was that the entire kidnapping was a performance I had choreographed myself, and every second of his betrayal was recorded in 4K. Now, I've successfully moved into the manor of the real king-his uncle, Francesco Lancaster. He thinks he's rescued a wounded bird, but he's actually invited a world-class predator into his home. The game is no longer about survival; it's about total destruction.