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The night I have my bonding ceremony with the Alpha, Walter Zimmer, he gets drunk even though he usually never touches any alcohol. Just as I'm at a loss for what to do, my best friend, Rose Larson, sends me a message detailing how to take care of a drunken werewolf. Despite feeling doubtful, I do as she suggests, and Walter truly does fall asleep peacefully. Just as I'm about to thank Rose, Walter suddenly hugs me from behind. His hot breath brushes against my neck as he murmurs a sentence that utterly breaks my heart. "Rose, you're the one I wanted to mark…" My world crumbles around me, but that's not all. His shirt slips down his shoulder when he moves, revealing the rose tattooed right over his heart. My mind goes blank, and all I can do is stare at the tattoo. I refuse to believe what I'm seeing. I've known Rose for 20 years, and she's my closest friend. As it turns out, Walter didn't get drunk because he was overjoyed about becoming my mate. He simply used the alcohol to drown his sorrows over not being able to take the she-wolf he wanted as his Luna. In that moment, our newly formed mate bond seems like nothing but a joke. Since that's the case, I decide to give up my position as the Luna and let them be together. However, after I leave, Walter loses control and shifts into his wolf. He then claws the rose tattoo to shreds. "Lily, I was mistaken. You're the Luna I truly love. Please, give me another chance to love you again…"

Aurora, be honest with me. What do you truly desire?" Zane asked, his gaze unwavering as he stared deep into my eyes. "I'm...confused," I admitted in a low tone, struggling to maintain my sanity. Just then, my phone chimed. I swiped the screen to see a message notification, it was from Mark. It read. 'We have a history together, Aurora. A future.' A tear streamed down my cheek as I stared at my phone. "Well?" Zane's voice snapped me back to reality. "You have to make a choice." "But-" my lips quivered as my mind reeled. "But what if I can't?" He let out a sigh as he took a step back. "Then you'll lose everything." -------- Aurora's tenth anniversary was supposed to be a celebration of a decade of devotion with Mark.. Instead, it became the day her whole world shattered. Dumped and heartbroken by the only man she had ever loved and trusted, she kept the secret of her pregnancy to herself. Seeking momentary oblivion in a bar, she finds her surrendering to a one night stand with an unforgettable stranger. Fate's cruel test continued when Aurora starts a new job, only to find the man from her one night stand was Zane, her boss. Zane's interest in her was evident, while she was hesitant, still nursing the wounds from Mark's betrayal and the burden of her pregnancy, she tried her best to resist him in every way possible. When an accident forces hee secret into the open, Zane jumps to the conclusion that the child was his, but kept it hidden to himself. After few months later, Aurora finally told him the truth, but to her surprise, he wasn't disappointed and still insisted that he wanted them both regardless who the child's biological father was.

I run into my former sister-in-law, whom I haven't seen in ages, during a prenatal checkup at the hospital. Wynne Jenkins glances at my belly. And just like she always does, her face crinkles with disdain as she starts nagging me. "Look at you, wandering around with a pregnant belly at your age," she hollers. "What if something happens to my baby nephew? Can't you be a little more sensible and stop making Sean worry all the time?" She must have forgotten. A year ago, Mom was gravely ill. Her only wish was to see me married with children. I staked everything and proposed to Sean Jenkins. On our big day, I waited from dawn until nightfall—only to receive a 30-second voice message from him. "I won't show up at the ceremony, and I won't marry you. This is what you get for bullying Lav." Mom was so enraged by Sean's recklessness that she suffered a heart attack and passed away. After taking care of her funeral, I erased every trace of myself. With what little I had left, I fled Horton—while Sean was still abroad, skiing with Lavender Quinn. And yet now, Wynne says, "Sean spends more than two weeks every month flying around looking for you. He's lost nearly 20 pounds in less than a year. "He's been waiting for you, Janelle. Now that you're back, please stay and build a family with him." I smirk and raise my hand, flaunting the ring on my finger. "Sorry, I like to keep a low profile. I'm already married, but we kept the ceremony simple. That's why you didn't know."

I married Rafe Maretti—the man who owned the Maretti Casino empire. Sophisticated, ruthless, but sinfully charming. By year three of our marriage, I introduced my little sister to his nephew, Adam Moretti—twenty-five, all sharp smiles and sharper ambition. He ran the dirtier side of the family’s business—arms, drugs, the kind of trade that dripped blood and money in equal parts. I married the powerful, irresistible uncle. She married the young, dangerous nephew. It was supposed to be our fairytale. Then one day, I got kidnapped in Rafe’s casino. Snatched by a rival mafia family desperate to force Rafe to sign over one of his biggest, most profitable casinos. Except Rafe didn’t answer the phone or even notice I was gone. The kidnappers grew impatient. First, it was slaps. Then punches. Then they shattered my leg and buried a knife in my stomach. Still no word from my husband. Until finally, after what felt like a hundred unanswered calls, a single message came through. "I’m with Bianca. She’s having a stomach. Stop calling." Once the kidnappers realized I had no value, they dumped me in a rotting warehouse like discarded luggage. It was Isla, my sister, who found me. She got me out. And then the brakes failed. The car spun out. Isla went unconscious beside me. I tried calling Adam. Isla’s husband. But as soon the call went through, all I could hear was. “Leave me along. Isla, I am in the middle of something here.” When I clearly heard a woman’s voice in the back. If not for a passing stranger, Isla and me wouldn’t have made it to the hospital, let along have survived. So when I opened my eyes again, the first thing I thought was: I’m divorcing that sorry bastard. The Maretti can go to hell.

Shantali Mae Cross, a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Ancient Arts, encounters an impossible phenomenon during her night shift—smoke from the heating vents coalesces into the form of a cobra near ancient Egyptian canopic jars, showing her visions of possible futures. She sees herself accepting a promotion, arguing with a dark-haired man in a hospital, wearing a wedding dress, and standing at a graveside in autumn. Shaken by the experience, Shantali becomes obsessed with understanding what she witnessed, diving into research about serpent smoke divination practices. Her investigation reveals that others throughout history have experienced similar visions at crucial crossroads in their lives, but those who became consumed with interpreting and controlling their prophetic glimpses inevitably destroyed the very relationships and opportunities the visions had shown them. As Shantali spirals deeper into her research, she begins shutting out her boyfriend David, a fellow security guard who loves her deeply. When David witnesses the cobra phenomenon himself, he helps ground her in reality rather than obsession. Through her studies, particularly the warnings left by Dr. Amelia Thorne—a researcher who died alone after chasing similar mysteries—Shantali realizes the cobra's true message: choose love over fear, presence over obsession. The visions weren't warnings of tragedy but glimpses of a life fully lived with all its ordinary struggles and profound connections. When David proposes, Shantali chooses their real relationship over her pursuit of supernatural answers. She completes her research by writing a fictional novel about her experience, transforming obsession into art while helping future cobra witnesses understand that some mysteries are meant to guide rather than be solved. The story explores themes of choice versus destiny, the danger of sacrificing present love for future certainty, and the wisdom of embracing life's uncertainties alongside those who love us.

I am about to book a room at a hotel owned by Luca Conti, a consigliere under my command, when a sharp voice suddenly cuts in from behind me. "Aspetta. That's not your price." I turn around. A woman wearing a manager's badge stands there with her arms crossed, scrutinizing me as if I am an unsightly stain she can't wait to wipe away. "We don't allow prostitution here," she says coolly. "If you're receiving clients, there will be a fine." As she speaks, she hands me a penalty notice. The charges are clearly listed on the paper. "Illegal guest reception fee: 350 thousand dollars. "Special soundproofing fee: 150 thousand dollars. "Special cleaning fee: 100 thousand dollars. "Total fee: 600 thousand dollars." Receiving clients? I have simply come straight from a Mafia cocktail party without changing clothes—that's all. What exactly does she take me for?" I lift my gaze and answer evenly, "You're mistaken. I am not that kind of person. You can contact the hotel owner, Luca Conti, and ask him who I am." A sneer flickers through Sofia Rossi's eyes. She spits to the side, full of contempt. "Still claiming you are not a puttana? Women like you come here every week. Every single one of them swears she knows him. "Our boss is the consigliere to the Russo family, the most powerful Mafia family in Seneriffe. Do you really think he needs someone cheap like you? "I suggest you pay up now, subito, before your client loses patience and drags you into the street and rapes you." I do not waste another word on her. I take out my phone and send a message directly to my secretary, Marco Bianchi. "Notify Luca. Either this manager, Sofia Rossi, disappears from this city, or he does."

This is the story of a dying girl. Gracie. And just like every dying person, she had wishes. Infact she had a bucket list of things she wanted to do before she finally dies. * She had cancer of the blood and bone marrow. Chronic lymphocytic Leukaemia. It develops from a type of white blood cell called B cells and it progresses slowly. Symptoms may not show until maybe years for some patients. Her CLL was aggressive and needed chemotherapy treatment early. But it was a little late for her when they discovered. So wth no early treatment, She had just 5 years to live. The hospital became her home. She was given a room there to live indefinitely. She could still recall her dad’s gloomy face while decorating her room. She eventually recovered a little, just like every other days, she found herself retiring to her former routine. Her chats with him. But when she told him she was sick and was gonna die, he kind of took it differently than she expected. He asked her why. And her reply was probably the last message on their chat till this day. If he blocked her or something, she just doesn't know. she could never find him again on social media. She cried for weeks. He was supposed to be her best friend. She was never gonna make peace with Cancer or resign to fate. No way. Eventually she stopped treatment 2 yrs later when she got her independence. No matter the treatment, she would never be able to live as long as she wants anyway. So why prolong the torture? But that was a difficult decision to make nonetheless because she stopping the treatment meant she'd have to die earlier than 5 years. But she’d rather make peace with that as long as she could do whatever she wanted before dying. ..................... It's all about love, drama, regret.

"Good evening, Mom. How was your day?" "My day was good, my love. How is yours going?" Her voice was a soothing balm against the stress of the day. "It’s... busy. My boss gave me a mountain of work to finish before tomorrow morning, so I won't be coming home tonight. I’m going to stay late and then head straight back in." "Oh, my dear," she sighed. "Just be careful. Don't get into any trouble." "I won't, Mom. Did you take your medication?" I asked, knowing how she tended to forget when I wasn't there to nag her. "Ah... I’ll take it now." "Mom, please. You need to stay strong for me." "I will, I will. I love you, Annabelle." "Love you too." After I hung up, the silence of the office felt even heavier. The lights were dimmed, except for the glow from my monitor and the soft yellow light spilling from Elias’s office. He was still in there, a silhouette of intense focus as he reviewed the project details. Suddenly, a sharp ping echoed through the quiet room. I jumped slightly, my eyes snapping to my computer screen. Unknown Email. No encrypted address. No profile picture No signature. Whoever sent this, don't want to be traced. "What is this?" I muttered, my skin crawling with a sudden, inexplicable chill. The subject line was written in bold, stark capital letters: BEFORE THE INVESTMENT. My pulse shifted into a frantic rhythm. I hesitated, my mouse hovering over the notification. When I finally clicked, my breath hitched. It wasn't just a message; it was a cache of attached documents, internal financial transfers, offshore account statements, and adjusted revenue projections. I realized instantly that these were different from the official files Elias had given me.

“Camille, I’ll love you forever!” Jameson let out a low, agonized growl. Just as he was about to climax, his phone suddenly began to buzz. He ignored it, of course. Now was hardly the time. However, his phone lit up again. The moment he saw the text on the screen, his body froze. Camille heard him answer the call. “Hello?” In the deep silence of the night, the voice on the phone cut through the stillness, clear and unmistakable. “Jameson, did you know that Sylvia—” Jameson switched languages and cut in with a sharp command, “Keep it down. It's not a good time.” The other person switched languages too, though he was still loud. “The hospital results came in. Sylvia is in the final stages of cancer. She only has a month left! Her last wish is to become your wife. Can you grant her that before she passes?” Jameson’s expression changed immediately. “What?! Wait for me!” He ended the call and turned to Camille. “Camille, something urgent came up. I need to step out for a bit. Be good and stay home. I’ll be back after you’ve had some sleep.” Before she could respond, he rose to wash up, changed his clothes, and left without looking back. Moments later, her phone buzzed. Sylvia: [Camille, you lost. I told you—Jameson has always been mine.] Right above it was a message from three days ago: [If I tell him I have cancer, do you think Jameson will leave you and come to me? I bet he will.] Camille’s gaze slowly shifted from her phone screen to the open bedroom door. What Jameson did not know was that she had already picked up a new language. She understood every word of that call. After a long moment, a faint, bitter smile appeared on her face. “Yeah, I lost...”

Years after graduation, someone suddenly tags me in the class group chat. "Mr. Warren is gravely ill, Mira. Aren't you going to do anything? You really are heartless!" I only realize what's going on when I click on the fundraising link in the chat. Our high school homeroom teacher, Joseph Warren, has late-stage cancer. Thus, Lyra Fairfield, the class belle, is leading a fundraiser and patient-donor matching process. "I'll donate ten thousand dollars. My husband is the director of Waverly General Hospital, and I've already asked him to arrange a VIP ward for Mr. Warren." Right after I send that message, the group pounces on me. "Mira, you contracted an STD back then and tried to pin it on Lyra. She didn't even hold it against you, and now you're trying to steal her thunder? You're unbelievable!" "I can't believe you're still lying through your teeth during such a serious situation. You never change, do you?" Lyra immediately defuses the tension. "Mira, I don't blame you for what happened in the past, but you really shouldn't impersonate the director's wife. I've already arranged the ward and surgery, and I'm donating another 100 thousand dollars to Mr. Warren!" I'm this close to laughing out of sheer anger. She's the one who scratched her name off the diagnosis report and framed me for having an STD all those years ago. I never even confronted her about it, and now she's playing the victim? Lyra soon posts a photo in the group chat, showing off her husband's car. Yet, when I see the man in the passenger seat, I guffaw. Isn't that my husband's driver? When did he start running a hospital?