Good Morning Too

Five years after Mom and Dad died, my sister, Miley Jenkinson, sent me away to a residential treatment center to "fix" me. She flung my luggage at me and roared, "You love fighting so much, Delia? Then, stay here. Maybe I'll come back for you once you've learned to behave." Next thing I know, Miley's sworn enemy is beating me senseless. Meanwhile, Miley loses it on the other end of the line. "Fight back! Why aren't you fighting back?" My gaze is blank as I say, "Because you said fighting made me one of the bad ones."

My cousin, Kaylee Langford, pushes me down the ski slope when there's an avalanche. My boyfriend, Atlas Ferguson, lifts her into his arms and leaves. He seems to have forgotten that I'm buried underneath the snow mountain. He leaves me stranded at the valley for seven days. He's furious when he finds me. "You should be glad nothing went wrong with Kaylee's arms. Otherwise, the only way you could atone would be to die on this mountain! Our wedding is canceled—we'll have it once you realize what you did wrong." He thinks I'll cry or kick up a fuss, but I merely nod and say, "Okay." He doesn't know that I've made a deal with the Moon Goddess. In six days, I'll be giving up the things that mean most to me—my love for Atlas and my memories of him. Once that happens, I'll forget everything about him and start afresh somewhere new. What does a wedding matter when the Ember Sloane who loved him is now dead?

3 years after getting married, I am still a virgin. "Lucien, let's get a divorce," I said in a peremptory tone that was long overdue, the most decisive farewell to this absurd marriage. We had been married for exactly three years—three years that, for me, were filled with nothing but endless loneliness and torment. For three years, the husband who should have stood by my side through every storm, Lucien Sullivan, had completely disappeared from my life as if he had never existed. He vanished without a trace, leaving me alone to endure this empty, desolate marriage. Today, I finally received his message: "I'm back. Come pick me up at the airport." When I read his words, my heart leapt with joy, and I raced to the airport, thinking that he finally understood my love and was coming back to me. But his cruelty was far worse than I could have ever imagined—he was accompanied by a pregnant woman, and that woman was Carla, my closest and most trusted friend. In that moment, all of my previous excitement, all my hope, and all of our shared laughter and tears turned into the sharpest of daggers, stabbing into my heart and leaving me gasping for air. He should know that it was his own hand that trampled our love underfoot, that his coldness and betrayal created this irreparable situation. But when he heard those words, he desperately clung to this broken, crumbling marriage, unwilling to let it end—almost as though doing so could rewind time and return everything to how it used to be. "Aurora, come back. I regret everything!" Regret? Those simple words stirred no emotion in me—only endless sadness and fury. My heart let out a frantic, desperate scream: It's too late for any of this!

I was the prime example of an understanding wife. The Supporting wife. The loving wife. The faithful wife. The trusting wife. I did everything. I gave my husband everything. Ten years of my life. My inheritance. My heart. And in the end, he repaid me with a suprise second family. He repaid me with A mistress and A daughter. That was the result of everything I ever gave him. But Here’s the thing—my husband thinks I’m stupid. He thinks I’m a fool, blinded by love. He mistook my loyalty for weakness. But he doesn’t know me. He underestimated the things I would do. He underestimated the thin line between love and hate. He underestimated me. And now, I crave revenge. He’s about to find out—revenge is a dish best served…with a glass of champagne to celebrate.

It has been 99 times that Henry and I have filed the application for divorce and then withdrawn it. Each time before finalizing the divorce, Henry always waits for me to humbly beg him to stay married. I turned down the offer to be the chief composer at a famous studio in Vienna because Henry didn't want a long-distance relationship. I deleted all my male friends because Henry didn't want me to be too friendly to them. I stopped wearing red lipstick, composing, and traveling alone, because he said married women should stay at home instead of being impulsive. Only after I finally manage to appease him will he allow me to withdraw the divorce application. After my 100th divorce application, as I was leaving, the deputy clerk asked me curiously: "So, when are you going to withdraw your application this time?" I looked at Henry's cold back in front of me, forced to smile with tears, and told myself in my heart— This time, there will be no withdrawal of the application. After the 30-day cooling-off period, we'll be officially divorced. But why did his love only find its voice when I had already walked away?

I died on the day I won the Global Medical Doctorate Award. Fresh from celebrating the sixteenth birthday of my younger sister, my parents, brother, and my fiancé finally returned home, but it was three hours after my death. My family photos were beaming with happiness on social media, while I laid in the suffocating basement drenched in blood. Before I died, I had struggled to slide my tongue across my phone screen in a desperate attempt to call for help. My parents and brother had blocked my number. Only my fiancé answered my call. The moment his voice came through, he snapped, "Winona, Winnie's sixteenth birthday is important. Stop trying to hijack attention with your pathetic excuses. Enough with the theatrics!" It murdered my last spark of survival. In that electronic death rattle, my heart flatlined. The 100th time they chose her. The 100th time they abandoned me for her. But it was also the last time. They thought I had ran way to get their attention again, and that if they taught me a harsh lesson, I would come crawling back pathetically. But not this time. Because I didn't leave home. I had been lying in the basement of my house.

CONTENT WARNING This story contains graphic sexual content and explicit scenarios intended for mature audiences 18 years and older. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Veronica Harper devoted five years of her life to a man who never loved her—because she was never more than a bet. Her devotion, vulnerability, and virginity were handed over… all for entertainment. She walked into her bedroom—and saw her best friend screaming her name from another man’s mouth. Her boyfriend’s mouth. Betrayed in her own bed, humiliated in public, and framed for a crime she didn’t commit. Then two lines on a pregnancy test changed everything. Pregnant, disowned, and hunted by lies she didn’t create, Veronica fled, carrying two secrets no one could ever touch—her unborn twins. Five years later, she returns for a funeral, keeping her children hidden and her heart locked away. She believes the past is buried. She’s wrong. Forced back into the orbit of the man she once gave herself to—and still loves—Veronica must protect the quiet life she built alone. But grief and betrayal are cruel guides, and the woman who destroyed her life now threatens everything she holds dear. The worst betrayal isn’t in the past. It’s happening now.

My husband's true love developed acute kidney failure, and I was the only matching donor. To save her life, he forced me to terminate my pregnancy at six months. Despite his gentle tone, he said the most heart-wrenching words, "Can't you be a little kinder? You're just losing a child, but she's losing her life." I resisted with every fiber of my being, but he threatened his own life to force my hand. On the operating table, both my child and I died. Meanwhile, his true love's transplant was a success, and she lived. Although the outcome was exactly what he wanted, he spiraled into madness upon hearing news of my death.

Catherine Smith was born into untouchable wealth, a girl with everything except the freedom to love by choice and not demand. When she falls for Elijah Blakes, the quiet, kind man who works at the repair shop, she thinks she’s found the one thing money can’t afford: real love. But Elijah is hiding a secret. He’s not poor. He’s not powerless. He’s the estranged heir of a rival empire— and he’s been pretending to be someone else to keep her close. When her powerful parents discover their forbidden relationship, they break them off mercilessly. Catherine is forced to marry into a loveless engagement. Elijah, heartbroken, disappears and marries someone else. Years later, fate brings them back together. He’s colder now. Married. Untouchable. But the fire between them never died. And now, with everything to lose and nothing left to hide, the only question left is: Will she risk everything again for a man who lied to win her heart or—will love truly the only thing they can’t afford?

"Your Honor, I'm just a girl" *** Ten years a prisoner, but she's been nothing but trouble. They call her "The Blood Widow" the infamous she-wolf who slaughtered two hundred wolves in revenge. Now, she’s being sent to the one place she can’t escape, Blackridge Prison, under the watch of Gamma Kael Blackstone, Moonshard’s most feared warrior. But Kael doesn’t know the truth. The woman he’s guarding is the only survivor of the North sea, Silvercrest Pack...the same pack he helped destroy under his father’s command. She remembers his face. Her eyes shakes him. And when chains turn to sparks, vengeance begins to blur with desire and obsession.