195 Book(s) Related to christine yeh

At a three-day yacht party, my suppressants went missing.

Without them, my heat—that humiliating, consuming need my body couldn't control—hit me like a sledgehammer.

Worse—as I stumbled out of the bathroom, I collided with him.

Victor Sterling. My father's best friend. My boss. The one man I had no business fantasizing about every night when I touched myself.

This man, infamous for never touching women and his ice-cold control, never came to parties like this. Yet here he was.

And the worst part? Thanks to the storm, I'm trapped in a room with him tonight.

A year ago, Sophia was recalled from overseas medical school. Her father announced she must marry Ethan Sullivan, head of the Sullivan crime family, to save their bankruptcy.

Ethan Sullivan—uncrowned king of New York's underworld, cold-blooded killer. Complete opposite of her life-saving profession.

She fought desperately—humiliated him at their engagement, sabotaged business meetings, even escaped at midnight. Ethan never got angry, just quietly cleaned up, growing more gentle and devoted.

Until rival families shot at them. He shielded her with his body, blood soaking his white shirt, still comforting her: "It's okay. I'm here."

Sophia fell completely.

"I'll marry you," she told him in his hospital bed, "but tell me—do you really love me?"

Ethan nodded without hesitation: "I love you. You're the first and only one."

After marriage, Sophia enjoyed sweet life as a mafia wife. Until she learned Ethan's "sister" Isabella had leukemia. When her bone marrow matched, she donated without hesitation, thinking this proved their love.

Until tonight's party. A drunk lieutenant asked: "Boss, what's your biggest regret in life?"

Ethan was silent for a long moment: "Giving up the woman I loved."

When my mother-in-law and I went undercover on our own yacht, a woman in a bikini pointed at us and screamed, "Broke trash!"

She ordered the bodyguards to throw us into the sea.

"This is the VIP section! You freeloading scum snuck on board for free food and drinks—get lost!"

She pinched her nose, looking at my mother-in-law and me with complete disgust.

I said coldly, "This is a public area. We have the right to be here."

"Public area?" She burst into shrill laughter, dripping with arrogance. "Do you even know whose yacht this is? My boyfriend's! The most powerful man in this city!"

Victoria and I exchanged confused looks—this yacht, the Poseidon, was clearly being managed by my husband Alexander.

When did he become someone else's boyfriend?!

Five years ago, on my wedding day, my fiancé Vincent fucked my best friend in the bridal suite.

Five years later, I returned to New York with my husband—the most powerful Mafia boss in Naples. At Atelier Milano, my former best friend Bianca circled my custom gown like a vulture, pestering the staff about meeting the legendary Mrs. Salvatore.

She had no idea the woman she pitied as a pathetic nobody was the very person she was dying to impress.

Because of his grandfather's dying wish, Supreme Court Chief Justice Garrick Vance—the most powerful beast-shifter in the city—was forced to marry me, a human court clerk who had secretly loved him for years.

For six years we pretended to be strangers at work while he remained ice-cold toward me and our daughter Wren at home. When his celebrity ex-girlfriend Seraphina returned from overseas, I watched him come alive for another woman—attending her parties, rushing to her side at midnight.

Meanwhile, our five-year-old daughter waited every night for a father who never came home.

The day Wren nearly died from his careless gift, I finally signed the mate bond dissolution papers.

This time, he's lost us forever.

A year ago, my ex abandoned me when I was broke and buried in debt, choosing the Russo family heiress instead.

On the day of his engagement party, he sent me a vicious text: "Wear a wedding dress to Plaza Hotel. Changed my mind. You're marrying me."

I showed up in white.

Luca and his crew waited at the entrance, ready to watch me humiliate myself.

He thought this was my degradation.

But what he didn't know was—I was getting married.

Just not to him.

To Dante Valentino—the most dangerous man in this godforsaken city.

I hid in shadows for six years while my vampire husband played duke with his mistress.

Lucian kept our marriage secret, called our daughter "the half-blood bastard," and rushed to comfort Seraphina's twisted ankle while five-year-old Vanessa nearly died from silver poisoning.

His precious lover had "gifted" my child deadly perfume. While I held my convulsing daughter, he was cutting cake with his real family.

So I handed him divorce papers during his next dramatic rescue mission. Fool signed without reading—too busy playing hero to notice he just legally abandoned his wife and child.

Now the mighty vampire Duke burns under holy sunlight, chasing us to territories his undead flesh can't survive.

Begging on scorched pavement for a second chance he'll never get.

Three years ago, my best friend Juliana Pierce was raped and jumped from a twelve-story building. I was there. I saw everything. I know exactly who did it.

Alexander Knight—Juliana's boyfriend, brilliant scientist, the man I've secretly loved for seven years—has spent every moment since hunting for answers. He believes I'm shielding a predator. He's dedicated his life to making mine hell.

Now I'm dying of ALS, and Alexander's dragged my broken body onto his "Memory Judgment Stage" for the world to see. His new technology can rip memories straight from my brain and broadcast them as holograms.

"Tell them who killed Juliana," he shouted.

I refuse. So he cranks up the machine, letting the neural probes tear through my dying brain. My hand shatters. My body convulses. But I won't break.

Until the memories start bleeding out anyway.

And when Alexander sees the rapist's face—Completely loses his mind.

At the Academy's Beast Hunt Competition, I killed a high-tier Shadow Wraith and carved out its core.

My sister Seraphine stole it and claimed first place.

That core eased the brutal dragon prince Draven's chronic migraines. He demanded to marry the mage who presented it.

My fiancé Kelvin soul-bound himself to Seraphine overnight to "save" her. Done deal.

Someone had to fulfill the dragon marriage contract. That someone was me.

Seraphine draped herself over Kelvin, smirking. "Sister, your fiancé's MINE now. Draven arrives in three days—better find some random dragon to marry, or he'll tear you apart."

I looked at her smug face and smiled slowly.

"What makes you think I won't marry him?"

Three years ago, I nearly died giving birth to my son.

My husband Elias wasn't by my side—he was outside, ready to rip my baby from my arms and hand him to his dead brother's widow.

"We owe her this."

As I screamed and bled, Elias made his decree: "Aria stays away from the boy. She comes near him, she gets the silver whip."

They gave my son to Vivienne. I wasn't even allowed to see his face.

For three years, I tried everything to reach him.

Scaled walls—got twenty-three scars across my back. Snuck in as a maid—starved for seven days. Crashed his third birthday—thrown in ice water until I couldn't feel my legs.

Every time, worse punishment. Elias started looking at me like I'd lost my mind.

Then yesterday, fire ripped through the house. Flames swallowed the nursery.

Everyone screamed, including Vivienne—but she didn't move.

Only I ran in.

I pulled Asher out, barely breathing.

When he woke up, he shoved me away and clung to Vivienne, sobbing: "Mommy! She's here again! Make her GO! You said she'd leave if I was good!"

Three years of lies had erased me completely.

I dropped to my knees, voice breaking: "Call me 'Mom' just once. Then I'll disappear forever."

The day I went into labor, my husband threw me into Dragon's Pyre.

Draven was the Dragon King. I was carrying his child. Should've been the happiest day of our lives. Instead, it became hell.

Why? His dead brother Kael's widow, Seraphina, was about to pop too. And Ashwing law was crystal clear: first male heir takes the throne.

Our due dates? One day apart.

So he picked her over me. Because apparently, I OWED them.

Dragon's Pyre—where they roast criminals alive with dragonflame. Hot enough to turn flesh to ash in seconds. But that wasn't enough for them. They shoved some potion down my throat that would keep my body from going into labor, even though my baby was clawing to get OUT.

I was curled up on that scorching stone slab, feeling my child die inside me.

All because I'd been stupid enough to fall in love with him.

Curfew night. Storm-black sky. My werewolf husband racing his red fox mistress through the no-fly zone like it's a goddamn game.

Ivy's wasted, craving adrenaline. She banks hard into my son's flight path.

Impact. Explosion. Metal rain.

Silas cradles his sobbing side piece while my boy's helicopter spirals into hell:

"Easy, sweetheart. You're breathing, that's what counts. Little punk got himself killed being stupid—not our problem."

Hours later, after they've hosed the wreckage off the runway:

"Roxanne? Your mother and son are ash. Come identify the remains."

I'm ready to burn the world down when my phone lights up:

Mom! Me and Grandma are at the underground fights. Holy shit, what exploded out there? Some poor bastard just got roasted!

They never flew.

So whose charred corpses are cooling in the morgue?

The night before our engagement party, my fiancé gifted me a million-dollar yacht—with another woman's name carved on the hull.

Not mine. "Serena"—his first love, the one who got away.

Five years of patience. Five years of sacrifice. And this is what I get?

"Stop overreacting," Austin said without a hint of shame. "She's severely depressed. I'm just trying to comfort her."

Comfort her? What about me?

When Serena tried on what should've been my wedding dress, when Austin demanded I "be the bigger person" yet again—I finally snapped.

I threw the engagement ring. It cracked against his face.

Austin's hand shot up in fury.

The door exploded open.

Julian Cross—New York's most dangerous billionaire—stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm.

"You dare lay a hand on my woman?"

My fiancé was going to humiliate me at our own wedding.

I know because I heard him think it.

I'm Isabella Rossi — mafia heiress, future bride to Lorenzo Falcone, the golden boy of New York's underworld. Our marriage was supposed to unite two empires.

I also have a secret. I can read minds. But only when people want to use me, hurt me, or destroy me.

Lorenzo's thoughts had been silent for three years. I thought that meant he loved me.

The night before the wedding, I finally heard him. The mistress he'd planted in the crowd. The fake pregnancy reveal. The plan to humiliate me at the altar so he could play the victim — and steal my family's power in the chaos.

"We promised each other ten PM calls every single night, no matter what was happening in our lives."

That promise used to mean everything to Eric, until it became nothing but busy tones and angry hang-ups while some other woman's perfume lingered on his shirts. The signs were all there, but I kept dialing anyway.

On cancer diagnosis day, I called him nine times and watched each call go straight to voicemail. When he finally answered the tenth, Stella was giggling in the background and all he said was, "Wren, seriously, stop being such a pain in the ass."

I choked down my bloody pills, stared at my engagement ring, and felt the strangest thing—absolutely nothing. The pain had just vanished.

I dropped the ring next to the signed papers and disappeared from his world.

I died on that operating table.

Arthur cut my five-year-old son Leo open and took his kidneys to save his bastard kid. Leo died. I died. They threw us out like garbage in the snow.

But I came back.

Back to that same rainy night. This time when Arthur tried stealing Leo's life-saving medicine for that bitch Lily, I slapped her face to pieces.

Outside the OR, Arthur shoved donation papers at me. I laughed and dialed a number I'd buried five years ago.

"Viktor? Your sister needs a favor. Bring your guns."

Explosions echoed through the hospital as my brother walked through the smoke.

"Nobody touches my nephew." His gun pressed against Arthur's forehead.

Arthur was scared shitless: "Jesus Christ... you're a Rockwell?!"

Too bad he figured it out too late.

To marry Damian Thorne, I almost died thirteen times.

Over three years, I planned twelve weddings. Each one left me bleeding.

The first time: a runaway truck crashed into the bridal boutique, crushing my right leg.

The second time: the church ceiling collapsed during rehearsal, leaving me broken and bloodied.

The third time: poisoned champagne at the reception nearly killed me as I foamed at the mouth.

...

Manhattan's elite whispered that I was cursed.

But I still loved him desperately.

Until the thirteenth time. That bloody rainy night, three thugs cornered me in an alley and stabbed me seven times—two to the chest, three to the abdomen, two to the back. I lay dying in my own blood, yet somehow survived.

After I healed, I accidentally overheard Damian talking to his assistant.

"Mr. Thorne, she almost really died this time... Maybe we should stop? If your grandfather finds out..."

"We can't stop," Damian said wearily. "Her father saved my life. Grandfather is hell-bent on me marrying her. But DAMN IT, I love Selena, not her."

"As long as she won't give up, these accidents have to continue until she gets the message and leaves on her own."

I trembled as I touched the bandages covering my wounds, tears falling silently.

All these years, the man I desperately loved had been meticulously planning my death.

But he didn't know that this time, he really wouldn't have to marry me anymore.

The more I cry, the hornier my sister gets.

Not a metaphor. Stone cold reality. Me and pop superstar Melody share a sick "emotional link" — the worse I suffer, the more she glows on stage.

My husband Christian discovered this secret.

Then he chose to betray me and crawl into bed with Melody.

Now every time Melody has a big show, Christian locks me in the basement, force-feeds me depression pills, and blasts horror movies 24/7 until I'm totally broken.

My despair gets fed straight into Melody's energy, making her perform like she's possessed.

Tonight they're fucking to celebrate her win. Tomorrow's concert means draining me dry again.

Enough!

If my pain is your sex drug, I'm cutting off the supply completely.

I'm going to the medical center to freeze myself for one full year.

Let you two horny bastards screw each other to death!

My parents and twin sister faked their own deaths so she could steal my college acceptance.

I believed it. Sobbed until I couldn't breathe when the cops showed me photos of the burnt yacht. Thought my words—"I hope you all die"—had somehow made it happen.

Two weeks later, I found my sister's backup Instagram: "Finally ditched the boring sister! Bahamas is paradise 🏖"

Something inside me snapped.

Wanna play dead? Stay dead.

I took their death certificates. Canceled their social security numbers. Drained every joint account—every last cent. Sold the house to John, the kind of guy even cops don't mess with.

One month later, they came home tanned and loaded with designer bags, expecting to find me broken on the streets.

What greeted them instead were cold gun barrels pointed at their heads.

I screamed as I burned to death while Julian ran past me to save Emma.

His first love. The girl he'd never let go of.

Eight years I spent being the understanding fiancée. The one who smiled through her endless crises. The one who died alone because he chose her panic over my screams.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Julian was leaning in, voice low—we needed to pause the ceremony. Emma was having a panic attack at the airport.

Last time, I'd said yes.

Not this time.

I looked at the man I'd died for and smiled.

Then I threw my bouquet at his face.

I turned and walked straight to the man who made Wall Street sweat. Julian's worst enemy.

Victor Kane.

"Go save her," I said. "I need a new groom."

I fell in love with my stepbrother.

He chose someone else.

So I did what any smart wolf would do—I disappeared into the most brutal academy in the North, where weakness means death and emotions are a luxury I couldn't afford.

Four years later, he's on his knees outside my door, begging me to come back.

"Sia, please. I made a mistake. I need you—"

But before I can answer, a hand fists in my hair from behind. The new Alpha pins me against the wall, his cock already hard against my ass.

"You're not going anywhere," Kaelan growls, his fingers sliding between my thighs. "This pussy belongs to me now."

Cain's still begging outside.

And I'm coming apart under Kaelan's hands, realizing too late—

I never escaped anything. I just traded one obsession for another.

When I called my husband with trembling hands, clutching my cancer diagnosis, all I heard was his sweet laughter with his young, hot influencer girlfriend. Ten years of marriage, and when I needed him most, he chose betrayal.

In divorce court, I was painted as the "crazy ex-wife" while the entire internet mocked me. Everyone took their side. No one knew I was fighting for my life.

Until the day he finally learned the truth.

Ten years ago, eight-year-old him nearly died under wolf claws trying to save me. Ten years later, when I gathered the courage to return to this town, that little hero had become a dangerous man.

"We're strangers, remember?" The eyes that used to be gentle only for me now looked at me with cold indifference.

But why does he hold me tight every time I'm in trouble? Why is his skin burning hot and his muscles hard like iron? Why do I tremble when his breath hits my neck?

When blood scented the rainy night and red-eyed beasts showed their fangs, I discovered the truth—my childhood sweetheart Logan was no longer human.

After rebirth, I switched wedding engagements with my sister Maya.

In my past life, she was forced to marry the West's most ruthless Alpha—Zane Blackwood. Three years. He never touched her. His "sister" Sienna stole the Luna's position, power, dignity. Maya became a joke. No mark, no status. She froze to death on a snowy night, not even left with a complete body.

And me? Married to someone I didn't love, drifting through life in a daze. When I woke up, Maya was dead.

Then I died trying to avenge her.

After rebirth, I kicked down the door and snatched the engagement: "This time, I'm going."

Rode my bike sixteen hours straight. Got ambushed on the road—cracked skulls with a wrench. Covered in engine oil and blood, I crashed into the Black Moon engagement party.

Sienna screamed: "Psycho!"

Damn right.

I grabbed that stone-faced Alpha, ignoring his death glare, and bit into his neck in front of everyone.

"Listen up," I licked the blood from my lips, "I'm your Luna now. And if that bitch messes with me—"

I leaned close to his ear:

"You're dead first."

Seven years ago, he gave me 52 love letters, promising to prove his love through each of the 52 weeks of a year.

Seven years later, I burned them one by one—each betrayal claiming another letter.

Layla thought she had married her fairy tale—the coffee-stained graduate student working late nights in the lab, the tender man who wrote her love letters every single day. She used her mother's inheritance to fund his education, stayed by his side through countless sleepless nights, even sacrificed her own Harvard opportunity for his dreams.

But everything changed when Mia appeared—young, beautiful, and brilliant.

The public humiliation, the ruthless betrayal, the cold calculation... With each heartbreak, she burned another letter he had written with his own hand. From 52 to 51, from hope to despair, from deep love to complete devastation.

When the last love letter turned to ash, the man finally realized—he had lost her completely.

I was supposed to be the avenger who would kill Vincenzo Romano, head of the Romano family, to settle the blood debt for my deceased lover Matteo. But I never expected to suffer a severe head injury at the crucial moment, losing my memory completely.

When I woke up, this "enemy" told me he was my fiancé and showered me with tender love and devotion during my amnesiac state.

But when my memory returned, the truth cut through my heart like a blade—I had actually fallen in love with the man who murdered my beloved! Even more terrifying, I was carrying his child in my womb...

I spent twenty years being invisible. Twenty years making his favorite meals, raising his daughter, loving his family like my own.

On our anniversary, I baked a cake for six hours. He came home and ripped diamond earrings from my ears—they were for his mistress, not me.

My daughter rolled her eyes: "I wish Victoria was my mom."

My five-year-old grandson looked at me with disgust: "You're old and ugly. We want Victoria!"

So I filed for divorce, packed my bags, and called my father—the same father who stands on palace steps, waiting for his daughter to come home.

My ex-husband thought he married a nobody. He's about to discover he threw away a princess.

And when he finally figures out who I really am? It'll be far too late.

I'm Riley. Orphan. Motorcycle mechanic. And the biggest fool in Texas.

For ten years, I thought oil tycoon Colt loved me. His adopted daughter by day, his woman by night. I actually believed his whispered promises in the dark.

Then I watched him announce his engagement to someone else.

"Your father saved my life. You're my responsibility," he said when I confronted him. Like I was some charity case. Like everything between us meant nothing.

I was never his girlfriend. I was his guilt.

But here's the thing—I never asked to be anyone's debt.

So I'm packing my tools, starting my bike, and getting the hell out of here.

Eight years ago, I was forced to marry Sicily's most dangerous man.

Louis De Santis, heir to the Santis crime family, decided he wanted me. Right in front of me, he brutally tortured and killed my fiancé Alessandro, then dumped the body in the ocean for the sharks. He used Alessandro's blood to write threats on the wall to my parents—I had no choice but to walk into that fortress he called home.

Louis was obsessed with me to the point of madness. He took bullets for me during family wars, got down on his knees and begged the family elders when they questioned his choice. Under that twisted kind of love, I gradually fell for him and gave him a son—Marco.

For five years, I thought I'd found happiness.

Until year eight, when the Corleone family sent their "peace offering"—Angelina Corleone. This innocent-looking woman effortlessly stole Louis's heart. He had the nerve to announce: "You two are going to get along."

I couldn't stand the betrayal, so I secretly reached out to other families to try getting rid of Angelina.

I got caught.

In his rage, Louis strung up 5-year-old Marco above the blast furnace at the steel mill.

"NO! Please! He's just a child!" I rushed toward Louis frantically, but his men held me back.

Molten steel roared inside the furnace at 2912°F. Scorching heat blasted upward as little Marco dangled just ten feet above the flames.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Mommy! Help me! It's so hot! So hot!" Marco screamed in terror.

"Put him down! Please!" I fell to my knees, begging desperately, "Kill me! Kill me instead! Don't hurt Marco!"

"Nod and let her stay, and I'll let him down." Louis coldly began counting down: "TEN!"

I watched Marco's little body writhing in agony from the heat.

"NINE!"

Sweat and tears blurred my vision.

"EIGHT!"

"I agree! I AGREE!" I broke down screaming, "She can stay! Please let Marco down!"

Louis smiled with satisfaction and stopped counting, about to signal his men.

Then—

"SNAP!"

The rope suddenly broke!

"NOOO—!"

Time seemed to freeze. I watched helplessly as Marco's tiny body plummeted.

"THUD!"

He fell into the furnace.

In an instant, he was gone.

I completely shattered, blood spurting from my mouth as I collapsed.

When I opened my eyes again, I'd gone back to the day Louis first brought Angelina home.

This time, I'm going to make him pay!

I gave my Alpha fiancé to my stepsister.

My mother's face lit up. "You're giving Damon to Maya? Don't come crying later, Kira. That man is the most powerful Alpha alive."

I won't. Never again.

Last life, I married him. Suffocated for three years.

He wanted a perfect Luna. I showed up to the full moon gala in a mini skirt. The elite ladies circled in—*"Shameless. Like a bitch in heat."* Damon walked over, draped his jacket over my shoulders.

I thought he was protecting me.

"Must you embarrass me like this?" His voice cut like ice. "Every damn time."

That's when I knew: he loved the perfect Luna. Not me.

Then came the conservative gowns, endless etiquette training, and every time I fought back—*"Pack law, Kira. Obey."*

Until the flames took me, I swore: If I ever got another chance, I would never marry that man.

I woke the night before our engagement and pushed the contract away. "Let Maya be his perfect Luna. I just want my freedom."

But I didn't expect—

When Damon discovered the switch, the cold Alpha completely lost it.

I used to think I was the luckiest woman in the world.

Married to my first love, Matteo Rossi—mafia boss—with an adorable son.

Until that afternoon. Luca was running a fever, whining for cake from that shop across town—a four-hour round trip.

I hesitated.

Matteo immediately chimed in: "Go ahead, babe. Don't worry, I got him."

I grabbed the car keys and turned. Before leaving, I glanced back—he was kneeling beside Luca's bed, his large hand gently stroking our son's burning forehead.

What a perfect fucking picture.

Until I heard that GODDAMN surveillance recording.

I am the pampered Princess of the Carpenter crime family, a girl whose three fiancés once leveled a city block just to retrieve her lost diamond.

But next to Avery—a battle-hardened medic who showed up with her kid and could dig out bullets without blinking—my "spoiled nature" suddenly became such an exhausting joke that Jackson and Rhys simply walked out on me.

Gabriel was the only one who didn't. He was my safe haven, kissing my forehead and promising, "They’re fools. They don't appreciate you."

I believed him. Until I looked out the window.

My proud, untouchable Gabriel was down on one knee in the dirt, humbly wiping the mud off Avery’s high heels.

I didn't scream. I didn't throw a fit. I just turned around, walked straight into my father's study, and looked the Godfather in the eye.

"Dad," I said. "That marriage alliance with the West Coast 'Butcher' family next month. I'll do it."

My husband bought a necklace for the woman who killed my mother.

When I saw my foster sister Rebecca Rebecca wearing that emerald necklace with Aaron at the party, I knew history would repeat itself. Seven years ago, my mother lost everything the same way—her husband, her dignity, and finally her life.

I wouldn't follow in her footsteps.

So after slapping Rebecca across the face, I told everyone I was divorcing him and walked out with my suitcase.

Rebecca thought she'd won again. Aaron thought I was just being hysterical.

Neither of them saw it coming—

This time, I'd make them pay.

Twenty-five years I cooked, cleaned, and worshipped my husband David.

Then I found the Hawaii tickets on his phone. For him and his secretary Lily.

"You're just a free maid, Helen," David laughed when I confronted him. "Lily's young, smart, useful. You? You're nothing."

My son Luke not only covered for his affair but high-fived him in celebration. "Finally, Dad! Mom's so embarrassing. Lily's way cooler, and she bought me those limited edition Jordans!"

They wanted me gone? Done. I signed the divorce papers, walked away with nothing.

Sitting in my crappy Honda, broke and homeless at fifty, I checked my phone.

Lottery notification: "Winner! $150 million!"

I stared at those zeros and started laughing like a maniac.

Time to destroy them both.

Born into the most powerful mafia family in the city, I've had seven bodyguards since I was ten years old.

Seven heirs from allied families. Seven men trained to protect me. Seven potential husbands.

On my eighteenth birthday, I had to pick one and marry him.

Everyone knew I'd choose Dante Lucchese. How could I not? I'd been stupidly in love with that arrogant bastard since I was seven.

But I'll never choose him again.

Because I've already lived through what happens when I do.

The wedding. The explosion. Flames devouring my dress as I clawed at Dante's sleeve, begging him to help me.

He ripped his arm away.

And ran straight to Isabella—the pathetic little charity case my family took in, who always played the victim so perfectly.

"Serena, stop being selfish!" he shouted over the roar of the fire. "Isabella's hurt worse than you! I have to save her first!"

I screamed his name as he disappeared into the smoke with her in his arms.

The last thing I heard was Isabella crying. The last thing I felt was my skin burning.

Then—nothing.

Until I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the calendar on my bedroom wall.

Six months before the wedding.

The morning my father called me into his study to tell me it was time to choose.

This time, I crossed Dante's name off the list first.

This time, I chose Enzo Corleone—the quiet one who never said much, who everyone underestimated.

The one who died trying to pull me out of that fire.

So why the hell is Dante on his knees at my wedding to Enzo, tears streaming down his face, begging me to marry him instead?

I nearly died in the freezing ocean at my adopted sister Jane's birthday party.

When the yacht started tilting and alarms shrieked through the corridors, Dad grabbed Jane and bolted for the deck without looking back. Mom clutched Jane's ragdoll cat in her arms, following close behind under the bodyguards' protection.

They saved the cat.

But left their biological daughter to drown.

Three days later, I staggered home covered in wounds. The living room was decorated with scented candles and a three-tier birthday cake. Light piano music mingled with laughter—they were throwing Jane a makeup birthday party, celebrating how "the whole family" survived the disaster.

I hid my identity and spent five years married to Caelen—a man who claimed to be nothing but a wandering knight.

The day I found out I was pregnant, he showed up with his Black Obsidian Dragon Riders.

Turns out he commanded the Empire's most elite aerial legion.

Oh, and he was getting married. Just not to me.

"I'm marrying Victoria Ashford. The Cabinet Chancellor's daughter. We're equals in power and status, and... we've already slept together."

He promised to set me up with an estate, swore the child and I would never want for anything.

"So I'm supposed to hide in the shadows forever?"

Caelen wouldn't meet my eyes. "She'll make the perfect Commander's wife. Stay out of her way, and I can give you everything—except my name."

My throat burned. Five years of love, and this was all I meant to him.

What he didn't know: I'm Princess Seraphina Aurelian, Crown Princess of the Empire.

And there's no way in hell I'm becoming his dirty little secret.

Julian and I played house for five years—minus the actual marriage certificate. Because he bailed on me at the registry office twelve times. All for Mia, some intern.

First time: Mia screwed up her pitch.

Sixth time: Mia had the flu.

Twelfth time: Mia's ex showed up at our architecture firm throwing punches. Julian had to play knight in shining armor. I got knocked into a desk, cracked my head open—he didn't spare me a glance before whisking her off to the ER.

Before, I would've lost it. Screamed. Sobbed. Begged him to tell me who the hell he was actually planning to marry. And every single time, Julian would sigh and say, "Chloe, really? She's just an intern. Practically a child."

This time, all I said was: "Go ahead."

Then I turned around and took that job overseas.

When his thirteenth text came through—yet another registry office reschedule—I was already at the gate for my London flight.

This time? I'm choosing me.

"Arthur, please! Send someone to Black Forest—Noah's been taken by rogue shifters! They'll kill him!" I hit the marble floor hard, blood trickling from my forehead.

My mate, the most feared enforcer in this territory, couldn't be bothered. He was too busy looking for his lover's precious pet.

"Eve, you're sick—lying about our kid to get attention?" He gestured dismissively. "Throw her in the cells until she stops this bullshit."

He locked me up all night.

Next morning, he let me out, figuring I'd gotten the message.

He didn't know that thirty minutes ago, the gate guards brought a blood-soaked box.

Our son's head was inside.

My sister Chiara and I had fought over Matteo for more than a decade.

In my first life, I got my wish and married him. Everyone said he adored me, trusting me to manage the entire Salvatore family's books and money laundering operations. I worked myself to death, literally dying from exhaustion. On my deathbed, he coldly told me the truth: "I never loved you. You're the one who begged to marry me."

In my second life, I let Chiara have her chance. She bore him four children in five years, trying desperately to earn his love, only to die in childbirth. I rushed to her bedside for her final moments, and she cried out to me: "Matteo doesn't love me either... there's another woman in his heart..."

When I opened my eyes again, it was my third life.

This time, we would NOT make the same mistakes.

My son Emery scored a perfect SAT and got early admission to MIT Physics. Eighteen years old. His future was limitless.

My billionaire husband Reid's assistant—his mistress in everything but name—suggested Emery attend some garbage local business school instead. Inherit the empire. Fall in line.

Emery said no. Reid exploded.

He locked my son in the lumber yard and ordered him to split five tons of oak. "No water until he's done. That'll teach him respect."

The sun was brutal. My son's asthma attacked. I knelt before Reid's mistress and begged for his inhaler while Reid crushed my right hand—my surgeon's hand.

I got the inhaler and ran back as fast as I could.

But I was too late. My son was already dead.

My parents ruined my wedding six times.

Every single time, right at the moment the ring was about to slip onto my finger—the first time, Mom knocked over the champagne tower. The second time, Dad drove his pickup truck straight through the floral arch... Either the groom wasn't good enough, or the wedding was too cheap. Each time was more batshit crazy than the last. The sixth time, Mom even held a knife to her own throat, threatening me not to put on the ring.

It made no sense to me—why push me to get married while doing everything to stop me from wearing that ring?

So for the seventh wedding, I chose a small chapel in a remote mountain area, went completely off-grid, dead certain they'd never track me down.

Just as Ethan was about to slide the ring onto my finger—

The chapel doors burst open.

Two figures stumbled in, gasping for air, faces streaked with tears.

My parents.

Selene thought she'd found true love with Alexander Morrison. She was WRONG—she was just a stand-in for Jessa, the woman he really wanted.

When Alexander and his twin brother Adrian's yacht exploded in the Gulf of Mexico, Alexander came home with Adrian's ashes, claiming to BE Adrian. His goal? To steal Adrian's wife Jessa—the woman he'd always loved.

Selene knew instantly he was lying, but when she told everyone, no one believed her. Alexander called her "crazy from trauma" and locked her away in a mental facility. She was PREGNANT.

They drugged her daily. After she gave birth, Alexander told her the baby died. She broke completely.

Three years later, dying in that white hell, Selene heard Alexander's final confession:

"I always loved Jessa. Adrian just got to her first. YOU? You were just her replacement."

"The kid's alive. I gave him to Jessa. He calls her Mom now."

Selene died full of rage—then woke up reborn, back to the moment Alexander walked in with that urn.

This time, she'd expose his lies and make him PAY.

To marry me, my fiancé Sebastian Knight said he wanted his childhood friend Isabella to be our surrogate.

I agreed. Because I couldn't have children, and the Knight family desperately needed an heir.

After Isabella "successfully" got pregnant, Sebastian became a completely different person. He started making her nutritious meals, accompanying her to prenatal appointments, even memorizing every food she disliked.

Yet he couldn't even remember my birthday.

Two weeks before our wedding, I received an anonymous email.

The video on the screen made me understand everything in an instant—Sebastian and Isabella were in bed together.

So this was his "surrogacy plan."

I, his fiancée, was just the last fool to find out.

I canceled all the wedding arrangements, tore up the wedding dress, and threw away the ring.

On our original wedding day, Isabella gave birth to his son in the delivery room, while I was already sitting in first class on a flight abroad.

Sebastian, this time I'M the one leaving YOU.

My water broke on the coldest night of winter.

My fated mate, Alpha Cassian, wrapped silver chains around my wrists and threw me into a freezing dungeon.

"Lucian's son must be born first," he snarled, forcing wolfsbane down my throat as I screamed through contractions.

Above me, his sister-in-law Sienna rested in silk sheets, surrounded by healers and warmth. She was carrying his dead brother's heir—the future of the pack. And I? I was nothing. Just the Omega he'd been forced to mark, the one his pack blamed for Lucian's death.

As silver burned through my skin and ice water rose past my chest, I felt our baby's heartbeat flutter. Then slow.

"Please," I begged. "Our child—"

"You owe him this," Cassian said coldly.

When the chains finally came off, he'd lost us both for good.

In my last life, Natalie insisted on stepping out of the car to feed a wild grizzly.

I tried to stop her. Daniel shoved me into the bear's path instead — to save her.

The grizzly's teeth tore through my throat. My blood sprayed hot across the snow.

And there was Daniel, my boyfriend of three years, holding Natalie close. Not a scratch on her.

He even raised his phone to film me being ripped apart, then posted it on TikTok with the caption: "She gave her life to protect us." The donations poured in for weeks.

Now my eyes are open again. Natalie's pushing the car door open, sandwich in hand, ready to hand-feed the cubs.

This time, I don't scream. I don't stop her.

I just watch her lean halfway out the door — and lock it behind her.

My best friend murdered me.

Before the team tryouts, Mia handed me a pink energy drink. I didn't know it was laced with sleeping pills.

Thirty feet in the air. Top of the pyramid. My body went limp, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings.

I can still hear my bones shattering.

Mia threw herself into my fiancé Carter's arms, sobbing: "Oh God, I grabbed the wrong bottle! The vitamins and sleeping pills got mixed up! Vic will forgive me, right?"

Carter held her tight, not even glancing at me lying in a pool of blood. "Stop crying. It was just an accident."

An accident? My spine snapped in three places.

He lied to the police, saying I was under too much stress and took the pills myself. Packaged my death as the suicide of someone who couldn't handle the pressure.

When I died, the whole school treated me like a joke.

But now I'd opened my eyes. I was back on that day.

He hung up on me while the killer's knife plunged into my body.

Seventeen seconds. That was our final call after seven years of marriage.

He was at the hospital with my "depressed" stepsister, convinced I was just being dramatic again. He didn't even let me finish.

I died that rainy night, taking a secret with me he'll never know.

Three days later, my husband—the city's chief medical examiner—caught a brutal case: female victim, face destroyed by acid.

He worked the autopsy with his usual precision. Methodical. Clinical. Until the facial reconstruction software completed its rendering.

When he recognized my face on that screen, blood exploded from his mouth.

He hit the floor hard.

The werewolf world has one brutal rule: whoever can first produce a powerful Alpha heir gets to claim the throne and become the new Alpha King.

My sister Bella and I are daughters of the Red Moon Pack Alpha, born with the rare ability to bear Alpha-level offspring. This made countless Packs fight tooth and nail to claim us.

In my past life, I was fooled by Rex's handsome appearance—the Steel Fang heir. I married him and successfully bore him an Alpha bloodline pup, helping him ascend to the throne.

But fate played a deadly joke on me. Bella, consumed by jealousy after her own marriage failed, pushed me off a cliff during my postpartum weakness and took everything that was mine.

Now I've opened my eyes again, back at the mate selection ceremony. What shocked me was that Bella had also been reborn, and she'd already seduced Rex before I could.

But that's fine. My naive sister has no idea what kind of devil she's chosen.

On my due date, my husband Matteo locked me in an underground freezer at minus ten degrees.

The Torrino family's unbreakable rule: the first-born male inherits the entire mafia empire. My sister-in-law Jennifer and I were both pregnant, our due dates only one day apart. To ensure his brother's child was born first, Matteo made this insane decision.

"My brother and Jennifer's baby has to come first—this is what you owe them!" He ignored my desperate pleas and violent contractions, coldly shoving me into the freezer.

But that wasn't enough. They forcibly injected me with labor-delaying drugs. I curled up in agony on the freezing concrete floor, feeling my baby slowly slipping away, tears of despair streaming down my face.

My baby, Mommy is so sorry...