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The night before my mating ceremony with Alpha Garrett Northwood of the Silverpine Pack, he held a grand Luna ceremony for my silver-poisoned stepsister behind my back. He held Serena close under the starlit sky, his smile tender in a way I'd never seen: "You're the only one I truly love, Serena." "Even though Maya and I are already registered as mates with the Alpha Council, she'll never have my heart. You're the only one I recognize as my Luna." The pack members cheered and blessed them as they completed the ceremony with joy. I watched it all without crying or screaming. Instead, I quietly scheduled an abortion appointment. I've loved Garrett Northwood for twelve years, ever since I first shifted as an adult. But his heart still only had room for my stepsister Serena. If that's how it was, I'd let go. Later, I joined the secluded Herbal Research Center of the Alpha Council. I left Garrett nothing but a mate bond dissolution agreement. But for some reason, Garrett—who had always treated me with disdain—suddenly went crazy begging me not to leave.

There's this unspoken rule in werewolf high society: no matter how tight the mate bond is, business banquets mean booking a hostess. Six years into our bond, my Alpha mate—Brian Stormclaw—met one. Louise. A scrappy Omega with too much pride and not enough sense. When he offered her his black card, she pushed it back and said, "I'm not some Alpha's pampered pet." Brian? Instantly hooked. Like the Moon Goddess herself had dropped her in his lap. He chased her like he wanted her mark on every pack crest. But he forgot something—I was the Luna he wrote ninety-nine love letters to before I said yes. I didn't beg. Didn't snap. Every time he chose her over me, I lit another letter. First one burned on our anniversary—he bailed to wait outside Louise's flower shop, just to walk her home. Letter thirty-four? He left me stranded in a dangerous hunting ground to keep her company. Said she was scared of the dark. Fifty-two? Torched the second he replaced our wedding photo with some sketch she made on. ... And when the ninety-ninth turned to ash, so did whatever was left of us. I walked away. For good.

After being in love with Dylan for seven years, I planned to propose to him at his birthday party. But then I overheard him speaking to his friend in Italian: "You like Lydia? I'll give her to you. I'm tired of her anyway. Sarah is better—she's a dancer, young and sexy." He thought I couldn’t understand, but he didn’t know that I had learned Italian for him. I threw away the ring I had designed for him, tore apart the wedding suit I had sewn and left. Our friends were all speculating how long it would take before I came back. Dylan sneered with disdain, "She’s just an orphan with no family. Where could she go without me? Three days at most." But to his surprise, I never returned and found a new home.

My best friend Joanne and I were mated to Beta Shawn and his older brother, Alpha Edwin, on the same day. But three years after our bonds were formed, their childhood sweetheart, Carmen, returned. Both brothers were drawn to her like moths to a flame, and Joanne and I—once their mates—became little more than shadows in their lives. Joanne, unable to endure the cold neglect her mate had shown her, begged me to escape with her—and I agreed. But the night before we were supposed to leave, she leapt from Moonlit Crag and ended her own life. When I called Shawn, her mate, he didn’t believe me. Instead, he scoffed: “Jose, don’t you think this childish little trick is beneath you? Trying to get my attention like this?” When I reached out to Edwin, he only smirked, voice colder than the winds atop that cliff. “Jose, do you really expect me to believe you? You’re just jealous of Carmen. Don’t involve me in her drama anymore. She’s not worth the trouble—and neither are you.” Their indifference shattered what little hope remained. So I severed the bond with Edwin… and left without a word. But when Shawn finally learned the truth, he collapsed at Joanne’s grave, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. And Edwin? He howled into the night, desperation twisting his voice as he roared: “Come back, Jose! I won’t lose my mate—not you too!” But by then, I was already gone. And I had no intention of returning.

After eight years of marriage, my husband ignored my protests and brought his so-called cancer-stricken first love into our home. “You heartless woman! You don’t have an ounce of compassion! You’re not even worth a single strand of Luna’s hair!” Even my son chimed in, shouting that if I didn’t let Luna Miller in, he wouldn’t acknowledge me as his mother. That was it. I was done. I divorced him and accepted an invitation to return to the design world—back to the top where I belonged. But then they saw the forged cancer diagnosis. And suddenly, the tears came. “Baby, I was tricked! It was always you—I’ve only ever loved you!” “Mom, don’t leave me! I’m your only child!” I didn’t even look at them. Who let these crazy dogs in? They’re in my way—I’ve got an award to accept.

After I became pregnant, my figure changed, and my face grew puffy. My fiancé began to treat me with a subtle, almost imperceptible sense of disdain. When the baby was five months along, it happened to be Valentine's Day. That day, he finally agreed to take our wedding photos, something I'd been hoping for. But just as we arrived at the bridal studio, his phone rang. "Mike, I just got back to the country. My friends are hosting a gathering, and everyone's bringing their boyfriends. Could you come and pretend to be mine?" It was a few short sentences, yet it completely altered the expression on his face. He turned abruptly, stepping out of the studio with a look of urgency. "Lucy's back. I have to go see her," he said. Hearing those words, a fire of rage ignited inside me, one I couldn't suppress. "For her? You're going to leave me here alone?" I demanded. "Do you even know how long I've been looking forward to today? It's Valentine's Day, and instead of staying with me, you're going to be with her?" His impatience flared visibly as I stood my ground. Without a word, his hand pushed me aside, and he strode out of the shop. "We can take wedding photos any day. I'm the only one Lucy has in this country. I have to go see her," he said. Then, gripping my wrist with alarming force, he shoved me, sending me sprawling to the floor. Without a backward glance, he got into his car and drove off. I felt a sudden, wet heat flowing from my lower abdomen. Pain surged through my stomach, sharp and unbearable, as my consciousness started to fade. A wave of despair and terror consumed me. Someone. Anyone. Please save my baby.

I am the Lycan King's only daughter and the rightful heir to the werewolf crown. When I was seven, my father chose four of the strongest and most striking alpha heirs from the four great packs to be my potential mates. He poured endless resources into raising them, grooming them to one day help me manage the council. It was not long before they became the center of attention of the entire kingdom. Everyone called them ‘The Apex Four’. However, I always knew they were not really interested in me, but in what they could gain from me. Even the one I secretly loved, Thorne, started to drift away from me when he became interested in another woman. After my father was gravely injured, he asked me which of the four I wanted to mate with. I could only give him a bitter smile. Rather than choose, I opted to draw lots and let the Moon Goddess decide my fate. Fate chose the most infamous of them all: Lucian. On the day I announced my mate, the last thing I expected was Thorne to break down and beg me not to leave.

When a hurricane comes, my husband, the leader of a rescue team, takes away everything we've stored at home so he can save his true love. I plead, "Leave some for me. I'm pregnant." He shakes me off. "How can you be so evil? The windows at Lottie's home have already been blown away. Don't tell me you're going to sit by and watch her die! She's not like you—you're not afraid of everything. The hurricane will be over soon, so you won't need any of this stuff." After that, he leaves without another look back. What he doesn't know is that there's also a crack in our home's windows.

My boyfriend and his godsister were caught by the vice squad at a scandalous party. When I went to the police station to bail him out, he was disheveled, his exposed skin marked with dried candle wax and whiplash scars. His godsister, Sonia, clung to him, sobbing into his arms. “The light in Sonia’s house was broken. It was too dark, so I went to accompany her,” he said. I couldn’t help but wonder, Did he accompany her all the way to the police station too? In the past, I would’ve demanded an explanation, but I was too tired now—too drained to argue. Without a word, I signed the papers. The vice squad officer looked at me and asked, “Are you Anthony Leeman’s family?” I shook my head. “No, I’m not familiar with him. Just a colleague.” Lowering my gaze, I typed out a message to my father: [I agree to get married. Give me three days, and I’ll marry him.]

Everyone knew Peter was crazy about me. But five years into our marriage, he knocked up his mentor's daughter. Crying, Cindy grabbed his hand. "I won't let Yuna know." Peter just stared her down. "You'd better not. I'm only helping you because I owe your dad. Don't get any bright ideas." She had the baby on my birthday. Peter looked at the kid like he was already in love. Then Cindy, all smug, texted me: [Ms. Zander, don't you think my baby deserves a dad with a real title?] I signed the divorce papers and caught a flight to Hampsburg.