Beside Artinya

Award-winning actress Jennifer Shaw was convinced I had deliberately tipped off the paparazzi about our relationship, hoping to use the exposure to pressure her into marriage. She grabbed my chin and splashed scalding water across my face. "You're no different from all those men clawing their way to the top. "You want fame? Fine. I'll make you famous. Famous enough that you won't dare show your face again." Within days, I was blacklisted online. With a burned face and a crippled right hand, I was thrown out of her villa on a night of pouring rain. That same evening, she walked the red carpet arm in arm with a rising young star, soaking in the thunderous applause. I dragged my suitcase down the deserted road and disappeared into the rain. Four years later, we crossed paths again on a parenting reality show. She watched as I stepped onto the stage as an ordinary guest, a little girl beside me who openly rolled her eyes at her. Her eyes reddened as she moved to block my way. "Where did you get that child?" she demanded. "What are you trying to do?"

At my best friend's wedding, a girl lunged forward and caught the bouquet—only for it to slip from her hands and land squarely in my arms. My best friend, Lauren Walker, beamed at me. "Madison, looks like you're the next bride." The guests exchanged knowing glances and turned toward my boyfriend of eight years—Mason Ryder, the CEO of the Ryder Group. But he calmly plucked the bouquet from my hands and casually passed it to the girl standing beside me—his secretary, Natalie Carter. "She caught it first." He ruffled my hair, his voice gentle. "Be good. Give it back to Natalie for now. We'll wait for the next time." The spotlight—and the guests' attention—shifted with the bouquet, settling on Natalie. I looked at her startled yet shy expression, then rested a hand on my stomach and forced a bitter smile. Mason didn't know there wouldn't be a next time. Our eight-year promise had already come to an end, and we still hadn't taken the step into marriage. And I had already promised my parents, who were royalty, that next week, I would leave and return to Montelvia to inherit the family legacy.

"Don't you think that skirt is short for you?" She says, changing the subject and taking another long hit from her blunt. Since when does she care about my clothing? Besides it's not like it's affecting anyone, so why does it matter? "Um, no. Why do you care anyways?" I ask suspiciously, while looking down at my skirt. It's not even short. "People are looking at you in there, and maybe it's because of what you're wearing," She throws her blunt on the ashtray that she has, and turns her attention on me staring fiercely into my eyes. "Why does it matter? It's not like it's a bad thing." I say, now worried at this point. I don't know what's going through her mind as she comes closer to me, again my back is against the wall beside the balcony railing. "It is a bad thing because it seems everyone in there wants to fuck you, and for some damn reason it's bothering me." Heaven says lowly, barely audible. ----- Hatred. Despite. Mixed feelings. Read to find out about Valentina and Heavens relationship, which starts off as despiteful, then turns into something pure.

At the dinner table, my mother-in-law slid a contract across to me, right in front of more than 20 relatives. "Just sign it," she said lightly. "Consider it a favor to me." I looked down. A home mortgage agreement for 150,000 dollars. Across from me, my husband's younger brother, Jim Canfield, watched with a grin. Beside him, my husband's eldest sister, Cindy Canfield, urged impatiently, saying, "Shirley, what are you waiting for? Just sign it." I said I needed to go home and talk it over with Howard Canfield first. My mother-in-law's expression darkened. "What? You can't even make this decision for your own marriage?" That night, I did not sign anything. Later, she sent a three-minute voice message in the family group chat, accusing me of being childish, ungrateful, and heartless. More than 70 replies followed—not a single one in my defense. A month later, I came home from work to find three men waiting at my door, there to seize the house. I pulled out my phone and checked the property registry. The record was clear. [Mortgaged. 150,000 dollars.]

Clara Veyron’s life falls apart in a single night, her fiancé’s betrayal, her best friend’s lies, and a storm that leaves her wandering the streets alone. But heartbreak is nothing compared to what she finds next: a wounded stranger with silver eyes, a man whose very presence pulls her into a world she was never meant to see. Kael Arden is no ordinary man. He is Alpha of the Shadowclaw Pack, bound by a curse that has destroyed every human woman who dared to love him. He swore never to claim a mate again, or to risk another innocent life. Until Clara’s touch heals what should have been fatal, and awakens a bond that should not exist. Now Clara is hunted by rivals who see her as the key to Kael’s downfall, and despised by wolves who call her unworthy of their Alpha. Torn between her humanity and the fierce call of the wolf bond, she must choose: walk away from the man who could ruin her career and life, or fight beside him against enemies who would see them both destroyed. But Kael has only one choice left. And this time, fate has given him something to lose.

Attending a high school reunion, I rode my motorcycle to the venue. By the time I arrived at the Moon Valley Hotel, most of my former classmates were already there. Everyone seemed to be doing well for themselves. The parking lot was filled with luxury cars belonging to high-ranking pack members. There was even a Rolls Royce that belonged to the son of an Alpha. As I dismounted from my motorcycle, a former male classmate I barely remembered looked at me with disdain. "Well, well, if it isn't our former class president. Still riding a basic bike like an omega, I see." During dinner, everyone was fawning over the Alpha's son while completely ignoring me in the corner. Only Derek, our former class monitor and now a beta, sat beside me with a sympathetic look. "Don't worry about it. Even though you're still just an omega like your parents, I'm sure one day you'll rise up in the pack rankings." I couldn't help but smirk, whispering under my breath: "This isn't just any motorcycle. It's the Royal Guard's official vehicle."

On the wet sand beside the seashore, the strong, tall man was laying with a cigarette in his hand. His bike parked a few feet away from him. The environment there was serene and noiseless as no one was allowed then on the beach that he owned. It was not a big deal for a billionaire like him. He had a lot more than that. Wealth, power, the respect he had all of them but lacked the most important thing that couldn't be bought with money. He lacked inner peace. He inhaled the vinous smoke as the corner of his lips twitched in a sad smile. His eyes deceived him being moist and a lone tear slipped down his face on the sand. The sand sucked the water as soon as it fell on it, and he wondered if his pain disappeared in thin air like that. He breathed out a puff of smoke through his nose and mouth. Looking up at the sky with the sad smile plastered on his face he spoke up, "Why so hatred for me, ya Rab?" Miles away from him the girl with a cuddling baby in her arms uttered looking up at the sky, "I express my deep gratitude to You for sending this angel to me, Ya Rab."

In the second month of my relationship with my best friend Sophie Vaughn's older brother, Elias Vaughn, Thanksgiving arrives. Sophie leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Elias is bringing his girlfriend home for the holiday. Let's see what all the fuss is about." I take my time getting ready, heart fluttering with hope. Just maybe, I'll finally be formally introduced as his girlfriend. But the moment I step inside, I see him with another elegant, beautiful woman, smiling as he introduces her to his parents. "This is my girlfriend," he says. He then inadvertently looks over at me, stiffening for a moment, clearly caught off guard. But just as quickly, he recovers and turns to the woman beside him. "That woman over there is my sister's friend and a part-time student. You could say she's a maid in our household." A maid? As it turns out, I'm nothing more than someone for him to kiss and sleep with. I was never someone worthy of standing by his side publicly. I turn away and board the train back to Ashcroft University, choosing my future over another night in his bedroom.

I told Charlie my biggest secret—I was the long-lost daughter of the powerful Moore family in Dreslane. He swore he'd help me reunite with them. But the night before I met them, the Moore family made a grand declaration—they'd already found their missing daughter. A ceremony was set. I rushed there, heart pounding, only to see Charlie standing beside his childhood friend, Raine. She was being introduced as the Moore heiress. And somehow, she had the exact same birthmark as me. Before I could do anything, Charlie locked me in a restroom. "It's just a name," he said. "You still have me. So why does this matter? Raine's parents died saving me—she never had a real family. For my sake, can't you just let her have this?" Then, to erase any doubt, to make sure Raine could live as me without fear—Charlie took a knife and carved the birthmark off my body. The shock. The pain. I lost my three-month-old unborn baby that night. And as I lay there, blood soaking through my clothes, I finally gave up.

Anna Whitmore dated Lucas Caldwell, a young heir from New York’s old-money circle, for three years. When the time was right, she decided to reveal who she truly was and formally proposed a strategic marriage. On the day she planned to propose, he made an excuse and walked away. That same night, he was seen at a nightclub, arms wrapped around another woman, openly mocking the idea of marrying someone “without status or value.” Anna saw his true face and walked away for good. If marriage in their world had always been a transaction, then choosing a man with greater power and influence was only fair. So she married his uncle. Later, on the day Lucas Caldwell announced his engagement to the daughter her father chose to acknowledge, he saw her at the banquet. The so-called “unfavored” Whitmore heiress. His former girlfriend. She stood beside his uncle under the spotlight, smiling— calm, radiant, untouchable. The man next to her was the one who truly controlled New York’s upper circle, a level of power Lucas Caldwell would never reach. His uncle spoke lightly, and the entire room fell silent. “She is my wife.”