From Broken to Unbreakable

Betrayed by Her Mate: The Awakening of the White Wolf

I unlocked my mate's tablet to check the time, but a notification caught my eye: Project Luna. Curiosity turned to horror as I opened the file. It wasn't a diary. It was a spreadsheet. Task #104: Public display of affection. Status: Complete. Task #215: Gift pearls. Status: Complete. I wasn't Jaxon's soulmate. I was a quarterly projection inherited from his dead brother to secure the pack's assets. The reality of his indifference nearly killed me at our engagement gala. When the massive chandelier snapped above us, Jaxon didn't shield me. He used my body as a launchpad to dive toward his mistress, Janice. I was crushed under lead crystal and silver wire, my flesh burning from the poison. While I lay bleeding on the marble floor, Jaxon carried a scratch-free Janice to safety, screaming at the guards to ignore me. But the physical scar on my arm was nothing compared to what I found next. I hacked into Janice’s private account. There was a marriage certificate from Vegas, dated six months ago. On the exact night I miscarried our child alone on the bathroom floor, begging him to answer his phone, he was marrying her. He let our pup die while he pledged his life to another. When he tried to buy my forgiveness with a necklace, only to let Janice snatch it from his hand, I finally snapped. I threw his money in his face, rejected the bond, and vanished to Norway. Jaxon thought I would die without him. He didn't know that the Alpha Supreme of Europe had been waiting a lifetime to find me.

My Rival, My Only Hope

On my birthday, my mother told me it was time to choose a fiancé from New York's most eligible bachelors. She urged me to pick Alexander Booth, the man I loved with a foolish passion in my previous life. But I remembered how that love story ended. On the eve of our wedding, Alexander faked his death in a private jet crash. I spent years as his grieving fiancée, only to find him alive and well on a beach, laughing with the poor student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child. When I confronted him, our friends-the men who had pretended to comfort me-held me down. They helped Alexander throw me into the ocean and watched from the pier as I drowned. As the water closed over my head, only one person showed any real emotion. My childhood rival, Darrian Golden, screamed my name as they held him back, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral. Opening my eyes again, I was back in our penthouse, just a week before the big decision. This time, when my mother asked me to choose Alexander, I gave her a different name. I chose the man who mourned me. I chose Darrian Golden.

The Ghost Bride's Game Of Revenge

After surviving five years of hell in a deep-sea simulation, I finally escaped, battered and broken. I fought my way back for one reason: my fiancé, Derek. But when I found him, he sealed me in a cave and left me to die. "Just three more days, Eva," he pleaded, his hand holding my pregnant former assistant's. "Our wedding is on Saturday." My own parents, who had adopted her as their new daughter, believed her lies that I was a monster. They watched as Derek broke my ankle and hand, and my father shattered my ribs. They left me for dead, trapped and alone, after I had spent five years clinging to their memory. But I didn't die. I was rescued by a mysterious benefactor who gave me a new life and erased my pain. A year later, when a guilt-ridden Derek tracked me down, begging for a second chance, I smiled. It was my turn to play a game.

Too Late To Regret: My Ex-wife Married To My Arch-enemy

Eight years into Lynda Bennett's pursuit of Charles Watson, Charles got drunk and slept with Lynda. Only when she became pregnant did he reluctantly agree to marry her. Lynda thought she had finally touched his heart, but on their wedding day, her mother was tragically hit and killed by Charles' niece, Eleanor Watson. The next day, Charles threatened her with her father's life to make her drop the charges. It was then that she realized that the person Charles truly loved was always Eleanor. Eleanor beat Lynda so badly that she ended up in the hospital, and Charles forced Lynda to sign a reconciliation agreement; Eleanor pulled Lynda's father's oxygen tube, and Charles forced Lynda to apologize to Eleanor. If she didn't comply, Charles would threaten with the divorce. He believed that Lynda wouldn't leave him because she was pregnant. But he was wrong. Lynda not only left but took their daughter and married his arch-enemy. Charles was beside himself with regret, the once cool and dignified man now humbly kneeling, "Lynda, please forgive me, I'm willing to die to atone." Lynda turned away with their daughter, without a backward glance. As she walked away, she uttered, "Then go ahead and die."

Seven Years A Prisoner Wife

For seven years, my life was a cold, silent prison. My husband, David Chen, the tech world' s golden boy, saw me only as his sister Emily' s murderer. What happened to Emily that day at the lake was an accident, a tragedy. But to David and my adoptive mother, Olivia, it was my fault, a debt I had to pay every single day. My punishment? The hard, cold floor of a barren guest room was my bed. His cruel words, "A murderer doesn't deserve comfort. This is where you belong," echoed in my ears every night. Every month, I would present him with divorce papers, a desperate plea for freedom. And every month, he would tear them, burn them, a grim ritual reminding me there was no escape. Why did they hate me so much? What had I truly done to deserve this unending torment, this life lived as a ghost in a gilded cage? But the constant humiliation, the silent contempt, the pain-it all fueled a secret fire within me. I meticulously saved every penny, selling sketches online, denying myself even basic necessities to afford a one-way train ticket. Tonight, the charade ends. I' m walking away from this living hell, from a man who promised me a life but delivered only a sentence. I' m reclaiming my name, my future, and the woman I was always meant to be.

Her Pain, His Blindness

A sharp, stabbing pain woke me. 3:17 AM. Alone. I reached for my husband, Mark, but he wasn' t there. My desperate call for help was answered by Lily, his goddaughter, her voice laced with annoyance. "Mark is busy. Eleanor isn' t feeling well, so he's here with me." I tried to explain about the emergency, the searing pain in my abdomen. She dismissed it as drama and hung up. Abandoned, I crawled to the phone and dialed 911, whispering, "I think I'm dying." At the hospital, the doctor' s grim face confirmed my worst fear: a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. I was bleeding internally and needed emergency surgery. Alone, I signed the consent form, my hand trembling, tears blurring Sarah Miller into a solitary figure. When I reached Mark hours later, fresh out of surgery and groggy from anesthesia, his words were cold, clipped. "What is it now, Sarah?" Before I could explain, Lily's frantic voice in the background cut me off. "Mark, come quick! Mom\'s monitor is beeping again!" He hung up, choosing her over me, over our lost baby, over my near-death experience. The love I thought was unbreakable shattered into a million pieces. The next morning, lying in the hospital bed, a cold, hard clarity settled over me. I had to make him understand. I sent him my medical reports, hoping the undeniable proof would cut through his blindness. His reply, however, sealed my fate: "Sarah, this has gone too far. Using a fake medical report to guilt-trip me is a new low." He called me manipulative, a liar. He chose her over me, again. The fight drained out of me. I typed one word: "Okay." It was over. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was done.

The Almighty Heiress Unmasked: Divorce The Past, Inherit The World

Once the real heiress came back, Katherine was thrown out by her "parents" and ridiculed by her fiancé. She walked away-and claimed the dynasty that had been hers all along. With every mask stripped off, she shocked everyone. "Mysterious illnesses? I cured them." "Hacker attacks? Pathetic." "Luxury brands? I owned the design copyrights." Her former family demanded a fortune for "raising" her. Katherine huffed, "Keep dreaming!" Her ex begged to reunite. "Get lost. You weren't worthy of me." Meanwhile, a tycoon fell hard, thawing from aloof to devoted, finding new ways to pull her close.

The Rise Of The Ugly Luna

Lyric had spent her life being hated. Bullied for her scarred face and hated by everyone-including her own mate-she was always told she was ugly. Her mate only kept her around to gain territory, and the moment he got what he wanted, he rejected her, leaving her broken and alone. Then, she met him. The first man to call her beautiful. The first man to show her what it felt like to be loved. It was only one night, but it changed everything. For Lyric, he was a saint, a savior. For him, she was the only woman that had ever made him cum in bed-a problem he had been battling for years. Lyric thought her life would finally be different, but like everyone else in her life, he lied. And when she found out who he really was, she realized he wasn't just dangerous-he was the kind of man you don't escape from. Lyric wanted to run. She wanted freedom. But she desired to navigate her way and take back her respect, to rise above the ashes. Eventually, she was forced into a dark world she didn't wish to get involved with.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

I Hid His Heir from My Alpha

For two years, I was the Alpha's secret wife, a duty he resented. But the positive pregnancy test in my hand was a miracle, a blessing from the Moon Goddess. This baby, our heir, was supposed to be the bridge that finally mended our broken mate bond. That night, he left without a word. I saw on a gossip site that he'd gone to pick up his ex-lover, Isadora. Reaching for him through our bond, I wasn't met with his usual coldness, but with her emotions bleeding through him-triumph and smug possession. The next morning, I went to his office, ready to tell him about our baby, believing our child could fix us. But I stopped when I heard him talking to our Pack Healer about me. The healer said I looked fragile, that he should care for his mate. My husband laughed. "You seem to care for her more than I do," Demetri said, his voice dripping with ice. "Do you want me to give her to you? Take her. She's of no use to me." My world shattered. I wasn't just unloved; I was a thing to be discarded. I looked down at the pregnancy report, the proof of the life inside me, and made a vow. He would never know about our child, and I would sever our bond myself.

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

I stood at my mother’s open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest’s voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone—he brought Charla with him. He claimed she’d had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Reborn Heiress: The Wolf's Vengeance Deal

I lay paralyzed on stiff white sheets, a prisoner in my own skin, listening to the rain lash against the window like nails on a coffin. My father, Elmore Franco, didn't even look at my face as he checked his clipboard. He just listened to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor-the only thing proving I was still alive. Without a hint of remorse, he pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the Do Not Resuscitate order. My stepmother, Ophelia, stepped out from behind him, wearing my favorite pearl necklace and smelling of cloying perfume. She leaned close to my ear to whisper the truth that turned my blood to ice. "It was the tea, darling. Just like your mother. A slow, tasteless poison." She chuckled as she revealed that my fiancé, Bryce, had a two-year-old son with my sister, Daniela. My inheritance had been funding their secret life for years, and now that the money was secure, I was an inconvenience they were finally scrubbing away. As my father yanked the power cord from the wall, the beeping died, and the darkness swallowed me whole. I was being murdered by my own flesh and blood, used as a bank account until I was no longer needed. I died in that sterile room, drowning in the realization that every person I ever loved was a monster who had been waiting for me to take my last breath. Then, I gasped. I woke up in a luxury hotel suite surrounded by silk sheets, five years in the past-the very morning of my wedding. Next to me lay Basile Delgado, the "Wolf of Wall Street" and my family's most dangerous enemy. In my first life, I ran from this room in a panic and lost everything. This time, I looked at the man who would eventually destroy my father's empire and decided to join him. "I'm not leaving, Basile. Marry me. Right now. Today."