Dulce Report

I knock on the door, heart pounding like it always does when I’m about to see him. “Come in,” Justin’s voice calls—cool, smooth, and frustratingly calm. I take a deep breath and walk in, holding the folder tightly. “Here’s the report you requested, sir.” He doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps typing, his expression unreadable. “You’re late,” he says without missing a beat. I clench my jaw. “There was a delay at the printer—” “No excuses, Joanna. Just do better next time.” Ouch. Professional and cold. As always. I nod, ignoring the sting in my chest. “Yes, sir.” I turn to leave, gripping the doorknob—just one more second and I’ll be out of this weird tension-filled office— “Wait.” I freeze. I turn around slowly. “Yes?” Justin stands now, walking toward me. In his hand, a familiar brown paper bag. He holds it out. “You didn’t have lunch.” I blink. “I’m fine.” “You skipped breakfast too. Eat.” I hesitate. “What is it?” “Chicken pesto. No onions.” My breath catches. He still remembers? “Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly. He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “I just… remember things.” My fingers brush his as I take the bag. Warmth. Stupid warmth that shouldn’t still feel this familiar. Then, he looks at me—really looks at me. “You shouldn’t skip meals… wife.” Silence. My chest tightens. “Don’t call me that.” But my voice is too soft to sound convincing. I walk out before I say something I’ll regret. His words echo in my mind like a dangerous lullaby. Cold one second. Kilig the next. God… he’s still him. And that’s exactly the problem.

Years after graduation, someone suddenly tags me in the class group chat. "Mr. Warren is gravely ill, Mira. Aren't you going to do anything? You really are heartless!" I only realize what's going on when I click on the fundraising link in the chat. Our high school homeroom teacher, Joseph Warren, has late-stage cancer. Thus, Lyra Fairfield, the class belle, is leading a fundraiser and patient-donor matching process. "I'll donate ten thousand dollars. My husband is the director of Waverly General Hospital, and I've already asked him to arrange a VIP ward for Mr. Warren." Right after I send that message, the group pounces on me. "Mira, you contracted an STD back then and tried to pin it on Lyra. She didn't even hold it against you, and now you're trying to steal her thunder? You're unbelievable!" "I can't believe you're still lying through your teeth during such a serious situation. You never change, do you?" Lyra immediately defuses the tension. "Mira, I don't blame you for what happened in the past, but you really shouldn't impersonate the director's wife. I've already arranged the ward and surgery, and I'm donating another 100 thousand dollars to Mr. Warren!" I'm this close to laughing out of sheer anger. She's the one who scratched her name off the diagnosis report and framed me for having an STD all those years ago. I never even confronted her about it, and now she's playing the victim? Lyra soon posts a photo in the group chat, showing off her husband's car. Yet, when I see the man in the passenger seat, I guffaw. Isn't that my husband's driver? When did he start running a hospital?

Madam Pratt, my mother-in-law, was in critical condition after a car accident, desperately needing surgery. However, as the lead surgeon, I—Lilianne Davis—stood by, casually scrolling through short videos on my phone. My best friend, Tiffany Owens, who was also a doctor, was far more anxious than I was. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the operating room. “Lily, why are you still stalling? Hurry up and save her!” I took a step back, clutching my stomach in pain as her face twisted in shock. “I have cramps so bad I can’t even stand. You do it.” In my last life, the moment I heard about Madam Pratt’s accident, I had swallowed a painkiller and rushed into surgery, working for hours to stabilize her. I had barely stepped away from the operating table when alarms blared. “Lilianne, what have you done? The patient is experiencing acute hemolysis!” “Call the family now!” Gareth Pratt stormed in, his face twisted with rage. He slapped me hard in the face. “Lil, you’re a professional surgeon, yet you gave my mother the wrong blood transfusion?!” I froze, reaching for Madam Pratt’s medical report to explain, only to find that the A-type blood I had seen before had somehow changed to B-type. The medical board arrived, and a blood test revealed traces of hallucinogens in my system. “Unbelievable! Taking illegal substances before surgery? That’s a cardinal sin for a doctor!” In the chaos, Emma Pratt, Gareth’s teenage sister, grabbed a scalpel and stabbed me multiple times. Blood gushed from my arteries, and I collapsed in a pool of crimson. As my vision faded, I couldn’t understand what had happened. I had never taken illegal drugs. Besides, I was absolutely certain of Madam Pratt’s blood type. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment right before stepping into the operating room.

When Tessa Shoreman read Henry Jennings' cancer report, she immediately paid her hard-earned money of sixty thousand to the hospital. She had saved the money from working part-time while she was in university. However, she was worried the money was not enough, so she held back her fear as she sold a kidney to the black market to get more. As she walked to the ward door with a heavy bag filled with cash, she heard shrill laughter coming from inside. "That cheap woman, Tessa Shoreman, got tricked by us again. Haha!" Tessa's hand gave pause right when she was about to push the door open. What did he mean by saying she was tricked? Tessa looked through the glass on the door to see inside the ward. When she left, the man looked extremely weak, but he was now sitting up lazily in bed. Henry had a cigarette in his mouth, and he was blowing smoke rings nonchalantly. He did not look like a cancer patient at all. "It's been two years, and that woman still has no idea." "If she hadn't beaten Serene to first place, Henry would never have left behind his life as a rich heir and planned such an elaborate scheme to become a working-class man living in a cheap rental home. The way that cheap, penniless woman looks at Henry is so amusing." "We agreed that the punishment ends when Henry and Serene get engaged. It looks like time is almost up. We've probably punished her 108 times in the past two years." "The first time was lying to her that Henry didn't have a suit for a job interview. She worked tirelessly for 72 hours straight before she earned enough money for one, but that suit was given to the domestic help to use as a cleaning cloth. The second time was tricking her into believing Henry had a high fever. She forfeited during the finals of a scientific research competition to race home and take care of Henry in the hospital…" "Sigh. Too bad it's coming to an end. I'm going to miss entertaining myself with her."

My CEO wife, Cassandra Solis, has high hopes for me. In fact, she has drafted an elite training program for me. I have to work over 20 hours a day, finish every meal within 3 minutes, and spend no more than a minute in the restroom. "Honey, elites must achieve what normal people can't. Only when you become a true elite can I entrust the company to you." I can feel the major responsibility weighing down on my shoulders. Every day, I devote everything I have to work. Five years later, I've successfully taken the company public. I've also completed Cassandra's hardcore training program. But at the end-of-the-year gala, Cassandra hands over the position of the Executive Vice President—the same one that she's promised to me—to her newly-recruited assistant. Upon noticing my displeasure, Cassandra explains to me smilingly while holding a bouquet of flowers, "Oh, silly you! Having a completely useless boss is the final trial I've set up for you! Once you've completed this trial, I can finally hand the company to you!" But lines of text suddenly flash across my vision. "Oh, poor Harvey! He still has no idea that Cassandra has been training him just so he can earn more money in order to clear off Xavier's debt! Not only that, but she also steals the position Harvey has been longing for and gives it to Xavier! Cassandra really has crossed a line this time!" "You're being too dramatic. Cassandra is just paying Xavier back for his benevolence. She feels guilty for what she's done to Harvey, you know. Once she's done paying back her debt to Xavier, she'll pay attention to Harvey once again and live happily ever after with him." I'm stunned by what I see. Is this the actual purpose behind the elite training program? I'm about to pull out the terminal cancer diagnosis report, but I quickly stuff it back into my pocket. It's a shame that I'm about to die. I suppose that I can't live long enough to see that day.

Romance, seducción y un dulce sabor a venganza. Destruida por la traición de su prometido, Patricio Garza, Valeria Rivas hace lo impensable en una noche de desesperación: llama a la puerta de Damián Figueroa, el enigmático y peligrosamente atractivo magnate al que todos temen y desean en secreto. Lo que sigue es una noche de rendición absoluta, un fuego que consume toda razón y la deja marcada para siempre. Para Valeria, fue un acto impulsivo de revancha contra el hombre que le rompió el corazón. Poco imaginaba que acababa de caer en la red exquisitamente tejida por Damián, un hombre acostumbrado a conseguir siempre, exactamente, lo que desea. Valeria Rivas, antes la joya de la alta sociedad, admirada por su belleza, pero tristemente célebre por haberse humillado por amor a Patricio. La infidelidad la convirtió en el foco de los chismes de la ciudad, un hazmerreír público. ¿Quién diría que su caída más estrepitosa la llevaría directamente a los brazos del hombre más poderoso e inalcanzable de todos? Ella creyó que esa noche prohibida sería un borrón y cuenta nueva, un adiós silencioso. Él decidió que era solo el principio de su plan. Damián Figueroa no estaba dispuesto a soltar a la mujer que había despertado algo inesperado en él. Una noche, él la acorrala en su puerta. Su mirada arde con una mezcla de reproche y una posesión que la hace estremecer. —¿Creíste que podías usarme y luego marcharte como si nada? Desde entonces, escapar se vuelve una fantasía inútil. Cada noche, Damián la reclama, llevándola al límite entre el dolor y un placer adictivo que la deja temblando, agotada pero sintiéndose, para su propia confusión, más viva que nunca. «¡Dios mío! ¿Por qué este hombre... por qué es tan imposible resistirme a él?»

A las dos de la mañana, cuando llegó la llamada urgente de los Ancianos de la manada, yo acababa de salir arrastrándome de debajo de mi amor de la infancia, el heredero Alfa Slade. Mi cuerpo todavía me dolía por su ruda posesión. Como la única sanadora humana en toda la manada Bosque Negro, se me ordenó preparar hierbas como regalo para la alianza de apareamiento de Slade con la manada de las Espinas. Levanté con cuidado el brazo de Slade, que me rodeaba. Tras una noche de pasión, su poderoso cuerpo Alfa aún irradiaba un calor febril. Supuse que esta era solo otra princesa loba a la que él necesitaba rechazar, así que le toqué el pecho con picardía y le pregunté con una sonrisa: —Slade, ¿qué excusa vas a usar por nonagésima vez? ¿Que de repente te dio alergia la princesa? Él se dio la vuelta y me besó la frente, con los ojos pesados por el sueño. —Mi dulce niña, esta vez las hierbas deben ser preparadas por ti, y solo por ti. El éxito de esta alianza descansa sobre tus hombros. Me quedé helada. Durante los últimos diez años, yo había sido su consuelo secreto, la que calmaba sus ataques violentos de ira cada noche. Pensé que, tarde o temprano, me ganaría una ceremonia de unión formal. Pero en ese momento, lo comprendí. Yo era solo una conveniencia, un cuerpo para su uso personal. Si eso era todo lo que yo significaba para él, entonces reduciría a cenizas todo lo que teníamos. Hice una llamada a mi antiguo mentor en el Instituto Nacional de Medicina, el profesor Sterling. —Profesor, ese puesto de investigación sobre genética... ¿todavía está abierto? Estoy lista para regresar al mundo humano. Pero cuando ese Alfa arrogante, que decía que éramos "solo amigos" y "estrictamente profesionales", descubrió que ya no podía percibir ni un leve olor mío en el aire, perdió completamente la cabeza.