1945 Pulitzer Winning

I have just been discharged after leg surgery when Victor Clark, my wife's former colleague who resents her for taking his position, drags me up to the roof and stabs me repeatedly. My wife, Melissa Lane, is the captain of the rescue unit, yet she is busy mobilizing everyone to stop her depressed first love, Ethan Hayes, from setting his rental apartment on fire. I don't call her to save me. In my previous life, I begged her for help. She abandoned Ethan and rushed to rescue me. In the end, I survived while Ethan died in the blaze. Melissa never blamed me. She said that Ethan got what he deserved and even promised me a surprise for my birthday a week later. But on my birthday, she drugged me, tied me to a hospital bed, and drove a knife into me again and again. "You and Victor set me up that day, didn't you? Those stab wounds aren't even serious! You were never going to die! Since you like getting stabbed so much, I'll make it real for you!" When I open my eyes, I am back to the day Victor took me hostage. This time, I let Melissa go save her first love.

At three in the morning, I was urgently called to an underground hospital in Verdanza to operate on the mafia Don's only son. But the man lying on the bed was my husband, the same man who had sworn before leaving that he was going on a business trip, promised he would drink less, and told me not to worry. Outside the operating room, a young woman clutched my sleeve and nearly broke down in tears. "Doctor, please save my fiancé! He got shot while protecting me. We can pay anything!" A well-dressed middle-aged woman quickly pulled her back. "Sylvia, calm down! Think about the baby." At that moment, I came to a horrifying realization. The man I had supported for ten years with my scalpel, the man I believed was bankrupt and drowning in debt… He was actually the heir to the biggest mafia family in Verdanza. And now, he had put himself in the ICU to protect another woman. I felt as though my heart had been ripped open. In our years together, we had once had a child. Back then, he had convinced me to terminate the pregnancy with the excuse that we were buried in debt and couldn't afford a baby. Yet now, another woman was carrying his child, surrounded by his family's protection and cherished like a priceless treasure. If that was how it was going to be, fine. After this surgery, everything Luca Colleone and I had together would be over. Ten years of history, wiped clean.

"Luna, the surgery to remove the Alpha’s mark is excruciating. After that, you’ll be treated as a packless Rogue. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?" "Yes. I want to be a Rogue." The black market healer was utterly astonished. The entire werewolf world believed Alpha Ethan was head over heels in love with me. Just days ago, he'd spent a hundred million gold coins to buy me 'Moonlight Manor,' filling it with my favorite moonflowers. Countless she-wolves dreamed of being marked by such a passionate and powerful Alpha. But I didn't hesitate. After removing the mark, I printed out a Mate Bond Severance Agreement and booked a flight to the European pack a week later. Goodbye, Ethan.

Michele Giuliani successfully takes the throne as the leader of the mafia forces in Costa Morala. During an interview, a reporter asks, "According to our observations, you've never concealed or removed the old alphabetic tattoo below your collarbone. Does that mean it has a special meaning to you?" Michele shakes his head with a sneer. "Five years ago, my fiancee, Alma Rossito, looked down on me because the Giulianis had lost their power and authority among the families. So, she ran off to be with another rich man. "Whenever I wanted to give up, I'd be reminded of her betrayal as soon as I laid my eyes on this tattoo. "Now that I've lasted this long, I just want to personally ask her a question." Michele digs out his phone and dials the number he has pinned at the top of his contact list without hesitation. "Alma, do you regret dumping my ass the moment I was kicked out of my family?" I turn the camera toward the chaotic underground casino and reply lazily, "Yeah, I regret doing that to you, Don Giuliani. But I've lost every cent under my name on horse-betting. Can you transfer 50 thousand dollars to me first so that I can earn my money back?" Michele ends the call instantly before punching the mirror next to him. The cracks in the mirror happen to reflect the dark tattoo beneath his collar. What Michele doesn't know is that I'm being held in the casino by loan sharks. Five years ago, I had taken out a huge loan from them and bribed the necessary connections as an anonymous party. That was how Michele got the opportunity to turn the tides in his favor and become the mafia king.

My fiancée was infamous in Culberra for being a heartbreaker. She had countless ex-boyfriends, and only stopped fooling around once she started dating me. However, we had only just planned to get married when her first love returned from overseas. Everyone mocked me, saying that I was a fool for thinking that I'd be any special. Unbeknownst to them, however, I'd long since gotten sick of playing the part of a lovesick idiot.

As I sat in the police station with Yvonne Harper, my boyfriend’s childhood sweetheart, waiting for bail arrangements to be made, the decision loomed. One of us could go home tonight. My mate, Alpha Jackson, chose to take her. "Nicole, just wait for me one more night. I’ll come back for you tomorrow," he said. He was worried about her fragile health, but he didn’t care about my fear of the dark. Later, I called him. My voice was steady, though my heart ached. "Jackson," I began, "for the past few years, I’ve been waiting for you." "But I won’t wait forever."

Everyone said I was lucky. After the Don, Lucas Vaughn, brought me back to his estate, I became the woman he treasured most. He would halt billion-dollar deals just to be home on time to put me to sleep. He even learned sign language in secret, just so he could communicate with me after my vocal cords were damaged. At first, I didn’t dare give him my heart. Whenever he looked at me, his focus would drift. He showered me with gifts, yet always disappeared on the days that mattered most. As the child in my womb grew, and as Lucas’s devotion intensified day by day, I let my guard down. I devoted myself completely to the role of wife and Donna. Until the night I gave birth. I hemorrhaged during a difficult labor, but Lucas never showed up. After surviving by sheer luck, I finally saw the trending news. Lucas attended a Thames-side gala arm-in-arm with rising movie star, Serena Vale. That was when I understood. To him, I had only ever been a substitute. He broke his rules for her again and again. He indulged her humiliations toward me and even shoved me toward armed attackers at the brink of life and death. Filled with hatred, I closed my eyes and sank into the deep sea, just as he wished. Later, he knelt, clutching the hem of my dress, begging, "Zoe, please give me one more chance. I’ll repay you with my life." His life was worth too little now. I no longer wanted it.

I’m the public lover of Tara Brewer, the underworld queen. She often dotes on me and treats me like I'm her most precious treasure, and she goes as far as to claim that she wants to give birth to ten children for me. But when I'm getting beaten up by others while completely drenched in my own blood, Tara doesn't recognize me at all. Instead, she turns to comfort her beau, Brandon Holden. "That filthy bastard has crossed you, honey! You can just beat him to death! I'll be your safety net!" Only then do I realize that Brandon is Tara's lover this whole time. As soon as Tara's words fall, she snatches the boxing gloves from Brandon and begins punching my face, which has a mixture of blood and tears streaking down my cheeks. At the same time, she says icily, "Don't worry. Once you're dead, I'll inform your wife so that she can pick up your corpse."

On our wedding anniversary, I canceled all my meetings and made a reservation at a restaurant. That evening, my wife, the renowned investigative journalist Amaya Shaw, called me. “Efim, I’m sorry! I just received a tip from a source. It’s urgent. “It involves inside information about a well-known company. I have to go verify it immediately!” But the next day, I saw that Javor Furey, the junior she had brought along, had posted a collage on his social media. The central photo showed Amaya wearing a childish birthday hat. Her head was pressed against Javor’s, as they made a wish together in front of a cake covered in candles. This was the caption. [Thanks, my dear Ms. Shaw! Even in the midst of her busy schedule chasing big stories, she remembered to give me this surprise birthday!] [Chasing big stories.] I stared at those three words. Then, I glanced at the limited-edition bag on our dining table. It was the one she had been raving about for half a year. It was the anniversary gift I had prepared for her. I felt absurd. I commented just two words under that post. [How touching.] Her call came in almost the second I hit send. She sounded furious. “Efim, do you have to be so sarcastic? “It’s just an anniversary. How old are you? Why are you still celebrating such childish anniversaries?” From our first year of marriage to the present, her “tip-offs from informants” and “special circumstances” always took precedence over our promises. This time, she could not even be bothered to come up with a plausible excuse. I did not say anything. I hung up and blocked her number. This marriage was over.

My fiancee, Isabelle Bailey, engages in a passionate kiss with her stage partner, Shawn Sanders, in a theater play. While the audience is wholly touched by the romance depicted by the main characters of the play, I know for a fact that the actual script doesn't feature the kissing scene at all. Guilt flickers across Isabelle's face at my confrontation. But she argues, "We were just acting! Are you saying that I can't act out romance scenes anymore?" I no longer demand answers from Isabelle like a hysterical fool. Instead, I give the roses that are cultivated from a new breed to the background actors. After leaving the afterparty, I call my mentor, Patrick White. "Professor, I'm willing to travel to the northwest to plant roses there."