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Difficult to get along with the in-laws, constant arguments with the only brother-in-law, worsened by the man labeled as her husband... it's like having your head detached while your toes are being tickled, making Samanta Kiehl constantly cultivate patience. Until her sincere love is rewarded with a divorce letter. Her question always spins in her head. Is this luck or misfortune for her? But Samanta remains Samanta. She lets it all resonate in her life. She believes that payback will come. Someday, there will be a life and a new man whom she will tread with tranquility. But when? Isn't human patience supposed to have its limits?

On our wedding night, my husband Grayson's sister-in-law, Scarlette, stumbled drunkenly into our bridal suite and threw her arms around him, refusing to let go. "Kayla, my husband died young, and I really just want a child. Please, lend him to me for one night," she cried through her tears, shoving a toy into my hand. "I promise I'll return him tomorrow. And if you get lonely… you can use this to comfort yourself." I stood there, dumbfounded, my gaze shifting in confusion to Grayson, who was already helping Scarlette steady herself. "You're really going to sleep with her?" He avoided my eyes, his tone strangely urgent. "Don't overthink it. She's drunk and talking nonsense. I'll take her back to her room to rest." As he started to leave with her, I stepped in front of them, blocking their way. "Grayson, it's our wedding night tonight. Are you seriously going to walk out with her?" His expression darkened as he pushed me aside. "You're my wife now—try to be more sensible. Don't get jealous over something so trivial." Then, carefully, he guided her out of the room. I wanted to run after him and stop them, but when I saw the deep concern in his eyes as he looked at her, the truth finally hit me. The love this man had for me was no longer mine alone. And if that was the case, why should I cling to a marriage that had already soured? I might as well walk away with my head held high.

My sister pushes her daughter at a murderer so she can win the prize in a photography competition. After this, she even uses the incident and my name to extort the victim to pay an astronomical sum as compensation. The victim stabs me to death in a fit of rage. When my son, who is brought up by me, learns the truth, he doesn't seek justice for me. Instead, he scatters my ashes in the sea and says, "My mother told me that I would've been the happiest child in the world if not for you taking the wrong child home back then." When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to when my daughter was five years old. I have a month until her death. This time, I'm going to protect my child to the best of my abilities. I won't bother about an ingrate anymore.

My best friend, Maya, flew in from Miami for my bachelorette week. My last days of freedom. She insisted on a girls' night in to celebrate, ordering all my favorite takeout. She asked me to hold her mobile phone and wait.Then her phone lit up. A message from some guy. A shirtless pic. Text: I need you tonight. Another photo buzzed through. Sex toys. Bondage gear straight out of a movie. My face burned. My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d just stumbled into her secret life. But the next image made my blood run cold. A close-up of the man's chest. A jagged scar I knew better than my own reflection. It belonged to my fiancé, Luciano Carbone.

My sister, Laura Ward, died the year we were ten, the year we snuck out of school to play. From that day forward, my mother’s grief turned into a burning hatred for me, convinced that I was the reason my sister was gone. She treated me like a servant, like an unwanted burden, and filled the void by adopting a perfect, obedient daughter to replace my sister. She took everything from me without a second thought — my rights, my freedom, my very existence — and even demanded that I give up a kidney for her precious adopted girl. Alright, Mother, if you want a life, I’ll give you mine! But it was only when my body lay cold, my breath long gone, that she finally turned and looked at me.

My sister-in-law and I have always been close, and we happened to be pregnant at the same time. However, during a routine check-up, she was diagnosed with uterine fibroids. I urged her to have surgery as soon as possible, but she refused and instead claimed her sallow complexion was a sign she was carrying a "child of fortune." She then retreated to the countryside to rest and nurture her pregnancy. Nine months later, while I grieved the loss of my stillborn child, she came back from the countryside with a baby girl in her arms. Consumed by the suspicion that the child was rightfully mine, I demanded a DNA test. That same night, my own mother and brother conspired to take my life. After my death, I discovered it was all a conspiracy. My family had orchestrated everything to swap my child for hers. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back to the moment before I took her for that fateful check-up.

I'm abducted the day before my wedding. My abductors lock me in a dark cellar and repeatedly violate me. My legs are snapped, and I'm thrown out with a pile of trash while undressed. Someone takes a photo of me and shares it online. My family finds me a disgrace, so they send me to a hospital in the suburbs and hide me there. After half a year of treatment, my ovaries are removed due to extensive damage. My broken legs can't recover, and I lose the ability to walk. I'm supposed to be a rising star in dancing. Now, however, I'm forced to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. I can't even have children anymore. The Levy family sees photos of me online and immediately calls off my engagement to their son, Quentin Levy. They call me a shameless woman. Then, they make Quentin marry my sister, Laura Sorensen. I think my family will pity me, but my grandfather calls me a disgrace. He wants to disown me. At that moment, Quentin's brother, Elias Levy, proposes to me. "You've only had eyes for my brother in the past. Now that he's married, will you give me a chance to care for you?" He sounds determined, and the heartache in his eyes moves me. I agree to marry him. After we're married, Elias gives me the love and care I need. He doesn't allow anyone to harm me. A year later, I complete my treatment earlier than expected and return home to surprise him for our anniversary. That's when I overhear his conversation with my brother. "Elias, I helped you trick Jean out of the house two years ago, leading to her abduction and torture. That's why she's like this now. So you can't let her down." "I did all of this for Laura's happiness. As for Jean, I'll make sure she doesn't have to worry about survival for the rest of her life…"

"Please reject me as your mate and let me go, Alpha Max! I know you have a lover, Lady Jessica, and live a happy life with her. Please just let me go.” I closed my eyes and begged hoping he'd at least listen but instead, I heard a little thud a few inches away from my face and I opened my eyes to see a file. "Wh- What is this, Alpha?" I stammered my voice barely above a whisper. "Open it!” he cold voice scared me and I took the file lying inches away from me. As I brought it closer and read it, the letters written on the first page sent shivers down my spine. "Contract Marriage? Wh...What is this?"

Because I was born under the Moon’s blessing, my body ripened earlier than any she-wolf my age. On the night of my eighteenth turning, my brother—fearing I’d be force-claimed by brutes—entrusted me to his blood-oath brother: Silas, Alpha of the Northern Peak. The first time we met, his golden eyes locked on my bared neck and never left. His fangs sank into my scent gland that very night, claiming me beneath the full moon. For four years since, I’ve been his scribe by dawn light, and his whore by moonrise. He trained my body to fit his every hunger, covering me in bite marks, yet never left the Mating Mark that would make me his true mate. Four years later, his confidante from the Central Territories returned. He tore from my heat-soaked sheets without a backward glance, racing to the moon-platform to greet her. I followed, stomach hollow, scent glands throbbing with his phantom claim. Only an hour before, his hand—scarred from my own teeth—had clamped over my mouth as he rutted me into the furs. Now, before the assembled Pack, he stroked another woman’s silver hair. “Amara, don’t show that jealous look. Have you forgotten—four years ago, you were the one who crawled into my bed while I was moon-mad.” “This tantrum is unbecoming.” He was right. I had chosen this life myself. But when I finally chose to leave him, he was the first to break.

Seven years after my death, an engagement invitation from my ex-girlfriend arrives at my house. Back then, I had broken up with her in my lowest, most desperate days and married someone else. Now, she has reinvented herself as a rising powerhouse worth hundreds of billions, driven by revenge and eager to see me regret everything and beg for mercy. Unfortunately for her, I am not the one who shows up. She looks around in open contempt, convinced my absence means guilt, shame, and fear. When I finally appear, all she sees is an urn.