Bias Wrecker

At our Thanksgiving family dinner, my stepbrother brought his beautiful girlfriend to meet the family for the first time. She held up her wine glass and flashed me a malicious smirk. “I heard you had a first love you can’t forget, Summer.” I kept my head low and focused on my food, unsure how to respond. After all, my first love… was her boyfriend. When I was seventeen, my stepbrother Ethan Cole tricked me into crossing the line we should never have crossed, while our parents were blissfully unaware. Even right now, under the table, his foot was rubbing mine sensually. He did not bother holding back. On the table, he held his girlfriend’s hand tenderly as he mocked me with a smirk, “You’re twenty-seven, sis. Your shelf life is running out, and you’re such a plain Jane. Who would ever want you?” I stood up abruptly and looked at him, my tone calm and resolute. “I’m married, Ethan.”

My fiance is the best Neuro Healer among the werewolves. His first love is his little stepsister, who once took a fatal silver arrow for him. Now, her old condition has flared up, and she has a fatal silver venom disease. She only has 21 days left to live. In order to stay with her in her final days, he pours his newly developed "Memory Lock Potion" into me to eliminate all my memories of him by force. He says, "It's just 21 days. Once she's gone, I'll feed you the antidote myself, and you'll remember me again." In those 21 days, he holds a grand bonding ceremony for his stepsister, dances with her during the Moon Goddess Festival, and makes an oath swearing that they will become mates again in their next life. Finally, he sends her off. After 21 days, the potion wears off, and he kneels in the rain with tears and blood all over his face. He asks hoarsely in an accusing tone, "The potion only lasts for 21 days… why have you forgotten me completely?" I just look up impassively at him. "Sorry, but who are you?"

On the day Nick Grange and I hold our marking ceremony, he hands me a three-year agreement. "Our mate bond is only to solidify the alliance between the Lycus and Lunaria packs," he says. "The one I love is Zora. If you sign this contract, the mate bond will dissolve automatically after three years. When that time comes, I'll let you go." Without hesitation, I sign it. This union is something I made happen because from the moment I met Nick, I fell deeply in love with him. For three years, we live in harmony. Nick treats me well, making me form the mistaken belief that he might love me back too. But that illusion shatters. Nick brings Zora Knott, who has just returned to the Lycus pack, to his birthday banquet. Even without Nick bringing up our agreement, I know it's time for me to leave at that moment. I leave to set him free. But why is he searching for me everywhere after I'm gone?

There is a medical dispute at the hospital. A patient's family member comes at us swinging a knife. Without hesitating, I push my husband, Maxwell Conner, out of the way. But then, he grabs my hand and pulls me in front of his beloved junior, Karina Burton. The knife plunges straight into my abdomen, killing the baby I had just conceived. As my horrified colleagues cry and rush me toward the ICU, Maxwell violently pulls me off the gurney. He barks, "Save Karina first! If anything happens to her, I'll fire every last one of you!" The doctors are stunned and furious. "Maxwell, have you lost your mind? Karina only suffered a minor injury. Your wife is the one in critical condition!" Clutching my bleeding abdomen, I nod slowly. "It's fine. Just forget it." Maxwell, I owe you nothing after this.

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband, Jaxon Wilde, walks through the door with his hundredth new mistress. From my neck, he snaps the necklace that was once our token of love and fastens it around hers. Amid the guests' jeers and mocking laughter, the lady tugs timidly at my gown and murmurs, "Mr. Wilde wants me to wear this dress tonight, Scarlett." It was a dress altered from my wedding gown ten years ago, and I wore it tonight like a fool, hoping he might remember. But now, he wants to strip his wife bare in public and give it to his mistress on the wedding anniversary. Under the weight of everyone's sneers, I look up at him and give him a genuine smile for the first time in a decade. "Let's get divorced, Jaxon."

At twenty-eight, I held the dubious honor of being the last unmarried socialite on New York's Upper East Side. Everyone around me was growing increasingly anxious about my single status. In my previous life, my mother arranged a matchmaking cocktail party, where I was told to choose a husband from ten handpicked elite bachelors. I bribed the event planner to place Mark West's profile at the very top—and as I had hoped, I chose him. After we married, Mark treated me with what seemed like tender affection. He even bought me an oceanfront villa in the Hamptons, making me believe I had finally found true love. But that illusion shattered the day I was nine months pregnant, just hours away from giving birth. Mark drove a scalpel straight into my abdomen—then, right in front of me, hurled our newborn onto the floor. "If you hadn't forced me into this marriage with your family's power, Sofia wouldn't have been heartbroken enough to go drinking and get drugged and assaulted. This… this is what you owe her!" He tossed the scalpel aside, then calmly let his private doctor pin down my blood-soaked body. I fought through excruciating pain for six agonizing hours, until I finally bled to death. Afterward, Mark dumped my corpse into the Hudson River. But for Sofia, he hosted a grand funeral—funded with my money, under my name—and paraded himself to the world as a grieving, devoted widower. Given a second chance at life, I refused to step foot in that cursed matchmaking event. Instead, I went straight to my mother with a demand: marry me to Robert Black—the most ruthless, cold-blooded titan of Wall Street, whose scarred face was feared by all. In the end, stripped of my financial backing, Mark's hedge fund collapsed. He became a disgraced fraudster, spat on by everyone on Wall Street.

My Alpha, Sebastian Blackwood, has been cursed in battle. The Healers say he only has two weeks to live. Following the instructions of the witch, Annabelle Pearson, I sacrificed my wolf for an antidote to his curse. My wolf is ripped from me while I'm fully conscious. It feels as though my soul is being torn apart. The agony nearly makes me black out. Weak and bleeding, I stagger toward Sebastian's house, clutching the vial containing the antidote tightly in my hand. He needs it now. Then, I hear laughter and music drifting through the air. Sebastian's having a party. I crept toward the window. One of his pack mates claps him on the back and praises, "Great work, Alpha—you've truly played Zoreen like a fiddle! That dumbass still believes that you were cursed. Can you believe that?" Sebastian chuckles coldly, "This is just the beginning. If it weren't for Zoreen, Nina wouldn't have lost her voice. Zoreen deserves this!"

I had been dead for days and my alpha mate Karl didn't know it, cause he never went back to our den. Until his gamma was astonished to read a front-page news article about the mysterious rogue wolf attacks. "Karl, there's been a rogue wolf in our pack." Karl didn't lift his head. Stuff like this happened all the time in the pack. His gamma put the newspaper in front of Karl. "The deceased... is Luna Julie." Karl was reviewing documents and his pen suddenly fell to the ground.

When Bella, my mate's first love, begged for my help, claiming her mother was gravely injured, I didn't hesitate. As the pack's Luna, I grabbed my medical kit and ran. But I arrived to find her sobbing over a corpse. Bella pointed a trembling, accusing finger at me. "My mother is dead because you were too slow!" Before I could explain, she cried out to the dark woods. "Ethan, did you see? Your Luna just stood by and let my mother die!" My mate, Alpha Ethan, emerged from the shadows, his face a mask of cold fury. He snarled, declaring me unfit to be his Luna. Now, he's forcing me into a brutal trial to prove my worth. He's even broadcasting the trial, taking live bets from werewolves across the globe on whether I'll survive. But he doesn't know the truth: Bella has already rigged the trial. The moment I step inside, I'm walking into a deathtrap.

I am diagnosed with severe systemic lupus erythematosus, and I only have three days left to live. When my husband rejects my 188th plea for help, I take my test results and enter the hospice care center. "Hello, I'd like to schedule my own cremation process and apply for government aid." Ten minutes later, they arrive. Before I can speak, my lawyer husband, Jasper Horton, coldly slaps me across the face. "You're faking a terminal illness just to steal attention from Janice?" My doctor brother, Casey Carter, snatches the medical report from my hand and scoffs at it. "Lupus? If you're going to fake being sick, at least make it believable. Only one in a million people gets this." I endure the pain in my body, return to the counter, and hand in the application form and my medical records once more. The staff member sees the butterfly-shaped rash on my wrist and sympathizes with me. "I have no family left," I say. "I'm requesting cremation in three days, location doesn't matter. I just don't want my death to burden anyone."