Rashta Death

Ean's face twisted with anger as he grabbed me by the arm, dragging me toward the old, rusted freezer in the corner of the warehouse. "You're going to feel what Helen felt," he spat. "Maybe that'll teach you not to mess with her." I struggled against him, panic rising in my chest. "Ean, this is insane! It was an accident! Let me explain—" He wasn’t listening. He shoved me inside the freezing metal box and slammed the door shut. The echo of the lock clicking into place made my heart pound in my ears. I banged on the door with my fists. "Ean, please! You can’t do this!" I screamed, but the sound of his footsteps grew fainter as he walked away. He left me with nothing but a single bowl of water, like I was some kind of prisoner. I slumped against the cold metal, shivering. The temperature plummeted almost instantly. The hum of the freezer kicked in, and I realized too late—it wasn’t broken like he thought. It was working, and I was trapped. My body shook uncontrollably as the cold seeped into my bones. I screamed for help until my throat was raw, clawing at the walls in desperation. My bloody handprints smeared across the icy surface, a silent plea for mercy that no one would hear. Seven days passed. When Ean finally returned, the look on his face was one of smug satisfaction. He had expected me to beg, to apologize. But when they pried open the freezer, all they found was my frozen body, stiff and silent, my suffering long over.

My father hates my mother for ruining his chance with his first love, and his hatred spills onto me, the unwanted child who carries her blood. I'm 18 when I'm kidnapped. The abductor calls Dad, who is a police officer, and threatens him. Dad thinks I staged the whole thing myself and tells the man to slice me apart if he wants to. The abductor tortures me to death. He even cuts my body into pieces and feeds it to the fish. Only then does Dad lose his mind. He tracks down the abductor and hacks him to death.

I died on the day I was supposed to receive the Pack’s Distinguished Service Award. Three hours after I died, my parents, my brother, and my mate were just wrapping up the graduation party they’d thrown for my sister. While my sister, Ella, was posting a cozy family photo on Instagram, I was locked in our basement, using my tongue to swipe on my phone and call for help. The only person who answered was my mate, Ryan. All he said was, "Sophie, cut the drama. Ella's graduation party is important. Enough with the tantrums!" This was the ninety-ninth time they had let me down. And the last. I lay in a pool of my own blood, my lungs still. They thought I was just throwing a fit, hiding somewhere. That if they taught me a lesson, I’d come crawling back. But they didn't know. I was home the whole time. I was already dead.

The day my girlfriend’s condition worsened and she needed urgent surgery, I publicly called her a burden in front of everyone. Despite her pleas, I abandoned her cruelly. Seven years later, she became a formidable international tycoon and returned home with great fanfare. To exact her revenge on me, the heartless man, she poisoned my mother into silence and sent my father to prison. Eager to see me beg for mercy, she mobilized every connection to track me down. At this point, her parents could no longer bear to watch. With tears streaming down their faces, they revealed the entire truth. “He died seven years ago to donate his organs to you!”

In the second year of our marriage, which Brett Mason had secured through relentless means, he brought home his latest conquest—a stunning blonde. As the door swung shut, he ran his fingers through her silky hair, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin. "Wanna join us? You might learn a thing or two about not being such a dead fish." I could still recall how he once adored my hair, claiming that just stroking it would melt away his deepest worries. It turned out any woman could serve that purpose. In that instant, a profound sense of release washed over me. I retrieved the divorce agreement I'd stashed away in a drawer and handed it to him. "Sign it, and I'll make room for her." My days were numbered, and I had no intention of wasting what little time remained entangled in his resentment.

I've loved my husband for five years, but he's never reciprocated my feelings. In fact, on the day after my death, he runs straight into his true love's arms. During my absence, he sneers and says, "She's up to her old tricks again." When he receives a call telling him to identify my body, he's excited. He thinks he can see my reaction to having my scheme exposed. He doesn't know that I'm long dead, though.

When I became the blood bank for my mate Alpha Kane’s sweetheart, my wolf died from the endless loss of blood—and so did I, alone, in the cold den he rented to keep me out of sight. Today marks the third day since my death, and finally, my six-year-old pup noticed something was wrong. His finger bled when a toy hurt him, but I didn’t come to comfort him. When he tried to feed me his favorite food, I didn’t stop him either. He lay on my chest, gripping my clothes and whispering my name—but I didn’t respond. Desperate and helpless, my pup picked up my cellphone and called his alpha dad. “Dad, why is Mom still sleeping?” Kane didn’t answer. Instead, he sent him a photo of himself and Serena—his sweetheart—celebrating Full Moon Day, smirking. “Don’t worry. Your mom is just sleeping, not dead. You know I’m quite busy on Full Moon Day. Tell your arrogant and stubborn mom not to come find me until she admits her fault.” The call ended, leaving my pup frozen in silence. However, three days later, Kane received news of my death. He let out a gut-wrenching growl, refusing to believe it was true. Clutching my cold, lifeless body in his arms, he wept bitterly. “Kate… you are my only Luna,” he cried. “Come back. Stay with me… please.”

I break up with Ansel Wright when his enemies chase him for debt payment, and I start dating a rich man. Ansel says he loves me and begs me not to break up. He weeps and continues that he cannot live without me; I am in another man's arms as I pour whiskey on him and say scornfully, "Ansel, stop pestering me! I never want to hide with you and live without money again!" He leaves with a despondent look on his face. Six years later, he returns to Wall Street as a finance giant that everyone in New York takes notice of. The moment he gets back to the country, he brings his fiancée to show off to me, but he cannot find me, no matter how hard he tries, because I die the day he returns to the country.

I had been dead for days and my alpha mate Karl didn't know it, cause he never went back to our den. Until his gamma was astonished to read a front-page news article about the mysterious rogue wolf attacks. "Karl, there's been a rogue wolf in our pack." Karl didn't lift his head. Stuff like this happened all the time in the pack. His gamma put the newspaper in front of Karl. "The deceased... is Luna Julie." Karl was reviewing documents and his pen suddenly fell to the ground.

He was tricked into the Lone Wolf’s den and fell into a silver trap. The trap was filled with countless silver nails that burned into his wounds. He had a chance to survive—even if he would lose his Inner Wolf, at least his life could be saved, as long as he could be treated by the healer. But my Alpha husband, Anthony, the noble leader of the wolf pack, took the only healer away, giving him to his white moonlight son, Lucas, to treat his wounds. Meanwhile, our son, in the treatment room next door, could not heal from the silver-inflicted wounds. His blood flowed continuously until his golden wolf eyes lost all their light. I mentally reached out to Anthony, begging him to let me see our son one last time, but in the eyes of that high-and-mighty Alpha, there was nothing but disgust for our child. "Your son is truly ‘exceptional’—weak like a pup, yet he dared to enter the Lone Wolf’s den!" "Lucas nearly got pierced by a silver blade trying to save him! And what did your son do? He ran away without a second thought!" "I will not acknowledge such a cowardly bloodline! From this day on, his right to inherit is revoked!" After he spoke, he severed the mental link. My blood froze in my veins. In that moment, my dying cub shared his memories with me— I saw Lucas drive the silver nails into his own palm. I saw him turn and flee when the Lone Wolf attacked, while my child, despite trembling in pain, chose to fight the Lone Wolf to protect the pack. Until the very end, he fulfilled the duty of an Alpha’s son. And Anthony dares to say he is unworthy of the “Alpha bloodline”? That night, the moonlight over the wolf territory turned crimson. Anthony, you will soon realize— It wasn’t just my son’s flesh that was pierced by silver, but your prejudice as well! Your prejudice killed your own child.