7th Anniversary

At the party for our first wedding anniversary, I hit the floor—face-first on a red carpet, gasping like a fish out of water. Carlo Pipino, my husband, had his arm draped around Gianna Verde, his childhood flame, sipping champagne and laughing. Gianna knew I was allergic to nuts. So, obviously, she bathed everything in hazelnut dressing. One bite and boom—my throat locked, my lungs lit up, and hives popped like confetti. I reached for my allergy meds—came up with a fistful of melted M&Ms instead. Gianna laughed when she saw my face. "Surprise! Carlo swapped your meds. Seriously, Siena, one nut? Dramatic much?" I slid off my chair, wheezing, while the crowd placed bets on how long my "performance" would last. "Carlo... my meds..." I croaked. "Please. I'm gonna die." He sighed, annoyed. "God, you're so dramatic. Why do women always play dead for attention? You know I love you. Just stop this show already." Right then, my heart shattered faster than my lungs could. I stopped begging. Hit the distress signal. Called my real family.

I discovered two things after being diagnosed with a brain tumor. I was first on what appeared to be a fake marriage certificate with Julian Fitzgerald. I had raised my son for six years, and he was already aware of it. In fact, he wanted his mother to be someone else. It was then that I realised my life was just a hoax. Seven years of not being in touch with my family, keeping myself solitary and making sacrifices but it was all just plain cruel. So, I did three things. The husband and son who had betrayed me, I went missing. In preparation for our seventh wedding anniversary, I called off the romantic dinner reservation made a month ago. Besides my participation in several health-related group discussions, I also left my son's kindergarten parent groups. These groups were all designed to improve the well-being of my husband and son. My second action was to contact my physician and request a stress evaluation. I requested a special prescription to prevent any complications that might arise during my international travel. The third person I contacted was my older sister, whom she had not been in touch with for seven years. My words were, "To marry in a place where I don't belong to my family is just miserable."

After waking up from a car accident, I become the perfect wife of Dr. Leonardo Rossi. In the next two years of being an amnesiac, I rely on Leonardo and love him with all my heart. But on the night of our wedding anniversary, I accidentally overhear his murmured conversation with a subordinate. "Take her out once she's done signing the asset transfer papers." At that moment, a searing hot memory comes barging into my mind. I remember a man placing a hand on my sweat-drenched lower back. As he pants, he murmurs into my ear, "My dearest Donna Vittoria Costa, remember that I'm the only one who can make you shiver like this." Finally, the fog that has been haunting my mind is lifted, allowing more memories to return. It turns out that the man who has held me by my waist is none other than Leonardo, who's currently passing a glass of water to me with a smile on his face. I swallow the pill that he has handed to me. But in reality, I hide the pill beneath my tongue and merely swallow the water. Dear doctor, when the prey remembers that it's supposed to be the predator, do you think your scalpel will still be capable of slitting my throat?

At our college graduation, my fiance suddenly proposed to Lillie Stewart, my best friend, in front of everyone. I became a joke in front of everyone. Right after Lillie accepted my fiance’s proposal, Lloyd Becker, heir to the biggest mafia family on the West Coast, publicly said he loved me. Lloyd was known in the mafia world for being serious and never getting involved with women. So, when he showed an interest in an orphan like me, it made the news. We got married, and for five years, he was so sweet and treated me like a princess. But one day, I accidentally overheard him talking to his friend. “Lillie is already set to become the future lady of the Gacira family. Are you really going to keep the act up with Nelly?” “If I can’t have Lillie, it doesn’t matter who I marry. As long as I’m with Nelly, Lillie can live peacefully.” He even gave Lillie the symbol of the Becker family’s lady. He helped Lillie build her career while letting me fade into the background. After five years of marriage, I finally understood. On our fifth anniversary, I pretended to die in a shooting so he could be with the woman he truly loved. But instead of being happy, Lloyd completely broke down.

The night before my fiancé, Soren, and I were supposed to leave for Northern Europe to start our new life, the sounds of a lively discussion drifted from his private club. "Christ, Boss, are you insane? Why the sudden marriage alliance with the Rosetti family to make a play for Italy? Didn't you say you were getting out of the life with Abby and heading north?" Soren leaned back into a leather sofa, his voice nonchalant and muffled by a cloud of smoke. "Plans change. Besides, remember, I'm the one who made her who she is." "Once she sees the new empire I'm building, that little canary will come flying right back to my cage. The woman can't live without me." I stood in the shadows of the club, a wine glass in my hand, a dull ache blooming in my chest. The anniversary gift I had so carefully chosen for Soren was still in my purse, waiting for me to give it to him. I slipped out of the smoke-filled club, tossed the gift into the nearest trash can, and booked a one-way ticket to Northern Europe. But what he didn't know was that just as he could betray our future for Monica, I could abandon him for mine. All those years we spent dancing with death were never just for his sake.

When James Chapman and I first got together, I was a regular student while he was one of the most popular guys in school. Five years down the road, I'm still a regular woman. James' attitude toward me has changed drastically, though. He frequently complains about my appearance. I know it's because his true love is back in the country. He misses our fifth anniversary because of her. His true love makes fun of me for being ugly to his face, so he orders me to get cosmetic surgery at her newly opened clinic. He wants me to use my fanbase to make her business boom. "You're so ugly that you'd be the perfect person to prove Barbara's skills… if she can actually make you look better, that is. We're all friends, aren't we? What's wrong with lending her a hand? Stop being so petty!" Barbara Simpson kills me—I die on the operating table in her inhumane clinic. James thinks I go missing because I'm just throwing a tantrum, but he realizes he's wrong when he finds my mangled body in the basement. The diamond ring he put on my finger is still there, too.

Melinda gave up everything for the man she loved—only to be stabbed in the back by the two people she trusted most: her husband and her own sister. On the morning of her wedding anniversary, she wakes up naked in a stranger’s bed, with no memory of the night before. Still reeling with confusion, she heads to her husband’s office to surprise him—only to find him in a compromising position with her sister. But the ultimate betrayal comes when they throw an envelope at her feet—photos accusing her of infidelity she never remembered committing. When she overhears them plotting her death, Melinda knows she has to run. What they don’t know is that she’s just inherited a fortune—and she's not the same naive woman anymore. She vanishes to Las Vegas, where she rebuilds her life from scratch. But fate has one more twist. She’s pregnant… with twins. And the father? Six years later, Melinda returns to Los Angeles, stronger, wealthier, and ready for revenge. Her plan is flawless—until her twins come face to face with their father. Now, James wants answers. The twins want a family. And Melinda just wants justice. Love was never part of the plan… but the heart has plans of its own.

On our third anniversary, the restaurant my wife, Selena Sander, and I frequent is reserved by her twisted first love, Shane Johnson. He tramples over the rose petals that are scattered all over the floor while making his way toward our table. Then, he slaps a pregnancy report onto the table. "Three years ago, I personally tattooed a rose on Selena's abdomen. I even made a vow with her, saying that she cannot give birth to your child until I find someone I love more than her." As Shane points at the name shown on the pregnancy report, he flashes me a cruel smile. "Now, I've found my true love. That's why I came to inform Selena that our vow can now be broken." The bitterness that I tasted from the countless contraceptives that I've taken over the past three years suddenly floods my mouth. I then turn to look at Selena. There's no trace of guilt shown on her expression despite having gotten exposed by Shane. Instead, she just looks at me coldly. "You heard him, right?" she utters. "We can have a child together now." At that moment, I feel like strangling her more than anything else in the world.

My son was kidnapped by a pack of rogue wolves. Two days later, the patrol team found his body. His limbs were broken, his entire body covered in bruises, not a single patch of fur left unmarked. I held his lifeless form and howled in anguish. My mate Damien, Alpha of the Stormfang Pack, swore the killers would pay. All evidence pointed to Sera, Damien's nominal Omega assistant, but in reality his mistress. As the pack's Luna, I publicly revealed the investigation results and evidence before all pack members. Under pressure from the pack, my mate was forced to execute his Omega assistant. A year later, I became pregnant again. But during my tenth anniversary Luna ceremony, my mate locked me in a burning chamber as punishment. That's when I learned the truth—he hated me for forcing him to kill his Omega assistant. He wanted me dead for revenge. In the flames, I felt the child in my womb slip away, and my own strength began to fail. After my rebirth, I still couldn't change my son's tragic fate. But when I chose to abandon my role as Stormfang Pack's Luna, the entire pack fell to their knees, begging me not to leave.

There's this unspoken rule in werewolf high society: no matter how tight the mate bond is, business banquets mean booking a hostess. Six years into our bond, my Alpha mate—Brian Stormclaw—met one. Louise. A scrappy Omega with too much pride and not enough sense. When he offered her his black card, she pushed it back and said, "I'm not some Alpha's pampered pet." Brian? Instantly hooked. Like the Moon Goddess herself had dropped her in his lap. He chased her like he wanted her mark on every pack crest. But he forgot something—I was the Luna he wrote ninety-nine love letters to before I said yes. I didn't beg. Didn't snap. Every time he chose her over me, I lit another letter. First one burned on our anniversary—he bailed to wait outside Louise's flower shop, just to walk her home. Letter thirty-four? He left me stranded in a dangerous hunting ground to keep her company. Said she was scared of the dark. Fifty-two? Torched the second he replaced our wedding photo with some sketch she made on. ... And when the ninety-ninth turned to ash, so did whatever was left of us. I walked away. For good.