The Senator's Unexpected Bride

From Rejected Omega to the Supreme White Wolf

I was dying at the banquet, coughing up black blood while the pack celebrated my step-sister Lydia’s promotion. Across the room, Caleb, the Alpha and my Fated Mate, didn't look concerned. He looked annoyed. "Stop it, Elena," his voice boomed in my head. "Don't ruin this night with your attention-seeking lies." I begged him, telling him it was poison, but he just ordered me to leave his Pack House so I wouldn't dirty the floor. Heartbroken, I publicly demanded the Severing Ceremony to break our bond and left to die alone in a cheap motel. Only after I took my last breath did the truth come out. I sent Caleb the medical records proving Lydia had been poisoning my tea with wolfsbane for ten years. He went mad with grief, realizing he had protected the murderer and rejected his true mate. He tortured Lydia, but his regret couldn't bring me back. Or so he thought. In the afterlife, the Moon Goddess showed me my reflection. I wasn't a wolfless weakling. I was a White Wolf, the rarest and most powerful of all, suppressed by poison. "You can stay here in peace," the Goddess said. "Or you can go back." I looked at the life they stole from me. I looked at the power I never got to use. "I want to go back," I said. "Not for his love. But for revenge." I opened my eyes, and for the first time in my life, my wolf roared.

Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect

I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon. The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat. I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant. "Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive." There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission. For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment. When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself. "Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."

Betrayed By His Cruel Lies

I finally picked out the perfect gift for Jake, a vintage watch, for our third anniversary. I believed he loved me unconditionally, despite his busy schedule and our private relationship. But that night, at our favorite restaurant, I overheard his voice from the booth next to mine. He called me a "dog" and laughed, telling his friend that he' d never marry me. He was marrying heiress Chloe Peterson; it was "good for business." The words shattered me. He had bought me love and a career, only to discard me. I was publicly shamed, my career destroyed by his blacklisting and Chloe' s malicious smear campaigns. I went from a rising actress to an unemployable pariah, even my agent believed I was a gold-digger. I couldn' t understand how the man who once whispered sweet nothings could turn me into a cruel joke overnight. What had I meant to him? Was I truly just a plaything, easily replaced by a better "investment" ? Just as I felt completely defeated, an anonymous invitation to a high-society gala with a cryptic note: "Your enemies will be there. You should be too. Sometimes the only way out is through," ignited a fierce resolve in me. I would prove them all wrong.

The Soufflé of Sweet Revenge

I spent seven years sacrificing my own culinary dreams for my boyfriend, Collin. For our fifth anniversary, I baked his favorite soufflé and waited for him to come home to the romantic dinner I' d prepared. He never showed. Instead, a video surfaced online of him at a party with his rival chef, Frankie. He was laughing as he mocked me to a crowd. "Emma's probably at home crying into her pathetic little soufflé," he slurred. The next morning, he tried to apologize with a "make-up gift." It was a cheap silver necklace, an exact copy of one Frankie always wears. He' d forgotten I'm allergic to silver. In seven years, he never even learned that about me. I wasn't his partner; I was just a dress rehearsal for the woman he really wanted. I packed my bags and flew home to Chicago. When Collin texted, demanding to know what "stupid designer bag" I wanted to make things right, I sent my final reply. "I'm engaged. And trust me, he's everything you're not."

The Fifty Million Dollar Secret

I just won fifty million dollars, enough to finally shed my quiet librarian life and embrace true freedom. Bursting with generosity and eager to share the news, I rushed back to my childhood home, the beautiful house my deceased mother had left to me. But instead of a warm welcome, my stepbrother and his pregnant girlfriend treated me like a parasitic squatter, demanding rent and arrogantly claiming my house was theirs. Then, my world truly shattered when I overheard my stepmother hiss about "getting rid of the problem" – me – with the same slow-acting "supplements" they'd used on my mother, whose fatal "accident" was, in fact, a calculated murder. My own father, complicit in my mother's death and now mine, was poisoning me daily. The naive Chloe died in that musty basement; a cold, calculating survivor emerged, armed with fifty million dollars to expose their deadly conspiracy and ensure justice for my mother and myself.

The Betrayal at West Point

The suffocating darkness of the barracks was my constant companion, a heavy blanket of dread thick with the smell of sweat and fear. Every whispered threat, every sneer from Caleb Blakely, my squad leader, was a reminder of the impossible secret I carried. I wasn't "Matthew Johns," a plebe at West Point; I was Molly, a woman masquerading as my injured brother, desperately clinging to his scholarship to save my family from financial ruin. Then came the night in the communal showers. A broken water main meant no privacy, nowhere to hide my true identity from fifty other men. Caleb had me cornered, his cruel smile promising public humiliation and the end of my impossible dream. I pictured the headlines, the disgrace, my family' s hope shattering before my eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic plea for an escape that didn't exist. Just as panic threatened to overwhelm me, a defiant spark ignited. I couldn't let him win. I couldn't let him break me. My voice, surprisingly steady, cut through the night: "I have a proposal for you, Sir. A bet." I challenged him to West Point's most brutal endurance course, the "Recondo," wagering my entire future on a desperate gamble. Either I finished, and he' d keep my secret, or I' d publicly expose myself and surrender everything. This was my last stand, my only shot to reclaim control and prove that even a scrawny plebe could fight back.

Secrets Of The Neglected Wife: When Her True Colors Shine

After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."

Captivation: Want Nothing But You

Her fiance and her best friend worked together and set her up. She lost everything and died in the street. However, she was reborn. The moment she opened her eyes, her husband was trying to strangle her. Luckily, she survived that. She signed the divorce agreement without hesitation and was ready for her miserable life. To her surprise, her mother in this life left her a great deal of money. She turned the tables and avenged herself. Everything went well in her career and love when her ex-husband came to her.

The Surgeon's Vow: Healing My Billionaire Husband

I sat in the gray, airless room of the New York State Department of Corrections, my knuckles white as the Warden delivered the news. "Parole denied." My father, Howard Sterling, had forged new evidence of financial crimes to keep me behind bars. He walked into the room, smelling of expensive cologne, and tossed a black folder onto the steel table. It was a marriage contract for Lucas Kensington, a billionaire currently lying in a vegetative state in the ICU. "Sign it. You walk out today." I laughed at the idea of being sold to a "corpse" until Howard slid a grainy photo toward me. It showed a toddler with a crescent-moon birthmark—the son Howard told me had died in an incubator five years ago. He smiled and told me the boy's safety depended entirely on my cooperation. I was thrust into the Kensington estate, where the family treated me like a "drowned rat." They dressed me in mothball-scented rags and mocked my status, unaware that I was monitoring their every move. I watched the cousin, Julian, openly waiting for Lucas to die to inherit the empire, while the doctors prepared to sign the death certificate. I didn't understand why my father would lie about my son’s death for years, or what kind of monsters would use a child as a bargaining chip. The injustice of it burned in my chest as I realized I was just a pawn in a game of old money and blood. As the monitors began to flatline and the family started to celebrate their inheritance, I locked the door and reached into the hem of my dress. I pulled out the sharpened silver wires I’d fashioned in the prison workshop. They thought they bought a submissive convict, but they actually invited "The Saint"—the world’s most dangerous underground surgeon—into their home. "Wake up, Lucas. You owe me a life." I wasn't there to be a bride; I was there to wake the dead and burn their empire to the ground.

Rising From Wreckage: Starfall's Epic Comeback

Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.

After Betrayal, She Claimed Her Empire

Serena Vance, an unloved wife, clutched a custom-made red velvet cake to her chest, enduring the cold rain outside an exclusive Upper East Side club. She hoped this small gesture for her husband, Julian, would bridge the growing chasm between them on their third anniversary. But as she neared the VIP suite, her world shattered. Julian's cold, detached voice sliced through the laughter, revealing he considered her nothing more than a "signature on a piece of paper" for a trust fund, mocking her changed appearance and respecting only another woman, Elena. The indifference in his tone was a physical blow, a brutal severance, not heartbreak. She gently placed the forgotten cake on the floor, leaving her wedding ring and a diamond necklace as she prepared to abandon a marriage built on lies. Her old life, once a prison of quiet suffering and constant humiliation, now lay in ruins around her. Three years of trying to be seen, to be loved, were erased by a few cruel words. Why had she clung to a man who saw her as a clause in a will, a "creature," not a wife? The shame and rage hardened her heart, freezing her tears. Returning to an empty penthouse, she packed a single battered suitcase, leaving behind every symbol of her failed marriage. With a burner phone, she dialed a number she hadn't touched in a decade, whispering, "Godfather, I'm ready to come home."

She Took The House, The Car, And My Heart

After two years of marriage, Kristian dropped a bombshell. "She's back. Let's get divorced. Name your price." Freya didn't argue. She just smiled and made her demands. "I want your most expensive supercar." "Okay." "The villa on the outskirts." "Sure." "And half of the billions we made together." Kristian froze. "Come again?" He thought she was ordinary-but Freya was the genius behind their fortune. And now that she'd gone, he'd do anything to win her back.