Countdown

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

“I’ve made up my mind, I’m going to leave the Emersons and move overseas to live with you.” Cecil Miller’s aunt, Dianne Miller, was thrilled to hear this. She then thoughtfully advised Cecil. “Alright, Cecil, I'll help you with the immigration right away. It will take about a month so you should use this time to get together with your friends since it’s not very likely you’ll see them again once you come to Vinland. Make sure you say your goodbyes. “Don’t forget Cleo especially. He raised you since you were a kid, so you should thank him for everything he’s done for you.” Cecil gave Dianne her word. After hanging up, she left the balcony. As she was heading to the living room, she caught herself sneaking a glance at the picture set on the table.

For seven years, I had been the secret of Enzo Gallo, the new Don of the Gallo family. When I went to register our son Lucas's birth, I discovered Enzo had already married his sister-in-law, Camilla, and claimed her child as his own. Her child became the heir to the family, with all the privileges that entailed. My child became a shameful bastard. Years ago, after Enzo's brother died, the family elders gave Enzo one condition to become Don: he had to have an heir with his sister-in-law to secure the Gallo bloodline. That night, Enzo held me close and swore I was his only true wife. He promised that once Camilla gave birth, he would give me the wedding I deserved. But he missed Lucas's birthday the day Camilla went into labor. Instead of the wedding he promised me, all I got was the news of his marriage to his sister-in-law. My son gently wiped away my tears with his small hand: "Mamma, don't be sad. I changed my birthday wish. I don't want a Papa anymore." "I don't care about being an heir. Having you is enough." I pulled Lucas into my arms, swallowing the bitterness that rose in my throat. "Who says you aren't an heir? Baby, Mamma is taking you home. To our family." What Enzo doesn't know is that I am the only daughter of the most powerful Mafia family in Sicily. I never cared about being the Donna of the Gallo family.

My childhood friend promised to marry me once we came of age — but at my wedding ceremony, he gave my wedding ring to my stepsister, Summer Hugh. At the time, it was Victor Lowell, the fearsome mafia heir, who saved me by publicly announcing he had loved me for years. In the five years we had been married, he would fulfill every wish I had, even those I mentioned offhand. I truly believed I was the center of his world. All that changed when I stumbled across a top-secret folder as I was cleaning his bookshelf. The very first page was a file on Summer, with three red words printed in bold, “Top protection priority.” It was followed by a mission report I knew too well. On the night of the mission, there had been an attempt on my life. My blood had almost run dry before I was saved. When I woke up at the hospital, I found out that I had lost a baby I did not know I had been carrying. I wept bitterly in Victor’s arms, but I did not tell him about the baby. I did not want him to worry about me more. Now, I finally found out — Summer had been attacked that night as well, and Victor’s orders had been: “Save Summer first.” My tears soaked into the paper, smudging his handwriting. “Alright,” I said softly but firmly into the silence. “If my marriage had been a lie all along, I’ll disappear from your life. Forever.”

How rich can a person be? My wife is incredibly rich. People call her "The Queen of Cloudridge" because nearly half the city's properties are owned by her. We've been married for five years, and every time she goes out to meet her first love, she transfers a property to my name. By the time I have 99 homes in my name, she suddenly notices that something has changed. I no longer cry, beg, or ask her to stay. I simply choose the finest mansion in all of Cloudridge, bring the property deed with me, and wait for her to sign it. She signs the papers, and for the first time, she softens. "When I get back, let's go watch the fireworks together." I quietly tuck the agreement away and hum in response. But I never tell her what she's really signed this time. It's not a property deed. It's our divorce agreement.

My fated mate, Alpha Kaelen, rejected me seven times. The first time we bonded, he whispered against my ear, his breath hot. “From now on, my soul sings only for you.” But then his first love, the Omega Seraphina, came back for him. And just like that, he rejected me. They shared a mate’s mark from their past. It left her hopelessly addicted to his scent. “I’m sorry,” he’d said. “I have to be with Seraphina. The scent addiction is destroying her. She can’t even shift. Her wolf is weakening.” The first time he rejected me, I slashed a silver dagger across my wrist. I let the blood flow, hoping the pain would make him look at me. It worked. Kaelen was horrified. He left Seraphina for a moment and rushed to my side, holding me, comforting me. The third time, I disguised myself as an ordinary pack wolf. I got an internship at his pack headquarters, just to breathe in the air he breathed. But this time, he looked right through me, as if we were strangers. By the sixth rejection, I had learned how to calmly erase my scent from his suite. I left without a sound. My screams. My surrender. My begging. And what I got in return? Every time he was with her, the full moon would rise, and he’d call me back. Just to play the same sick game all over again. Until now. I heard Seraphina was coming back again. So I handed him the ceremonial dagger myself. He set the date for my return, just like always. He had no idea. This time, I'm the one severing the bond for good. And I am never coming back.

To help Adrian Spencer get over his feelings for his cousin, his mother made a deal—with Zoey Landon, the girl who had been secretly in love with him for years. They signed a contract. It gave Zoey ninety-nine chances. If even once—just once—Adrian chose her, she’d get what she wanted: to become his wife. But if he never did, she’d be sent overseas for good. No return. No exceptions. Zoey knew how hopelessly obsessed Adrian was with Claire Spencer. Still, she signed without hesitation. Ninety-nine chances. She refused to believe he wouldn’t choose her—not even once. But what she didn’t see coming was…

How much did my wife love me? To marry me, she proposed ninety-nine times. I was not moved until the hundredth. On our wedding day, I gave her ninety-nine make-up cards. We agreed that as long as all of them were not used up, I would stay with her. Five years into our marriage, she used one card every time she went out to be with her crush. When she reached the ninety-seventh card, she suddenly noticed that I had changed. I no longer begged for her to stay. When she lost control because of her adorable secretary, I asked her, “If you don't come back tonight, can I use a make-up card?” She paused for a moment and then softened, which was rare for her. “Okay.” I nodded and let her leave. She thought she still had many make-up cards. She didn't realize this was his last chance.

My mate, Charles, commander of the fire brigade, left me alone in the den with our unborn pup after I refused his request to bring his first love, Lisa, and her pup into our home so he could take care of them. Five days later, Charles reached out—claiming he wanted to ease the tension between us. He asked me to deliver the herbs that help with his insomnia to the fire brigade. On the way there, I was in an accident. I mind-linked him, begging for help, but to my shock, he refused. I believed he was training the new werewolf firemen—but the truth? He was in the infirmary, not for duty, but with Lisa and her pup. After losing my pup, I walked away—shattered, betrayed, and done.

During a long holiday, my husband booked flights for a family vacation. On the way to the airport, I suddenly saw numbers appearing on everyone’s head. The numbers on my husband’s head indicated sixty years, but my parents and I had only six hours indicated on our heads. While I was puzzled over the meaning of those numbers, I noticed that the driver next to us only had six seconds indicated over his head through the car window. Five… Four… Three… Two… One. When the number turned zero, a massive truck immediately rammed into the car next to us. I saw flickers of fire, flesh and blood exploding before my eyes. People were screaming for help, but I could not hear anything. I trembled as cold sweat drenched my entire body. It was because my flight would be taking off in six hours.