After I Died A Tycoon Went Crazy

The day I recovered from my mental illness and got discharged, my parents held me in their arms with tears of happiness. My sister gave me a teddy bear and said she had been waiting for me to come home. I comforted my parents who were crying and accepted the gift from my sister. I slowly got used to ordinary life and became the real daughter of the Schmidt family. To show their preference for me, my parents transferred the family business into my name on my sister’s 18th birthday. But I cruelly murdered the family of three who cherished me on this day.

Three months after my fiancé disappeared, I saw him at the airport, his arm around a girl. He laughed smugly, "Thanks to my buddies, coming up with that plan. Otherwise, how would I get to spend every day with you? Won't go back until you're pregnant. Let that old ball-and-chain keep searching." I didn't rush over to confront him; I just watched them in complete silence. Back home, I wrapped my arms around his brother's neck and whispered bitterly, "Harry is gone, but your family needs an heir."

As the daughter of the Silvermane Pack's strongest Alpha, I was born with two enviable protectors. My brother, Adrian, couldn't bear to see me get a single scratch, and my mate, Liam, couldn't stand to see me shed a single tear. But at my transformation ceremony, Iris, an exile's daughter, stole the Moon Goddess Potion that was meant for me. She shifted first, becoming a rare, pure white wolf and capturing the awe of the entire pack. I only confronted her about it, yet my brother handed me over to enemy rogues as a bargaining chip for a truce. And my mate used wolfsbane to block my transformation, stealing my last chance to fight back. With their silent consent, I was tortured by my enemies until death was a mercy. Before I died, one of the rogues gloated, "So what if your father exiled me? My daughter, Iris, will soon be their Luna. The entire Silvermane Pack will be mine!" I died, consumed by hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn on the day of my transformation ceremony. Eyeing the preening white wolf before me, I sneered. "Guards! Shave all her fur!"

With only an hour left until the concert began, every trending topic across the internet was dominated by a single headline. [Breaking: Rising Star Tiffany Burgess to Propose to Her Manager After Ten Years of Romance, Leaving Fans in Awe.] This proposal was not just a personal milestone; it was the centerpiece of our company's most ambitious PR campaign of the year and the culmination of a love story between Tiffany and me. Then, in the fire escape, I bumped into Tiffany, dressed in her wedding gown, locked in a passionate kiss with a young man. "Wayne, let me explain," she pleaded. "Explain what?" I snorted. "That just before our proposal, you're sneaking around with another man? The proposal is live-streamed to millions, with thousands of media outlets eagerly awaiting the announcement." I slammed the engagement ring down onto the table in front of her. "After the encore tonight, you'll either propose to me on that stage, or you'll be ruined, both in reputation and career!" Her fists clenched, but in the end, she gritted her teeth and grabbed the box. "Fine." Under the spotlight, she stood before me in her wedding dress, pulling out the ring. But instead of turning to me, she held the ring up toward the guest seating area, where her true love sat. "Wayne, thank you for helping me reach the stars," she declared. "But tonight, I'm going to chase my moon." The crowd erupted in shock and confusion. In a single instant, I became the laughingstock—the unwitting prop in her grand romantic gesture. My heart shattered the moment she reached him.

The first time Rafael betrayed me, he threw the woman from his club at my feet. His eyes were bloodshot as he told me to take my pick. My love for him was a sickness, so I forgave the transgression. For the second betrayal, I had the dancer sent out of New York, warning her never to set foot on the East Coast again. On the night of our engagement party, sealing the union of our two families, Rafael pinned me against the walnut desk in the study. His eyes burned with rage as he demanded: "Where is Nina? She's carrying a Mancini heir." "It was a mistake. You can take your anger out on me. Nina is naive; she doesn't deserve this. I'm begging you, just let the child be born safely. I swear I'll never see her again." "You're afraid of childbirth. This gives you an heir without the risk." "Listen, Alessia. You are the future Donna of the Mancini family. When that child is born, it will know only you as its mother. I swear on my life." He forced me backward until shards from the vase I'd knocked over cut into my skin, staining my silk dress with blood. I looked at him and smiled, then gave him the address of a safe house in Brooklyn. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him. Shaking, I pulled out my encrypted phone. "You were right about him. Is your offer still on the table?"

I plan on ordering some food using my husband's phone, yet I've noticed a remark that's been saved on the delivery app. "The food is for a pregnant lady. Please make sure to be hygienic and use less oil and salt when making the dishes." I can feel my heart sink. I turn my gaze toward the bathroom, where my husband is. I can't figure out why my husband, who's been firm about not wanting a child, has been ordering meals for pregnant women. After a moment of hesitation, I scroll through the delivery app's order history with shaky hands. Numerous orders have been placed with the same restaurant, one that specializes in making exquisite dishes designed for pregnant women. Each of these food orders costs more than ten thousand dollars. My husband's company address has been chosen as the delivery address, and he's also the recipient. … After exiting the delivery app, I sit on the couch and stare into space. As I look at my husband's well-defined muscles, I recall how he, who's about to hit 40, is suddenly quite invested in getting in shape over the past year. I blurt out asking, "Have you been ordering food to your office often lately?" My husband freezes for a split second. Then, he fixes me with a gentle gaze. "I do that once in a while. Why are you suddenly asking about that? By the way, I haven't had the sweet and sour meatballs you make in a long while. Can you make some for me so that I can bring them to the office for my lunch tomorrow?" I smile at him and agree to his request. Still, I toss and turn in bed as the remark about the pregnant lady in his phone keeps gnawing at me that night.

I came home from a night shift and caught my husband in bed with his secretary. After the screaming and the chaos, I ran out like a woman losing her mind. Derek chased after me. We ended up at the river, fighting. Somehow we both fell in. He nearly drowned trying to save me—the doctors said the oxygen deprivation had caused severe brain damage. When he woke up, he could barely function. No memory. No independence. He followed me around like a lost child. "Wifey, don't leave me. I'm scared." Looking at that helpless, broken man, I gritted my teeth and held this family together. The secretary vanished without a trace. Six years passed. Derek slowly seemed to recover. He was gentle with me, attentive, loving. I even got pregnant with our second child. Then came the family dinner. Derek knocked back two glasses of whiskey and suddenly slammed his hand on the table, his face twisted with frustration. "My oldest boy is already in first grade, and I haven't made it to a single parent-teacher conference!" I thought his brain was glitching again. MY sister-in-law Vanessa rushed to cover his mouth, but he shoved her away and let out a cold laugh. "You really thought the water scrambled my brains?" "Chloe gave me a son. I haven't forgotten about him for a single day!"

After falling head over heels for Joe Smith for three years, I finally got the proposal I had been waiting for. However, on the day of our wedding, he did not show up until the wee hours of the morning. When I found him, Joe was drinking happily with a young girl in his arms. “I’m already tired of her clinginess. She’s a joke. Who else would want her?” Much later, he made me a wedding ring and proposed with my favorite jasmine flowers. But a muscular man opened the door instead. The man had two scratch marks on his neck and smirked at the disheveled Joe. “Isn’t it a bit too shameless of you to propose to a married woman?”

For three years, Emerie had been married to Allan, the son of an Alpha. Allan had always believed it was Emerie who drugged him, forcing him into the marriage. Determined to divorce her, he chose to be with her sister Jolene instead. But what he didn’t know was that Emerie was already terminally ill when she left him. When Allan finally uncovered the truth and desperately searched for her—could he still win her back?

Rowan Nightshade slapped me in front of his friends, his guards, and the girl he had been protecting for months. The room went dead silent. Then someone whispered, “She deserved it.” For nine years, I had loved Rowan like he was my fate. I endured his coldness, his broken promises, and every time he left me standing alone because another girl needed him more. I kept telling myself it would get better. Rowan was my promised mate. Sooner or later, he would choose me first. But when his palm landed across my face, something inside me finally broke. Rowan thought I would cry, apologize, and forgive him like I always did. Instead, I walked out of the hall, deleted every way to contact him, and told both our packs the promised-mate agreement was over before sunrise. No one believed I would really leave. Until Rowan came to my dorm that night, his eyes red and his voice shaking. “Why, Serena? Just because of one slap?” I looked at the boy I had loved since childhood. Then I smiled. “Yes,” I said. “Because of that slap.”