He Hates It

I had been Silas Sterling's mate for seven years. We decided to get tattoos of each other's names. This was a Binding Tattoo that represented eternal love in the Moonstone Wolf pack. It had the power to bind mates eternally. When I got the tattoo, I realized the malicious words 'Public Male Amenity' had been tattooed on my chest. It chilled me to the bone. My adopted sister, Greta Pound, was the one who tattooed me. She covered her mouth as she laughed. "Don't you always enjoy attracting the attention of all the male werewolves by dressing so skimpily in the pack, Freya? I'm just helping you to publicize this." Greta was a female werewolf I had saved. Why was she treating me this way when I treated her like my sister? I grabbed her hair angrily, but Silas pushed me violently to the side as he pulled Greta protectively into his arms. He frowned as he berated me unhappily, "Greta was just joking with you. Why are you so mad about it?" I stared at his bare chest where my name should be tattooed. However, the name 'Greta' was there instead. She looked up at me from Silas' arms and smiled innocently yet tauntingly at me. "Silas said our names rhymed, Freya, so I played a joke by tattooing my name on him. You aren't mad about this, are you?"

At 4:30 in the morning, my husband answered a call from his ex-girlfriend and accidentally put it on speaker. "Jason, my daughter, Alison, has a fever—over 104. I can't get a ride..." The sudden sound of sobbing jolted me awake. Jason hurriedly turned off the speaker and lowered his voice. "Send me your location. I'll come right away." It seemed he had forgotten that today was my first prenatal checkup.

Before my wedding to Sophie Bennett, the impoverished student I've been sponsoring for ten years posts a photo on social media. "Successfully moved into the new apartment. Soph prepared such a big, soft bed for me!" In the photo, Zachary Wells lies sprawled on the wedding bed I bought for Sophie and my new home, taking a smug selfie with his hand waving at the camera. He's even wearing my wedding ring on his ring finger. Zachary also comments on his own post, "Just thinking about how I'm the first man to lie on this bed fills me with overwhelming happiness!" I reply with a question mark under his comment. The next second, Sophie's call comes through. "I'm just letting Zach experience the warmth of home. Why are you being so passive-aggressive?" In the background, I hear Zachary softly trying to calm her down. "Soph, he's not worth getting angry over." Hearing that, Sophie laughs and banters with him, then abruptly hangs up on me. The two of us have been together for ten years, from ages 18 to 28, and we've finally made it to our wedding day. But now, I no longer intend to go through with it.

My fiancé, Dominic, heir to the Carvalho crime family, vanished for four days. I thought a rival family had put a bullet in his head. Then I saw his ex’s Instagram story. A shot of them in bed. The caption: He still knows every inch of me. His face was hidden, but his hand wasn't. And on it, the ring I gave him, resting on her skin. That night, Dominic came home. He brought me white roses, my favorite. I asked him why. Why he'd lie. Why he'd sleep with her. He brushed it off. Just a "misunderstanding." I was done. I threw the ring in his face. Burned the wedding dress. Told him we were over. He thought I was just throwing a fit. He didn't get it. Not until he realized I was walking away for good. Then he panicked. Begged me to come back.

Selene Quinn Six years ago, I walked away from Lucien Ashbourne. No goodbyes. No confrontation. Just silence… and two unborn children he never knew about. They said I was lucky to marry into power — even though he was half-dead man. They didn’t see the contract, the coma, or the cold man who treated me like a threat. Even after I saved him. Now I’m back. Different name. Bigger title. And the first face I see on a Manhattan billboard? His. He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know we’re about to become competitors. And he has no idea what I’ve built while he was busy forgetting me. Lucien Ashbourne She left without a word. Good. She was a mistake forced into my life while I was too broken to stop it. But I never signed those divorce papers. And now… she’s back. New name. Same eyes. Running the company threatening my biggest deal. She’s hiding something. She always was. But this time, I won’t let her vanish. Not until I know why she left. Not until I remember what we did that night. Not until she realizes... she was mine all along.

Thalassa Cross gave up everything for love — her dreams, her career, even her pride. Once celebrated as the “Queen of Ice,” she melted her ambition for a man who swore he’d protect her. But love, she learned, could be cruel. On the night of her third wedding anniversary, Thalassa walked in on her husband — the Beta she’d defended and adored — tangled in bed with her sister. Their betrayal shattered her, but what broke her even more was their laughter. Their arrogance. Their belief that she’d stay silent. They were wrong. When the world turned its back on her, Thalassa turned cold. If her husband can cheat, then she knew she could do better. Her rebellion began the night she met the Grayson Twins — Kael and Kieran — the Alphas of the rival BlueMoon Pack. Powerful. Merciless. Everything her husband wasn’t. What began as revenge soon spiraled into something darker… something real. Now, trapped between the past that betrayed her and the men who would burn the world to keep her, Thalassa must decide: Will she destroy the pack that broke her? Or let love destroy her again? Because this time, she’s not playing to survive — she’s playing to win and show everyone that not only men deserves loyalty in marriage—woman do too.

On the day I was supposed to marry Cyrus Lloyd, his crush returned from abroad. She held a notice which said she did not have long to live and smiled sadly. “Cyrus, I thought you’d let me wear a wedding dress one last time.” To grant her wish, Cyrus gave her my wedding dress. He even made her as the bride instead of me. He locked me inside the dressing room. Through the door, he said in annoyance, “We still have a future together. What’s wrong with letting her have this?” Later, a rich guy who secretly had a crush on me proposed to me. With teary eyes, Cyrus begged, “Do you really not care about me anymore because of him?” I took a step back. “We don’t have a future anymore. Why should I care about you?”

Fresh from a business trip, my husband swept me into his arms and pulled me toward the bathroom for a passionate shared bath. As our lips met in a dizzying kiss, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye: the toilet lid was down. Seven years ago, after reading an online article claiming that men urinating while standing could splash bacteria onto the seat, he insisted we always keep the lid up for hygiene's sake. In all our years of marriage, it had never been lowered until now. A chill ran through me. The bathroom was pristine, not a stray hair in sight. But then I noticed the shower's water temperature was set five degrees higher than the 98.6°F he always preferred. Men preferred cooler water, and women warmer. In an instant, I realized that Nick Doyle had betrayed me.

I took my last breath when his hatred for had reached it's peak. I chose to take my own life, when I could no longer bear the wait of his hatred When my ashes was handed to Leo, my mate, he smiled and patted it. He was pleased I had finally died. “Filthy thing. She should’ve died a death more painful than this,” he said as he tipped the urn sending it crashing to the ground. He believed I had killed his first love. Despite all our years together, he was waiting for this moment to get his revenge. The air carried my ashes as he stepped over them and walked away. But not long after he returned in regret begging to have me returned to him.

A doomsday blizzard hit just before Christmas. The zombie virus exploded. Our fortress was a top-tier ski resort. Now, it was about to fall. My husband, Ethan, was a former Navy SEAL. Our head of security. He swore his defense system was foolproof. The blizzard knocked out the power. But he’d sent all the backup generator fuel to the summit. Just to light up a Christmas tree for Chloe. He even had a few guards up there with them, throwing a party. In my last life, I fought him. I herded everyone into the last bunker. But Chloe whined. A crowded Christmas was boring, she said. She stormed out of the safe room and ran right into the jaws of the horde. Ethan carved a path through the horde to secure the walls. Then he sat in silence, cradling Chloe’s bones. He pretended he wanted to start over with me. He let me get pregnant with his child. The day I gave birth, he knocked me unconscious and dumped me into a nearby zombie nest. He always rescued me just before I died. He’d inject me with a serum that kept me from turning. Nineteen times, he threw me to the zombies. I died in agony as they tore the flesh from my bones. "If you hadn't sabotaged my defenses," he’d hissed, "if you hadn't crashed our party and led the horde right to us, Chloe would still be alive!" I opened my eyes. I was back. Christmas Eve.