Female Izuku

Everyone in Sparrowville said that Margaret Chapman was the happiest woman in town. Gavin Hartley showered her with gifts—a sapphire ring, an asteroid after her name—treating her like she was the center of his universe. Margaret had always believed it, too. Until the day she accidentally discovered the woman he had been hiding in his villa. For ten years, he had kept her there—his childhood sweetheart. After she lost herself to schizophrenia, she had said, "Margaret is me." And so, for nearly seven years, Gavin had courted Margaret and cherished her, playing out a love story that had never truly been hers. Margaret's heart crumbled to ash after she found out the truth. She left without looking back, moving to a country thousands of miles away. But she never imagined that Gavin would lose himself to rage, his eyes burning red as he nearly tore Sparrowville apart. "Where the hell is Margaret?!"

By the third year of my mate bond with Caesar, the reigning Alpha, the she-wolf who had once abandoned him returned. For the thousand-and-first time, I launched into my well-rehearsed performance—the devoted, desperate mate. "Do you still love me?" I asked. And for the thousand-and-first time, Caesar turned away without a word, his silence a colder rejection than any shout. On the surface, I was the picture of heartbreak. Behind closed doors, I went straight to Caesar's uncle to collect a hefty payment for my performance. "Three years of this acting," I said. "Can I leave now?"

The day I get engaged, my brother brings home a woman who's my age. He says she's his actual sister and accuses me of stealing her life for the past 20 years. Even my fiancé says she's his rightful wife. I'm kicked out of home. Meanwhile, my brother and fiancé take the true heiress traveling. They even give her the villa they had prepared for me. Half a month later, they suddenly remember it's my birthday. To their dismay, they find that they can't see me anymore—I've joined a secret ten-year project organized by the nation. They're supposed to be happy, but they now regret everything.

My husband's ex, Sarah Miller, once ditched him to chase a rich guy. When she came back, she was crippled, dragging along two scrawny kids. The day I found out I was pregnant, Jake Carter demanded a divorce. "Sarah is too weak to manage alone, and her kids need someone. I've got to step up," he said. I nodded calmly and went straight to the hospital for an abortion. In my past life, I fought to keep the baby and refused the divorce, even exposing Sarah's dirty secrets to the world. Her reputation was ruined. She became a pariah, and eventually, she took her kids and ended it all. In her blood-soaked suicide note, she blamed me for driving her to despair. Thus, Jake hated me to the core. He hired thugs to assault me, posted the video online, and spread lies that I was a cheater. In the end, he threw me and our child into the sea. As I died, he snarled, "This is what you get for killing Sarah!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day he demanded a divorce. This time, I agreed on the spot. Jake was thrilled, dreaming of winning Sarah back. What he didn't know was that, in my past life, I uncovered why Sarah was dumped. Her private life was a mess, and she caught AIDS.

When I went to buy a new house, all I found was crumpled newspaper where my savings should've been. I almost called the cops—until I found out Tony Jarrett, my own husband, had blown seven years of my hard-earned cash on a shiny new motorcycle. For Pauline Schmidt. His ex. I asked why. He just shrugged. "She's a single mom. Life's tough. This way, she won't have to walk so much." I wanted to scream, but I swallowed it down. Made him at least get an IOU from her. While I was busy sourcing stuff for the factory, a flood warning hit our town. And Tony? Out buying toy cars with Pauline and her kid. Our son was home alone, trying to stay above water. I was back. Like life hit rewind and dropped me into that exact day. The day he gave her the motorcycle. I saw them—laughing, tight, like their own little picture-perfect family. But I didn't cry this time. Didn't beg. Just turned and walked off.

"I…...Supreme Alpha Sheila Mahamanga of all the supernatural world…….hereby send you Eden Rastol back painfully to the abyss…... of eternal pain….., may you never reincarnate again!" Sheila, queen of the supernatural world and the present time is….the Supreme Alpha of all werewolves in existence. She has lived for thousands of years and stopped aging at the age of twenty-eight. She's Ruthless, a female Alpha that portrays danger, evil, and most especially death. She was cursed by the moon goddess to be mateless for the rest of her life, because of her cruel nature, misuse of power, and constant death punishment. Since then her evil has tripled as she becomes unstoppable. She controls the whole pack of the werewolf, she is the Supreme Alpha, other Alpha's crawl to the bare floor at the mention of her name as no one dares utter her judgment except you are ready to die!!! Fate becomes twisted when all of a sudden on the full moon, she finds herself being mated to an Omega. She was angered, as she roars in horror, daring the moon goddess Eden Rastol was a born Omega In Harlet Moon Pack. He was twenty-five years old. He lives with his parents who cherish him so much, regardless of his weak nature, but fate has always had a blow on him. He has been rejected two times by his various mate, but his last rejection left him shattered. He was thrown out of his pack and fate being funny, he found himself in Blackheart, where the Supreme Alpha lives in. Funny enough he was unfortunately mated to Supreme Alpha Sheila for the fourth time.

Albert Roosevelt was the crush I was never meant to have. Like an idiot, I believed loving someone meant giving them everything, even if they didn't care about you. So, I trailed after him like a desperate puppy, bending over backward to meet his every whim. When he couldn't afford tuition, I begged Dad to fund him, sending him to the best schools. When his worn-out clothes made him a laughingstock, I pitied him and showered him with designer labels. And what did he do? He used what I gave him to chase after a gold-digging campus belle. To keep up appearances, he blew through money like it grew on trees. He even spread rumors that he was the real heir to the Roosevelts. To him, I was just an ATM. "Your family's loaded. It's not like you'll miss a few hundred grand. If you're gonna be stingy, maybe you should stop following me around," he said when his wallet ran dry. And like a fool, I believed that if I kept paying, someday, he'd love me back. After graduation, I funded his startup. The second it took off, he married the campus belle. He had the nerve to claim he earned everything through nothing but hard work. So, I crashed his wedding, and he buried a knife in my chest. "Only when you're dead, Eve Roosevelt. Only then will my pathetic past stay buried." When I opened my eyes again, I was face-to-face with a scowling Albert. "You can't scrape together a few hundred thousand dollars? It's Bianca's birthday. Are you trying to humiliate me?" I looked around the room and rolled my eyes. "Sure, I'll pay. But first? Kneel. You look pretty enough. Consider it charity, peasant."

On New Year's Eve, I prepare a feast. The clock strikes twelve, but my husband, Vincent Porter, still isn't home. My daughter, Lorelei Porter, tugs at my sleeve and holds up my phone. "Look Mommy, Daddy is at this lady's house!" Vincent has posted an update on Twitter. He is with Christine Snow, his childhood sweetheart. They are smiling at the camera, with a boy who looks about ten standing between them. In front of them sits a swan-shaped cake. The caption reads, "The most special day for the most special you." My heart sinks into my stomach. A marriage that came later in life can never compete with a pair of childhood sweethearts. I accept defeat.

When my husband Jason Carter’s first love, Renee Lynn, showed up at our doorstep heavily pregnant in my past life, I still refused to divorce him. She was soon accidentally pushed down the stairs by debt collectors, killing both her and the baby. Ever since then, Jason hated me to the core. Not only did he cheat and keep a mistress, but he also conspired with her violent, mentally unstable brother to kill me. Before I took my last breath, he sneered, “You owe Renee a life. It’s time to pay up.” Fine. I must have been blind. After my reincarnation, I decisively signed the divorce papers, abandoned my savior complex, and stopped meddling in others’ fates. If he wanted to be a pathetic simp, I would let him be.

In the sixth year of my marriage with Zach Elroy, his workplace finally allocated us a small, two-room flat. I was overjoyed. I told our daughter she would finally have a bed of her own. But Zach said coldly, "This room is for Jennifer and her daughter. You and Kathy can keep sleeping on the floor." In my past life, we fought bitterly over it. He eventually gave in. But while I was away on a work trip, he went back on his word. He brought Jennifer Cross into our home and made our daughter, Kathy, sleep on the floor. That night, when Kathy came down with a high fever and cried out that she felt sick, he was reading Jennifer and her daughter a bedtime story. Our daughter passed away that night. Now, in this life, I calmly laid out the bedding on the floor and said, "Whatever."