2713 Book(s) Related to learn my lesson katee robert

In my past life, when the apocalypse broke out, I braved the pressure and opened the fortress gates to take in my mother-in-law and brother-in-law, who had nowhere else to go.
They shoved my wife and me straight into a horde of zombies.
My wife and I were reborn seven days before the apocalypse. I turned my head and saw the same fear and coldness surging in her eyes as mine:
"This time, don't open the door."
"Never." I smiled coldly.
Not only would I keep the door shut—I would watch with my own eyes as those bloodsucking ingrates, who had drained me dry in my past life, were slowly devoured by hunger and despair right outside the gate.

I’m a convenience store owner.

When the acid rain apocalypse hit, it ate through metal, wrecked power, and turned clean food and water into currency.

Last time, I made one mistake: I opened my door to my ex, Claire Voss, and her lover, Derek Hale. They didn’t come for shelter—they came for my stash. The blade in my abdomen taught me what mercy buys in a broken world. I killed them, but as my vision faded, the radio crackled with one final update: the disaster was ending.

Day thirty. I didn’t live to see morning.

Then I woke up—one week before it began.

This time I do only one thing: lock myself in my underground storage room with exactly thirty days of food and water, and wait for the rain to stop.

But Claire is hoarding again, louder than ever—embezzling money, emptying my shelves, trying to starve me in the first week so I’ll crawl back begging.

That’s when it hits me:

She thinks the apocalypse lasts forever.

She has no idea it only lasts thirty days.

On the execution platform, my noble and beautiful wife used her dagger to carve open my chest.
My nominal adopted son pressed a red-hot iron into my skin, branding me with the "F"-class mark of the lowest outcast, draining my transcendent bloodline dry.
"The Storm Kingdom has no use for a cripple with zero beast-spirit affinity. You belong rotting in the abyss!"
They cut the chains and kicked me into the Black Abyss—a place from which no one returns—then turned to carve up my throne.
They thought I was as good as dead.
They had no idea that the deepest darkness of that abyss harbored the most terrifying ancient demon in existence.
Two weeks later, as they raised their glasses to toast the new king's coronation, I kicked down the castle gates, wielding the ember-fire of annihilation and a tide of ten thousand beasts.
Looking down at the woman who once stood so high above me, now groveling in the mud and begging for mercy, I tossed the bloodstained broken blade onto the hem of her dress:
"Remember this forever—it was you who took a nobody you crushed beneath your feet and turned him into a king you'll kneel before and never win back. Now, hand over your lives."

In my past life, I squandered all my wealth to support my fiancée's family, but when the extreme heat of the apocalypse arrived, she and her lover broke my legs, brutally drained my marrow, and devoured me alive.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the seven days before the apocalypse.

This time, I will never repeat the same mistake.

I decisively kicked away these cold-blooded parasites, canceled all my credit cards, and, with the true love who died to save me in my past life, built an indestructible, top-tier temperature-controlled fortress.

As global temperatures soared, Los Angeles became a scorching inferno, and the fiancée's family couldn't even get a sip of dirty water, ultimately being forced to resort to cannibalism and killing each other.

And I, sitting in a 22-degree air-conditioned room eating chilled watermelon, coldly watch this bloody live broadcast of dogs fighting each other.

The fires of hell have been lit, and your judgment has only just begun.

In my previous life, my wife was addicted to black market gambling on football, which caused us to lose everything.
To make matters worse, a zombie horde then broke out.
We had no shelter and were quickly torn apart by a horde of frenzied zombies.
After being reborn, she planned to run off with all the money, then dump me and elope with her lover.
What she didn't know was that I had awakened the ability to read minds and knew all her plans.

To annul the engagement, the aloof heiress of a wealthy family spent three years planning thirteen accidents to try and kill me.
Car accident, falling object, poisoning... I survived covered in blood, only to be met with her disgusted question: "How come you're still alive?"
She let her scheming childhood sweetheart crush my father's ashes, and even personally drained my last remaining blood to save me, all for her sweetheart's self-inflicted injury.
She thought I would be like a dog, clinging to her side forever without any boundaries.
Until that day, I calmly handed over the annulment agreement, clutching the diagnosis of late-stage brain cancer, and completely disappeared from her world.
Later, when she finally found out the truth, she searched the world frantically, only to find my emaciated, cold corpse.
That arrogant and haughty young lady has completely collapsed.
She personally sent her childhood sweetheart to hell, knelt before my body wearing a veil, and desperately raised a gun:
“Ivan, walk slowly on your way to the underworld... I’m giving my life for you.”

Married for seven years, I lived my life like an absolute joke.
For the sake of my brother, my wife personally uprooted the roses I had so painstakingly cultivated. To please her uncle, my daughter pointed at my nose and called me a "bad daddy."
The entire family even held a vote to force me to donate my bone marrow. My wife, Elena, raised her hand without a second thought: "You'll just lose a little bone marrow. Liam will die without you."
In that moment, my heart died.
The surgery was a success.
As the anesthesia wore off, Elena was holding my hand tightly. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her voice trembled with remorse: "Aaron, I was a jerk before. As long as you were willing to save Liam, I will love only you for the rest of my life."
She thought I would be as pathetically grateful as a dog, begging for her affection and humbly forgiving her.
But I merely frowned in disgust and pulled my hand back as if shaking off garbage.
In the dead silence, I looked at this tearful woman before me and asked, politely yet confused:
"Excuse me, ma'am... who are you?"

When the apocalypse came, I became one of the military's failed experiments—defective, useless, a waste of space who only knew how to fix machines.
My so-called brother Kane used the camp leader access I got for him to trade away the comms gear I nearly died to secure for a bottle of whiskey. He drained my bone marrow dry to keep me in the dark, then dumped me out in the wasteland to die.
After that, he pinned every bit of luxury and waste on me—
while my little sister didn't even have the medicine she needed to stay alive.
That night, dragging my crippled body behind me, I reached into the substation.
Kane, do you remember what kind of genes were in those five hundred milliliters of bone marrow?

"Mason, I want to cut all ties with you. No marriage and no bond. We're done,"

"You want a rejection?"

"I know that you have never loved me, Mason... It would be better that we were both free to pursue our own interests."

"Freedom? Willow, freedom is a privilege that only good and innocent people have the luxury of. You are neither of those things so what makes you think that I should let you go free?" He sneered.

"What do you mean?" I said as my brows creased in confusion.

"Isn't it fucking obvious?" Mason mocked as he cracked his knuckles in his hands, "Your parent's hands are stained with the blood of my parents, you don't deserve to be free whilst you atone for their sins?"


Throughout my year of marriage, I have constantly suffered from the pain of Mate Bond. My mate would sleep with various she-wolves but never spare me a glance. He would allow his lovers to mock and insult me, his wife, his Luna, and he did it all just to inflict pain on me.

I couldn't bear it any longer, so I asked to end the relationship, but he refused. Just when I felt pain and confusion, a powerful Lycan King appeared...

When the apocalyptic red rain fell, my brother and I both awakened spatial abilities.

He awakened a space as vast as a mansion and was hailed by the entire family as their savior.

While I only awakened a "suitcase" and was ruthlessly drained of all my assets by my parents to support my brother, then kicked out of the house.

They mocked me cruelly: "We don't keep deadweights. Go wait for death in the 70-degree furnace outside!"

What they didn't know was that my brother's space had no preservation function—his stockpile of premium ingredients would soon rot into a pile of maggot-infested meat.

But my suitcase had upgrade attributes!

While they fought each other over a sip of putrid green water in the 200-degree hellscape,

I sat in the "Eden" I had created, watching herds of cattle and sheep, drinking ice-cold fresh milk.

I begged my mom for ten dollars, but she smashed my head with a frying pan instead.

The next day, my mother posted on a forum asking:
"Hi everyone. My eldest son lied about the end of the world just to get ten dollars. I want to ask, how can I sell him on the underground black market to pay off his younger brother's $20,000 debt?"

The moment I saw that post, any remaining love I had for them died instantly. I snapped my phone's SIM card in half.

What she didn’t know was that a world-ending acid flood would descend upon New York tomorrow.

I had begged so bitterly for that ten dollars just to trigger the Ten-Million-Fold Return System to build a three-billion-dollar Doomsday Ark.

Since she didn’t want it, I gave the throne of the Ark Queen to the female classmate who casually tossed me some charity.

My wife and my best friend had been sleeping together behind my back for a long time. Once the apocalypse hit, they completely dropped the act. While I was still stressing over how we would survive, they threw me straight into a zombie horde—just to buy themselves a few seconds to escape.
Given a second chance at life, I chose to report the impending zombie outbreak to the government, securing my place as a top-tier protected asset for the nation.
But what I didn't expect was... my wife and best friend were reborn too.

Growing up, if Cecily so much as frowned, whatever I was holding would be ripped from my hands. If she coughed twice, I’d be sent to kneel out in the snow to reflect on how I had "failed to take proper care of my sister."

In adulthood, their favoritism remained unchanged—only it grew deadlier.

My father would slam his fist against the table, threatening to freeze my trust fund and kick me out of the Vance family.

My mother would stare at me with red, tearful eyes, accusing me of "stealing your sister's nutrients in the womb."

Even Declan, my husband on paper, would constantly lecture me about being "reasonable" and "compliant," trying to pressure me into signing a "Volunteer Experimental Trial Consent Form" for Cecily's sake.

An unapproved, illegal human trial.

In the past, I would have cried. I would have looked at them and asked, "When did any of you ever look at me and see a daughter?"

That was until the day I got my own medical report back.

[Terminal Congenital Heart Failure.]

Seven days left to live.

When my father threw that consent form on the table again, using my banishment as collateral; when my mother sobbed, begging me to "take the hit" for my sister; when Declan tried to coax me, promising "just cooperate, it’ll be over soon"—I finally picked up the pen.

I signed my name on an experimental trial waiver with a 90% mortality rate.

They all smiled with relief. They told me I was finally being mature.

What they didn't know was that my time was already up.

I was reborn on the exact night my guardian, Caleb, was consumed by a drug-induced rut.

This time, I didn't hesitate. I dialed his fated Luna directly. "Your Alpha is in rut. You have ten minutes to come collect him."

In my past life, I loved the Alpha who took me in. I gave him everything when he needed it most, throwing myself into the fire just to save him, even bearing his pup.

But that same night, his precious "white moon"—Selena—went out for a walk, only to be dragged away and slaughtered by rogues.

She had mind-linked him thirty-three times before she died. But he was with me, delivering our baby, and he blocked her out.

For that, my reward was a silver collar piercing my scent glands in the cold dungeons. I was forced to watch my baby die in agony, my last sight in this world being Caleb’s eyes, filled with pure, unadulterated disgust.

"If you hadn't refused to call Selena that night, if you hadn't been such a whore begging for my bed, she would never have died."

"You and this bastard pup... the world is cleaner with you both dead."

I blinked, and the nightmare shattered. I was back. Back to the exact night the aphrodisiac triggered his rut.

Kane was the undisputed tyrant of our high school, notoriously ruthless with his words.

I’d always been on the curvier side. When the new, form-fitting cheer uniforms arrived at the locker room, Kane hadn't held back his mocking laugh.

"Are you seriously going to parade around in that?" he had sneered. "Please. You look like a pig about to burst out of its casing. It's embarrassing."

I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’d mentally broken down over Kane’s acidic remarks. But every time, I forced myself to swallow the humiliation.

Why? Because he was the state's most coveted star quarterback.

Because whenever someone else tried to give me hell, he’d step in with that fiercely impatient, undeniably protective attitude of his. That was my justification.

That was, until the eve of the State Championship.

Daisy, a nobody freshman who had barely scraped her way onto the cheer squad, took the confidential playbook our team had spent three agonizing months perfecting, and handed it straight to our biggest rivals.

Normally, Kane would have sneered and verbally shredded the culprit until there was nothing left of their dignity.

But this time? He just stepped forward, pulled a pack of tissues from the pocket of his expensive letterman jacket, tossed it at Daisy’s feet, and looked away.

"Stop crying," he said, his voice strangely subdued. "The damage is done, and tears won't fix a damn thing. Besides, your face gets all red and swollen when you cry. It's an ugly look."

The night before our mating ceremony, my Alpha boyfriend was tangled up with my brother's fiancée.

He was my brother's ride-or-die companion, and the son-in-law our pack cherished most.

My brother was devastated by this betrayal and charged toward the border that very day, never to return.

Yet everyone kept urging me to forgive them.

His comrade pleaded: "Kael knows he messed up. For the sake of all these years of brotherhood, just give him another chance."

The Elder advised: "I know you're angry, but he's now our pack's Alpha. Making things too bitter won't be good for your future either. Elara, let it go."

Even the usually fair Council Chief was persuading me: "Elara, he's a war hero. It's not easy for a pack to cultivate an Alpha... some things... require considering the bigger picture."

I stopped arguing and simply knelt before my brother's grave for an entire night.

Then I submitted my severance application and moved to new territory with my parents, who had gone white-haired overnight.

Before leaving, Kael blocked my path with reddened eyes: "Elara, do you hate me this much? Won't you even give me a chance to atone?"

I looked at him calmly: "Your sin, like my brother's life, can never be repaid."

After that day, he continued rising through the pack ranks, earning honors, as if nothing had ever happened.

While our family stayed away for three whole years.

I thought I'd never have any connection with Kael again in this lifetime.

Until a recall order brought him back before me once more.

"Elara, long time no see."

I was eight weeks pregnant when I suffered a violent hemorrhage inside the café’s restroom. Clutching my bleeding abdomen, I called my husband fourteen times—only to be labeled a hysterical faker. That same night, he toasted champagne with his young female assistant in his arms without a single shred of guilt.
Three days later, surveillance footage exposed the truth. The woman he cherished had been the one who shoved me down the staircase on purpose.
The night I lost our child, he was out raising his glass in celebration.
Fine. I will make them pay for every single thing they’ve done.

When Arthur brought his fallen comrade's widow Elena and her son into our knight's estate, I didn't cry or make a scene.

I simply packed our belongings in silence with my daughter Lilith, moving out of the master bedroom.

"Elena is struggling alone with her child," I said calmly to Arthur. "We'll move to the basement so you can better care for them."

On Lilith's seventh birthday, Arthur gave her a magical glider model. Elena's son Damian cried and demanded it for himself.

Lilith expressionlessly handed over the toy: "Father says little brother has no father now, so you'll be his father. As his big sister, I should let him have it."

Arthur was pleased by our tolerance and generosity, but gradually noticed something—I no longer seemed to love him, and our daughter no longer warmed to him either.

He didn't know that in my past life, he had thrown us out of our home for that mother and son. During the winter blizzard, while Lilith and I starved and froze, he gave all our gold and mana stones to Elena's family, leaving us to die of cold and hunger.

After my rebirth, my daughter and I stopped fighting, stopped competing.

But we would never need Arthur again.

When he wanted to carve out my daughter's Star-magic eyes to save Damian, I finally dropped the pretense and called upon my brother—the Abyssal Duke.

Time for this hypocritical holy knight to practice his "Greater Good" with his own Light Core.

A fire broke out at the fraternity party. I desperately pushed Mia, my brother's girlfriend, out of harm's way, only to get pinned down by a falling beam myself. My brother Liam chose to save Mia first, kicking away my oxygen mask as he left. Mia then locked the door, leaving me to burn alive.

Yet they thought I was throwing a tantrum and playing hide-and-seek. They called me "toxic" and "attention-seeking" on social media, even freezing my credit cards.

The day I won the competition, my sister's heart "failed," and she could never stand again.

From that moment, she claimed all the favoritism.

Looking at my wall of honors, she sat in her wheelchair, heartbroken: "Chloe is so amazing, unlike me—just a burden who could die any moment."

My brother's heart ached for her. He grabbed a baseball bat and smashed all my trophies to pieces, defending her honor.

When I was selected as dance troupe captain, tears streamed down her face: "If I hadn't gotten sick, could I have shined on the Lincoln Center stage too?"

My parents turned to scold me for showing off, drugging me before the audition and ruining my chances.

Later, she had a breakdown and went live on Instagram, swallowing pills while sobbing that she didn't deserve love.

My childhood sweetheart, my fiancé, rushed to her side immediately. He dropped to one knee and slipped my diamond engagement ring onto her finger.

Later, I was killed by an armed robber. As I lay dying, I made one last desperate call for help.

He hung up impatiently:

"Mia needs me to hold her hand during her IV treatment. Stop being so fucking unreasonable!"

When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day my sister's heart "failed."

My name is Evelyn. In my third year working at the morgue, I unzipped body bag J-47 and found my sister who had been missing for three days—her chest cavity surgically hollowed out, heart and magic-infused ribs completely gone.

My hands shaking, I checked my phone. A text from my billionaire fiancé Tristan: "Babe, don't forget tomorrow's engagement dinner. Heard about Lily's accident? Already arranged lawyers to handle it."

I almost laughed. For three months, this Ivy League heir kissed my forehead every night, whispering how much he loved me. Yet yesterday, he personally supervised a live heart extraction—to save his dying white moonlight, he strapped my sister to an operating table and carved out her heart while she was fully conscious.

Using my witch bloodline, I accessed Lily's final memories. I saw her desperate eyes, heard Tristan coldly command: "Careful with the goods."

At the fraternity engagement party, Tristan announced a five-million-dollar settlement for the "tragic accident." The lawyer handed me documents—NDAs, death certificates, and a forged organ donation form with my signature.

I looked across the table. The previously dying heiress Chloe was elegantly cutting steak, her cheeks flushed with unnatural health. My sister's heart beat strong in her chest.

"Sign it, Evie," Tristan stroked my hand. "Life must go on."

I tore up every contract.

"You think money buys lives?" I slashed my palm, blood igniting the shredded papers. "Tonight, learn about real equivalent exchange."

Only then did Tristan realize he wasn't marrying some ordinary morgue intern, but the last heir of the First Witch bloodline.

He activated the fraternity's witch-hunting trap—silver chains, exorcism arrays, and my most trusted friend Mark driving a consecrated nail into my back.

But when the ancient seal shattered, when the primordial witch power awakened, I systematically ripped out the hearts of every fraternity brother, letting them experience my sister's final agony.

Facing annihilation, Tristan fell to his knees weeping: "You're the one I've always loved!"

I smiled coldly, opening the crematorium pit beneath the floor: "Want to chase your wife? Here's a real crematorium."

I am a princess of the deep sea. For love, I abandoned my crown and used ocean magic to help him rise from a penniless sailor to a duke of immense wealth.

On our tenth wedding anniversary, he slapped me in front of all the guests, tore the Ocean Crown from my head to place it on his mistress, and ripped away my reverse scales: "I'm sick of this freakish marriage to a monster!" Blood flowed down the coral cuts, and my unborn child miscarried in the humiliation.

The moment the first reverse scale fell from my chest, I forgot our first kiss. At the same time, his three gold-laden ships mysteriously sank on the windless sea.

The Abyssal Pact has been activated: seven reverse scales correspond to seven memories. With each scale that falls, I forget him a little more, while he loses all the wealth he gained through me.

My wife is the city's renowned "Community Angel." She donates every single cent of her high salary to the poor, all to buy herself a saintly reputation.
Meanwhile, as her husband, I spend my days rolling beneath cars in a factory, covered in grease, juggling four credit cards just to keep our large family afloat.
My parents-in-law survive on the expensive, imported life-saving meds I pay for, yet they constantly mock me for being a powerless nobody;
My own children attend private schools on my dime, only to look at me with disgust and call me an embarrassment;
And my wife? Dressed in her high-end couture, she looks down at me and condescendingly urges, "For the sake of the poor children, why don't you get another part-time job and just endure it a little longer?"
Looking at this den of parasites sucking the life out of me, a sudden, overwhelming wave of disgust washed over me.
I didn't argue. I silently put away my overdue bills, packed my bags, and completely vanished from this twisted household.
Later, at the highly anticipated Annual Charity Gala, in front of the entire city, I presented her with an ultimate "gift"—

We’ve been married for five years. Then, she got pregnant with someone else's child.
In front of everyone, she said: "Ethan doesn't want this baby. You've always wanted one, right? Fine, take it and raise it."
In that moment, I finally understood: she wasn’t incapable of loving someone—she simply never saw me as a human being.
I took off my wedding ring, left it on the tray, and bought a one-way ticket to the North. My family said I wouldn't survive in the frozen North; she said that without her, I was nothing.
Three years later, she tracked me down using the GPS hidden inside that ring. She pushed open the door to my attic room, finding only a note I’d left: "Don't look for me. We're square."

I made a blood pact with the same man seven times, and broke it seven times.

And this vampire lord also severed our bond seven times for his moonlight goddess.

When we first made the pact, he knelt on one knee and said to me: "For the rest of eternity, my blood and flesh belong only to you."

But whenever his moonlight goddess awakened, the man would change his tune: "Can't you be more understanding? Do you really want Lilith to bear the shame of seducing a married man?"

The first time we broke the pact, I violently tore the contract trying to keep him, the backlash made me vomit blood and faint, yet I never saw him come to check on me.

The third time we broke the pact, I disguised myself as a servant at his banquet, just for a chance to see him one more time.

The sixth time we broke the pact, I had learned to quietly pack my things and move out of our castle by myself.

My hysteria, my endless compromises, my obedient compliance,

earned me his punctual returns for renewal,

and his repeated betrayals.

Until this time, when I received news that his moonlight goddess was about to awaken, I proactively placed the severance agreement before him.

He made our usual appointment for renewal as always, not knowing that

this time, I would leave forever.

Because next month's full moon night would be the coronation ceremony for me, this "walking blood bank," as the Ancestor.

At our engagement party, Eli demands I sign a hundred-thousand-dollar check to bail out his first love, Aila.

I cave, pouring everything I have into paving the way for his future.

But he pays off a nurse to slip me abortion pills, manipulates the training equipment to crush my pelvis, and causes me to hemorrhage and miscarry.

While I lie in the hospital fighting for my life, he spreads rumors about my promiscuity, burns my cherished nautical collection to ashes, and scatters them over Aila's grave.

He steps on my spine to get his acceptance letter to the top maritime academy, trading my life for his future.

After gaining power, he frames my brother, ruining his promotion to captain, and eventually tramples my entire shipping family under his feet.

I die full of resentment, only to wake up to Eli slamming his hand on the table and screaming at me. Aila is trapped in an underground club! Sign this check right now! If I don't get the money to bail her out, she's dead tonight!

My biological parents and my fiancé shove me into a sterile room for a forced drug trial. The chemicals completely destroy my cranial nerves.

They lie about my adopted sister Mia having a terminal illness, using my college admission and trust fund as leverage to make me sacrifice myself.

I used to put my life on the line for Liam, staying up all night to finish his homework, draining everything I had to please my family.

But they are putting on an act from the very beginning. Mia isn't sick. The drug trial is just a front for money laundering.

Stripped of all love, hate, and empathy, I am left with only cold logic after enduring imprisonment, beatings, and endless injections.

Afterward, Liam falls to his knees, sobbing and begging to get back together. I dodge his touch with a blank face.

"Don't come near me. The smell of you makes me physically sick."

My daughter was choked until her face turned purple by the mistress's son, then nearly died after my ex-husband forced her to give blood.
She was beaten, cursed at, and abandoned on a bench outside the hospital.
And I could do nothing to help her.
Because I had already died eight years ago.
It wasn't until my daughter collapsed crying at my grave—and the story made the news—that my ex-husband finally learned the truth.
He had destroyed both me and the child we shared in the cruelest way possible.
And by then, there was no fixing it.

At the scene of the car accident, my parents frantically scooped up my sister—who only had a scraped knee—then kicked me aside as I lay there dying.
"Don't be a burden to your sister. Just wait by the roadside and croak!"
They drove off without a second thought. In that moment, my heart turned to stone.
What they didn't know was that I didn't die. Instead, I got adopted by a top-tier professor and became a math prodigy worth tens of millions.
Two years later, when my birth parents went bankrupt and got on their knees begging me for a handout, I smiled coldly and played the recording of their attempted murder...

I am the wife of a mafia boss.

When a rival family raids our estate, I take the fatal bullets meant for my sister-in-law.

When my husband, Vittorio, arrives, I give him a weak, relieved smile.

Instead of helping me, he points the muzzle of his gun right between my eyes.

"The perimeter alarms didn't trip," his consigliere, Lorenzo, says. "Only an inside job. Boss, this marriage was a trap from day one."

I kneel on the floor, begging him to just look at the bullet wounds on my chest.

Vittorio just grinds his shoe into my broken collarbone.

"The docks. Smuggling freezer three. Let twenty below zero teach her some loyalty."

They drag me into that steel tomb reserved for traitors.

"Vittorio! I never betrayed you! I saved Bella!"

The life monitor beeps weakly, but he rips out the wire.

"Just static. Don't waste energy on a dead traitor."

By the time he learns the truth, I am nothing but a blue, frozen corpse curled up in the ice.

Betrayed to death by my own brother, I was reborn before the apocalypse descended.
He rushed to seize the god-tier [Copy] talent first, leaving the trash [Purification] talent for me.
He thought that with this talent, he'd have no worries and reign supreme in the apocalypse.
Meanwhile, I quietly closed the last door of my fortress.
He didn't know that his prized copying ability had a fatal flaw.

At the family banquet, a power-hungry male special assistant projected a dimly lit bed photo onto the massive screen. He claimed he had slept with my wife—the heiress to the family—and demanded I walk away from the marriage with nothing.
While all the relatives were waiting for me to become the laughingstock, my eyes landed on a red rose burn scar in the corner of the photo. I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He hadn't even turned on the bedside lamp. He had no idea that the woman he had just slept with was actually the wife of a psychopathic serial killer.

I'm an ancient vampire prince who's been playing human boyfriend to a demon hunter.
Big mistake.
She's completely unhinged—GPS tracking, 24/7 surveillance, the works.
When she threatens to dump me unless I surrender all my secrets, I do the unthinkable:
I actually say yes.
Too bad she doesn't know her "helpless" boyfriend has been the one keeping her alive all this time.

In my last life, my parents favored my younger brother. They promised him to the angel who would remain on the surface, and shoved me to an abyssal demon.
When the apocalypse came, the angel burned through her divine power and fell. I took my family in out of kindness, and they repaid me with a bowl of poisoned soup.
When I opened my eyes again, our whole family had reincarnated.
This time, my parents couldn’t wait to push my brother into the demon’s arms, dreaming of living off him inside the abyssal lair.
I watched them sign the shadow contract like they were grabbing a priceless treasure, then took the rejected holy-light angel without hesitation.
They had no idea the Abyss’s shelter is paid for in flesh and blood.
But an angel’s loyalty can raise an iron divine kingdom that never falls, even in this world-ending flood.

In my past life, I personally dug up two alien meteorites, handing the blue one that granted "Frost Mastery" to my childhood friend, Mike. He repaid me by sealing me inside an ice wall, cursing me to "die like a piece of trash" in the minus 70-degree blizzard.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the initial blast site.
This time, I didn't even spare him a glance; I stuffed both meteorites into my pocket.
I transformed a missile silo into a doomsday bunker, brought my parents inside, and stockpiled ten years' worth of supplies.
When Mike arrived with a gang of thugs to smash my door down, I stood in the warm command center, watching half his face rot with frostbite on the monitor.
I didn't open the door.
This time, I am sending back the despair of my past life tenfold.

At the Blood Moon Luna coronation rehearsal, I wait alone at the altar for eight agonizing hours. My fated Alpha, Caleb, is nowhere to be seen.

Just as my legs go completely numb, his text finally comes through. "Elara, Lily from the Hollowthorn Clan got attacked by a rogue and is terrified. I have to stay here and calm her down. Let's just run through the coronation rehearsal tomorrow."

Right after that, Lily sends a photo. She is bundled up in Caleb's favorite black jacket. The caption is a deliberate stab to the heart. "Elara, Caleb's scent makes me feel so safe. I feel so bad you have to prep for the coronation all by yourself, but you're so strong. I'm sure you don't mind, right?"

I don't hesitate for a second. I dial the high priest's number. "Prepare the rejection ceremony. At tomorrow's coronation, I am unilaterally severing my mate bond with Caleb."

Ten years together. I bled for him on the battlefield and bore the weight of the entire pack's judgment alone, only to be abandoned at every major milestone so he could coddle an Omega who fakes weakness for sympathy. A cheap, used silver trinket is his idea of an apology. Fake attacks, public framing, malicious bidding wars at auctions. Piece by piece, they trampled all over my pride.

He thinks groveling and offering up territories can fix this. He doesn't realize that the moment he chose to fail me time and time again, I stopped wanting him. I don't give a damn about his leftover affection.

Elara is done being Caleb's backup Luna.

The night before the SAT, Instagram exploded with a viral post:

"Madison, tomorrow I'm going to confess my love to you with my SAT exam! I'll write you love letters in my English essay, bubble 'I LOVE YOU' on my math answer sheet, fill my physics test with your name......"

Below the text was a photo of two hands intertwined.

I tapped to enlarge it. The familiar scar on his right wrist stabbed straight through my heart.

Comments poured in below: "This is insane! What kind of earth-shattering love is worth sacrificing standardized test scores for?"

The blogger immediately responded: "No worries, I already got MIT early admission anyway. Taking the SAT is just a formality."

"But as long as she's happy, what are test scores anyway?"

I took a deep breath and closed my quantum physics notes.

Madison was the transfer student who arrived during senior spring.

And the person posting was my boyfriend Liam, who had just called me an hour ago encouraging me to do well on the test so we could attend the same university.

I exited Instagram and dialed MIT Admissions.

"Sir, regarding the joint-authorship application—I want to withdraw it."

We'd been together for eight years when my childhood sweetheart took me to see the ocean.
We were in a terrible car crash.
In my final moments, he used his last strength to hold my hand.
"Thank you. I'm so lucky to have you."
I squeezed back through my tears as he took his final breath, and moments later, I followed.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in senior year, coding day and night.
All so we could conquer Silicon Valley together, making up for our past life's regrets.
At the graduation party, he walked toward me with roses just like before.
"I want to tell you, I love you—"
My heart soared as I stood up.
"I love you too—"
He walked past me and handed the roses to the trust fund heiress.
In the stunned silence that followed, I finally understood—he wanted to rewrite his story.
When applying for grad school, I chose MIT, three thousand miles away from him.
I'd give him what he wanted, and finally pursue the dream I'd only found at forty-five.

Six years of hauling corpses. Six years of scraping maggots out of floorboards and suffocating in a toxic slurry of putrefying flesh and industrial solvents—all just to buy my husband a little more borrowed time.

I thought the thing I pulled back from the brink of death was a human being.

But the day my joint accounts were frozen... the moment my own son clamped a hand over his nose in disgust at my stench... the second I watched his mistress weeping softly into his chest... I finally realized the truth.

I hadn't saved a man. I had resurrected a pack of monsters, and they weren't going to stop until they ground me into the dirt.

At the Eternal Night Realm admission ceremony, Carly suddenly grabs my hand.

My heart pounds. I think he is going to announce our relationship to the entire continent.

Instead, he says, "Eve, thanks for everything these past five years. But Lym didn't make the cut. She's hurting right now, and I need to go back and be there for her."

He crushes the realm token right in front of thousands of people.

For five years, I hid my pureblood lord identity. I drained my magic until I literally coughed up blood, quietly paving every step of his way.

I thought we loved each other. I thought after this ceremony we would rise to the top together.

But his casual thanks for everything crushes five years of my devotion into dust.

What is even more laughable is that the moment the online backlash hits Lym, he calls me on the comms.

"Eve! You need to put out a statement to clear this up right now! As my friend, you owe me this!"

Friend?

My hand holding the crystal shakes.

Inside the private dining room, my seven-year-old daughter leans against the edge of the table. She waits for three hours, and her birthday cake melts. Dante texts me, claiming he is handling an "emergency arms deal" and telling us not to wait.

But his mistress's Instagram tells a completely different story.

She wears the limited-edition black diamond necklace Dante just bought, cozying up to someone in a top-tier club. The caption is blinding: "A real man always knows who comes first, even when bullets fly."

What is more brutal happens the next day. When stray bullets hit the casino, Dante actually shoves his own daughter away when she begs for help, turning his back to protect his mistress's nephew instead.

Looking at the bloody scratches on my daughter's arm, listening to him announce in public that "that boy is my only blood," my heart completely dies.

He doesn't know that to love him, the heir to the Romano Mafia family willingly suffered in the slums for seven years. And he treats our lives like garbage compared to an outsider.

Now, it is time to make him pay.

At our engagement party, my fiancé's first love confessed her feelings for him in front of everyone.
Without a second thought, he shoved me aside and ran after her, leaving me to be hit by a car.
While I was in the hospital, he brought her into our home and forced me to eat food I was allergic to.
Most absurd of all, he personally sent me to the operating table so I could give her my kidney.
She tortured my cat to death, and all he said was, "It was just a cat."
The day I decided to leave the country, he thought I had died in a plane crash. Then he got into a car accident and lost his memory, remembering only the version of us at eighteen—when we were in love.
Too bad some scars never fade.

When the Grand Duke, my contract master, noticed I hadn't submitted a requisition for magical resources in five days, he assumed I had finally learned to be a proper exclusive priestess. In a rare display of mercy, he ignited the communication crystal:

"I have arranged to resume your brother's treatments in the infirmary. Behave yourself from now on, and stop fabricating excuses to demand high-tier spirit stones."

"I know it isn't easy for someone from your dependent background, but the resources of my estate are not so easily scammed."

But what he didn't know was that five days ago, my brother had already died from a tragic magic riot.

Now that my brother is gone, it is time for me to leave as well.

I was betrayed, cheated on, and ruthlessly schemed against by my own husband. Cornered by him and his mistress, I was forced to leap off a cliff. No one expected that I would survive the fatal fall. I carved out a bloody path for myself in Silicon Valley and rose to become the sharpest, youngest queen across the entire capital circle. Three years later, he knelt before me in utter disarray, weeping brokenly. Meanwhile, draped in a white wedding gown, I was held securely in my bridegroom’s arms. It was in that moment that he finally comprehended—losing me was the harshest retribution he would ever endure for the rest of his life.

When my own father pinned me against the reef and ripped my scales off one by one, my sister buried herself in my fiancé's arms and cried. "Don't blame my sister. She was born worthless."
Right there in front of everyone, they decided to offer me to the Sea God as a sacrifice. They couldn't even be bothered to send anyone to see me off.
But when I was dragged, half-dead, into the black prison, what came for me wasn't death.
It was the Sea God himself.
He wiped the blood from my tail and said, "Good. Let them keep piling on their sins. I'll make them drop to their knees and beg for your forgiveness."

I spent three years chasing the most popular guy on campus, only to be humiliated in front of the entire school.
My foster family treats me like a live-in maid. My biological father wants to drag me back into the gutter. And the loan sharks have made it clear that in three days, I'll be the one paying for my father's debt.
Everyone is waiting to see me fall apart.
What no one knows is that I already dreamed of the worst future waiting for me.

I caught my fiancé cheating with his ex in our bedroom—twins on the nightstand proved it had been going on for a year.

The alchemy vial slipped from my trembling fingers, shattering against the stone floor. There they were: Kaelen, the youngest Archmage on the continent, tangled in silk sheets with Lyra Elessar, the high-elf noble he'd supposedly rejected for me.

But it was the glowing parchment on the nightstand that destroyed me completely—a bloodline registry declaring him father to one-year-old twins.

I'd sacrificed my magic core to save his life three years ago, becoming powerless while he used that second chance to build a secret family. Every "council meeting," every "emergency" had been a lie to visit them.

When Lyra saw me, she didn't even flinch. She just smiled and said, "Looks like we're caught."

The humiliation burned hotter than heartbreak. I fled to the black market that very night, seeking the Death Merchant's ultimate service—complete disappearance.

"Seven days to prepare the ritual," he told me.

Seven days until I could vanish forever. Seven days to decide what the naive girl who'd loved him deserved as her final gift to herself.

The scalpel pressed against my chest, and I knew this heart would be carved out tonight as a gift for his white moonlight.

Five years ago, I was a medical genius. He was a dying vampire in the sewers. I gave up my humanity to save him, worked three jobs to fund his doctorate.

"Your heart has excellent quality. Perfect for Seraphina's transplant," he said coldly, slicing through my skin.

"Please... I just miscarried..." I weakly gripped the operating table's edge.

"Defective embryo. Good riddance." He cut my brother's oxygen tube, forcing me to cooperate with the surgery.

Blood pooled everywhere as I signed the organ donation form.

A year later, I stood at the pinnacle of vampire power while he knelt in the snow, begging for a drop of my blood to survive.

I poured it out, fertilizing the earth instead.

In my past life, I threw myself in front of the black panther alpha when his rut drove him into a frenzy—only to have him toss me into a pack of beasts and watch me get torn to pieces.
After being reborn, the first thing I did was rip off the royal crest pinned to my chest and swallow a suppressant, cutting off his control over me for good.
Everyone waited for me to come crawling back and beg for peace.
Instead, I turned and walked straight into the frozen Northlands, where the death rate was eighty percent.
There, through a severed arm, a ruined face, and the thin line between life and death, I awakened as the Platinum Lion King.
He dropped to his knees in the snow, crying and begging for forgiveness.
I only had one question for him: "What makes you think you're anything to me?"