How Does Stella Die On Her Sixteenth Birthday?

For seven years in a row, the Moon Goddess chose me to serve as the Saintess of the Silver Moon Pack. And every year, my mate-to-be, Alpha Kael Ashborne, handed the title to my adopted sister, Rosalie. "Rosalie is an Omega. She needs the position if she is ever going to earn the pack's respect." "I promise, Elara. Next year, the title will be yours." My mother baked Rosalie a cake to celebrate and dressed her in a one-of-a-kind gown sewn with moonstones. My father watched me as though he expected trouble, then let out a weary sigh. "Elara, could you try being generous for once and stop making a scene?" A bitter smile tugged at my lips. They had no idea why I had fought so hard for the Saintess title for seven years. I had Wolf Soul Decay Syndrome, and only the Silver Spring water reserved for the Saintess could save me. And now, I had only one month left to live. I no longer cried or argued. I simply nodded and agreed to everything they asked. They thought I had finally grown up. They thought I had learned to put Rosalie first. What they did not know was that I would soon be gone for good.

Ten years after my wealthy family took me back, I died in the rental house my billionaire parents had dumped me in. My son was three. Just to mess with me, the kidnapper gave me three chances to call for help. If even one person was willing to come see me, he'd spare my child. The first call was to my father, the man who'd spent fifteen years searching for me. He was busy directing the staff as they set up my adoptive sister's birthday party. When he picked up, he barked, "Estelle Emerson, seriously? Can you go one week without causing a scene? It's your sister's birthday. I'm busy. Don't kill the vibe." The second call was to my mother, the woman who brought me home and changed my name from Dixie to Estelle. But Vera snatched the phone and laughed so hard she could barely get the words out. "Estelle, seriously? If you're gonna make something up, at least make it believable. You look so broke you probably don't even have fifty bucks. What kidnapper would pick you?" The third time, I called Luca's father, my legal husband. He said he was in a meeting and didn't have time to play games with me. He also said that if I behaved myself, he'd agree to take me home for dinner next week. After the final call ended, I looked at the grinning kidnapper in despair and sent the last two messages of my life. A photo of myself covered in blood. And a short message, every word sincere. [I'm really going to die. In my next life, don't bring me home.]

#Dark #Trauma #Steamy #Violence #LoveTriangle #SlowBurn Stella's world crumbles when her husband, Kellan Keller, tragically dies in a car crash, shattering their plans of starting a family. Left to pick up the pieces, Stella takes over Kellan's insurance company while keeping her own fashion business thriving. Hoping to help her heal, Stella’s parents whisk her away to Alaska. There, she stumbles upon an eerie book about wolves, Lycans, and a woman who mysteriously disappeared in the Alaskan wilderness. The intrigue deepens when her best friend, Julie, vanishes without a trace. But nothing prepares Stella for the shock of seeing a man who looks exactly like Kellan in a local grocery store. As she dives into the mystery, Stella uncovers secrets that challenge everything she believed about her life and Kellan's death. Her search for answers throws her into a dangerous web of truth, betrayal, and passion, leading to revelations that will change her world forever.

The day I found out I was a match for my dad—stage four leukemia—I bailed. Mom tore the world apart looking for me, but yeah, she had to watch him go. After that, she drowned herself in research, built a name, even adopted this perfect little angel. We crossed paths again at some fancy leukemia conference she was hosting. I was on the demo table. She took one look and scoffed. "Charlotte Stein, not the time for your crap. Get up and go." The host blinked, stunned. "Dr. Cooper... you know this cadaver?" She actually laughed. "What, she paid you for this stunt?" The host turned ghost-white. "M-Miss Stein passed three days ago..."

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

I was ten years old when I lost my hearing saving Adrian Falcone's life. After that, I couldn't survive without my hearing aids. He held my hand afterward, his eyes red-rimmed with guilt, and made me a promise in front of his entire family. "Serena Lombardi, I'll protect you with my life," he said. "I'll marry you." But when I turned eighteen, everything changed. Adrian needed to pass some test set by Daniela Moretti—the daughter of a rival family—and he chose the cruelest way to prove himself. He ripped the hearing aids from my ears in front of everyone and laughed. "You're just a deaf, useless burden," he said, his voice cold and cutting. "I've been sick of you for years. Honestly? I wish you'd died in that explosion when we were ten and saved me the trouble." I gripped the rehabilitation report the doctor had just handed me, and my fingers crushed the paper's edges. The diagnosis was precise—my hearing had fully recovered. That night, I burned my hearing aids and convinced my parents to cut all ties with the Falcone family. Adrian Falcone, we're done. Whatever we had, whatever you owed me—it's over now.