Counter Attack

My name was Wisteria Oliviero. Jackie Kissinger and I had been married for 10 years. The world praised his undying love for Yvonne Willson, his late first love. I too was glad I married someone so loving. Then, on Yvonne's deathday, I saw a photo of him kissing the supposedly dead Yvonne in Lutecia. I found out Yvonne swiped my dad's secondary card until its limit. When I demanded answers, he called me crazy and wanted to send me to an asylum. Then, I also found out the car crash that took my womb away was his and Yvonne's conspiracy. I wasted 10 years on the wrong guy, and I did not want to take it anymore. I used my family's power to destroy Jackie's company, collected evidence of their crimes, and sent them both into prison. They were thrown behind bars. I was freed from their web of lies, and the light awaited me.

Just one week into my new job, I was wrongfully accused of cooking the books, and it cost me five years behind bars. After that, my wife found out she was pregnant. She insisted on having the baby and promised to wait for me to come home. Out of gratitude, I threw myself into work after my release. I did everything I could to give them a good life. It was until one day, I overheard a conversation between my wife and our son. “Mom, don’t let Dad come out with us. It’s embarrassing! Why did you pin Mr. Scott’s crime on him back then?! And now, the girl next door keeps making fun of me, saying my dad’s a criminal!” My wife gently pulled our son close and comforted him, saying, “I promised Mr. Scott I’d help him. Your dad’s so naive. He’ll never find out.” It turned out that my supposed happy life was nothing but lies and betrayal!

Ten years ago, I ditched a high-paying job for my family. A decade later, they asked for my kidney—supposedly for my daughter, Talia. Turns out, the real patient was Hudson's first love's son. They didn't even fake remorse. Hudson sneered, convinced I couldn't survive without him. Talia called me old and fat, acting like I should be grateful to help Bianca's kid. A whole decade of sacrifice, and what did I get? No love. No thanks. Just entitlement. To them, I was nothing but a free, disposable maid. So I walked. No regrets. I rebuilt my life, found a job, and never looked back. Then reality smacked them. Hudson and Talia finally realized everything I'd done. They begged me to come back—but my heart was already stone-cold. In the end, I left the country, threw myself into work, and finally learned what it meant to live.

We’re preparing to move into a new house, and when my husband’s best female friend found out, she decided to move in with us. I was about to object, but my husband immediately agreed. To make things worse, he even gave my daughter’s master bedroom, which was meant to be her children’s room, to her son and made our daughter move to the basement. When I voiced my disagreement, he dismissed it, saying, “Grace is my close friend; don’t overthink it. Her son is like my son; of course, I want him to have a better room.” When I still stood my ground, my husband and his family began criticizing me, calling me selfish. Unable to stand their unfairness, I moved out with my daughter. It was then they realized my absence and became anxious.

In our five years of marriage, I had given in to my husband, John, for a grand total of three times. The first time was during my pregnancy. He had taken his ex-girlfriend Stacy, who had once taken three bullets for him, back home and cared for her. When I became angry, he immediately sent her away once she recovered. The second time was after childbirth, when I was ready to return to work. To repay a favor, he gave the position I had worked years for to Stacy. He said it was so I could rest well. I looked at my son, who needed me, and I conceded. The third time was during our son’s birthday. In front of the entire company, he had announced that Stacy was his wife, all so she could establish herself in the company. I gave him two choices: divorce or send her away. Without hesitation, he chose the latter and immediately sent her abroad. The fourth time was when my father suddenly had a heart attack and urgently needed surgery. He disappeared again. I searched everywhere for him to cover the hospital expenses, and I finally discovered that he had gone to the airport to pick up a pregnant Stacy, who was returning to the country. Because of that, my father missed the best chance for treatment and died. I was done giving in. I disguised the divorce agreement as our son’s medical bill and tricked him into signing it. No compensation or apology would matter. I did not wish to have him near my son or myself again.

Back when we were still in love, I heard from someone else that Charlie Grant had been getting unusually close to his secretary. He never offered an explanation. He let me dig for the truth on my own. Over the past five years, I quietly collected countless photos of them together—having lunch, leaving late-night meetings, even traveling for business—but none of them offered conclusive proof of cheating. Until the day he proposed to me. There was a giant screen set up. It was supposed to play a romantic video Charlie had prepared just for the proposal, but the screen suddenly cut to something else. A video of Charlie at a hospital, standing beside his secretary as she underwent a pregnancy check-up. In the video, the doctor clearly referred to Charlie as her husband… and the father of her child. His secretary burst into tears on the spot and apologized to me repeatedly. She sobbed as though she were the victim. Charlie, however, stood there with a cold expression and said flatly, "She's an unwed mother. She was helpless. I was just accompanying her for the checkup. The doctor must've misunderstood." Everyone braced for a dramatic scene. However, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I only reached up and slowly removed the delicate flower hairpiece from my head. I set the hairpiece down. Then I looked Charlie in the eyes and spoke calmly. "You're right. It is sad that she’s pregnant and all alone. "This marriage proposal was meant for her. Not me." I gave a faint smile. "May you enjoy a blissful life. And… congratulations on the baby."

The night Enzo was made boss of the Moretti family, I gave him my virginity. He was the heir I'd been promised to since before I could speak. We kissed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, tangled in the humid, twilight heat... His rough, urgent hands hurt me, but I didn't pull away. Even the pain felt sacred, a sacrifice I was willing to make for love. Lost in the heat of the moment, he promised me a pair of the most beautiful crystal shoes, so I could dance the opening waltz with him at his coronation ceremony the next day. The first dance is always reserved for the new boss and his future bride. I cried with joy, believing my years of secret pining and patient waiting would finally culminate in a fairytale ending. But I was wrong. So terribly wrong. The next morning, I dragged my aching body out to get his favorite espresso, only to overhear the guys joking as I returned: "So you finally popped the family cherry, huh? How was Vivian on your first night as boss?" Enzo's voice was lazy, mocking. "Face of an angel, body of a devil. She's a hot little viper in bed." The room erupted in sleazy whistles. "So, you really gonna marry her, young boss?" "Are you kidding me?" Enzo scoffed. "Vivian's just a warm-up. Once I get some practice in, I'll go tame the Falcone ice princess. When I get bored, I can always circle back and put a ring on her." I stood frozen in the doorway, my vision blurring, the coffee cup trembling in my hand. Before the world faded to black, I sent a coded message to the Don: "Uncle Romano, for the promotion in three days, get me a transfer. As far away from Enzo as possible."

Someone started a thread on a forum asking, [Do men become stingy with their wives after marriage?] The replies were full of women complaining about how cheap and calculating their husbands were. My husband, however, went in the opposite direction. After we got married, he handed me his payroll card to manage and kept only a few dozen dollars a month for his own expenses, as though he had truly given everything to me and to this family. I shook my head and was about to respond when my mother-in-law's call interrupted me. "Chloe, Josh's god sister is sick. She needs $4,500." My husband immediately slipped an arm around my shoulders and assured me, "Don't worry. We'll use my salary. You won't have to pay a cent." "Alright," I said. Seeing how certain he was, I transferred one dollar to him on the spot and added a note: Medical expenses transferred. When my mother-in-law saw the transfer, she flew into a rage, sharply accusing me of being jealous and petty, even withholding money meant to save a life. I remained unmoved. "That's all there is on the card." She completely lost her temper, threatening to come over and audit how many kickbacks I had supposedly pocketed over the years. I agreed to settle the accounts. That was when my husband suddenly lost his enthusiasm.

During a battle with a rival pack, my Alpha mate, Damien, burst into my private healing sanctuary. He was carrying Lyra, a Beta warrior who had supposedly taken a poisoned blade for him. The next day, under the watchful eye of the Moon Goddess, Damien was forced by the pack elders to apologize. He explained that bringing an outsider into my sanctuary was a desperate act in a moment of crisis. After all, Lyra had saved his life. But that night, in the bed we once shared, Lyra stabbed herself with a dagger laced with wolfsbane and framed me for the attack. He chose to believe her. The rejection ceremony ripped my wolf from my soul. I was cast out—a powerless exile, left for dead in a storm, to be torn to shreds by rogues. But what Damien never knew was that the ancient curse afflicting him could only be healed by me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the beginning: the moment Damien carried that woman in, demanding I save her.

I was ten when my Omega mother mated the Alpha of the Blackwood Pack. My stepbrother, Draven, never let me forget how I’d diluted their pure blood. With his silent blessing, the entire pack became a weapon to carry out his hate. During a full moon hunt, he gave the nod. That's all it took. His followers "accidentally" pushed me in front of a raging stag. I felt its antlers rip my shoulder open. He looked down at me, his golden eyes dripping with scorn. “Don’t think you’re one of us just because your mother latched onto my father. Weaklings get culled. And I’ll be the one to kick you off my land.” At his command, they'd ruin my offerings to the Moon Goddess. They shredded my coming-of-age gown with silver blades. Through it all, my mother would only look at me with shame. My stepfather, the great Alpha, just saw me as a troublesome brat. I made myself small, desperate for a scrap of kindness. But it only made me the pack outcast. Hated and completely alone. Until Draven’s best friend, Liam—the Alpha heir to the Rage River Pack—showed interest in me at the werewolf academy. For the first time ever, Draven left me alone. I thought Liam was my only light in the darkness. On my birthday, I gave myself to him completely. The next day, I overheard him talking to Draven. Draven’s voice was low, laced with venom. “Did you get the video? Of the half-blood losing control mid-fuck?” Liam chuckled. “Of course. Gotta admit, she feels amazing. So soft… a real temptation. Almost got me hooked. But just in bed. The thought of her dirty blood…If it wasn’t to help you get even, I would’ve never touched a weak-blooded Omega like her.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, tears streaming down my face. My only hope was a lie. But they didn't know. I’d already applied to the Valeriana Werewolf Institute. And I wasn’t coming back.