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In my past life, I was the naive surrogate who fell desperately in love with Karson King, an untouchable Wall Street billionaire. I thought my blind devotion would earn me a place in his family. Instead, his cruel mother forced me to sign away my parental rights to my three-year-old daughter. I was locked in a dark, freezing basement. I watched helplessly as his arrogant relatives tormented my child, pushing her down a flight of marble stairs and shattering her tiny arm. When we finally died in a horrific car crash, my face covered in blood amidst the shattered glass, Karson didn't shed a single tear. To him, my death was just the convenient erasure of a cheap mistake. I sacrificed my dignity for his approval, but they treated us worse than stray dogs. Why did my innocent daughter have to pay the ultimate price for their ruthless arrogance? Opening my eyes again, the harsh glare of a massive crystal chandelier pierced my vision. I was back in the grand foyer of the King estate, exactly five years ago. "Sign it. You are nothing but a gold digger." My soon-to-be mother-in-law slammed the thick legal contract onto the marble table, demanding I give up my daughter. This time, the paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced by absolute, icy clarity. I didn't cower. I picked up the pen, looked right at the billionaire who despised me, and prepared to manipulate his entire empire.

My little boy died on the operating table during a minor, routine surgery. That exact same night, my billionaire husband bought out the Hudson River for a massive, million-dollar fireworks show. It wasn't to mourn our child. It was to celebrate his first love's son being discharged from the hospital. When I confronted him with our son's death certificate, he sneered and accused me of hiding the boy to get his attention. He held his mistress in our home, watched her fake a panic attack, and threatened to bankrupt my family if I didn't get on my knees and apologize to her. But the most horrifying truth came from a terrified hospital nurse. My son's anesthesia was deliberately kept low during the procedure to keep his tissue viable to save the mistress's child. He was awake and in agonizing pain while his own father planned a grand celebration for another man's son. I couldn't understand how a father could be so completely heartless. How could he sacrifice his own flesh and blood just to please a woman who constantly manipulated him? Looking at the ashes on my son's favorite toy, my paralyzing grief evaporated, replaced by a cold, unyielding rage. I arranged my little boy's funeral alone in the freezing rain, left my wedding ring on the counter, and walked straight into the private hotel suite of my husband's most ruthless business rival. "Let's take him down," I said.

On their first anniversary, Demi finds her boyfriend fucking her best friend after standing her up on their dinner date. Feeling betrayed, she decides to drink her sorrows where she meets a stranger who will change her life for good. Gavin Morgan, a public figure, and one of the youngest billionaires in New York, is caught by her beauty at first sight. He sees her in a vulnerable state but doesn't take advantage, despite his attraction towards her. When he learns that she's set for an interview with his company, Demi is guaranteed the job. Working together, they grow fond of each other and fall deeply in love. Gavin gives Demi a luxurious life more than she has ever dreamed of. Demi experiences a love she has never seen before from Gavin who treasures her more than anything. However, there are outside forces trying to break them apart. So many girls are obsessed with Gavin and jealous of what Demi has, including her former best friend. Seeing her glowing, her ex also wants her back. To add on that, Gavin's family doesn't accept Demi since she doesn't come from a rich family. But Gavin is determined to protect his woman no matter what. Will the opposing forces win or will love conquer all?

“Sign it“Ivory snarled. “Why?“ Axel asked. “Because we had a deal!“ *** Ivory Micheal got into a contract marriage with Axel Muller, a billionaire CEO for a good cause. Because she needed money. The terms of the contract was simple; A year together then a divorce. But exactly one year later when she slams the divorce papers in Axel's desk, the latter refuses to divorce her claiming he was in love with her and the only way to get those divorce papers signed was to get him to fall out of love with her. A challenge Ivory took personal. Would she succeed? Find out in-between these pages!

Five years ago, he had abandoned her, betrayed her, destroyed her company when she had trusted him and needed him the most. Five years later, Evelyn was back for revenge. She would return everything he had done to her tenfold, and to do that, she needed to live in the same house with him again. "Ex-husband, let's sign a marriage contract again!" Evelyn demanded after barging into her ex-husband's party. "Okay." **** She had sworn to frustrate and destroy his life as they live under the same roof but who can tell Evelyn why everything was different from what she had expected? Who was this man cajoling her every request? Why is her ex-husband who's supposed to be an enemy looking at her dotingly? Ex-husband, this was supposed to be a fierce revenge battle, not a love battle!

The candlelight flickered across Xander's face as he reached into his pocket, his practiced smile never wavering. Five years of marriage, and he still performed these moments with the calculated precision of a hedge fund manager closing a deal. The small velvet box appeared between his fingers, and I felt my own smile mirror his—reflexive, perfectly calibrated, utterly convincing. "Lorelai," he began, his voice carrying that warm timber that had once made my heart race, "five years ago, you became the foundation of everything I've built. This ring is just a small token of my gratitude for your unwavering support." I extended my left hand across the dining table, watching the candlelight dance across the diamond as he slipped it onto my finger. It caught the light beautifully—a perfect, dazzling deception. "It's beautiful, Xander. Thank you." He reached across the table to take my hand, his thumb brushing over the diamond. "You're beautiful. You're everything.

I abandoned him at his lowest point. Later, when he made a comeback, we ran into each other at a bar. I was wrapped in another man's embrace. **Alpha Kelvin Jones**, the leader of the Shadow Moon Pack, fought fiercely, pulling me away from that embrace. Everyone said that **the Alpha** was the type of man who would go to battle for a woman, and that I must have been the one he cherished most. Yet later, he flaunted countless women before me to humiliate me, making me the butt of jokes. But I neither cried nor complained, nursing no grudges. Infuriated, he kissed me roughly and growled, "You're not my Marilyn Edwards, give her back to me!" But I couldn’t. His Marilyn was sick. Gravely ill.

Dawn light filtered through the small window of the Silvermoon Pack's healing den as I methodically arranged my herbs and salves. The familiar scent of willow bark and moonflower filled the air, calming my inner wolf, Seraphina, who purred contentedly within me. "Just one more month," I whispered, my fingers tracing the empty spot on my neck where Marcus's mark would soon rest. Thirteen years of waiting, of loving, of supporting him through every struggle—it was finally coming to fruition. I hummed an ancient healing chant as I worked, carefully measuring dried moonflower petals into a mortar. The tincture I was preparing would help old Beta Michaels with his joint pain. My hands moved with practiced efficiency, though I deliberately kept my movements slower than I was capable of. Years of habit—never showing the full extent of my healing abilities to avoid overshadowing Marcus's fragile Delta ego. "He'll be so proud when we're finally mated," I murmured to Seraphina, who remained uncharacteristically quiet at the mention of Marcus. She'd been that way for years now, a silent presence rather than the vibrant spirit she'd been when I was younger.

When Victor Hale announced me, Autumn Fields, as his mate, Twitter crashed under a wave of hate. Three months after I ended our bond, the vitriol persisted, fueled by rumors linking me with rising star Adrian Grant. While Victor's comeback tour electrified his fans, I battled a secret illness, choosing to step away from the spotlight. Unaware of my condition, Victor moved on with his assistant, Rose. After my death, he faced the truth of our love and my silence, grappling with regret amid a storm of public judgment.

At my husband's nephew's christening, I saw him across the ballroom holding a newborn with another woman. I was four months pregnant with his heir, but he was presenting her son as his own. He had built a criminal empire, and our marriage was a strategic alliance. But now, the men who toasted our wedding were congratulating him on another woman's child, their gazes sliding right past me. My mother confirmed my worst fears: he'd been paying for his mistress's apartment for months. His mistress, Selena, cornered me, her voice dripping with venom. "He chose me. And our son." The stress brought on sharp, agonizing cramps, but when my husband, Dante, rushed over, he took her side. "Calm down," he commanded. "You're making a scene." He accused me of being hysterical, of cornering his fragile mistress who had just given birth. Through a haze of pain, I watched him shield her from me, his wife, telling me to go home and "be rational." The public humiliation was absolute. In the lawyer's office, Selena slapped me, then knocked over her own baby's carrier and screamed that I had attacked her child. Dante believed her without question. As I collapsed from the pain, the last thing I saw was his back as he walked away with his new family. I woke up in the hospital. He arrived with his mistress, not to see if I was okay, but to demand I apologize to her. That was the moment the woman he married died. And in her place, someone new was born.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the silence of our bedroom like a blade. I fumbled for it in the darkness, my heart already racing with that primal fear that comes with late-night calls. The digital clock glowed 3:17 AM. "Mrs. Harrison?" The voice was professional, controlled, but I could hear the weight behind it. "This is Detective Sarah Williams with the Metropolitan Police. I'm calling about your sister." The world tilted. My sister. Which sister? The question died in my throat as ice flooded my veins.

Logan Hale publicly calls wife Mia “Plan B” on Reddit while bankrolling mistress Sierra’s Aspen condos with their joint Tesla stock. Mia discovers the post, traces the money, and documents $25 k in luxury “business” receipts. She freezes joint assets, hires forensic accountant Max Cruz, and schedules a Seattle “conference” as bait. Cameras catch Sierra and Logan in their own home; Mia secures the footage and files for divorce the day his Series B term sheet drops. She liquidates the Napa condo he bought for Sierra, donates proceeds to Girls Who Code, and launches a divorce-tech app dubbed “Upgrade.” Logan loses funding, custody, and reputation; Mia exits the courthouse with her dog, her portfolio, and a trending hashtag: #PlanBecameCEO.

The day I lost my pup and nearly lost my wolf, my mate was in another woman’s arms, comforting her because she had an allergic reaction to moonflower pollen. The same moonflower pollen that had nearly killed me. I had been six weeks pregnant when Alpha Damon sent me into the cursed woods to gather the silver-laced herbs, knowing how sensitive I was to the metal. When rogues attacked me in my weakened state, I screamed for help through our mate bond, only to be met with his cold dismissal: “How could you be so useless, Maya? Elena could have done this without complaining.” While I bled out in the dirt, losing our unborn heir to silver poisoning, Damon severed our mental connection and left me to die. The pack healer found me hours later, barely alive, my wolf retreating so deep inside me I could barely feel her presence. “The silver poisoning caused a miscarriage,” he told me gently. “You were six weeks pregnant.” Fifty missed calls. Thirty unanswered messages. Not one response from the man who was supposed to love and protect me above all others. But I could sense him nearby, and through our mate bond, I felt something that shattered what remained of my heart: contentment. Warmth. How could he be happy when I was dying and we’d lost our baby?

I was the daughter of a loyal Mafia Capo, arranged to marry the Underboss of the Moretti family. But I gave my heart to his brother, Marco, who promised to break the betrothal and protect me. When I went into premature labor in a freezing, abandoned warehouse, Marco didn't come to save me. He sent my cousin, Caitlin. With a mocking smile, she told me Marco despised my "filthy Irish blood" and that my pregnancy was just a temporary amusement. Then, she pulled out a hunting knife. She pinned me down, sliced my abdomen open, and smothered my newborn baby right in front of my eyes. "He agreed that this inconvenience needs to be removed," she whispered. She revealed that she and Marco had orchestrated my father's murder to secure Mafia shipping routes. Then, she casually knocked over a kerosene lantern, locking the heavy metal door to let me and my dead child burn to ash. While they headed to a high-society gala to celebrate my "accidental" death and their new power, I lay in the roaring flames. As the fire blistered my skin and I held my baby's lifeless body, my suffocating despair froze into a razor-sharp rage. My entire life, my family, and my love had been built on their calculated lies. But they made one fatal mistake. I didn't die in that inferno. I dragged my ruined body out of the ashes, wrapped myself in a blood-soaked coat, and walked straight into their celebration banquet to become their goddamn reckoning.

Julian Laurent was known as the most notorious playboy in Rivermont, changing girlfriends as often as he changed his clothes and treating marriage like a joke. Clara Sterling, on the other hand, had always been the most quiet and obedient daughter of the Sterling family. Raised as the heir since childhood, she had been flawless in every word and every gesture. A family-arranged marriage forced these two complete opposites into the same life. On their wedding night, Julian openly made out with a young model at a nightclub. For the first time, Clara cast aside her propriety, slapping him and demanding a divorce on the spot. But before the next day was over, their families had forced them to remarry. This time, Julian managed to stay faithful for a month before he cheated again. Clara filed for divorce once more, cutting ties with him completely. However, that very same day, it was revealed that Clara was not the real daughter of the Sterling family, and she was thrown out. At her lowest point, Julian found her and solemnly promised to protect her from then on. They remarried again, and from that day forward, the scandals surrounding Julian ceased. Everyone said Clara was lucky. Even her best friend insisted that Julian had truly settled down, and Clara believed it. Until she saw him in a hospital corridor, holding her best friend's hand, his voice strained with deep emotion, "I never liked her. You're the one I've always loved!" It turned out all of his tenderness had been a lie. This time, she walked away and never looked back. And the man who had once treated her as disposable only realized after she was gone that he had long since drowned in her quiet love, unable to escape.

Book 1: A Choice Lost to Fate A fast paced wolf shifter mini-series *Contains spicy scenes, sexually explicit content and graphic language. Not suitable for all ages. Evandra Johnson is the Luna of the Pearl Pack and life is going great.... until it isn't. What she thought was a happy marriage to the love of her life, Jalen, her mate and Alpha, turns to something she doesn't recognize overnight. How did she not see the signs? He chose an Omega over her and now the pack will have a new Luna. Now she is faced with heartbreak, pain, humiliation, and a new sense of hopelessness. She has no family to turn to, no friends outside of the Pearl Pack and nowhere to go. Staying a lone wolf means she accepts the status of a rogue. But approaching another pack's territory could cost her life. After her mate's rejection and being banished from her pack, she must figure out her own way. Although she is a trained warrior and has a fierce wolf spirit within her, many dangers await in the forest. She is weakened by the strain of her mate's rejection, making her vulnerable and putting her at great risk. Can she find herself before her wolf becomes a feral beast she no longer can control, or will she rise above? Book 2: A Choice to Survive Captured. Tortured. Broken-but never defeated. In enemy territory, Evandra faces a sadistic rival Alpha, who seeks to twist her destiny into his own. But outside the walls, her four mates march toward war, their love for her powerful enough to shake kingdoms. As the fortress burns and betrayal bleeds into battle, Evandra must survive long enough to claim her place-not just as a Luna, but as the Queen the Moon Goddess destined her to be. Book 3: A Choice Bound by Blood She was torn apart by betrayal. She survived captivity and war. Evandra thought her greatest trials were behind her, but fate is never finished. As war brews and bonds strain, every touch, every kiss, every promise is carved in blood. To protect those she loves, she must embrace what she was always meant to be. Bound in blood to four Alphas, Evandra must decide if love and loyalty are enough to hold back the storm. The Moon Goddess gave her a choice- but every choice comes with a cost.

I'm Crystal Chase, who bound to Preston Lewis for 5 years,but what a hell those years were. When I lay burning with fever, begging him over voice memos, he only said later, "You trashed the master bedroom, so I'll sleep in the guest room." When I got mugged and called him ten times,He chewed me out: "You blew off the pack banquet!" Worst of all, when I lost our pup in a crash, he snarled, "You owe Madeline a pup-lose one to square it." I found he doted on Madeline, who's a spitting image of his dead flame Talia. I smashed his phone: "If you can't pick up calls, what's the point?!" But he bolted to Madeline the second her custom chime rang. Later, I met Warren and swore to unbind. Preston's mom slapped me: "You stabbed my son!" I slapped back: "I put up with your crap for him-now he's yesterday's news!" Madeline framed me for tossing Preston's precious watch, but I exposed Talia's fake "disappearance" at their binding bash: "She lived plush for 5 years, not trafficked!" Preston finally saw the truth, but it was too late. He donated a kidney to my dad, voice soft: "Let me make it up." I shook my head: "I'm with Warren now."

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

On the night of the pack celebration, I waited for my fated mate, Alpha Zane, hoping he would save me from my miserable life as a pitied Omega. Instead, he publicly humiliated me, pointing at my facial scar, and formally rejected me for a beautiful warrior. The severed bond nearly killed my inner wolf. Banished as a Rogue, I dragged my broken body to my birth pack. But my own father refused to even look at me, letting my stepmother and sister throw me back into the wilderness to die. Lost in a lawless town, a terrifyingly powerful stranger named Alaric found me. He triggered a rare second-chance mate bond. He kissed my scar, called it a "sacred mark," and promised to protect me forever. But when I woke up the next morning, he was gone. He left a cold rejection letter on the nightstand, with a handwritten line at the bottom. "A king cannot be bound by a cursed omen." I didn't understand. If I was just a cursed omen, why did his wolf claim me so fiercely? Why did he worship my scar in the dark, only to brutally abandon me at dawn? What kind of sick game was this, and what was he hiding? Clutching the piece of paper that shattered my heart for the second time, my despair completely vanished, replaced by an ice-cold hatred. I wiped my tears and walked out of the room. I was going to find this "king" and make them all pay.

The morning sun cast a golden glow across the Morrison Pack courtyard, illuminating the white and silver banners that draped elegantly from every corner. Five years. Five years of devotion, sacrifice, and what I had believed was love. I smoothed down the front of my silver gown—custom-made for this occasion—and forced a smile as another pack member approached with congratulations. "Luna Victoria, you look radiant today," the elderly she-wolf said, clasping my hands in hers. "The Moon Goddess truly blessed our pack when she brought you to our Alpha." I nodded graciously, the practiced response falling from my lips. "Thank you, Elder Marian. The blessing has been mine as well." My inner wolf, Selene, stirred restlessly within me. *Something's wrong*, she whispered. *He smells different today.* I silenced her concerns as I had been doing for weeks now.

The phone slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering against the marble floor of my healing center. The sound echoed through the empty corridors like a death knell, but I barely heard it over the roaring in my ears. "Dead." The word replayed in my mind, each repetition driving the knife deeper into my chest. My sister was dead. I sank to my knees, my Luna composure crumbling as the reality crashed over me in waves. The patrol captain's words had been clinical, professional: "Rogue attack on the eastern border. One casualty. I'm sorry, Luna." But it was the footage that destroyed me. My hands shook as I pulled up the security feed on my tablet, the screen blurring through my tears. There it was, clear as daylight—Carmen Silva, our pack's Beta female, leading a group of rogues directly to where my sister had been gathering herbs.

The dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light were the only witnesses to my masterpiece. In the suffocating heat of the attic, hidden away from the rest of the pack house, I held the Moonstone Collar in my trembling, scarred hands. It was finished. For three months, I had spent every spare second up here, bent over the workbench, etching microscopic runes into the silver setting. My fingers, rough from scrubbing floors and washing dishes, ghosted over the central gem. It hummed against my skin, a low, vibrant thrum that only someone with ancient blood could feel. I had used the Old Tongue for the enchantments—techniques passed down through my mother’s line, secrets of the Lycan Court that I had buried deep within me five years ago. "For you, Henry," I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse. He had mentioned the collar months ago, casually tossing a sketch onto the kitchen table while I was chopping vegetables. He said he wanted the family heirloom restored for the Pack Anniversary.

For ten years, I was the indispensable right hand and fiancée to star architect Declan Sharp. I poured my life into his career, sacrificing my own ambitions for us. Our wedding was just weeks away. But my world shattered when I saw him with the new intern, Kisha. He was showing her my design, the one he called "competent," and proudly saying, "This is Kisha's idea." It got worse. He stole my groundbreaking research paper for her, then publicly dismissed me as a mere "drafting assistant." My own family attacked me, furious I had lost their meal ticket. I was just a tool. A convenient machine he used to build his empire. He never loved me; he loved what I did for him. So when he tried to kiss me to shut me up, I slapped him. I deleted every file, every blueprint, every trace of my work from his life. Then I blocked his number and bought a one-way ticket to Detroit. This time, I was building a life for myself.

I went to the family lawyer for a routine travel clearance. Instead, I was handed a divorce decree. The ink was three years old. While I had been playing the role of the dutiful Capo's wife, Dante had secretly divorced me the day after our fifth anniversary. Twenty-four hours later, he legally married the nanny, Gia, and named her cruel-eyed son as his heir. I returned home to confront him, only for the boy to throw boiling tomato soup on me. Dante didn't check my burns. He cradled the boy and looked at me with pure, drug-fueled hatred, calling me a monster for upsetting his "son." The final blow came in a parking garage. A car sped toward us. Dante didn't pull me to safety. He shoved me into the vehicle's path, using my body as a human shield to protect his mistress. Lying broken on the asphalt, I realized Aria Vitiello was already dead to him. So, I decided to make it official. I arranged a private flight over the Atlantic and ensured there were no survivors. By the time Dante was weeping over the wreckage, realizing too late that he had been poisoned against me, I was already in France. The Canary was dead. The Reaper had risen.