When They Touch Me

On my fifteenth birthday, I begged my mom to teach me how to make a cream cake from scratch. We only had cream at home. No flour. So we went out to buy some. When we came back, we didn't walk into a birthday surprise. We walked in on my father pressing a strange she-wolf down onto the dining table. Cream was smeared all over her bare body. That night ended with my parents signing the Mating Dissolution Agreement. From that day on, cake became my nightmare, a taboo I could never touch. The night I mated with Alpha Kaelen of the Shadow Pack, amidst the pain and pleasure of his marking bite, I whispered in his ear. "Honey, if you ever want to end our mating, just bring me a cake." He frowned, his eyes burning with possessiveness, and kissed the words away. "Don't talk nonsense, Seraphina. You are my fated mate. How could I ever let you go?" Later, on his birthday, his intern secretary Elena ordered a three-tier luxury cake. Kaelen went into a rage, throwing both the cake and the intern out the front door. Back then, I was moved, even telling him not to be so harsh on a low-ranking wolf for my sake. But six months later, Elena had been promoted to Kaelen's personal assistant. On my birthday, she walked into my laboratory, swinging her hips, holding a burnt, homemade cake. I called Kaelen, asking him to remove the provocative item. On the other end of the line,his tone was casual. "Elena put her heart into making that for you. It would be cruel to throw it away. Be a good girl, don't be so sensitive. Have the grace of a Luna." The phone slipped from my hand. It turned out my mother wasn't wrong. Cake really is best served with a side of rejection papers.

Legend says that when the son of the Sun and the daughter of the Moon met at the end of the world, the world will once again be reborn. Luna, the daughter of the moon, will meet the boy in his dreams. Sol is an orphan with weird dreams and the power to predict the future. Will Sol help Luna find the son of the Sun? Do they have enough enough time?

I used to be the beloved little princess of the Colobo family. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, my father brought home Sophia. She was the daughter of the old friend who had once saved his life. Out of guilt, he gave her a place in our home. Then he gave her my place too. My brother began protecting her and hating me. My childhood friend, Luca Rizzo, fell for her and left me behind. Even my father said Sophia deserved the Colobo name more than I did, though I was his biological daughter. On the day I graduated from college, they broke their promise to me for the ninety-ninth time because of her. I finally lost control. “Am I not your own daughter?” My father pulled Sophia behind him as if I were the danger, then slapped me across the face. “You jealous little thing. I should have given everything to her instead.” My brother looked at me like I was something dirty. “You don’t deserve a place in the Colobo family. Get out.” So I left. They thought I was only throwing another tantrum. They took Sophia to Switzerland to see the snow-covered mountains, certain that silence would teach me to behave. They thought I would calm down, come home, and beg for my place again. But this time, I called the research institute in Australia whose offer I had once turned down for them. “I accept,” I said. By the time the Colobo family realized I was truly gone, my phone number no longer existed. And so did Isabella Colobo.

He had lied to me sixty-six times, promising he would let go of his childhood sweetheart. But whenever she needed him, he still ran to her first. I lied to him only once. I slipped the Mate-Bond Dissolution Agreement into the ceremony documents and had him sign it. In my previous life, I stopped him from going to her one last time. Iris died under the claws of border rogues, and Damon hated me until his wolf soul shattered. This time, I chose to let him go. Today was the final day of the public notice period. With three hours left, I packed my bags and booked a private pack flight back to the border. With two hours left, I severed every moon-energy tie between us and burned our only photo. With one hour left, I left him a letter. “This is the tenth year I have loved you, and the first day I leave you.” Later, he chased me to the airport like a madman. But this time, I would not look back.

The autumn break has just ended when a call arrives from school. "Ms. Watson, your daughter failed to secure a scholarship and bullied her classmate in retaliation. Can you please come to school?" When I rush over, I find Lila Keats bound to a trash can, her hair drenched in sewage, and her mouth sealed with duct tape. Meanwhile, the so-called victim merely has had two strands of hair pulled out. After some querying, I discover that Melody Caldwell is jealous of Lila's achievements and has been waiting for an opportunity to strike. When I demand an apology, Vanessa Morrison flies into a rage. "You're lowly trash without a proper family! My daughter teaching her a lesson is the greatest honor you can obtain in this life! "Expel her immediately! My husband works in the Education Bureau! Beg for mercy, or she can forget about taking the college entrance exam!" That arrogant woman is convinced that Lila and I will beg for forgiveness after being expelled. Unfortunately, she has chosen to mess with the wrong person. Lila's grandfather is a nuclear weapons expert. Her true origins have been concealed for her safety since her whole family works for classified operations. I immediately call the Intelligence Agency. "Mr. Keats' granddaughter was bullied severely at school. Send someone here to deal with this now!"

My wife, Caroline Bailey, was a forensic pathologist. For her first love, Ian Lawson, she was willing to break every rule she held sacred and allowed him into the autopsy room to observe. She even let him throw acid onto a corpse's face. That was, until Caroline took on a new case. As she stood over the disfigured body on her operating table, she began to fall apart. The acid-burned face was starting to look more and more like mine.

On the day of my wedding, the video I had painstakingly prepared was suddenly replaced with intimate photos of my fiancé and my foster sister, Lindsey Remmington. Within minutes, it hit the top of the trending list. Overnight, I, a celebrated actress, became the abandoned bride of a wealthy family and a public laughingstock. Just when I thought I'd reached rock bottom, Connor Presley, the heir of Elluel City's most powerful family and the boy I'd grown up with, returned from abroad. In front of flashing cameras, he knelt with a diamond ring and proposed, silencing every rumor and every sneer. After we married, we appeared inseparable, our affection the picture of perfection. The only flaw was his infertility—his condition made it nearly impossible for me to conceive. For three long years, I underwent countless rounds of IVF. At last, I became pregnant. Connor was overjoyed. To celebrate, he threw an extravagant party in honor of our long-awaited child. But in the middle of the revelry, one of his closest friends, drunk and unguarded, muttered in Russian, "Connor, you've gone too far. Just because Lindsey was afraid pregnancy would ruin her figure, you put the zygote into Rachel's body and let her carry the baby for you two? If she ever finds out the truth, you'll regret it for the rest of your life." Connor's expression didn't waver. "This was Lindsey's only wish. I had to grant it," he replied coolly. "Besides, having a child with Lindsey has always been my dream. Only her child deserves to be the heir of the Presley family. The days ahead are long—I'll make it up to Rachel, eventually." I stood frozen, my body trembling uncontrollably. That night, I made an appointment for an abortion. When Connor stormed into the hospital, raging like a madman, I looked up at him with chilling calm and said, "I understand Russian."

"Please help me, Kyle. I think a flea got under my dress while I was walking the dog. It itches so badly." My goddaughter came to me in distress after being bitten by fleas in an unfortunate spot during her evening walk. What started as an innocent request for help with the itching soon became more complicated when she insisted I needed to help her with the problem more directly.

My boyfriend suddenly posted something on his Instagram. [I’ve offered my body and soul to the country.] I was about to ask what he meant when he sent me a plane ticket to the northwest. He explained that the mission was confidential and that he could not be in contact with me during this time. Ten months passed. He was supposed to be away, but he came home unexpectedly and caught me at a prenatal checkup. When he saw my eight-month-pregnant belly, his face turned pale with anger. “I’ve been gone for ten months. How are you pregnant?” I shrugged and said, “Weren’t you supposed to be gone for three years? Why are you back after just ten months?”

After an 800-meter run, I hide under the blanket to use the vibrating massager. At that moment, Uncle Theo barges into my room and asks coldly, "Does it feel that good?" I nod vigorously. The massage really does feel wonderful. Later, he yanks off his tie and uses it to bind my wrists. "It's too small and slow. Try me instead." I can only stare at him in bewilderment. But Uncle Theo, it's just a massage gun!