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How would you define your worth? My name is Cassey Timmerhaus, a seventeen year- old noble daughter, whose goal is to find my worth and guarantee my own happiness. In worth comes opportunities, in opportunities comes wealth, in wealth comes love, in love comes happiness, and in happiness, I can die blissfully. But the path to self- realization was harder than I presumed. The unfathomable range of emotions, the twisted justice to prove yourself righteous, the betrayals, the sinful encounters and the fight for the honorable seat, are things I never expected but had to experience. "To honor your family is the noblest thing. How could you fail in such a task as easy as breathing?" I faced countless humiliation and disgrace; degraded by the people I call family. "I am sorry, but how could we dare tarnish a lady's hand by making her work for us, mere commoners? Surely she wasn't casted away to be like this. For a noble like her, it would be better to starve than sweat her palms." The rejections from those who once respected me ruined my valued trust. She once said that in this endless pit of woes, thy love shall save me. But, I doubt that. Even if I have love, will I be able to make it last? Will I be able to make him stay? Will I ever be worth of such fortune, when I am just a grass?

When my neighbor's daughter-in-law falls pregnant, my neighbor issues a few "decrees" in a group chat for all residents in the area. "Number 1: Anyone whose family has daughters has to avoid leaving the house when my daughter-in-law does. I don't want them to hurt my grandson! "Number 2: Every family has to purchase meat and expensive fruits once a week and present them to my daughter-in-law! "Number 3: After my grandson is born, I will bestow upon everyone the honor to bask in his fortune. Every family has to give us 300 dollars as a gift. I will personally visit each family that doesn't!" She even singles me out with a message. "Unit 401, I want you to immediately stop feeding stray cats. I'll also give you three days to get rid of your cat! My daughter-in-law is scared of cats, and the creatures are covered in germs. What if she catches a virus from your cat when she goes downstairs for a walk? What if you hurt my grandson? "I command you to immediately bring me one thousand dollars as a deposit and guarantee. If I catch you feeding stray cats one more time, I'll confiscate the money!" I transfer 20 thousand dollars to her, yet she grovels at my feet and begs me to take the money back.

Half a year after our divorce, my ex-husband became a trending topic online. His current wife, who had just given birth, jumped off a building. When she jumped, she was clutching a printed, 98-page copy of the "Cloves Family Code of Conduct." The reason for her suicide? She couldn’t buy discounted groceries online. A reporter came to interview me and asked, "Excuse me, were you also given the same family rules?"

A woman showed up at my cabin door, claiming to be a Beta's mate. She said she wanted to rent my herb field for three hundred dollars a month, to grow medicine for her injured mate. Three hundred? Seriously? That land is the only one in the entire pack—blessed ground that drinks in the Moon Goddess's power. Herbs grown there could pull a dying wolf back from the dead. I turned her down. But she wouldn't let it go. So Sun, my dog, barked and chased her off. Figured that'd be the end of it. Wrong. The next day she came back with two Gammas, busting right through my door. They screamed at me, called me a worthless human who had no business touching pack land. Then they tied me up and made me watch as they burned my herb books, beat Sun, and tore out every single plant I'd grown. What they didn't know? I'm human, yeah. But I'm the adopted human daughter of the Bloodmoon Alpha and Luna. That herb field? Their gift to me on my eighteenth birthday. And those herbs they burned? The only cure for her mate's dying breath.

I was having my lunch break when someone anonymously messaged my relationship consultation account. "The system has decided that I only have seven days before my task's deadline is up. What can I do to keep my wife from dying with me before the world itself kills me?" The text continued, "Will it work if I pretend that I cheated on her to make her hate me?" The comments below were filled with mockery. "God, tell your clickbait elsewhere. You're just going to get your arse kicked here." "Geez, grow some balls and just say you want to get rid of your wife. The world's going to kill you? I swear, these scumbags are getting more creative with their excuses." I was a relationship-based content creator who had made it really big, so a bit like this was not all that strange to me at all. I sneered and answered the question, "Cheating's a total cliche. If you want to kill every bit of love she has for you, destroy the memories she holds close to her heart, deny everything she's ever done for you, and make her think she's a complete joke." I continued, "If you want her to shed not a single tear after you die, you have to drench her very soul in hatred." The guy answered immediately, "Thank you. It's going to break my heart, but I'll have to do this." When I got home that night, my husband, who thought of me as his whole world, tossed our photo album into a brazier. That album had been with us for 10 years, and it was a record of our romantic moments. I stared at his face, but his expression was colder than any winter wind, and my heart nearly stopped beating right then and there.

As soon as my neighbor, Shirley Lambert, walked past my house and peeked inside, her eyes lit up. "Mrs. Fisher, this place is huge. It has great lighting too. It'd make the perfect playroom for my son. "You live alone anyway. Just move into our living room. A two-bedroom apartment has more than enough space. "Since we're neighbors, I'll let you stay for free. No rent." I felt so irritated that I nearly gagged. She actually shoved past me into the house and started pointing around like she owned the place. "This crappy couch has to go. The living room would feel way bigger without it. "Oh, and the whole floor needs carpeting. That'd make it safe for my son when he runs around. "Also, why don't you have an air-conditioner? What if my precious boy gets a heat stroke? Could you even afford his medical bills?" She suddenly turned around and glared at me. "Mrs. Fisher, I'm talking to you. Are you deaf? Haven't you got any manners?" Anyone who didn't know better would've thought I was her servant and not her neighbor. I snorted. Clearly, she had no idea about my reputation as the neighborhood menace. "Well, I see you've got plenty of money, and I've got deep pockets. Why don't you hand all your cash over to me for keeping? "And if you like other people's houses so much, I'll write that for you in my letter to Santa this Christmas!"