Second Chance, Second Curse

I Rejected the Alpha Who Killed Me

Five years ago, I tore my inner wolf out of my soul to save Alpha Floyd's life. In return, he treated me like a "Wolfless freak" and made me a slave in my own pack. To please his mistress, he pressed glowing coals laced with silver directly into my palms, burning the hands that had once woven protection spells for him. Then, he watched with cold indifference as I drowned in the freezing Moon Pool, sneering that I was just "being dramatic." It wasn't until the autopsy that he saw the surgical scars on my heart. He finally realized I hadn't lost my wolf—I had given it to him. Consumed by madness and guilt, Floyd sacrificed his own soul in the Silver Dungeon, begging the Goddess to turn back time. He wanted a second chance to worship me. When I opened my eyes, I was eighteen again, back at the Academy. Floyd stood before me, his eyes ancient and filled with tears. "I remember everything," he choked out, reaching for me with a trembling hand. "I came back for you, my Luna." I looked at the man who had murdered me in the name of love. "You think suicide buys forgiveness?" I stepped back, grabbing the hand of the quiet Beta student he used to despise. "I reject you, Floyd Meyers." "And this time, I'm choosing the man who would never let me burn."

His Unwanted Wife, My New Dawn

For six years, I was the wife of a tech billionaire with crippling mysophobia. To my husband, Killian, I was a contaminant he was forced to tolerate for a business merger, a ghost in my own home. But for his mistress, the influencer Isabel, every rule was broken. He worshipped her, believing she was the angel who' d saved him from a near-fatal climbing accident two years ago. The truth was, I was the one who braved a blizzard to rescue him, suffering severe frostbite in the process. But he laughed in my face, calling me too fragile. He knelt on a filthy police station floor to touch her bare feet, yet he' d recoiled from my touch for years. He destroyed my grandmother' s priceless locket because she wanted it. He forced me to kneel and apologize for her lies, threatening my family's company if I refused. The final humiliation came when he publicly declared her the true mistress of the house and made me climb a dangerous, thorny hill on my injured ankle to pick roses for her. As I stumbled back, covered in mud and blood, I felt nothing. The love I had stubbornly held onto was finally, completely dead. I walked away that night with the signed divorce papers in my hand. My old life was over, and my fight for a new one had just begun.

Neglected Wife's Bitter Sweet Revenge

I was the perfect wife to my producer husband, Braden, enduring his coldness and affairs for one reason: his promise to release my late father's priceless songbook. Then, at a crowded industry party, I watched him kiss his starlet mistress, Destany, for all to see. The humiliation made me collapse, and I woke up in a hospital bed to a shocking truth: I was pregnant. Braden used our unborn child as a leash, playing the role of a devoted husband while secretly continuing his affair. His mistress grew bolder, breaking into our home after taunting me with photos of her and Braden in Tokyo. "That baby is just another obstacle," she whispered, her eyes filled with hate as she lunged at me. In the struggle, she shoved me down our grand staircase. The fall was a blur of sickening thuds and a sharp, searing pain. I lost my child. The one thing that had tied me to him was gone, stolen by his cruelty and her jealousy. The years of his lies and my silent suffering crystallized into a single, cold purpose. When Braden knelt by my hospital bed, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, I felt nothing. I simply picked up the phone and called my lawyer. "I want a divorce," I said, my voice like ice. "And I'm taking back everything."

His Unseen Love, Her Blind Regret

For five years, I was the perfect husband to my wife, Jorja. I was the man who supposedly healed her broken heart after her first love, Cale, left her. Now Cale was back, and she insisted we all have dinner together. Suddenly, a fight broke out at the next table. A man flung a bowl of steaming hot soup, and it flew directly towards us. In that split second, I watched my wife lunge. Not towards me, but towards Cale, shielding him with her own body. The scalding liquid hit my arm and chest, the pain searing through me. While I gasped in agony, Jorja fussed over a tiny splash on Cale's hand. "We need to go to the emergency room right now!" she cried, rushing him out the door. She paused only to look back at me. "I'm so sorry," she said. "You can take a taxi to the hospital, right?" After five years of selfless care, of giving up my art scholarship to Paris to be her live-in cure, I was abandoned, covered in second-degree burns. As I sat alone in the ER, an email arrived. My scholarship had been reinstated. That night, I didn't go back to her house. I went to start the life she had stolen from me.

When Love Becomes a Weapon

The sterile air of the pre-flight briefing room chilled me to the bone. It was the taste of betrayal, bitter and metallic, that filled my mouth once more. Liam, my fiancé, and Chloe, his protégé, had crushed my career, my reputation, my entire life. They had effectively killed me. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the exact room, at the precise moment it all went wrong. My heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat of terror and a cold, rising fury. "Ava, are you listening?" Mark, my second-in-command, looked at me, concerned. He told me Chloe Vance had brought an undeclared briefcase, a "gift." I recognized it instantly: Project Chimera, a dangerous AI prototype. In my past life, I'd tried to protect Liam, only to have him orchestrate my complete downfall. He' d publicly accused me of corporate espionage, painting me as unstable and emotional. I had broken protocol for him, and he used it as a weapon. That version of me, naive and trusting, was dead. "You' re right, Liam," I heard myself say, my voice softening. "A gift is just a gift. We' ll let it go this one time." My team stared at me in disbelief. But I wasn' t saving him. I was giving him enough rope to hang himself. This time, he would be the one to fall.

My Comatose CEO Wife

I signed a contract to marry a comatose billionaire. It was just business-a way to save my parents from crushing medical debt. I was a broke musician, she was a famous Silicon Valley CEO, and my job was simple: act like a devoted husband while she was unconscious. But then, a voice started talking in my head. "Ugh, this Jell-O tastes like sadness." It was her. Victoria. The woman everyone thought was brain-dead was fully conscious inside, and I was the only one who could hear her. Suddenly, my life became a bizarre performance. I was trapped, not just by the contract, but by her relentless, snarky inner monologue. I acted out her hidden desires-eating tacos by her bedside, arguing about bad rom-coms-all while the world hailed me as the ultimate devoted husband. The fame exploded, her company's stock soared, and everyone believed the fairy tale. Except me. And her, the voice in my head. But just as our bizarre connection deepened, just as I started to fall for the real, hidden Tori, she woke up. And she believed the worst. She saw me in a staged embrace with another woman, heard whispers of my "devotion" while she was unconscious, and instantly branded me a perverted gold-digger. After weeks of sharing her innermost thoughts, after hearing her true self, how could she believe I was the villain? I wasn't just some broke musician anymore. I was the only person who truly knew Victoria Blackwood. So, standing there, accused and disgraced, I had a choice: walk away with the money, or fight for the woman whose voice had haunted my dreams. I chose to expose every secret, every quirk, every vulnerability she thought only she knew, hoping she'd finally see the real me. And the truth.

His Unwanted Wife, The World's Coveted Genius

Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."

After Divorce: My Arrogant Ex Regrets Calling Me Trash

Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.

Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

Revealing My Secret Identities! My Bros Are Speechless!

For seventeen years, I was the crown jewel of the Kensington empire, the perfect daughter groomed for a royal future. Then, a cream-colored envelope landed in my lap, bearing a gold crest and a truth that turned my world into ice. The DNA test result was a cold, hard zero percent-I wasn't a Kensington. Before the ink could even dry, my parents invited my replacement, a girl named Alleen, into the drawing room and treated me like a trespasser in my own home. My mother, who once hosted galas in my honor, wouldn't even look me in the eye as she stroked Alleen's arm, whispering that she was finally "safe." My father handed me a one-million-dollar check-a mere tip for a billionaire-and told me to leave immediately to avoid tanking the company's stock price. "You're a thief! You lived my life, you spent my money, and you don't get to keep the loot!" Alleen shrieked, trying to claw the designer jacket off my shoulders while my "parents" watched with clinical detachment. I was dumped on a gritty sidewalk in Queens with nothing but three trunks and the address of a struggling laborer I was now supposed to call "Dad." I traded a marble mansion for a crumbling walk-up where the air smelled of exhaust and my new bedroom was a literal storage closet. My biological family thought I was a broken princess, and the Kensingtons thought they had successfully erased me with a payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. They had no idea that while I was hauling trunks up four flights of stairs, my secret media empire was already preparing to move against them. As I sat on a thin mattress in the dark, I opened my encrypted laptop and sent a single command that would cost my former father ten million dollars by breakfast. They thought they were throwing me to the wolves, but they forgot one thing: I'm the one who leads the pack.

The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I’d be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years—a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.

Love's Prescription: The Small-Town Girl Is An Extraordinary Healer

To most, Verena passed for a small-town clinic doctor; in truth, she worked quiet miracles. Three years after Isaac fell hopelessly for her and kept vigil through lonely nights, a crash left him in a wheelchair and stripped his memory. To keep him alive, Verena married him, only to hear, "I will never love you." She just smiled. "That works out-I'm not in love with you, either." Entangled in doubt, he recoiled from hope, yet her patience held him fast-kneeling to meet his eyes, palm warm on his hair, steadying him-until her glowing smile rekindled feelings he believed gone forever.