Blackmailed Into Cheating

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was having a heart attack, and my husband, Ben Dover—a heart surgeon—was the only one who could save her. Did I call him? Nope. I just stood there, watching her gasp like a fish out of water. In my last life, I'd begged Ben to come save her. He brushed me off, accusing me of interrupting his time with his mistress, Ima Schit. No matter how much I pleaded, he wouldn't come. Eleanor had died in the hospital. And when Johnny, my father-in-law, demanded answers, Ben flipped the script, saying I'd never even called. He made Eleanor's death my fault. Johnny, blinded by grief and fury, killed me. But plot twist—I woke up. Right back to the day this circus started.

At the end of the day, my colleague, Melody Christie, came to find me. She wanted me to cover her night shift. I turned her down because I had commitments after work. That night, she was caught abandoning her shift and she got fired. Melody blamed me for it. Just when I was almost going into labor, she pushed me down the stairs. "Do you know how hard I worked to get this job? If it was not for you, I wouldn't have been fired! If I'm going down, I'm taking you down with me!" I died, and my baby did not survive either. When I opened my eyes once more, I was back to the same day when Melody asked me to cover her shift. Only this time, I knew the truth. Turns out, she had left her shift for a rendezvous with my husband.

"Lucian, who is she?!" "She is a surrogate?! She is carrying my child." "What?! Surrogate?!" “Yes，Astra will be living with us from now on!” ...... My husband, Lucian, the Alpha of the Crystal Blood Moon pack, urgently needs an heir. I have a wonderful marriage, but my only regret is that the Moon Goddess still hasn't blessed me with a child after five years of being together. But I haven't given up hope yet! Today is Lucian's birthday. I've baked a cake and bought a sexy lingerie. We are going to have a passionate night, and maybe tonight, I'll finally conceive! Knowing he could be here soon, I lit the room with scented candles, and there, the doorbell chimes. Excited, I rush to open it, only to find Lucian standing there with a pregnant woman.  

A flash flood swept down from the mountains, causing me to become caught in a car crash. As five steel bars pierced through me, I could feel my blood pouring out in torrents as my life hung by a thread. My husband rushed to the scene. Instead of coming to me, he cradled his true love from the passenger seat and walked away. He didn't even glance in my direction. I was in and out of the ICU three times, clinging to life. Not once did he visit me. His attention was wholly fixed on the girl, who only had a mild concussion. After nearly ten years of deceiving myself, I couldn't keep playing the fool any longer. The day I was discharged, I asked my husband, Dominic Davis, for a divorce. I had survived by sheer luck, and I wasn't about to waste any more time with a husband who didn't love me.

On the night of my 30th birthday, I waited until the early hours of the morning, but my husband, Theodore Hawk never showed up. Instead, I came across an Instagram post from his childhood sweetheart, Emily Gallagher. [What romantic is not the starry night, it is having you by my side.] In the picture, she was wearing a delicate, sky-blue camisole that revealed just enough to charm and seduce. A man stood close behind her, his hand firmly gripping her waist. The scene was set in the seaside villa that Theodore had gifted her, their figures intimately entwined under the soft glow of the night. Someone had commented beneath the post: [I can’t stand you two being this lovey-dovey all the time! Just get married already!] Emily had responded with a shy-face emoji. I had just liked the post when Theodore, who I had failed to reach all night, blew up my phone with calls. "Are you out of your mind, Camilla? Emi and I grew up together! If we wanted to be together, we would’ve done so long ago! Why are you being so petty?" Looking at how Theodore gently held her in his arms, comforting her, I realized something. Letting go of someone you’ve loved for seven years... can take only a moment.

When my husband, Drake Connor, posted a photo of me on social media, this random woman mistook me for his mistress. She confronted me in the street, a baby in her arms and a crowd of relatives and friends in tow, ready to teach me a lesson. "You shameless tramp! How dare you seduce my husband! "I’ll beat you to death, you disgusting woman!" The crowd beat me, smashed my car, and ripped my clothes. I left that encounter bruised and battered, suffering a concussion and a fractured arm. In the end, I called the police and demanded justice. I had a divorce agreement drawn up and threw it in Drake's face. "If it weren’t for me, you’d be begging in the streets! And now you dare to hide a woman and child from me? "Get out! Don’t expect a penny from me!"

Before my mother passed away, the person she most wanted to see was her beloved son-in-law, Anthony Brosnan. She supported Anthony financially for five years, and the latter started his own business after graduating. At that time, I accidentally walked into his office and instantly fell in love with him at first sight. However, Anthony changed after three years of marriage and fell in love with his secretary. I called him over a dozen times, and it was the secretary who picked up the phone. "Anthony is cooking right now. Do you need something?" Just as I was about to speak, my mother overheard the voice. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she passed away filled with resentment. Anthony, since I had lost my mother, you meant nothing to me anymore.

When Asher Terrell's family crumbled into bankruptcy, I stood steadfast by his side. We lived in a dank basement, where I toiled through three jobs to help clear their crushing debts. He bounced back and proposed, promising me a true home. Three years into our marriage, I discovered the deed to our house bore the name of his first love. "This is what I owe her," he confessed. Swallowing my pain, I nodded and pushed forward a photo from back when we were crammed in that basement, with a whole table piled high with debt notices. "You've paid your debt to her with our house," I said. "But what about the debt you owe me?"

I was a washed-up singer, but my wife forced me to attend a divorce variety show. I tried my best to earn money for the family, but on the show, she said that I was worthless. She even got to know the son of an affluent family. She called the guy babe and went to his room whilst wearing seductive clothes. I couldn't stand it anymore and tried to stop her, but she cursed, "You're just a useless piece of garbage! You can't even afford to buy me a decent bag. I thought your earnings would improve over the years, but your earnings are still nowhere near enough. Why can't I pursue the happiness I want? Get out of my sight!"

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.