Livid Patricia Cornwell

On my daughter, Arlene Bale's tenth birthday, I miscarried in a horrific car accident. Before I can even tell my husband, Camden Bale, about my pregnancy, my unborn child has already left me. Devastated, I attempt to call Camden. But after spamming more than a dozen calls, none of them get answered. When I open a social media app, the first thing I see is Camden's first love, Ruth Carroll, celebrating her safe delivery online. The accompanying photo features Camden's tender-looking side profile as he cradles the newborn in his arms. Camden's mother, Patricia Stone, even leaves a long comment there to celebrate the birth of Ruth's baby. "Oh, Ruth! You really are a hero to the Bales! To think that your firstborn is a son who can inherit our family's legacy! That woman who has married into our family for ten years only gave birth to one inferior spawn! "I swear, I will kick that useless woman out sooner or later! Once that happens, you can marry into the Bale family proudly!" With trembling fingers, I click the phone shut. After that, I forcibly get discharged from the hospital and rush home so that I can demand for answers. But that's when my nightmare has just begun. I receive the news of Arlene's unfortunate death. It turns out Camden has left Arlene at home all by herself, which leads to her accidental death. The entire Bale family is too busy celebrating the birth of Ruth's son. No one bothers shedding a tear for Arlene's passing. With hatred brimming in my heart, I fly to another country. Camden Bale, you're the one hurting me from the start till the end. I will make you and your family pay the heavy price.

I've been married to my mate, William Parker, for three years. Yet, he has never claimed me. He always says that once his territory expands, he will hold a grand marking ceremony for me. I believed him and willingly waited for three years. But today, I witnessed with my own eyes William claiming my younger sister, Naomi Jenkins, at the altar. In fact, she has been missing for three years. At the marking ceremony, my three older brothers stand firmly by Naomi's side, supporting her. "Naomi was too young back then and was deceived by the Beta of the Northern pack into fleeing. Now she's been poisoned by silver nitrate and doesn't have long to live. Her only wish is to become your mate," they say. William nods and replies calmly, "For three years, I didn't hold a marking ceremony for Patricia. I was waiting for Naomi to return and explain things to me. "I will claim Naomi as my own to fulfill her final wish. But Patricia must never know. If she finds out, she'll leave me." My brothers, however, are certain. "It's fine. She loves you that much. Even if she knew, she wouldn't leave. Right now, nothing matters more than Naomi." I flee in despair, realizing that those three years of waiting were nothing but a cruel joke. The marking ceremony was always meant for Naomi. After she left, my brothers showered me with affection. I foolishly thought I was finally loved. But the truth hurts. Whenever Naomi returns, all their love goes back to her. The moment I learn the truth, my heart shatters, and I leave. Yet why, after I'm gone, do they all regret it?

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.