Cheating

My husband's parents were stung by an unidentified venomous queen hornet and rushed to the hospital. As soon as I heard the news, I hurried to the entomology research institute to seek help from my husband, who was the director, hoping he could assist the doctors with the diagnosis. Instead, he called for security to block me at the entrance. "I don't handle work matters after hours," he said coldly. "Penny's mother is sick, and I need to go take care of her." I tried to show him the critical condition notice from the hospital, but he tore it up in one swift motion. "People die every day. So what if your dad and mom died?" After my in-laws passed away, I filed a lawsuit against Penny Madison, who had deliberately disturbed the beehive that led to the attack. My husband, who had disappeared for several days, suddenly showed up as an expert witness in court. He fabricated a false professional opinion to exonerate Penny. When I decided to leave the country, he lost his temper. "What do your parents' short lives have to do with me? Is it so hard to understand that after a long day at work, I just want to rest? And now you want to drag Penny into this mess. Just because your own family is broken, you want to ruin someone else's? How can you be so vicious? You deserve to lose your parents!" Watching his brazen attempts to twist the truth, I suddenly realized something. He still didn't know that he had become an orphan.

Before my wedding, my fiance's secretary dumped out all the Dom Perignon champagne I had ordered for the guests and replaced it with Yoo-hoo. I turned grim instantly and demanded an explanation. But my fiance—who had always claimed to dote on me—stood firmly in front of his secretary to defend her. "Susie only had your best interest. Don't ruin the mood for everyone." His pack of so-called friends burst into laughter, egging him on. "Come on, don't be petty, Giselle. It's just a few bottles of Dom Perignon. Don't be so selfish." Yet their eyes were enveloped in evident malicious amusement. At that moment, one thing became certain: this fiance had to be replaced.

At my five-year mating anniversary celebration, my best friend who had vanished years ago suddenly appeared with a six-year-old child. The child's father was my mate, Alexander, I am the Alpha King's only daughter. Alexander was one of the top five Alphas in the northern territories. He pursued me for five years before I agreed to bond with him. We even had an adorable four-year-old daughter together. Yet my mate not only refused to explain his betrayal, but now he expected me to accept my friend and her child into our home. He favored the illegitimate son in everything, even allowing him to harm our daughter. When I finally rejected him and found a new father for my daughter, he used the entire Stormfang Pack to try to win me back.

I was at the Blood Registry office to reissue my Blood Covenant Certificate with Lord Ethan when the registrar looked up at me and said, “Your Blood Covenant Certificate is forged.” “There is no record of your bond in the vampire consort system.” I froze. “That’s impossible,” I whispered. “I registered my union with Lord Ethan five years ago. Please check again.” The clerk searched once more. “Lord Ethan’s record is here,” he said calmly. “His lawful consort is Ella.” Ella? The name fell like a blade. Before he said it, I still hoped it was a clerical mistake. But Ella… was his childhood companion. In that moment, everything made sense. In five years, he had never marked me. He had publicly acknowledged me as his Blood Queen, letting the entire Coven believe I stood beside him by right. He had given me titles, a throne at his side, and a crown to wear in front of the world. Titles can be announced. Only the Registry makes it law. The certificate he gave me had been nothing but a beautiful lie. The five years I believed were happiness— were nothing more than a carefully forged illusion. An illusion crafted to keep me obedient, grateful, and blind. If none of it was ever truly mine, if even the title of “Blood Queen” was only a performance, then leaving should be easy.

After I became a vegetable, Samuel kept me alive for two years with all sorts of tubes. I thought he couldn’t bear to let me go—until his true love returned to the country. He took my corneas and transplanted them to her. Right in front of me, he spoke to her with the utmost tenderness: “Don't worry; you'll be fine. These eyes have been prepared for you for two years.” As a result, I had an adverse reaction after the surgery and passed away. When he heard the news, his eyes turned crimson with rage, and he nearly smashed the hospital: ”Didn't you say there wouldn’t be any problems?!”

On the day I was supposed to get engaged to my childhood sweetheart, Noah Pratt, I escaped. As I flew out of the country, I deleted all forms of contact with him. Six years later, I had to return to oversee the moving of my parents’ graves. At the entrance to the cemetery, I bumped right into Noah. He gripped my wrist while gazing at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Why did you run away?” he asked. He had grown very thin. Heavy bags were under his eyes. It was as if haunting dreams had plagued his nights. “Because I didn’t want to marry someone I didn’t love,” I replied. He swayed on his feet as if the rug had been swept from under him. “Is there anything else?” I asked. But he remained silent. I waited patiently before walking past him. I had not lied. Indeed, I had burned out that love for him in the first three years I spent overseas.

The night before the design competition, my husband took my design draft, promising to secure a patent to protect my work. In the intense competition, my work stood out and won first place. During the award ceremony, I walked on stage wearing the necklace that my daughter and I had made together. Suddenly, my seven-year-old daughter rushed up to the stage, screaming, "Mom, how could you steal Veronica's necklace? That's horrible and embarrassing. Just come down and go home with me."

On the day I died, my boyfriend was with another woman. He was a man I had rescued from the clutches of rich women. My condition was for him to be my boyfriend for three years, and he agreed. I showered him with money, resources, and connections, single-handedly making him famous. Yet, while he told me we could not date publicly, he casually engaged in fake romance rumors with others for publicity. One of his rumored girlfriends even came to me with a voice message. "If it weren’t for using her as a stepping stone, who would bother with someone so dull and boring?" But after I died, why did he go mad?

Three years married to Victor, the Don, and as far as New York was concerned, we were untouchable. Until my own car was in the shop, so I took his daily driver from the garage. On the way, I activated the car's smart system and said, "Navigate home." But the screen pinpointed a place I had never seen before — a villa in the suburbs. Then, a sugary-sweet voice floated from the speakers: "Okay! Setting course for Victor and Mia's secret castle." My stomach dropped. Who was Mia? And what secret castle? Without a second thought, I dialed his number. "The home address is set to some strange place." He just laughed it off. "Oh, that. One of my guys' car broke down the other day. I let him use mine to drop someone off." "Okay, no problem," I said, smiling into the phone. I ended the call and pulled up the navigation history. That villa address was listed seventeen times, every single one on a day Victor was supposedly "out of town on business." I fired up the engine and drove.

Alpha Ethan's first love, Sarah, died unexpectedly just days before their marking ceremony. His grief was so profound, it sent shockwaves through the entire Duskrend pack. I spent my youth walking beside him, helping him crawl out of that darkness. And finally, when he was ready to love again, he chose to mark me. In the first two years after he marked me, I got pregnant twice. Both times ended in miscarriage. Ethan, heart aching, told me he couldn't bear to see me suffer through childbirth again. That he didn't want me to endure that kind of pain anymore. But in the third year, I conceived again. On the way to see the pack healer for a routine checkup, I was attacked by a wild beast. My wolf, desperate to protect me, burned through most of her life force holding the creature off. Ethan arrived just in time and carried me to the pack hospital himself. But the healer shook his head. We had lost too much time. The pup couldn't be saved. Worse, my ability to bear pups would be permanently damaged because my wolf was too injured to ever carry life again. My mother clung to me, sobbing. Ethan stood in the corner and smiled. "Joy just can't have pups anymore," he said. "But Sarah—Sarah lost her life because of people like you." Then he looked at my mother, his voice edged with contempt. "You were the one who forced Sarah to abort. You watched her—an Omega without a wolf—scream herself to death. So now, your daughter shall feel that pain too." Five years after severing our mate bond, Ethan had become the most powerful Lycan Chairman the region had ever seen—courted, admired, endlessly celebrated. And me? I was working at an underground club. I was dressed in scraps of fabric, smiling until my cheeks ached, bowing and pouring drinks for whoever walked into the VIP room. There shouldn't have been any reason for our paths to cross again. But Ethan held me tight, eyes red and refusing to let go— “Say it,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Call me your mate.”