Bittersweet Novels & Stories

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.”

Before the wedding, Alpha Kevin’s first love, Sandra Barlow, was betrothed to none other than David Wright—the most infamous rogue Alpha along the Mississippi River. A wolf so ruthless, even the werewolf Council preferred to pretend he didn’t exist. Alpha Kevin, ever the noble hero, couldn't bear to see his precious white moonlight thrown into the fire pit. So, what did he do? With the werewolf army of the Midnight Ridge Pack, he stormed into the rogue den and snatched her away from Alpha David. That very night, they registered their marriage and held a wedding. And me? Oh, the entire Midnight Ridge Pack was practically at the thought of watching Gamma Diana Gilbert—the strongest female warrior in the pack—get humiliated. After all, my years of loyalty, my unmatched skills, my blood spilled for this pack? Worthless. Why? Because their beloved Alpha had chosen another. I braced myself for the whispers, the pitying glances. But then— The very next day, Alpha David, the same rogue who’d been so cruelly robbed of his mate, climbed onto my villa’s security wall like a damn cat burglar. He perched there, arms crossed, watching me with an infuriatingly lazy smirk. “Wife pays for her husband’s debt,” he drawled, his voice carrying the rough edge of a wolf who lived lawless and free. “Alpha Kevin stole my mate. So I figured—you should compensate me by becoming my rogue Luna.” He grinned, canines flashing. “ That’s fair, isn’t it?” I nodded. “Fair.”

My breathing was still uneven when Robert’s phone lit up on the nightstand. One new message. "Robert, there’s thunder. I’m scared." —Sarah. The words cut through me like ice water. Robert. My mate. The Alpha of the Ashborn Pack. The man everyone praises as the perfect future king. And me? I’m his Luna. Supposedly the rightful queen at his side. But no matter the circumstance, no matter the weight of his responsibilities, the first person he thinks of is never me. It’s always her. At the banquet, when the elders forced him to make a choice—me, his Luna, or her—the room fell into a suffocating silence. I still remember the way my heart begged him to look at me, just once, just long enough to see what he was about to destroy. But his answer came sharp, quick, without hesitation. "Sarah." One word. One name. And with it, he tore my entire world apart. That was the moment I understood: not every betrayal needs to be shouted or confessed. Sometimes, it’s as simple as the name a man chooses to speak. I loved him. I bled for him. But love means nothing if I’m nothing to him. So if destiny has already been written against me… then I’ll be the one to set it on fire.

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.

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."

Gabriel Steele was the most disciplined Alpha in the northern territories. A man who ruled his pack by order, law, and absolute authority. Which was exactly why our mating was a disaster. Last life, when my father handed me the Steele Marking Contract, I signed it without hesitation. I thought becoming Luna meant belonging somewhere. Instead, I spent years being laughed at. At pack galas, noble she-wolves whispered behind my back. “Wait—that woman with the green hair and the tiny skirt is our Luna?” “She looks like she walked straight out of a nightclub.” “No discipline, no manners… how embarrassing for the pack.” Cassian didn’t defend me； “Forgive her. She still has much to learn about pack discipline.” Discipline? Like I was some unruly wolf that needed breaking. So I buried my claws, silenced my instincts, and lived inside his laws— until the wolf inside me withered away. When I opened my eyes again— I was back at the moment the mating contract was placed before me. This time, I wrote another name on the contract. Amelia. She can have the disciplined Alpha. As for me— I’d rather be a wild she-wolf than anyone’s perfect Luna. But the moment Gabriel realized the bride wasn’t me—The Alpha who lived by iron law Broke every rule he had ever sworn to follow.

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.

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.

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 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.