Novel & Cerita Uraraka Quirk Awakening

Vincent,the Don of the Mafia,and I had just exchanged our vows in church when he brought home an orphan. He said it was to repay a life debt. From that day on,whenever it came to that girl,Lila,I always came second. Lila framed me.She claimed I forced her to touch drugs.In a fit of rage,Vincent locked me in the Family's underground water dungeon for three full days and nights. "The freezing water of the dungeon will teach you what mercy means!" The bone-chilling cold was absolute torture.My heart completely died.I begged him through a high fever and pure despair. Yet Lila just nestled into his chest,her voice dripping with fake concern. "Elena is the Donna of the Family,after all.When she suffers,your heart hurts too.I really can't bear to see you like this." Later,just to coax a smile out of Lila,Vincent publicly handed over my West Coast smuggling docks to her—a clueless little brat who couldn't even read a ledger. This time,I didn't say a single word. I simply took off my wedding ring. A few days later,on the verge of a breakdown over my complete disappearance and tearing the city apart like a madman looking for me,he finally got the news. I had been accepted into an Ivy League medical research institute,directly joining their highest-level,top-secret,closed-off medical program. And I was never coming back. He completely lost his mind.

We have a family group chat meant for the core members only. It's named "the Coppola family". The ones in the group are my father, my mother, my oldest brother, Fabio Coppola; my second brother, Luca Coppola, and my little sister, Francesca Coppola. Oh, that's not all. Fabio's bloodhound, Fido; Luca's ragdoll, Neve; and Francesca's fancy rat, Pico, are members of the group chat too. I'm the only one who's not included in that group. There's once when I ask Francesca, "Can you add me into the group?" She's in the middle of feeding Pico at that time. Without bothering to glance at me, she replies, "That group is meant for insiders only. Wouldn't you feel awkward if you were to join the group, Valentina?" I just look at Pico, who keeps screeching in Francesca's arms. It has a special nickname and the right to speak up in the family group. To think that I, the Coppolas' biological daughter, am nothing compared to a fancy rat.

Three days before my blood oath ceremony, someone planted a silver crucifix in the bridal shop and set it ablaze while I was inside trying on my ceremonial gown. My fiancé — Vampire Lord Damien — had the arsonist thrown into the silver prison, sentencing them to the harshest punishment our laws allowed. I lay in the healing chamber, my body covered in severe burns, refusing to wake fully as the reality of my disfigurement sank in. In my semi-conscious state, I heard Damien speaking with the coven's apothecary. "My Lord, we can still heal her completely with the ancient blood rites. If we wait any longer, Serena will bear these scars for life! You just want Miss Vivienne to be your Consort at the blood oath ceremony. This is cruel beyond measure!" "Let her keep the scars. I'll provide for her for the rest of her life, but if she's healed, she'll definitely cause trouble at the ceremony." "I promised Vivienne that her child would be welcomed into the coven with full honors. Only when Serena is completely disfigured will she be grateful enough to raise Vivienne's child as her own. The scars are necessary - at least this way, she won't dare mistreat the boy." In the corner of the room, where no one was watching, a tear slid down my burned cheek. So this was the truth. The blood oath ceremony I'd dreamed of was nothing but a lie. The blood bond I longed for would be my death sentence. If that's how it had to be, I would give him what he wanted.

My sister-in-law and I have always been close, and we happened to be pregnant at the same time. However, during a routine check-up, she was diagnosed with uterine fibroids. I urged her to have surgery as soon as possible, but she refused and instead claimed her sallow complexion was a sign she was carrying a "child of fortune." She then retreated to the countryside to rest and nurture her pregnancy. Nine months later, while I grieved the loss of my stillborn child, she came back from the countryside with a baby girl in her arms. Consumed by the suspicion that the child was rightfully mine, I demanded a DNA test. That same night, my own mother and brother conspired to take my life. After my death, I discovered it was all a conspiracy. My family had orchestrated everything to swap my child for hers. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back to the moment before I took her for that fateful check-up.

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

"Give me a baby, sweetheart." My husband, Don Nico, whispered, kissing me as he drove deep inside, making us come together. I rested in his arms, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs. He was crazy for me. A month later, on our anniversary, I gave him his wish. A positive pregnancy test. I drove to his private casino, ready to give him the surprise of his life. But I stopped outside the VIP room. The door was cracked open. I heard him bragging to his men. "The wedding's in a week. Scarlett still has no idea she's been sleeping with both of us." He gestured to the man beside him. A mirror image. His twin brother, Marco. "Last time, she was all over him, begging him for a baby." A low rumble of laughter went through the room. My blood ran cold. Someone piped up, nervous. "But Boss, what if she finds out?" Nico just scoffed. The sound was pure ice, pure control. "What's she gonna do? She has nothing without me. I gave all her best work to Bianca. She's the art world's new star. Scarlett's career is dead. I killed it. Her only choice is to be a good little Donna and beg for my scraps." That casual cruelty… it shattered my heart. He destroyed me for another woman. Played me for a fool. Any love I had for him died in that instant. I pulled out my phone. I found the message I'd been ignoring. The curator offer from that top European foundation. I typed my reply: "Yes." He thought I was his to break? He was wrong. In seven days, I would be gone. Vanished from his world for good.

The night my boyfriend and I celebrate our first anniversary, we get into an accident. My soul travels through time and ends up ten years in the future. Here, I see that my boyfriend and I have married and started a family. It's the future I've dreamed of. However, it seems that I'm out of a job, and I've given up on my dream. I struggle to make it through endless days of my boyfriend's ice-cold treatment. Ultimately, I see myself sitting on the edge of a building's roof after falling deep into postpartum depression. When I open my eyes again, I see my boyfriend's panicked face…

When the marriage contract was placed in front of me, I only took a moment to read the terms, but Lucien Moretti urged me three times to sign. He was in a hurry, after all. His precious savior, Isabella, was waiting for him to take her to her favorite opera. So I picked up the pen, but I did not sign my name. I copied Isabella’s handwriting and wrote hers instead. In my last life, I had signed that contract with a heart full of hope. I thought becoming Lucien’s wife meant I would finally stand beside him as the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he kept me hidden after the wedding. At every public event, Isabella was the woman on his arm. Every matter that should have required the Donna’s approval went through her first. I told myself I was not strong enough yet. I swallowed every insult and was forced to give up everything that should have been mine. Until the night gunmen broke into the Moretti estate, and Lucien chose her again. He carried Isabella out in his arms while I bled out behind him. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back before the wedding contract was sealed. This time, I gave Isabella the Donna’s necklace. I gave her the wedding dress. I even signed her name on the contract meant for me. I gave up my name, and I gave him up with it.

My CEO wife insists on taking a young, fresh intern under her wing. She wants to train him personally. She says to me, "Don't overthink this. I just value his potential." She's always been stern and stoic, but she starts dressing in pink and pulling her hair back in high ponytails. On our third wedding anniversary, she and the intern even willfully disappear for 48 hours. When others are searching for her like mad, she shares photos of her riding a carousel and holding cotton candy. She captions them, "I found the purest of joys in the most joyful of places—all because of you!" Our company loses a huge project because of this, and I lose my wife. I slip a divorce agreement between the pages of the intern's application to become a permanent staff member. My wife signs it without even looking and says, "Knowing what Elliot can do, he's more than capable of carrying out the role of a vice president." I calmly hand her my resignation. "You're right. That's why I'll make way for him."

After Nathan Seville stands me up for the seventh time we're supposed to register our marriage, I finally cut all ties with him—completely and on my own terms. If he shows up at a gathering, I don't go. If he's invited to perform at the college anniversary, I leave early. The moment my company decides to work with him, I resign on the spot. Even on Christmas Eve, when he shows up at my house with gifts, I make up an excuse about needing to visit someone. Calls? Blocked. Socials? Deleted. My strategy is simple—cut it all off. I don't reach out, and he has no way of finding me. For the first 30 years of my life, I spent most of it loving him with everything I had. I cared for him, supported him, and waited for him. But after being left hanging for the seventh time at the City Hall, I finally wake up. I don't want to live like this anymore. Even if I end up alone, it's still better than spending night after night waiting in an empty house that never feels like home!