Tragic

I was dying from my fear of heights, but my husband, Don Vincent, was busy with his assistant, savoring the latest coffee flown in from Hawaii that morning. "You're a grown woman, Bella. What's the big deal? You're stuck on a roof, figure it out." Then he hung up on me. I collapsed onto the hot tar of the roof, my body shaking uncontrollably before everything went black. It was two hours before building security found me. When I got home, I asked Vincent for a divorce. He rubbed his temples, his patience worn thin, looking at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. "Over a cup of coffee? I told you, the heights are all in your head. You’re perfectly safe now. Stop making a scene alright? What's this nonsense about a divorce? I have more important things to deal with. Calm yourself down." I stared at his back as he left, tears already streaming down my face. Something important? Did he really think I couldn't hear his assistant, Sophia, murmuring in the background? Did he think I didn't know he took her to the last family gathering? I had loved Vincent for three years. Everyone knew he was the center of my world. They all thought an orphan like me could never leave him. But now, all the love I had was eclipsed by a profound, soul-crushing exhaustion. I was done. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in three long years. "Uncle, book me a flight to Seattle. I'm ready to leave Vincent."

Stanley Hamilton and I were basically Southport's favorite hate-watch couple. For Elodie—my oh-so-perfect adopted sister—he wrecked my company and had my parents thrown in prison. I, in turn, drove Elodie to her death, making him watch as she jumped off a rooftop. Our forced marriage? Just a slow ride from mutual disgust straight into mutual destruction. Then came the car explosion. Stanley, who'd hated me forever, still used his last breath to shove me out of the blast. "Vivienne Weston, one lifetime tangled with you is enough. If there's a next one, let's never meet." He touched the tattoo of Elodie's name on his neck, smiling faintly as the flames took him. After he died, I wandered through life half-dead myself until illness finished the job. When I woke up in the past, staring at two betrothal contracts, I didn't hesitate—I picked the guy everyone swore was insane. Stanley and my dad? I handed them right back to Elodie. This time, I wanted no meetings, no memories, no strings. Ever again.

Seven years ago, my mafia husband, Sergio Wexler, had me committed to a psychiatric ward. On the day I was released, I changed my name, cut my hair short, and vanished like a ghost. Seven years later, we meet again at the grave of my brother, Luca Lorusso. The bouquet in his hand falls with a soft thud. Sergio clenches his fists tightly, barely holding back emotions that threaten to break through his usual calm. "Janella, why the short hair? I almost didn't recognize you. Where have you been all these years? After that fire at the psych ward, I pulled every string I had, but I never got any leads on you. I've been looking for you for seven years. I even thought you were… dead." When I stay silent, he rubs his red-rimmed eyes. "You're avoiding me, aren't you? Do you still hate me for having you locked up? Believe me, I had no choice." I let out a bitter laugh. Sergio killed Luca to become the Don. He slept with Luca's woman and locked me in that dark, windowless "special ward", nearly erasing me from existence. And now, here he is at Luca's grave, playing the victim. To me, any love and hate I had for Sergio died long ago in that tiny, suffocating ward. Now, he's just a stranger to me.

When I faint due to my hemophobia after seeing blood on the training grounds, my mate, Alpha Yves Golding, is busy applying medicine to his assistant, Renee Lawson, who has only scraped her skin. After I wake up, the first thing I do is drag my weak and exhausted body to the Elders' Council to request something I never imagined I would ask for—to break my mate bond with Yves. Yves swiftly approves the request, then turns confidently to his Beta and says, "Come on, she's just throwing a tantrum. She's an orphan. Other than staying by my side, she has nowhere else to go. She can't possibly leave me for real. "Besides, aren't there three days left until the Council processes breaking a mate bond? When she comes back regretfully to beg me, I'll withdraw the application. As long as the process isn't finished, she's still mine." Then, Yves uploads a photo on Wolf Net. It features him and Renee standing shoulder-to-shoulder while showing off their muscles in the mirror. They are also gazing at each other with smiles on their faces. The caption reads, "Every bead of sweat deserves to be remembered." Everyone showers him with praise, teasing compliments, and blessings, and every single one stabs into my chest like a dagger. Still, I don't fall apart. I calmly pack my belongings and then pick up my encrypted phone. "Uncle Harrison, it's me. Please arrange a flight back to the Silvermoon pack for me as soon as possible." However, after my departure, Yves is the one who falls apart instead.

I was attacked at the same time as my childhood friend, and when we finally woke up, he had lost his memory. I didn't have a single scratch, but my long-gone grandmother's spirit somehow ended up inside my body. "This wimp is still pretending he lost his memory just to trick my sweetheart. If I were still alive, I'd beat him so bad he wouldn't know which way was up!" I stared in shock, my mouth wide open. My grandmother's angry voice kept ringing in my head. "In Sonia's last life, she got killed because of that useless Fabian. She lived such an unhappy life because of him! "When her grandpa asks who she wants to marry this time, I hope she won't choose Fabian. She should pick Chandler instead. That boy is quite responsible!" A moment later, my grandfather and a few elders really did walk into my room. They laid out portraits of the four princes in front of me and told me to choose one as my future husband. I didn't hesitate at all. I picked my long-time rival, Chandler Clarke. If my grandmother said Fabian Clarke never loved me, then I didn't want him anymore.

For four years I was his secretary, and for four years I warmed his bed. I knew everything, from his family business to the secrets he whispered to me at night. But to him, I was nothing more than a toy he could summon whenever he pleased. The moment his first love, Sofia Costa, flew back into the country, he humiliated me without a second thought. He kissed her in a Sicilian church, abandoned me on a rain-soaked road with a gash ten inches long on my calf, and later dismissed me with a cold, cutting line. He said I was someone unimportant, someone he could simply ignore. She waved the tulip plush he'd given her in front of me. "I'm the only one he loves. You were just a stand-in." While I rebuilt my life in Chicago and finally found some peace, this ruthless Mafia don knelt outside my door, eyes red with emotion. "Elena, come back to me." I kicked his hand away with a smile. "Your so-called devotion disgusts me."

In their fifth year of marriage,Jessica went to renew their marriage certificate. However, she was told that the certificate was fake, and her husband's legal wife was someone else. The love that had seemed inseparable for five years turned out to be a lie. When she returned home, she overheard Anthony, her husband, talking to his lawyer: "Linda is building her career abroad, and to establish herself in the business world, she needs the title of Mrs. Harris. I have to help her." "As for Jessica, she's completely devoted to me. She's already cut ties with her family for me, and she will never leave." Hearing that, Jessica's heart turned to stone. By the time Anthony brought back the real marriage certificate, Jessica had disappeared, and he was unable to find her again.

The day my husband, Caleb Vale, buries his first love, Layla Shaw, he stands in front of me and throws our wedding ring into the sea. For the next 12 years, the breakfasts I bring him go straight into the trash, and the scarf I stay up all night knitting is tossed into the fire and burned to ash. The cruelest moment is when he looks me in the eye and says, "Aurora, if you really want to please me, you might as well go die." But when a mugger comes at me with a knife, Caleb still steps in front of me without a second's hesitation. As he lies dying in my arms, he uses the very last of his strength to force out a few broken words. "Go... I hope I never see you again in my next life." At the funeral, Helena Rogers sobs until she faints. "This is all my fault. I never should've arranged your marriage..." Everyone around us pities him and resents me. They whisper that I'm a jinx and wonder why I'm not the one who died. And honestly, I wonder the same thing. Why not me? After Caleb is lowered into the ground, I climb to the top floor of the building and jump. As I hover on the edge of death, a cold, mechanical voice echoes in my mind. "Binding complete. Wish detected. The system will now send you back 12 years."

On the day of my wedding anniversary, I was cleaning my house when I found a picture album. As it turned out, my husband had been religiously taking pictures with the girl of his dreams every year on this precise date. He had been doing it since he was forty years old and he was now sixty years old. His hair had progressed from a jet black to a faded white and yet, he kept up the tradition. There was a written message in his handwriting at the back of the picture that read, “Eternal Love.” Since he doesn't love me, I will no longer bother washing his clothes and cooking for him. I will no longer care for his children and grandchildren. I may have foolishly wasted half of my life, but it was not too late to make a change.

I was the prime suspect in the notorious murder of my parents-in-law in Cardinal City. The one who arrested me was my wife—Linda Reese, the police chief. While the verdict was still pending, the killer struck again. The new victim was murdered with the same savage cruelty. Linda knelt before me, begging me to tell her the truth. I told her I didn’t know. The victims’ families screamed, demanding that I be carved into pieces. Three months later, Linda found me beside a garbage bin, bringing with her a memory-decoding device. Her hands trembled as she pressed two thin needles into my temples. “I’m sorry, Finn. I know you’re not the killer. I just want this slaughter to end. I don’t want anyone else to die. Let everyone see your memories—let them see what really happened back then.” But when she finished watching my memories, she collapsed to the ground, utterly broken, and fell to her knees.