Melodramatic

My sister is diagnosed with leukemia after a medical checkup at the hospital where I work. My bone marrow is a match for her. Out of curiosity, I tell my family I'm the one who's sick. They vehemently oppose to her donating her bone marrow to me. "A bone marrow donation is risky! We can't let your sister put herself in danger." "Don't drag your sister into this just because you're sick. Everyone's life and death is fated—you have to accept your destiny." My sister also refuses to help me, brushing me off with the excuse that she's preparing to conceive. My relationship with my family is strained, so their behavior thoroughly destroys it. When I realize this, I leave the diagnosis report behind and walk out on them.

To save the vampire clan, I slept with my crush, Stefan Ferrano. Stefan had always been cold and distant, but that night, his response was fiery. He ignored the fact that I was inexperienced and took me with wild, unrestrained passion. Everything unraveled when my blood servant, Stella Luciado, brought me fresh blood and Stefan found out. Like a man possessed, he tore off all my clothes and dragged me into the sunlight. “So even the vampire queen is afraid of sunlight? Do you know what sort of torture your kind are enduring right now? But no pain compares to what I felt losing my sister because of you and your kind.” For five years, he held my clan’s safety over my head. He locked me in a sunroom and found new ways every day to torment me in bed. The day I gave birth to his child, he married Stella. Stefan called my child a bastard and forced me to watch him and Stella sleep together. When Stella was unhappy, he bled me so she could bathe in my blood. He even painted with my blood and made me dance undressed in the sun. He tortured me but never let me die, using specially made drugs to keep me alive. A vampire who had offered their ancestral blood but didn't turn a human into a vampire within five years would end up dead. I had five days left to live. Finally, I didn't have to keep my secret anymore.

My boyfriend, Allen, is a fitness coach who is cheerful, handsome, and has eight-pack abs. After getting together with me, he transferred all his female students to other colleagues and would send me daily check-in photos. In anticipation of becoming his fiancee, I happily prepared for our engagement ceremony. However, two weeks before the ceremony, I discovered a bright red lipstick mark on Allen’s workout pants. I quickly pulled up the check-in photo he had sent me that day. Through the reflection on a dumbbell, I saw a woman standing next to Allen—her lips painted in the exact same lipstick color. Most of the previous photos had flaws, but I had trusted Allen too much to notice them. Looking at his message under the photo, I let out a cold laugh. "Baby, I have to work overtime today to train a male student." He actually dared to deceive me. Just then, my phone rang. It was the wedding planning company confirming the engagement ceremony setup. I quickly responded with a confirmation. The ceremony would proceed as planned—except I had a special surprise prepared for Allen, one he would never forget.

The Sullivan brothers had always treated me like I was their whole world. That changed the day I was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor. The pain soon grew unbearable, and I was told I might lose my memories if I opted for surgery. I reached out to the brothers. I did not want to forget them, and I needed their help. However, when the call connected, the only thing I heard was an icy, sharp voice. "Summer, it's Yvonne's birthday today. Can you not ruin it for once?" I blacked out from the pain. When I woke up in the hospital, there was a message from Yvonne on my phone. "Summer, the boys gave me these lucky charms for protection." Attached was a photo of three silver pendants, each engraved with the brothers' initials. I knew those pendants well. I had spent seven hours in the freezing rain just to get them blessed. That was the moment I gave up. I went abroad alone for the surgery, and with it, all my memories of the brothers faded away. I completely forgot about them until one day, three strangers knocked on my door, begging like madmen for my forgiveness.

The scent of pine and damp earth clung to the air as the full moon created long shadows across the Ancient Clearing. Tonight, was supposed to be our marking ceremony, a sacred ritual binding Alpha Anderson and his chosen Luna before the eyes of the Frostmoon Pack. “My heart,” his gaze locked on Leah, who stood under the moonlight “has always belonged to another. My first love, the one whose spirit has been weakened by the venom of wolfsbane, is my Luna.” He drew Leah closer, his hand possessively circling her waist. Under the watchful gaze of the moon, he smiled. “Our traditions are clear,” he continued, “Only the woman who stands with me at this altar, witnessed by all, shall be my Luna. Though I had always thought that Irene was my mate which I mistakenly marked a time ago. But thanks to the goddess for making me see clearly before it was too late.” They exchanged vows beneath the trees, witnessed by the werewolves and the Moon Goddess. The silver crowns were placed, the ceremonial kiss sealed their bond. I stood hidden in the shadows of the surrounding forest. For twelve years, from the moment my wolf recognized his at eighteen until my thirtieth moon cycle, my love for Anderson had never changed. But his heart, it was clear, belonged to Leah. If that was the truth, then I would release him. He had never truly seen me, never truly cared. Yet, the act of my departure seemed to unravel him in ways I couldn’t understand.

I died on the day I was supposed to form a mate bond with Alpha Ragnar. Since I did not show up, he went ahead and performed the ceremony with his childhood sweetheart, Nina. “Selena has already been marked by me, yet she still threw caution to the wind and cheated with a rogue. Her betrayal has brought shame upon us. She’s not worthy of being the pack’s Luna!” With just one careless sentence, Ragnar made my family a disgrace of the pack. My father was once a great warrior of the pack. He lost his wolf saving Ragnar, only to be drowned in a river as punishment for supposedly failing to discipline his own daughter. Our blood bond allowed me to feel his pain. However, I had been locked in a sealed, abandoned interrogation room—a silver cage. The mechanism inside was accidentally triggered, and thick poisonous gas filled the space. It killed me slowly and painfully. After my soul left my body, I appeared beside Ragnar and heard him say to Nina, “Thanks for your help today. If Selena hadn’t acted so foolishly, you wouldn’t have had to take her place in the ceremony. Ever since I marked her, she’s been getting bolder, thinking my affection gives her a free pass. How dare she skip such an important ceremony?!” However, the noble Alpha Ragnar seemed to have forgotten something. Just seven days ago, he threw me into a silver cage meant only for the most dangerous criminals to appease Nina. “You hurt Nina, so you must face the consequences. Take these three days to reflect. If you still won't admit your mistake, then don’t even think about ever leaving this place for the rest of your life.” I waited three days and then three more. The poisonous gas and silver ate away at my body, corroding me from the outside in. I endured seven days of unbearable pain before I finally died. When my body was found, it had been so ravaged by the poison that I was unrecognizable. As for the arrogant Alpha? He had completely lost his mind.

The pills I keep by my bedside have been swapped with vitamins. I almost die after getting a heart attack. After the stent surgery, I ask my husband, Evan Whitmore, to find out who did it. I just want the truth. However, he doesn't even look up and just brushes me off. "It was just a mistake. Cecilia probably grabbed the wrong bottle. She bought those vitamins for me. "Don't push this. She has asthma. She can't handle stress." I stare at him in shock, my chest tightening. I can't tell if the pain is from my healing heart or from the words he just threw at me. Cecilia Monroe is his secretary, and he always takes her side. That moment is when I realize that our five years of marriage mean nothing to him at all.

While I was being brutally tortured, my mate was with his first love, a she-wolf named Lily who'd been poisoned with wolfsbane. The wolves who had a personal vendetta against Louis blinded me and stuffed my mouth with stones, violating me one by one, then tried to call him using my phone. The alpha only gave me a heartless command before hanging up, not listening to a word. "Unless you donate your bone marrow fluid to Lily, I'll continue ignoring you!" The enemy wolves stared at the blood trickling down my legs, and mocked, "Oh, were you pregnant? Well, seems like we got the wrong person, anyway! How could you and your baby not compare to a poisoned she-wolf?" When my corpse was discovered, Louis immediately reminded Lily to be careful. When another wolf reminded him that he should check in on me since I was pregnant, he scoffed. "Pregnant? Her? Is that the lie she's going with to justify not saving Lily? "I never want to see such someone so venomous again!" Little did he know that he already saw me. The corpse, decaying and rotting in front of him, was me, his Luna.

At the Davenport family dinner, I arrive wearing the same dress Tucker Davenport's true love once wore. His face darkens immediately. He glares at me coldly and orders that my dress be burned on the spot. "Damn it, Willow, can't you show a little self-awareness? Shelby might be too naive to notice, but there's no way I'm letting you appear like this in front of her." The intense heat rushes toward me as the flames consume the fabric. A sharp, burning pain shoots between my legs, crashing over me like a tidal wave. The pain drags me under, but I suddenly jolt awake, barely able to gasp a plea for mercy. Tucker doesn't spare me a glance. He simply turns away to help Shelby cut the cake. Days later, he finally remembers I exist. "As long as you behave and don't bother Shelby again, you'll still be Mrs. Davenport." I stare at the burns on my legs as my tears dry up. I refuse to beg any longer. I'm done being Mrs. Davenport.

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."