Bittersweet

My mother was asking me and my sister to choose the man we wanted to marry. My sister, surprisingly, did not choose the gloomy STEM student she spent four years pursuing. Instead, she went for the rich but infamous playboy. Shock colored my mother's face. "I know he's rich, Joan, but what if you get all known and unknown STDs? I thought you loved Gil. Are you sure you're making the right choice?" That did not sway my sister's mind. That alone told me what I had been suspecting all along. Like me, my sister was reincarnated. In our previous lives, she happily married Gilbert Terrason, but he left her on read for ten long years. His cold treatment drove her a little gaga. That playboy, however, stopped his philandering lifestyle for me and loved me like his life depended on it. He gave me all his riches, and we became the model couple everyone wouldn't stop talking about. Then, it happened during the ball. On my tenth wedding anniversary, my sister, consumed by rage, burned us into cinders. Here we were, on our second chance in life. This time, I took Gilbert's hand. "No takebacks, Joan. Don't try to do a third take." My sister snickered. "As to you. This time, all the love in the world is coming to me." Ah, yes, love. Joan still did not get it. Love was the most unreliable element in any marriage.

Freya Stein was reborn to the day when she had to choose a fiancé. In her past life, she had chosen the high and mighty scion of the Haretts, but Magnus Harett turned out to be a cold and unapproachable man. On the day of their wedding, he lost his mind and ended up driving the car off the cliff while they were heading to the venue. She ended up becoming disabled because of it, while he became paralyzed. Despite all that, she pushed herself to the limit and took care of him for the rest of his life. As she was drawing her last breath, he regarded her icily and refused to save her. “A nasty woman like her has no right to live. It’s time she goes to hell for what she has done to Ifrit.” It was only then that she found out that Magnus had resented her all along because of what happened to the housemaid's daughter who committed suicide in their room. Now that Freya had been given a second chance, she decided she would choose another man to fulfill his wish. However, Magnus turned rabid on the day of her wedding. He showed up and wanted to stop her from marrying another man.

On the third anniversary of our engagement, my fiancé—Dominic Corleone, heir to one of the most powerful Mafia dynasties in New York—told me he was not ready to form a new family so that our wedding would have to postpone. I told myself to wait for some time, the bond between the Corleones and the Valentinos—our families’ sacred alliance—would hold us together. But what followed were his endless betrayals and tortures. I walked into a bridal boutique and saw him laughing with Liliane, the childhood friend who always lingered too close. I watched him destroy the wedding gown I had spent months designing—then crush my hand beneath his heel until it bled. And when I thought I had hit rock bottom, he proved I was wrong—by getting behind the wheel and running me down. He thought I’d beg and cling to him, terrified of losing the Corleone name and privilege that came with it. But instead, I made one phone call and insisted firmly on canceling the engagement. However, that call didn’t just end a marriage arrangement. It unearthed a secret that had been buried for over a decade…and turned a marriage born of duty into a story of dark devotion.

I married my vampire husband ten years ago and gave him a half-blood heir, abandoning my career as a painter to become a full-time mother. Fortunately, my son inherited my talent. At just six years old, he held his first solo art exhibition, inspired by the theme "My Mother." But he never let me attend, and he never let me see his paintings. My husband said my presence would make Luke nervous---that I should stay home and do the housework as a good wife and mother, and wait for them to come back. I told myself he was just young and didn't know better, that he was only pushing back against my discipline, not truly rejecting me. Until the day I snuck into the gallery wearing a surgical mask pulled low. In the center of the crowd, my husband held our son's hand while tenderly pulling a woman in a red dress into his arms. He turned to the guests and announced: "This is Luke's mother---my wife." The three of them stood together, beaming with perfect happiness. And I---the one who'd stayed up all night setting up this exhibition---stood before the paintings while not a single person recognized me. That was when I finally understood. My seemingly gentle, caring vampire husband had long ago given our son a replacement mother. And I was nothing more than the human nanny who'd served her purpose by producing an heir.

The day I received my medical report and found out I was pregnant, my husband—Alpha Scott Hansen—held a small wedding ceremony in the hospital garden with his first love and former mate, Gillian Boyd. He explained, “Her final wish in this life was to be my bride.” But what about me? What was I to him? A replacement? It finally hit me—ten years of unwavering devotion and sacrifice meant nothing compared to a single tear shed by his first love.

I am reborn with memories of my past life. And I carry a secret with me: my fiance, Ethan Larsen, had forged our marriage certificate. The one he had actually married was Serena Gray. But I do not expose his lie. Instead, I quietly submit my application to Greenvale University and eventually become a permanent resident in Verenza. In my past life, I spent a lifetime believing in a lie. I thought I was his wife, until I learned the truth on the day he died. He married Serena out of love but kept me only due to his sense of duty. On the funeral day, Serena arrived dressed in white, holding the actual marriage certificate in her hand. She effortlessly took over all his inheritance, while I was thrown out of the house, penniless, with nothing left but a trampled heart. In this life, I will no longer beg for love nor stay put out of pity. I'll leave quietly and live freely. They can keep acting out their so-called "perfect" love story. Because now, I can see it crystal clear—some women are born to be loved, while others are reborn so they don't have to wait to be loved.

I was in a temporary shock from an allergic reaction. The two guys I had grown up with didn't even look my way. One of them was busy helping Vivian Byrd carry a pile of gifts, while the other was snapping pictures of her at some popular social media spot. It was a stranger passing by who called an ambulance and got me to the hospital, saving my life. The next day, Vivian called, her tone almost smug. "Trish, Zeke and Hendrick were so exhausted after shopping with me yesterday. I heard you threw a tantrum and ended up in the hospital. Should I come visit you?" I simply replied, "No need." Zeke Benson and Hendrick Peay were my childhood friends. They once treated me like I was everything to them—promising to pluck the moon and stars from the sky and to protect me forever. But ever since Vivian came into the picture, their world no longer revolved around me. I thought for a moment and then dialed my mother's number. "Mom, I'll accept the marriage arrangement."

Beta Max and I were at the Civil Affairs Bureau, ready to register our marriage. We were just waiting to take the final photo when he got a phone call and left. He abandoned me right there at the marriage registration office, leaving me stuck in an impossible situation. I called him—no answer. I messaged him—no reply. In the end, I had no choice but to call his childhood sweetheart’s number. Beta Max answered. “Louis, can you stop being so annoying? Grace twisted her ankle—I need to take care of her today. Stop calling and waking her up. We’ll reschedule the registration.” I bit my lip and murmured into the phone, “This makes it the seventh time we’ve rescheduled.” “So what? The Civil Affairs Bureau isn’t going anywhere—it’s not like it’s going to disappear!” My face was blank, but it felt like my heart was being carved open. A staff member looked at me with pity and asked, “Alpha Louis, are we still doing this?” I gave a small nod. “Yes. Let’s go through with it.”

The morning after their night together, Harper Sullivan froze with a sudden, sickening realization—Ryan Delgado hadn't used protection. Fear coiled tight in her chest, sharp and suffocating. But Ryan just smirked, his voice smooth, teasing, as if this were some kind of game. "Our families are enemies. A baby changes that. Your father would have to accept me. Then I could marry you—properly." Heat rushed to her cheeks. She should have pushed him away, should have demanded answers—but his touch still burned through her resistance, and she gave in to him. Then, like a knife to the ribs, she heard his friend's voice from the next room, laced with cruel amusement. "Ryan, that's genius. Get her pregnant, then dump her. Harper would never recover from the scandal. And her family? Total disgrace." Ryan let out a cold, satisfied laugh. "Serves her right. She stole Olivia's spot as valedictorian, broke her heart, drove her overseas. I'll make sure she pays—this is for Olivia." Harper's body went rigid. Three years. Three years of stolen moments, swallowed secrets, letting him touch her in the dark while her family believed her loyal. And it had all been a lie. Rage and humiliation crashed over her, so violent she nearly choked on it. Her phone buzzed in her trembling hand. Fighting back tears, she answered. "Dad… I'll take the engagement."

On the day that was supposed to be my wedding—the bride wasn’t me. The ceremony I’d waited for five years for turned into a joke when Valentina, my sister, walked down the marble aisle in a white wedding dress. Her arm was linked with Luca’s — the man who was supposed to be waiting for me at the altar. “I’m sorry, Bianca,” she said softly. “But you are no longer the bride today.” Then she touched her stomach, eyes gleaming with triumph. “I’m pregnant with Don Romano’s child.” Her words detonated inside my skull, and the whole world went silent. As if afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she lifted something glossy up towards the light. A black-and-white ultrasound image. It read clearly: Gestational age — 12 weeks. My eyes burned, tears stinging as I turned to Luca, desperately searching for anything—a denial, an explanation, regret. Instead, he only sighed, weary and resigned. “Bianca, I’m sorry.” he said helplessly. “Valentina doesn’t have much time left. This wedding… it was her last wish.” “I’ll make it up to you,” he added. “We can have another wedding later.” My father, Moretti, stood behind him, wearing the same stern expression he’d worn my entire life. I have never seen him smile at me, not even once. “Bianca,” he said sharply, “Your sister is dying. Let her have this.” My brother nodded without saying a single word, as if that was enough to be a solid answer. All my life, they had chosen her—her tears, her whims, her needs—over mine. Today was no different. Something inside me quietly cracked. Fine. If no one in this family cares about me, I’ll leave.