Kion Death

Rogues suddenly attacked the werewolf hospital. My husband, the captain of the rescue team, rushed over. Everyone thought he had come to protect me. But he rushed straight to his teammate Ayla, completely oblivious to the rogue behind him raising a dagger. Without thinking, I lunged forward and pushed him out of the way. But to my surprise, he grabbed me and held me in front of his childhood friend. The dagger pierced my abdomen, killing our pup. When my colleagues tried to save me, my mate, Paolo Greco, pulled them away. “Save Ayla first! If anything happens to her, I’ll sue your hospital in the werewolf court!” My colleagues looked at him in shock. “But your mate is bleeding heavily! She can’t even stand up now! Ayla only has a cut on her arm; her condition isn’t critical.” I clutched my bleeding abdomen. Heartbroken, I told my colleagues to save her first. “Forget it. Save her first.” Paolo, you saved my life once. I am returning the favor. From that moment, we owe each other nothing. We should never meet again.

My boyfriend's first love and I roll down the stairs at the same time. I'm unscathed, but she passes out. He's furious and orders people to break my limbs, drug me, and throw me into a kennel. "I'll make you pay a hundredfold for the pain Jean experienced!" I think about the hurricane warning I saw earlier and endure the pain while pleading with him. "Please don't do this, Jason! I'll die!" He sneers at my begging and holds Jean close while she continues acting like she's unconscious. He snaps, "It's too late to beg for mercy now!" It's pouring outside, and the wind whips everything around. Thunder cracks and lightning flashes, but I'm still thrown outside. Two days later, Jason instructs someone to get me. "Go get her. Jean wants to have her cooking!" What he doesn't know is that I'll never stand before him again. Not alive, anyway.

The night of the Blood Moon Hunt, our pack was ambushed. We were being slaughtered. Yet my mate, Alpha Ridley, chose to save his first love, Yolia, without a second thought. He told me to stay behind and hold the line, claiming it was my duty as Luna. He claimed his precious Yolia was a vital warrior who needed to be protected. Even my own son, Leo, stood by Yolia's side to defend her. I was captured by the rival pack, tortured with a silver dagger until I was on the brink of death. Just as I was about to give up, a voice echoed in my mind. "The blood of the Luna Prime flows through your veins. You have three days. Let your life end before the eyes of your fated mate, or the one you love most, and you will be reborn." A power surged inside me, calling to me. I ran toward that glorious death, embracing it. But as I drew my last breath, I saw Ridley and our son, Leo, fall to their knees, howling my name, begging for a return I would never grant them.

A week before my death, my Alpha mate's childhood sweetheart Sarah returned to our pack. That night, he didn't come home. The next day, I received his mind-link. "I've purchased a mate-bond severing potion from the pack witch. Come home now so we can break our bond." In our pack, the Moon Goddess was very serious about mate bonds. Once two wolves chose to form a mate, the mate bond could not be severed, unless the witch's potion was used. This potion was very expensive, costing up to $500,000 per bottle. I smiled bitterly. He was very generous to sever the bond with me. I coughed twice before answering, "I'm in the healing center." His voice turned ice cold. "I don't care where you are. Even if you're about to die, you need to come back." I calmly replied, "Fine." He didn't know that I really was dying. Three years ago, during a rogue wolf attack, I blocked the silver dagger for him to protect him while he was unconscious. I was poisoned by silver and became weaker and weaker over the past three years. I only had one week left to live. On the day of my funeral, my mate was busy holding his marking ceremony with Sarah. Later, he knelt before my grave in pristine white ceremonial clothes, clutching my headstone and whispering through tears. "If there's another life after this one, I still want to marry you." That day was his marking ceremony with his childhood sweetheart. It was also my funeral.

On the day of his funeral, I discovered that my fiance, Zachary Gray, had come back to life. His friend says teasingly, "You sure know how to stage an act, Zachary. Your fiancee cried so much over your fake death that she almost went blind!" Zachary smiles indifferently and says, "Stepping into marriage is like taking one foot into the grave. Of course, I have to have some fun first." I stand in the shadows and watch him bend down to kiss another woman. He then points at the tombstone I had carefully and painstakingly carved for him, laughing until he can't catch his breath. Watching him, I feel like an utter fool. I take out my phone and call my father. "Dad, since Zachary is dead, our engagement is null. Let's pull out of the collaboration with the Gray family's company."

After the plane crash, my body was never recovered. My soul drifted back to the home I hadn't stepped foot in for five years. They didn't know I was dead. They were still waiting for me to come home for Christmas. When my mom got the call from the airline, she froze for a long time, completely at a loss, before breaking down in tears. I followed them as they went to the memorial crash site. That was when I noticed something strange—I could see their levels of regret hovering above their heads. My brother's regret level read: 40%. My father's showed: 60%. Even my sister-in-law had 30% over her head. But my mother's regret level? It flashed a cold, unchanging 0%.

My husband was dead. He had saved a girl from drowning, yet he himself perished in the icy river. As I sank into a chasm of grief, the girl's father appeared at my door. He glared at me and demanded, "Where is my daughter's necklace? She was wearing it before she fell into the water!" Rage surged through me, and in the heat of our confrontation, he ended up dead. Then my phone… came alive. "Hide the body. The police are coming. I'll teach you how to dispose of a corpse…"

I'm about to give birth to my second child, but my husband wants to care for his true love. I snap, "Aren't you afraid of me dying in labor and taking the baby with me?" He says I'm being unreasonable. Then, he leaves without another look back. Later, the postpartum care center I'm at catches fire. My husband doesn't hear my cries for help. Instead, he carries his true love out of the fire. He subsequently loses his mind after learning of my death.

On Valentine’s Day, I discovered that my brother’s fiancee, Erika Gibson, was cheating on him. So, I tried to tell my brother, Nathan Clinton, about it. However, he yelled at me. He said that I was trying to ruin his relationship and told me to leave. Erika then asked her lover to deal with me, so he kidnapped me. He mocked me for being unable to speak and forced me to sell 200 roses at the night market. I asked Nathan for help, but he replied impatiently. [Moon, I can’t believe you’d lie about something like this… I don’t have time for your games.] I was accidentally hit by a truck while Nathan was having a wonderful time with Erika. Haha. I was finally free, but I wished I had a different brother.

As the flames engulfed my body in the underground warehouse, I used the last of my strength to call my brother, the new Don of the Moretti family. Just as I was about to draw my last breath, Lorenzo finally answered, his voice as cold as the Sicilian winter wind. "Isabella, what the hell are you up to now?" "Brother, save me…" My voice was barely a whisper, but he cut me off without a hint of mercy. "Can't you go one day without causing trouble?" "Liliana's debutante dinner is next week. If you don't show up, I'll drag you back here myself." He hung up without a second thought, completely oblivious to the desperation in my voice. Despair mingled with the searing agony that wracked my body as the flames danced higher, and I couldn't hold on any longer. As I closed my eyes, tears still trickled from their corners. You won't have to drag me back, my brother. I'm never coming back.