Four Years Later Novels & Stories

The day my fated mate, Blake, held his mating ceremony with the pack’s true princess, Morgana, I almost did it. I almost chugged a vial of rage serum, stormed the altar, and tore them both to shreds. A murder-suicide. A fitting end. But as my hand trembled around the vial, my phone rang. It was the doctor from the Alliance Medical Center. "Ma'am, you're pregnant..." The vial slipped from my fingers. I froze. Half an hour later, cheers erupted from the pack's Moonlight Altar. And just like that, I, the fake princess of the Crescent Moon pack, vanished from Silvercrest City. Just as everyone wanted. I fled a thousand miles to the Southern Alliance. I survived a rogue wolf riot and gave birth to my daughter. My own blood. My old life was completely gone. But four years later, they started showing up again, one by one. “Cora, we’ve been looking for you for years. You’re alive? Why didn’t you come home?”

When I woke up that morning and happened to glance at the mirror, a scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. Because on the face I had always taken such pride in, there was now a jagged, horrifying scar. As terror gripped me, a cool, detached female voice cut through the air beside me. "What are you shrieking about so early in the morning? Scared by your own ugly face?" I looked up in shock and realized the voice belonged to my girlfriend, Alicia. Only—she wasn't the same girl from yesterday. Gone was the youthful innocence I remembered. In its place, every movement, every glance radiated the allure of a mature woman. The words slipped out before I could hold them back. "Babe… you're gorgeous…" But Alicia's brows knit together, her gaze colder than ice. "Kurt, drop the act!" Act? I was at a loss. Why would she accuse me of pretending? "Don't call me the way you used to five years ago. It's disgusting." Five years ago? But… I'm still twenty-three… am I not?

The most powerful Godfather in the mafia underworld—Dante Costello—had an expensive diamond signet ring custom-made to fit my finger perfectly and sent straight to our home. He said that whoever could wear the ring would become the lady of his family. The Monroe family had long since fallen from grace. All that remained were four women. On ordinary days, we fought endlessly, tearing each other apart. Every single one of us wanted to marry Dante because marrying him meant preserving a life of dignity and comfort. In the first life, the fake heiress, Blair, secretly had the ring resized smaller and married into the family. Dante took one look at her, then had her thrown into the river to drown. “Not her.” In the second life, my cousin, Chloe, underwent plastic surgery to alter her fingers and force the ring on. Dante gifted her a staged car accident. “Still not her.” In the third life, my stepmother, Catherine, clenched her teeth and forced the ring onto her finger. Her blood hadn’t even dried when she married Dante. He coldly slashed her face, then locked her in the basement, where she slowly wasted away until death. By the fourth life, all three of them were terrified. None of them dared to marry him anymore, so they hurriedly pushed me forward instead. I put on the ring. This time, the size was perfect. Just when I thought my good days had finally begun, Dante stabbed me to death on our wedding night, his eyes burning red with madness. After my rebirth, the consigliere of the Dante family delivered the ring once again. This time, all four of us avoided it like the plague.

"We partied too hard last night and forgot to use protection—don't forget to buy morning-after pills for your wife." Looking at the woman's smooth bare back and the red mole on her neck in the photo, I felt absolutely nothing. Again. Five years of marriage, and this wasn't the first time. Kathy liked to test me this way. She called it her "little experiment." The first time, she "accidentally" left a receipt for condoms on the nightstand. I got angry and confronted her, but she just smiled with contempt. "Why are you so petty? My girlfriends and I bought that on purpose just to see how you'd react." The second time was on our wedding anniversary. A guy showed up at our door with a bouquet of roses, ready to propose to her right then and there. I got into a fistfight with him, fell down a flight of stairs, and broke three ribs. That's when she finally strolled out and told me the guy was an actor, and the whole thing was supposed to be a surprise for me. Five years. Her games kept getting more extreme. From flirty texts to explicit photos, she kept pushing my limits. And I'd gone from furious to completely numb. Since she loved testing me so much, fine—I'd give her exactly what she wanted.

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses. Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother." Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had. "Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury." But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room. In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars. "It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?" What she never knew was this— On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

The night before my fiancé, Soren, and I were supposed to leave for Northern Europe to start our new life, the sounds of a lively discussion drifted from his private club. "Christ, Boss, are you insane? Why the sudden marriage alliance with the Rosetti family to make a play for Italy? Didn't you say you were getting out of the life with Abby and heading north?" Soren leaned back into a leather sofa, his voice nonchalant and muffled by a cloud of smoke. "Plans change. Besides, remember, I'm the one who made her who she is." "Once she sees the new empire I'm building, that little canary will come flying right back to my cage. The woman can't live without me." I stood in the shadows of the club, a wine glass in my hand, a dull ache blooming in my chest. The anniversary gift I had so carefully chosen for Soren was still in my purse, waiting for me to give it to him. I slipped out of the smoke-filled club, tossed the gift into the nearest trash can, and booked a one-way ticket to Northern Europe. But what he didn't know was that just as he could betray our future for Monica, I could abandon him for mine. All those years we spent dancing with death were never just for his sake.

My parents adopted an AI daughter. The day she came home, I suddenly became the most hated person in the family. Dad said I was a thorn in his side. Mom thought I couldn't hold a candle to Sophia, the AI. My brother Jack yelled at me, "All you do is make trouble!" I was so furious that I shoved Sophia to the floor. Mom's face went dark. She struck me hard across the face. "Sophia is your sister! If you were even half as good as her, I wouldn't be this angry!" "You're going to the Academy of Exemplary Obedience to learn how to be a proper, obedient daughter." I was sent away to "swap places" with an AI daughter. Three years later, my parents and brother came to pick me up. They called my name, but I didn't move. The headmaster smiled and said, "Mrs. Walker, you have to say 'Activate' before Unit EVA will respond."

Five years ago, I entered a marriage of convenience with the most powerful man in Z City to escape a family determined to control my life. I believed it was a transaction, a protection in exchange for my name. I never expected to fall in love. And I never expected to leave. When misunderstandings, silence, and the shadow of his past shattered what we built, I signed the divorce papers and disappeared, carrying a secret he was never meant to know. Now I’m back. Stronger. Independent. And no longer alone. The man I once walked away from has discovered the truth: the twins at my side are his heirs. He wants answers. He wants his children. And he wants the woman he lost back in his life. But love born from power and deception does not earn forgiveness easily. As inheritance battles erupt, old truths surface, and control gives way to consequence, I must decide whether the man who once broke my trust deserves a second chance. This time, I’m not choosing survival. I’m choosing freely, on my own terms.

Austin Chandler is a man of grace and honor who descends from a noble lineage with an influential background. Because of that, he's put on a pedestal and is revered by all. The four-year relationship he has with Natalie Sherman proves to everyone that she's the love of his life. But a "cheating" scandal forces them to break up in the most humiliating manner. Five years later, as soon as Austin and Natalie are reunited with each other, he wastes no time in pinning her against the wall. Immense hatred swirls in his eyes the whole time. "Since you've already disappeared from my world, you should've put more effort into covering your tracks. Don't ever let me see you again." Natalie replies crisply, "Fine." While Austin has nothing but hatred for her, he still goes nuts and loses control over her as well. When the truth finally breaks, so does his heart. "Marry me, Natalie. Whatever your struggle is, let me carry it with you."

My mom has been brainwashing me with her "quid pro quo" rule. Apparently, I must work hard in earning money just to get whatever I want. A round of doing the dishes earns me 50 cents. Mopping the floor once grants me one dollar. If I get a full score in my exams, that'll be five dollars. In order to buy a pair of white sneakers that I had had my eye on for a long time, I spent three months picking up trash from the streets. I lived like a maid who was paid on one-time services in this home. When I was a high school senior, I fainted during my homeroom period due to long periods of malnutrition. Even though my doctor suggested to my mom to pay attention to my nutrient intake, she began calculating the costs in front of my sick bed instead. "Your hospitalization costs 300 dollars. On top of that, you have a 200-dollar medical bill to settle. All of these costs will be reflected on your wedding gifts in the future, Emily." But when I turned my head, I saw a student sitting on the bed being fed chicken noodle soup by her own mother. Said mother was so heartbroken by her daughter's illness that she kept shedding tears as well. At that moment, my outlook on the world, that I had been maintaining for 18 long years, finally crumbled into dust. It turned out that not all children needed to work hard just to feel their parents' love. After getting discharged from the hospital and returning home, I finally sobered up the moment I noticed the sneakers that my younger brother, Arnold Baird, wore that cost several thousands of dollars. Then, I tore the family portrait into pieces and didn't hesitate to fill in the university that was located the furthest from home when it was time for me to submit my post-graduation details. Ten years later, my mom calls me on the phone. She starts crying to me how Arnold has swindled her out of her pension. Apparently, he's even sold the house just so he can elope with his girlfriend. Not only is my mom alone now, but she doesn't have a place to stay as well. I just smile as I throw her a piece of rag. "You want to live with me, huh? No problem. You'll earn 50 cents for every window you wipe. You can earn your rent like this."