The Comeback Queen Novels & Stories

I died in a gown that cost more than most houses. Red silk. Diamond choker. A single bullet through the heart. The Moretti ballroom was still playing violins when I hit the marble. Crystal shattered around me. My consigliere stood over me, gun smoking. My husband watched from three steps away and didn’t move. Guests screamed and ran. The chandeliers kept swaying. “You’re too soft to run this family, Caterina,” he said. “Queens don’t hesitate.”

She says with a small giggle. "You will stop second guessing your abilities to lead and you will rule right beside your mate. That is an order." She jokes with a hint of seriousness. I nod and smile up at her. She holds her hand out and a golden staff apears. I immediately bow down and she dubs me Queen of werewolves by tapping the staff on both of my shoulders. "I now dub thee Mackenzie Roseline Lathen as Queen of werewolves and Luna of the royal pack. Do you accept?" She asks and I look up at her.

The audience nodded in agreement. The host continued. "As we all know, tonight is special because the young violinist, Kyle Alvarro, is here to perform,” he said. “But there is one more reason why there is a performance tonight at the Althoria Opera House. And that is because the young miss of the Caruso family, Marilyn Caruso, has returned to the country!” The people present that night were shocked. They could not believe their ears upon hearing that Marilyn had returned to Althoria—the young miss who had run away during her engagement party with Knight Silvercrest.

That could not happen. She reached for her phone, dialing a number she hadn’t used in months. When the line picked up, her voice was silk but carried steel beneath. “It’s time,” she said. “Bring him back.” On the other end, a man’s low chuckle echoed before the line clicked dead. Minutes later, a shadow crossed her doorway. A tall frame, familiar and dangerous, stepped inside. Lyana’s smile returned at last, slow and venomous. “Welcome back, Jaxon.”

It was the nail in the coffin of her disbelief. It was real. All of it. The fall, the death, and this impossible, terrifying, miraculous second chance. She was twenty-five again. Eighteen years. She had been given back eighteen years. Ava stared at her own hands. They were not the hands of a forty-year-old woman, subtly marked by time and disappointment. They were smooth, unlined, the nails bitten down from the anxiety of a thousand auditions. The hands of a girl who still had a universe of hope in front of her.

Not when it came to A. “A will be back in my life,” I continued, my voice dropping lower, darker. “Aurora. Astrid. Whatever the hell they call her now—she’ll come back to me. She has to. Because she’s mine.” Her struggles weakened, and for a moment, I considered letting her pass out. It might teach her to watch her mouth next time. But no. Not yet. I still needed her. With a flick of my wrist, I released her, and she fell forward, coughing and gasping for air as she clutched at her neck.

And since then, everything Emma owned, her luxurious life, the love and care from her father, and her best friend, Ethan was taken away from her. Emma’s hands shook as memories began to flood her mind, but before she could dwell further, the door slammed open, revealing a woman clad in a coffee-color mini gown, a limited-edition heel, and red lipstick that highlighted her flawless oval face. The excitement in her eyes was too palpable to be ignored.

“I’ll talk to you later, bye” “O…” before I ended the call, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, the end dial tone sounded through my ears and I leaned back on the sofa watching her bare long legs come in view as she walked down the stairs, the sight made me bite my lips to hide a smile She was now in thigh length nude shorts, they were loose and the color shade was almost identical to her skin, she wore a lemon crop top, noticeably with no bra on and her hair was in a messy bun, when she reached the stair floor she looked at me and I could see the surprise cross her eyes

Her dark brown hair was styled perfectly, and she wore a simple white blouse and tailored pants. She looked up as we approached, and I saw the moment recognition hit her features. "Ayra Smith," she said, her voice carrying that model-like cheeriness. "I heard you were making a comeback." "Rina." I kept my voice neutral, polite. "Congratulations on your engagement." "Thank you." Her smile was sharp as a blade. "Callum is wonderful. It's so nice to have someone who truly supports your career, isn't it?" The dig was subtle but clear. Unlike your ex-husband, who made you give up everything.

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