Beast World: They Hated Me, Then I Cooked Them Dinner
Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys.
Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero.
Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold.
I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth.
But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me."
Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again.
Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.
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Chapter 7
Sylvie reached her perfectly manicured hands out, aiming to gently cup Rhys’s pale, sweat-slicked face. She leaned in close, ensuring the low cut of her pristine white dress was highly visible. "It's okay, Rhys," Sylvie whispered, projecting her voice just loud enough so Zev and Corbin could hear her benevolence. "I brought clean water. I'll take over your contract. You'll be safe with me."
Rhys didn't move toward Sylvie. He didn't look relieved. His dark, deep-set eyes flicked from Sylvie’s extended hands to Terra's face.
The original Terra Mason would have exploded. She would have screamed, thrown a tantrum, and ordered Zev to rip Sylvie’s hair out for touching her property. Terra didn't do any of that. She slowly stood up. She brushed the rough concrete dust off the knees of her muddy pants. She crossed her arms and looked down at Sylvie.
"Take over his contract?" Terra asked, her voice completely flat and calm. The acoustics of the basement amplified the coldness in her tone. "With what money, Sylvie?"
Sylvie froze. Her hands stopped inches from Rhys’s face. She looked over her shoulder at Terra, her big blue eyes widening in feigned innocence. "I... I have my family's backing," Sylvie stammered slightly, clearly caught off guard by Terra's lack of hysterics. "The Board knows I am a compassionate caregiver. They will transfer his bio-seal to me for a minimal fee."
Terra let out a short, harsh laugh. It wasn't funny. It was deeply cynical. "Compassionate caregiver," Terra repeated, tasting the bile in the words. She took a slow step forward. "That’s hilarious. Considering it was your idea to put him in this basement."
The basement went dead silent. Zev shifted his weight, his heavy combat boots scraping against the floor. Corbin narrowed his silver eyes, staring intensely at Sylvie’s back.
"T-That's a lie!" Sylvie gasped, her face flushing a deep, ugly red. She stood up, spinning to face Terra, playing the ultimate victim. "How dare you! You're trying to blame your sadistic crimes on me because you lost your corporate backing! I told you to treat them gently!"
"Did you?" Terra tilted her head. She walked right up to Sylvie. Terra was three inches taller, and right now, she felt zero need to shrink herself. "Because I clearly remember sitting in the VIP lounge of the Apex Club last Tuesday. You drank my imported wine, and you said, 'Aquatic beasts are too proud, Terra. You have to dry him out for a few days to break his spirit. Then he'll grovel.'"
Terra quoted the memory perfectly. The original Terra had a photographic memory for conversations, a trait that finally proved useful.
Sylvie’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Panic flashed in her eyes. She glanced nervously at Corbin and Zev, realizing the massive, lethal males in the room were now listening very closely.
"You're crazy," Sylvie spat, her sweet facade cracking. "The toxic energy has rotted your brain!"
Terra ignored Sylvie. She looked past Sylvie's shoulder, directly at Rhys. "She didn't bring any water, Rhys," Terra said quietly. "Look at her hands. Look at her dress. She walked through Sector 4, the filthiest slum in the Enclave, and there isn't a speck of dust on her."
Rhys’s dark eyes slowly moved to assess Sylvie.
"She didn't come here to save you," Terra continued, her voice brutally direct. "She waited until I stabilized your vital signs. She waited outside until the energy spike died down, confirming it was safe. She wants your Level 5 combat output, but she didn't want to risk her own bio-energy field healing a dying mutant."
Every word Terra spoke was a surgical strike against Sylvie's white lotus persona.
Sylvie’s hands balled into tight fists. "Shut up! Rhys, don't listen to this exile! I can give you a clean home! I can give you a warm bed!" Sylvie turned back to Rhys, reaching down to grab his arm.
The moment Sylvie's fingers brushed his skin, Rhys moved. He didn't speak. He just whipped his massive blue tail. The thick, heavy muscles of his aquatic form slammed against the concrete floor, sending a violent splash of the residual blue nano-gel straight up onto Sylvie’s pristine white dress.
"Get away from me," Rhys rasped. His voice was weak, but the absolute disgust in it was undeniable. "Your perfume smells like rotting chemicals."
Sylvie shrieked, jumping backward. She stared down at the glowing blue stain ruining her expensive dress. She looked at Rhys’s cold, rejecting eyes, and then at Corbin, who was now sneering at her with open contempt. Her public performance had utterly collapsed.
"You're all going to rot down here!" Sylvie screamed, her face twisting into something ugly and hateful. "The Board will starve you out! You'll be begging me for a crust of bread by tomorrow!"
She turned and ran up the concrete stairs, her high heels clicking frantically as she fled the basement. The heavy door slammed shut behind her.
Terra let out a long, exhausted breath. Her shoulders slumped. The adrenaline crash hit her like a brick wall.
DING.
[Notice: Asset 2 (Rhys Donovan) Trust Metric increased by 2 points. Current Trust: 2.]
Terra blinked, looking at the blue screen flashing in her vision. Two points. It wasn't much. It was barely a drop in the ocean. But it wasn't zero anymore.
Terra looked back down at Rhys. He was staring at the floor, his breathing steady, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
"Corbin," Terra said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "Unlock his dampening cuffs."
Corbin didn't argue this time. He stepped forward, pulling a heavy, magnetic key-card from his uniform pocket.
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7.5
I was Nyx, a top-tier covert operative. But when I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the unfamiliar, overweight body of a bullied girl named Eliza.
Before I could even process the body swap, the bedroom door splintered open. I was in bed with Julian Malone, a wealthy military heir, both of us heavily drugged. Cameras flashed wildly. It was a vicious setup to ruin his career, and I was the bait.
To save his family's reputation, Julian was forced to marry me. But the moment the wedding was over, he abandoned me. His elite family treated me like a disease. His mother froze my only bank account, trying to starve me into submission.
I even intercepted a private conversation between his parents.
"Once she's in a private facility, she loses all legal standing. We can sign anything we want on her behalf."
They planned to lock me up in a mental asylum and erase my existence entirely to get rid of the "trailer park trash."
To them, I was just a weak, pathetic pawn they could crush without a second thought. They thought they had backed a helpless girl into a corner.
They had no idea they had just declared war on a lethal weapon.
I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I bypassed their state-of-the-art security, cracked their safe, and stole the financial secrets that could destroy their entire empire.
"I want five hundred thousand dollars, or these files go to the IRS."
This time, I was playing by my own rules.
9.7
Agent Alivia Sanford opened her eyes to the suffocating stench of wild animal musk and raw sex.
She hadn't just transmigrated into a savage beastman world; she had woken up in the body of a 300-pound, diseased, and universally despised woman. Worse, the original owner had just drugged the tribe's strongest warrior, trying to force a mating.
Now, the warrior pinned her to the cave floor with murderous fury.
"You think you can trap me, you disgusting pig?" he snarled, ready to rip her throat out.
After kneeing him and escaping, a "Super Charm AI" bound to her mind demanded she conquer her five designated mates to survive. But these men treated her like a walking plague. They mocked her bloated face, threw bloody raw meat into the mud for her to eat, and publicly announced they would starve her to death. Even her own family looked at her with utter disgust.
In her past life, she was a legendary survivor who could have crushed these arrogant men with her bare hands. Now, she was trapped in a weak shell, threatened with soul erasure by a system if she didn't grovel for their affection. Why should she beg for love from beasts who wanted her dead?
Looking at the five "-100" hostility scores on her system panel, Alivia coldly drew a mental cross over each of their faces. Enduring agonizing pain, she forced her bio-manipulation ability to violently purge the toxins from her fat body. She wasn't going to play their twisted game; she was going to find her own resources and make them pay.
8.1
On my wedding day, the wedding planner looked at me with pity in her eyes.
She told me the groom had called with a last-minute request. He wanted the name on the floral arch changed from "Elena" to "Sofia."
Five years of loyalty to Dante Romero, and I found out he was planning a "secret" ceremony with his mistress an hour before ours.
He claimed she was dying of cancer. He said it was her final wish to be a bride, and that as a good mafia wife, I should understand. He swore it was just charity.
But I had seen the texts where he called me "furniture."
I had watched him step over my body when I fell down the stairs at a club, just so he could leave with her.
And this morning, I watched Sofia walk into the hotel lobby wearing *my* custom French lace wedding dress, smirking as she clung to his arm.
Dante thinks I'm crying in the bridal suite.
He thinks I will sit in the front row of his "fake" wedding and wait for my turn like a dutiful puppet.
He is wrong.
I wiped my tears and picked up my phone. I didn't cancel the wedding date. I just changed the location to the ballroom next door.
And I changed the groom.
As Dante says his vows to his mistress, I am walking down the aisle to meet the only man the Romero family fears.
The Reaper.
8.2
One night was supposed to be her escape. After catching her ex-boyfriend in the arms of her treacherous stepsister on her twenty-first birthday, Valerie sought the only mercy she could find: the numbing sting of alcohol. But the morning brought no peace-only a shattered spirit, a body marked by a stranger, and a memory wiped clean against her will.
Months later, Valerie is a woman reborn from the wreckage, landing a high-paying role at the prestigious Noir Group. But the dream quickly shifts into a polished nightmare. Her new boss is Ellan Noir-a ruthless CEO whose name commands the city and whose eyes hold an unmistakable, familiar darkness.
When a mistake in the executive lift threatens her career, Ellan offers a devil's bargain: a contract of total submission. To save her best friend Nora's failing heart, Valerie must become his private property, bound to his beck and call 24/7. As office politics bleed into a dangerous game of obsession, Valerie realizes the man who rules her career is the same shadow who owns her past.
Dragged into his world of chaos, Valerie discovers a truth that changes everything She decides to collide with Ellan's business rival y get revenge until she realises she is carrying his child. As she struggles to survive the predators in the Noir family, Ellan fights for his life in a hospital bed. With a baby's life hanging in the balance after a lethal post-birth injection, Valerie must decide if she can save the man who broke her-or if their twisted fate will end in tragedy.
7.1
To save my family from ruin, I remarried my billionaire ex-husband, Jaxon Lowe. He held my late mother' s locket hostage, forcing me back into a gilded cage where I endured his cold contempt and his very public affair. I played the part of the silent, obedient wife he demanded, building a wall of ice around my heart just to survive.
But my obedience didn't protect me. He abandoned me in a torrential downpour to rescue his mistress, Ivory.
Then, he broke his one promise. He let Ivory have my mother's locket pulled from auction, the very reason for my sacrifice, simply because she found it "unlucky."
That final betrayal led me straight into the hands of his business rival, where I was tortured and left for dead.
But I survived.
Four months later, Jaxon found me. He stood before me, tears streaming down his face, holding the now-repaired locket and begging for forgiveness.
I took back what was mine.
"I want a divorce," I said, my voice calm and final. "And I never want to see you again."
7.6
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."