Rare Flower

At my engagement dinner with Greg Willis, the Rossi mafia family’s underboss, his assistant, Sydney Carlson, casually tossed a half-eaten cookie on his plate in front of everyone. Greg didn’t react. In full view of the guests, he calmly picked it up and ate it. That night, after we returned, I told him I wanted to call off the engagement. He rubbed his brow with his fingertips, his voice steady in that familiar, composed way of his, yet there was distance beneath it. “All this,” he said, “over a cookie?” “She already took a bite,” I corrected him. He fell silent for a moment before replying in a low voice, “Zoe, you’ve always been sensible. Why get hung up on something so small?” “I’m not hung up,” I said evenly. “I just don’t want to settle.” When he saw that I wouldn’t back down, something complicated flickered in his eyes. Then, his tone hardened, almost like a warning. “Think it through carefully. Don’t you regret it.” He was certain I couldn’t leave him. After all, he was a mafia underboss. There were countless people eager to take the position of Mrs. Willis, and I was nothing more than a minor employee at his company. What he didn’t know was that I had never coveted the title of his wife. All I ever had for him was love. But now, that love was gone, and once I turned away, I would never look back again.

I was diagnosed with Wolf-Soul Decay Syndrome on my birthday, which meant I was on the verge of death. But my older brother, Alaric Sinclair, bought the only tube of Moonviolet serum—a serum capable of saving my life—just so he could give it to my younger adopted sister, Megan Sinclair. He thought I faked my illness in order to attract everyone's attention. Because of that, I stole the serum when no one was looking and took it. That night, Megan drove away from home in tears, only to be met with a fatal car accident that took her life. I was cast out of my childhood home by my parents. Even my fiance, Kenneth Ravenscroft, who once vowed to protect me, hated my guts. Upon returning to my own home, I ended up dying in a fire that broke out. But what I don't expect is that I've traveled back in time to the third day before my demise. During those three days, I've given up on everything. When I mention that I can give away my spot at the marking ceremony, Kenneth praises me for being an understanding fiancee. When I hand over my design company, which is in the top 500 rank, to Megan, my parents are satisfied with me. "You've finally learned how to be selfless, Evie," they say. But Alaric grabs my hand and roars, "Didn't you claim that you'd never give those things away unless you die? Why are you giving them away now?" That's because I'm about to die, dear brother.

I had been the company's top sales performer—the kind who brought in tens of millions in revenue. But just because I hadn't praised my boss' girlfriend in the company group chat, she fired me without hesitation and replaced me with her cousin. Not long after, the company's sales dropped straight to zero. That was when she had come to my door on her own to apologize. "Please, come back," she had begged. "My boyfriend said he'll break up with me if you don't return."

The night before my wedding, my best friend flew back from overseas to attend my bachelor party. We were just having a few drinks when his stomach started acting up, so I quickly reached into his bag for his medication. Instead of pills, I found a naughty remote control. I grinned mischievously and waved a hand toward him. “Didn’t know you were getting this wild overseas, man.” He smiled awkwardly and told me to just hand him the medicine and not to touch anything else. Alas, his reaction made me even more curious. So I purposely pressed on one of the buttons. The next second, my fiancee, who was sitting right next to us, shuddered.

I spent five years taking the blame for a truth that could have destroyed my Alpha. In Blackthorn Pack, everyone mocked me as the wolfless Omega who couldn’t bear an heir. They said I was unfit to be Luna. They said Adrian Hale should cast me aside for a stronger woman. What none of them knew was that Adrian was the infertile one. I burned the report myself and let the whole pack shame me for his weakness. I gave up my studies, my pride, and everything I loved to protect him. Then his mistress got pregnant. And I heard the truth with my own ears. “She has no wolf, no pack, no one to stand up for her. Even if she makes a scene, the Elders’ Council won’t take her side.” That was the moment I understood. For power, for bloodline, for status, Adrian had already chosen Lydia Ashcroft, the Alpha’s daughter carrying a child he couldn’t possibly have fathered. So I severed our mate bond. I took nothing from him except the look on his face when he opened the medical report I left behind. Patient: Adrian Hale. Diagnosis: congenital azoospermia. Infertile. What Adrian never knew was that I was never wolfless. I was the lost daughter of a Lycan King. And in my bloodline, a wolf does not awaken until her family calls her home. The one who could never have children was never me. It was the man who begged the world to believe otherwise.

My mother was the Chosen Luna—the one who once conquered three powerful Alphas. When her mission was done, she vanished from this world, leaving behind only me, and the three Alphas who had once loved her with everything they had. My first father, Alpha Jeff Tanners, ruled the Silver Moon Pack—rich enough to buy half the continent. My second father, Alpha Kael Grey, commanded all the warriors of the Northern Alliance. My third father, Alpha Bran Theron, held every medical resource wolves and humans depended on. For eighteen years, I was their cherished little princess. Whatever I wanted, they gave—no questions, no hesitation. Until they brought home that girl—a fragile orphan named Arie Ryker. From that day on, everything changed. She told them I called her a filthy stray, unworthy of our pack. She said I led the young wolves at school to bully her. She said I tampered with her performance costume, that I caused her allergy, that I made her faint on stage. And they believed her. They stopped believing me. The ninety-ninth time they chose her over me, when they shouted, "Don't come back again!", I didn't argue. I just picked up my luggage and left. They thought I'd come running home like before—that my disappearance was just another way to make them see me. But when they found out I had left the pack for good, that my identity had been erased, that I could no longer be found, the three mighty Alphas finally broke.

After I fell while pregnant, my six-year-old son, Nico Bertelli, did not come to help me. When I woke up, the baby in my belly was gone. At my hospital bedside, Nico hid behind my husband, Roberto Bertelli, and mumbled, "Mommy, I thought you fainted on purpose to get my attention. You've pretended to pass out a few times before just to stop me from going out with Ms. Pelosi." Roberto chimed in coldly, "You're always pulling tricks to get attention. Nico doesn't even trust you anymore. You need to take a hard look at yourself and figure out why he prefers being around Martina Pelosi over you." I was completely heartbroken. The day after I was discharged, I went home, packed up everything that belonged to me, and left behind only two documents: a divorce agreement and a letter terminating my parental rights.

Two weeks before our wedding, Jonah Alston suddenly wants to postpone it. He says, "Sasha says she's having her first exhibition on that day. She'll be alone during the opening, and I'm worried she'll get stage fright. I have to help her. We're just going through the motions with the wedding, anyway. What does it matter whether it's a day earlier or later?" This isn't his first time postponing our wedding for Sasha Lester's sake, though. The first time he did it was because he claimed she missed having homecooked food after undergoing surgery. He'd flown abroad to care for her for two months. The second time was because he said she wanted to head into the mountains to get inspired. He'd gone with her out of concern for her safety. Now, this is the third time. I hang up and look at Austin Everett, my childhood sweetheart. He sits across from me, looking leisurely as he taps his emerald-embedded walking cane on the marble floor. I ask, "Do you need a wife?" On my wedding day, Sasha holds up her glass and waits for Jonah to clink it with his. However, his eyes are red as he watches a livestream—it's the wedding of the scion of Everett Group, the country's largest property development company.

My coworker, Kevin Walter, invited me to join a private messaging chat group of rich women. There are plenty of perks, such as the 300-dollar cash gift he claimed right in front of me. I joined the group out of curiosity and got to know a wealthy woman named Ms. White. After some time together, she invited me on a vacation to a famous tourist city near the country's border. Little did I know, I was close enough to being dragged into a dangerous area abroad to become a live organ donor.

I've loved Jonathan Pickle for half my life. I used my family's resources to help him attain success. However, in the third year of our marriage, he brought his mistress home to stomp all over my pride. That wasn't the worst of it—he even destroyed my family. … I open my eyes to see Jonathan in his university days. Unexpectedly, I'm not the only person who's been given a second chance at life.