The Will To Keep Winning

My marriage to Dante Moretti shocked everyone. I’ve got a fiery temper and I don’t back down. Three years into our marriage, the entire Chicago underworld knew we were at each other's throats. Except in bed. There, our bodies just fit. The only time we weren't at war was when we were tangled in the sheets, lost in a storm of desperate kisses and raw pleasure. Countless times, he’d tell me he was obsessed with my body, always right as he was sinking into me. I thought it was his way of saying he was falling for me. That all came crashing down at an auction, when he snatched my mother's heirloom from me, only to give it to her—a fragile-looking girl named Ava. That’s when he showed me a cruelty I’d never seen. "It's time for a reality check, Elara," he’d said, his voice cold as ice. "Marrying you, fucking you… it was all just to keep the peace between our families. Ava is the one I want to protect." But the day I finally left Chicago, the day I announced our divorce to the world… That cold, calculating Mafia Don hunted for me like a man possessed.

On the day I tried on my wedding dress, a stranger burst into the VIP fitting room and slashed me with a knife. She tore my dress to shreds, her face twisted with rage. "A gold-digger like you doesn't deserve a dress this expensive!" The blade, soaked in sulfuric acid, pierced my abdomen, and I collapsed in agony. She grabbed my hair and slapped me, snarling, "Clarence promised to marry me! You're nothing but a homewrecker!" Blood stained my gown as the truth hit me. My boyfriend of seven years had been cheating on me. "Keep staring, huh? My man runs this city. I could kill you, and no one would touch me!" she taunted, smug as hell. With bloodied hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother. "Chris, come get me from the bridal shop. And tell the Thompsons the engagement is off."

Every anniversary, Mark had some twisted surprise for me. Our tenth? He strutted into the ballroom holding hands with an escort wearing straight up lingerie. "Jenna, she's cold. Hand over your dress." Then, like that wasn't sick enough: "And the lingerie. She likes your vibe." I clutched my collar, trying to keep it together. He didn't care—just yanked it open. "Cut the act. Your dad sold you to me, remember? That slutty look you used to give me—I still see it." Everyone stared, waiting for me to break. So I did the one thing I could. "I want a divorce." Again. Mark just laughed and chucked a stack of photos on the table—me, covered in marks, curled in bed, a total mess. "You say that every year. And every year, you're back in my bed. Think your mom keeps that hospital spot if these get out?"

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.]

Leah, Logan’s adopted sister, threw a tantrum at our first engagement party, an episode of her pup dependency anxiety. But after that night, I gave him an ultimatum: if he couldn’t bond me before I turned thirty, he’d have to choose—me or Leah. Logan believed I’d never walk away. After all, I was bonded by my dying mother’s last wish: to be bonded with the werewolf warrior who’d loved me for ten years. Ten years together. Twelve promises that he’d keep Leah in line. And then came my twenty-ninth birthday—our thirteenth engagement party. Leah locked me in a restroom, stole my gown, and stood beside Logan in my place. She was smiling, glowing, claiming everything that was mine. When I finally stepped out, my gown was tattered. I confronted Logan, but he only said, “Alison, forgive her. I promise, this is the last time.” I looked at the torn gown my mother had sewn through sickness and pain… and I laughed. Logan sighed in relief, thinking I’d let it slide again. But I didn’t. I turned and walked away without a word. After a decade together, he thought I belonged to him. Well, he was wrong. He didn’t know that there was someone else who could give me happiness and fulfill my mother’s wish.

On the anniversary of our Mating, my legs were wrapped around my Alpha, Adrian, as we shared a deep kiss. My fingertips brushed against the hidden pocket of my silk dress, my hand tightening around the pregnancy test I had concealed there. I felt the faint flutter of a new life inside me, planning to give him this surprise as the perfect end to our evening. Just then, Adrian's Beta, Ethan, spoke in a low, teasing tone, using the Old Tongue. "Alpha, that little sister-in-law of yours… the newly matured she-wolf, Zoe. How did she taste?" Adrian's low, suggestive chuckle reached my ears, quiet yet piercingly clear. He replied in the same ancient language. "You know a freshly ripened pepper? Hot, with a real kick." His palm was still caressing my waist, yet his gaze had drifted elsewhere. "Just keep it quiet. If my Luna finds out, it's all over." The other Betas let out knowing chuckles, raising their glasses in a silent promise to keep his secret. But a chill washed over me, and my inner wolf went still, as if it had died. He didn't know I had studied the Old Tongue for my research on werewolf trauma. I understood every word. I held back my tears, forcing myself to appear unfazed, maintaining the composure expected of a Luna. Instead of confronting him, I sent a magically shielded message to Elder Slone of the Werewolf Healers' Association, accepting the invitation she had extended to me. In three days, I would join a secure werewolf rehabilitation program as their new Lead Therapist and disappear from Adrian's world forever.

George Milton took me eight times in a single night. By the ninth, his hand gripped my waist, his voice rough with satisfaction as he rasped, "Baby, I want you to use that innocent-but-sexy look you've got to go seduce Jordan." My entire body went rigid. Then I found out—George's first love, Sarah Byrnes, had been ditched by Jordan Baker, leaving her heartbroken. He wanted me to take revenge for her, to make Jordan taste the agony of being abandoned by the one he loved. After my family had gone bankrupt, I was delivered straight to George's bed. Naively, I believed he treated me differently. After all, I had been the woman at his side the longest. But he only sneered. "The reason I keep you is because you look like Sarah. She's hurting. Now it's your turn to do your part. With reddened eyes, I agreed, swallowing every foolish hope I should never have harbored. Soon, I captured the aloof and untouchable Jordan's heart. And for the first time, George lost control. He wept as he begged, "Catelyn, I regret it. Come back to me, please?"

My fiancee was diagnosed with cancer and needed a liver transplant. When I found out I'm a match, I agreed to undergo the surgery without a second thought. They removed two-thirds of my liver. The pain is excruciating, but the moment I wake up, I force myself to check on her. Outside her hospital room, I overhear her talking to a friend. "Trish, you're a genius! This revenge plan is brilliant!" her friend exclaims. Patricia Zeller laughs. "If I weren't trying to keep it low-key, I would've taken a kidney just for fun. It's all his fault that Warren messed up his college entrance exam and had to study abroad. Warren's coming back in a month. Once he does, I'm done with him for good."

After five years of marriage, I received a wedding invitation from abroad. The groom is my husband, Arnold Willowstream. The bride is my younger sister, Yasmine Cooper. In disbelief, I decide to fly to Ainland and witness the wedding for myself. But the moment I see Arnold holding Yasmine and kissing her deeply, my heart shatters completely. Fireworks explode in the sky, and glowing words appear above—"Happy Marriage, Mr. Willowstream and Ms. Yasmine." In that instant, it feels like a blade piercing straight through my chest. Watching them look so happy together, I feel like I'm the one intruding on someone else's marriage. Love is a game for two—there's no room for a third. If he's already gotten married to someone else, what place do I have left in his life? Rather than waiting to be pushed out, I choose to walk away on my own and at least keep the last shred of dignity.

I was on a business trip out of town when I got a text from my neighbor. [Can you and your husband keep it down? Also, one of your undies fell onto my balcony.] Shocked, I opened the photo she had sent. The underwear wasn't even my style, but it matched the one I'd seen in my husband's online shopping cart. He'd told me it was a gift for me, but I remember noticing the size—it was one size larger than mine. When confronted with the neighbor's message, my husband swore that the house must've been broken into and claimed the intruder left the item behind. But something about his story didn't sit right, so I decided to dig further. That was when I stumbled upon his social media. His latest post was just three words. [I bought this.] It was paired with a photo of a lingerie gift set. Beneath it, there was a comment. [I'm wearing it.] Attached was a picture of a woman's legs—and the unmistakable background of my living room. The evidence was undeniable. I packed up the underwear and brought it straight to the police. "My husband says our house was broken into. This was left behind by the intruder, and it might have DNA on it."