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Pregnant But Not accepted by the Alpha King


"My lord, several months have passed, and the young lady has not shown any signs of being pregnant?"

"How many times must I repeat myself not to question my decisions, Beta? She will bear a child because that's why I bought her, to have the rightful alpha heir. And when that child is born, the curse will be broken, and I can rid myself of the burden of having her in my castle, forever."

The moment I secretly heard these words, my heart broke. The King Logan didn't love me, and perhaps he never would. He only wanted the baby growing inside me and could take it from me without hesitation. Tears streamed down my face, and the pain of separating from Logan in that way was both dreadful and terrifying. But I couldn't go back now.

I descended through the castle walls, hiding in the shadows of the trees, and evading the few soldiers on patrol. I was alone now, just my baby and me, fleeing from the Cruel Alpha King.

After being sold by her stepfather to the Alpha King, Charlotte sees herself as a mere tool to bear him an heir, but her hopes are reignited when she discovers that he is her predestined mate.

However, that hope doesn't last long as the indifference of the Alpha King destroys her heart. In desperation, Charlotte sees only one option: to take control of her destiny for the first time in her life, not only to protect her future but also the future of the one who will become the Alpha of the Lunarhaven wolf pack, even if it means being apart from her mate. What she doesn't know is that Logan, the ruthless Alpha King, is capable of anything to obtain what he desires.

“I own hell, little human.”
“And now, I own you. You’re not a werewolf, but you’re mine… my mate.”
He growled, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
Karen Miller, a human girl, thought escaping her drug-dealing boyfriend would finally give her a chance at freedom. But her flight leads her straight into the clutches of the Bloodfang Pack, a brutal clan of werewolves she never knew existed.
Trapped in their world, Karen is forcefully marked and claimed by the ruthless Alpha, Jaden, destined to serve as his breeder. Stripped of her choices and thrust into a nightmare of dominance and survival, she must navigate a savage new reality where mercy doesn’t exist.
As dangerous secrets unravel and forbidden emotions begin to stir, Karen faces an impossible question: will she remain the Alpha’s prisoner, or become the only one who can tame the beast within him?
Perfect for fans of The Captive Mate and Alpha’s Claim, this dark werewolf romance blends danger, obsession, and a love born from power and pain.

I died the night before my wedding, betrayed by the man I loved and the friend I trusted more than anyone. I thought death would be the end.
Instead, I woke up in another woman’s body. The same queen that ordered my death. And the mother of two pups who now look at me like I am their whole world.

But the cruelest twist is Alpha King Lucien Silver. The man who once loved the girl I used to be… and now stands beside me as my husband without knowing who I am. And with every passing day, I feel myself falling for him all over again.
But this second life is not a gift. Every time I fail, time drags me back to the beginning. I remember every betrayal, every death. And with each rebirth, my soul cracks a little more.

This is my last chance to change fate. If I die again, I will disappear forever.

"He rejected her like she was nothing. He didn't know she was everything."

Seraphina Frost was the quiet girl. The weak one. The rejected mate. When Kaston Grey looked her in the eyes and said "I reject you as my mate and my Luna," he didn't flinch. He chose Violet Rosso instead — a socialite with a million followers and a ruthless agenda.

So Seraphina left. She hid her true Alpha scent under wolfsbane every morning, traded her family crest for a law degree, and built a quiet life in Port Sterling. Nobody knew she was the sole heiress to the Frostmoon Clan. Nobody knew about the fifty billion in assets, the private armies, or the seat on the Apex Directorate. Nobody knew she was the most powerful Alpha on the continent.

Nobody except Cassius Aetheris — the youngest Chairman in Directorate history — who had been checking into the Port Sterling penthouse every year without fail, watching over her from a distance, waiting. Now the Blood Moon Summit is three months away. Frostmoon Clan has no Alpha heir on record. Her father's message is short: come home or lose everything her mother built.

Seraphina goes back to Blackridge County. Not as the girl who faded into walls. As an attorney, a clan heir, and an Apex-level Alpha who is done being underestimated. Kaston's pack is already falling apart. His money is gone. Violet has shown her true face. And the man who rejected her without blinking now wants her back.

Too late.

But Kaston was never the real threat. Someone has been quietly dismantling the Aetheris Clan from within — long before Seraphina came home. Talon Voss. A name spoken only in whispers. Kidnappings. Assassinations. A secret bloodline powerful enough to shatter the entire Directorate.

Seraphina, armed with her law degree, her mother's wolf-bone talisman, and three years of buried rage, is the only one positioned to stop him. Cassius spent years protecting her from a distance. Now it's her turn.

There's still the matter of the Moon-Silver Cuff — forged in blood, engraved in rune, commissioned by Cassius years ago with both their initials fused in silver. He never stopped waiting. She never stopped running. The mate bond never stopped burning.

The most dangerous person in any room is the one everyone wrote off. Seraphina Frost is done being written off.

Born to lead but denied her rightful place, the daughter of a slain Alpha is betrayed in the most brutal way. Stripped of her title because she bears the spirit of a Luna instead of an Alpha, she’s forced to watch her lover rise as Alpha—only to publicly humiliate and reject her, accusing her of treason in front of the entire pack and a council of visiting Alphas.

When hope flickers in the form of a second chance mate—a feared Alpha known for his cold heart—her world is shattered yet again by another cruel rejection. The pain is too much; her wolf vanishes, her soul breaks, and her life hangs by a thread.

Just when the executioner raises his weapon, the unexpected happens. The ruthless Alpha who had turned his back returns with chilling words: “Let her live. Death is too kind. She will suffer.”

Months pass, and what was once discarded becomes the object of desire. Now, Alphas wage war for the broken Luna they once overlooked. With her wolf gone and heart frozen, can she ever heal? Will the Moon Goddess grant her strength again—or love?

Dive into this gripping tale of betrayal, pain, power, and redemption.

"I, Alpha Zane of the Blue Pack, offer you, Bella my daughter , as a bride to the four alphas of the Red Moon pack," he declared, his words laced with venom. "In exchange, I demand my freedom and your mercy." The offer hung heavy in the air, a twisted bargain born of desperation and spite.

But as the alphas of the Red Moon pack grappled with the weight of Alpha Zane's proposition, Bella found herself thrust into a world of uncertainty and turmoil. With her fate now inextricably linked to the whims of her father and the demands of the alphas, she faced a choice that would define the course of her destiny.

Caught between duty and desire, Bella must navigate the treacherous waters of pack politics and personal ambition, all while grappling with the consequences of her father's betrayal. And as she embarks on a journey of self-discovery and redemption, she must confront the demons of her past and forge a path forward that is truly her own.

I'm Olivia. For months, I only dreamt of giving my virginity to my boyfriend and mate, Ethan. But after my sister wickedly drugged me, I ended up sleeping with a man I never knew.
"You have one month to find the man who defiled you, or be ready for the consequences." My father said with no ounce of sympathy for me.
I searched but never found the he-wolf, until I stumbled into the New Moon's Pack and met Alpha Mateo. He was cold, merciless, and terrifyingly familiar.
Now a contract ties me to him, and I have no other choice than to accept. But how could my strange one-night stand he-wolf turn out to be the savage and powerful Alpha Mateo?
With hate burning between us and a desire pulling us closer, will we remain enemies, or surrender to the bond fate chose for us?

"Tell me, who owns this dripping needy p***y?" he growled, driving her wild with his fingers, her legs shaking as the pleasure hit hard "Answer me, Lina!"
"You…" she cried ecstatically.
"Not good enough." He grunted, pushing her skirt higher and landing a stinging smack that made her gasp. "Say it like you mean it."
"You… you own every inch of it, Daddy. Please… please don't stop."
He's the alpha—dangerous, untouchable, and whispered to be gay because he's refused to take a Luna. Forced to go undercover as a professor at the prestigious college he owns, he never expected to be consumed by the fiery, irresistible new student who walked into his class. What he doesn't know is that she's on a mission—to kill him.
To her, he's the dangerously sexy professor whose touch left her aching for more after their first forbidden encounter. To him, she's the seductive temptress he can't get out of his mind—the one with the curves that drive him mad with lust.
But as their passion ignites into something uncontrollable, neither realizes the deadly secrets they're hiding are about to explode. Once their true identities are revealed, will it destroy them both, or fuel an even more dangerous desire?
But as their passion ignites into something uncontrollable, neither realizes the deadly secrets they’re hiding are about to explode. Once their true identities are revealed, will it destroy them both, or fuel an even more dangerous desire?

Henary married Alpha Almarjaf due to coercion from her family. Her father was the leader of the Witches. The Witches were indebted to the Wolf and decided to serve with Alpha Almarjaf's family. Alpha Almarjaf's parents asked Henary to marry and strengthen the Wolves because they knew Henary's strength was great and Henary was also very special because she was born to a pure-blood girl and born during the Red Moon.

Unfortunately, due to Alpha Almarjaf's stupidity, Henary was still in a state of purity and became the target of various groups, especially from Leondra, the biggest enemy of the Wolves who had been waiting for Henary's birth for a very long time. In the past she failed to get a pure-blooded girl, now Leondra will not give up and do everything possible to get Henary. If in the past she failed to get her mother, now Leondra decided to make the child of a pure-blooded girl hers.

No wolf. No pack. No problem.
Scarlet has two blades, a dying guardian, and exactly three days to convince the most powerful pack in the territory to help her. She doesn't plan on staying. She doesn't plan on the bond. She definitely doesn't plan on four alpha brothers — Liam, Ryan, Davis, and Henry — deciding that the wolfless girl who walked through their gate covered in blood is the only mate they'll ever want.
But something in her blood is waking up. Something old. Something that has been waiting longer than she's been alive.
The boundary between the living world and the Underworld is fraying. Scarlet is the only one who can fix it — Moon Lineage healer, Underworld Queen, and the last person who ever expected to be either. With four alphas at her back and a daughter who inherited her stubbornness, she's about to find out what she was always meant to be.
Scarlet's Claim is a reverse harem paranormal romance about a woman who survived everything and then chose something worth fighting for.

"Who would want a woman like Hazel?"
On the night before our wedding, my fiancé Randy said this in front of everyone.
I stood outside, listening silently before walking away.
Sure enough, at the wedding, he abandoned me to save my sister who was jumping from a building.
"The wedding continues!"
I said with a smile, turning to embrace my disabled husband.
Afterward, I did exactly as they wished, ensuring they would never be apart.
Half a month later, I looked at my ex-fiancé with contempt.
"Compared to my husband, are you even worth mentioning?"

Three years. He worshipped me by day and bedded her by night.
I saw everything. I felt everything—she made sure of that.
So on the night of his coronation, I severed our bond and walked away.
He bled. He knelt. He begged.
Too late.
When I wore white again, it wasn't for him.

In a suburban election season lit by police strobes and viral outrage, assistant district attorney Karen Hale is cast as the perfect villain when a little girl is found dead beside a swing set. As edited videos, staged grief, and buried secrets close in, Karen uncovers a chilling web of paternity, manipulation, and murder—where playgrounds, rain-slick streets, surveillance logs, and a child’s empty swing become the battleground of a dark domestic thriller.

In my past life, I replaced my runaway sister Beatrice and was forced to marry mob enforcer Rowan Sinclair.
She thought he was poor with no future, so she ran. My parents didn't even tell me before sending me in her place.
Rowan knew the truth. He carried it like shame, never truly seeing me—only cold stares and silent contempt. I spent years beside him like an unwanted ghost, carefully managing his world while he rose from despised smuggler to feared godfather.
Then his attitude began to change.
Just when I thought we might have a real future, Beatrice returned with tears and lies, claiming I'd stolen her place. Rowan believed her. My parents betrayed me. Everyone chose her.
When a rival family captured us both, guns to our heads, only one could survive.
Rowan pulled Beatrice into his arms and abandoned me without a glance.
They tortured me for three days. The baby in my womb died first. Its father never knew it existed.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back to that afternoon before it all began.

In a secluded modern villa, painter Iris Vale begins to suspect the pills hidden in her meals are stealing more than her sleep. As fragments of a buried night resurface—bleached kitchens, a locked basement, shattered glass on a staircase, and the shadow of her dead sister Nora—family protection curdles into psychological captivity. Dark, tense, and intimate, this is a memory-thriller of guilt, control, and the terror of facing what was done in the name of love.

In a modern city of flights, glass hotels, and surveillance footage, Nora—an artist still recovering from surgery—watches her marriage rot behind polished excuses. As she traces her husband’s affair through airport selfies, joint-account charges, voice recordings, and a staged fall on the stairs, humiliation hardens into precision. Cold, sharp, and deeply satisfying, this is a divorce reckoning lit by rain, evidence files, airport confrontations, and the moment a woman stops begging to be chosen.

In a decaying city apartment building, law-clerk Maya Carter is drawn to the sealed door of 5B—an address that should not exist, yet keeps receiving late-night deliveries and whispering back from the dark. Behind the rumors of a haunted unit lies a battered woman in hiding, and a chilling hunt led by men who weaponize authority, gaslight women living alone, and turn silence into a trap. Tense, claustrophobic, and razor-sharp, the story moves through dim hallways, yellow light under a door, bruised wrists, broken locks, and the fierce urgency of survival.

"I want to break off this engagement!" I stormed into his office, slamming the letter on his desk, my heart pounding with fury after being humiliated by his family's staff. Little did I know, the devastatingly handsome man staring back at me wasn't my fiancé at all—he was his uncle, Rex Sterling, who'd lied about being my betrothed to win me over.

What started as a forced arrangement exploded into a whirlwind of passion: lavish gifts, stolen kisses, and a secret wedding that made me Mrs. Sterling. But when the truth shattered our fairy tale at a family gathering—complete with a punch-throwing nephew and scandalized elite—I had to confront the beautiful lie that built our love.

After being reborn, the first thing my sister and I did was swap our grooms.
In our past life, my gentle sister Elara married Felix Hawthorne, the mafia godfather of Marconi City. Surrounded by a domineering sister-in-law and a scheming, manipulative other woman, she was slowly driven into a corner and died of a broken heart.
Meanwhile, I married the polite, illegitimate son of the Graves family. He was a perfect gentleman, but he just didn't love me. Our marriage lasted three years, and we were separated for two and a half of them.
Then one day, Elara and I woke up at the exact same moment—we had been reborn, back to the very morning we were supposed to sign our marriage agreements...

My six-year-old daughter Emily blurted, "I'm getting a new mommy!" while my son Jacob smirked.

"Oh my God, Nate—your sister? Pregnant with your kid? You sick bastard!" I screamed across the restaurant, my voice cracking like thunder as heads snapped around.

For eight years, I'd slaved like a nanny in our home—cooking, cleaning, raising Jacob and Emily—while he dismissed me as worthless. My own kids sneered, calling me lazy and saying I'd never measure up to their Aunt Chloe. Even his venomous mother Barbara spat insults, grinding me under her heel like dirt. Betrayed by them all, I finally snapped.

Little did they know, my mom's $100 million inheritance unlocked the second I divorced that cheat. From doormat wife to billionaire, I rose—exposing their lies, reclaiming my life.

Game over, asshole. Time to watch you beg.

I tricked my billionaire husband into signing divorce papers—he had no idea.

"Exam documents," I lied.

His ex-wife laughed. "Boring paperwork. Don't bother reading it."

He signed without even looking.

Three years of marriage. I thought he'd learn to love me. Ever since she came back, my dinners grew cold while I reheated them alone. I waited in our bed, night after night. I watched him drop everything and run to her with every phone call.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

That same day, I saw him at the hospital—holding her hand, asking about her baby.

I finally stopped waiting.

I left the estate at dawn. Left behind the jewelry, the designer clothes, the empty promises.

Then he showed up at my door.

"I know about the baby," his voice was raw. "I know about the accident. I know everything."

He looked at me like I was his entire world.

Three years too late? Or just in time?

Everyone says I’m crazy.
My husband, Adrien, is Ashmont College’s most esteemed professor—suave, composed, and highly logical. I, on the other hand, am an investigative journalist whose nerves are fried by looming deadlines and too much caffeine. Yet, I insist there’s a woman who shares my exact face, who crawls out of our bedroom mirror every night and slips into my husband’s bed.
Our security cameras always "happen" to glitch at the crucial moments. My son avoids me like I’m a monster, and my neighbors claim they cheerfully greeted "me" in the driveway a few days ago—even though I don't even own a vintage pink dress.
Adrien has started dropping phrases like "psych evaluation" and "sole custody." If I let this drag on any longer, he’s going to personally commit me to a psych ward.
So tonight, I lied about flying to Chicago. Instead, I’m hiding in my own study—waiting for that identical face to crawl out of the mirror one more time.

The day he proposed, Atticus knelt before me, holding the Hale family's heirloom necklace.
I thought I had finally survived the ordeal.
After eight years of unrequited love, being humiliated by his sister, nitpicked by his mother, and mocked by the city's socialites for being unworthy of the Hales... Until this very moment, when he personally fastened the heirloom around my neck. Everyone saw it. I, Clara, was finally accepted by the Hale family.
Tears in my eyes, I said yes, thinking it was the happiest moment of my life.
But just days after putting on that necklace, bizarre red rashes crawled up my neck. My pale skin rotted away piece by piece, and my internal organs went into irreversible failure.
The most absurd part? The exact same day I started rotting, his dying mother miraculously cured her terminal illness, and his sister's half-destroyed face was restored to flawless perfection.
Disfigured and barely looking human, I threw myself off the Harbour Bridge—
I opened my eyes, and I was back on the day of the proposal.

In a sleek design world split between polished appearances and buried cruelty, Mara Ellison has spent years trapped behind a voice no one wanted to hear. While her family rewrites her illness and her fiancé speaks over her in the name of love, stolen records, public humiliation, and old betrayals force her to reclaim her life. Quiet but cutting, this is a story of emotional abuse, identity theft, and hard-won selfhood—framed by rain-soaked streets, hospital corridors, cold glass conference rooms, and a woman finally stepping into the light with her own voice.

That night, I was dragged into a parking lot and beaten until my hands could never hold a scalpel again.

I thought it was random. Until I heard my own brother and fiancé talking—

"Those thugs went too far, but the result works out, doesn't it? This time, the award will go to Charlotte."

Charlotte. The "poor orphan" my family adopted.

For twelve years, she stole my papers, my opportunities, my glory. And the two men I trusted most handed her everything on a silver platter.

They called me spoiled. Selfish. Difficult.

They even believed I started the fire that killed our parents twelve years ago.

But here's the truth: Charlotte started that fire. I was the one who dragged them out.

They thanked the wrong sister. For twelve years.

Now they want me dead.

Fine. Let Penelope Ashworth die.

I died on the day I was supposed to marry Grayson.
Because my sister Delilah had her heart "broken," my family decided to bring her to our farm in Ashwood to heal through horseback riding. The wedding was postponed.
I lay in the stable at the Clarke family farm, dialing my mother's number with blood-covered fingers.
All she said was: "What kind of game are you playing now? You think if you act pitiful we'll come running? Vivienne, enough!"
My fiancé Grayson was even more brutal: "It's just a postponement, not a cancellation. If you can't handle that, then let's just call the whole thing off—I'll marry Delilah instead."
This was the last time they would disappoint me.
And the last time I would call for help.
I lay in my own pool of blood, already without breath. They thought I was just throwing a tantrum, hiding somewhere to sulk. They thought if they ignored me long enough, I'd come crawling back to apologize.
But they didn't know.
I was already dead.

The rain glistened over the harbor asphalt the night I meant to tell him I was pregnant — to lay out all my quiet hopes for our wedding and our future. That was the night I was stolen away.
I screamed for help from a city stitched with police tape and hollow warehouses, where every thread of trust had already frayed. The man who should have trusted me brushed my pleas aside.
As answers began to surface, what we once called love soured into guilt, consuming obsession, and cold, calculated cruelty. Blue gemstones glint amid burned‑away proof, storm‑lashed docks bear witness. And I am the voice they will never manage to bury.

They pulled my husband Beckett’s car out of the Avery River at four in the morning.
I was sitting in the reception area of the Ardenvale police station, having waited all night. Everyone thought I was just the pathetic wife—the one who had been humiliated at her mother-in-law’s birthday banquet, went home early, and panicked when her husband never returned.
No one knew that from the moment I dialed 911, this was exactly the news I had been waiting for.
He was dead. And I was the one who made it happen.

Everyone says I married the perfect husband—considerate, devoted, loving.
I thought I had happiness too, until my neighbor told me she'd seen "me" having sex with Declan multiple times over the summer, even against the floor-to-ceiling windows. But during those two months, I'd been with my son out of town the entire time.
I rushed home and heard 8-year-old Beckett on the phone, bragging to his father: "Dad, I got Mom out of the way for two whole months. Did you make up with your sweetheart? Where's my allowance?"
I pulled up the security footage and saw a woman wearing my nightgown, with my husband, in every corner of our home... I spent eight years building this family, and they betrayed me together.

My adopted sister, Cordelia, conspired with her biological mother to harvest my organs alive, yet she had the audacity to claim I paid thugs to rape her.
My biological parents didn't bother to ask for the truth. They cursed me, calling me a vicious bastard, and threatened to break my legs.
My fiancé, Caspian, coldly announced the cancellation of our engagement, declaring he would marry the very murderer who killed me.
I had been dead for exactly three days. No one cared. My body was rotting back in a moldy storage room.
Through it all, my soul was trapped in the manor, forced to witness this absurd farce.
But what they didn't expect was that when they finally learned of my death—
Everyone went completely insane.

My five-year-old son, Emrys, was poisoned by the deadly "Silver Eclipse." The only cure, Moonbloom Serum, had been seized entirely by my husband, Corvin, to save it for his nine-month-pregnant mistress, Melisande.
He froze all my bank accounts, forcing me to pawn the ring that symbolized my status as Luna and brave the dangerous black market just to secure the antidote.
But by the time I rushed back to the hospital, covered in blood, my child’s organs had already failed. He was gone.
When I threw the death certificate and divorce papers in Corvin’s face in despair, he just looked at me with mockery, accusing me of using our own flesh and blood to put on an act for his attention.
At that moment, all my love for him died completely. I took my son’s ashes, left the Ashmere pack, and decisively severed a mate bond that had tied us together for years...

My mother had no medical license, yet wealthy socialites lined up to hand her fat checks.
I often saw her lead those women into the treatment room, where agonizing screams would pierce through the locked door.
But strangely, those same women emerged radiant, as if they'd shed twenty or thirty years overnight, pressing stacks of cash into her hands with tearful gratitude.
What baffled me more was how she doted on the hired girls like her own daughters.
Yet toward me, her actual daughter, she was nothing but cold—always quick to criticize or strike.
Finally one day, curiosity won. I mustered the courage to peek through that door crack and saw what really happened inside...

I've been to four weddings. I never made it through a single one.
Not because I didn't love enough. Not because they weren't good enough. It was because every time — right at the moment I was supposed to say I do — my parents would appear on cue, fall apart on cue, and burn everything to the ground on cue.
For years I thought they hated me. Thought they'd given all their love to my dead sister, Claudia, and had nothing left. Then my brother-in-law said something that cracked me open: Any one of those three men — if you'd married him, you wouldn't be alive today.
So which is it? Were they protecting me, or destroying me?

To end two years of a long-distance marriage with my husband, Sutton Brennan, I quit my job and moved halfway across the state to join his top-tier medical center.
But from the moment I clocked in on day one, a nightmare awaited me.
IV pain pumps violently popped open in my hands, medication cabinets rejected my fingerprints, coffee machines sprayed me with boiling water, microwaves exploded in public, and the employee lockers locked me out entirely.
My colleagues laughed at me, calling me a walking disaster. The head nurse publicly berated me for being incompetent. And my husband, the man I trusted most, simply smiled his gentle smile and said, "You're just tense. Give it a few more days."
In my past life, I believed him. I gritted my teeth and held on until the bitter end—and ultimately died inside this very hospital.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my first day of work.

I was murdered. My body was dumped on the riverbank.
The detective leading the case is Brennan Carter — my husband. He has sworn to find the killer of this "unidentified female." He doesn't know the victim is me.
I've been missing for seven days. My colleagues and supervisors keep calling Brennan to ask where I am. Dismissing it as a tantrum, he's spent the week doing one thing: celebrating his mistress Tessa's birthday.
It wasn't until my phone turned up at the crime scene that it finally hit him — the wife he'd wished would disappear might actually be gone.

Four years ago, Giovanni dumped me in front of everyone at an upscale restaurant. Two weeks later, he was engaged to Rosanna. I made a fool of myself begging on his doorstep, became the laughingstock of Ferro City.
Four years later, he runs into me at Casa Valentino, assumes I'm destitute, and offers me a job as a cleaner for him.
What he doesn't know is that the plainly dressed woman standing before him is the wife of Don Alessandro Valentino—the man the entire underworld bows to.

The night I collapsed at my desk from acute appendicitis, my husband’s phone rang thirty-seven times. He didn't answer a single one.
When he finally strolled into my hospital room the next day, his excuse was that he had been entertaining clients all night and his phone was on silent.
"A multi-million dollar contract versus a minor surgery—which do you think is more important?" Nathan asked, adjusting his cuffs. "As the CEO's wife, I’d expect you to have some sense of the bigger picture."
I didn't say a word. I just nodded.
Not because I agreed with him, but because the first thing I saw when I woke up from anesthesia was his secretary's latest social media post: a sky ablaze with green aurora, and Nathan with his arm around her shoulders, his back to the camera.
Thinking I had finally learned my place, my husband looked thoroughly satisfied. He casually mentioned that once things settled down, he would officially hand over my position as Project Director to her, "so you can relax a bit."
But he didn't know.
He didn't need to wait for things to settle down.
I didn't want the position anymore. I didn't want his company. And him? I didn't want him, either.

36 weeks pregnant, I was thrown into the dungeon by my own husband.

When my water broke, I desperately reached out through the mate bond, calling for him—only to discover that he had severed it with his own hands.

They lashed my swollen belly with leather whips. They injected wolfsbane into my veins. And when my baby's head began to crown, they shoved her back inside me.

All because his sister-in-law Genevieve was also in labor today—and her child had to be born as the pack's heir.

I crawled out of that dungeon, drenched in my own blood, only to find him blocking the doorway.

I knelt at his feet, clutching at his trousers, begging. "The baby is innocent. Please... just let me deliver her..."

He kicked me away in disgust. "Wait until Genevieve is done."

Later, fireworks lit up the sky. The entire pack celebrated the birth of Genevieve's heir.

I was dumped in a water cell, watching my blood slowly turn the ice-cold water crimson, feeling my daughter grow still inside me.

Only after he'd gazed adoringly at the newborn in Genevieve's arms did he finally remember me. He sent someone to fetch me from the dungeon.

But his servant returned white-faced, voice trembling:

"Alpha! The Luna... she and the baby... they're both dead!"

My mother-in-law, Dorothy, sneered that I dressed like a janitor. My husband, Adrian, called my design sketches "a waste of fabric." Even the son I carried for nine months called me an embarrassment, saying he wished his dad’s secretary, Madison, was his mother.
For eight long years, I was nothing but an unpaid maid in this house.
Until today, when the doctor told me severe exhaustion was causing my heart to fail. And my eight-year-old son just pointed at the bag of medicine in my hand, shrieking, "You just have a headache! Why are you wasting money on medicine?"
I didn't argue. I didn't cry. I went home, opened the bottom drawer of Adrian’s desk, and signed the divorce papers he had been secretly preparing.
In their wildest dreams, they could never imagine that the sole trigger condition for my late mother's $50 million trust fund was for me to leave this man.

I was the best student, the most obedient, the most compliant—yet the only unloved child in our family.

When my brother got into fights, I took his punishment. When my sister snuck out with boys, I bore the consequences. Mom force-fed me pills and made me get my stomach pumped just to scare my brother away from smoking. Dad dressed ten-year-old me like a prostitute and threw me into a bar to warn my sister against going astray.

In the end, they sold me to a gambler for a few hundred dollars.

I died in a dark pond, and no one heard me calling for help.

But when my spirit drifted home, they were gathered around the dinner table, laughing and talking as if nothing was wrong.

It wasn't until the police knocked on their door that they realized—I had been missing for seven whole days.

Later, my brother clutched the chocolate he never got to give me, crying every day. My sister dreamed every night of ten-year-old me struggling and screaming in that bar. Dad knelt at my grave daily, consumed by guilt. And Mom, after killing that gambler, threw herself into the same pond where I had drowned.

Finally, they loved me.

But I was already dead.

On the night of Reeve’s birthday, I drove to his family’s coastal estate with a premium ribeye and a bottle of Pinot Noir, ready to give him a romantic surprise.
But the rug was shifted three inches, and a single drop of dark blood hid in the floorboards. Before I could run, a gun barrel pressed against the back of my head.
The man was impeccably dressed and terrifyingly calm. Upstairs in my bathtub lay the corpse of his pregnant wife.
He ordered me to help him dispose of the body and cover up the crime. My only thought was to stall until my husband got home.
That is, until he spoke—and revealed the root of this massacre. Everything was my husband's fault.

I was Alessandro Romano's wife in name only—the mafia godfather of Belluno City.
We had the most extravagant wedding this city had ever seen: three thousand guests, flowers lining every street. Everything except a legal marriage certificate.
Over three years, he promised to sign the papers twenty-two times. He canceled every single one.
He would buy two identical necklaces, hanging one around my neck and the other around his mistress's, trading a night spent comforting her for a dismissive apology to me.
After the twenty-one broken promise, I stopped waiting.
I packed my bags and left for the one city he vowed never to enter.
What I didn't know: after I left, the man who ruled the underworld completely lost control.

In the delivery room, my husband Ronan fumed that having a male doctor was a disgrace. My mother-in-law Coralie griped about the hospital bill. His sister Ophelia clung to his arm, pinching her nose and mocking the smell of the room.
In my previous life, today was the day the doctor ordered an extra blood test due to my in-laws' history of blood disorders. Two Type-O parents had somehow produced a Type-B daughter.
Coralie pointed at my nose, calling me a whore. Ophelia fueled the fire, sneering, "Just admit it, Sabine." Ronan slapped me off the delivery bed, demanding the name of my "lover."
I died having no way to prove my innocence, losing both my life and my daughter, Sorrel.
It wasn't until moments before my death, when I pushed open the master bedroom door, that I finally understood: the two people tangled naked in my marital bed were my husband and his own sister.
I opened my eyes. I was back to the morning after giving birth to my daughter.

To marry Vincent Romano, I survived twenty-eight near-death experiences over five years.
The first: city hall's foundation collapsed — three broken ribs. The second: a truck rollover — my right leg nearly amputated. The twenty-seventh: a chandelier in the bridal shop, three days unconscious.
All of Seren City laughed at me. Romano's most cursed bride-to-be. Yet I loved him still.
Until the twenty-eighth time.
When the bomb detonated outside city hall, I threw myself over Vincent on instinct. The blast shifted my organs and shredded my back. The day my stitches came out, I felt no relief at having survived.
Because I stood outside the study and heard his voice.
"Her organs were badly damaged. She almost actually died." Antonio's horror was audible. "Vincent, you used to treat her so well—"
"People change." A pause, then quieter: "I did want to marry her once. But before Amelia, I had no idea what it meant to truly want someone. I acknowledge the debt — I just can't spend my life repaying it." Another pause. "Father won't agree, and she won't let go easily."
"So." His voice turned to ice. "The only clean way out is to make her give up on her own. As long as Cassandra refuses to break the engagement, the accidents must continue. Until she walks away."

On the night of my 28th birthday, my husband was stuck in the OR.
The man sitting across from me at dinner was his best friend, Ronan.
I got drunk. Half-asleep, I pulled a man who smelled exactly like Nate into my bed.
When morning broke, the truth did too—the man pinning me down was Ronan. He’d used my husband’s cologne.
"From the first time I saw you, I wanted to steal you from him."
Crying, I confessed everything to Nate over the phone. Dead silence for three seconds, then he hung up.
By the time I rushed home, Ronan was dragging two suspiciously heavy black suitcases out the door. And my husband... vanished off the face of the earth.

My husband, Callum, never loved me. On our wedding night, he panted another woman’s name.
For five years, I endured a cold, loveless marriage. The only reason I held on was my daughter, Tessa.
But on the eve of her fourth birthday, Callum went behind my back and personally delivered her to his mistress Seraphina's underground lab.
The moment my daughter was drained of her blood and her heart stopped beating on that operating table, he was drinking champagne with Seraphina to celebrate their success.
From the moment I walked out of the crematorium holding Tessa’s freezing urn, the submissive wife I used to be died.

Four months pregnant, I walked into the OB-GYN clinic filled with joy—this was the child Archer and I had waited three years for.
But the moment the ultrasound report was handed to him, his gentle gray eyes twisted violently.
"Abort it. We absolutely cannot keep this child."
My stepfather watched coldly. The stepbrother who doted on me most slapped me hard across the face. My own mother wielded the scalpel and removed my uterus.
Half a month later, they picked me up from the hospital with roses, only to turn around and lock me away, feeding me psychiatric drugs until I died.
Reborn, I thought that as long as I hid the report, I could save my baby.
But they forced me onto the operating table once again.
It wasn't until I saw the report with my own eyes—
That I finally understood why my child had to die.

I accompanied my husband, Kieran, down to the Antarctic station’s underground quarantine zone to rescue an ice-bacteria sample at negative forty degrees. Halfway there, he asked me to fetch some data. I was gone for exactly three minutes. When I came back, he had vanished.
The institute staff told me I had gone insane, wandering the halls searching for a husband who had been dead for three years.
They called Kieran’s mentor, Dr. Reiner. Through the phone, the old man wept, swearing that Kieran had fallen into the deepest ice rift in Antarctica three years ago. Not even his bones were recovered.
Branded a lunatic, I was thrown into a sealed bio-containment pod twenty miles away. I became a human guinea pig. Under endless rounds of experimental drugs, my organs failed one by one until I died on that cold metal table.
Then, I blinked. Kieran was standing right in front of me, rushing me to the lab...

Every time my husband’s adopted sister, Avey, had a tennis match, he would force a dark green concoction down my throat. As soon as it kicked in, my entire body would turn weak and aching.
He claimed it was a folk remedy, and I believed him.
In half a year, I lost twenty pounds, half my hair fell out, and I lost our four-month-old baby.
Until the night I overheard them whispering behind a cracked door—they had sought out a witch and cast a dark curse.
My forced standstill was the price for her endless stamina. All her fatigue and sports injuries were being directly transferred to me.
Late that night, listening to them plot to drain the life out of me, I made a choice. On the very night Avey won her championship, I climbed into a deep hibernation pod. I traded thirty days of absolute physical stasis to ensure she could never stop.

On the day of my prenatal checkup, I found out my husband, Caleb, was sleeping with his student.
That night, I spiked his Pinot Noir with poison. I watched him collapse, convulse, and take his agonizing last breath. Then, I dragged his body into the basement and sealed it inside an oak wine barrel.
For five years, I raised our daughter, Nora, on my own. I thought the secret would rot in the dark forever.
Until she told me: Daddy speaks to her from under the floorboards every night. His voice sounds muffled, like he’s talking through a thick blanket...