My Dying Wish: A Fiancé's Betrayal

The Alpha's Collared Pet: Rejected and Reborn

For ten years, I lived for Dante Moretti. I waited for my eighteenth birthday, knowing that the Alpha of the Dark Nebula was my fated mate. But when the day finally came, he didn't claim me. He brought Isabella home instead. A warrior. A political asset. "Welcome home, my future Luna," he announced to the pack, shattering my heart in front of everyone. I was just the orphan girl who couldn't Shift. A liability. To ensure I knew my place, Isabella offered me a "gift." A collar made of pure silver. To a human, it is jewelry. To a wolf, it is acid. When she locked it around my neck, the metal sizzled. The smell of my own burning flesh filled the room. I fell to my knees, screaming, looking at Dante with tears in my eyes. I begged him to stop her. But he just looked at me, his face a mask of cold logic. "Wear it," he commanded, ignoring the smoke rising from my skin. "Consider it discipline. If you take it off, you leave the Pack." He thought he was protecting me. He thought making me look weak would save me from his enemies. He didn't realize he was killing the girl who loved him. That night, I didn't just take off the collar. I closed my eyes, found the golden thread of our Mate Bond in my mind, and snapped it in half. Dante collapsed in the hallway, clutching his chest in agony as he felt our connection die. "What did you do?" he whispered into the void. "I set you free, Alpha," I said. Then I ran into the storm. He thought I was a defenseless human. He didn't know I was the lost daughter of the Royal White Wolf bloodline. And when I returned, I wouldn't be kneeling.

A Second Chance At True Love

On our third wedding anniversary, I planned to tell my husband I was pregnant. Instead, I watched him get down on one knee and propose to another woman. In the ensuing chaos, he shoved me down a flight of marble stairs. I woke up in the hospital, losing our baby. The doctor called him, begging him to come. "Tell her to stop this pathetic act," I heard my husband's voice say over the phone. "I don't have time for her games." He hung up. He was at the same hospital, comforting his mistress over a minor burn while our child died. After three years of lies and five broken promises, I finally woke up. I left him a box with the ultrasound photos and my miscarriage diagnosis, signed the divorce papers, and disappeared from his life forever.

Wife, Donor, Victim: A Twisted Marriage

The doctor told me my body was reaching its limit. It was the fifth time I was donating bone marrow to save my son, Leo. But I pushed through the pain. My husband, Ethan, said he had a surprise waiting for me when I got home. I walked in to hear him talking with Leo’s live-in nurse, Geneva. My blood ran cold when I heard her call Leo their son. Hidden, I kept listening. The car “accident” right after our wedding that left me infertile? They planned it. My entire seven-year marriage was an elaborate lie, designed to turn me into the perfect, continuous donor for their biological child. My love wasn’t cherished; it was a tool to exploit me. I wasn't a wife or a mother. I was a walking blood bag. All the expensive gifts Ethan gave me after each donation weren’t from love. They were payments for my body parts. They found me collapsed on the floor, and the mask of the loving husband fell away completely. "Leo needs another donation," Ethan said, his voice flat. "The doctor will be here in an hour." When I refused, he had his security guards hold me down. I watched in horror as he took a syringe and drew my blood himself, my life force, to give to their son.

Betrayal's Sting: A Father's Revenge

The phone call came at dusk, ripping through the quiet of my evening with words that shattered my world: "Your daughter, Lily... accident... Oceanville General." I raced to the hospital, my heart hammering like a trapped bird, praying for a miracle, only to find my estranged wife, Sarah, coolly discussing the "accident" as if our five-year-old Lily was a mere inconvenience. Then the doctor delivered the fatal blow: "She was calling for you, Mr. Miller. She kept asking for her daddy." But before I could even process the unthinkable, Sarah pulled out her phone, complaining about work, and dismissed the urgent need to see our dying child' s body in the morgue. My world crumbled further when a social media post surfaced: Sarah, raising a champagne glass, arm-in-arm with her step-brother, Mark, celebrating a 'victory' while our Lily lay cold in the morgue. The next day, she refused to help with funeral arrangements, claiming she was "swamped," yet a child's voice echoed in the background of her call: "Daddy, can I have some juice?" My own daughter was deemed a burden, while Sarah played doting "Auntie" to her lover' s child, a child he had with his wife. What kind of monster cares so little for her own flesh and blood, yet dotes on another' s? The betrayal stung, but it was just the beginning. I knew, with chilling clarity, that this was no accident. This was a conspiracy, and I would expose every dark secret.

Her Son, His Secret

For five years, I clung to the memory of Liam, my husband, lost to a mysterious accident. Then he reappeared, a month ago, but he was a stranger, stripped of his memories of me, and worse, he brought her-Chloe, the sweet, innocent woman he' d met while he was gone. Now, Chloe, pregnant with Liam' s child, slid a half-million-dollar check across my own mahogany table, a cruel offer to buy me out of my marriage. Liam, when he walked in, only cemented my nightmare, his face softening for her and hardening in cold impatience for me, accusing me of bothering her in my own home. He even suggested I help Chloe plan their wedding, believing her lies about his lost child that once was ours. Cold rage replaced my heartbreak; if he wanted a wedding planner, I' d be the best-and then disappear, completely. But Chloe' s cruelty didn' t stop. She orchestrated my kidnapping, gloating that Liam' s amnesia was her doing, a drug she' d used for years to erase me. When Liam found me, battered and bruised, he accused me of faking it all to frame Chloe. My world shattered, but amidst the wreckage, an email arrived: my permanent residency in New Zealand was approved. I signed the divorce papers, ready to leave, just as my brother texted: Liam had another accident, hit his head, and remembered everything. Without hesitation, I broke my phone' s SIM card and tossed it, choosing to leave the pieces of my past behind. Two years later, Liam, haunted and remorseful, found me in New Zealand, wanting to apologize and fix what was broken, desperate to know about the son clinging to my leg-Leo. "No, Liam. He is not yours. He is mine." I told him, crushing his impossible hope. I explained that the love I had for him, and our future, had simply transferred to Leo, the family we were supposed to have. At Leo' s first birthday, a deranged Chloe attacked me with a knife, Liam, true to his word (and perhaps seeking redemption), threw himself in front of me, and took the fatal blow, paying his debt. I felt nothing but a transaction completed; his life for my stolen five years. Later, a tall, impeccably dressed stranger arrived, his face uncannily like Leo' s. "My name is Julian Davenport," he said, his gaze fixed on my son. "I believe you have my son. The clinic made a rather significant error with my donation. It seems they gave you the premier sample by mistake. So, I've come to collect him."

Love's Ashes, Vengeance's Spark

My life as a celebrated chef was perfectly seasoned: a Michelin-starred restaurant, a demanding but respected father, and a beautiful fiancée, Chloe, who promised an empire. Then, one catastrophic night, I found Chloe, my love, in a passionate embrace with Liam, my supposed business partner, amidst the dry storage of my father' s restaurant. Rage, blinding and raw, consumed me. A fight erupted, sacks of flour burst, and cooking oil slicked the floor, transforming our kitchen into a powder keg. My ailing father, drawn by the chaos, collapsed, his eyes filled with disappointment, not at the scene, but at me. Chloe seized the moment, twisting the narrative: "He' s lost it, Dad! He' s going to destroy everything!" Liam, at Chloe's silent command, ignited a kitchen torch and tossed it into the spilled oil and flour. The world exploded in flames as Chloe dragged Liam away, screaming, "Ethan did this! He tried to kill us all!" I was left trapped in a roaring inferno with my dying father, his last breath a whisper against my hand. At the hospital, framed as the jealous arsonist, I learned my father died of a heart attack, not the fire. Chloe, pristine and emotionless, pressured me to donate skin grafts to Liam, the man who set the fire, repeatedly. I overheard her cold calculations: my "tragedy" was a marketing opportunity, and my subsequent injuries meant "no messy heirs to complicate the inheritance." They wanted everything, including my very essence, leaving me an empty shell. Liam, with a cruel smirk, taunted me, "Chloe' s with a real man now. Someone who can give her what she wants." I finally saw it all: a calculated, systematic destruction, orchestrated by the woman I loved. The pain, once crippling, ignited a new purpose; this was not the end, but the beginning of a war.

I Paid the Alpha King for One Night

For three years, I was the perfect, invisible wife. My husband, Jaden, called the songs I poured my soul into "trash," then secretly fed them to his pop-star mistress to make her famous. Then one night, after being drugged at a gala, I woke up in a stranger's bed. It wasn't just the betrayal that shattered me; it was the soul-deep certainty that this powerful, dangerous man was my true fated mate. I fled home in a panic, only to find a message on Jaden's phone confirming my worst fears. His mistress, the woman singing my songs on the radio, was pregnant with the baby he'd always told me I was too weak to carry. The nightmare deepened when I learned the identity of the man from the hotel. He was Carter Mcclain, the ruthless Alpha King-and my husband's older brother. He looked at me with eyes that knew my secret, his cruel smirk promising that my life was now a game for his amusement. Jaden had stolen my music, my dream of a family, and my future, leaving me trapped between his betrayal and his terrifying brother. He thought he had broken me, leaving me with nothing. He forgot he left me with the rage that wrote the songs. And I was about to write their final, brutal verse.

Mr. CEO, Your Wife Shocks the World

"I will marry you. Wait for me!" Mabel woke up. She had that dream again. In her dream, a man said he would marry her. Just a dream. Five years ago, she was set up by her stepsister and became pregnant out of wedlock. She lost everything, including her baby. Five years later, she was forced to marry her stepsister's fiance, Jayden, who was sick and going to pass away. Having no choice, Mabel decided to marry Jayden, not expecting that Jayden was the man...

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

One Night With My Billionaire Boss

I woke up on silk sheets that smelled of expensive cedar and cold sandalwood, a world away from my cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Beside me lay Ezra Gardner—my boss, the billionaire CEO of Gardner Holdings, and the man who could end my career with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t offer an apology for the night before; instead, he looked at me with terrifying clarity and proposed a cold, calculated business arrangement. "Marriage. It stabilizes the board and solves the PR crisis before it begins." He dressed me in archival Chanel and sent me home in his Maybach, but my life was already falling apart. My boyfriend, Irving, claimed he had passed out early, yet his location data placed him at my best friend’s apartment until three in the morning. When I tried to run, I realized Ezra was already ten steps ahead, tracking my movements and uncovering the secret I’d spent twenty years hiding: my connection to the powerful Senator Grimes. I was trapped between a CEO who treated me like a line item on a quarterly report and a boyfriend who had been using me while sleeping with my closest friend. I felt like a pawn in a game I didn't understand, wondering why a man like Ezra would walk up forty flights of stairs on a broken leg just to make sure I was safe. "Showtime, Mrs. Gardner." Standing on the red carpet in a gown that cost more than my life, I watched my cheating ex-boyfriend’s face turn pale as Ezra claimed me in front of the world. I wasn't just an assistant anymore; I was a weapon, and it was time to burn their world down.

Heartbreak Billionaire: He Should Never Have Let Go

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

The Scars She Hid From The World

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.