Attack On Titan Abnormal

Eight months pregnant, a contraction tore through me like a blade. But my husband, the Mafia boss Darren, refused to take me to the hospital. His sister-in-law, Angelina, his late brother's widow, was also due. To ensure she gave birth before me, she produced so-called proof of my infidelity, insisting the child I carried was no true Falcone. Because the heir to the Falcone family had to be the firstborn grandson. Darren believed her. He locked me in an abandoned wine cellar. “Don't think for a second I don't know what you've been up to.” “Let me tell you, you're not giving birth to that bastard until I've verified its bloodline myself.” “Angelina’s boy is of pure blood. I have to make sure her boy is the family's firstborn grandson.” I tried desperately to explain. “My water is about to break! Please, take me to the hospital! He’s your son, I swear on my life!” “I’ll never fight for the position of heir! I just want my baby to be safe!” Darren simply kicked me and shot me a glance. “Who knows if you’ll change your mind later? Don’t worry. I’ll come for you after Angelina gives birth. When the baby is born, I’ll see for myself whose it is.” Later, as he gazed at the crying infant in Angelina's arms, he finally thought of me. But one of his men informed him, his voice trembling: “Boss, the Madam… and the child… they're both dead.”

Rogues took me while I was protecting my mate, Alpha Arthur. I came back three years later, only to find Arthur mated to my sister, Calista. My son, Leo, didn't recognize me. He only saw Calista as his real mother. Broken, I forced Arthur to banish Calista with the Elders' support, using my past contributions as leverage. But she died in a weak, outlying pack. Poisoned. After her death, Leo hated me for it. Arthur never blamed me, though. He just kept telling me everything would be okay. But when our pack was attacked again, he threw me to our enemies without hesitation. Left me to die. As I lay dying, I heard him snarl through gritted teeth. "If you hadn't come back, Calista would have been my mate for life!" My heart turned to ash. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day I returned after being gone for three years. This time, I looked at Arthur shielding Calista, with Leo clinging to her. "I sever our mate bond. From this day on, I am done with all of you."

It was our sixth wedding anniversary. Lord Tom didn't pledge his vows to me, but instead gave me his family's crest—a dim, unstable mark, the mark of a blood slave. That very night, while solemn hymns echoed through the hall, he performed a blood oath ceremony with his pure-blood first love, Lady Mia. I refused the mark. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Love is a luxury only immortals can afford, Rowling," he said. "My union with Mia is a political necessity—to maintain the purity of the bloodline." His gaze turned icy. "You are a mortal. You should be content with my protection. Few receive such a blessing." I didn't speak.I left before dawn. Six years later, we met again at a banquet hosted by the Vampire High Council. Tom walked in with Mia, her silk dress shimmering silver in the moonlight. Under his rule, his family was about to gain a seat in the Senate. His gaze found me. I stood in the hotel's decorative fountain, the water up to my ankles, soaking wet, sand clinging to my dress. A familiar look of contempt flickered across his face. "Rowling," he said coldly. "You refused my protection, mocked my generosity. Now you're rummaging through a public fountain like a beggar." The corners of his mouth curled slightly. "Do you really think any vampire would take in a mortal without a protector?" I didn't look up. I was searching for my son's tourmaline that had fallen into the water. But to my son, it was a seal—an ancient restraint, suppressing a power that shouldn't awaken so early. I could already feel it weakening. If the seal cannot be repaired in time, the power erupting within him will destroy the entire building.

I was a mafia princess, sick of the life. After my father died, all I wanted was a normal life. I helped my husband, Marco, take his company public. I fought his battles. I took care of his mother. I paid for his sister’s tuition and her addiction to luxury. Then, at our tenth-anniversary party, he gave my mother's bracelet to his childhood flame, Isabella. He even fucked her in our bed. I hired a PI. Found out he knew who I was from the start. He used me. Planned to be a Wall Street hotshot, then toss me aside. He thought my family was wiped out. That no one had my back. That he could walk all over me. He didn’t break until his company was bleeding partners and staring down bankruptcy. He got on his knees, crying and begging me to forgive him.

Three years ago, Lucas’ mother paid me ten million dollars to play his fated mate with the help of a potion. Lucas believed I was hopelessly in love with him. What he didn’t know was that I was nothing more than a hired actress. By day, I stood at his side during training. By night, he paraded a she-wolf through the mansion. He once sneered, “Don’t delude yourself into thinking the mate bond can change me.” I only smiled, silently counting my money. “Funny, because I never planned on giving you my heart, either.” On the day the potion wore off, I walked away with the fortune, while he spiraled into madness. Three years later, I returned victorious as the youngest S-class strategy consultant. There he was, on his knees, murmuring, “I was wrong.” Little did Lucas know that his arrogance, handed out like charity, had carried a hefty price tag of ten million. Now, even if he lost everything, it still wouldn’t be enough to buy my forgiveness.

I caught my fiancé, Nico Falcone, in bed with my own cousin, Bianca Rossi. Right before our wedding. When I confronted him, he just called the whole thing off and ran me out of New York. I didn’t see him again for five years. Then came the charity gala for the New York Families. There he was. Nico. He pulled me aside, saying he felt bad for the state I was in. He offered to make me his mistress. I told him to go to hell. He got ugly. The whole room was laughing. Whispering how an outcast like me had no business showing my face in New York. I clenched my fists, the sound of their mockery ringing in my ears. Just then, the entire ballroom went dead silent. Every head bowed in respect. Don Lucas, the most feared man in New York, was walking slowly toward us. He stopped right in front of me. With the whole room watching, he dropped to one knee. He took my hand—the one Nico had squeezed red—and kissed it. His voice was dangerously low. “Who hurt my future wife?”

Five years into my marriage to the Don, Ives Moretti, he left me for dead during a shootout to get his mistress, Isabella, to safety. I woke up three days later in a private hospital room. No apology. Ives was cold. “You’re my wife. You knew the risks. Stop being so dramatic.” Then, he added, “Isabella’s different. She’s fragile. She needed me.” That was followed by three months of the silent treatment. Like always, he expected me to be the one to break, to come crawling back begging for forgiveness. Three months later, I handed the Irish deal to Isabella on a silver platter. The big one I’d spent half a year building myself. Ives thought it was a peace offering. He smiled, a rare, genuine thing these days. “I knew you’d come around. As a reward, we’ll go to Vegas. I know you’ve always wanted to go.” The next day, Isabella whined about being bored, and he broke his promise. He took her to Vegas instead. Told me it was “urgent family business.” This time, I didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene. Ives was pleased I was being so understanding. He had no idea I was already cutting all ties to the Moretti family. That he’d already signed the divorce papers. I was free.

In the middle of the night, my husband started talking in his sleep. "My little treasure, Daddy's taking you and Mommy to the new house tomorrow." But we were using protection. Where the hell did a kid come from? So I opened his phone. I saw the money transfers to another woman—spent on all kinds of luxury shit and a house. The photo album had pictures of her in a skimpy stripper outfit, a little bump in her belly. The last one was an ultrasound. Four months along, it looked like. I didn't make a sound. Just saved the evidence. They were about to learn the price of betraying a mafia princess.

When we were eight, Kaelen burned down an entire pack territory just to save me. He swore an oath before the Moon Goddess to be with me forever, to never leave my side. Not even his own father could keep us apart. Then, a pregnant human girl reeking of his scent strutted into my office, a smug smirk on her face. "He says you're old and boring," she gloated. "That your scars turn his stomach." He seems to forget that he's the reason I have every last one of them. And I am not some weak woman he can just humiliate.

The night of our engagement party, I found my best friend playing a dangerous game with my fiancé. The casino on our family's private yacht was where I found them. Clara was sitting on the lap of my fiancé, Killian, the Falcone family heir. Killian held a sharp family dagger, its tip snagging the thin strap of her dress. The blade traced a path along her collarbone. The slightest pressure would snap the silk. It was a dangerous, intimate scene. I stepped forward with a frown, but Killian just scoffed. "It's just a little game to liven things up, Principessa. Don't be so tense." Clara's eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "We're just playing a traditional family game. The knife game. You don't mind, do you, sweetie?" I was about to speak, but Killian's expression hardened. "We just got engaged and you're already trying to control me?" So I said nothing. I just drew my custom pistol from its holster on my thigh. "So, it's a game," I said. "Then let's play for something real."