Creative Insults

“Congratulations, bitch. Dad sold you to Alpha Arthur. I heard he got into a car accident a few years ago that messed up his face and left him with a limp." She was forced to join the ShadowClaw Pack, expecting the same abuse and torment she had endured before. However, Alpha Arthur, not only handsome but also incredibly attentive, treated her well. She was his breeder, and he was initially attracted by her pure family background and good figure. Their relationship was merely a transaction. Over time, Ophelia gradually won Arthur's heart, and she allowed herself to fall in love with him. Later, she received a check and a farewell. Expecting Ophelia to cry and make a scene, she instead took the check and left decisively. "Mr. Morgan, goodbye forever!" From then on, Ophelia's life turned around completely. She started racing cars, healing the sick, and effortlessly made a name for herself in the music industry. Her stepmother and stepsister still looked down on her, thinking she was a disgrace. Eventually, they came to her, begging, "As long as Miss Clark was willing to save my daughter, I could name my price!" Reflecting on it, they realized that the girl they once pitied was actually a big deal. Even Taylor, who used to defy everyone, became her follower. "Anyone who dared to insult her, I’d break their legs!" Arthur, having lost Ophelia, watched her stunning performance on TV and deeply regretted letting her go. When they met again, she had someone else by her side. With red eyes, he said, "Ophelia, you were mine. Please come back to me." Ophelia smiled coldly, "Sorry, I'm very busy now, no time." Arthur pulled out a diamond ring, "Darling, let's get back together!" The Lycan's Unwanted Mate is created by Claire Wilkins, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

The day the Thorne family announced our engagement, the New York underworld let out a collective sigh of relief. Because I was set to marry Daemon, the most straitlaced Don in the city, which meant I could no longer be the wild rose who tore up the racetrack. But I resisted with every fiber of my being, finding creative ways to test his limits. During his ten-million-dollar card game with a rival family's Capo, my hand "slipped" and sent a bottle of 1945 Romanee-Conti spilling across the ancient map that outlined their territories, sabotaging the entire negotiation. Daemon, however, just slowly and deliberately wiped the wine from the back of his hand. He didn't even frown as he cleaned up my mess. Then I "accidentally" let my spirited Arabian stallion loose in his immaculately manicured courtyard. The beast went wild, trampling his prize-winning rose garden into mud. But he arrived with his private doctor in tow, crouching before me as his long fingers gently traced the scratch on my arm. "Did the beast hurt you?" Just that one question, and my heart melted completely. "Daemon, I can marry you. But before that, has there ever been another woman who owned your heart?" "I don't share my man. Not in any way." He pointed to his heart, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes. "Before you, this was empty." After we married, the word on the street in New York's circles of power was this: If you angered Don Thorne, his Donna might plead your case. But if you angered the Donna, you were on your own. Even I began to believe that Daemon, that mountain of ice, would eventually melt for me. Until the day I went to find him, clutching a positive pregnancy test, bursting with joy. Only to hear the family's Consigliere ask him, from the top-floor study, what the best lie he'd ever told was. Daemon chuckled and said casually, "She asked me if anyone had my heart before her." "I told her no."

In the third year of my relationship with Dante Santoro, heir to the Santoro family fortune, I got pregnant. The night before the Don's birthday banquet, he finally brought me home as his girlfriend. Giulia Costa, the housekeeper's daughter, smiled sweetly and asked about my food allergies. I mentioned I was allergic to truffles. In the end, every dish at dinner was loaded with truffles. I swallowed my irritation and grabbed a slice of cake that looked safe. Two bites in, I heard her laugh. "I got creative and mixed truffle powder into the frosting. How is it?" Before I could answer, my throat closed up and I could not breathe. Giulia gasped and covered her mouth. "Ms. Leone, your skin is turning purple! Do you have some kind of contagious disease?" Everyone watched as I was carried out like trash. The moment my allergic reaction cleared up, Giulia insisted on helping me pack. I told her multiple times not to touch my ring. In the few minutes I spent in the bathroom, she "accidentally" knocked it down the drain. That was the wedding ring Dante gave me. I lost my temper and confronted her, but Dante just laughed it off. "She's jealous of your pretty ring. Don't be so petty." That night, Giulia brought sleep-aid drinks to my room as an apology. Dante convinced me to accept her peace offering. I drank a few cups and felt drowsy almost immediately. When Giulia walked me back to my room, I told her to lock the door behind her. Ten minutes later, a group of men shoved their way inside and beat my stomach until I miscarried. The baby was gone. Giulia's eyes filled with tears as she claimed she never saw anyone enter. She said I never wanted the Santoro family to have an heir and had orchestrated my own abortion. Dante went white with rage and ordered his men to dump me in the ocean. When I opened my eyes again, it was the night before the banquet.