Season 6 Family Matters Mga Nobela at Kwento

Five years ago, my brother's fiancée died because of me. Five years later, I'm burned to a crisp and laid out on his autopsy table.

My mother was the best portrait artist in the police station. She had a strong sense of justice and brooked no evil. However, all I got was a sharp retort when I called her to save me. "You know it's your sister's coming-of-age celebration today, and you're cursing her? Kidnapped, are you? Fine, the kidnappers can kill you for all I care." She assumed it was a prank call. So, she refused to go to the police station and do her job. I wasn't saved in time and was tortured to death. When the DNA report came out, she came to the scene all wobbly. She drew a portrait of me with my bones as reference, her hand trembling all the way. "Jessica? It can't be her. This is a mistake!" She tried again and again. Yet, it didn't matter how many times she redid it as the portrait showed my face. My mother, who had hated me my whole life, teared up.

I was sent to a correctional facility by my family for five years. The first thing I learned there was obedience. If people told me to do one thing, I would never dare do anything else. The day my wife, Casey Anderson, came to pick me up, she stood at the entrance and said coldly, "If you dare say another bad word about Roger, I'll make sure you never speak again." The moment she finished speaking, I turned and ran straight into traffic. When she saw me get thrown by the impact of the car, she nearly lost her footing. At the hospital, my foster brother stood beside my bed with a sinister smile. "So you actually managed to survive. But that's fine. I have plenty of ways to kill you and make sure you never make it home." After saying that, he smashed the bowl of porridge onto the floor, then deliberately fell onto the shattered glass as he cried out loudly, "Bobby, if you hate me that much, I'll leave! Please, just let me go!" My mother and Casey happened to walk in at that exact moment. Casey immediately rushed over to help Roger up. My mother, meanwhile, slapped me hard across the face. "You'll never change, huh? If Roger's hand is ruined because of you and he can't play the piano anymore, I'd rather see you dead in this hospital bed." Obediently, I walked toward the window and jumped. The harsh, sharp-tongued woman who had always been my mother—and Casey as well—went completely pale with fear. I happened to crash onto my father's car. Trembling, he threw open the door and shouted for the medical staff. My consciousness gradually faded. Then, a system suddenly appeared and said, "Congratulations, Host. You have completed ninety-nine tragic storylines. Finish this final one, and you will be able to return to your original world and revive your younger sister."

I spent six months and a quarter million dollars to secure a week in Sicily. But when my husband’s childhood obsession, Chiara, cried nostalgia into his ear, Dante didn’t hesitate. He removed my name from the armored motorcade roster and replaced it with hers. He told me to take a commercial flight alone through rival family territory—a route where three associates had “disappeared” last month. The entire famiglia supported Dante’s decision without a single thought for my safety. So I changed my itinerary. I boarded a plane to Monaco instead of Palermo. I spent three months at the roulette tables, ignoring their frantic calls. That was when the famiglia started to bleed…

Being the only daughter of the Calhoun family, a mafia family in Merovia, I am doted on like a princess. This changes when I turn 18, when Mom dies. On the way back from a family meeting, the car blows up, and Mom shields me beneath her. Even as she lies in a pool of blood, her gaze is tender as she says to me, "Don't blame yourself, sweetheart. I love you." Still, after Mom's death, everyone in the family starts blaming me for what happened, including Dad and my older brother, William Calhoun. I go from being the princess of the family to the jinx that everyone hates. Soon after that, Dad brings home a new adopted daughter, Juliet Calhoun. William favors her and detests me. Even my childhood sweetheart, Shawn Kramer, takes a liking to her and ignores me. Dad says his new adopted daughter is way better than his biological one. They all agree to attend my college graduation ceremony. But on the day, they end up taking Juliet onto our family's yacht and holding a cocktail party out on the water to celebrate the official addition of a new family heir. This is the 100th time they ditch me for her. Unable to stop myself from an emotional breakdown, I cry out, "I'm the one who's related to you by blood!" Dad shields Juliet, who backs away from me out of fear. Then, he slaps me on the face. "I wish I'd never had you." "Who wants to have a younger sister like you? I wish you'd died with Mom!" William roars in contempt. This time, I've decided to let it all go. I call Aunt Marissa, Mom's sister. She's the founder and a therapist at MindCare Treatment Center. "Come here. This is your home now." I know that Mom's death was a conspiracy. This isn't just me leaving, but withdrawing myself from the family entirely. I hope that the next time I meet the Calhouns, there won't be tears on my end. Instead, judgment will befall them.

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

On my birthday, I proposed a family trip to the northern grasslands. My younger sister, Clara Harrington, who was studying in the southern territory, decided to drive through the forest to meet up with us. But unexpectedly, she was attacked by Rogue wolves in the woods, and her body was never found. My parents, Oscar Harrington and Margaret Vale, placed all the blame on me for her death and cast me out of the family. Overwhelmed with guilt and sorrow, I left the pack to atone for my sins. I took on odd jobs to earn money to send home, all while searching for any trace of Clara. Three years later, I found myself in the southern territory and began working as a delivery runner for a forest cafe. One day, while delivering an order to Werewolf Academy, I saw my parents and Clara standing at the school gate. She said, "Dad, Mom, Adeline has been wandering for three years. Shouldn't we let her come home?" But my mother replied calmly, "She is too selfish. It's only right that she suffers a little. We can bring her back once she realizes her mistakes." My father nodded in agreement. "Let her wander for another year. We'll bring her home next year." I clutched my stomach, my face pale as I forced out a bitter laugh. Three years of exhaustion had left me gravely ill. My wolf was gone, and I only had three days left to live. I could't wait until next year for my father to come and take me home.

In my previous life, my brother took his sugarbaby to see a meteor shower because she said she wanted to. He drove to the countryside with all his bodyguards to create a perfect stargazing night for her. Unfortunately, business rivals whom my brother had bankrupted saw this opportunity and broke into our estate seeking revenge. My mother fought desperately to protect me, suffering severe injuries that left her fighting for her life. I called my brother repeatedly, begging him to return quickly and help us. He finally had to come back with his security team. The intruders were captured, but then terrible news came from the countryside. His sugarbaby had left a suicide note, her fate unknown. In her letter, she accused me of deliberately drawing my brother away, causing her to be tortured by his enemies before she took her own life. My brother coldly burned her letter and told me not to worry about it. Afterward, my brother was blamed for what happened, and my father promised to put me in charge of the company. However, after the celebration dinner ended, my brother brutally murdered me in my bedroom. His face showed no emotion as he coldly said, "Someone as treacherous as you should have died long ago. "You should have been the one to die, and the family inheritance should have been mine!" I died with my eyes wide open in disbelief, and when I opened them again, I could hear our enemies breaking down the front door of our mansion.

My name is Elvira Rossi, daughter of Don Rossi, head of the Itavelle mafia family. Three months ago, my father was killed. Our operations were stripped bare, nothing left. The accounts were draining fast, and the family still had mouths to feed. Then a DNA report surfaced out of nowhere. According to it, I was the LaRosa family's long‑lost true heiress, missing for eighteen years. Money, at last, had found its way to me. For the sake of my people, I was willing to set aside my pride and play the part of a sheltered heiress. The car sent to escort me back to the estate broke down halfway up the mountain? I steadied it with one hand and carried it the rest of the way to the hilltop manor. The fake heiress dissolved into tears, accusing me of pushing her? I answered by striking the century-old tree in the courtyard, splitting it clean through. She went silent immediately. My fiancé sent bodyguards to "teach me self‑defense"? My two friends politely introduced them to the concept of being permanently embedded in a wall. As my so‑called "family" shook in fear, my knuckles cracked softly. After all, before inheriting the mafia, I inherited my father's favorite rule: "If violence can solve it, don't waste words."

I'm cursed with the most deadly spell of the werewolf pack—leaving me with only a month left to live. However, no one in my family knows about this. Ever since they'd adopted Natali Fisher, an orphan who greatly resembles my older sister, they've poured all their love and attention into her—and stopped caring about me. And at that very moment, I'm curled up in a corner of the woodshed, with blood steadily dripping from the corners of my lips. Dad, Mom, and my older brother, Kent Greene, probably think that I'm throwing another tantrum and am deliberately hiding from them. But that isn't the case this time. They are currently outside cooking Natali's favorite mushroom soup in the courtyard. Their happy laughter fills the air, painting the picture of a warm, loving family. Maybe I could even believe this is a happy family if I weren't about to die soon.