Pamu Pamu No Mi Novels & Stories

Everyone in the upper circles knew I was the Xander family’s delicate little porcelain doll, someone who could not tolerate even the slightest grievance. I always had to sit in the seat of honor at gatherings. My drinks had to be served ice-cold. If anything annoyed me even a little, I would have my childhood friends clear the room. That was, until the fallen heiress returned. She did not rely on men. She had built her own business from scratch and was ruthless in the boardroom, radiating a wild, untamed beauty. Slowly, my dear brothers began to find me insufferable and too high-maintenance. When they pulled their investments from my gallery to back her projects instead, only my fiancé stayed by my side, comforting me. “Forget them. They’re all opportunists. I’ll always keep you safe in the palm of my hand!” That was until one day, I saw that same proud fiancé bent low like a servant, humbly wiping wine stains off the heiress's shoes in a corner of a club. His eyes were filled with a devotion I had never seen before. “All I need is one look from you, and I’ll drop the whole wedding.” I took off my engagement ring and tossed it into the drain. Then, I went home and told my grandfather, “Grandpa, I’m going to Africa for that development aid project. “I’ll agree to the arranged marriage. Just don’t make me see them again."

On the night before the wedding, my fiancé’s female best friend, Marisol Vance, sent me a set of photos. In the photos, she wore the custom haute couture wedding gown I had commissioned, leaning into Lucian Drake’s arms, with a caption meant to provoke me: [Borrowing your groom and your dress for a moment—after all, Lucian said I look better in this than you do.] Soon after, my social feed was flooded with their so-called wedding photos. In the images, the two of them staged a mock kiss, the caption reading: [More than friends, not quite lovers. If we had been born ten years earlier, there would have been no place for anyone else.] I held up the photos and confronted Lucian, yet he played his game indifferently, then tossed his phone aside, his face full of impatience. “I told you, it was just for fun—a way to commemorate our youth. Can you stop acting like a shrew? She was just diagnosed with depression. What’s wrong with me comforting her?” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I smiled. “Fine. Since your bond is so unbreakable, I won’t play the villain.” That very night, I drafted a withdrawal agreement and halted the arrangements I had been making with a top-tier overseas medical team for his mother. “The wedding is off. Don’t expect me to keep patching up your bankrupt company, and don’t expect me to save your mother either. “Your youth is precious—I hope you can afford to pay the price to keep it so.”

He is the unchallenged Alpha of the Shadow pack. He crushes my hand, lets his true love drive me to the brink, and forces me to lick wolfsbane from my wounds in the punishment chamber, turning me into the pack's laughingstock. I am the Lunar pack's pawn in a political bonding. After enduring three years of humiliation and clutching enemy intelligence, I overturn his throne during the Moon Ceremony, making him watch helplessly as his beloved betrays him and his pack descends into chaos. Later, he backs down. He abdicates as Alpha and gets down on his knees at the pack's border every day, his voice hoarse from shouting, "I was wrong." I hold a blood-stained dagger, my gaze icy as I say, "Your regret is deadlier than wolfsbane and worth even less than my life." Our bonding is a calculated trap, and revenge is the move I am determined to play. Winning him back no longer matters. This time, I am not turning back. I want nothing but his endless remorse and the chance to break my chains and begin a new life.

A few weeks before our wedding, Rodney Luther's stepmother, Jessica Flaine, posts a photo on her social media. In the photo, she's wearing the wedding dress I picked out, holding a bouquet of red roses, and shyly leaning toward Rodney, asking for a kiss. The caption reads—"Dreams fulfilled." I don't call Rodney in tears or throw a fit like I used to. I simply like the post and leave a comment. "Screenshot sent to Rodney's father." Not long after, Jessica deletes the post, and Rodney's phone call follows immediately. "Ivana, you're being so petty! The rest of my days belong to you. It's only today that I'm fulfilling a small dream of Jessica's. Hurry up and explain things to my dad! "Come on, be good. I've got a gift for you." A scoff escapes me. "Rodney, do you hear me clearly? Go explain it to your father yourself!"

My best friend takes me to a beauty salon for a facial. A young and handsome employee there latches onto me. He's tall, good-looking, and is great with women. He knows just the right things to say and is flirtatious without being lecherous. He shows me the pleasures of being a woman… I forget all about my boyfriend and allow him to make me descend into the throes of passion. What I don't know is that there's a price I can't pay behind the gentleness…

My family is on the brink of bankruptcy, and I beg my fiancé to help us with emergency funding. He turns me down cold, then gets engaged to Nellie White without hesitation. Just when I'm out of options, my childhood friend shows up with an investment contract and a marriage proposal. I say yes without thinking twice. But even with his help, our company can't escape ruin. My father, unable to bear the blow, suffers a heart attack and dies. At the funeral, overwhelmed by grief, I faint. In my haze, I overhear a conversation between my childhood friend and his friend. "You've already crushed Talitha’s family. When are you going to take her uterus for Nellie?" "On the wedding day," he replies casually. "I'll stage an accident, then operate on her myself. Her uterus will be Nell's. I can't give Nell happiness in this life, so I'll give her a wedding gift. I hope it makes her happy." Turns out his so-called devotion was just so he could take my womb. Even his proposal to me was just a way to remove all obstacles for the woman he loved.

For four years I was his secretary, and for four years I warmed his bed. I knew everything, from his family business to the secrets he whispered to me at night. But to him, I was nothing more than a toy he could summon whenever he pleased. The moment his first love, Sofia Costa, flew back into the country, he humiliated me without a second thought. He kissed her in a Sicilian church, abandoned me on a rain-soaked road with a gash ten inches long on my calf, and later dismissed me with a cold, cutting line. He said I was someone unimportant, someone he could simply ignore. She waved the tulip plush he'd given her in front of me. "I'm the only one he loves. You were just a stand-in." While I rebuilt my life in Chicago and finally found some peace, this ruthless Mafia don knelt outside my door, eyes red with emotion. "Elena, come back to me." I kicked his hand away with a smile. "Your so-called devotion disgusts me."

Eight years of loyalty—wiped out by three days of her batting her lashes. At the bonfire, I swore the Alpha would finally mark me. Instead, I watched him fasten a sparkly little pendant around her neck. When the fire broke out, he ditched me—flames snapping at my heels. Said I could "handle myself," then played hero carrying her out. She showed up at my herb shop all smug, called me a "mutt no one wants." Then he showed up—Alpha on his knees outside my door, begging for another shot. I nodded toward my shelves. "These heal every wolf in Stormborne... except the Alpha who couldn't see what was right in front of him."

I pushed the door open and saw Giovanna standing there in my silk robe—my gift from Enzo—and wearing my heirloom pendant. She lifted a brow and mocked me, “The robe fits, the pendant’s mine, and you—get out.” I grabbed Enzo, demanding an explanation, but he shoved a fake contract in my face, saying, “You signed it.” “I did not. Stop lying!” I snapped. He snapped at me, “This is family business. You know nothing.” It seemed three years together was nothing but an act. That very night, I ran away to Milan. I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to until Mark showed up out of nowhere. “Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’ve got you. As long as I’m around, no one touches you.” He protected me, and for a moment, I really thought I’d finally found someone I could rely on. However, when we were practicing at the shooting range later, I stared at him. “Why are you helping me?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because of that mess I left behind.” His eyes flickered for a second before he answered, “Just trust me. That’s all you need to do.” Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. This whole disaster was all one giant setup. And now here I am, gripping a gun, fighting for justice, but am I really avenging myself? Or was I already someone else’s pawn from the very beginning?

My wife, Wendy Sinclair, has a severe sleepwalking disorder. After she falls asleep, she always wanders out in a state of unconsciousness. The night before our wedding, she disappears without a word. I have no choice but to postpone our wedding. Only then does she walk out of her childhood friend's house next door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Afraid I might overthink, she cries and apologizes to me. "There's no cure for my condition. From now on, just tie me up when I sleep, okay?" I feel sorry for her, so I just change the door lock to make sure she cannot go out. But in the middle of the night, I wake up and see her standing on the edge of the balcony. She climbs in through the window and goes into her childhood friend's house again. Soon, suggestive and intimate sounds come from inside. My blood runs cold. Her sleepwalking isn't an illness at all—it is out of love.