Wisely And Slow They Stumble

My husband and his mistress, my stepsister, used me as a surrogate and took my child.My father never once looked me in the eye, yet adored his stepdaughter like she was his only blood. They expected me to break. They tried to kill me. They thought I would disappear forever.But what didn’t kill me only made me stronger. Rescued by my father’s greatest rival, I rebuilt myself with one goal: to return and make them pay ONE BY ONE. Everything was perfect, until I realized my assigned bodyguard was not what he seemed. He is a hidden KING, a man who protects me, spoils me, and now stands with me, aiming at the same targets: his brother, my ex.

Aera Vale never expected magic, betrayal, or love to intertwine so dangerously. When a hidden power awakens and a shadowy organization targets the gifted, she must rely on her sigil—and the trust of her mysterious ally Kael—to survive. Between battles, secrets, and whispered loyalties, Aera discovers that the crown they tried to hide from her may carry more than power—it may carry her destiny.

Adrian Moretti’s adopted sister—She knew perfectly well that I suffered from severe asthma and could not be exposed to smoke or strong scents. Yet during the yacht reception, she deliberately dragged me onto the open deck, where cigars burned nonstop and the wind howled. Within seconds, my chest tightened. When I reached for my inhaler, my blood ran cold. It was empty. I collapsed against the railing, gasping violently, my lungs burning as if they were collapsing in on themselves. She crouched beside me and smiled. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s just a little smoke. You don’t need to act like you’re dying,” she said softly. “You’re too weak. You need to build some tolerance.” I looked toward Adrian, my vision already blurring. “Adrian,” I choked. “Give me my inhaler. If I don’t use it right now, I’m going to suffocate.” He frowned slightly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he said coldly. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a bit of smoke. She’s right—you’re always seeking attention. We finally gathered tonight, and you’re ruining it.” My heart dropped. I fumbled for my phone and called my mother. “Mom,” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “I’m being bullied… and I can’t breathe.” My voice shook violently.

I had been married to Natasha Bates for ten years, and not once did she ever join me for our family's Independence Day cookout. This year, on the night before the celebration, I finally gathered the courage to ask if she wanted to come. She scoffed and said, "What are you, stuck in the past? Who even celebrates the Fourth with a family dinner anymore?" Yet that very evening, I saw a social media post of Natasha with her male best friend, Stanley Rogers. They were quite intimate in the picture, and the caption read: [True happiness is celebrating Independence Day with your bestie!] I commented back: [Hope you two lovebirds make it official soon.] Stanley did not hold back. He messaged me a bunch of intimate photos of the two of them. Then, he added, [You're just a leech living off his wife. What right do you have to question anything about Nattie?] Everyone always thought I was a gold-digger living off Natasha's success. However, they all forgot that I was the sole major shareholder of the company. This time, I’m done staying silent.

“Let him go right now.” Wait a second, did he just call me him? And then it hit again! Over here, I am a HE, not a SHE. Idris, not Irish. Before you roll your eyes and use the F words, this is my story, not yours. They said when life throws you lemons, you make lemonade, but I made a whole juice. Being in this college with not just a different name, but a different sex, is chaos on its own, one I’m fully embarked on. “Desperate times require drastic decisions.” I took those words way too seriously. How I plan to survive this journey is totally up to me. Will I be caught? That’s up to you to find out.

On the day we chose our college majors, the influencer who was the school's heartthrob held a livestream and announced that he had decided to lead the anti-rat-race movement and would choose to attend a vocational college. The whole class followed him. Seeing the rapidly increasing number of followers, he smiled smugly. "They can do these low-class jobs if they like. I'll change my choice back to Harvard University at the last minute." I tried to dissuade him, but this would cause network congestion. My girlfriend slapped me. "You nerd! Who are you to tell our idol, Zach Simpson, what to do?" In my previous life, I spent half an hour dissuading them, and only then did the students change their college choices. However, Zach failed to change his application due to network lag and was admitted to a vocational college instead. He could not bear the blow and jumped into the river to commit suicide. The students who had entered prestigious universities collectively vented their anger on me. At the class reunion, they poured 99 bottles of beer down my throat and locked me in the karaoke's freezer. "Who cares about the prestige of a prestigious university? You'll just be working for someone else after graduation anyway!" "Why did we follow Zach in the first place? Wasn't it to break this damn rule?" "Zach was leading us to realize our dreams! If you hadn't interfered, I would already have gone to a vocational college with him!" They spoke disdainfully of prestigious universities, yet not one of them chose to drop out. I froze to death in a dark, cold freezer, my eyes wide open. Years later, they became elites in their respective fields, while my parents could only weep looking at my portrait. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Zach was livestreaming in the classroom. This time, I promised I would not interfere. Instead, I wished them a happy vocational college experience.

The house was on fire. My husband–a firefighter–rescued our son first. And the kitten his first love had left behind. Then, to comfort the frightened woman, he rushed off without a second thought. When his colleagues asked my son if anyone else was still inside, he glanced in my direction… and shook his head. "There's no one else." I was later found screaming for help, barely alive. Outside my hospital room, my son looked at me with disappointment. "Why didn't you just burn to death in there? "If you were gone, Aunt Maya could be my mom."

The century-long war was over. My sister and I were the Alpha's daughters. The strongest pack in the North. We were forced into a marriage alliance with the Evernight vampire kingdom. A witch prophesied a powerful hybrid would be born to our family. A child destined to be king. Soon, my sister and I were both pregnant. I didn't care about giving birth to the prophesied ruler. I just wanted my child to be safe and healthy. But I never expected what happened. My sister, Liliana, gave birth to the hybrid king. Her mate, the first prince, Damien, was immediately named Crown Prince. And me? I gave birth to a monster. A beast born in its feral wolf form, all fangs and fury. I was branded unclean. My mate, the second prince Kael, was executed for my "sin." Burned to ash. Only in my last moments did I learn the truth. The monster my sister had swapped for mine? It was hers. It was all a scheme. A plot she and Damien hatched to hide a defect in his bloodline and steal the throne. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back before everything went to hell. And my sister was walking toward me, a smile on her face, a glass of juice in her hand…

It was my sixth year with the Mafia Don. On the night of my birthday, he came home with a young, beautiful stranger by his side. Everyone thought I would break down or fall apart because of his betrayal. Instead, I smiled, my fingertips brushing lightly over the diamond ring on my ring finger. What they didn’t know was that I had come for revenge. Six years ago, he killed my father and my fiancé. So, I remained by his side, waiting for the right moment to send him to hell. How could I have fallen for him?

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives. However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.” The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night. The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor. The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention. Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.” However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.” So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?