141 Book(s) Related to marlon brando spouse

Running away from a forced marriage and right into the arms of a wild creature, Jade’s luck failed her yet again. Deciding at thye last minute that she’d rather die than stay married to a psychopath who had lost his mate, she made a last minute decision of fleeing which she ended up regretting.

Markov, a wild lycan creature who has been trapped in his beast form for hundreds of years. Alphas had tried over the years to eliminate him, but he had killed every single one of them. A cold blooded vicious beast who loses his mind once in his beast form. When he finds out that the woman whom he had almost killed in the woods was his mate, his sanity returned instantly.
She was the solution to his problems and also his doom. His curse would finally end, but only if she would be his.

Running from her past, Jade ends up running into her scary future. Can a man like Markov ever be tamed? Could she love a beast who has lost his sanity? Even after finding out that he had killed her parents in cold blood?
Will her love save Markov, or would her revenge end him?


“You can’t run from your fate, little rabbit. No matter how fast you run, I will catch you. You can hide, but I will find you. You might as well come with me willingly, and let us be done with this cat and mouse game. The choice is yours, my little Jade. The choice is yours...” His words sent down her spine, his deep baritone voice a promise of his deadly threats.

My boyfriend cheated. My best friend interfered. And I had a one-night stand with my boss.
"Hello? Adeline? You and your boyfriend are persons of interest in an investigation concerning the distribution of obscene videos. We need you to come to the station."
At the police station, I watched the sex tape of the two people I trusted most, and my entire world imploded.
But that was also the night I met him—the man who would change everything.
When my ex wouldn't back off, fabricating horrible rumors to destroy my name, Ronald Williams, the powerful CEO I'd spent one incredible night with, stepped forward.
He stood in front of me like a shield. "She's Mrs. Williams now," he said, his gaze cutting into my ex. "As for you? You never had what it takes to please a woman like her."
It was more than just feeling protected. In that instant, I knew I was completely and utterly in love with him.

What could go wrong if your prison pen pal ends up being the son and heir of the head of the Castillo cartel? What more could go wrong when your overprotective dad is a DEA agent who is determined to take him down?

When Elena Torres, the daughter of a DEA agent, lost a bet and decided to write a prisoner, she had not expected to get in contact with the son of a cartel boss, Marvin Castillo.

What she also didn’t expect was for him to get released from prison or for him to take an interest in her.

She was known to be the good girl. He was known to be a monster.

It was clear that fate didn’t want them to be together, but what the universe did not know was that these two were destined to determine their own path.

In my last life, I fell for every word out of Ryan's mouth.
To save his shot at attending physician, I volunteered to take the fall for his medical malpractice case.
My license was revoked. I went from being a surgeon to being a housewife trapped in his family's home, wasting ten years of my life chained to a kitchen stove.
I thought my sacrifice would earn me his gratitude for the rest of our lives.
Turns out, he'd been sleeping with that doe-eyed little nurse, Lily, for God knows how long.
When years of exhaustion finally caught up with me and my heart gave out, I collapsed on the freezing basement floor.
My husband Ryan was upstairs, arms wrapped around Lily, sleeping in the master bedroom we'd bought with my dowry.
"That bitch is finally kicking the bucket. Once she croaks, this house is ours."

I saw a post on Reddit, "Urgent! How do I convince my wife to donate bone marrow to my mistress?"

I scoffed and typed back, "What a piece of shit."

Right after I hit send, my husband came home. He grasped my hand, his voice shaky: "You have leukemia... but it's okay, we found a donor."

His right eye twitched—he always did that when he lied.

Then I remembered the worst comment on that post, "Trick your wife into thinking she's the patient."

Life imitating the internet, apparently.

He wanted to harvest my bone marrow for someone else.

When I finally saw his mistress's face, my world fell apart.

I never thought his mistress would be her......

Trevor didn't start by loathing Sireen. Heck, he had always been nice to her. It all went downhill when Sireen's sister, Trevor's mate, Kylie, died in an attack, and a weak Sireen did nothing to save her. In his terms, she's a murderer. Ignoring her trauma, Trevor became Sireen's tormentor. Her bully. The bane of her very existence. So when he finds out at the start of second year that Sireen is his second chance mate, he definitely rejects her. But wait. Not before humiliating her in front of the entire school, exposing her guarded secret which was an outcome of watching her twin sister die.
When Sireen and Trevor are forced to breathe the same air as each other and see each other in and out of school everyfreakingday, at least one person is set to Lose. Their. Sanity.
How much torture can Sireen take?
And just how long can Trevor stand his rejected mate's presence? Delve in to find out!

"Mason, Mr McGrath is your Father," Dr Ben let out.

Stacey's brows creased, she pursed her lips in response to what she had just heard," You mean to say my boyfriend is my brother, how's that even possible?" She asked in stutters.

When Stacey and her Sister Chelsey move to a new school, little does she know that there's a lot in store for her, secrets, lies and betrayals that had been kept in the dark are brought to light. Falling in love with the school's Golden boy Mason gets her into a situation she never wanted, makes her enemies with the school's most popular girls Scarlett and Camilla, also worsens the already strained relationship she has with her sister Chelsey.

As James's secret lover for five years, I thought being gentle and obedient would eventually win his heart.
But God played a cruel joke - I was diagnosed with heart failure and only had months to live.
When his true love returned, I was abandoned.
Without causing any drama, I left him quietly, not even taking a penny from him...
Continuously updating, with 3 chapters added daily.

Six months, twenty-nine days, three hours, and fourteen seconds. That's how long bliss lasts before reality rubs its big, fat ugly ass all over your happiness.
Marlowe Mills thought the hard part was surviving the enemies who wanted to destroy her. She was wrong.
The real damage came from the people she loved most. A buried secret. A devastating betrayal. A truth everyone knew except her.
Now the man she loves must prove that protecting someone isn't the same as lying to them, while she struggles to decide whether trust, once shattered, can ever truly be rebuilt. Because love was never the problem. Trust was.

Ravens MC Series: Marlowe & Torin-Book 1 (Bad Boys Collections)
Triggers: dark theme, brief substance use, guns, knives, mature content, 18+

Marlowe Mills, the daughter of the president of the Sons of Morning Star, is unwittingly ensnared by Torin Montero, a member of her father's club, who becomes her fathers rival and her silent protector.
Years after a betrayal, the embers of Marlowe and Torin's love ignites once more. But Marlowe finds herself in the embrace of a Mob boss's son, entangled in a web of obsession and danger. Fate, however, has a twist in store.
When the lines between love and vengeance blur, Marlowe must choose her dance of destiny.

After being brought home by my biological parents, I thought I'd finally get the love I'd been missing.

But no matter what I did, they only blamed me for bullying my adopted sister. My husband would just look at me with disgust.

They thought I was cruel and evil. When my adopted sister was diagnosed with leukemia, they forced me to donate bone marrow to her.

I was forced to eat and exercise, gaining twenty pounds in half a month.

My adopted sister suddenly looked at me and said, "Sis, to tell you the truth, I don't have leukemia at all. I'm just playing with you. When you die on the operating table, I'll be with your husband."

I felt so sick I wanted to die.

But I couldn't die.

I had to survive.

I had to crawl out of this hell alive!

"You good-for-nothing should get out and save your food rations. I'll use your truckload of supplies for you!"

The man-eating scarlet spores swept through the town. My good brother locked the security door tightly and locked me in the corridor filled with blood mist.

He stared intently at me through the peephole, waiting to see the horrific sight of my internal organs being drained by the fungus.

But a second before I was devoured by the spores, I hid in my personal space and with a single thought drained the last drop of water and every grain of rice from the room.

Three days later, in this impregnable "vacuum tomb".

When he was so thirsty that he swallowed blood, and knelt on the ground desperately pounding on the door.

I kicked the door open, tied him up with nylon rope, and hung him upside down in the blood-red storm outside the window.

My husband Eric couldn't speak after a car accident three years ago. Three years of silence. Not one word.

To pay for his rehab, I worked four jobs at once—worked until I was coughing up blood, until I collapsed. Winter nights, Leo and I huddled under one threadbare blanket. When my son spiked a fever and I had no money for medicine, I stayed up all night pressing wet rags to his burning forehead.

Eric? His only communication was cold texts, ordering me around. When Leo reached for a hug, he'd push him away like our son didn't exist.

I endured it all. Because deep down, I believed the accident was my fault.

Until that night.

I was hauling equipment at Selena's concert—Selena, the pop star everyone knew—when a mystery guest in a mask stepped on stage. They sang together, voices blending like they'd done this a thousand times.

That voice. That lightning-shaped scar on his elbow.

My "mute" husband of three years.

I followed him backstage. Through the door, I heard Selena's laugh: "Congrats, Eric. Your mute act is almost over—you won the bet."

Three years of sacrifice.

All of it just a game. A bet with his first love.

Three months after being reunited with the Harrington family, I won £5 million in the lottery.

Then, they kicked me out of the house.

My father, my mother, and that imposter brother—three swindlers—fabricated an apocalyptic lie and used a so-called "heirloom" to steal my lottery ticket.

They didn't know that the end times really were coming.

Unbeknownst to them, the true power of that wristband was—item duplication.

Little did they know, I was the one who had truly been reborn from the apocalypse.

In my past life, they used me as bait, letting me be torn to pieces by the infected.

In this life, 5 million pounds? Go ahead and squander it.

I want to watch them struggle in despair and die in fear.

And I will have unlimited resources at my disposal, on this wasteland—

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?

He fell through time. She just wanted him out of her apartment. Now they’re bound by a curse that could kill them both.
Ava’s life is in chaos on a good day, but things only get worse when a scarred, furious knight crashes into her apartment, claiming she summoned him from five hundred years ago.

Kael is dangerous, confusing, and way too hot for someone threatening to kill her unless she helps him return home. The only problem is, they’re magically bonded together. The harder they fight it, the stronger the pull becomes.
As ancient magic awakens inside Ava and enemies from Kael’s past return, their explosive chemistry becomes deeper—and far more dangerous. Time is running out, and one will be lost forever if they can’t break the curse.

To protect her little sister, Eva Marlowe sells herself in the one place where desperation has value: a vampire auction. She doesn’t expect to survive it. She doesn’t expect to be bought by two vampire brothers.

Sebastian Ashbourne is cold, calculating, and ruthless with a crown in everything but name. Gabriel is reckless, charming, and deadly when crossed. Both are bound by blood, power, and the ruthless command of their father, one of the most feared political figures in the supernatural world.

They didn’t want a human.
She didn’t want to belong to anyone.
But the contract is sealed, and none are ready for what comes next.

As Eva navigates the glittering cages of vampire society, secrets begin to surface — about her past, her bloodline, and why the Ashbournes were so desperate to claim her. When a long-exiled vampire king emerges from the shadows with his designs on Eva, she finds herself at the heart of a legacy war older than any of them.

Some vampires want her dead.
Some want her bound.
But the Ashbourne brothers?
They want to keep her — and they’ll burn the world to do it.

Dark romance. High heat. One girl. Two vampires. No choosing required.

I’m not supposed to be sleeping with my professor.

He's a mystery to me. He's controlling, demanding, and he has me wrapped around his little finger. Anything he wants, I'll give it to him. The hours we share together aren't about love. It's just sex. Hot, dirty, passionate sex. It was never supposed to be anything more than that.

Now I’m in over my head. He’s not who I thought he was...In fact...There’s more than one of him.

Her relationship is destroyed when Olivia walks in and finds her fiance sleeping with his assistance. While trying to figure out her next move, Olivia runs into Jackson, her ex's brother. Even more surprising, he offers to help by giving her a place to stay.
As their relationship grows, will they overcome the obstacles of a taboo relationship?

After being abandoned at the border of the Blue River Pack territory, Rain is raised in the orphanage as a witch, where she becomes best friends with Jessica Tompson, a werewolf orphan from the pack. After Jessicas seventeenth birthday, Jessica tells Rain they must escape the pack to save Rain from a horrible fate. But before they can leave, Odett, a five-year-old rogue pup, enters their lives, and they decide to take her with them to ensure she doesn't share the same fate as Rain. After they leave, they run into danger while in the woods as they try to make their way south to New Orleans in an effort to find a witch who will help train Rain to use her magic. But soon, they will discover The Moon Goddess has a plan for Rain and her newly found family. She is pulled from her miserable life and thrown onto a rollercoaster of ups and downs, finding her goddess-given mate, discovering her family's past, and even fighting a war to save all supernatural species. What will their fate entail? Will she find her happy ending?

Jake's fingers danced across my nipples, squeezing gently and making me groan in pleasure. He lifted my shirt and stared at my hardened nipples through my bra. I tensed, and Jake sat up and moved back on the bed, giving me some space.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Was that too much?” I could see the worry in his eyes as I took a deep breath.

“I just didn’t want you to see all my scars,” I whispered, feeling ashamed of my marked body.


Emmy Nichols is used to surviving. She survived her abusive father for years until he beat her so severely, she ended up in the hospital, and her father was finally arrested. Now, Emmy is thrown into a life she never expected. Now she has a mother

who doesn't want her, a politically motivated stepfather with ties to the Irish mob, four older stepbrothers, and their best friend who swear to love and protect her. Then, one night, everything shatters, and Emmy feels her only option is to run.

When her stepbrothers and their best friend finally find her, will they pick up the pieces and convince Emmy that they will keep her safe and their love will hold them together?

They shattered her. Then they put her back together, piece by beautiful piece.
Now, Emmy belongs to them. Body, heart, and soul.
After surviving everything life threw at her, Emmy finally said yes to the five men who love her like she’s the center of their universe. Josh and Jake, the protective twins. Mike, the teasing Dom. Drew, the gentle caretaker. And Patrick, the dark-eyed mafia heir who would burn the world to keep her safe.
But healing doesn’t end with a ring.
As they build a life together, Emmy must learn to trust not just her men, but herself. Old fears still whisper. Secrets still linger. And claiming forever with five fiercely devoted men? That’s no fairytale, it’s a battlefield of emotion, desire, and learning how to be loved without breaking.
Spicy, heart-wrenching, and tender in all the right places, Claimed Girl is a full-length sequel to Shattered Girl, continuing Emmy’s journey from surviving to thriving, surrounded by the only family she’s ever truly belonged to.

This is the complete collection of all 11 books in the War Girl Series. War Girl Ursula is the bittersweet love story between a German woman and a British pilot. The eldest Klausen daughter, Ursula, must choose between morality and obedience when the wounded man asks her for help.   War Girl Lotte: the nestling Lotte is impulsive and outspoken, and a passionate fighter for justice. When she discovers four Jewish children on the run, her life finally has a purpose. But her act of humanity may cost her and those she loves dearly.   War Girl Anna: middle daughter Anna wants to be a human biologist, but when she discovers a horrific secret, she must choose between career and morality. Hidden from the world, gruesome things are happening - and Anna is soon caught in the middle.   Reluctant Informer: Sabine Mahler, the Klausens' lodger, is not who she claims to be. Her husband's survival depends on her willingness to cooperate with the Gestapo.   Trouble Brewing: Richard is a soldier. He obeys orders, until he sees her. She works for the Polish resistance, saving her life is a crime against Führer and Fatherland. When fate reunites them at his most vulnerable time in life, he must choose: Fight for his country or become a traitor of conscience.   Fatal Encounter: Lotte Klausen and her Polish brother-in-law Piotr Zdanek are both in Warsaw on the eve of the Uprising — on opposing sides. When they meet during the heat of the battle will they be able to save each other’s lives or does the war between their countries tear the family apart?   Uncommon Sacrifice: Held captive in a notorious Nazi camp, Peter clings to the dream of freedom. But when his wife Anna stages an escape for him, he has to leave his injured brother Stan behind.   Secrets Revealed: Officially employed as a radio operator for the Wehrmacht, Lotte is, in fact, a spy for the British service, risking her life to defeat the Nazi forces. When her contact in the Norwegian resistance is captured, a race against time begins.   Together at Last: Loving her is a crime that could ruin his entire military career. RAF pilot Tom is desperate to find the woman he left behind in Nazi Germany. When he finally does, he discovers he can never be with her.   Endless Ordeal: Surrendering to the Russians is Wehrmacht Leutnant Johann Hauser’s only option. Whisked away into the vast lands of the Soviet Union, he and his comrades cling to life by a thin thread. The fighting never stops, but their new enemies are hunger, cold, and exhaustion.

I've married sixteen dead men for a living. My seventeenth husband just opened his eyes.
I was born knowing one thing: the dead can speak one last time — but only to a spouse.
So I marry dead men. Rich families pay me to wed their fresh corpses, carry the last words sealed inside me, and read the testament out before the heirs. Then I burn the marriage certificate, and the marriage ends at the grave. Starting price: six hundred thousand dollars.
This morning, the Crane heir drowned in his own pool. Twenty-eight, obscenely rich, not one word left behind. The family offered five million and a private jet. By my count — my seventeenth husband. By a wide margin, the handsomest.
I said "I do" to a corpse for the seventeenth time. Then I called for his last words.
Silence. Sixteen weddings, sixteen voices. Husband number seventeen had nothing to say.
Because my seventeenth husband just opened his eyes.

Eight times. That's how many boyfriends my best friend Sera has "tested" for me. Eight times she's proven they weren't good enough by stealing them away with her perfect smile and fake concern.
"I'm just looking out for you, Lia," she always says. "If he really loved you, he wouldn't be tempted by me."
But this time is different. This time, it's Ryan—my boss, my almost-something, the first man who's ever made me believe I might be worth loving. When Sera comes back to town asking about my love life, I panic and lie. There's no one, I tell her. Nothing happening at all.
Big mistake.
Now she's got her sights set on him, and I'm watching her work her magic all over again. The late-night texts, the red lace lingerie, the hotel room invitation. I should just accept it like I always do. Let her prove once again that I'm not worth fighting for.
But I'm done being the girl who hands over everything she wants. This time, I'm fighting back.

"Baby, lend me Stella for the movie."
When my fiancé Damon said this, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. My guide dog starring in his Oscar-worthy film—what a perfect love story.
I'm Aria Sinclair, 26-year-old blind film producer with perfect pitch and endless money, but no eyes. So when he said "The press will go crazy for our story," I stupidly agreed.
Three weeks later, in the editing room:
01:47:23—Dull impact.
01:47:31—Familiar whimper.
01:47:35—Silence.
My perfect pitch never lies. That wasn't CGI—that was real impact. Worse, I knew that whimper. That was Stella, my guide dog, my eyes, my most loyal companion.
They killed her. For a goddamn trophy.
On premiere night, when Damon walked the red carpet with a strange German Shepherd, when I touched her paw and found no white star-shaped mark—
"This is not my dog!"
I broke down in front of hundreds of reporters.
"Honey, you're under too much stress," Damon said gently. "Maybe you need rest."
Whispers from the audience: "Poor blind girl..." "She really needs help..."
Just like that, I became the crazy one.
Abandoned by the world.
Betrayed by the man I loved most.
But they made one fatal mistake—they thought stealing my eyes would silence me.
Now it's time to let them hear what despair sounds like...
[Click to watch me destroy them both...]

"Where is my son?"
My husband wouldn't look at me.
I had just come out of anesthesia. The bassinet next to my hospital bed was empty — except for a stack of cash, a christening card, and a ring pinned to the corner of the card.
The card had another woman's name in the godmother box.
That woman walked in behind my husband. She picked up the ring and slid it onto her own finger.
"He's safe, sweetheart. We've been talking about this for months."
My husband is Damiano Marchetti. He runs the family that runs this city. The woman wearing the ring is his father's young widow.
The baby on that card is my son.
For four years now I have been the woman this house pretends not to see. The wife told to use the servants' entrance. The mother of a boy who calls another woman Mommy.
Last night I asked my husband for a divorce.
He laughed in my face.
He has no idea how much that's going to cost him.

To stop the merfolk from being slaughtered, I went ashore to seduce the boy I grew up with — Lucian Voss, now one of the world's top scientists.
He still had feelings for me. He kept me in his bed for seven days and seven nights, refusing to let go.
I woke from the haze of pleasure to a pair of pliers prying the scales off my back.
Lucian watched me arch in agony, his expression ice-cold.
"Mermaid scales can repair genetic defects. You don't mind sharing a few, do you?"
"After all, what your kind owes me is worth far more than a handful of scales."
Two years. For two years I watched him marry another woman.
He held my kind's lives over my head and forbade me to leave. Every few days, he'd pry the scales from my spine, grind them into powder, and feed them to his new wife Vivienne to strengthen her body.
He shackled my ankles and ordered me to stay up all night washing his bedsheets. I had to kneel outside their bedroom door, motionless, listening to them together until dawn.
When Vivienne got pregnant, she started complaining about the color of the scale powder.
"Honey, these last few have been so dull. Is she running out?"
Lucian glanced at me.
The look on his face — he was counting. Calculating how many scales I had left.
He hated me to the bone, yet every time I nearly passed out from the pain, he was the one who pulled me off the floor. Forced medicine down my throat, fingers clamped around my jaw until I swallowed.
"You're counting on the fact that I still care about you. So tell me — where are my parents?"
I stayed silent and let the contradiction hang there.
It wouldn't matter soon. I wouldn't have to keep that secret much longer.
A mermaid who stays on land for three years without returning to the sea will die. No exceptions.
And I had three days left.

I woke up the morning the contract was due, picked up the pen, and crossed out my own name.
Wrote my sister's instead.
Last time, I packed away every leather jacket I owned and let Stefano Mastroianni's stylist dress me in things that needed dry cleaning. I sat straight at his family dinners and smiled until my face hurt. I let him correct my posture in front of his mother like I was something he hadn't finished training.
I did all of it, and I still ended up in the ground.
So this time I gave him Chiara. Took Pier Nine from my father as the price, and got out.
He thought he was getting his perfect bride.
On the wedding day, he reached for her hands—and felt it immediately. Smooth palms. Not a mark on them. Not the hands of a woman who'd been gripping a steering wheel since she was sixteen.
He pulled the veil up.
Chiara looked back at him, flushed with triumph.
Stefano stripped the Mastroianni ring off her finger in front of every powerful family in the city, kicked over the altar, and put one question through the cathedral walls:
"Where is Tessa."

The night Declan Ashford announces his chosen mate, everyone in the pack expects me to show up and fall apart.
I don't go.
What I do instead: I'm sitting on the floor of Cael Voss's dorm room in a training jacket that isn't mine, asking whether his mattress is filled with rocks. Cael is Declan's packmate at the academy. His equal in rank. His roommate. The last person I had any reason to call tonight.
I called him anyway.
Here's what he doesn't know: I'm not actually Beta. My real rank was sold before I was old enough to understand what that meant. I've been suppressing it for years.
Here's what I don't know: he's had something of mine under his pillow for two years. Something small. Something I spent three days looking for before I gave up.
Neither of us has said anything about it yet.

My roommate put a Blood Binding Curse on me — my own bloodline power, along with every resource I receive, gets automatically rerouted straight to her.
My ex helped her set it up. For six months she lived off my bloodline playing noble princess, him always on her arm, while I walked around hollow. The harder I fought to prove myself, the more I fed her.
Then I died. Came back knowing everything.
Here's what I figured out: the curse reroutes everything I receive.
Including debt.
I went to a guild and borrowed a batch of elixirs. Opened the contract.
The debtor on the line wasn't me.

For six years, I wore Pack silver. I sold my blood. I scrubbed silver out of Pack den floors. I slept on a basement floor — all to pay off my mate's Pack debt and buy my brother's wolfsbane antidote.
Today, with the receipt finally signed, my brother looked at me and said:
"Seren, I was never poisoned. Our parents aren't dead either. The Rogue raid six years ago — I arranged it. The only wolf hurt that night was you."
My mate stepped up behind him: "I never lost my Pack rank either. I've been at the estate the whole time."
Then my parents — the ones I'd buried seven years ago — walked through the door.
The Pack physician had given me forty-eight hours left to live.
They were going to remember every single one.

I just got out of prison after three years, and my family wants me to go back in.
"It's only three days," they said. "You survived three years—what's three more days?"
What they don't know: I'm dying. The only thing keeping me alive is my mate bond. Three days away from Everett means death.
For three years in prison, someone sent me food every week. No note, no name. I thought it meant my family still loved me.
I was so grateful.
I didn't know it was my twin sister. I didn't know what was inside.

I spent five years loving Beckett Calloway.
When his ex-girlfriend died saving his life, I held him through every nightmare. When he said he "wasn't ready" for marriage, I waited. When he whispered "soon," I believed him.
Then her sister showed up. Crying about some terminal illness. Begging him to take care of her.
He let her move onto our private island—the one he promised would only ever belong to us.
He introduced her at the gala where he was supposed to announce our engagement.
He got her pregnant.
And when I told him she was lying about everything, he looked at me like I was the monster.
Then came our wedding rehearsal. She walked down the aisle in my dress. He slid his ring onto her finger. The chapel caught fire. I collapsed, bleeding.
He scooped her up and ran. Didn't even glance back.
So I burned my vows, deleted every trace of myself, and vanished.
This time, I wasn't coming back.

A hundred years ago, that curse was meant for him. I'm the one who threw myself in front of it.
It cost me my elven heart, shattered on the spot—and a name I could never wash off. Traitor.
I never argued. Because the moment I speak the truth, the curse goes straight back to him.
So I stayed. I became his blood servant and let him drain me, one bottle at a time, to feed the woman he'd waited a century for. I told myself that if I endured long enough, someday he'd see my heart for what it was.
Then the healer told me my heart had thirty days left.
And he walked in, knife in hand, to say his beloved needed more of my blood.
This time, I'm not enduring anything.
I'm going to give him back this heart—at the exact moment he's most sure he's won.

There are no unmated males in our pack.
Every she-wolf in Hollowfen is promised to someone when she turns eighteen. We just don't get to know who until we walk into the Choosing Hall.
Girls go in wearing white. They come out flushed, shaking, barely able to stand. Some laugh. Some cry. None of them talk about what happens inside.
My sister Thessaly turned eighteen this spring. Gran told her she couldn't attend the Choosing.
She went anyway. She came back on shaking legs, with blood between her thighs and a smile she couldn't wipe off her face.

I took a bullet for my husband five years ago. He married me in the ICU before the anesthesia wore off.
Raffaele Santoro—heir to the most powerful mafia family in Italy—told me I was his everything. He bought a castle and named it after me. He reserved a grave beside his parents so we'd lie together for eternity.
While I was pumping my body full of hormones for our fourth round of IVF, he was across town watching his childhood sweetheart give birth to twin boys.
He named one of them Dante—the name I'd chosen for our future son.
The night I found out, I was seven weeks pregnant with his child.
I didn't tell him.
I called my best friend and said: I need everyone to think I'm dead.

The ultrasound photo caught fire slowly, curling at the edges before the flame swallowed it whole.
I watched it burn in front of my mother's grave.
Eight weeks. That was how far along I had been.
Three days ago, on the anniversary of her death, I came here to talk to her. To tell her she was going to be a grandmother.
Instead, I found my husband fucking his ex-girlfriend against the oak tree twenty feet from her headstone.
I lost the baby that night.

My husband never wore condoms with me. Said they ruined it for him. So I swallowed birth control pills for four years until they made me sick.
Then I found a half-empty box in his glove compartment. And a thong under his backseat.
That wasn't even the worst part.
The necklace I'd made from my mother's ashes—the one I'd been grieving over losing for a year—was dangling between his twenty-three-year-old trainee's tits. He stole it from our bedroom and gave it to her.
She caught me staring. She smiled.
When I confronted him, he slapped me. Then drove off with her crying in his passenger seat.
Her friends came to my hospital with a livestream, demanding I apologize for "bullying" her.
I led them straight to the parking garage.
They found her on a stretcher. Legs wrapped around my husband. No condom.
The whole internet watched.

After the wedding, my husband moved his dead fiancée's mother into our guest room. The whole town called it the kindest thing they'd ever seen.
Every morning, Dione made me a green smoothie. Her grandmother's recipe, she said. Good for the nerves.
I never drank a single one. I poured them all into the chicken feed.
In my last life, I drank them. One a day, for thirty days.
Then I started losing time. I would blink at breakfast and come back at dinner. I found notes in my own handwriting that I never wrote.
I begged Julian to take me to a doctor. He held my shoulders and smiled. "You're just tired, baby. Drink your smoothie."
On the thirtieth night, I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own body.
I never woke up. Someone else did.
This time, every glass went to Nugget, the smallest of my backyard hens.
And one night, a hen crowed in my backyard.
Hens don't crow. And we don't have a rooster.

In my last life, my boyfriend's childhood best friend handed out jars of homemade sunscreen on the boat ride to the island. I'm a marine bio major — one sniff and I knew the mix had something in it that could drive the island's feral hogs into a frenzy. I told everyone to throw them out.
They did. But Brynn didn't look at the group. She looked at me. Eyes red, jaw tight. "You just can't stand seeing people appreciate anything I do, can you?" She turned and ran into the woods alone.
We searched for her all night in a storm. By morning we found her body at the bottom of the cliffs.
A week later, at her memorial bonfire on the beach, every person who'd gotten hurt during the search turned on me. My boyfriend ripped off his bandage and showed his stitches. "If you hadn't humiliated Brynn in front of everyone, she'd still be alive."
Someone said I should burn for what I did to her.
Then hands on my back. The fire. I burned alive on the sand while seventeen people watched.
I opened my eyes. Salt air. Engine noise. I was back on the boat — the morning of the trip.

My brother Soren is a figure skating prodigy. Every dollar in our house, every hour, every scrap of attention — all his.
Me? I'm the kid who doesn't need to be seen.
The night before Nationals, I told my mom my stomach hurt so bad I could barely stand. She said I was making trouble. Dad told me to take a painkiller and tough it out. Then they loaded up the car and drove two hundred miles to watch Soren skate.
They didn't come home until Sunday night. By then, I'd been dead for over a day.
I called her. Again and again. She had her phone on airplane mode.
Now I'm a ghost, drifting behind their car on the highway home. They're laughing, complaining I didn't even text Soren a congratulations.
I wonder what their faces will look like when they walk through that door.

My husband told me our daughter was brain-dead. He put a pen in my hand and told me to sign the organ donation form. He said it was the merciful thing to do.
I signed.
Then I watched her heart get cut out and transplanted into another child — his mistress's son.
He'd been planning it for months. The fake diagnosis, the doctor who happened to be his college girlfriend, the night his mother lured me away from the hospital so they could drug my little girl.
When I found out the truth, he killed me for it.
But somehow, I woke up back at that desk. Same pen. Same form. Same lying face waiting for my signature.
This time, I'm not signing. This time, they pay.

My daughter died on her fifth birthday.
Her first real wish—the first one she was old enough to make herself—was to go to the beach with Daddy.
Gideon promised he would take her.
She waited for him all day. She was still asking for him when she took her last breath.
He never came.
I brought her ashes to the beach she'd always dreamed of. Let her finally see the ocean.
That's when I heard it—a woman's moan, low and breathy, coming from behind the rocks.
Then his voice. Then his name on her lips.
"Between me and Lily, who do you love more?"
"You. Obviously."
He was fucking his mistress on our daughter's dream beach—while I stood there holding her ashes.
When I finally confronted them, I didn't get an apology. I got a slap across the face.
And when his mistress caught my eye and smiled, I realized something.
She knew exactly when my daughter would die.

I was a scholarship student with thirty extra pounds. Del Ashford had two hundred thousand followers and her family's supplement brand on every wall of the athletic center. First week of school, she decided we were going to be best friends.
She said she wanted to help me get in shape. What that actually looked like: I carried her product shipments up three flights of stairs, drafted her emails, and picked up her lunch from the place across campus that didn't deliver.
My roommates started calling me her errand girl behind my back. I let them.
She also introduced me to Beckett Hale. After that, things went the way they went.
She knocked my protein shake over and said I'd burned her. She planted her limited-edition earphones in my bag and told everyone I'd stolen them. The school opened a conduct review. My roommates stopped talking to me.

Beckett said I was the kind of girl who got a little attention and started thinking she deserved more of it.
I couldn't prove any of it. By spring, I was gone.
Some people just aren't built for this, Wren. You know that, right?
Del hadn't even been looking at me when she said it.
Then I opened my eyes and I was back at the party. The night she introduced me to Beckett.

The idea came from Cora.
She ran into the kitchen while I was making dinner, wrapped both arms around my waist, and looked up at me.
"Mommy, can we go to Grandma Ellen's? Just us two? Just us girls?"
"Why?" I asked.
She thought about it, very serious. "Because every time I wake up and you're not home, I miss you. Even when Daddy's there, it's different." A pause. "Grandma Ellen probably misses you just as much as I do."
Reid was leaning in the doorway. He smiled at me—that easy, certain smile—and said, "She's not wrong. You've been running on empty for months. Take the trip. I've got everything covered."
The flights were booked before I finished washing the dishes.
I should have noticed how fast that was.
The call I made the night before we flew home changed everything. I thought I'd hung up.
I hadn't.

My mate died in a border skirmish with an enemy pack.
The woman he loved, Wren, died with him. She came from the pack we'd hated for a hundred years.
They left me two sons who weren't mine by blood.
Eighteen years passed.
I raised those boys like they were my own. I even got them into the Alpha King's Guard — the kind only a handful of pups make in a whole generation.
But the day they were chosen, my mate, dead all these years, walked back through the door with his forbidden lover.
She smiled at me like we were old friends.
"Thank you for turning our sons into the pride of the Guard."
"We couldn't have stayed hidden all these years without you."
Then my mate said he wanted the bond broken. He wanted her as his mate instead. He wanted his sons back.
I didn't cry. I didn't argue.
I just smiled.
"Okay."

Last time, I was the first student to walk out of the SAT.
A news crew was waiting by the doors. The camera found my face, and I made one bored little joke — the test was too easy, I'd rather be surfing in Miami. By midnight the clip had two million likes, and my whole life had a price tag on it.
An agency came knocking within the week. My parents signed the contract before I understood what I was signing away, and they pulled me out of school. I stopped being a person and became their product.
And Mia — my best friend, the girl who cried at my locker and braided my hair before exams — Mia copied my notes, rode them into Yale, and smiled into the cameras while she told the internet I'd slept my way through high school.
By the time the agency had wrung me dry, I had nothing left. No school. No name worth defending. Not one person who believed a word out of my mouth.
The night it ended, Mia came up to the roof to "talk." She said she would never forgive me for being the lucky one. Then she put both hands flat on my chest and pushed.
The last thing I saw was her face, smiling down at me over the edge.
Then I blinked — and I was back in the testing room.