LOGINOn what should have been the happiest night of her life, Poppy’s world was brutally destroyed. Her fated mate, the man she had loved since childhood, publicly rejected her on stage, kissed his pregnant mistress in front of the entire pack, and shoved divorce papers into her trembling hands while the crowd laughed and took photos. Shattered and bleeding from a broken mate bond, she ran. That same night, she pulled a dying man from death’s grip. Jethro Northcutt. The ruthless, feared Alpha of the CreationMoon Pack. When the Alpha awakens, the powerful man remembers nothing of his past… except ‘her’. He calls her “Nella”. He begs her to never leave him. He swears she is his true fated mate. His terrified parents drop to their knees and make her an offer she cannot refuse: Pretend to be his Luna. Marry him. Heal his broken soul. Now Poppy is drowning in a fatal web of lies and forbidden desire. Every time Jethro pulls her into his powerful arms, every tender kiss, every possessive whisper against her skin, her wounded heart begins to betray her. She knows this love isn’t real. She knows the truth will destroy them both. But when the Alpha finally remembers who he is… Will he embrace the woman who saved him? Or will his fury burn her to ashes?
View MorePoppy~I stand there in the doorway, heart hammering against my ribcage, words dying in my throat before they can form. Jethro light eyes soft with concern as they search my face. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out except a faint stammer.“I… I…” The syllables tangle on my tongue. Heat floods my cheeks more. How do I explain this? How do I tell him I am not the woman he thinks I am without breaking him again?His fingers rise slowly, gentle as a breath, and tilt my chin upward. I flinch at first, instinctively trying to pull away, but the look in his eyes stops me. Intense vulnerability. Longing. Something so tender it makes my chest ache. I let him.“Have you been crying, Nella?” he asks, thumb brushing lightly over my cheek where the tears have dried.The question sends a fresh sting to my eyes. I try to respond, but my voice cracks. “I… n-no, I…” Another stammer. The warmth of his touch, the way he looks at me like I matter, it all overwhelms me.“Who hurt you?” His tone deepen
Poppy~Days move into one another, each one heavier than the last. I return home several times to change clothes, slipping in and out of the house that no longer feels like mine. The silence there presses against my skin like a living thing, reminding me of everything I have lost. One afternoon, as I step into the bedroom to grab fresh scrubs, I hear footsteps. My heart leaps with foolish hope. Barid stands near the closet, pulling shirts from hangers. His familiar scent fills the room, and for a moment, the pain in my chest eases just a fraction.“Barid,” I whisper with a shaking voice. I take a hesitant step closer, my hands twisting together. “Please… can we talk? I know things have been hard, especially after the last miscarriage. But we can still fix this.” I swallow hard. “I love you. We have been through so much together. Don’t throw it all away.”He doesn’t even turn around. His shoulders remain rigid as he continues packing clothes into a bag. The rejection hit deeper watchi
Poppy~The ambulance doors burst open as we rush through the emergency entrance of CreationMoon General Hospital. Harsh fluorescent lights flood my swollen, tear-reddened eyes. My once-elegant black dress hangs in tatters, soaked with his blood, the white stilettos long forgotten somewhere on the beach. I keep both hands pressed firmly against the worst of the wounds on his neck and shoulder, my palms still stinging from the silver, but the pain feels distant. Everything feels distant beneath the crushing weight of my own heartbreak.“Operation Room 3, now!” My voice cracks from hours of sobbing. The paramedics wheel the stretcher swiftly down the corridor. I stay glued to the almost dying man’s side, feeling the frighteningly weak flutter of his pulse beneath my fingers. So fragile. So close to slipping away.In the changing room, I tear off the ruined dress with trembling hands. The fabric pools at my feet like the remnants of my destroyed life. I pull on my scrubs, the material of
Poppy~The black dress hugs my body perfectly, tears blur my eyes, the silky fabric cool against my heated skin. I stand before the mirror, turning slowly, watching how the light catches the delicate neckline. The white stiletto heels give me height and grace, making me feel elegant, desired. My heart flutters with hope I have not allowed myself in months. Six years of marriage. Six years of holding on through the tears, the empty nursery, the quiet ache that follows every miscarriage. Tonight feels like healing. Like renewal.Barid sent the dress himself. The gesture lingers warmly in my chest. Maybe he feels it too; the distance that has grown between us, the way our bond has strained under the weight of loss. Tonight, he wants to remind me that we are still us. Still fated.I smooth my hands down the fabric one last time, a smile curving my lips. My golden-amber eyes look brighter than they have in weeks.Mr. Brooks waits patiently by the car outside our home. His weathered face s












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