Romans Independence Ks

In the Gallo family’s private jewelry workshop. The wedding ring I’d waited six months for was on another woman’s finger. Gia’s hand. An international supermodel my fiancé, the Don of the Gallo family, was having an affair with. The workshop director stood by, a cold sweat soaking his back as he looked at Maximo on the sofa. Maximo stood up. He took Gia’s hand, lifting it to the light to admire the ring, his tone leaving no room for argument. “She’s walking in a major show in Paris next week. She needs this to make an impression on the haute couture scene. The family vault is full of jewels. Pick something else. Don't be dramatic.” Under the harsh lights, Gia admired herself in the mirror, her smile haughty and triumphant. I looked at my own reflection. Cashmere sweater and jeans. I didn’t belong here. This wedding, a year in the making, suddenly felt like a joke. I'm not upset. I just canceled the custom wedding dress along the way. “Maximo. The other jewels are perfectly fine.So I’m not getting married.”

In the seven years that I have been bound to my Alpha heir mate Garrett, he had slept with every single friend around me. I pretended I saw nothing. I kept fulfilling my duties as the future Luna. Until the day I gave birth, his new mistress led rogue wolves straight to me. Their claws pierced through my belly with cruel precision. My mother was even killed by them when she tried to save me. In that desperate moment, I used the mind link to contact Garrett and begged him to save us. "Aria, when did you learn to pull these tricks? Don't think your pathetic acting will make me care about you." After saying that, he shut down the mind link. But he did send a car—to pick up his new mistress. By the time the patrol found me and rushed me to the hospital, the baby in my belly had been clawed out. My mother died too. The rogue wolves' poison coursed through her wounds until her body gave up. When I woke up, I stared numbly at Garrett's grandfather, the current Alpha of the Shadowmoon Pack. "Let me go," I said flatly. "Whatever I owed your pack, I've paid it back with my life."

My grandfather is a nationally renowned inheritor of an intangible cultural heritage. Today, I'm supposed to attend a grand ceremony as his rightful successor. However, when I arrive, I see my father's adoptive daughter already standing on the stage. She's dressed to the nines. She holds an award and is giving a thank-you speech, looking moved. In the past, I would've left without saying anything or speaking up for myself. Too bad for her that I'd been reborn. The discrepancy between our statuses is so large that we're basically from different worlds. Yet she has the nerve to claim to be my grandfather's successor and put on a show with what is supposed to be my family's.

My boyfriend, Allen, is a fitness coach who is cheerful, handsome, and has eight-pack abs. After getting together with me, he transferred all his female students to other colleagues and would send me daily check-in photos. In anticipation of becoming his fiancee, I happily prepared for our engagement ceremony. However, two weeks before the ceremony, I discovered a bright red lipstick mark on Allen’s workout pants. I quickly pulled up the check-in photo he had sent me that day. Through the reflection on a dumbbell, I saw a woman standing next to Allen—her lips painted in the exact same lipstick color. Most of the previous photos had flaws, but I had trusted Allen too much to notice them. Looking at his message under the photo, I let out a cold laugh. "Baby, I have to work overtime today to train a male student." He actually dared to deceive me. Just then, my phone rang. It was the wedding planning company confirming the engagement ceremony setup. I quickly responded with a confirmation. The ceremony would proceed as planned—except I had a special surprise prepared for Allen, one he would never forget.

I had poured my heart into planning the perfect wedding—for my female client. Then I turned a corner and saw her kissing my boyfriend at the stairwell. He chuckled softly. "No wonder you're my wife. You're stunning." She let out a soft laugh. "Your little secret girlfriend still does not know you're marrying me. She actually wished me happiness—can you believe it? So… when are you planning to tell her?" He tilted her chin and said, "Didn't we agree? Once we're married, we each live our own lives. Teresa is the love of my life. I hope you'll keep your mouth shut." She gave a snort of laughter and yanked playfully on his tie. "Relax, babe. As long as you keep treating me right, I won't stir up trouble." I felt like I had plunged into an ice bath. Face pale, hands trembling, I picked up my phone and texted my mentor: [I'm ready to take the transfer to Luminous City.] The reply came not long after: [Three days from now. We'll go together.]

On International Women's Day, I spent twelve hours straight in a live stream, selling $5 million worth of product. When it came time to settle my commission, my aunt and boss, Sandra Holt, quietly transferred my $400,000 cut into her own account and handed me $500, labeled as a meal stipend. She took my hand with a warm, motherly smile. "Sweetheart, you're still an intern. Taking that much money at your age would hurt your career development. Let me hold onto it for you. Put it toward a car someday." I looked at the sharp calculation behind her kind eyes. I didn't argue. I took the money without a word. That night, I deleted my account and vanished, taking my entire product-sourcing system with me. The next morning, Aunt Sandra stared at a live stream with ten viewers and finally started blowing up my phone.

My sister is diagnosed with leukemia after a medical checkup at the hospital where I work. My bone marrow is a match for her. Out of curiosity, I tell my family I'm the one who's sick. They vehemently oppose to her donating her bone marrow to me. "A bone marrow donation is risky! We can't let your sister put herself in danger." "Don't drag your sister into this just because you're sick. Everyone's life and death is fated—you have to accept your destiny." My sister also refuses to help me, brushing me off with the excuse that she's preparing to conceive. My relationship with my family is strained, so their behavior thoroughly destroys it. When I realize this, I leave the diagnosis report behind and walk out on them.

The Sullivan brothers had always treated me like I was their whole world. That changed the day I was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor. The pain soon grew unbearable, and I was told I might lose my memories if I opted for surgery. I reached out to the brothers. I did not want to forget them, and I needed their help. However, when the call connected, the only thing I heard was an icy, sharp voice. "Summer, it's Yvonne's birthday today. Can you not ruin it for once?" I blacked out from the pain. When I woke up in the hospital, there was a message from Yvonne on my phone. "Summer, the boys gave me these lucky charms for protection." Attached was a photo of three silver pendants, each engraved with the brothers' initials. I knew those pendants well. I had spent seven hours in the freezing rain just to get them blessed. That was the moment I gave up. I went abroad alone for the surgery, and with it, all my memories of the brothers faded away. I completely forgot about them until one day, three strangers knocked on my door, begging like madmen for my forgiveness.

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."

I set fire to my painting in front of the entire academy. Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd as everyone thinks it's some kind of performance art. Unlike them, Willow Laurent is distraught. She rushes up and grabs my hand, questioning in a shrill voice, "Cassidy Seymour, have you gone mad? This is your only chance to prove yourself!" I shake her hand off me coldly. My only chance? No… What she means is that it's her chance. In my past life, I created this masterpiece with all my heart and soul. But she stole it from me and submitted it as her entry first. Whether it was the composition, the colors, or even my original dot-stippling technique… She replicated every detail flawlessly. Then, she won the National Young Artists Gold Award, signed with a top gallery, and became a rising star. And what about me? I was condemned as a shameless plagiarist. Insults and curses gradually drowned me. "You shouldn't be an artist!" "Plagiarists are scum! They should just die!" Her fans stormed into my studio, smashed my art supplies, and broke my right hand. As I saw no end to the hell that I was living in, I jumped down from the top floor of my studio. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the very day she first accuses me of plagiarism.