Tragic Theater

I once thought I had the most dangerous yet the most perfect love in the whole world. My lover, Dante Costello, is the Underboss of the Costello family. He carries himself with grace and nobility. Everyone fears and respects him, yet he only shows his gentle side to me. I used to think that the man who keeps lurking in the shadows and has once left humiliating marks on me while gazing at me with cold eyes is his brother, Luciano Costello. Luciano is a Capo who lives in the shadows. He's also a madman whose hands are stained with blood. Everything changes when I smell the unique scent of gunpowder and blood that only Luciano has from Dante's custom-fitted suit. Only then do I realize that I have never just belonged to one man all this time. During the day, Dante plays the role of my perfect lover. He showers me with jewelry and deadly romance. At night, Luciano transforms into a devil who satisfies his twisted, possessive urges in the roughest way possible. Both brothers have set up an elaborate trap to lock me up in this gilded cage and admire my struggles from afar. When I find out about the truth, I don't cry or bleed over it. Instead, I'm filled with eerie calmness. The brothers want to watch me break down. Instead of doing that, I'll ruin them. I flutter effortlessly between the brothers, using their only weakness against them. Apparently, both of them think that they are the only hunters in this game. This time, it's my turn to weave them a trap.

I'm a stripper who works in the red light district of Las Poverla. By sheer accident, I bring the mafia heir, Alessandro Pushkin, home with me while he's completely drenched in blood. In order to cover Alessandro's astronomical hospital bills, I choose to sell my blood and my body. Before we part ways, Alessandro gives the ring that symbolizes his family's authority to me. He promises me that once he purges his family of all traitors, he'll marry me and make me the future Donna. But I don't receive any news from him since then. I'm worried that Alessandro's met with danger again, so I keep asking around for news related to him. But that's when I see the scandal of him making out with his new lover, Cristina Romano, on the news. In order to demand an explanation from him, I find my way to Alessandro's villa, only to be treated as a homeless person. As such, I get kicked out by his bodyguards. On top of that, I also get humiliated by his Cristina. When Alessandro's enemy kidnaps both me and Cristina, he forces Alessandro to choose one of us. He immediately abandons me, even though I'm pregnant with his baby. A gunshot rings out, causing me to collapse to the ground. Soon, Alessandro and Cristina leave. That's when I get up from the ground and wipe the fake blood off my body. The man who shot me earlier looks at me, his heart aching for me. "Principessa, how are we going to get revenge on them?" That's right. I'm no ordinary stripper—I'm actually the only daughter of the Columbo family's Don, making me the Principessa of the most powerful family ever.

The day I found out that I was a fake heiress who had taken the place of the Jones family’s real daughter, my husband, Timothy Lane, was brought back as the true heir of the Lane family. The man who once said he loved me quickly abandoned both me and our daughter. At that very moment, the real heiress, Nancy Jones, decisively broke up with the fake heir of the Lane family and got together with Timothy. According to them, this was simply ‘making things right’. After losing everything in the blink of an eye, Micah Lane, the fake heir, kidnapped my daughter and me, forcing me to call Timothy for help. However, Timothy ignored our desperate pleas and mocked us. "You two are really something. Of course the fake heiress and fake heir go together. No wonder you make such a perfect pair of actors." On the other end of the line, I could occasionally hear Nancy's raspy, suggestive voice. As I listened to them, Micah stabbed me and my daughter to death. I died a tragic, painful death. After we died, my daughter and I were my husband's final assignment as a mortician before he left the job. The man who claimed he did not care about us fell apart the moment he saw our lifeless bodies. "Wasn't it all supposed to be a lie?! Why weren't you lying to me?! "Please, don't die! Don't leave me!"

I'm Tristan Scott's driver's daughter. Ten years ago, my father died at the hands of Tristan's abductors as he tried to save Tristan. Tristan had held me close and told me, "I'll care for you for the rest of your life on your father's behalf." Later, my mother's cancer relapsed due to her sorrow after losing my father. Before her death, she hoped to see Tristan and me marry. But on the wedding day, Tristan leaves me at the altar. I weep and try to keep him around, but he sneers and says, "You should know where to draw the line—your father gave his life in exchange for the cushy life you now have. That should be enough for you! You're dreaming if you think you can marry me!" In the end, my mother dies without seeing Tristan put a ring on me. That night, his assistant shares an Instagram story. The photo is of her and Tristan's faces plastered to each other as she shows off the ring on her finger. It's captioned, "My answer is yes."

Everyone says I'm lucky to be Frosthowl pack's Luna because my Alpha mate, Matthew White, loves me dearly. I love roses and fireworks, so he buys all that are available on my birthday. When it's almost midnight, he kisses me tenderly and says, "I'll turn you into a Luna that everyone envies, Amber." The fireworks light up the sky above the castle of roses he's built for me, and they go on for the rest of the night. They make it seem brighter than day. He and I do it underneath the fireworks and flowers throughout the night, and I accidentally catch a cold. Matthew is so guilty that he summons the pack's best healer to treat my inconsequential cold. All the werewolves treat our mate bond as a symbol of true love. However, just moments ago, I found a torn pair of black stockings in his suit jacket's pocket. I never wear those. However, his secretary, Beth Seymour, who helps him deal with the pack's matters, wears them every day.

On the day a dispute broke out between my students, I saw Samantha again—the girl I had broken up with ten years ago; the girl who had been fighting wiped away her tears and cried out for her mother. Samantha froze when she saw me. After a long moment, she seemed to remember herself and quickly apologized. "Mr. Brooke, I'm sorry for causing you trouble." I handled the compensation matter strictly by the book. When everything was settled, she lingered behind the others, clearly wanting to speak but hesitating. "I remember you didn't want to be a teacher back then," she said. I smiled faintly and walked her to the office door. "People change. So do their thoughts." Just like my feelings for her—those had been turned over long ago.

York Langston locked me up for six months. Word on the street was he dropped over 100 million to buy me my own private island. Security here? Tight enough to rival the White House. Even a bird that flew past the area would get shot down on sight. But what nobody knew… All that luxury people envied? To me, it was just a gilded cage. It wasn't until he found a woman who looked almost like me that his interest began to fade. One day, she stormed the island with a gang at her back while he was away. She slashed my tendons and carved up my face with a blade before locking me inside a cage with a rabid dog. I was barely breathing by the time York finally found me. "York, this woman thought she could fool you by imitating me? She must be a spy! You'll have to flay her alive if you want her to talk!"

My husband took our six-year-old daughter on a fishing trip, but when his first love called, he left her alone to answer his phone. With no one watching her, our daughter fell into the sea, and we never recovered her body. Heartbroken, I called him and begged him to return, but his voice was cold as he said, “Cheyenne, today’s Queenie's birthday. Can you stop being such a buzzkill?” When I stumbled back home in despair, I found his first love clinging provocatively to him, a smug smile on her face. “What’s got you so upset, sis-in-law?” she sneered. I let out a cold laugh and flipped the dining table over. “As long as you’re alive, I’ll never be happy.”

On my wedding day, my fiancé bailed. Sabina—his ex—had sent him a diary listing 77 things she'd done for him. Turns out she only dumped him because his family pushed her to. So, he ran back to her. While I was still reeling, Jacob—my fiancé's best friend—showed up. He got down on one knee, flashed a ring he'd clearly had ready, and said, "Yuna Auclair, I've liked you for a long time. Will you marry me?" I thought he was my person. But after the wedding, Jacob turned distant. Hot one second, ice-cold the next. Then I found a diary in his study. Just like the one Sabina had sent my ex. Page one hit like a truck: [Hurt Yuna Auclair seventy-seven times, and I'll break up with Gabriel and be with you.] Oh—and Gabriel? He was my ex.

The day Bryan Abbott received the World Philanthropist Award, the doctors told me I would not live for long because I could not afford to replace my artificial heart. The TV host asked Bryan to call the person he regretted being with the most. Without hesitation, he dialed my number. I answered the call. Bryan asked, “Do you regret leaving me for money back then?” Staring at the astronomical bill for the artificial heart, I chuckled softly, “Bryan, you’re so rich now. Could you lend me $200,000?” The call cut off abruptly. I watched as Bryan icily said on TV, “Now, I have no regrets.” He did not know that back when his heart had failed, I had donated mine to him secretly so that he could live.