Percy Bysshe Shelley

My Alpha mate's childhood sweetheart was a witch. She told everyone my blood carried a Cursed Bloodline — that bonding with Damon would kill him. On our anniversary, she drew a Curse Circle outside my door, claiming it would suppress my dark energy. At our Mating Ceremony, she disguised herself as a server and swapped our Bonding Tokens for a Curse Rune. Every single time, she'd kneel in front of Damon and cry: "I'm only trying to protect you from the curse. Everything I do is for you!" And every single time, Damon went soft. He said she just cared about him too much. Until the eve of our Marking Ceremony, when she drugged me, put on my Luna ceremonial gown, and crawled into Damon's bed. I woke up just in time and reported her to the Pack Enforcers. Damon went straight to the Enforcers' station to get her out, then turned to me and said coldly: "Serena was just trying to protect me. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of this?" Until I bled out during labor and fell into a coma, and she stood over me with tears in her eyes, telling Damon: "Choose me and let her go — this is the will of the Moon Goddess.." I left this world together with the child still in my belly. Then I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day of the Mating Ceremony, and she was about to slip the Hex Rune into our token box. This time, I didn't hold back. I ripped open the box in front of everyone and slapped the rune onto her forehead: "I think the one who needs cleansing is you!"

I am a succubus, and during my heat cycle, I must have sex with a partner to survive. I unexpectedly saved a serpentfolk man, a species renowned in the beast-kin world for possessing the most potent sexual prowess of all. I leveraged the favor to make him help me through my heat as an incubus. But just as I was clinging to him again, scrolling comments appeared before my eyes — and I discovered I was the villainess in a novel. The male lead secretly despised me. The real heroine was about to appear. And once he recovered his memories, I'd be tossed aside. So I decided to divorce him. But my serpent husband didn't seem to agree with that plan.

The tenth time one of my paintings appeared under my sister Rose's name, I handed Adrian the divorce papers. He raised an eyebrow and tossed the agreement aside without a second glance. "Don't be dramatic. Your hand is ruined -- where would you even go without me?" I said nothing. He smiled, his tone dripping with casual indifference. "You should be grateful. Rose was the one I was supposed to marry. A few paintings is a small price to pay. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you." He blew a ring of cigarette smoke directly into my face. I choked, and the sting brought tears to my eyes. Through the blur, I was transported back to the moment my tendons were severed for his sake -- a pain that had drilled straight to the bone. He thought I had no choice but to take it. What he didn't know was that I'd already accepted an offer from the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Soon, I would be free of him for good.

I am a top-notch surgeon. But when my ex-boyfriend —— now the Don of the Blackwood family —— was brought to the hospital injured, even the head nurse advised me against taking the case. Everyone said the Dante Blackwood despised me. Because three years ago—the last time we met—I took off my engagement ring and handed it back to him, then got into the car of Dominic, the Don of Mercer family. But I still put on my white coat and walked in. Not only walked in—I pressed my hand right against his stomach without a shred of hesitation. Before the punch came, it was the killing intent in his eyes. "I told you. Touch me one more time, and I'll break every bone in your body." The interns outside the door were all holding their breath for my safety. I adjusted my gold-rimmed glasses and let out a helpless smile. But the moment I undid the buttons of his shirt, even though his mouth told me to get out, his body couldn't help but tense up.

In my fifth year of marriage to Dominic, I'd become the woman all of Chicago knew as the crazy one — the mental case. Jealousy gnawed at me constantly, and my temper frayed easily, my emotions sharp and unsteady, unravelling more with each passing day. So it only made sense when he slid a divorce agreement across the table. "Vivian's pregnant. A Harrington heir can't be born illegitimate, and Mrs. Harrington can't be a lunatic." "Once she's had the baby, I’ll marry you again, and you'll still be Mrs. Harrington." I was forced to sign my name, then locked away in a private sanatorium a hundred miles from the city. The first year, I waited with desperate hope for him to come take me home. Instead, he handed me an ultrasound report. "Twins — a boy and a girl. Vivian's pregnant again. Just wait a little longer." The second year, he had electric fencing installed around the sanatorium grounds. "Harrington Corp is going public. We can't afford any slip-ups right now." By the fifth year, he simply called to tell me to wait one more year. He must have expected me to scream and lose control the way I always did. But this time, I just nodded calmly. "Alright. However long it takes." After all. I didn't have much time left anyway.

On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain. The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire. My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars. Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York. The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door. That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment." She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel: "It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act." Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive: "If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?" What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.