Tragic Theater

For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media. The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.] I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?] Lionel called within minutes. “She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped. “How can you be so lacking in compassion?” In the background, I heard her muffled sobs. Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post.  This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.] I knew he bought it to soothe her temper. But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.

I was Alpha Dylan’s “mate-in-waiting” for six years. Every night, he’d make love to me, worshipping every inch of my body. On our sixth anniversary, he promised me a surprise. I thought he was finally going to make me his official Luna. Instead, I watched him place the moonstone necklace, the symbol of the Luna, around the neck of Lady Lilith from the Black Forest Pack. He took my hand and explained, “Lilith has a rare disease, Moon-Eater's sickness. The only cure is to complete the mating bond with a powerful Alpha.” “Don’t worry. In three months, you’ll take your rightful place as my Luna.” I didn’t cry or fight like I used to. Instead, I sent a message to the Alpha King, the fated mate I once rejected. “About your offer to marry me… I accept.”

After dying in a tragic accident, Rhianne found herself transmigrated in a novel world as a character. To her much disappointment, she became the character who has a tragic fate in the end just because she falls in love with the wrong person. To avoid her tragic fate in the novel, she decided not to do all the stupid things the original character did in the novel. Instead, Rhianne decided to fulfill the dreams she didn't accomplish in her past life. But the novel doesn't want to let her off easily. Instead, all the people she wanted to avoid were now approaching her one by one. Even if she decided to change her fate, how can Rhianne avoid her tragic ending?

After my fated mate, Liam, postponed our marking ceremony for the ninety-ninth time, I saw him on the pack's evening news broadcast. He was with Clara at the Temple of the Moon Goddess, helping her choose precious moonstones. The look on his face was a gentle one I'd never seen before. My heart turned to ash. In my despair, I immediately accepted Alpha Fabian's courtship. He wooed me at his lavish estate, promising me the grandest marking ceremony of all. I started to believe the Moon Goddess had made a mistake, that Fabian was my true mate. Until I walked in on him in his study, plotting with a witch. On our marking night, he was going to steal my wolf soul and give it to Clara. And to make sure I could never interfere with Clara and Liam's bond, he planned to keep me his prisoner forever. I fled back to my room, sobbing uncontrollably. Then, with a trembling hand, I called the apothecary. "I need your strongest potion to end a pregnancy. As soon as possible."

Today is my birthday. But my wife, Talia Ford, tells me that she can't spend time with me today. She needs to accompany her uncle, Adam Ford, to his physical checkup. I'm about to convince Talia to stay with me when a row of comments suddenly pop up in front of my eyes. "Stop wasting your breath. Just let her go. "In your previous life, Talia insisted on keeping her uncle company, so you could only return to your research lab to work. But you predicted that the dead volcano located next to Bareyard Village would erupt tonight. So, you forcibly stopped Talia and made her go back to the village to save her grandpa. "But when her uncle went for the physical checkup on his own, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Engulfed by despair, he took his own life by jumping off the hospital. "After he died, Talia pinned the blame on you. She bought some potent rat poison and poisoned your food, thus killing you."

Today is the death anniversary of Jordan Willis, the Alpha of the Moonshadow Pack. He's also known as my dead mate. My name is Sasha Calhoun, a she-wolf who descends from a family with a weakened bloodline. I'm also the current Luna of the Moonshadow Pack. In a world where the bloodline purity determines the status quo of werewolf society, I seem to exist solely to enter a marriage alliance with Jordan, the Alpha who comes from the most elite family with a pureblooded heritage. This is a political trade meant to strengthen Jordan's position in his family as well as reassure the Elder Council. A year ago, Alpha Jordan sacrificed himself in a blazing inferno while on a mission. I become the most pitied she-wolf in the pack who has to keep the only light on in my empty home. At the same time, I need to protect the only flicker of hope in this pack. As I carry a bouquet of white lilies, which were Alpha Jordan's favorite flowers when he was still alive, I approach his grave. The pup in my womb seems to have picked up on my emotions, for it kicks me gently. I can feel the hum of a powerful and pure-blooded lifeform from the movement. It's the lifeblood of a pup destined to become the future powerful Alpha. Even though I'm still carrying the pup, I still feel reassured and proud. But the next thing I know, I spot a wolf sinking down to one knee far away on the horizon. He appears to be proposing to my younger sister, Winnie Calhoun. Even though there's more than 300 feet between us, I can still smell the Alpha's familiar scent, which seizes me by my heart. After all, I had once immersed myself in that particular scent for countless days and nights in the past. That Alpha… is actually Alpha Jordan, who supposedly died one year ago! I instinctively clutch my belly, my palm caressing the newly-developed heartbeat of my unborn pup. Then, I call the pack guards.

After I became a vegetable, Samuel kept me alive for two years with all sorts of tubes. I thought he couldn’t bear to let me go—until his true love returned to the country. He took my corneas and transplanted them to her. Right in front of me, he spoke to her with the utmost tenderness: “Don't worry; you'll be fine. These eyes have been prepared for you for two years.” As a result, I had an adverse reaction after the surgery and passed away. When he heard the news, his eyes turned crimson with rage, and he nearly smashed the hospital: ”Didn't you say there wouldn’t be any problems?!”

I decided to cut all ties with Julia Summers. She said she was busy with work, so I quietly packed my suitcase in our bedroom. Then she brought her so-called true love, Henry Stone, home. Right then and there, I asked for a divorce. In my past life, I’d poured my heart and soul into this family and nearly drained every last bit of our savings. Even then, on my fortieth birthday, my own children knelt before me, begging me to let Julia’s dying lover be buried in the Summers Estate. I looked at Julia and said, "You once told me you’d only ever love me. Have you really forgotten?" Her eyes turned red. "I’ll stay with you," she said, her voice trembling. "But Henry just wants a name. Why would you hold a grudge against someone who’s dying?" When I opened my eyes again, I was twenty-five. This time, I’d give them what they wanted and finally give myself what I deserved.

My mother is an extreme misogynist, even toward me, her own daughter. She's wanted to kill me since the day I was born. She hits me if I wear lip gloss, wear a dress, or even get close to my father. Before sitting for my SATs, she spreads rumors about me trying to seduce my father. Ultimately, she pushes me so hard that I jump from the 15th floor. This pleases her to no end.

The Moretti Family's Thanksgiving party was in full swing downstairs—crystal clinks, fake laughs, classic mafia gloss. Meanwhile, I was curled up in a servant's room on the third floor. Jackson Moretti's wife. Legally, anyway. My hands were ice. I gripped the ultrasound report like it could anchor me. Three heartbeats. Strong, steady. It was supposed to be a surprise—his big Thanksgiving gift. To the outside world, Jackson was a polished Stanford grad, running a top-tier consulting firm in San Francisco. But behind the scenes? He ran the Moretti empire—cold, calculated, pulling strings in the West Coast's darkest corners. Three years of marriage and we barely spoke, but I still clung to the hope that maybe... maybe there was something real left. Then I heard him downstairs. "You really not letting your wife come down?" "Isabella?" He laughed. "She'd kill the vibe." Another voice chimed in. "Lina's back, right? Wild you married her twin. Which one do you actually like?" Jackson didn't miss a beat. "Isabella's just a stand-in. Quiet. Predictable. I could tell her to drop dead and she'd say 'okay.'" "So when are you ditching her?" "Dunno. She thinks she matters. I'm just playing her." I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sob. A minute later, I was heading downstairs, numb. I brushed my fingers over my belly. "Sorry, babies," I whispered. Triplets. His. He thought I was blind. Weak. Stuck. What he didn't know? A quiet woman, once she snaps—she can burn it all down.