Novel & Cerita Once There Was An Ugly Barnacle

The day my mom was beaten up for being a mistress, I slammed the family crest into my dad’s face. I had been studying abroad, and on my return flight, I came across a video. The title read, [Richest Family’s Heirs Defend Their Mom and Beat Up Mistress.] In the video, my mother was wearing coarse linen clothes while my brothers surrounded her. They were punching and kicking her. They even tore her clothes and cussed her out as a shameless mistress. Her eyes were teary as she desperately tried to explain. However, she was only met with mocking laughter. A stranger in haute couture stood shielded behind them, and she sweetly said, “Alright, I know you’re doing this for me, but we don’t need to waste our time on ungrateful people.” The surrounding guests showered her with birthday wishes and praised her for her graciousness. “This is the grace befitting Mrs. Roth! Do some people really not own a mirror at home?” “A mistress dares to call herself Mrs. Roth? Doesn’t she know the entire Roth family was built on her assets? Which part of her looks like a lady?” Hearing them call her “Mrs. Roth,” I clenched my phone, and the screen reflected my icy expression. I had only been away from home for three years. How did I not know that I had acquired such a despicable “mother”?

Two years ago, as a graduate of Werewolf Medical School, I volunteered to go to the most remote and poorest pack, as it had always been my dream to help werewolf patients in need. I heard from my teacher that the werewolves in the Rogue Pack were the poorest and that their living conditions were the worst. Most of the werewolves there were old and weak, so I volunteered to go to that pack as soon as I graduated. After I arrived, I helped them build an infirmary and even set up a blood station. Every year, I led them in voluntary blood donations. But one time—right after I had taken a short break following a blood donation—they turned on me. They slandered me, calling me a selfish and heartless healer. Worse still, they accused me of faking illness, claiming I was lying comfortably in bed while patients were dying—refusing to lift a finger to save them. Not only that, they stormed into the infirmary, seized all my herbs and equipment, and completely trashed the place I had built for them with my own hands. Recalling the days I had spent day and night healing them—only to see my infirmary destroyed and my dream shattered—I let out a bitter smile. I picked up the phone and called the dean of my home pack. "I'm ready to return," I said. "I want to serve the patients in our own pack." Then, without a trace of regret, I left that place behind. However, after I gave up, the whole pack regretted it and begged me to return.

My superior loved tricking me into wearing tight-fitting pencil skirts to serve wine to sleazy clients while sticking close to them. Then, she would hint that I was single and a valid target while she excitedly waited for the clients to make a move on me. It was all in the name of checking the integrity of the clients and whether they were worthy business partners or not. The moment a client fell for it, she would rush over with righteous anger and throw wine in their faces. Then, she would lecture me with a voice heavy with anguish. “Do you lack money so much that you’d throw your dignity away just for better results?” She would trample all over my dignity to set up her image as a refined, noble woman. This time, she even prepared a gown with a super low neckline and pushed me to serve a client with a rich and powerful background. She threatened me by saying that if I did not go, she would deduct my bonus for three whole months of full attendance. But when I saw the familiar, cold man sitting in the seat of honor, it was my turn to laugh. If my brother saw me serving wine in this kind of dress, I did not doubt that by tomorrow, the company would be under my name.

I was born broken. My Alpha mother was the one who branded me. She said emotion was a sin. A weakness. Especially for a werewolf. Especially for an Alpha’s heir. The day we were born, she clamped emotion-suppressing collars around our necks. Mine and my twin sister's. The slightest flicker of emotion, and the collar flashed red. My mother would then push the button, injecting me with a diluted "silver solution" to suppress my feelings. But my sister Cassia's collar? Always a calm, steady blue. Even when she shattered Mom's precious moonstone, it just pulsed gently. And me? I’d just whisper, "Mom, the thunder scares me," and my collar would erupt in a violent red. Then came the sting of silver poison burning through my blood.. I used to argue. But Mom always said the same thing. "The data doesn't lie. Pain is a teacher. This is for your own good." After thousands of these injections, I started to believe it, too. That I was born out of control. The night of the alliance's Moon Goddess Festival, Mom was taking my sister to the rooftop party. Something scared me during the day. The collar flashed red, and my mother started the punishment. But this time, the collar malfunctioned. It shot a dose a thousand times stronger into my neck. I collapsed on the carpet, begging, "Mother, the collar... it hurts so much... help me." My collar was flashing a frantic red. My mother just looked down at me, drenched in a cold sweat, and pressed the button for the maximum dose. "You'd lose control like this just for attention? You're a lost cause." She turned, took my sister, and slammed the door. I couldn't help but think, Mom must be right. The collar is red. It doesn't really hurt. I'm just being dramatic, looking for pity again. I'm sorry, Mom. In my next life, I'll be the perfect daughter you always wanted.

I'm the daughter of Don Falcone. After I got back from studying abroad, my family threw a welcome-home banquet, conveniently setting me up to meet the fiancé my father had handpicked for me—Santino Moretti. My father praised the guy to the skies in his letters: he was the heir to the Moretti family, elegant, ruthless, drop-dead gorgeous, and holding half the city’s underground operations in the palm of his hand. I arrived at the Elysium Hotel right on the dot. Just as I was about to take a seat, a hand shoved me hard. A woman's shrill voice pierced my ear. "Livia, what's a Sicilian peasant like you doing here? This is the Imperial Suite. Do you think you even deserve to breathe the air in a place like this?" I recognized the woman. It was Bella, a bitch who had always had it out for me back in college. She was clearly trying to humiliate me. Instead of getting mad, I smirked. "Whether I deserve to be here or not—is that for you to decide?" Bella sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm Mr. Santino's personal assistant. Today, Mr. Santino is hosting the eldest daughter of the Falcone family here. This isn't an occasion for bottom-feeding trash like you." "Be smart and crawl back to your slum." I pulled out my phone and dialed my so-called fiancé. I wanted to ask him if it was a tradition in the Moretti family to let their dogs bark at the front door.

Once a Luna, now a grieving widow and omega, Luna returns to Stone Prime with a silent vow to protect the Prime Cub and uncover the truth behind her mate’s death. But when Kieran—the guy she once loved and the Alpha falsely banished—returns with a contract marriage and a warning, everything she thought she knew begins to unravel.

I had a unique profession. I was a breakup specialist. I did not need to go to court or write any contracts for that. That was a lawyer’s job. Everyone kept saying that love was priceless, but a couple who professed their love to each other for an entire night could be paying me tons to break their relationship up the following day. I was shaking my head upon those matters when I received a message from my husband, Matthew Grant, asking me to pick our wedding anniversary’s destination. A few seconds after that, a beautiful woman walked into my office. She appeared timid and had to take a lot of time to summon the courage to speak. “I’d like to hire your services for my boyfriend. He has decided to divorce his wife.” I made no comment as I picked up the documents she had handed me, only to see Matthew’s name on the paper. I froze, while the woman sitting in front of me ducked her head and continued, “My boyfriend says that his wife is a good person and that he doesn’t want to hurt her.” I smiled as I stared at the picture; it clearly was Matthew, but I had the strange feeling of seeing a foreign person too. My heart throbbed, and I could only lament. This was my third year as a breakup specialist, and I was actually hired to break up my own relationship.

Ever since I was a child, my heart and mind have been filled with feelings for him - Magnus Zumatra, son of my father's billionaire friend. On his birthday, we were happily playing when he suddenly fell down the stairs and broke his left leg, leaving him unable to walk. The one he thought saved him and called for help to get him rescued was my sister Delara Funtasierra - my half-sister who has held a grudge against me for a long time. She became the one who seemed kind and Magnus' "savior" in everyone's eyes, while me? They pointed to me as the one who pushed the man. But no one knows that it was actually me - Terafina Funtasierra - who truly saved his life. Throughout his life, he loved Delara - that's why I left and kept my distance from them. But being hurt and slandered in front of everyone is something I cannot bear.

Having been in a two-year long-distance relationship with my girlfriend, Kayleigh Richards, I finally have time to visit her family for the holidays. In doing so, I want to hash out the details of our upcoming wedding as well. What I didn't expect is that Kayleigh would actually show up with a hooligan at the banquet. She even goes as far as to terminate our engagement in front of everyone. The hooligan, Gerald Shaw, looks at me haughtily. A trace of mockery can be seen in his eyes when he notices how wretched I look. "What makes you think you can fight with me over my woman? Kay, how the heck did you even fall for this wretched-looking beggar in the first place? He's even carrying an old sack with him! Don't tell me he just came back from collecting the trash!" All of Kayleigh's relatives who are present at the banquet roar in laughter. My future mother-in-law even shoves me in an attempt to kick me out. I merely gaze at Kayleigh calmly. "Are you sure you want to choose him?" Kayleigh sneers at me in return. "You're just a stupid miner! Gerald's dad is the owner of the gold mine, you know!" I raise an eyebrow at her words. Then, I open the woven sack I've brought with me. The gold bricks that scatter from the sack shine brightly under the light. "Oh? I have no idea that my gold mine has somehow become someone else's property."

In a single night, Ivy Laurent’s life falls apart. Her boyfriend betrays her. Her family exposes her as an illegitimate child. Then they banish her to a remote place that feels like a permanent exile. She thinks that’s the end of everything—until she finds a dying man: Kael Montenegro. A deal is made to help Kael recover his memories. It’s only temporary. No feelings involved. There’s just one problem—Kael has amnesia. And Ivy has to explain their relationship. The only idea she comes up with? She’s his wife. Playing the role of a fake wife turns out to be far more dangerous than any betrayal she’s endured. Aggressive, possessive, and full of secrets, Kael slowly tears down Ivy’s defenses. She falls for a man who doesn’t even know who he really is. When Kael’s true identity comes to light, Ivy knows better than to hope for more. But just as she chooses to walk away, Kael decides to fight for her—even as his memories return and the truth about his past threatens to destroy them both.