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The Northern Pack had one unbreakable rule: the Alpha heir could never bond with a human girl. Despite that, Alpha Kieran Wolfe still formed a mate bond with me. To be with me, he openly defied the Elders' Council. He endured 99 lashes and was forced to kneel at the altar for three days and nights. Even as blood soaked through his shirt, he smiled at me and said, "Elise, don't be afraid. I only want you." Eventually, the Elders' Council finally relented and agreed to let Kieran leave with me. However, there was one condition: he had to leave a pure-blood heir behind for the Pack. From that moment on, the phrase I heard most from Kieran was "wait". The first time, Kieran asked me to wait while he got another she-wolf to carry his pup. He slept with Cecelia Donati 33 times until she was carrying his pup. The second time, he told me to wait again because the first pup was a female, and the Elders wanted a male. So, Kieran slept with Cecelia 99 more times until she was carrying his pup again. Just when I thought our ordeal was finally over, their daughter, Tyra Wolfe, accidentally ate wolfsbane at her Meet the Pup Party. Everyone was convinced I had poisoned her. When they threw me into the freezing cold storage room, Kieran stood at the doorway with bloodshot eyes. "I told you to wait..." His gaze was ice-cold and cutting. "You know what wolfsbane means to our kind. Why would you hurt my pup?" The words "my pup" hit me like a knife to the heart. My fingernails dug deep into my palms as the pain tore through me. When the storage room door opened again, I loosened my bloodied hands. This time, I was not going to wait anymore.

This is my first time meeting my partner's family as their future daughter-in-law. A few minutes after taking my seat, my future mother-in-law, Joana Carrell, suddenly speaks up. "I've conducted a premarital test on you, but you've only scored 30 points. You have no right to marry into my family!" I never expect that I'll be tested, to begin with. The results leave me feeling shell-shocked. But Joana continues prattling on and on. "When you walked through the front door, the stool at the doorway was crooked, but you never readjusted it. You got ten points deducted for that. "The trash can in the living room was full, but you ignored it and never took the initiative to empty it. That'll be 20 points deducted. "When you washed the fruits in the kitchen, you saw a pile of dishes in the sink, and yet you didn't wash them. That's 40 points lost! "Altogether, you scored 30 points, which means you've failed the test. Hence, you aren't worthy of becoming a daughter-in-law of the Yarrow family!" I turn to look at my boyfriend, Anthony Yarrow, subconsciously, hoping that he'll defend me. But he keeps his head lowered and pretends to not hear anything. His reaction catches me off guard. But soon, my temper starts flaring. It turns out that the Yarrows have already plotted to put me through a trial that tests my submissiveness as soon as I walk through the front door. That's why Joana has been assessing me like I'm their future maid. Since they care about points that much, then I suppose they can kiss the million-dollar wedding gifts, the marital home located in the city center, as well as the businesses under my family goodbye.

"Sign the contract. Produce an heir. And never question what happens in the dark." Cora Belmont was not supposed to be here. Her sister was the one meant to marry Roman Falcone — East Coast crime boss, untouchable, allegedly monstrous. Her family didn't give Cora a choice. They gave her a sedative. She woke up in silk sheets, with a contract on the pillow and a pen placed precisely against her lips. Sign it, or your family loses more than you. So Cora signs. She signs away her body, her autonomy, and any illusion she had about what marriage means in a world of men who treat women like ledger entries. What she doesn't sign away is her mind. And her mind begins keeping records. Because her husband is impossible. Some nights he is Roman Falcone — cold, brutal, exacting, who takes what he wants and leaves without a word. Other nights, someone comes to her bedroom who touches her like she is the only precious thing in a world of violence. Who whispers her name like a prayer. Who smells of sandalwood instead of gunsmoke. Cora tells herself she's losing her mind. She sets a camera. She watches the footage. And then a thunderstorm lights up the sky outside her window — and she sees both of them. Roman in the doorway, gun in hand, reeking of fresh blood. And Rocco Falcone — The Shadow, the ghost who was never supposed to exist — still in her bed. They are twins. They are equally dangerous. They are both completely obsessed with her. And when Cora tries to run, she discovers that one Falcone is impossible to escape. Two Falcones simply don't accept the concept of escape at all. The wrong vow was just the beginning.

The air in the room was thick as the electric heat of a mistake was in progress. "Yeah, right there... Ah," I gasped, the words catching in my throat. Every sensation was surreal, the sounds of skin slapping. Jayden moved with a raw, desperate energy, his tattooed hands gripping me. He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear, a dark, playful smirk tugging at his lips as sweat shimmered down our bodies "You like that huh?" he murmured, his voice low with a teasing vibration that sent a fresh shiver racing down my spine. "Hmm," I could only moan in response, my eyes fluttering shut as I let the waves of ecstasy pull me under. "What the fuck Is it going on here?" The voice didn't just break the silence; it shattered the room. It was a guttural roar that turned my blood to ice. Jayden scrambled backward, the bed sulking under his sudden movement. "Shit... " he hissed, his face draining of color as he fumbled for his jeans. I felt coldness piercing through my nakedness. My hands shook violently as I reached for my dress, the silk feeling like lead in my fingers. I couldn't lookup. In the doorway stood Richard. He wasn’t shouting anymore, the silence was unbearable. His eyes, usually filled with a composed warmth, were now dark with a devastating betrayal. He looked at Jayden, then his gaze drifted to me half-clothed on his son’s bed. "Lena..." His voice broke. "How could you?" He didn't wait for an answer. There was no explanation needed. Richard bowed his head, his shoulders slumped under the weight of a heartbreak he hadn't seen coming, and turned his back on us. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Three months before my wedding, I found my fiancé buried deep inside my maid of honor. ​I gave Leo five years of my life. I ironed his shirts, managed his stress, and sacrificed my own dreams to build our perfect future. My reward? Standing in the doorway of our bedroom, listening to him call me "boring" while he ruined our bed with my best friend. ​Shattered, humiliated, and completely alone, I ran out into the freezing, torrential rain with nothing but the clothes on my back. I thought my life was over. I thought I had hit rock bottom. ​Until a massive black umbrella blocked out the storm, and a heavy, expensive suit jacket was draped over my trembling shoulders. ​Alexander. Leo’s incredibly wealthy, terrifyingly ruthless Godfather. ​He is older. Untouchable. The most feared man in the city and the patriarch who controls Leo’s entire inheritance. He is the ultimate forbidden fruit. ​He didn't look at me with pity as I sat bleeding and broken on the pavement. He looked at me with a dark, consuming hunger that made my breath hitch. Kneeling in the wet street, he wiped a tear from my jaw and whispered a promise that would change my life forever: ​"Tell me who did this to you, and I will ruin his life by morning." ​I only wanted a place to dry off. I only wanted a little bit of revenge. I never meant to let him back me against the marble counters of his penthouse. I never meant to crave his rough hands, his possessive growls, or the intoxicating danger of his bed. ​If Leo’s family finds out, it will destroy Alexander’s empire. ​But once the Godfather claims you... there is no going back.

My seven-year-old son, Matthew Hayes, needs an Rh-negative blood transfusion very badly because he's gotten roped into a car accident. I roll up my sleeve immediately. "Take my blood, doctor! I have Rh-negative blood!" But my husband, Samuel Hayes, grabs my hand tightly. "Hold on, let me call another person! She also has Rh-negative blood!" I throw the divorce agreement at his face instead. "If she wants to donate her blood, she can go ahead and do that right after you sign this divorce agreement!" Samuel clutches the agreement angrily. "Have you gone nuts, Naomi Hart? Our son is waiting to be saved right now, and yet you're bringing up divorce at this time?" I gaze at him coldly. "That's right." My mother-in-law, Evelyn Shaw, rushes over and slaps me at that moment. "You vile woman! Samuel is worried about your physique, and yet you still kick up a fuss over this matter!" I don't bother dodging the slap. Then, I walk over to the doorway of the operating theater before announcing, "Doctor, stop all of your surgical preparations! As the patient's family, I refuse to donate my blood, and I refuse to let my son undergo the surgery!" Both Samuel and Evelyn are stunned by my declaration. Samuel points at me and yells in a quivering tone, "Back then, you almost died in the hospital just to secure Matthew's life! Are you trying to kill him now, Naomi?" I just look at Samuel emotionlessly. Heck, I can't be bothered to even show an expression right now. "I never forgot about those times. But that was in the past. Now, I don't want Matthew anymore."

Bastien marries me only for duty. I reject him and leave for good by faking my death. Yet he goes crazy looking for me. He says he loves me when we meet again. No! I don't buy it. I can't let him steal my child! ** "She's not yours!" The front door was locked and deadbolted, but it only takes Bastien and his Betas a moment to break past those defenses. As Bastien towers in the doorway, his silver eyes glowing with barely contained fury, I realize it's all over. Everything I've worked for these past three years is already lost; every tear I've shed and sacrifice I've made has all been for nothing. I come to stand in front of my ex-husband. Goddess I’d forgotten how handsome he is; how tall. It doesn’t feel right to be so near him without our bodies touching; it takes all my strength not to reach out to him. “Hello Bastien.” Whatever he was expecting, it clearly wasn’t this. His silver eyes stop their hungry head-to-toe scan of my body, settling on my face and blinking in surprise. I can see the gears turning in his head, piecing together the puzzle of my presence here and replacing shock with confusion and anger. “Is that really all you have to say to me?” I cock my head to the side. “What would you have me say?” “I thought you were dead!” He barks, making my wolf tuck her tail between her legs. Unlike my wolf, I have more than enough bad memories and regrets to withstand his ire. “Oh I’m sorry, did my funeral get in the way of your wedding plans?”

To transfer my sister, Suri Voss, who was 13 years younger than I was, to a new school district, I took 7 days of annual leave and went back to my hometown. I pulled strings, delivered gifts, called in favors, and finally forced a spot for her in the best middle school in the city. At last, when I could pause long enough to catch my breath, I told Mom, who was heading out to buy groceries, that I wanted grilled pork ribs for dinner. Suri walked over with a cold expression, then threw a full glass of icy water straight onto my head and pointed at my face as she exploded. "You country leech, mooching off our family for years, eating our food and living in our house whenever you feel like it. I let all that slide. Now you want to steal my mom too? Do you have any shame at all?! "Listen carefully, Mom only has one child. She will only ever love me!" I stood there, stunned. Suri had no idea I was Mom’s biological daughter, too. All this time, she had treated me as some freeloading relative. I looked toward the doorway, where Mom was changing her shoes to go out. She seemed not to have heard a single word of Suri’s disrespect. She merely said casually, "Suri doesn’t like ribs. Let’s have grilled shrimp instead." She had forgotten that I’ve been severely allergic to seafood since childhood. I lowered my head and let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. Unbeknownst to them, if I could secure Suri a place in that school, I could just as easily make sure she lost it.

My husband, Dante, the Consigliere of the Falcone family, and I hated each other more than any two people on earth. He hated me for tearing him away from the woman he loved. I hated him because his heart had never been mine. We shared a bed for seven years, but the words we exchanged most were not of love, but of venomous curses. But on the night a rival family's motorcade stormed the estate, everything changed. I remember the firefight lighting up half the city. Dante threw himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. "Survive," he said, his voice as steady as ever. He drew his gun. As he turned to face them, a hailstorm of bullets erupted. As armor-piercing rounds tore through his vest and slammed into his body, he turned to look at me. It was the only time in seven years he had ever looked me in the eye. His large frame barred the doorway, stopping any gunman from crossing the threshold. "If there's a next life, promise me this, Principessa. Let me protect the one I was always meant to." That night, the glory of our family turned to ash, and the streets ran red with blood. As our enemies closed in, I triggered the explosives in the car. The flames consumed everything. When I opened my eyes again, I was walking into my father's study. "The family in Ashpoint needs a bride to seal a truce," I said, meeting the gaze of my father, the Don of the Falcone family. "I'll go." In my past life, he died believing he had failed my half-sister, Sofia. This time, I wouldn't let that regret haunt him. I would take Sofia's place and board the flight north. Let Sofia stay. Let Dante protect the woman he was meant to protect. But why, when he lifted the white veil of the woman he loved in this life, did he regret it?

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."