Unattainable

At the age of twenty, I mated to my father's best friend, Lucian, the Alpha of Silverfang Pack despite our age difference. He was eight years older than me and was known in the pack as the cold-hearted King of Hell. He was ruthless in the pack and never got close to any she-wolves, but he was extremely gentle and sweet towards me. He would buy me the priceless Fangborn necklace the next day just because I casually said, "It looks good." When I curled up in bed in pain during my period, he would put aside Alpha councils and personally make pain suppressant for me, coaxing me to drink spoonful by spoonful. He would hug me tight when we mated, calling me "sweetheart" in a low and hoarse voice. He claimed I was so alluring that my body had him utterly addicted as if every curve were a narcotic he couldn't quit. He even named his most valuable antique Stormwolf Armour "For Elise". For years, I had believed it was to commemorate the melody I had played at the piano on our first encounter—the very tune that had sparked our love story. Until that day, I found an old photo album in his study. The album was full of photos of the same she-wolf. You wouldn’t believe this, but we looked like twin sisters! The she-wolf in one of the photos was playing the piano and smiling brightly. The back of the photo said, "For Elise." ... After discovering the truth, I immediately drafted a severance agreement to sever our mate bond. Since Lucian only cared about Elise, no way in hell I would be your Luna Alice anymore.

On our wedding day, Jon Zeller flies to an island for a trip with his childhood sweetheart. I'm greeting our friends and family when I receive a notification to pay for their bills at an expensive hotel. When everyone doubts the authenticity of our relationship and mocks me, all Jon says is, "A wedding is just for show. You can handle it yourself." He hangs up without another word. My father is so enraged that he ends up in the hospital after getting a heart attack, and I'm in desperate need of money for his surgery. Yet Jon uses the money to pay for a romantic fireworks show for his childhood sweetheart. When my father wakes up, I tell him I'll marry the man he's picked for me.

My husband was the leader of the rescue team. As I was trapped in a cave and surrounded by a pack of wolves, I desperately called him over and over. Yet, he hung up on me every single time. When the fire nearly burnt out and the wolves got closer, he finally called me and angrily accused me, "Can you stop wasting public resources? I'm the rescue team leader first, and then your husband." In the background, I heard a soft, feminine voice saying, "Howard, my arm has a cut. Can you take me to the hospital?" I was familiar with that voice. It was my husband's first love. Ever since her husband died, she clung to him. And my husband... He didn't just tolerate it; rather, he seemed to enjoy it. A wave of despair washed over me as I ended the call. My hands were trembling, and I tried to call the police, but before I could, the leader of the wolves pounced on me. I fell hard to the ground, and the rest of the pack, sensing the signal, ran toward me at an extraordinary speed. I didn't stand a chance to fight back, and in mere moments, I was ripped into pieces. Before my consciousness slipped away, I struggled to glance down at my lower abdomen one last time, and my lips quivered. "My baby, I'm sorry I failed you…"

At sixty-five, I got served divorce papers. The same day, my husband Sebastian — decked out in his wedding suit, of all things — popped a handful of sleeping pills in a suicide attempt. For years, we were the perfect couple. The kind of pair neighbors whispered about with envy. I couldn't wrap my head around it. The divorce. The pills. None of it made sense. Not until I found the photo and letter in his pocket.

My mother-in-law and I were trapped during an earthquake overseas. The rescue team knew that my husband had a private plane nearby and asked me to contact him, but I could only shake my head in rejection of the idea. In my last life, I tried my hardest to call him and get him to come save us. My mother-in-law and I were saved, but my husband’s true love got angry and went out to let off some steam. The incident ended with her being tortured to death. In front of his mother, my husband said that his lover deserved it. Yet, on the anniversary of her death, he killed me the way she had died. “I’ve always known that it was your scheme. You have to die as Shevonne did!” This time round, when my husband took his lover on a private plane to admire the cityscape at night, he found out everything that had happened and went mad.

My best friend Joanne and I were mated to Beta Shawn and his older brother, Alpha Edwin, on the same day. But three years after our bonds were formed, their childhood sweetheart, Carmen, returned. Both brothers were drawn to her like moths to a flame, and Joanne and I—once their mates—became little more than shadows in their lives. Joanne, unable to endure the cold neglect her mate had shown her, begged me to escape with her—and I agreed. But the night before we were supposed to leave, she leapt from Moonlit Crag and ended her own life. When I called Shawn, her mate, he didn’t believe me. Instead, he scoffed: “Jose, don’t you think this childish little trick is beneath you? Trying to get my attention like this?” When I reached out to Edwin, he only smirked, voice colder than the winds atop that cliff. “Jose, do you really expect me to believe you? You’re just jealous of Carmen. Don’t involve me in her drama anymore. She’s not worth the trouble—and neither are you.” Their indifference shattered what little hope remained. So I severed the bond with Edwin… and left without a word. But when Shawn finally learned the truth, he collapsed at Joanne’s grave, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. And Edwin? He howled into the night, desperation twisting his voice as he roared: “Come back, Jose! I won’t lose my mate—not you too!” But by then, I was already gone. And I had no intention of returning.

My husband's first love jumped to her death due to depression and landed right on me as I was passing by. I was rendered unconscious on the spot and subsequently rushed to the ICU. However, my orthopedic surgeon husband stayed by his first love's side to comfort her over her minor scratches. He even refused to sign my Critical Care Notification. "Whoever joined her charade can get lost along with her! Come to me when she's really dead!" he said. It wasn't until he received a death certificate that he realized in horror—the deceased's information was identical to mine.

In the third year of my marriage, I endure a full day of painful labor to give birth to my first child. However, my husband steals the baby to give to his true love. I try my damnedest to stop him, but all I get is a barrage of insults. "It's just a baby! I'm the one who planted the seed, so I get to decide who gets the fruit!" I'm overwhelmed by grief as I watch my husband leave. However, he shares a happy post on his social media. "Mother and daughter are safe." His true love comments, "Thank you for giving me a child, Jaspie. I'll be the happiest woman in the world with you two by my side." Clueless friends bless them and wish them well. I silently comment, "Give me back my child." All I get is another round of insults. Then, I'm blocked. I don't want to endure this anymore. I hire a lawyer to draft divorce papers before making a police report. "Officer, I want to report my husband for child trafficking."

After Roman Archer and I broke up, he devoted himself to academic research. He had finally become successful. During a television interview, he looked just as confident and high-spirited as he had been back then. The host asked whom he most wanted to share this news with. After a brief silence, he called me. “Celeste, thank you for leaving me. My career is thriving now.” I smiled. “Congratulations, Mr. Roman.” He would never know that if I had not left, he would have died.

After I became pregnant, my figure changed, and my face grew puffy. My fiancé began to treat me with a subtle, almost imperceptible sense of disdain. When the baby was five months along, it happened to be Valentine's Day. That day, he finally agreed to take our wedding photos, something I'd been hoping for. But just as we arrived at the bridal studio, his phone rang. "Mike, I just got back to the country. My friends are hosting a gathering, and everyone's bringing their boyfriends. Could you come and pretend to be mine?" It was a few short sentences, yet it completely altered the expression on his face. He turned abruptly, stepping out of the studio with a look of urgency. "Lucy's back. I have to go see her," he said. Hearing those words, a fire of rage ignited inside me, one I couldn't suppress. "For her? You're going to leave me here alone?" I demanded. "Do you even know how long I've been looking forward to today? It's Valentine's Day, and instead of staying with me, you're going to be with her?" His impatience flared visibly as I stood my ground. Without a word, his hand pushed me aside, and he strode out of the shop. "We can take wedding photos any day. I'm the only one Lucy has in this country. I have to go see her," he said. Then, gripping my wrist with alarming force, he shoved me, sending me sprawling to the floor. Without a backward glance, he got into his car and drove off. I felt a sudden, wet heat flowing from my lower abdomen. Pain surged through my stomach, sharp and unbearable, as my consciousness started to fade. A wave of despair and terror consumed me. Someone. Anyone. Please save my baby.