Bittersweet Panic Lyrics

On the day I was supposed to try on wedding dresses with Charles Jaspier, the mafia leader I had loved for seven years, I walked into the boutique carrying a pregnancy test report—my heart full of hope. Instead, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything. "Registering the marriage with Ellis Olsen was a temporary measure," he said calmly to his closest confidant. "My brother died in a shootout. She's carrying the Jaspier family's only heir. Without a legal status, neither she nor the child would survive in this family." "Everyone would bully them." A cigar rested between his fingers. His voice was cold, edged with resignation. "Zoey Qandor can't have a title—but I can give her everything else. My love. My money. This must never reach her ears." I clenched the pregnancy report, my heart turning to ash. With my best friend's help, I created a new identity—one that ensured Charles would never find me again—and disappeared from his world. If he could not give me and my child a complete family, then this love—built on responsibility and lies—was better cut cleanly, once and for all.

Seven years ago, I signed a mate contract as Luna. For my mother’s dying wish and for the Pack’s stability, I personally pushed a man with nothing to his name onto the Alpha throne. I held the Pack together for him, expanded our businesses, and handled the filthy negotiations and the deals no one wanted to see in the light. Everyone said— I was calm, I was formidable, I was qualified. Just… not much like a “gentle mate.” Until that day. I stood in the bedroom and watched my Alpha husband lay his hand over my paralyzed stepsister’s slightly rounded belly. They told me it was for the greater good of the Pack. That child would be registered under my name. He would call me Mother. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just waited for the seven-year term to hit its end and activated the trust clause my mother left behind. Accounts frozen. Capital withdrawn. The wolf empire I built with my own hands collapsed overnight. By the time he knelt in the ruins and finally understood what he’d lost— I had already taken back my mother’s last name, dissolved the mate bond, and stepped onto a new territory.

“Richard, if Lynn and I were hit by a car at the same time, who would you save first?” I once asked, curled up in his arms, teasing like a spoiled pup. He just scoffed, ruffling my hair. “That kind of situation doesn’t exist.” But when blinding headlights tore through the rain— He didn’t hesitate. He shielded Lynn in his embrace, and I was thrown into the blood-soaked street. Through the agony, I heard my phone buzz. A message from him: [What tantrum are you throwing now? Why didn’t you come to Moonstone today?] While the machines beeped beside me, I caught the sound of his gentle voice drifting from the next room—comforting her. “Don’t be afraid. I just reacted to the person closest to me.” That was the moment I wiped away bloody tears with a smile. Fine, Richard. Then you’ll watch with your own eyes—ten days from now, when I put on a wedding dress, it won’t be for you. It’ll be for your sworn enemy, the Alpha of Bloodmoon. On the eve of the ceremony, a helicopter thundered down onto the estate balcony. He kicked open my door, yanked my wrist with his tie. “Come with me.”

On New Year's Eve, Facebook blew up. The reason was that Bennett Miles, the golden boy of Crestmoor’s elite, posted an update. In the photo, a shy young woman hid her face as she leaned against his shoulder while he grinned. His eyes were full of affection and mischief. His caption read, "What do I do? Looks like I'm officially taken." Friends in his circle flooded the comment section with congratulations. The real frenzy began when Bennett announced that the first 10,000 followers to like, share, and comment on the post would each receive a gold bar. The internet went wild with envy and curiosity. Everyone scrambled to find out more about the woman in the picture. Then, someone claiming to have inside information started a livestream. "Stop guessing. Her name is Kara Sierra. You know Sierra Hall at Crestmoor College? That building was named after her! "Two years ago, she had kidney failure. Bennett personally donated one of his own kidneys to save her!"

The two childhood sweethearts swear that they'll marry no one but me, but they stand by as my dog of ten years gets killed in a car accident. I cradle the dog's mangled body, but no tears fall. Dante Battaglia stares at me in disgust and asks, "Why did you bring it home? Don't you know Anna's allergic to it?" Dario Battaglia immediately rushes over to snatch away the body in my arms. "This is a damned jinx. Get rid of it!" The Battaglia siblings and I are childhood friends. Dante became the Don, and Dario the Consigliere. I'm the precious princess in the two brothers' eyes, but everything changes with Anna's arrival. After burying the dog myself, I reply to the email inviting me to join an international classified project. The email reads, "Ms. Julia Costanza, we'd like to know if you're willing to participate in this institute's ten-year-long classified project. Upon joining, your personal information will be sealed for a decade, and you will be prohibited from contacting the outside world." I replied, "Yes, I agree."

At the banquet hall, I refuse to let my adopted twin pups eat the walnut cake. Ivana Lamont—the childhood sweetheart of my mate, Luther Hardwick—chokes up dramatically. She cries accusingly, "Yara, they may not be yours biologically, but you can't abuse them! Why won't you even let them have a slice of cake?" I'm just about to explain that the twins are allergic to nuts, but they point at me and complain in aggrieved voices. "Mommy often doesn't give us food. We never have enough to eat!" With that, I'm unceremoniously driven out of the banquet hall by the host. When I go to look for my mate to talk about it, I accidentally overhear his conversation with a friend. "Alpha Luther, it's been eight years. Are you still not going to mark Yara?" "There's no rush. I'll wait until the kids are a little older. We love each other very much, so it's fine even if I don't mark her." His friend responds disapprovingly, "You've been hiding from her that the twins are actually your and Ivana's pups. Aren't you afraid she may leave in anger if she finds out?" Luther shakes his head and replies with certainty, "She won't. Yara is an orphan, so she has no family. If she leaves me, where else can she go?" The ugly truth causes me to freeze on the spot. It turns out the pups I've loved for eight years were born to my mate and another she-wolf. What I thought was a happy life is nothing but a cold, heartless deception! I touch my belly, thinking of the pup I just conceived. My tears fall like a relentless downpour. In the shadows, I say inaudibly, "You're wrong, Luther. In fact, I found my birth parents three days ago. I just haven't had the chance to tell you. But it doesn't matter now because you don't need to know about that anymore." I have Luther sign the mate bond dissolution agreement before finalizing my withdrawal from the Sharp Teeth pack. Two days later, I give both my mate and the pups to Ivana. With the pup that Luther has never known or laid his eyes on, I disappear from his world forever.

Waking up hungover next to my arch-nemesis – the city's most notorious fuckboy? Worst. Morning. Ever. I handled the walk of shame with icy dignity, but fate had a bigger curveball: one month later, two pink lines. My baby. My rules. His involvement? Zero. My flawless plan hit a snag when morning sickness ambushed me in the office restroom. He walked in. His eyes locked onto my still-flat stomach, darkening with something dangerous. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the cold tile wall. "Who's the father?" he growled. I met his glare with a frosty smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know? Definitely not you." Then it happened: a hot tear hit my neck. His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don't... don't leave me. Please." Me: ...Dude. Seriously? THIS IS YOURS!

My mate, Carter, sent me to a werewolf prison for four years. On the day I was released, he arrived holding the hand of his pregnant mistress. “This is what your parents owe me.” “From today on, you’ll take care of Amelia.” I nodded obediently. She made me pick roses with my bare hands. Made me plant a hundred pots under the scorching sun. Made me scrub my allergic, ulcerated skin with alcohol. And I did everything she asked. Until the day they brought me back to my old home. The house was gone. In its place stretched an endless rose garden. And my only sister— had become nothing but a box of ashes. That was the moment I understood. I survived not to atone. I survived to take revenge.

The day I found out I was pregnant with twins, Vincent Castellano celebrated like a man who had been handed heaven. Fireworks over Brooklyn. Vows whispered against my stomach. Promises that his empire, his loyalty, and his life were mine. That same day, I found out the hospital built in my name had been sheltering his affair. While I was throwing up and fighting to keep our babies safe, he was holding another woman in the next room. So I made my choice. I would keep the twins. But Vincent Castellano would lose all three of us.

When Eric Sutton—my charming CEO husband—found out I handed a million-dollar project to his assistant Vivien Cheney, he figured his three months of radio silence had finally broken me. Suddenly, he's all, "Let's go to Iceland for our honeymoon!" Vivien heard and threw a fit. Threatened to quit. Classic. Eric, who treated her like royalty, freaked out. After three days of begging, he bailed on the trip—said it was for "work"—then handed her my ticket. Later, he shrugged it off. "Romance's petty. Work comes first. You're my wife. You get it, right?" Right. I just stared at Vivien's new post: a couples selfie—cheek to cheek, hands shaped like a heart. I didn't say a word. Just nodded. Eric thought I was finally playing the role: calm, supportive, mature. Promised an even better honeymoon when he got back. Too bad I'd already quit. Too bad he'd already signed the divorce papers. We were done.