Transformation Story Gender

I'm severely allergic to many things, so my husband buys a separate villa for me. It's supposed to be sort of a nursing home. When my future daughter-in-law learns about this, she thinks my son is cheating on her. She breaks my bones to vent her anger. When she finds out I'm her future mother-in-law, she caresses her belly and looks at me smugly. "I'm already pregnant with Shawn's child. Think about whether you want this child to make it into this world." What she doesn't know is that the Ziegler family's fortune belongs to me and that Shawn Ziegler is only my adoptive son.

The day before New Year's, my younger brother announced he was bringing his girlfriend home for dinner. Excited, I drove my new car to pick them up, taking my daughter along with me. However, as soon as his girlfriend got in the car, her face darkened. "Henry, you didn't tell me your sister was staying at your place—and with a kid!" she snapped. I frowned and was about to explain when my brother quickly interjected, "She's not staying. After dropping us off, she'll be heading to a hotel." Only then did his girlfriend's expression ease. I swallowed my discomfort and asked my brother what he was planning. He leaned in with a conspiratorial grin and said, "Sis, don't cause any trouble for me, okay? My girlfriend is the daughter of the Cromwell Group's CEO!" My eyes widened in shock. Was not the Cromwell Group the same company my ex-husband had just handed over to me as part of our divorce settlement?

I'm an heiress who's been bound to a gossip system. Everyone reads my mind on my first day back home after being reunited with my family. "Mom sure has done a good job of maintaining her beauty. It's no wonder she became an OnlyFans streamer after divorcing Dad." My mother is about to berate me for something, but she pales and stops when she hears my thoughts. I glance at the fake heiress, who's weeping pitifully. "My, she's pregnant. Is it John's or Zach's?" My two brothers exchange odd looks. Then, my father arrives. I cluck my tongue. "Oh, it's Dad's."

My mother claims my husband has cheated on me and pushes me to get a divorce. I want to collect evidence before proceeding with anything—if it's true, I have to uphold my rights. Yet she causes a scene at an art exhibition I've worked on for three years, humiliating me in public and making me sound like a gold digger. "How are you any different from a prostitute when you're holding this dumb exhibition with a man's money? I didn't raise you to be a gold digger! How can you be so revolting?" She slashes the million-dollar paintings in the exhibition, claiming that she's doing this for my good. She wants me to see the error of my ways and return to the right path. Meanwhile, I clutch my bloody hand, which she slashed with her blade. I say, "You say you want me to return to the right path, but is that what it really is? You want me to divorce my legally wedded husband, who's a CEO, without a penny to my name. "Then, you want me to marry a 45-year-old cheap man who has a child and no money? He even wants me to support him!"

The new project was short on staff. Over everyone's objections, I pulled three former colleagues out of an overlooked department where they'd been warming the bench for years. The four of us became the project's core team. The bonus was generous, the workload light. They all said I was their lucky charm. Three months later, with delivery just around the corner, I passed the break room and overheard them talking. "The biggest credit for this project belongs to the three of us. Why should Chloe get an equal share of the bonus just because she recommended us? She barely did any real work." "Exactly. Let's talk to the director. We'll say all the core work was done by us, that she's not up to the task. We'll apply to have her removed from the contributors list." "Just thinking about not having to split those tens of thousands with her—it feels amazing." I pushed the door open. They stared at me, stunned. I smiled. They wanted to kick me out? Too bad. I was the director who parachuted in to evaluate them.

On my 50th wedding anniversary, I took my worn, crumbling marriage certificate to City Hall to renew it. The clerk glanced at it—and froze. “This certificate is fake. Our records show you’ve never been married.” I stared. “Impossible. I’ve been married to Damien Slater for fifty years.” The clerk pulled up his file. “Well…Yes, Mr. Slater is married—but his wife’s name is Vanessa Grant.” Vanessa. His widowed sister-in-law. A military doctor who’d spent decades living among the troops. My hands shook as I returned home and confronted Damien. He didn’t even try to deny it. “I’ve treated you well all these years. Isn’t that enough? Vanessa is my true love. I only ever wanted her—our children, our life.” My son counseled me and said, “To spare your feelings, my parents kept it a secret their whole lives. You’re getting old now. What more do you want?” Only then did I learn the truth. The child I had raised with my own hands was never mine by blood. Decades ago, Vanessa and I gave birth on the same day. To ensure her child would grow up with intellect, privilege, and a future that I could provide, Damien switched our children. My own son? Damien drowned him in the pond the moment he drew breath. And I—fool that I was—raised Vanessa’s boy as my own. I even got him all the way to Claremont University. The truth broke me, and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes again—I was back. Back to the day I went into labor.

While waiting for my husband to pick me up at the parking lot, I came across a trending topic in my city. "How do I deal with an overly-clingy wife?" Amidst a flurry of boastful, lovey-dovey comments, one female username caught my attention. "Just pretend to be incompetent! My childhood friend was forced to marry someone he didn’t love. I gave him the idea to pretend to be directionally-challenged, which he has done for five years now. "When his wife got pregnant, he secretly mixed lubricant into the shower gel, causing her to slip. Then, on the way to the hospital, he pretended to get lost. He deliberately circled the suburbs several times, which led to her miscarriage and now she can't have children anymore." "Coincidentally, today is supposed to be the selection day for her promotion to professor. He offered to drive her to work, but he actually plans to pretend to get lost to make her late so that I can get promoted instead. "When she fails the selection, he’ll use that as a chance to convince her to quit her job, turn her into a useless housewife, and then kick her out!" Reading this suspiciously familiar experience sent a chill down my spine. Before I could ponder further, I heard my husband’s apologetic voice. "Sorry, honey, I got lost. I hope this won't affect your selection."

The moment my best friend dashes into the lottery shop ahead of me and rattles off that familiar string of numbers, I know instantly that she has been reborn, too. In my past life, my best friend and I were shortlisted for an interview at a Global 500 company just before graduation. However, there was only one opening available. On the day of the interview, I had a sudden urge to buy a lottery ticket, but as a result, I missed the interview, and my best friend got the job. As it turned out, I won the jackpot, totaling 50 million dollars. After graduation, I lived a carefree life, lounging at home and living off the interest. Meanwhile, after entering the company, my best friend was paid little and got bullied every single day. Eventually, she vented her anger on me and shoved me off a rooftop. I died from the fall instantly. After my death, my boyfriend covered for her, twisting the story to claim that I'd gone mad from idling too long and jumped on my own. The two of them fed on my misfortune, becoming influencers with millions of fans and raking in fortune. When I open my eyes again, I am reborn to the very day I bought that lottery ticket.

“Can—Can you say that again?” I plead, assuming that I misheard his original verdict. “Six months, if you’re lucky,” he says, flipping through his clipboard of papers. “This pregnancy has accelerated your hepatocirrhosis, which will likely only leave you with less than half a year of life expectancy.” Bad mate could destroy you and tear your soul apart. 5 years ago, Harold was a new alpha with his manipulative soon-to-be luna girlfriend Alicia. Harold was wounded fighting in the war. His mate Olivia followed the scent, then appeared and saved him. She gave him blood transfusion when he was in extreme need of blood, which almost killed her. But Harold was too unconscious to know who had saved him. When Harold was taken back to pack, who was still in a coma but out of danger. The doctor judged that he was very likely to lose the ability to move his legs. After knowing this, Alicia abandoned him and left his pack immediately, to find another luna position. Olivia took care of this man in coma for waiting her mate to wake up. But when Harold woke up, Alicia was back again. This evil girl trapped him and ruined Olivia, filled all this alpha's head with lies. Not only Alicia took marriage and luna title away from Olivia, but also her pups and life. But fortunately, Moon Goddess has her own plan. Olivia has the very rare second chance at life. She came back as another woman, the Luna Queen. But at that very moment, the Luna Queen was going to divorce her Alpha King! And the story begins ——！

After my parents were killed in a territory war, I was taken in by Don Moretti, head of New York's most powerful crime family. I was the only civilian in a world of made men. For twenty years, I was raised alongside his twin heirs, Marco and Santino. Their protection and favor made me the envy of every aspiring mob wife in the city. But when I was finally ready to become a real part of the family, they both turned me down. Marco said, "I need to focus on expanding our territory first. I'm not ready for this kind of commitment." Santino said, "An outsider can't be trusted with family secrets." The next night, at my birthday celebration, they both proposed to the daughter of a low-level enforcer. To prove their loyalty to her, they let her force me to drink "The Don's Fire"—a 150-proof grappa laced with ghost peppers that would hospitalize anyone who wasn't raised on it since childhood. Broken in body and spirit, I made a call from my hospital bed. "I accept the proposal from the Luciano Syndicate."