Author: Momo Chan

Cameron Lee is a man of rigid boundaries. In Manhattan’s elite circles, everyone knows his “no-touch” policy. For five years, I was the only exception—the wife who held the keys to his world. Until I didn’t. For the third time, our wedding anniversary comes up as an “incorrect password.” I have no choice but to call him. “Cameron, your tablet is acting up. You need to take it to the shop tomorrow.” A playful, high-pitched voice answers the line. “Mrs. Lee? Oh, I’m so sorry! I was playing games on the CEO’s tablet in his office yesterday. I may accidentally changed the password to my birthday.” I freeze for seconds, then hang up. When Cameron returns home that night, I toss the divorce papers onto the coffee table in front of him. He rubs his temples, his face a mask of pure irritation. “Why are you being so petty with a young girl? She’s inexperienced. What’s your excuse for being so immature?” I let out a cold laugh. “Then go spend your life with her and her ‘inexperience.’” Cameron leans down, picks up the papers, and tears them into shreds without even glancing at the terms. He drops the confetti into the trash, his gaze ice-cold. “Rebecca, you’re becoming completely irrational.” “I’m done discussing this, Cameron Lee,” I say, my eyes void of any warmth. “Our marriage was always a strategic merger. We have no emotional foundation. A clean break is the only way out for both of us.” My heart feels like it’s being pierced by a thousand invisible needles. It’s true that we were a business alliance, but over five years of living together, I had unknowingly fallen for him. But what does love matter now? There’s always a first time, and then a second. If I pretend nothing happened this time, what about the next? And the time after that? Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life swallowing my dignity? Gracie Day’s words today were a blatant act of war. Everyone in Manhattan knows that Cameron Lee doesn’t let women get close to him. He’s obsessed with his boundaries and personal space. When he was twenty, a maid’s daughter thought she could play a game. She took advantage of his drunken state after a gala, loosened his tie, and tried to frame a scandal to secure her future. In the end, he had both her hands broken before throwing her out of the Lee estate. She was never heard from again. Cameron has a severe “no-touch” policy. For years, I was the only exception. I was the only one allowed to touch his personal items—his tablet, his phone, his laptop. Even if I wanted to check his messages, he would just ruffle my hair with a tired but indulgent smile, telling me not to stay up too late. Well, from today, that privilege expired. The warning bells are screaming, and I need to cut my losses before I sink any deeper. … A suffocating silence stretches across the living room. We are in a deadlock. He knows my temper. He knows I don’t tolerate a single grain of sand in my eye. On our wedding night, I told him clearly: if he ever found someone else, I would step aside. No drama, no clinging. Back then, he held me so tightly I thought he’d merge me into his own skin. He told me we were a perfect match, a pair made by fate. He said that even without “love,” we could grow old together. He didn’t mind my touch, and I didn’t mind his. Compared to the useless, cheating playboys of the Upper East Side, I preferred him as my husband. For five years, we were the golden couple of the city. Every joint venture between the Lees and the Powells was a massive success. Three months ago, on Cameron’s birthday, I told him I wanted a baby. He had stroked my tear-stained face, moved by the intensity of the moment. “Rebecca, are you sure?” I had sobbed, wrapping my weak arms around his neck. I still remember that second—the flash of light in his dark, narrow eyes. Before I drifted off from exhaustion, something warm and wet dropped onto my face. Then, he pulled me into his broad, warm chest. “Becca… thank you.”

The memory snaps, and I force myself to bury those beautiful moments. I push down the bitterness rising in my throat and sharpen my voice. “Cameron, I want a divorce.” Long minutes pass, and Cameron remains silent, offering no reaction. I’ve always hated his silent treatment. I turn around and head upstairs to pack my things. Half an hour later, as I’m dragging my suitcase toward the door, Cameron finally moves. He blocks my path with his arm. “Rebecca Powell, you’re throwing away a marriage over the password of my tablet?” It’s been a long time since he called me by my full name. I take a deep breath and look him in the eye. “Yes.” His frown deepens. Maybe he’s thinking about the baby in my womb, because his tone softens slightly. “Rebecca, let me explain.” I don’t plan on giving him another chance, but I’m curious to see what kind of lies he’ll spin. “The girl’s project pitch passed the board of directors. She didn’t want a bonus. She told me she hadn’t played games in a long time and asked to use my tablet for a few rounds. So I agreed. The password has been changed back. It was a minor thing, Becca. I’ve already talked to her, and she knows she was wrong. She even said she’d come by to apologize to you in person.” “Be the bigger person. Don’t make things difficult for a girl who just graduated. I promise, I won’t have any contact with her outside of work.” I catch the hidden meaning immediately. “Cameron, you’re already protecting her? Do you see me as some malicious, jealous wife now? You two are ‘innocent,’ I’m the one being unreasonable?” “Becca, that’s not what I meant.” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “I don’t care what you meant. I’m getting this divorce. As for the baby… I haven’t decided yet. But don’t worry, even if I have it, I won’t use it to blackmail you.” I leave it at that, pushing past him and walking out of the villa. The staff are terrified, none of them daring to stop me. I take an Uber back to the Powell estate. I expected my parents to support me once they heard the story. The reality is the exact opposite. My father, Josh, chainsmokes one cigarette after another. “Rebecca, it’s not that we don’t want you to be happy, but our business relies entirely on Cameron’s investment. If you divorce him, he’ll divest, and the Powell Group will be underwater by morning.” My mother, Lailah, wearing an expensive face mask, scolds me for being ungrateful. “Cameron has been wonderful to you. He’s a provider. Don’t be impulsive and hand him over to another woman on a silver platter.” Even if he did have a little fun on the side, there’s no such thing as ‘true love’ in the elite world. Marrying into the Lee family was the luckiest thing that ever happened to you.” It all boils down to one word: profit. Over the years, my father’s poor management has brought the company to the brink of bankruptcy multiple times. Cameron saved it every single time. I thought I would be devastated. I thought I would scream. But I feel nothing. I look at them calmly and ask, “So, what do you want me to do?” Josh crushes his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ve already texted Cameron since you arrived. He’s on his way. Go back with him and be a good wife. Stop running home every time you’re upset; it makes us look like a joke.” Lailah chimes in. “Listen to your father, Rebecca. We only want what’s best for you. Ah, also, Leo has his eye on a piece of land owned by the Lees. Make sure you mention it to Cameron. Ask him to do Leo a favor.” There it is. The reason I was raised as a bargaining chip was Leo Powell. My brother. The Golden Child.

Cameron arrives in ten minutes. His usually perfect hair is slightly messy, a rare sign of haste. He ignores my resistance and grabs my hand, offering my parents a polite, apologetic smile. “This is all my fault. I upset Rebecca.” My father immediately tells the butler to bring out the best tea leaves. My mother insists on cooking dinner herself to keep Cameron for the evening. And I’m just… there. A ghost in the room. No one cares how I feel. Just like that, I’m back in the car, heading back to Cameron’s villa. Before I leave, Mom pulls me aside and mysteriously hands me a small bottle of pink liquid. She claims it’s a “miracle” for marital intimacy. “Men stray not just because of the other woman, but because the wife fails her duties. You’re pregnant now, and Cameron has needs.” “Listen to me, Becca. This potion will make him obsessed with you again, and it won’t hurt the baby.” Instead of taking the bottle, I look at her like she’s a complete stranger. We share the same blood, but today, I finally see her for who she really is. Seeing me frozen, she forces the bottle into my hand. On the other side of the lawn, Dad is frantically trying to light a cigarette for Cameron. Cameron refuses. “Dad, second-hand smoke isn’t good for a pregnant woman.” Josh laughs awkwardly. “Right, right. My mistake.” The scene is absurd. … A few days later, Cameron hires a therapist for me. The therapist claims my “irrationality” is just hormonal shifts from pregnancy. Cameron returns to being the attentive, perfect husband, treating me with such care that I almost wonder if the fight was just a bad dream. But I’m not fooled by the staged sweetness. The coldness and impatience he showed that night left a scar that won’t heal. Every time I feel a phantom pain, I’m reminded of the truth. I can’t act like everything is fine, so I mostly give him the cold shoulder. As long as I don’t mention divorce, Cameron doesn’t get angry. He thinks I’ve been “tamed.” He has no idea that I’ve already booked a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I’m leaving him in a week. I’m leaving Manhattan. I’m never coming back. Not for him, and not for my parents. I’m done being used. I’ve also scheduled an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. It’s tomorrow. But Cameron is keeping a tight leash on me. Even when he’s at the office, he has bodyguards following me. I can’t tell if he’s protective of me or just the heir in my belly. The next morning, I do something out of character: I make him breakfast. He’s visibly surprised. In five years, I’ve rarely stepped into the kitchen, let alone made a full spread tailored to his tastes. After he finishes eating, I tell him I’m going for a prenatal check-up. He reaches for his phone. “I’ll push the morning meeting to the afternoon.” “No need. I can go by myself.” I take the initiative to help him straighten his tie. “Cameron, I’m not a child. I don’t need you or the guards breathing down my neck. Go to your meeting. I’ll call you if I need anything.” Cameron looks down at his perfectly knotted tie, then at me. After a moment of hesitation, he nods. Before he walks out, he reminds me a dozen times to be careful. Then he adds, “Becca, come home early after the check-up. Gracie spent half her salary on a gift for you. She’s coming over tonight to apologize.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607028jsj8a4yAx 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni802301”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

My father is the Don of Marchetti family and tonight, seven of his men walked out of my mother’s bedroom. He’s standing in the doorway with his new whore on his arm. They both stare at my mother lying motionless on the bed. And he smiles like she’s the entertainment. “You used to look down on Bianca, Isabella. And look at you now, the great Moretti princess, not so high and mighty anymore.” His voice makes me want to throw up. “I think it’s time you let me make Bianca my second wife.” My mother doesn’t scream or cry. She forces herself up off the bed, every movement shaking. This time, she pulls the diamond pendant off her neck—the one he gave her the night he proposed—and drops it into the fire. The next morning, my father throws a wedding. Bigger than the one he gave my mother fifteen years ago. Three hundred guests from every family on the East Coast, all here to watch my father make his mistress official. I’m wearing a black dress. Nobody notices. Halfway through dinner, the lights flicker. The big screen behind the head table turns on by itself. It’s my mother. Naked. On her own bed. Seven men taking turns. The video is high-definition. Someone wanted us to see every detail. I lunge for the screen, trying to block it with my own body. “What the fuck is this?! Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!” The guests are laughing. Some of them are filming. Some of them are pointing at the men in the video and naming them out loud, like it’s a party game. My father’s face goes purple. “You like showing off so much, Isabella?” He’s on his feet, champagne flute shaking in his hand. “Fine. I’ll give the whole family a turn.” He snaps his fingers. “Take her to the Room.” I scream and throw myself at him. The housekeeper catches me from behind, one hand clamps over my mouth, and drags me out of the ballroom while my mother is hauled in the opposite direction. The guests’ laughter follows me into the hallway. “Once a woman’s been in the Room—passed around to every man in the family—she doesn’t walk right again. Wears diapers the rest of her life. Might as well bury her.” “Generous of the Don, though. Sharing his own wife with the boys.” “A Moretti princess. Soft hands, soft skin. Bet she moans prettier than the club girls…” The housekeeper drops me in my bedroom and locks the door from the outside. I sit on the floor in my black dress and ask her, “What’s the Room?” She whispers, through the door, “The worst thing the Marchetti family does to a woman, Cleo.” … I don’t sleep. By noon the next day, they let me see my mom. The smell hits me before I’m through the doorway. Blood. Sweat. Strangers. My mom is on the bed. Eyes open. Not blinking. Under the thin white nightgown they put on her, every inch of her skin is bruised. “Mama—” My voice cracks. My fingers hover over her arm; I can’t bring myself to touch her. I turn to the door to scream for the family doctor— The door swings open first. My father walks in with Bianca on his arm, both of them in fresh silk, both of them perfumed. Bianca makes a tiny gagging sound and covers her nose. My father looks at my mother the way you look at a stain on the carpet. “Isabella. Drop the act.” I freeze. “I gave the men orders. Nobody actually touched you.” He’s bored. “Stop performing.” I open my mouth and want to shout—she’s bruised, she’s bleeding! But my mother’s hand closes around my wrist to stop me, and she reaches under her pillow. It’s divorce papers. Already signed. “Dante.” Her voice is a husk of itself. “Sign them. I don’t want the money. I don’t want the house. I don’t want the name.” “I just want Cleo.” My father’s eyebrow lifts like he’s heard a child threaten to run away from home. “Don’t be stupid, Bella. Your father’s dead. Your brother’s dead. Your mother’s been dead for ten years. Where the hell are you gonna go?” I stare at him. So he remembers. He remembers that Uncle Rafael took six bullets covering his retreat in the northern territory war. That Rafael’s body is still buried under a warehouse floor in Buffalo because we never got it back. He remembers that my grandfather—the old Don Moretti—put a gun to his own temple in front of the Commission to force them to back my father up. He remembers kneeling in front of the Moretti family crest the day he married my mother, swearing on his blood and his bones: I, Dante Marchetti, will protect Isabella Moretti until the day I die. One wife. One love. No exceptions. But “until the day I die” is a long time. Three years into the marriage, he came home from a job up north with Bianca Costa. Said she’d saved his life. Said my mother needed to be understanding. When my mother grew tulips in the garden, Bianca said the pollen made her sneeze. My father had every flower torn up by the roots. When my mother got pregnant with my baby brother, Bianca cried and said that something terrible would happen to her if my mother kept the baby. That night, my father held my mother down himself and forced the pills down her throat. She bled through her dress and onto the rug. She screamed for six hours. While he was three rooms away, listening to Bianca sing. I bet he heard every second of it. But He didn’t move. That was the night I understood: my father—the man who used to lift me onto his shoulders to watch the fireworks— was already dead.

Like he’s afraid she’ll say the word divorce again, my father snatches the papers out of her hand and throws them in the fireplace. The paper curls. Blackens. Gone in three seconds. He sighs—soft, the way he used to sigh when I was little and skinned my knee—and reaches out to smooth my mother’s hair. She turns her face away. His hand hangs in the air for a long, ugly second. Then he yanks it back and his jaw locks. “Tonight,” he says, voice flat, “I’m taking Bianca to the Commission’s annual gala. Give her your Bulgari set.” “No.” I’m already in front of the bed before my mother can speak. “That’s my grandma’s. She left it to my mom. Nobody touches it.” Bianca’s eyes well up on cue. The tears actually slide down her cheeks; I have to give her credit, she’s good. “Dante, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m not worthy of the Moretti family heirlooms.” She presses a hand to her mouth. “It’s okay. Just let them laugh at me. I’m used to it…” My father’s face goes to stone. “Isabella. This is how you raised our daughter? Mouthing off, no manners, no respect for Bianca?” His voice drops. “Maybe Cleo should move in with Bianca. Learn some respect.” My mother’s face goes white. She pushes herself upright on the bed and puts herself between me and him. “Take the jewelry. Take all of it. Don’t touch my daughter.” Bianca’s mouth twitches. For half a second, I see the smile she’s trying to hide. Then she wipes her tears and says, very softly, “Dante, I’m scared I’ll embarrass you tonight. I’m just a club girl. I don’t know how to act around those people.” She squeezes his arm. “What if Isabella came with us? As my maid? Just so I don’t make a fool of myself.” The Don’s wife. A maid. To his mistress. In front of every family on the East Coast. My father doesn’t even hesitate. “Done.” … At sunset, they throw a grey servant’s dress through the door. I watch my mother peel off her silk slip and pull the cheap dress on. There’s not a clean inch of skin on her back. I’m crying before I know I’ve started. She wipes my face with her thumb. Then she pulls something out from under her pillow and presses it into my palm. A small gold cross on a thin chain. “Cleo, baby. Listen to me.” Her eyes are clear for the first time in months. “I’m not going to be here much longer. I need you to listen.” “Mama, don’t—” “Listen. When I’m gone, you take this cross. You get on a plane. You fly to Los Angeles. You go to Luca Moretti.” I know the name. The Don of the West Coast. The man who spoiled me rotten when I was little, who treated me like his own kid—until he and my father started hating each other for reasons nobody would explain, and he stopped coming around. “Show him this cross. He’ll know what it means.” Her voice catches. “He’ll keep you safe. He’ll do it for me.” “I’m sorry I won’t see you grow up, baby.” I close my fist around the cross so hard the edges cut my palm. I know exactly how worn down she is. She fought. God, she fought. When Bianca first arrived, my mother put her in an apartment across town—a nice one, paid for, just not in our house. The next morning, my father called it jealousy. He made her walk barefoot down Fifth Avenue in a silk robe to bring Bianca home herself. Six months ago, after the miscarriage, my mother came at Bianca with a kitchen knife. My father dragged her to the cemetery, stood her in front of my grandmother’s grave, and told her if she touched Bianca again, he’d dig the body up and dump it in the East River himself. Three days ago, somebody leaked Bianca’s old videos from her stripper days to half the families on the coast. My father decided my mother did it. That same night, he had her drugged and locked in the basement with a dozen men who’d broken family code, and he let them have her until morning. After that night, she stopped fighting. I lean my forehead against her bony shoulder. I can feel every rib through her cheap dress, and I choke on a sob. “Mama.”

Bianca isn’t done with us. At the gala, she makes a show of it. Snaps her fingers at my mother to refill her champagne. Drops a napkin and waits, smiling, until my mother kneels on the marble to pick it up. Every woman in that room watches the Moretti princess serve drinks to a stripper Dante picked up in a back-alley club in Atlantic City. When Bianca’s had enough sport with the crowd, she walks us out to the gardens behind the venue. There’s a pond. No witnesses. She tugs off one of her diamond earrings and flicks it into the water. “Go get it.” My mother doesn’t move. Bianca’s face goes ugly so fast I almost laugh. “Isabella. You’re my maid tonight. I tell you to do something, you do it. Go get it.” My mother looks at her for a long, quiet second. “A ring won’t change what you are, Bianca. You’re a mistress. You’ll die a mistress.” Bianca’s hand flies up to slap her. I get there first. I shove Bianca hard in the chest—she stumbles back two steps in her heels—and I plant myself in front of my mother. “Get the fuck away from her.” “You little bitch—” She swings on me. My mother yanks me into her arms a half-second before her nails connect; instead of my cheek, Bianca’s nails rake down my mother’s throat. Four red lines well up instantly. And for one beat—one single beat—my mother’s eyes flash with something I haven’t seen in three years. The old Moretti fire. The look she had in the photos from before she married him. Bianca actually flinches back. Then she remembers where she is, and she sneers. “You’re all bark, Isabella. No bite.” She turns to me. “Fine. Don’t get it. But Cleo’s marriage contract is sitting on Dante’s desk right now, and I get a say. Want me to recommend the Falcone man? Or the Romano heir?” The Falcone man is forty-three and on his fourth wife. The Romano heir is nineteen and beat a maid to death last summer for serving cold coffee. His father paid it off. My mother’s hand jerks against my shoulder. “I’ll get the earring,” she whispers. The water is freezing. My mother walks down the stone steps into the pond fully dressed. Her lips are blue inside of two minutes. “Mama!” Bianca slaps me. Hard. Then again, backhand. “Shut your mouth, you spoiled little bitch—” “What the hell is going on?” Dante’s voice. Bianca reacts in a heartbeat. She grabs my hand—drives my palm into her own chest—and throws herself backwards over the low railing into the pond. The splash is theatrical. Then Dante is in the water before his jacket is off, and he hauls Bianca out cradled against his chest like she’s made of glass. My mother is twenty feet away, drowning. A waiter from the gala—not family, not blood, just a kid trying to keep his job—is the one who jumps in and drags her to the edge. Bianca clings to Dante’s lapels and shakes. “I’m sorry, Dante, I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t have come tonight—” She sees me and screams, hides her face against his shoulder. “Don’t let her hit me again, please, please—” “I didn’t touch you!” I’m shaking. My cheek is on fire from her slap. “She made my mother get in the water for an earring! She called me a bitch! She’s been hitting me, look at my face, look—” Dante looks at my mother instead. Bruised, half-drowned, lips blue, barely breathing on the wet stones. For one second, something flickers behind his eyes. Something that almost looks like he still loves her. Then Bianca sobs against him. “Dante, please—I know she hates me. Fine. But to drag Cleo into it? To make a child lie for her?” She lifts her tear-streaked face. “I admit it. I slapped Cleo. Because she called me a bitch. She said I spread my legs for every man and insulted my dead mother.” Bianca’s voice climbs. “I was nobody before you, Dante, but I have pride. I’d rather drown than be treated like that—” She lunges for the railing like she’s going to throw herself in again. “Enough.” Dante’s voice is ice. “Take her to the basement. Twenty with the belt.” “No!” My mother throws herself in front of me before the guards drag me. “She’s mine. I raised her. Whatever she did—do it to me.” Dante looks down at her. Cold as hell. “Forty.” … The basement is cold. Concrete floor. One bare bulb swinging from the ceiling. My mother kneels on the floor. By the tenth, I’m sobbing so hard I can’t breathe. By the twentieth, my mom can’t even hold her head up. And I taste blood where I’ve bitten through my lip. I’m on my knees outside, screaming at the men, screaming at Dante, screaming at God— “Please. Please! She’s my MOM! Please stop!” By the end, she coughs up blood and collapses face-down on the concrete. I get her back to her room. I pay the family doctor double to come at midnight. Until dawn, I can’t hold it anymore and pass out beside her. I wake up again because someone is in the room. Dante. He’s kneeling beside the bed. He lifts the back of her nightgown with hands that are actually shaking, and a tear lands on her shoulder blade. He cleans the wounds himself. He whispers to her, voice broken. “Bella. Bella, why do you have to be so stubborn.” “Bianca’s a good girl. She saved my life. You don’t know what she did for me. You don’t know.” “Just let her have a baby. Once she gives me a baby, I’ll send her away. You and me and Cleo. Back to how we were. Like before.” I shut my eyes quietly. There is no “how we were.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260702T7W3TYqGrv 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni654973”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

It was our eighth anniversary party. I lost at Truth or Dare. My punishment? A full glass of 151 rum. The amber liquid sat before me. All eyes in the Manhattan penthouse locked onto Julian Vance. The taunts began. “Julian, time to be the hero!” “Take the fall for your queen!” After all, everyone in New York high society knows me. Aurora Hayes. Severely allergic to alcohol. Five years ago, one bite of a rum cake put me in anaphylactic shock. I ended up in the ICU. Julian stayed by my bedside for three days, his eyes bloodshot. He swore he’d never let me touch a drop of alcohol again. I looked at him. But Chloe, his new intern, sat beside him. She pouted, her innocent look now edged with challenge. “Oh? Does sweet Aurora get to skip the rules?” The party fell silent. Julian didn’t take the glass away. Instead, he calmly pushed it closer to me. “She’s right. A game’s a game.” He ruffled my hair. “Be good. I brought your EpiPen. I won’t let anything happen.” Triumph flashed in Chloe’s eyes. I didn’t glance at the medicine in Julian’s hand. My hand closed around the glass of rum. I tilted my head back and downed it. The liquor burned my throat like a blade. Julian was right. A game’s a game. This eight-year game of love was over. … The rum hit my stomach like a bomb. I grabbed the marble countertop. “Excuse me,” I muttered, stumbling towards the door. After my last ICU trip, my doctor’s warning was dire. He’d said it in front of Julian. For my allergy, pills were useless. Alcohol meant immediate throat swelling. I would need an injection and a hospital, fast. A mild reaction meant shock. A severe one meant death. Luckily, a private hospital was across the street. I could make it. “Aurora!” I reached the door when Julian grabbed my wrist. “It’s just a game. Don’t be dramatic. Here, take this. I’ll drive you to the hospital now.” From his suit pocket, he produced a sleek metal case. The cap twisted off as he tipped it into his palm. Empty. He froze, shaking it again; nothing.

Julian looked stunned. His head snapped towards Chloe. “Mr. Vance…” Chloe blinked, her voice trembling. “The… the stuff inside… I threw it out…” “I was tidying your suit jacket… I thought it was an empty, expired vitamin bottle, so I got rid of it.” Her eyes welled up as she spoke. My throat started itching and burning. My vision began to blur. Julian finally realized something was wrong, pulling me close. He glanced at Chloe, let out a sigh, and said, “Just be careful next time.” A bitter sting shot through my chest. I leaned on him, each breath a struggle. After eight years together, I knew Julian inside and out. He was a control freak, possessive of his space. No one, including me, was allowed to touch his things. When we first moved in, I tidied his study once. I organized some papers he’d left on his desk. He came home, saw it, and his face went dark. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night. I sent over twenty apology texts. He read every single one but ignored them all. A midnight drive to his office, Beef Wellington in hand, was my last resort. All that effort earned me was a grudging, “Don’t let it happen again.” I learned my lesson that night. From then on, his things were completely off-limits. But Chloe, an intern for six months, went through his pockets. She threw away the medicine that could save my life. And all she got was a soft, “Just be careful next time.” The color drained from my lips. A frantic rhythm hammered in my chest. Then my legs gave out from under me. I slid down his body, falling to the ground. “Aurora!” Julian’s voice was sharp with panic. He fumbled, trying to lift me. The room erupted into chaos. Someone yelled, “Call an ambulance!” Chloe let out a piercing scream. “Ah!” The arms about to lift me paused. Then they pulled away, turning elsewhere. A sickening thud. My head slammed against the cold, hard floor. The crystal chandelier above shattered into glittering specks. Through the haze, I saw Julian’s back. He was bent over Chloe, anxiously checking her ankle. Something deep inside me snapped. A voice in my head spoke with clarity. This eight-year game of love was over. I had lost. Then, everything went black. I blacked out.

I woke up in a private VIP room. A nurse came to check my vitals. “Miss Hayes, you’re aware of your severe allergy to alcohol, correct?” I just nodded. She flipped through her clipboard, her tone sharp. “You knew, and you drank anyway? You were in shock last night. Ten more minutes, and you would’ve been dead.” My head cleared a little. I held onto one last sliver of hope. “Who… who brought me here?” She gave me a look like I was an idiot. “The paramedics. A server found you passed out on the apartment floor and called 911.” It was his party with all his friends. If even he left me there, why would any of them help? The nurse was still lecturing me. “Remember, you can never, ever touch alcohol again.” “I know. I’ll make sure she stays away from it.” I froze, my head snapping towards the voice. Julian stood in the doorway. Chloe stood right behind him.

She was wearing a cream cashmere sweater. It had a small, embroidered logo, a perfect match to the one Julian had on. That was the matching set I’d commissioned from a designer in Italy for his birthday. We were supposed to wear them on our trip to the Amalfi Coast. But Julian had always called the sweater “childish.” He never once put it on. Yet here he was, wearing his, while he’d given mine to Chloe. His eyes caught mine; he nervously tugged at the hem of his sweater. “Things got messy last night. A drink spilled all over Chloe’s silk dress, soaked right through. I had to take her back to the apartment to change. By the time I got back, the server said an ambulance had already taken you.” His explanation revealed an even crueler truth. The night I was being rushed to the ER, he took the woman who pushed me to drink to our home. Bile rose in my throat, but nothing came up. Chloe hid behind him, looking like a scared little rabbit. “Aurora, I am so, so sorry about last night. I told Mr. Vance this morning I absolutely had to apologize in person.” I didn’t say a word. My eyes were locked on the sweater she was wearing. My voice was ice when I finally spoke. “Take it off.” Chloe shuddered. Julian immediately stepped in front of Chloe. “Aurora, what the hell are you saying? She came to apologize and you’re telling her to strip?” My knuckles went white on the bedsheets. I gritted my teeth, my glare burning past him, fixed on the collar of her sweater. “I said, take it off!”

Tears instantly flooded Chloe’s eyes. She shot a helpless glance at Julian, then slowly unzipped the sweater. Beneath it, a vintage dress appeared. It was a vintage Dior. My mother’s hands had restored it for me, the same winter she was diagnosed with cancer. The chemo made her hands tremble. But from her hospital bed, stitch by painful stitch, she mended the torn lace and intricate beadwork. She told me she wanted me to wear it for our first dance at the wedding. “I might not be there to see it, honey… but if you wear this, it’s like I’m with you.” I remembered Julian making a solemn vow.  “I swear, if I ever hurt Aurora, I don’t deserve to live.” My mom just looked at him, sighed, and said nothing. After she died, I held that dress and cried for days. I thought at least I still had him. But that promise was now smoke. Julian’s eyes followed mine, landing on the dress. His expression changed. His voice was sharp, accusatory. “Why are you wearing that?” Tears clung to Chloe’s lashes as she bit her lip. “You said I could pick anything from the closet… I saw this one in the very back and just assumed it was… old…” Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the side zipper. “I’ll take it off for Aurora right now.” There was a sharp, tearing sound. She’d yanked the fragile antique zipper. The seam my mother had sewn at the waist ripped apart. A long gash now split the delicate satin.

“Chloe!” I shot up in bed, my eyes burning with rage. “Ah!” she shrieked, clutching the torn fabric to her chest. “I… I didn’t mean to.” “Enough!” Julian snapped, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Aurora, it’s just a dress. Did you really have to push her this far?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That dress was…” “I know. The last thing your mother gave you…” His voice rose, thick with impatience. “But she’s gone! It’s just a dress. Things get old, they tear. It happens. If you’re so attached, I’ll have a replica made. A perfect one. Ten of them, if you want! A hundred!” A white-hot rage flooded my veins. My grip on the sheets tightened; blood backed up into the IV tube. “My mother restored this herself! It’s one of a kind! You can’t buy that!” As we screamed at each other, Chloe’s sobs grew louder. “Please, stop fighting… It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have worn your clothes. I’ll pay for it, okay?” She pulled out a cheap, worn-out purse and fumbled for crumpled bills. A twenty, a ten, a five… “Take this. If it’s not enough, I’ll give you my paycheck next month… and the month after…” She held out the pathetic pile of cash, leaning over to place it on my nightstand. The jacket slipped, exposing her bare shoulder again. Chloe gasped, scrambling to cover herself, her face a mask of embarrassment. His face filled with pity, Julian pulled a black card from his wallet. He threw it on the bed. “There’s two million on it. Buy all the vintage dresses you could ever want.” He looked down on me, his eyes like chips of ice. “Aurora, what have you become? Humiliating a girl over a dress, trying to shame her with money. You’re being irrational. Get some rest. We won’t bother you again.” He put his arm around Chloe and walked out without a glance.

Before she left, Chloe looked back over her shoulder. With a victorious smile on her face, she raised an eyebrow. Then she hooked her arm through Julian’s, right in front of me. The door slammed shut. I picked up the black card, tears finally breaking free. This was the card for our joint trust account. We’d made a pact to put money in it every month. It was for our future wedding, our first house, our global travels… our entire life together. And now, for another woman, he took it out without hesitation. My tears dripped onto the plastic, blurring our names. “Aurora Hayes” and “Julian Vance” bled together into an unrecognizable smudge. Just like our relationship.

I checked myself out of the hospital alone. I went back to our penthouse in SOHO to pack. Now that it was over, nothing was left for me in that home. The apartment was a rental. A clean break. I dragged out a suitcase and started throwing things inside. A folder tumbled out from the walk-in closet. I bent down to grab it and saw what was inside: a property deed. My whole body went rigid and I rubbed my eyes hard. The owner’s name was printed in sharp, clear letters: Chloe Miller. The date on the deed was three years ago. A sudden, icy dread washed over me. Chloe had only started at Julian’s company six months ago. An intern, who was immediately made his executive assistant. I’d questioned it. Making an intern his right-hand woman seemed reckless. But Julian said he’d seen himself in her. A kid from nothing who just needed a chance, just like he’d been. He never mentioned they already knew each other. He kept saying Chloe was just an employee. And I believed him. But looking at this, the lies started three years ago. The rot in our relationship had set in long ago. I was just now smelling the stench. Then, I heard a key turning in the lock. “Aurora?”

Julian’s face lit up when he saw me. He smiled. “You’re back. Why didn’t you call? I would’ve picked you up.” He didn’t explain why Chloe was behind him. He strode over to hug me, boasting to her over his shoulder. “See? I told you. Aurora can’t stay mad at me for long.” I dodged his arm and threw the property deed down in front of him. “What is this?” The smile vanished from his face. “Oh, that…” He swallowed, forcing a casual tone. “Chloe’s from my hometown. Her family is struggling. They wanted her to drop out and marry for money. No education, no way to survive in the city. So when she came to New York, I set her up with a small apartment through the company.” “But don’t worry, it’s just a loan. She’ll pay it back.” He shot a look at Chloe. “Right, Chloe?” I thought of her crumpled bills in the hospital. The irony almost made me laugh. “How is someone who pays for a dress in installments going to repay a three-million-dollar apartment?” Chloe’s face turned bright red. The innocent act dropped. “Who the hell are you to judge me? You’re the other woman here. Why shouldn’t my fiancé spend money on me?” She grabbed Julian’s arm, chin held high, pointing right at me. “Truth is, when we wore those matching outfits, we were meeting the parents. We’re engaged, and we’re setting a date.” The words hit me like a lightning bolt, the room starting to spin. I had prepared myself for him cheating. I had prepared for lies. But I never, ever imagined he had a whole fiancée back home. I stared at him in disbelief, my lips trembling. “Is that… true?”

His eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze. “It was an old arrangement from back home. A promise our families made… But I swear, nothing happened between us! I have never cheated on you!” He sighed, as if making a huge sacrifice. “Since you already know, I’ll just be straight with you. The apartment is compensation for her.” “Why are we compensating her?” Julian just kept finding a new low. That apartment was worth three million dollars. Two million of that was my inheritance. My mother’s legacy. Another six hundred thousand was from my personal savings. Julian only put in four hundred thousand, and half of that was a loan. His face flushed with anger. “I’ve supported you for eight years! So what if you pitched in?” I gave him the seed money. My contacts were his first clients. I built the core of that company. He was just the face of the operation, and now he was claiming he supported me. The sting of betrayal faded, leaving only a cold numbness. I looked at him, my voice flat and steady. “Julian. We’re done.” I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. His face tightened as he started after me. But Chloe grabbed his arm. “You can go. But you need to pay the rent first.” “This apartment is in my name. You’ve lived here three years without paying a single dime.” I stopped dead and turned back to Julian. Seeing he had my attention, his tone softened instantly. “Alright, stop making a scene. I just hadn’t gotten around to telling you. And let’s be real, Aurora. You’re twenty-eight. Who do you think you’ll find after me? Be smart, okay?” Right on cue, Chloe snickered. I looked at the man in front of me. He was not the man who knelt by my mother’s bedside and swore to protect me. At this point, I didn’t even care about the money anymore. I looked up at Julian, and a slow smile spread across my face. “Fine.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701CMQPI4eOJe 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni784906”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

On Valentine’s Day, a $5,200 charge popped up on my credit card. I was still processing it when an unknown number called. “Hello, is this Ms. Tiffany Vance? I’m calling about the Valentine’s package from Mr. Jenkins. The Ecuadorian roses and the Dom Pérignon are out for delivery, and your 3-star Michelin dinner reservations for tonight are all set. Will you be at the office to receive the delivery?” I froze. Liam and I kept our office romance a secret for three years. Just two days ago, he held me close and reassured me: “Baby, just wait a little longer. Once I make Director, we can finally go public.” I asked the so-called luxury concierge, “Are you sure you have the right person?” The guy paused, checking his notes. “Let me pull up the details… It says here it’s from your boyfriend, Liam Jenkins. Is that right?” I nodded at first, but then it hit me. My last name is Vance. But my first name isn’t Tiffany. Tiffany was our new intern. The second she joined, she made sure everyone knew she was the CEO’s niece. By week one, she closed a massive client I’d spent three months chasing. Liam scoffed at her back then. “Total nepo baby. She only landed that deal by riding her uncle’s coattails. What’s the big deal?” I just smiled and let it slide. Turns out, he was playing the perfect boyfriend to someone else—on my dime. I let out a cold laugh. “Actually, swap those roses for a massive funeral wreath. And cancel that dinner reservation.” …… I hung up just as Tiffany strolled in, armed with a dozen aggressively expensive coffees. “Happy Valentine’s Day! My boyfriend wanted to treat the whole department to coffee!” She slammed a cup on my desk with a smirk. “Emilia, this is Blue Bottle. You’ve probably never had it, right?” My coworkers instantly swarmed her, kissing up as usual. “Your boyfriend is so good to you! Rich, handsome, and so considerate—he even thought of us!” “Seriously, Tiffany is literally God’s favorite. The CEO’s niece and she has a perfect boyfriend? When do we get to meet this dream guy?” Tiffany noticed my silence and seized the moment. She raised her voice so the whole office could hear. “Emilia, didn’t you mention you had a boyfriend too? What did he get you for Valentine’s? It’s awfully quiet over there…” She looked at me in pure mockery. “Don’t tell me… he didn’t get you anything at all?” A coworker scoffed. “Emilia talks about this guy every day, but have any of us actually met him? Three years, and not a single sighting. I bet she just made him up!” “Yeah, totally. Look at Tiffany’s boyfriend—the surprises never stop. Emilia, what has your boyfriend ever given you?” I shot a glance at Liam. Panic flashed across his face. He forced an awkward laugh, scrambling to change the subject. “Come on guys, leave Emilia alone. So she invented a guy to save face. It’s no big deal.”

My instincts told me something was off. Usually, whenever coworkers joked about my boyfriend, Liam would just ignore them and play dumb. But today, he was way too eager to brush it off. I checked my banking app, only to find my alerts under $1,000 were turned off. $388… $698… $999… Dozens of charges I never made. All from this month alone. So that’s why. No wonder Liam tried to shut them up so quickly. He was terrified I’d connect the dots. My blood boiled. I shot out of my chair. “Liam…” But before I could finish, Tiffany’s shrill voice cut me off. She walked over, flashing a smile as she looped her arm through Liam’s. “Everyone, let me officially introduce you. Liam is my boyfriend.” “I wanted to keep it low-key, but Liam didn’t want to keep me hidden anymore. He insisted on going public for Valentine’s Day!” The office erupted. “Wait, Liam is your boyfriend? No wonder I saw you guys leaving together last month!” “You two are literally a perfect couple! Wealthy heiress and handsome high-flyer!” “Come on, Liam. Don’t tell me coffee is all you got her for Valentine’s. Spill!” Tiffany giggled behind her hand, but her gaze cut me like a knife. “Oh, it’s nothing crazy. He just Zelled me $15,000 for Valentine’s, ordered 999 roses and booked a Michelin-star dinner. They’ll be delivered here in a bit, you’ll see.”

I stood there, staring at Liam in disbelief. Three years of a secret romance. He told me he valued his privacy. That he didn’t want to be office gossip. I respected that. I never breathed a word about us to anyone. But now? Tiffany just claimed he insisted on going public for her. Then what the hell was I? What were our three years together? Liam came from nothing. He sent most of his paycheck back to his family every month, and I never complained once. I figured he was strapped for cash, so I always picked up the tab. No big deal. It wasn’t until this moment that the truth hit me. He wasn’t broke. He just didn’t think I was worth his money. I bit my lip hard, refusing to let him see me break. Tiffany shot me a taunting look. “Emilia, what’s with that look? Aren’t you going to congratulate us?” Looking at her expression, it all clicked. She knew about Liam and me from the very beginning. She did all of this on purpose.

I ignored her, locking eyes with Liam. My voice cracked. “Liam, I don’t buy it. Tell me yourself.” Liam avoided my gaze for a split second. But he quickly squared his shoulders. His tone was cold and detached. “Emilia, I admit you’re attractive, but face reality. Tiffany is the one I love.” “Could you stop obsessing over me? It’s pathetic. You’re acting like a total stalker.” I scoffed. Thinking back, when Tiffany landed that massive client, Liam wasn’t sneering. He was jealous. Bitter that his own girlfriend was just a nobody. Bitter that a trust-fund baby like Tiffany wasn’t already in his pocket. At his words, the coworkers’ stares felt like daggers. “Jesus, Emilia. Did you seriously think you were Liam’s girlfriend?” “This is hilarious. Tiffany is rich, connected, and capable. What do you even have?” “Tiffany, your uncle is the CEO, right? Just have him fire this psycho. Sharing an office with her is gross.” I let out a cold laugh. “Fire me?” “Why don’t you ask Tiffany if she has the pull?”

Tiffany paled for a second. But the crowd’s flattery fueled her ego. She marched up to my desk, glaring down at me. “Emilia, do yourself a favor and just quit. I’ll pretend the whole ‘hitting on my boyfriend’ thing didn’t happen. Otherwise, I’m calling my uncle to get you kicked out!” I sat back down, unbothered. “Sorry, but I won’t be quitting. If anyone has a problem with me, there’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.” “You—” Tiffany’s face turned beet red. “Fine, Emilia! Since you’re so desperate to humiliate yourself, I’ll let you see what a real Valentine’s gift looks like!” “If Liam is really your boyfriend, where’s your surprise?” I let out a laugh. A surprise? Bring it on. I’ll wait. Because they’re the ones in for a rude awakening today… Not me.

The office drama died down for now. I stepped out to use the restroom, only for Liam to corner me in the hallway. He looked impatient. “Emilia, was I not clear enough? Why are you still dead set on hanging around the office?” “Tiffany is the CEO’s niece. Being with her fast-tracks my career by ten years. And you? What could you possibly offer me?” I stared at him. So this was the real Liam. “You’re dumping me just because Tiffany claims to be the CEO’s niece?” Liam frowned. “Don’t make it sound so ugly. People trade up. I did nothing wrong. If you want to blame someone, blame your own family for being nobodies!” He turned and stormed off. I watched him walk away with a cold laugh. When I first joined the company, my dad—Robert Vance, the real CEO— wanted to put me straight into the executive suite. But I wanted to work my way up from the bottom. Just to prove myself. To avoid any special treatment, I kept my identity under wraps. After three years of grinding it out, my dad decided it was time. At the quarterly meeting, he’d reveal who I was and make me Marketing Director. I had planned to tell Liam today. Give him a Valentine’s surprise. I didn’t expect a slap in the face instead. Three years of my life, completely down the drain.

Back at my desk, I pulled up every charge Liam made on my cards. Especially all the times he secretly swiped my card to buy gifts for Tiffany. I screenshotted every receipt and built a detailed document. Right before I clocked out, a huge commotion erupted outside. Two coworkers rushed up to my desk, sneering down at me. “Liam’s gift for Tiffany is here, down in the lobby! Come see what a real gift looks like!” “I bet you’ve never seen anything this luxurious in your life.” They didn’t stop talking as they grabbed my arm, dragging me out. Instead of fighting back, I just went with it. After all, they had a point. I had never seen what a $5,200 funeral wreath looked like. I kind of wanted to see it myself. As we hit the lobby, a concierge’s booming voice echoed through the space: “Delivery for Tiffany? Valentine’s gift from a Mr. Jenkins.” I looked over. Inside the black van sat a massive object shrouded in velvet. Tiffany gloated before stepping forward, acting shy. “Hi, my boyfriend ordered this for me. Thank you.” The crowd buzzed with envy. A few even shot me mocking looks, hoping for a scene. The next second, the concierge yanked the velvet cloth away. Underneath sat a giant wreath of white lilies and chrysanthemums. The concierge raised a megaphone and blared: “One funeral wreath from your boyfriend, Mr. Jenkins. Sign here, please.” The room went dead silent. All the color drained from Tiffany’s face.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701mniyiv43Ft 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni340403”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

On the eve of my promotion to Chief Healer, my Alpha, Leander, secretly submitted a medical deployment application to the Northern War Zone in my name. When I confronted him, he brushed it off. “Celeste used my computer yesterday and accidentally submitted it for you. It was just a little joke.” “Isn’t there a second confirmation? You could have rejected it.” Leander knew perfectly well that if I failed to respond within twenty-four hours, the application would be automatically confirmed. Once it went through, I would have to spend three years in the Northern War Zone, where whether I lived or died would be anyone’s guess. Not only had he kept it from me beforehand, but he had also called it a joke, as though I would be vicious for holding Celeste accountable. Seven years together, and in the end, they meant less than a pretty intern who had been hovering around him for three months. My heart went cold. I said nothing more and confirmed the deployment myself. I never expected him to regret it. … APPLICATION SUBMITTED. If not actively withdrawn within twenty-four hours, deployment to the Northern War Zone will be automatically confirmed for a three-year assignment. When I received the email from the Moonbound Healers Alliance about the Northern War Zone medical deployment, I froze for a second. Then anger surged through me. The documents I had asked Leander to submit yesterday were clearly for my promotion to Senior Healer. What came back instead was a deployment application. My phone buzzed. A colleague from the Alliance’s Human Resources Office had messaged me. Dr. Hart, did you submit the wrong form? High-risk territory deployment applications have a twenty-four-hour cooling-off period. You can still withdraw it. Leander and I had been together for seven years. As an Alpha, there was no way he did not know how dangerous the North was. He had almost died on the border himself. And now I was learning that he had filled out an application sending me there. Our Mate Bond ceremony was supposed to take place next year. I took a deep breath and called Leander with trembling hands. “I received a deployment confirmation for the Northern front. Why?” His careless voice came through the line. “Oh, that. Celeste came to my office yesterday to discuss the data and saw me organizing your materials. She said the Northern War Zone needed complex-trauma specialists like you the most, so she jokingly submitted the application for you.” He paused, his tone as light as if we were discussing what to have for lunch. “She just graduated from the Wolf Medical Academy. She’s passionate and impulsive. She was only joking with you. There is a twenty-four-hour cooling-off period, isn’t there? Just withdraw it.” Celeste. Again. She was the new trainee healer Leander had brought into the pack this year, and after I was promoted to Chief trauma Healer, she was the person most likely to take over my position on the project. Young. Pretty. And every time she looked at Leander, the worship in her eyes was impossible to miss. He knew that if the application was not actively withdrawn within twenty-four hours, it would automatically enter the review process. And once a Northern War Zone medical deployment was approved, it meant at least two years away. Yet he described it as a little joke. “If I hadn’t checked my email in time, that order would have gone into effect. Do you understand how serious this is?” My voice tightened. I could not understand why he had not told me earlier. Leander sighed into the receiver, the impatience in his voice obvious. “Elowen, when did you become so uptight?” “It was a joke. Celeste was going to remind you today anyway. Even if you had really missed the email, she would have told you tomorrow at the latest.” “If you want to report her, go ahead and report me too. I was the one who gave her access.” Then he hung up. I stood before the tall window of the Blackridge Pack Medical Center, looking out at the empty streets before dawn. For the first time, I felt as if I had never truly known the person beside me for the past seven years. Withdrawing the application would take only one email. But at that moment, I no longer wanted to withdraw it. I opened the border medical station database and began downloading epidemiological data, combat-trauma protocols for werewolf patients, and maps of local armed factions. A colleague knocked on the duty-room door. “Dr. Hart, someone is looking for you downstairs.” Celeste was standing in the medical center lobby with two coffees in her hands. When she saw me, she hurried over, her smile bright. “Dr. Hart.” She handed me one of the coffees. “I just spoke to Alpha Leander. He is taking the team to the Northern territories this weekend for a medical outreach program, and he invited me to be his assistant. Do you think it would be appropriate for me to go?” Her eyes were clear, her tone sincere, as though she truly wanted my opinion. It had been three months. Ever since this top student from Stanford Wolf Medical School had joined Leander’s project team, she had been doing the most provocative things with the most innocent expression. I took the coffee but did not drink it. “What do you think? You two have already made up your minds. What do you need my blessing for?” Celeste tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Alpha Leander said this medical outreach is important. But I was worried you might misunderstand. After all, you used to be the one who partnered with him…” “Then don’t go.” She froze. “Weren’t you asking for my opinion?” I set the coffee down on the reception desk. “That is my opinion. Don’t go.” Celeste’s expression shifted. Before she could speak, the elevator doors opened. Almost at the same moment, tears welled in her eyes. Leander frowned when he saw her. “Celeste, what happened? Did someone upset you?” “Alpha, no one upset me. I only came to ask Dr. Hart for her opinion… I was afraid she would be unhappy.” Celeste lowered her head, tears falling at exactly the right moment. “I just didn’t expect her to say she didn’t want me to go.” Leander patted her shoulder and comforted her. “It doesn’t matter whether she agrees or not. Since when do I need someone else’s approval to choose my assistant?” Then he turned to me, his eyes full of impatience. “Look how much Celeste cares about your feelings. And you? You’re still making things hard for her over the Northern application?” “She cares about my feelings? For three months, she has been bringing you breakfast and leaving caring notes right in front of me. She fights to sit beside you in meetings, posts ambiguous photos of the two of you on Instagram, and now she wants to act innocent? Who is she performing for?” “I am your partner. But everywhere she goes, she acts as though she is the one who belongs beside you. She has no sense of boundaries at all. She is trying to take my place right in front of me. Calling you ‘Alpha’ every other sentence–doesn’t it make you sick?” “She calls me Dr. Hart to my face, but behind my back she probably wishes I would disappear.” Celeste went pale. She even forgot to cry. Leander stared at me as if he were looking at a stranger. “Are you done? When did you become this cruel?” “Celeste is on my project team. It is my responsibility to mentor her. Why do you always have to make everything so ugly? It’s a normal professional relationship, and you’re twisting it into something dirty.” “Celeste is generous enough not to argue with you. Apologize to her, and this ends here.” I laughed from sheer anger. “Are you insane? You want me to apologize to the person who submitted a Northern deployment application for me? Impossible.” Leander pressed his lips into a thin line. “Elowen, if you insist on refusing to apologize, then the Mate Bond ceremony we planned for next year can be canceled too.” Looking at the man before me, I felt more and more as if he were a stranger. The way he protected Celeste made my anger seem like a joke. I lowered my eyes and said softly, “Fine. Then let’s do as you said. Cancel the ceremony. End whatever bond is left between us.” Shock flashed through Leander’s eyes. Celeste immediately looked as though she wanted to mediate. “Alpha, Dr. Hart must only be saying that because she is angry. Please don’t argue because of something so small involving me.” Leander came back to himself and gave a cold laugh. “Fine. Canceled, then. Don’t come crying to me in the middle of the night, begging to get back together.” He left with Celeste. Before they were gone, I heard him speak to her in a gentle voice. “Don’t worry. We have been together for so many years. She always comes around.” “I have spoiled her too much all these years. This time, she needs to learn a lesson.”

When I returned to the duty room, the computer screen was still glowing. Three hours remained on the withdrawal countdown. I began searching for the latest briefings from the Northern border medical stations. Last week, an ambulance had been ambushed and two healers had been killed. One treatment station, short on supplies, had been forced to choose which of the wounded could receive care. But it was also where the most advanced combat-trauma techniques for werewolf patients were being developed, and where the world’s best healers rotated through the front line. If I returned after two years, that experience alone would allow me to compete directly for a Senior Healer position. Maybe it was not so bad after all. In the past, to fit into the stable life Leander wanted, I had given up three chances to take high-risk territory deployments. Now, it seemed I no longer had to worry so much. I shut down the computer. A message from my best friend, Maeve, popped up. Elowen! I saw Leander and Celeste at pack social night! God, the two of them were practically pressed together during the game! She sent me a video. The lighting was dim, but I recognized Leander at once in the center of the crowd. Celeste sat beside him, her cheeks flushed. Someone shouted, “Leander, truth or dare? If it’s a dare… hug the nearest woman for thirty seconds!” Amid the laughter, Leander turned and naturally pulled Celeste into his arms. Whistles and cheers exploded around them. They looked so intimate that anyone would think they were the fated pair. My heart stung as if pierced by a silver needle. I replied to Maeve: I know. Leave them alone. Then I began organizing the documents I needed to take with me when I left. After all, there was not much time. I would depart in a month. Two weeks later, Leander’s beta delivered an invitation. “Tomorrow evening, Alpha is hosting a project wrap-up dinner at the Mooncrest Medical Exchange Center. He asks that you attend.” “I’m busy.” The beta looked surprised. “But you contributed a great deal to this project…” “I have plans.” He smiled. “You may bring a companion. Alpha specifically said he hopes you will be there.” Several colleagues looked over at us. I accepted the invitation. On the night of the banquet, Celeste stood at the entrance to the hall in a pink cocktail dress, holding a certificate for Outstanding Young Researcher. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up and she hurried over. “Dr. Hart, you’re here. Today is the day I passed my probation. I was afraid it wouldn’t feel festive enough, so I begged Alpha to combine his project wrap-up dinner with my celebration.” Expressionless, I said, “Congratulations.” “Thank you, Dr. Hart.” Her smile was radiant. “We saved you a seat at the main table.” I found a seat in the corner. Leander came looking for me. His suit was impeccable, his face handsome, his expression cold. “Elowen, go to the main table. What are you doing hiding here?” “It’s quiet here. I like it.” Leander took a deep breath. “I have let you give me the silent treatment for two weeks. Are you not finished yet? Since when have you not sat beside me at a celebration banquet? All this over a deployment order that has already been withdrawn?” Several people looked toward us. I met his eyes and said nothing. I also did not tell him that I had never withdrawn the order. A familiar professor smoothed things over. “Dr. Hart, come sit with us. We have kept a seat for you.” There was indeed an empty chair beside Leander. Celeste walked over naturally and took it. Then she turned to Leander. “Alpha, this is perfect. We were just discussing next month’s Global Pack Medicine Summit. Now that I have become a full staff member, you said you would take me out to see more of the world.” She looked at me with clear eyes. “Dr. Hart should come too. The three of us can go together.” I lifted my glass of water. I remembered the night Leander and I returned from South Sudan last year. He had said he would definitely take me to the next global summit. “When the time comes, you need to take photos with those top experts,” he had said while helping me smooth my skirt. “Let the people who say you rely on me see that this is your own strength.” The way my heart had moved then was real. The way it had gone cold now was real too. “The two of you should go. I don’t have time lately.” The moment I finished speaking, Leander’s face darkened.

Halfway through the banquet, I went out to the terrace for air. Leander followed me and grabbed my wrist. His palm was callused from years of holding surgical blades. “Elowen, what exactly do you mean by this?” “Exactly what I said.” I pulled my hand free. Leander laughed in anger. “How long are you going to keep acting like this? Is this still about the Northern deployment order?” Clearly, from beginning to end, he had believed I was merely throwing a little tantrum. “I asked Celeste. She really did plan to remind you. Even if you hadn’t seen the email, she would have told you the next day at the latest. Stop being so petty.” I nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I should thank her.” “Don’t use that tone with me.” He released my wrist, his voice hard. “You are coming with me to the summit next month. We agreed on that.” Then he turned and left, the hem of his suit jacket cutting a sharp line through the air. At eight o’clock on the morning of the summit, I stood at my apartment window and looked down. Leander’s car was parked below, and Celeste leaned against it, occasionally glancing up toward my floor. I drew the curtains shut. My phone vibrated with a message from Leander. Come down. Do not make me say it again. I replied: Packing. Not going. Is the summit less important than packing? If you do not come this time, don’t regret it. After sending that message, he left with Celeste. That day, he posted three updates on Instagram. Every single one included Celeste. Brought a young researcher to her first world-class summit today. That spark in her eyes reminds me of the beginning. She got shy after a few legends in the field praised her work. Summit photo. New voices deserve to be seen. The future belongs to them. Comments from mutual friends appeared one after another. Is Alpha bringing a student or a mate? He is so attentive. Dr. Hart didn’t go? Did the strongest healing duo break up? Celeste really is talented. Alpha has an eye for people. Maeve sent me screenshots, furious. Celeste is absolutely doing this on purpose! You and Leander may not have gone public, but everyone in the circle knows you’ve been together for seven years. This is disgusting. Aren’t you going to do something? Was it disgusting? A little. But more than that, it was liberating. One intern had been enough to let me see clearly what seven years of love had been worth. The more I cherished him, the more he took it for granted. The withdrawal period for the Northern deployment order had passed. That was that. I began preparing my gear. High-risk territory aid was not easy. I needed ballistic armor, emergency healing kits, multiple vaccines, antimalarial drugs, and psychological training for battlefield post-traumatic stress disorder. But once my mind settled, it felt less like exile and more like a new beginning. Before I left, I asked Maeve to have dinner with me. Northern food would take some getting used to. I might as well start early. Maeve stared at me. “Leander and that intern are already acting like that, and you still have the mood to try new food?” “Why wouldn’t I?” I smiled. Work was work. Love was love. Whenever Leander and I had argued before, I had always been the one to make peace. But this time, he had crossed my bottom line. On the way back to my apartment, I even found myself humming. Maeve looked at me in disbelief. “Have you really let go? I saw Leander and Celeste’s Instagram. They’ve been interacting even more since they came back from the summit…” I did not answer. When we passed the old campus of the Wolf Medical Academy, I asked Maeve to go ahead and went alone into the ivy-covered laboratory building. The rooftop was where Leander and I had first met. Eight years ago, I had still been a wolf medical student. He was already the youngest regional director of the Moonbound Healers Alliance and the newly appointed Alpha of Blackridge Pack. That night, I had been harshly criticized by my mentor for a surgical error and had hidden there to smoke. He found me and led me to the railing. “Look down.” He pointed at the thousands of city lights below. “What is one mistake in the span of an entire life?” From a terrified wolf medical student, I later became the partner who worked most seamlessly with him. Before every dangerous mission, we often came here. Together, we discussed injuries, argued over treatment plans, and shared our breakthroughs. Leander liked leaning against the railing and looking out at the lights of the medical center in the distance. “Elowen, you’re improving so quickly that I almost feel threatened.” Back then, I had smiled at his profile. “Then you had better work hard. Don’t let me surpass you.” In our third year, in an interpack border zone, a breach appeared in the area under my responsibility and three team members were infected. Headquarters investigators accused me of negligence in front of an entire tent of people and wanted to send me back to the pack. Leander stood up and stepped in front of me. “I am the chief supervisor of this epidemic zone. I will take responsibility for every issue. Dr. Hart’s protective protocol carried my final signature. If anyone is to be disciplined, discipline me.” He bore all the pressure and voluntarily applied to extend his time stationed there as a remedy. After the investigators left, I stood in the tent that reeked of disinfectant and watched Leander’s profile as he organized medical reports. My trust in him and my love for him grew so full they almost overflowed. We got together after that night. Now, those memories had become sharpened silver blades, cutting deep.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701NArPVlb3RL 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni429667”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

It was the day before Valentine’s, the day Julian Thorne had finally agreed to marry me. But that morning? He married his ex-wife instead. We were on our way to Manhattan City Hall. He suddenly pulled his Bentley over to the side of the road. I looked at him in confusion, but he just stared blankly at the traffic. “We can’t get married today. Isabelle is back with my son, Leon. His condition has gotten worse, it’s complicated. Lawyers advised us to remarry. It’s to simplify the medical decisions and get him the best treatment faster.” My mind went blank. He tapped his knuckles on the steering wheel, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a legal formality for the kid, Ella. You’ve always been so smart. You should understand my position. Our lavish wedding at The Plaza is still happening. You’ll still wear the Cartier ring. Nothing changes between us except a piece of paper. My feelings for you haven’t changed.” I looked at his handsome but unfamiliar face and felt sick. I was about to tell him the news. That we were finally having the baby we’d always wanted. But now, this selfish bastard didn’t deserve to know. And like that, this marriage meant nothing. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “So, Julian… when you went to City Hall yesterday and signed a marriage license with another woman, did you think about what that would make today for me?” Julian finally turned to face me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ella, don’t be dramatic. My marriage to Isabelle was always a business alliance. You know that. Reinstating it is for guardianship and medical consent. It’s the fastest way to get Leon treatment. Besides, you’ve always said you hate complications, right?” He was right. I used to swallow all my problems so he could focus on the chaos of Wall Street. He always praised me for being “independent and not clingy.” Now, the independence he praised was the knife he was twisting in my back. I let out a laugh. “So, to avoid ‘complications,’ I’m supposed to accept my fiancé is legally another woman’s husband, right before our own wedding?” “Julian, what the hell am I to you?”

He reached for me, but I flinched. His hand froze between us. He sighed, dropping his hand to his side. “Ella, after five years, does a piece of paper really matter more than us? I’ve given you everything. I gave you the best life. You know that. I love you. You’re the only one I want to spend my life with. Nothing has changed.” My mind flashed back to a year ago. We were walking past a baby boutique on Fifth Avenue. He’d pulled me inside, picking up a tiny pair of sneakers. “Ella, once we’re married, let’s have a baby right away. I can’t wait to see a little you, looking at me with your eyes, calling me Dad.” His excitement had been so real then. And this betrayal felt as real now. My hand moved to my stomach. I lowered my voice. “And the child? He gets your name, your insurance… and then what? What’s the plan for them, Julian? Are you going to stay legally married to her forever?”

Julian relaxed. He thought I was caving. “Leon’s condition is complicated. He needs long-term care, and Isabelle can’t manage it alone. I’ll set them up in an apartment on the Upper East Side. They’ll have the best care. I’ll only visit once or twice a week. Ella, I promise. I’ll spend most of my time with you.” I felt an overwhelming sense of irony. How can a man about to be married have two homes? Two families? His phone buzzed. It was his mother. The unshakeable matriarch of the Thorne family. He answered. “Mother. On our way. I’m bringing Ella to the estate in the Hamptons for dinner.” He hung up, not even bothering to ask if I agreed. He spun the car around and merged onto the Long Island Expressway. A glance from the corner of his eye, his tone shifting from demanding to desperate. “Ella, I know how unfair this is. I have no right to ask anything of you.” He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But the wedding has been announced. All of New York knows. And my mother… she adores you. You know her heart condition. She can’t take a shock right now.” “I’m begging you. Just give me a little time. Let me get Leon and Isabelle settled. Let me find the right way to handle things with her.” He looked at me, his eyes swirling with an emotion I’d never seen before. “Tonight, can we have dinner with her? Please? Give me some time.” I stared at his familiar profile. For the first time, a chill settled deep in my bones. He was turning pressure into a plea. Disguising his selfishness as a necessary evil. He was painting himself as the victim, trapped and torn between two worlds. He was making a bet. A bet on five years of my love. My stomach churned again. I bit my lip and fought not to throw up on the leather seats.

The Thorne estate in the Hamptons was grand enough to feel unreal. As we walked in, Julian’s mother greeted us. Mrs. Thorne, elegant and imposing, took my hand. “Ella! The chef made your favorite macarons.” She didn’t know. In her eyes, tomorrow was a celebration. Her son was marrying the love of his life. At the dinner table, Julian was the perfect fiancé. He cut my steak, poured me vintage champagne. A flawless performance. “Ella, enjoy it. You’ve gotten too thin preparing for the wedding.” Mrs. Thorne looked at us gently. Julian froze for a second, then forced a smile. “She’s right, you need to eat.” He looked at me, his eyes a mix of warning and pleading. He was making a bet. Betting I wouldn’t defy his mother. Betting I wouldn’t humiliate this kind, oblivious woman in front of everyone. After dinner, Mrs. Thorne quietly led me to her study. From a safe behind a painting, she retrieved a velvet box. Inside lay a sapphire necklace that glittered under the light. It was the Thorne family heirloom. “Ella, only a Thorne bride wears this,” she said, fastening it around my neck herself. “I can see how much Julian truly loves you. He used to be so wild. You changed him.” She patted my hand, her eyes growing misty. “You two build a beautiful life. And give me a grandchild soon. With my health… I hope I’m around long enough to hold one.”

The cold weight of the sapphires pressed against my skin. My throat tightened. I swallowed the words of refusal, again and again. The secret pressed on me harder than ever. The grandchild she was praying for was already here, inside me. But her son would have nothing to do with the baby. Later that night, back at our Central Park West penthouse, Julian came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. He smelled of scotch, pressing hot kisses against my neck. “Honey…” My body went rigid. Pure, physical revulsion washed over me. I shoved him off, bolting for the bathroom where I retched over the sink. He followed, gently rubbing my back. “What’s wrong? Was it something you ate?” I splashed my face with cold water, staring at my own pale reflection. “Julian. Don’t touch me.” His hand froze. His expression hardened. “Are you still on this? Ella, I thought you’d cooled off.” I turned, backing up against the cold marble counter. Putting a barrier between us. “So what’s my role in this perfect plan of yours, Julian? Am I the publicly adored Mrs. Thorne, with no legal standing whatsoever? Or a tool to help you cover up your dirty deal, to make it all look respectable?”

He lit a cigarette. His patience was gone. “I already told you. You can have everything but the marriage license. The company stock, this penthouse, all of my personal assets. What I have with Isabelle is duty. That’s it.” Duty. There was that word again. “And what about me? What’s your duty to me?” “With you, it’s love!” he snarled, as if he were the one being wronged. “Don’t push me, Ella.” His voice turned to ice. “You know how much my mother adores you. Her heart can’t take a shock. If we split and something happens to her… could you live with that?” A chill went through me. He was using her against me again. It wasn’t a statement of fact. It was pure emotional blackmail. Her health was her doctor’s and family’s responsibility, not a cage to keep me trapped. He saw my silence and pressed his advantage, exploiting my kindness. “You’re a good person. You’ve always treated her like your mother, right?” Yes, I’m kind. But I’m not a fool. “Besides,” he said, playing his final, brutal card. “Your father’s experimental treatments at Sloan Kettering… the millions of dollars each year. I am paying for that. Can you give him that care if you leave me?” First, emotional blackmail. Then, a financial threat. He knew exactly where to hurt me. My compassion, and my devotion to my father. I looked at the man in front of me. It felt like I’d never known him. Was the gentle man I loved now this monster, chaining me with money and guilt? “Fine.” I said, my voice hollow. “I’m listening to you.” Julian sighed in relief, moving in for a hug. “I knew you’d see reason, Ella.” I sidestepped him. His arms froze in mid-air. I pointed to the guest room. “But I don’t want to look at you. You’re sleeping in there tonight.” His face darkened, but he nodded, desperate to secure my temporary surrender. “Alright. Get some rest.” When the door shut, I sank to the floor. I cried.

To make me accept this absurd reality, Julian took me to see Isabelle. He drove me to our first apartment in Brooklyn. A tiny loft that held all our history. The hard years and the good ones. Now, it was home to his legal wife and their son. The industrial space I remembered was gone. Replaced with a warm, cozy family home. Isabelle was gently giving medicine to a small boy. She wore a simple cashmere set, no makeup, her blonde hair loosely pinned up. She gave me a calm nod. “Please, sit down. Sorry, the place is a mess.” The boy was five or six, pale and thin, but he had Julian’s eyes. He hid behind Isabelle, whispering, “Daddy.” Julian walked over as if I wasn’t there. He knelt, checked Leon’s forehead, and got him a glass of water from the kitchen. He patiently coaxed the boy to take his medicine, wiping a drop from his chin. It was a father’s love. That much was obvious. Deep, instinctual, and impossible to fake. I stood in the doorway, like a stranger intruding on their family. Julian took Leon to his room to show him a new toy. Leaving me alone with her. Isabelle handed me a cup of herbal tea and sat across from me. “I told Julian, you know. That this is incredibly unfair to you.” She sighed. “But you know how he is. Once he makes a decision, no one can change it.” She said it so casually. “He wants it all. The responsibility he can’t abandon… and the thrill he can’t give up. The most important thing is to take care of ourselves, right?”

Her words were meant to sound like comfort. But she was putting me in my place. She was the duty, the responsibility. And I was just the thrill. She picked up a silver frame from the table. A photo of their little family. She wiped a speck of dust off the glass, then gave me a sad, knowing smile. “He never let me throw this away,” she said. “Not even when we were divorced.” “Some ties, you can’t break.” My eyes went from their smiling faces to the sapphire necklace on my chest. Suddenly, it felt ridiculous. The whole thing was a sick joke. I didn’t say a word. I just got up and walked out. She didn’t try to stop me. Her voice floated after me, light and airy. “Ella, don’t blame him. And don’t be so hard on yourself. Give it a few years. You’ll get used to it.” Get used to it? Get used to this twisted, sickening arrangement?

The wedding planning continued, as if nothing was wrong. Julian thought I had accepted it. He was back to being gentle and attentive, desperate to please me. “Ella, how do you like this Vera Wang gown? I had it rushed in just for you. And the ring, I had Harry Winston’s designer upgrade it to ten carats.” He was trying to cover his lies with expensive gifts. He took me to the gallery to pick up our engagement portrait. A giant, framed photo of us kissing on a beach at sunset. In the picture, I was smiling, thinking I was the luckiest woman. Now, the sight of that smile made my stomach turn. Julian pointed at it, mesmerized. “See, Ella? We’re made for each other. I’ll give you the world, I promise. Everything you could ever want.” I stared at that fake smile, and another wave of nausea washed over me. “I need the bathroom.” I ran, hunched over the toilet, and dry-heaved until my throat burned. Only bitter acid came up. The date on my ultrasound report flashed in my mind. I had been pregnant for almost three months.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Julian had his back to me. He was on the phone, his voice a low murmur. But I still heard every word. “…Isabelle, stop it. I can’t get away right now.” “Leon’s running a fever again? Did you give him his medicine?” “Okay, okay, I’m on my way. Don’t panic. I’ll stop by Magnolia Bakery and get his favorite cupcakes.” It was Isabelle. Even now, in the middle of our wedding plans. All she had to do was mention their son. And he was gone. He hung up, turning to see me standing there. Panic flashed across his face. Then it was gone. He walked toward me, looking regretful. “Honey, something urgent came up at work. A major client just flew in from Europe. I have to go.” I didn’t call out his lie. I held his gaze. “Julian, do you remember what day it is?” He looked at me, completely blank. He’d forgotten. I answered for him. “It’s my birthday.” Guilt washed over his features as he rushed to fix it. “Oh god, Ella, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy.” “What do you want? We’ll go to Fifth Avenue right now, you can have anything.” He reached for my hand. I took a step back and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. You have an emergency. You should go.” He looked relieved that I was being so “understanding.” He kissed my forehead and left. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. A huge party when I get back. Wait for me.” He grabbed his car keys and rushed out the door. He never looked back.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701T9wFLIgNao 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni248190”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

For the ninety-ninth time, my Alpha mate, Kyle, instinctively veered off patrol—straight toward Seraphina’s den. He turned and looked at me like I was the problem. “Why is your scent so weak? I didn’t even sense you. Anyway, since I’m here, I’ll reinforce the wards on Seraphina’s den.” I stood frozen, a bitter smile on my lips. That phrase again. “Since I’m here.” It started a year ago, after my best friend Seraphina moved to the forest edge. My Alpha, the pack’s leader, kept getting “lost” on his patrols. He promised we’d go to the Moonlight Ritual together. Instead, he knocked on Seraphina’s door, holding the ceremonial Moonpetal Nectar meant for us. Rogue werewolves wounded me and left me burning with a fever. I begged him for healing herbs. He gave them to Seraphina for her “moon-sickness.” Even on my own Coming of Age ceremony, he presented his trophy hunt to her. He laid the kill at her door. “Since I’m here,” he’d said. “Think of it as a gift for your friendship.” Another time, it was: “Seraphina’s aura’s been acting up. Since I’m here, I’ll help her settle it.” I watched him disappear into her den. He never looked back. I turned and walked toward my den. He’d forgotten. Today, my pack oath expired. I decided to leave this territory. Since he loved going there, he could stay there for good. Back at my den, a few young werewolves loyal to me were waiting. “Ella, we’re ready to start moving your things.” I nodded. At that moment, the communication crystal on my wrist buzzed. It was a mental link from Kyle. “Where did you go? Don’t wander off.” I flinched. Our mental link had always been one-sided. I was the only one who cared. For a moment, the message made my fingers tremble. But as I was concentrating, his next thought cut through. “Go to the apothecary in the south. Bring me a moonsilver dagger. Seraphina doesn’t have one here.” I stared at the silent words hanging in my mind. He hadn’t noticed I was gone. He only noticed I was gone when he needed me to run an errand. I looked back through our old messages. Almost every message from him was about Seraphina. “Give Seraphina that vial of Stardust Tears from the Elders. I’ll hunt another prize for you later. Seraphina wants to try the heart of a Fire Drake. We’re hunting one tonight. I’ve already found its trail.” Kyle never asked. He ordered. He had already decided before the words reached me. The last one was during a thunderstorm. I had asked if he could come get me. “I’m already home,” he replied. “You can get back on your own.” A moment later, a new post popped up on Seraphina’s PackFeed. It was a photo of a massive, dark wolf, with her perched safely on its back. The caption read: “Almost drowned in this storm! So lucky my guardian knight came to the rescue.” I knew that wolf’s form. I always told myself to be happy for them. He was my Alpha. She was my best friend. I told myself this was normal. But my patience only ever seemed to encourage him. He pushed the boundaries further and further. This time, I left his message unanswered.

As I packed, another message came from Kyle. “Still not back? Seraphina wanted dinner at Starlight Caverns, so I brought her. Meet us there yourself.” This was nothing new. We would make plans to hunt together. But I’d be delayed by pack duties, or tracking a kill. By the time I arrived, only cold scraps remained. Kyle always brushed me off. “Seraphina is weak, she needed to eat. So the food’s cold, it’s still fine. You’re too sensitive.” Don’t be so fragile. That was his favorite line. Rotting vines once tore through my den and wrecked it. When I asked him for help, he said the same thing. “I don’t have the energy for that. Get some of the younger werewolves. Don’t be so fragile.” So I burned the vines myself and reinforced the wards alone. After that, I stopped relying on him. But with Seraphina, he was different. “You don’t have to be so tough,” he told her. “Let me handle it. Your den is near Ella’s anyway. It’s no extra trouble.” I never understood it. I was his future mate. But when I needed him, I was being “fragile.” When she needed him, it was “no extra trouble.” I swallowed the bitterness and sent my reply. “Enjoy. I’ve got things to do.” His response didn’t come for a long time. “Another tantrum? Ella, you’re not a cub anymore. Grow up.”

I had thrown a tantrum once before. Last winter, an ice-wolf’s claw ripped my side open. Frost poison flooded my veins. I reached out through our link and begged for Fire-bloom. He was at Seraphina’s. Her moon-sickness was flaring up, he said. He was busy brewing her a calming tea. “But I’m uncomfortable,” I sent him. He was silent for two heartbeats. “You can still message me, so how bad can it be? I’ll have a courier send some. Just endure it.” That was my breaking point. He was my Alpha. But I would never be his priority. I told him I wanted to sever our mate bond. No reply came. The mind-link between us slammed shut, cutting me off cold. He knew my love for him was the easiest way to control me. He was sure I would never leave. That was my weakness. I suffered alone for two days. I cried until I had nothing left. Two days later, Seraphina came to “mediate.” And like a fool, I crawled back. I never caused a scene again after that day. But this was different. This wasn’t a tantrum. I was serious.

Young werewolves moved in and out, clearing the den. It hit me. After seven years of our mate bond, my home held almost nothing of Kyle’s. A pair of mud-caked boots, a drinking horn, and nothing else. Even those two items were things I had gotten for him. He’d never given me a real gift. Seraphina got a magical stone for her new den. For her birthday, he bought her favorite Ghost Orchids. But for me, he always had an excuse. “That ceremonial stuff is meaningless, Ella. We’re going to be Alpha and Luna. We have to be practical.” I used to question him, to argue about it. He said, “Getting gifts for your best friend makes you look good to the pack. It’s for you.” I let out a bitter laugh. My communication crystal vibrated. It was my mother calling. “Ella, honey? I was calling about your official bonding ceremony. How are things with Kyle?”

Not long ago, Kyle and I met with our parents. They gave us their blessing, ready to set a date for the ceremony. But Kyle put it on hold. He said the pack was expanding, and bonding could wait. At the time, I was disappointed, but I told myself I understood. The pressure on an Alpha was immense. Now, all I felt was relief. A man who couldn’t even find his way to my den… I would be alone forever with him. “Mom, the bonding ceremony is off. I’m ending things.” Her voice went tight with alarm over the crystal. “Why? Did he do something unforgivable?” “No. It’s just… not the right fit anymore.” There was a long silence on her end. Of course she was shocked. Every werewolf in the territory knew how much I loved Kyle. For seven years, I was devoted to him. My mother knew. Seraphina knew. I had chased after him from the start. To get closer to him, I learned his preferred fighting techniques. I studied the ancient scrolls he was obsessed with. I even secretly joined the same hunting party, just for the chance to fight at his side. When he decided to build his pack in the southern forests, I didn’t hesitate. I gave up a coveted spot at the Central Royal City. I packed up my entire life and followed him here. My own mother refused to speak to me for three days. All I could say was, “Mom, if I let him go, I’ll regret it forever.” Back then, Seraphina angrily scolded me, saying: “Ella, you’re hopelessly whipped.”

Seraphina and I were friends for ten years. She was my family. But now, she was taking all of my mate’s attention without a shred of guilt. She never cared how it made me feel. I saw her new post on PackFeed. It was a romantic dinner. My eyes stung. The picture was taken in the “Starlight Caverns.” I had found it in an old text. Sparkling cave walls, exquisite food, the sound of an elven harp. I begged Kyle to go with me so many times. He always said, “We’re going to be leading this pack, Ella. Think about our resources. A dinner that costs that much? I can put glow-stones on the ceiling for you.” He always sounded so reasonable. Every time, I said nothing. But now, Seraphina mentioned it. He took her to the one place I had always wanted to go. After moving the last box, I collapsed on the furs in my new den. I remembered building my last one. I’d messaged Kyle for help, but he was busy with pack defenses. He told me to handle it myself. To save resources, I did it all alone. I pushed too hard and reopened an old injury. It put me in bed for two days. But when Seraphina built her den, Kyle cleared his entire day. “Building a den is hard work, Ella. Your friend is alone. It’s our duty to help her.” I watched him work for her, sweat dampening his hair. I barely recognized him. It was never that he couldn’t. He just wouldn’t do it for me.

I was packing when the communication crystal started buzzing. It was Kyle. “Ella, open the door! You changed the ward’s incantation. What is this?” I took a breath. “It means nothing, Kyle. We’re over. I’m severing the bond.” He ignored what I said and raised his voice. “Seraphina remembered you wanted food from the Starlight Caverns. She brought some back for you, and you do this? Change the password and ignore us? Ella, stop throwing a tantrum!” I wasn’t sure if he didn’t hear me. Or if he’d labeled my decision as my usual drama. Before I could say it again, he hung up. I let out a hollow laugh. My own fault. My love for Kyle was no secret to anyone in the pack. Even he thought I would never leave. The next day, I was at the pack market, getting supplies for my new den. I turned down an aisle and ran straight into them. Kyle, his arms loaded with bags, and Seraphina at his side. The smiles on their faces vanished when they saw me. “Ella, please, don’t get me wrong. Kyle was only helping me. He was worried I couldn’t carry everything alone.” Seraphina tried to explain, reaching out for my hand. But Kyle yanked her back behind him. “Why are you explaining to her? She still owes you an apology. You baby her too much, Seraphina. That’s why she keeps pulling this crap.”

Seraphina gave me a worried look. She followed Kyle toward the trading post anyway. I watched them leave, my chest tightening. Kyle never went to the market with me. He always said it was too much trouble. “Have a courier bring what you need. Why go through the trouble yourself?” But there he was, carrying all of Seraphina’s bags without complaint. Outside, Kyle stowed all their things. Seraphina was already on his wolf back. She was in the seat only a claimed mate was supposed to take. She looked back and waved at me. “Get on,” Kyle said casually. “I’ll take you both home.” My eyes fell on the saddle pad woven from Moon-Grass. The one that marked the Luna’s seat. His brow furrowed when he saw my expression. “Seraphina is fragile. It’s safer for her up front. You can ride in the back.” He remembered all her little quirks. Her fragility, her irregular moon sickness. But he conveniently forgot about my old battle scars. My eyes stung. I forced the words out. “No, thanks. I’m not going that way.” Seraphina started to dismount. “Ella, don’t do this. You don’t want me sitting here, do you? I can get down.” But Kyle let out a low growl, commanding her to stay put. “If she’s not going our way, fine. We’re leaving.” The wolf lunged forward. Dust hit my face as they rode off. He never had any patience for me.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607012rJcXPROyB 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni862053”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

“We’re done!” I dumped Julian the second he got back from Geneva. “Just because I didn’t get you that vintage watch?” He scoffed, his handsome face saying he didn’t really care. “Yes.” I didn’t even blink. My fiancé, Julian, took his investment team to Geneva for a business trip last week. When he was back, everyone got a gift. He even brought the receptionist a bottle of expensive champagne. Everyone, except me. He completely forgot about me. It should have been my birthday present. The one I kept talking about for two full months — a vintage Cartier watch. His new assistant, Chloe, posted a selfie on Instagram, bragging about her fancy gift. In the photo, she was wearing a brand-new watch from the exact same brand that I wanted. Her caption below: “Best boss in the world! Tysm! Love you always! #BestBossEver” Below, Julian’s comment was brief: “No big deal.” I stared at that post for a long time, then I deleted the text already typed out: “Can’t wait to have you home”. Julian and I met at age seven. We fell in love at eighteen. Twenty years of my life, wrapped up in this man. Once, he put me above everything else. But later, I became the one he cared about least. Take now for example, I’m seriously talking about breaking up with him, but he’s just looking at his phone. It’s a lunch invitation from Chloe. He smirks, sounding annoyed but trying to play it off: “Alright, Ava, stop it.” “What’s the big deal? It’s just a watch. I promise I’ll get you one next time.” “I’m having lunch with Chloe today. Just take a cab and go home.” He adjusts his suit cuffs, hurrying away. I don’t want to stop him at all. Instead, I reply to the email from that haute couture studio in Paris — an offer they’d sent me seven times. “I accept your offer. Flying out soon. See you in Paris.” After sending the email, I slide the engagement ring off my finger, placing it inside his study drawer. Julian, from now on, we go our separate ways. Take care. … “Ava, did you really break up with him?” The moment I step out of Julian’s company, my best friend Sophie calls. “Yeah, I did.” “You guys have been together for nine years! And all because he forgot a gift for you?” I stand still on the sidewalk, watching the endless flow of New York traffic. “It’s not just about the watch.” Before Julian left for Geneva, I specifically reminded him that it’s the perfect place for vintage watches. He swore he’d look for it. In the end, he got limited-edition cigars for his banking partners, and the latest Cartier for his assistant. Yet for me, he returned with nothing. “Sorry, Ava, the schedule was all packed. It just slipped my mind.” “Next time I’ll definitely make it up to you.” In the three months since our engagement, he has forgotten my requests seventeen times. The first time, I had a high fever from a severe flu. I asked him to bring some Tylenol after work. He said yes. But when he got home, he reeked of booze. “A super important client called for a last-minute meeting. Sorry about your meds. I completely forgot.” I didn’t lose my temper. After tucking him into bed that night, I wrapped myself in a blanket and went down to the pharmacy myself. The second time, my personal design studio just landed a massive order. I was working my ass off, so I asked him to drop off some food at the studio. He said yes. I waited until eleven that night. My stomach was killing me, but he never showed up. When I got home, he was already out of the shower, watching Bloomberg in bed. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s just been a long day.” I looked at him, totally speechless. Then came the third time, the eighth, And finally, the seventeenth…

Again and again, I convinced myself that he was just too busy. I got so used to it, preparing myself for him to “forget” every single time. Until one day, by pure coincidence, Chloe’s account popped up in my Instagram recommendations. Her account was entirely filled with her daily life with Julian: “#BestBossEver” On March 21st: “Literally just told my boss I couldn’t sleep from stress. Walked in today to find a luxury sleep care package waiting at my desk.” “Feeling the lucky girl vibes.” On April 7th, she posted a photo from a Michelin-starred restaurant. “Randomly mentioned to my boss last week that I wanted to try this place… And he actually brought me over today! So happy!” “Such a charming, wealthy boss — who could resist?” April 7th, the exact same day I asked Julian to drop off some food for me at the studio. And then, there was today. Julian finally returned from Geneva. Chloe bragged about the watch from him on IG. “Best boss in the world! Thx! Love you always! #BestBossEver” Below it, Julian’s comment: “No big deal.” That watch was from the exact same brand that I wanted. However, for me, Julian had a schedule that was “all packed.” For her, it was “no big deal.” “Sophie, I’ve already made up my mind about this relationship. Don’t talk me out of it,” I say to her on the other end of the line. She falls silent, letting out a sigh. “So, you didn’t tell him about going to Paris either?” “Not yet,” I say, “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

At night, in my study, I’m having a video conference with my future colleagues in Paris. It’s a haute couture bridal studio located on Avenue Montaigne. For Julian, I declined six offers out of the seven they’ve sent me. Now, the seventh time. I say yes. “Everything at the New York studio is wrapped up. I can get on the plane in two days.” “Wonderful, Ava!” Arthur, the founder of the studio, says in pleasant surprise. “Your talents definitely deserve a much bigger stage. When you get here, I will personally show you around Paris.” “What about Paris?” Julian’s voice suddenly cuts in. I turn around, realizing he is already back at our apartment on the Upper East Side. “Back so early tonight?” It’s only eight o’clock. For the last three months, he usually stayed out much later with Chloe or some clients. Julian is caught off guard by the question. He freezes for a second. “What do you mean by that?” He doesn’t press further, brushing past me in a hurry, rummaging through the drawer for two concert tickets. He explains casually: “Chloe bought me lunch at noon. So tonight, I’m taking her to Carnegie Hall for a concert. Just returning the favor. That’s all.” Right after, he quickly adds, as if I cared: “Don’t overthink it.” I simply nod, my gaze falling on those two tickets. They are dated yesterday. This wasn’t some last-minute whim. They had this planned all along. But I’m not calling him out. After all, I’m about to leave him forever. He can go with whoever he wants. That’s none of my business. It’s just that… my eyes still sting for reasons I refuse to admit. “Julian, do you still remember what day today is?”

He frowns. “What day? Another anniversary? Give me a break, will you?” “I gotta go.” He turns to leave without hesitation. “Julian!” I stop him, forcing a faint smile. “On your way back, get me a piece of cake, okay? Lady M’s matcha crepe.” He pauses, seemingly remembering something, then his expression softens. “Okay.” “When you get back, I have to tell you something. It’s important.” “Got it.” The door clicks shut. I sit back down in front of my laptop. “Sorry about that, let’s continue…” Julian completely forgot — today is my 27th birthday. Two months ago, he asked me what I wanted for present. I only mentioned two of my wishes. First, I wanted him to help me find that vintage watch I’d been dying for. Second, I invited him to a concert. The watch? He didn’t buy it. The concert? He’s taking someone else. In the end, even my birthday is gone in his brain. But it doesn’t matter. After tonight, I’m heading to Paris. We’ll never see each other again.

That night, Julian didn’t come back right after the concert. I fell asleep on the sofa in the study. In my dream, I see the seven-year-old Julian again. He holds a small tree branch in front of me, trembling at a vicious stray dog. Although he’s afraid, he shouts out loud: “Don’t be scared, Ava, “I’ll protect you!” I also see him at eighteen, by the lake in Central Park, his face flushing as he stammers to me: “Ava, will… will you be my girlfriend? I swear I’ll always put you first!” I keep my head down, blushing: “Yes, I believe you.” At twenty-five, he proposed to me. At twenty-seven, we got engaged. And today, three months after the engagement, I waited for him on the sofa to discuss our breakup. He kept me waiting for so long that I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, the vibration of my phone wakes me up. It’s a text message from Julian. “It’s not safe for Chloe to take a cab alone this late, so I’m taking her home first. Don’t wait up for me, just go to sleep.” I reply. “What about my cake? You forgot again?” My finger hovers over the “send” button for a long time. In the end, I delete it, letter by letter. I reply with one simple word. “OK.” Then I lock my screen, roll over, and go back to sleep. That night, I cry so much my arm gets soaked and goes completely numb. The next morning, I find myself waking up in the bedroom. After a brief moment of confusion, I walk out. There’s a smell of coffee in the air. Julian is in the kitchen. On the dining table sits an exquisite cake box. “Awake now, sleepyhead?” He glances at me sideways, continuing to make the coffee. “Fell asleep on the sofa last night? I had to carry you into the bedroom. You really need to lose some weight, you know?” He complains, but a smile plays on his lips, as if nothing bad ever happened between us, as if we are still that inseparable couple. For a second, I’m in a daze. I walk to the table to open the cake box, my voice softening unconsciously: “I just fell asleep waiting for you. Is this cake from last night? Why isn’t it in the fridge…” “Don’t touch it!”

Julian snaps, slapping my hand away so hard the back of it instantly turns red. “Hey, that’s for Chloe. She said she wanted some cake last night, so I went to that trendy bakery first thing this morning and waited in line for this.” He points to the fridge. “Your breakfast is inside.” I open the fridge. A single bottle of strawberry milk sits alone on the shelf. Strawberry milk? When I was eighteen, Julian gave me a bottle of expired strawberry milk. I got severe food poisoning, vomiting and diarrhea non-stop. I could only lie in the hospital bed for three days. Since then, strawberry milk has been sort of my trauma. Julian was terrified back then. In the hospital, he held my hands tightly, crying his eyes out. He swore he’d never let anything strawberry-flavored near me again. Now, he even forgets about that too. I grip the fridge door, spacing out for a moment. I shut it. Julian stands to the side, frowning. “You don’t want it? Chloe recommended that brand. Said it’s amazing.” “I’m allergic to strawberry, don’t you remember?” “Since when?” “Eighteen. Because of you.” Julian’s brows knit for a second, then loosen up as if it’s nothing. “I forgot.” “I know.”

The tension in the room instantly drops to freezing. Julian opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes suddenly drop to my bare finger. His face darkens at once. “Where’s your ring? Why aren’t you wearing our engagement ring?” He fires off the questions, his tone demanding. I raise my hand, about to answer, when his phone rings. Chloe’s bubbly voice comes through the speaker: “Julian, did you get my cake?” “It better be my favorite salted caramel chocolate!” “I’m almost at the office! It better be there, or I’m gonna be so mad at you!” The stern look on Julian’s face instantly melts into a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.” He grabs the cake off the table, drops a quick “We’ll talk tonight,” and hurries out the door. The whole thing takes less than ten seconds. If he had stayed for just ten more seconds, I would have told him. I’m leaving. My flight is tonight. I let out a bitter smile, pull my hair up, and start packing my bags. Halfway through, Julian sends a text. [Wait for me at home tonight. We seriously need to talk.] [When?] I ask. [Around eight. I’ll drop Chloe off first.] My fingertips hover over the screen for a moment, then I type a single word. [Okay.]

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/202607012KUnbSjLRL 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni068244”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

In my past life, as the rightful legitimate daughter of the clan, I was framed by an impostor, left homeless and died miserably on the streets. Reborn, I returned to the day my biological parents came to take me home. This time, I will bind the Truth System to that fake daughter. The rain was cold. My blood was colder. I was Elara, the true daughter of the Vance Pack. In my first life, I was framed by an impostor. My parents kicked me out. I was a weak human in a world of wolves. I starved to death on the dark streets. In the Afterlife, the Arbiter looked at me. He was a giant wolf with fur like white smoke. His eyes were gold. “They did not believe your truth,” he growled. “I will give you a second chance. I will give you a Truth System.” A flash of light hit me. I was back. I stood in the Vance mansion. It smelled like expensive pine and rain. Jessica, the girl who took my place, walked through the door. She looked like a sweet, perfect wolf. “Sister,” she purred. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.” Suddenly, a glowing screen popped up over her head. **[System Notification: She is planning to rip your throat out. She wants to see you rot in the dirt.]** Jessica’s mouth twisted. Her voice changed. “Dammit! They found this trash. I need to make Mom and Dad kick her out into the street tonight!” Jessica slapped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror. The room went silent. Every wolf in the room stared at her. I smiled. Let the game begin. 1. My parents, Alpha Richard and Luna Martha, stared at her. “Jessica!” Richard growled. His voice was deep. It made the floor shake. “What is this foul language? We raised you to be a Lady Alpha!” “We taught you etiquette! How can you curse like a rogue?” My chest tightened. They only cared about her manners. They didn’t care that she called me trash. Jessica started to cry. She looked like a wounded pup. “I… I don’t know what happened… Those weren’t my thoughts…” She looked at me. Her eyes turned a dark, venomous red. “Daddy, Mommy… the moment Elara walked in, I felt a dark energy. She is cursed! She brought a demon into our house!” My parents turned to me. Their gazes were like ice. “Elara!” Martha hissed. “What kind of dark magic did you learn in that backwater town? How dare you use it on your sister?” “Listen to me. You are a Vance now. Leave that low-class garbage behind!” “We brought you back because we had to. Don’t embarrass us!” My brother, Tyler, sniffed the air. His muscles tensed. “Jessica is right. She smells like rot. We need a cleansing. I won’t feel safe sleeping under the same roof.” I shook my head. “I didn’t bring anything! She spoke her mind!” They ignored me. Richard called Brother Thomas. He was a rogue shaman who took bribes. Thomas looked at Jessica and winked. “Miss Elara has a dark attachment,” Thomas lied. “It requires physical expulsion. Jessica must be the one to do it. She must strike Elara eighty-one times with a silver-tipped whip.” The guards tied me up. The silver in the whip burned my skin. Jessica picked up the whip. Her eyes gleamed. **[System Notification: Her wolf is begging to see your bone. She wants to lick your blood off the floor.]** “I’m so sorry, Elara,” she whispered. But her mouth said: “Look at this! Mom and Dad always take my side. In this pack, you are nothing but a dog to me!” Hearing this, my parents only frowned. “Jessica, hit harder! Beat the demon out of her!” The leather sliced my skin. The silver bit into my flesh. Eighty-one times. When it was over, I collapsed. I smelled like iron and pain. “The storage closet is best,” Thomas said. “A dark space will keep the demon away.” They threw me into a damp, windowless room on the first floor. No bed. No light. 2. I curled up in the corner of the closet. My body was trembling. The door creaked open. Jessica walked in. She looked down at me like I was a cockroach. “You did something, didn’t you? You made me speak.” “You are so naive, Elara. Even if I say the truth, so what? Mom and Dad will always choose me. You are a loser from the boonies.” “Do yourself a favor and go back to the dirt you came from.” Footsteps approached. Jessica’s face shifted to terror instantly. “Sister, what are you doing? Please, don’t hurt me!” She grabbed a silver letter opener. She jammed it violently into her own arm. Hearing her scream, my parents burst in. “Elara! What did you do to Jessica?!” I looked at them coldly. “I didn’t do anything. I just watched her perform a show.” “You think we’d believe she stabbed herself? Are you insane?” Jessica gasped weakly. “I just… I just asked if she was scared… and she… she stabbed me…” Richard and Tyler glared at me with pure hatred. Their eyes turned yellow. “How can you be so vicious? How did our blood produce something so heartless?” Richard raised his hand to slap me. But Jessica’s voice rang out again. **[System Notification: She is proud of her trick. She wants to see you dead.]** “I came in here to trigger this bitch! I told her she has no place here, and then I stabbed myself to frame her!” She slapped her hands over her mouth. Richard’s hand froze. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “That is the truth.” Tyler scoffed. “Clearly the cleansing wasn’t enough. The demon is making her say crazy things to frame herself.” They took Jessica to get bandaged. They didn’t even look at me. “Why?” I asked their retreating backs. “You know she is telling the truth. Why do you still side with her?” Martha turned. Her lip curled. “Elara, love takes time. Jessica has been our daughter for eighteen years.” “Even if she is a liar—look at her. She is elegant. She is a strong wolf. That is what a Vance looks like.” “You? You are a farm girl. You are unpresentable.” “Then why bring me back at all?” “The police made a scene! We couldn’t leave our blood out there without the media tearing us apart.” “The Vance Pack won’t let you starve, but don’t you dare think you can replace Jessica.” They walked away. My heart finally turned to stone. 3. I went to find Silas Powell. He was the Alpha of the Shadow Pack. He was the strongest, most dangerous wolf in the city. He was supposed to marry Jessica. I walked into his office. He looked at me with boredom. “What? Is the Vance family swapping brides now?” He stood up. He was huge. He smelled like a storm and rain. He walked toward me. He looked like he wanted to break my bones. “Get out of my sight!” he growled. **[System Notification: Heart rate 180. He is desperate to claim you as his Mate. His wolf is howling for you.]** I did not move. “I’m here to make a deal.” Silas stepped closer. His skin was burning hot. He leaned down and sniffed my neck. **[System Notification: His wolf is begging to lick your skin. He wants to bite you.]** “What kind of deal, little wolf?” “I know you don’t want to marry into my family. If Vance Enterprises goes bankrupt, your parents will cancel the wedding.” “I have a way to tank their stock. I help you destroy them. In return, you give me ten million dollars and the Vance estate.” Silas laughed. It was a dark, cynical sound. “You want to destroy your own pack? You are a dangerous female.” “Do we have a deal, Alpha Silas?” “If your family goes under, you go down too. You want to lose everything?” “I told you, this is a trade.” Silas nodded. “Ten million. It’s a gamble. But nobody is stupid enough to scam me.” He handed the slip of paper to his secretary. Five minutes later, the funds cleared. “Next week is the Grand Gala,” I said. “I need you to add a segment to the program.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “480767”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I took the fall for my ex-husband’s mistress and spent eight years behind bars. The day I was released, my ex-husband, Julian Vance, showed up at a pharmacy with a swarm of reporters, kneeling before me to beg for a second chance. His eyes were red-rimmed as he held out a bouquet of vibrant roses. “Amara… I’ve waited eight years for you.” The reporters shoved their microphones in my face, urging me to kneel and thank him for his “devotion.” As Julian wrapped me in what looked like an affectionate embrace, he leaned close and whispered in a voice as cold as a venomous snake, “If you dare reject me, your father’s ventilator will be unplugged tomorrow.” I clenched my crippled right hand, ready to explode. Just then, an eight-year-old boy rushed over and threw his arms around Julian’s leg. “Daddy!” A heavily pregnant Chloe Mille suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her face. “The child is innocent…” Every camera instantly turned toward my bloodstained face. Then my own parents charged over. My mother slapped me so hard I crashed onto the floor. “You curse! Chloe is our real daughter!” I lay on the freezing tile, watching them surround the woman who had destroyed my life as they escorted her away like a hero. The pharmacy owner kicked me in the side. “Murderer. Get out!” As the rain poured down, I finally understood the truth. They hadn’t just wanted me to take the blame. They wanted me dead.

I spent eight long years in prison, taking the fall for my ex-husband’s mistress. The day I was released, he cornered me in a local pharmacy with a swarm of media cameras behind him. His eyes were red, and he dropped to his knees right in front of the flashing lenses, looking deeply devoted. “Amara, I have waited eight years for you. Let’s get remarried.” Dozens of blinding camera flashes went off in my face, nearly blinding me. Reporters aggressively shoved microphones right into my face. “Miss Sterling. Dr. Julian Vance has remained single for eight years just for you. He even wore your wedding ring to the International Medical Summit. You have been dodging him. Doesn’t your conscience hurt?” “As the felon who killed a patient back then, shouldn’t you be on your knees thanking Dr. Vance for his deep devotion now that you are out?” I stared at the man in front of me, dressed in his expensive, custom-tailored suit. My stomach churned with pure disgust. Eight years ago, I was the youngest chief trauma surgeon in New York. But just three days before Julian and I were supposed to register our marriage. His little assistant, Chloe Miller, made a fatal mistake during an operation. She accidentally severed a major artery, causing a VIP patient to bleed to death on the table. To protect Chloe, who was already pregnant with his child, Julian personally fabricated the surgical logs. He used my sick parents’ lives to blackmail me into taking the plea deal. Then, he played the righteous hero in court. Tears in his eyes, he personally testified against me and sent me to a maximum-security prison. He climbed to the top over my shattered bones. Now, he was the powerful Chief of Medicine at New York Grace Hospital. Meanwhile, my right hand had been brutally broken in prison by inmates he hired. The nerves were completely ruined. Now, my hand shook so badly I couldn’t even hold a medicine bottle steady. Julian remained on one knee on the dirty, muddy tile floor, holding a bouquet of bright red roses. The roses were dripping wet, their deep red color looking exactly like the blood that wouldn’t stop gushing from the patient’s artery on the operating table eight years ago. “Amara, come home with me. Whenever you’re ready, you can always come back to the hospital.” His voice cracked, his eyes brimming with tears. But as he leaned forward under the pretense of handing me the flowers. He whispered in my ear, his voice dropping to a freezing, ruthless murmur that only I could hear. “Amara, the hospital is up for the national prestigious ranking this week. If you dare reject me in front of these cameras, believe me, I’ll pull the plug on your father’s ventilator tomorrow.” My body went completely numb. Staring at this monster, my teeth rattled with pure rage. This was his so-called “deep devotion.” The reporters were still swooning over his greatness, some even tearing up at the scene. I clenched my crippled right hand, preparing to tear his hypocritical mask off even if it cost me my life. But a sudden cry broke the silence.

“Daddy! Mommy and I finally found you!” An eight-year-old boy pushed through the crowd and threw himself right into Julian’s arms. Chloe walked in elegantly, wearing a flowing dress that draped over her slightly swollen belly, flanked by two burly bodyguards. She still had that innocent, helpless look that made men want to protect her. She looked at me, a brief flash of smugness and contempt crossing her eyes. Then, turning to the reporters, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor right in front of me. “Amara, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been young and stupid back then, I wouldn’t have caused you to make that mistake during the surgery…” She wept beautifully, her tears like tiny daggers stabbing right into my chest. “Julian has waited for you for eight years, and I’ve lived with guilt for eight years. But I beg you, the children are innocent. Leo needs a father, and the baby in my belly is about to be born…” The cameras instantly whipped around to capture Chloe’s tear-stained face. Gasps filled the room. “Oh my God, Chloe has carried this guilt for eight years? She’s too kind!” “Amara Sterling, Chloe is pregnant! You’re a convicted felon, how can you be shameless enough to try to tear their family apart?” I stared at the shouting little boy. I had been in prison for exactly eight years. Which meant Chloe had given birth to this child the exact year I was locked up. While I was taking the fall for her, absorbing the curses of the public, they were already celebrating their new baby. While my right hand was being systematically broken in that dark cell, Julian and Chloe were playing happy family. Before I could speak, a harsh roar cut through the crowd from the entrance. “Amara! You shameless bitch! Are you trying to ruin our family the second you get out of prison?” My biological parents pushed through the crowd, panting heavily. The moment my mother reached me, she didn’t hesitate. She swung her hand and slapped me hard across my right cheek! Slap. The sharp crack echoed through the pharmacy. The force of her blow sent me crashing to the floor. My forehead slammed against the sharp corner of a metal medicine rack. Hot blood immediately trickled down, blurring my vision. My mother trembled with rage, pointing a finger at my face. “You curse! You spent eight years in prison and dragged our family’s name through the mud! If Chloe hadn’t sent us money and medicine every single day, your father would have died of his stroke last month!” My father, leaning heavily on a cane, limped over. He cast a disgusted look at me, then obsequiously helped Chloe up. “Sweetheart, please don’t get upset. This ungrateful brat is just jealous of you. We don’t have a daughter like her! You are our real daughter!” Lying on the freezing floor, looking through a veil of my own blood, I watched my biological parents fuss over the woman who had ruined my life. They despised me. They hated me. They wished I had died in prison so they could comfortably enjoy the wealth Julian and Chloe threw at them. Julian hugged Chloe protectively. Before leaving, he looked down at me with pity. “Amara, your parents are just emotional right now. I still owe you for what happened back then. Here is ten thousand dollars and my business card. Take it.” He pulled a thick stack of bills from his bespoke suit pocket and threw them in my bloody face like he was tossing scraps to a stray dog. The green bills fluttered down through the air, hitting my swollen face. It stung. The happy family of three, flanked by my parents and escorted by the admiring press, marched out of the store. Tom, the pharmacy owner, walked over with a dark face. He snatched the mop from my hands and spat on the floor. “Amara, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. My shop is a small business. I can’t afford to keep an ungrateful felon around! Pack your trash and get out!”

Tom’s words struck like a thunderbolt, ringing in my ears. I looked at my right hand, covered in dirt and blood. The knuckles were severely swollen from rheumatoid arthritis, and my fingers trembled uncontrollably from the permanent nerve damage. Eight years ago, these hands performed high-precision brain surgeries. Now, I couldn’t even grip a broom. “Tom, please, don’t fire me.” I bent my back, discarding every ounce of my dignity, and grabbed the hem of Tom’s shirt. “I don’t need wages. Just give me some scraps and let me sleep in the back storage room. Please…” Tom violently shook me off, throwing me back onto the damp, cold floor. “Amara, I saw the news. You killed someone, and Julian and Chloe have been incredibly generous to you. Instead of being grateful, you humiliated them in public!” “My pharmacy is in a tight-knit community. If the neighbors find out I hired a killer, who will buy medicine from me? Get out! Now!” He tossed my battered backpack out into the street like garbage. The zipper had broken back in prison. My few old clothes spilled into the muddy puddles, instantly stained black by the dirty water splashed by passing cars. The storm finally broke, rain pouring down in sheets. I clutched my soaked backpack, limping down the streets of the small town. As I passed the corner convenience store, the young clerk who usually smiled and called me “Dr. Sterling” while asking for advice on cold meds was now pointing his phone at me, whispering to his coworker. “See her? That’s the ungrateful felon ex-wife from the news. She looks decent, but her heart is black. She actually tried to bully a pregnant woman.” “Stay away from her. People like her are bad luck. Absolutely disgusting.” He spat on the pavement, just inches from my foot. I lowered my head, letting my wet hair cover my face, and ran into the rain. I tried to find work elsewhere in town. Clinics, pharmacies, even small diners. But the moment I walked in, they would see my deformed hand. Then they would look at the viral video playing on their phones, and their faces would instantly turn sour. “Sorry, we don’t hire murderers.” “Get lost. Don’t ruin our business. You’re bad luck!” By midnight, the rain had stopped. I had nowhere to go. I huddled under the rusted metal roof of a bus stop, shivering from the cold. I pulled my right hand out of my sleeve, trying to touch it with my left. Between my thumb and index finger, there was a jagged, hideous scar that looked like a centipede. It happened on my first night in prison eight years ago. Several female inmates used rusty nails to pierce and shred my hand nerves, inch by inch. That night, I fainted from the pain three times on the cold concrete floor. I thought it was a random prison assault back then. But looking back now… Who else but Julian and Chloe would be so terrified of my surgical hands? They didn’t just want me to take the fall. They wanted to permanently cripple me, ensuring I could never return to an operating table, never use my skills to clear my name! I bit my lip so hard it bled, my nails digging deep into my palms. Julian. Chloe. You say you owe me, but you clearly want me dead!

At 5:00 AM, my cheap phone vibrated loudly, breaking the silence of the bus stop. I stared at the caller ID, a number burned into my very soul. Laughing dryly, I swiped to answer. “Amara, I heard you got fired from the pharmacy. You don’t even have a place to stay now?” Julian’s voice was as gentle and caring as ever. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. “Did you put a tracker on me, Julian? Or are those reporters just your personal bloodhounds, watching me twenty-four hours a day so you can enjoy the show?” A soft chuckle came through the receiver, carrying the casual amusement of a predator playing with its prey. “Amara, you’re still as prickly as ever. I’m just looking out for you. In this world, who else actually gives a damn if you live or die?” “You’re thirty-two, you’ve spent eight years in prison, and your right hand is ruined. Do you honestly think any company in this country would hire you without my permission?” My breathing turned heavy, my eyes burning with absolute hatred. “You did this to me. Julian, you know exactly who altered those medical records, and you know exactly who hired those inmates to shred my nerves.” Julian’s voice suddenly turned freezing cold, carrying a sharp warning. “Watch your words, Amara. That case was closed years ago. If you start babbling about conspiracies now, people will just think you had a psychotic break in prison. Be a good girl. Come back to New York.” “I have already set everything up for you. There is an opening for a file clerk in the archives department at Grace Hospital. The pay isn’t high, but it’s enough to get you off the streets. And… Chloe is now the deputy chief of surgery. Since you’re so experienced, you can work as her personal technical advisor. Guide her a bit.” “You want me to assist the murderer who ruined my life? Guide her?” I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes, each word squeezed through my gritted teeth. “In your dreams, Julian! Even if I starve to death on this street, I will never go back to beg for your scraps or be your sick PR prop!” “Is that so?” Julian’s voice remained calm, almost pitying. “Amara, you’re always so stubborn. Do you really think you have a choice?” Before I could reply, loud, chaotic screaming erupted on his end of the line. Suddenly, my mother’s shrill, hysterical voice cut in. “Amara! You curse! Who did you offend out there?!” “The nursing home just threw your father and me out on the street with all our luggage! Your father still has his feeding tube in! They said our account is delinquent and pushed his wheelchair right onto the pavement!” “Julian said we could live here for free forever! Why did he change his mind? Did you offend him again, you ungrateful bitch? I swear, if your father dies on the street today, I will jump off the roof of this building! I’ll write a suicide note in blood blaming you!” My mother’s shrieking voice pierced through the speaker like a red-hot wire, wrapping tightly around my neck, making it impossible to breathe. I knew my parents too well. They were incompetent, selfish, and ignorant. When I got arrested, they didn’t hire a single lawyer for me. Instead, they forced me to confess quickly so I wouldn’t ruin my younger brother’s college prospects. Later, when Julian put them in a luxury nursing home. They immediately treated him and Chloe like their savior and viewed me as embarrassing garbage. If my father really died because his treatment was cut off, my mother would absolutely keep her word. She would commit suicide in front of the media to completely destroy whatever little reputation I had left. Julian took the phone back. His voice was smooth as silk again. “Amara, your parents are old. They can’t handle this kind of stress. If you get on the morning bus back to New York right now, the nursing home’s account will be funded in five minutes.” “You’re a smart girl. You know what to do. I’ll expect your employment paperwork in my office in three days.” The line went dead. The dial tone echoed in the empty bus stop, sounding like a chorus of mockery. I slowly bent over, burying my face in my knees, and finally let the tears pour out. Eight years ago, they stole my innocence, my career, and my hand. Eight years later, they were dragging me back to that hell, wanting to leash me like a dog at their feet just to show the world how “forgiving” they were. I squeezed the dirty, wet business card I had picked up from the puddle. Julian. Chloe. Since you refuse to let me go, since you are forcing me back to New York. Then I will see you in hell.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “432170”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster