Family Truth Or Dare

I gave birth to five children for Chris, but four of them died young. At first, I thought they were just tragic accidents. Then one day, I brought Chris lunch and overheard him talking to his assistant by chance. “Finally, this baby’s bone marrow is a match for Lily’s. If it wasn’t, I’d have to kill him too!" That was when everything became clear to me. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I stayed calm, acting like everything was normal. But on the day his company went public, I exposed him in front of everyone, revealing that he had killed our four children. That day, the once-proud CEO, Chris Quinn, dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably and apologizing to me.

I was getting married—but I didn't tell my parents. It was my fifth wedding. The last four? Total disasters, thanks to them. Every time, they claimed something was "wrong" with the wedding car and somehow scared the guy off. First was my college boyfriend. We were solid—four years strong. My parents pushed for marriage... then ditched the idea on the big day because his car wasn't "fancy" enough. Second groom? My boss. He pulled up in a shiny new car they actually approved—until they didn't. Yanked me right out. Third time, they set me up with someone themselves. The guy brought ten cars to play it safe. Didn't matter. They shut it down before I even stepped outside. Fourth time? Same story. I kept wondering—what was so cursed about these cars? Why push me to get married, only to destroy it every single time? This year, I was trying again. Wedding number five. This time, I was pregnant—with the son of the country's richest man. I didn't tell my parents. Thought I'd finally outsmarted them. But just as I was about to get in the car... I saw them sprinting toward me.

My daughter and my husband didn't look alike at all. My father-in-law always complained about it, accusing me of cheating. In the end, he even took my daughter to get a paternity test done. As expected, they were not blood related. My father-in-law told his son to divorce me and not to give me anything. My husband even wanted to kill my daughter by choking her. "I've been raising another man's daughter all this while! I'll be humiliated as long as she's alive!" I immediately threw the paternity test report involving my husband and my father-in-law at them. This time, it's my mother-in-law that was nervous as I looked them in the eyes and said, "Why don't you take a good look and see who is the one who is not blood related!"

My mother was the Chosen Luna—the one who once conquered three powerful Alphas. When her mission was done, she vanished from this world, leaving behind only me, and the three Alphas who had once loved her with everything they had. My first father, Alpha Jeff Tanners, ruled the Silver Moon Pack—rich enough to buy half the continent. My second father, Alpha Kael Grey, commanded all the warriors of the Northern Alliance. My third father, Alpha Bran Theron, held every medical resource wolves and humans depended on. For eighteen years, I was their cherished little princess. Whatever I wanted, they gave—no questions, no hesitation. Until they brought home that girl—a fragile orphan named Arie Ryker. From that day on, everything changed. She told them I called her a filthy stray, unworthy of our pack. She said I led the young wolves at school to bully her. She said I tampered with her performance costume, that I caused her allergy, that I made her faint on stage. And they believed her. They stopped believing me. The ninety-ninth time they chose her over me, when they shouted, "Don't come back again!", I didn't argue. I just picked up my luggage and left. They thought I'd come running home like before—that my disappearance was just another way to make them see me. But when they found out I had left the pack for good, that my identity had been erased, that I could no longer be found, the three mighty Alphas finally broke.

I'm my brother's walking blood bank. Mom and Dad keep forcing me to go for blood transfusions to the point that I don't even weigh 80 pounds. Later, my brother's kidney fails. Mom and Dad want to gouge mine out to be transplanted into his body. At the peak of my despair, the thief who sneaks in from the ventilation hood secretly carries me out and helps me escape. He says, "I'm here for you. Don't be scared."

The day I died was the same day as my twin sister’s birthday party. She was in tears and was wrapped up in my boyfriend’s arms. My mom was seething with anger and kept calling me over and over again. My brother was clearly upset and sent me a text saying, "You’re so selfish. You just can’t stand to see anyone else happy." Even my usually quiet dad was furious and said, "She’s nothing but an ungrateful brat." I touched my chest. Thankfully, it did not hurt anymore.

After three years of living with my wife’s family, everyone thought they could treat me like a pushover. Me? I’m just waiting for her to hold my hand before I can give her the world.

My mom treated me like the dirt beneath her shoes but worshiped my cousin like a queen. Since I could walk, I had scrubbed clothes and cooked meals, but I would still be yelled at or smacked if I messed up. On the contrary, my cousin twirled in princess dresses and played the piano. She was cherished by my aunt and uncle like she was the center of their world. Then came the day everything changed. At my cousin's birthday party, my mom got drunk and spilled the secret—she switched me and my cousin at birth. It turned out that I wasn't her daughter; I was my aunt's daughter. I was over the moon. Finally, I thought I'd found my real family, people who might actually care about me. But when I told my aunt, she just smirked. "You think I didn't know? I don't want you. You'll never be my daughter." Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I couldn't understand. Why didn't anyone want me? But that day, I made a vow—I'd never beg for anyone's love again. Years later, when I got into Mayward University—the best educational institution in the country—I threw two DNA test reports on the table in front of them. For the first time, they both looked terrified.

I receive a mysterious parcel on my fifth wedding anniversary. Inside the box are photos of my husband, Luke Madden, being intimate with his assistant. The photos go back a long time—they seem to start from over five years ago. The latest one was taken half a month ago. He, his assistant, and their daughter are playing by the seaside. They smile brightly in the photo and look like a happy family of three. I suppress my devastation and take medication to terminate my pregnancy. Then, I pull out my phone to text my mother. "I'll do as you say and get a divorce, Mom. I'll be back next month to take over the company."

She coveted everything about me. My possessions, my experiences, and even my men. So one night, my mother pushed me into an older man's bedroom. The next day, she asked with a smug smile, "Nina, how was your night with the older guy?" I rubbed my sore waist, recalling his broad shoulders, long legs, and trim waist from the night before. I smiled as I answered her. "That fiancé of mine is all yours now. Just remember—I’ll be your Aunt-in-law in the future.”