Winning The Week

My parents set me up on a marriage match—and it turned out to be my girlfriend, Chloe. I was hyped. I went straight to the luxury boutique where she worked, ready to tell her. Then I stopped outside the VIP room. "Chloe, if you're dumping him, just do it. Why fake cancer? You're putting bad juju on yourself." "What do you know? A dead ex sticks forever. Next week, I'm getting engaged to a Remington. Having an ex like me? That's his win." Inside, her friends hyped her up. Laughter all around. I just stood there, cold spreading through me. Three years. A joke to her. She was trading up—and still playing me one last time. I clenched my jaw and called my mom. "Mom, cancel the engagement... No rush. I'll handle it myself."

At the Hunting Festival, Cynthia Whitefang flashes a stack of cash and demands that my mate, Simon Fenwick, become her bodyguard. "Just accept it, Layla." Simon flashes his fangs and tells Cynthia to get lost in a rude tone. Our son, Noah Fenwick, who's chronically poisoned by silver, waves his fists angrily as well to chase Cynthia away. But I just stare at the stack of cash quietly. Memories of a conversation I had overheard last week surge into my mind at that moment. That time, Noah was tugging at the hem of Simon's shirt while standing under a tree. "Daddy, can I keep pretending to be poisoned? That way, Mommy will keep giving me money to treat my poison. I wanna buy gifts for Cynthia!" he said coquettishly. Simon had replied dotingly, "Of course! But you must remember to never tell Mommy that I'm not hurt. Only when she's filled with guilt will she love us forever." It turns out that my husband is faking his injury, while my son is faking being poisoned. They've played me like a fiddle the whole time. I, on the other hand, have to risk my life time and again to earn money just to treat their imaginary illness and wounds. To think that all of my earnings are used on pleasing another she-wolf… I raise my head, soon meeting Cynthia's confident gaze. "Okay. You can have him."

The day I find out I only have three days left to live, my mate comes home with a mate termination contract. He wants to break up with me and form a new bond with another she-wolf who's pretending to be dying—just to fulfill her so-called final wish. "Sweetheart, I don't have a choice," Caleb Lowe says, holding me in his arms. "Ruby's been poisoned with silver. She's got about a week left. Her dying wish is to marry me. But don't worry. You're the only one I love," he adds, looking at me with those sincere eyes. "Once the bonding ceremony is over and she's gone, we'll get back together—just like before." I look down and give a small laugh, then sign the termination contract. Forget it. I'm dying anyway. Who he ends up with doesn't matter anymore. I might as well let him have what he wants.

"You've undergone IVF six times to conceive this child, Ms. Caldwell. Are you sure you want to give up? Is Mr. Spencer okay with this?" "I'm sure he'll agree." Callista Caldwell's voice is hoarse after a sleepless night. She's never felt more awake, though. "I'll schedule the surgery for a week from now, then." It's Callista and Luther Spencer's wedding anniversary in a week. This is good—she can end things where they started. After booking her flight out of the country, she places her hand on her abdomen. There's a blossoming life in there. She's looked forward to this for the past five years. She never would've expected to give up on it before it could happen.

A week before Easter, Adrian gave me seven days off and had a ticket to Stockholm slipped into my bag. I thought he was finally learning how to care. Then I heard him talking to our son on the staircase. “Dad, are you really going to marry Aunt Bianca? What about Mom?” Noah was holding his model car, trying to sound brave. Adrian was quiet for a moment. “It’s only a legal marriage. Matteo is gone. Bianca and Sophia are exposed, and I can’t leave them that way. They need the DeLuca name for protection.” “Does Mom know?” “She can’t know.” His voice softened. “Keep this from her, Noah. On your birthday, I’ll buy you that Aston Martin model you want.” So the ticket was never a gift. It was a way to move me out of the picture. If he could put his family name on another woman, even for show, then I could take back the pride and ambition I had buried in this marriage. This time, when I left for the north, I would not come back.

Just before our fifth marking anniversary, I found out I was pregnant. I was about to share the good news with my Alpha mate, Ethan Hart, when I accidentally overheard something that shattered me. He was planning to hold a marking ceremony with another woman. It turned out that the grand marking ceremony he gave me five years ago was a lie. The mark he left on me wasn’t even real. It was just an ordinary bite. He had saved the real marking ceremony for someone else. Back then, I had gone against my parents’ wishes, left my home pack, and followed him to the Silver Moon Pack. I gave up everything for a marriage that ended up being a lie. My heart was crushed. If I was never his true, legal mate, what reason did I have to stay? It was time to give up the title of Luna and return to my true home. Ethan had no idea I was the only daughter of the Alpha King from the Dark Moon Pack. I had given up my birthright to be Alpha Female all for him. In a week’s time, the Dark Moon Pack would welcome their new leader.

Everyone in the Rossi family knows that their Don, Giovanni Rossi, loves me, Rebecca Costa, more than anyone else. Ever since we got together, he has stopped attending any social events that involve other women. We promised to marry once he returns from negotiating a dangerous arms deal in Aelfana. He was supposed to come back a week before the wedding, but instead, he returned on the eve of the wedding with Rosa Bianchi, his stepsister, in his arms. Rosa was unconscious, and traces of intimacy were visible on her skin. Giovanni kneeled before me, his expression remorseful. "Rebecca… I was drugged. I never meant to betray you. When Rosa threw herself at me, I thought she was you." And I believed him. At least, I did until I overheard a conversation in the changing room backstage at our wedding. One of his men asks, in disbelief, "Did you really mistake her for Rebecca?" "I did for the first night. But for the rest of the week… well, a man ought to have his bit of freedom before getting married." My fingers clench around my phone. In my inbox sits an unopened message—a marriage invitation from Angelo Calavaro, the most enigmatic Don in southern Ilya's underworld. I know what I have to do.

In the fifth year of my marriage to Cyrus Shields, I fell ill. Sparing no cost, he said that he would find the most compatible donor for me. A week before the surgery, I was knocked out by medication. When I woke up, I touched my hair only to feel a smooth, bare scalp. Florence Grant stood there holding a pair of clippers, her eyes gleaming gleefully. She said, "Gayle, since you're about to have surgery anyway, I thought I'd help shave it off for you." But a bone marrow transplant never required shaving one's head. "Who told you you could do that? That was my hair!" I roared, trembling with rage. Cyrus pushed the door and entered at that moment, saying, "Florence is still young. She's just a little bit mischievous. Gayle, don't make such a huge fuss over it." He paused and looked at me with a complicated gaze before saying, "Besides, she's the one donating her bone marrow to you."

During the Thanksgiving holiday week, my husband, Caleb Whitman, keeps working overtime. I feel sorry for how hard he's working, so I take over all the household chores. While doing the laundry, I pull a food delivery receipt from the pocket of his coat. Everything on the order appears to be intended for a pregnant woman. It has bone broth, baked salmon, and fresh seasonal vegetables. It's obvious that everything was chosen with care. There's even a note that says, "For an expectant mother. Keep it low in oil and salt. Make sure the utensils are sterilized." The delivery was sent to a luxury apartment above Caleb's office building. I crumple the receipt, let out a cold laugh, and deliberately call him during lunch. "So, when's the baby shower for your kid? Don't forget to send me an invite."

A week before our wedding, my fiancee announces that she is pregnant using my younger brother's frozen sperm. "I'm grateful that our love can carry on in another way," she gushes on social media, showing off the test results. My brother replies, "Meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me." Then Mom chimes in. "Jenny, you've been through so much. Nathan's apartment should be under your name alone." I don't argue and simply reply with a single word—"Congratulations". My phone rings almost seconds later. "Your brother can't have kids anymore. It's just one child, and it's still related to you. Why are you being so petty?" she snaps. I laugh under my breath, hang up, and dial another number. "Want to get married?"