Category: English

Three years ago, my legs were broken by the black bear. Now, my beast-husband brought back a female from the border. Once again, unable to express my anger, I resorted to whipping our son with an iron whip to inflict pain on my husband. Suddenly, a golden light flashed in my mind. It was the Mother Goddess. “Foolish guy, how dare you treat your own cubs like this?” “Your punishment is imminent. You are unworthy of your beast-husband husband’s love. The true mate for this male is about to arrive.” “Your destiny is already arranged. Your cubs will see you as a stranger. Your lovers and family will abandon you. You will be banished from this bountiful land. The frozen wilderness will be the only place to shelter your broken body.” My hand trembled. I looked instinctively toward the sire and cub standing before me — both wore the same expression, cold and flat as hammered iron. When they saw me lower the whip, both sets of brows furrowed in unison. They were waiting for the screaming to continue. I pulled my neck in and forced a dry laugh. “Dravik,” I said, “you want to take a second female — I accept.” Silence swallowed the room whole. Dravik, son of the Stoneclaw line, raised his head and looked at me. There was a flicker of something in his eyes. The realization struck me at once. A male like him would never allow a female he cared for to enter as a lower-ranked claim. That would be beneath her in his eyes. So I waved a generous hand. “You want to bring her in as an equal claim? That’s fine too. I don’t care either way.” Dravik’s brow furrowed deeper. He was still kneeling, though his spine never curved — straight as a siege post, wearing the particular expression he reserved only for me: barely-concealed impatience. “Mira.” He used my name like a blade. “What game are you playing now?” “Is this another scheme to get the Pack-Lord to strip my power?” I opened my mouth. Before I could speak, my cub — Dravik’s and mine — cut in with his usual flat, measured voice. Sorren was eight years old, and he had not looked at the welt-marks rising on his arms from my whip. He might as well have been discussing the weather. “Dam,” Sorren said, “are you finished striking me?” “If you are, I’ll take my leave. My studies are waiting.” The golden light flashed again. The Mother Goddess spoke. “You see it, don’t you? Your cub cannot bear to remain in the same room as you.” “Three years of your rages have burned away every last thread of his love for you.” “Do not imagine you can use my chosen female’s arrival to run weeping to the Pack-Lord and punish your beast-husband. That road is already closed. Your blood-brother’s patience for you ran dry long before your legs did.” I pressed my lips together. My blood-brother was tired of me. I knew that. Since the black bear ruined my legs three years ago, my moods had grown worse with each passing season. I hated that I could not manage my own body without a den-servant’s help. I hated watching other females circle close to Dravik. I hated that swinging a whip at my own cub required every last ounce of strength left in me. So I had become a creature of rage — because I needed their eyes on me. I needed to exist in their world. But I had forgotten: no one can hold an endless tide of cruelty. Not even blood. My blood-brother couldn’t do it. How much less, then, could Dravik and Sorren? I looked at the cub before me — eight years old, back held ramrod-straight, the marks from my whip vivid against his tender skin, face utterly empty. I pushed my roll-seat forward. I wanted to help him up. I hadn’t even touched him when Sorren knee-walked backward, cold and efficient, opening a gulf between us. His palms pressed flat against the stone floor, knuckles going pale. Then he rose, turned, and walked away without meeting my gaze. “It seems Dam has no further business. I’ll attend to my lessons.” As he passed through the doorway, I caught a flash of rose-pink cloth at the corner. The golden light came again. “Why do you still linger here? She is waiting for him outside — she who saved what you could not protect.” “On the road back from the borderlands, he chose to stay at her side. He held her through the cold of the night.” “She has earned what she is given. Remember that.” My heart clenched as though a fist had closed around it. The female in rose-pink at the doorway — that was the one Dravik had brought back from the borderlands. Her name was Thalwen. She had traveled with the hunt-pack as a bone-mender, and by the accounts that reached me, she had pulled Dravik back from the edge of death three separate times. The third time, he had carried her out through a field of bodies with his own arms. After that, it was said, he had eyes for no one else. I drew a long breath. These years, I had been reckless. I had been cruel. I had lost my own blood-brother’s patience. I had lost the use of my own legs. And I had nothing left but the charity of others to keep me alive. The Mother Goddess had shown me my ending: cast out of Warlord’s House, left to rot in the burial grounds. Even with grief eating through my chest, I tilted my chin up and spoke to Dravik. “She’s been waiting outside for a long time. Go to her.” Dravik paused. He looked at me for a long, strange moment — and said nothing at all. He simply stood, turned, and left. The door closed. From the other side, I heard Thalwen’s soft voice: “Warlord, are you unharmed?” And Dravik’s low reply: “I’m fine.” I looked down at my useless legs, at the roll-seat that had become my prison, and I laughed — a quiet, helpless sound. Tears landed on my hands without warning.

Dravik had surely forgotten. Eight years ago, he had ridden through every street and lane of Iron-tribe, calling out to anyone who would listen that he would take no mate but me for as long as he drew breath. He had sent riders across two mountain ranges to bring back the whitest winterbeast pelt from the far border — because I hated the cold. For eight years he had given me something real, something bone-deep. So real that when the black bear threw me, when I woke and the bone-mender told me my legs would never carry me again — I didn’t weep. I screamed. I came apart at every seam. Because I had believed, with everything in me, that Dravik would hold me through all of it without condition. I was wrong. A mate’s love is not bottomless. And love is a fragile thing — anything can wear it away. Time wears it. Rage wears it. Neediness wears it down to nothing. Three years of coming apart had cost me not only Dravik but my cub as well. Sorren no longer came to tell me small stories from his lessons. He no longer pressed against my side and begged for the roasted honey-bark sweets I used to make him. I raised my head. The tears ran faster than I could stop them. In the empty chamber, there was nothing but the sound of my own muffled crying. Mira. You brought this on yourself. You had a full life and you ground it to dust. I strangled the ache in my chest and forced myself not to look backward. When I had steadied myself enough, I pushed my roll-seat toward Sorren’s quarters, meaning to dress his wounds. I heard Thalwen’s voice before I reached the door — soft, careful. “Brave cub, hold still. Almost done.” I stopped. Through the gap in the door I saw her sitting at the edge of his sleeping-pelt, her hands moving gently over the marks on his back. Sorren lay perfectly still, obedient in a way he had never been for me. They looked, in that moment, exactly like a dam and her cub. The golden light descended. “Look well at what gentleness does, Mira. A dam’s hands are made to heal what is broken — not to break what is whole.” “Has your touch ever brought that cub anything but pain?” “She brought him a gift from the battlefield. She tends his wounds without being asked. He has never needed you the way he needed her today.” I gripped the remedy-vial until my palm hurt. Footsteps behind me. Dravik had appeared at my back — I hadn’t heard him — and was studying me with a crease between his brows. “What are you doing here?” He glanced at the remedy-vial in my hand, then at the scene in the room. His tone was mild and flat. “Your legs aren’t steady. Stop wandering.” I swallowed the sting of that and wheeled myself through the door. “I came to treat Sorren’s wounds.” Sorren heard my voice and turned his head slowly. He looked at me, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that was not a smile. “Dam’s hands are too fine for this sort of work.” “Besides.” He turned, showing me his back — a map of crossing welts, red and dark against his skin. “I should thank Dam for gifting me all of these.” I went still. I had struck him countless times over these years. Every time he had made no sound and appeared the next morning as though nothing had occurred. So I had never understood how hard I had been hitting. The golden light came without warning. “Look at those marks, Mira. You made every one of them.” “Ask yourself what kind of dam leaves her cub with wounds like these and calls it discipline.” “Turn your eyes — there, at the head of his sleeping-pelt.” I looked where the Goddess directed — and there, at the head of his sleeping-pelt, sat a small carved black horse, the kind of fine craftsmanship that did not come from any workshop in Iron-tribe. Sorren dressed himself and climbed down, moving to stand before the carving, placing his body between it and me. He looked up. “Does Dam need something else?” His gaze was hollow. Dravik stood beside him wearing an identical expression. The pain in my chest was a needle pushed slowly through. I dropped my eyes and left. Back in my own quarters, I dug through the chest at the bottom of the wardrobe until I found a small wooden carving — a leaping hare, worn smooth from years of handling. My blood-brother had made it for me when I was five. I could still hear his voice, bright and certain, lifting me up over his head. “Ria, your blood-brother will always be here.” I closed my fingers around it. I needed to see him. I sent word to the Pack-Lord’s Den through a den-servant. The den-servant came back after a long while, head bowed. “The Pack-Lord says… the matters of the packs press heavily today. He asks the First-Claimed to come another time.” A pause. “He also says — if Warlord’s House lacks for anything, the First-Claimed need only send word to the den-keepers.” A bitter smile moved across my face. Understood. My blood-brother was tired of me too. He did not want to see me. The day grew dark. I ate a few mouthfuls of the evening meal and set it aside. Dravik didn’t come. In the early seasons after I was hurt, he would spend the first few nights back from any campaign in my quarters. Tonight I waited until the third watch of the night, and he never appeared. The golden light came faintly, like an ember in dying ash. “Stop waiting, Mira. He is not coming to you tonight.” “You have had your years with him. Those years are behind you now. What he gives his time to — that is where his heart has already gone.” I reached over and put out the lamp. I lay in the dark with my eyes open. This is how it is. It’s normal. He loves Thalwen. This is normal.

I was halfway through a dead sleep when thunder cracked overhead, and I flinched awake, curling instinctively into myself. I have been afraid of thunder since I was a cub. When I was small, my blood-brother shielded me. After I mated with Dravik, he was the one I pressed against. But tonight— The door swung open. Dravik came in fast, still wearing the clothes he’d had on all day, his face caught in something that looked like alarm. He saw me folded against the headboard and crossed the room in a few strides, sitting down at the edge of the sleeping-pelt. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” He pulled me against his chest. My face rested over his heartbeat — quick and steady all at once. I breathed him in and wanted to ask him to stay. But before the words formed, he released me. “You’re alright.” A pause. “Thalwen needs me. I should check on her.” The golden light struck hard. “Did you truly believe he came for you?” “He came because he has not yet fully put away the habit of you. That is not the same as love.” “Do not mistake duty for devotion, Mira. You have made that error for three years and it has cost you everything.” “Watch him leave.” The door shut. Thunder rolled on. I sat up slowly and looked at the lightning crawling across the sky beyond the shutters. The Mother Goddess’s words settled into my bones: cast out. Burial grounds. The frozen wilderness, east of the wall. I gripped my sleeping-pelt. Suddenly, intensely, I wanted to do one thing. First light the next morning, I sent for someone from the trail-runners’ guild. Not to carry goods. To carry me. My whole life I had been kept inside walls — first the Pack-Lord’s Den, then Warlord’s House. When my legs worked, there was nowhere to go anyway. Now that they didn’t work, there was even less reason to go — so everyone assumed. But I wanted to see what was past these walls. I wanted to move through the wide world, even if I rolled through it on a roll-seat. Even if I died somewhere out there on an open road — it was still better than rotting in a place where no one wanted me. The trail-runner had barely left when Dravik appeared. He saw the travel-contract on the table and his brow drew together. “What is this for?” I picked it up and tucked it away, face calm. “Nothing important. I wanted to send something back to my birth-pack.” Dravik looked at me once, didn’t press, and walked out. As he always did. I swallowed the bitterness and went on packing my things. That evening I sent word again to my blood-brother. I wanted one more feast-day with him before I left — just one, to say farewell, even if he didn’t know it was farewell. His refusal came back before the candle had burned down a finger’s width. “The Pack-Lord must honor the hunt-packs tomorrow. A birth-feast is held every year — this year, let it go.” From the moment the den-servant began speaking, I had already been talking myself around to acceptance. It’s a waste of resources anyway. If he doesn’t want to, so be it. Then the pack-decree arrived the next morning. The Pack-Lord’s howler read it out in the central yard with a voice that carried through every corner of Warlord’s House: Thalwen the Bone-Mender had shown extraordinary valor in the border campaigns. By the Pack-Lord’s hand she was named as Honored Blood-Sister and granted a feast of celebration on the occasion of her birth-season. I received the pack-decree on my knees, my roll-seat pushed back so I could kneel on the stone. When I raised my head, Thalwen was standing in the doorway in flowing rose-red cloth, her face like a flower turned toward the sun. Dravik stood at her side, his expression — for the first time in three years — soft. The golden light blazed. “You are surprised. You should not be.” “Your blood-brother’s hand wrote that decree freely. He did not hesitate. This is the measure of where you now stand with everyone who once called you theirs.” “No legs to carry you. No blood-brother who will see you. No mate who chooses you. No cub who turns toward you. The hollow shell of a First-Claimed, emptied out by her own doing.” “And she whom I have chosen stands in the light you threw away.” I held the pack-decree so tightly the edges cut into my fingers. So the busy schedule had been a lie. The contempt was the truth. Sorren walked out from inside and bowed to Thalwen with genuine courtesy. “Congratulations, Honored Thalwen.” From first to last, he did not look at me. I wheeled myself back to my quarters and sat in the silence. The den-servants were moving things — not mine. Thalwen’s. She was being received into the Pack-Lord’s Den, and Dravik was going with her to present her. Warlord’s House was empty. Just me. Just the crutch leaning against the corner. Just my own shadow. I looked down at my legs, which felt nothing, and I laughed. Good. Quiet. I pushed slowly back toward my room and held the little carved hare in my palm. My blood-brother had stopped wanting me. My cub had stopped wanting me. My beast-husband had stopped wanting me. That was fine. I still had myself.

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I’m nine months pregnant. Bleeding out on the living room floor. And my husband just stepped over me to go hold another woman’s hand while she has her baby. A sharp cramp pulls low in my belly. Something warm slides down my thigh. Blood. “Liam.” My voice is shaking. “Liam, something’s wrong. I’m bleeding. Take me to the hospital.” He’s right there on the couch. Phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t even glance up. He hangs up, stands, snatches my hospital bag off the coffee table, and heads for the door. “Liam—wait—I haven’t even changed—” He turns at the doorway, already half out of it. His face is flushed. In a hurry. “Ruby’s water broke. She doesn’t have anything ready. I need to borrow your bag.” I sag against the wall. My legs won’t hold me. “What about me? Liam, I’m bleeding.” He slides my phone and key fob into his own pocket. Doesn’t even slow down. “You’re not due yet, Stella. Quit playing the victim. I know you’re just jealous.” “Be a good girl. Sit tight. I’ll come keep you company when I get back.” The front door slams shut. The deadbolt slides into place from the outside. I drag my heavy body to the foyer and grab the handle. Twist. Yank. Throw my shoulder against it. He locked me in. There’s no way to open it from inside. A pain rips low through my belly. Hot liquid gushes down my thighs and splashes onto the hardwood. My water just broke. He took my phone. I drop to my hands and knees and crawl toward the landline in the corner. My fingers close around the receiver— The cord is sliced clean through. Right at the base. The cut is fresh. The contractions are coming faster now. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. I slide down the wall, leaving a long red streak behind me. Some last animal instinct in me hauls itself toward the balcony. We’re on the second floor. There’s a sidewalk down below. Somebody walks their dog at this hour. Somebody. I shove the French doors open and lean out into the dark. “Help!” “Somebody—anybody—please call 911!” A flashlight beam swings up and catches me square in the face. It’s the night patrol guy the HOA hires. “Mrs. Holt.” His voice is flat. Bored. “Ma’am. Come on. Cut it out.” My fingernails screech down the aluminum frame. “Mr. Holt told us before he left. Said the pregnancy hormones have been real hard on you. Said you’ve been having these episodes—screaming, imagining you’re in labor.” He sighs. “He said no matter what we hear out of this house, just leave you be.” “My water broke!” I’m digging my nails into the railing now. ” Please. Just call an ambulance, I’m having the baby—” He shakes his head. “Mr. Holt was real clear. Anybody who calls the cops or 911 on you is interfering with your marriage, and he’ll come at us with a lawsuit. Go on back inside, ma’am. Don’t make this hard.” He clicks off his flashlight and walks away. I watch his back disappear into the dark. No sound comes out of my throat. Liam thought of everything. Every door. Every neighbor. Every stranger who might’ve shown me a scrap of kindness—he killed it all before he ever walked out. I stumble back inside. Black spots are eating the edges of my vision. The baby is kicking like crazy, like she knows. My knees give. I crash into the coffee table and the glass fruit bowl on top of it shatters across the floor. Not here. I am not dying here. My fingers close around a long shard of glass. I’ll break that door down. I don’t care if it costs me my hand. The red light on the ceiling camera blinks on. Liam’s voice comes through the smart speaker. Calm. Bored. Disappointed. “Stella. Are you done throwing your tantrum yet?” His voice fills the empty house like he owns the place. Like I’m a toddler having a meltdown and he’s the grown-up. He’s actually checking the cameras. He’s got the time. I lift my head and stare straight into the blinking red dot. I raise my bloody hand to the lens. “Liam. I’m bleeding. I’m really in labor.” He scoffs. “Here we go again.” “Last time it was red ink. What is it this time? Ketchup?” “Ruby is screaming in agony right now and you’re putting on a one-woman show in our living room.” “Stella. You really disappoint me.” My whole body is convulsing. The blood under me has spread into a wide black pool on the hardwood. “Liam.” It comes out as a whisper. “For the baby.” “Call an ambulance.”

Liam goes silent on the other end for a couple of seconds. Then he sighs. Long. Disappointed. “Stella. The lies you’ll tell to keep my attention—it’s unbelievable.” “I looked at your prenatal report before I left. The doctor said you’re perfectly fine. You’ve got two more weeks till your due date.” “You’re rolling around on the floor playing dead because you want to trick me into coming home, away from Ruby. That’s it, isn’t it?” I’m gasping for breath. “I’m not lying to you.” “My water broke. The baby’s going to suffocate.” “Liam—this is your daughter.” A soft whimper crackles through the speaker. Ruby. “Sweetheart, another contraction? Hang in there, the doctor’s coming.” He soothes her in that warm, melting voice—the one he used to save for me—and then he turns back to the mic. His voice goes cold enough to cut. “Stella. Ruby is an orphan. I’m all she’s got in this world.” “You have a family. Money. A whole life. Why are you so determined to take from a girl who has nothing?” “All she did was borrow your hospital bag. One bag. And you pull this disgusting stunt to drag me back.” “You are an ugly person. I never knew how ugly until tonight.” My cheek is pressed flat against the cold floor. Tears mix with sweat and roll onto the back of my hand. I pull my eyes away from the camera. I start crawling toward the front door. Glass shards bite into my palms. I don’t feel them. There’s only one thought left in my head. Get out. I make it to the foyer. I lift the biggest shard of glass and smash it into the lock with everything I have left. The glass shatters. My hand splits open—deep, to the bone. Blood sprays the door. The lock doesn’t move. Liam’s voice explodes through the house, choked with rage. “Stella Hayes! What the hell are you doing?!” “You damage that door and I swear to God you will regret it the second I walk back through it!” I’m already clawing my way to the entryway closet. There’s a spare key in there. I know there is. I put it there myself. I rip everything out onto the floor with bloody hands. Shoes. A scarf. A toolbox. I find it at the bottom of an old shoebox—a small, cold brass key. My way out. I haul myself up against the wall. My whole body is shaking. I jam the key into the lock. It won’t go in. I bend closer and squint. The keyhole is packed solid with something dried and clear. Sealed shut. I stare at it. Dumbly. “Don’t waste your strength.” There’s a smile in his voice now. Pride. “I know how stubborn you get, baby. I was worried you’d try to sneak out and go after Ruby. So I sealed the lock before I left. Little tube of superglue.” “Stella. All you have to do is apologize. Promise me you’ll leave Ruby alone.” “As soon as she delivers, I’ll come right home and take care of you.” My back slides down the door. Inch by inch. He planned my last way out. He didn’t seal the lock because he was worried about Ruby. He sealed it to take my right to live away. I tip my head back and look straight at the camera. “Liam. I want a divorce.” Dead silence on the other end. Then he erupts. “Stella Hayes, are you threatening me again?!” “You think waving ‘divorce’ in my face is gonna make me come crawling back? Is there a single thing in your bag of tricks besides crying, screaming, and threatening to leave?!” I close my eyes. I don’t answer him. The contractions have stopped being waves. It’s one long endless tearing now. Something is pushing down. Something is coming whether I’m ready or not. “Liam. I don’t want you anymore.” I lift the brass key with the last of my strength. And I hurl it at the camera. The lens shatters. The red light dies. The living room goes black and silent. I lie in the spreading pool of my own blood, and I breathe.

He’s controlling the smart home from his phone. The living room lights cut out instantly. The AC. The fridge. Every appliance in the house dies in the same heartbeat. The whole place drops into black. His voice comes through the speaker, ice cold. “Stella. Since you don’t know how to behave, you can sit in the dark and think about what you did.” “When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll turn the lights back on.” “Don’t sit there waiting for me to feel sorry for you. You brought this on yourself.” I curl up on the floor. I bite my lip until I taste blood. I will not let him hear me scream. I can feel the blood draining out of me. Actually feel it. Warmth, leaving, replaced by cold. The pain in my belly is coming in waves now—each one worse than the last. Some part of me still alive enough to think tells me: stay awake. I crawl on my hands across the floor toward the bathroom. There are scissors in there. Towels. If no one’s coming for me—and no one is coming—I’m going to have to do this myself. I’m almost at the bathroom door when the speaker hums back to life. The TV in the living room flickers on with it. He’s hijacked it. A video call, pushed straight onto the screen through the smart home app. Pale blue light floods the house and washes the color right off my face. Ruby is on the screen. Tucked into a clean hospital bed. Cheeks pink and healthy. She’s curled into Liam’s chest, holding my hospital bag like a stuffed animal. “Liam, is Nova mad at me?” Her voice is small. Wobbly. Pitiful. “I didn’t mean to take her bag. My contractions just started so suddenly.” “Maybe you should go home and check on her. I’ll be okay by myself.” Liam kisses her forehead and gently wipes a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry about her. She just can’t stand seeing me be nice to anyone but her.” “She smashed our security camera. God only knows what she’s smashing in there now.” Then he turns. Looks straight into the lens. His face goes flat and hard. “Stella. Look at Ruby. Look how good she’s being.” “Now look at yourself. Like some screaming, glass-breaking lunatic.” “I’m warning you. If you make one more sound that upsets Ruby—” “Tomorrow morning I am cutting off your brother’s hospital bills. Every cent.” My heart drops through the floor. Ethan is the only family I have left in this world. He’s in the ICU. He’s only alive because of those machines—and those machines are alive because of Liam’s money. Every soft thing in this man—every drop of tenderness—he gives to the girl who calls me sis. Looking at them on that screen, I think I might actually be sick. “Liam.” I force the words out. “You make me sick.” Ruby flinches against his chest like I hit her. “Liam, Nova sounds so scary—my stomach hurts—” Liam’s face goes black with rage. “Stella, you want to die in there?! Fine! Stay in there till you do!” The call cuts off. Then I hear it. A hollow sucking sound deep in the pipes. He didn’t just cut the power. He shut off the main water valve too. Remotely. I drag myself to the bathroom sink and twist the faucet. Two drops. Then nothing. No power. No water. No phone. He’s buried me alive in my own house. I slump against the cold tile, gasping. The blood has soaked through my dress. The thick, metallic smell of it fills the tiny bathroom. The baby has gone quiet inside me. The wild kicking is gone. There’s only the faintest flutter now, like a moth dying in a jar. “Baby. Don’t be scared.” My hand splays across my belly. The tears finally come. “Mommy’s gonna get you out. Mommy promises.” I bite down hard and dig under the sink with shaking fingers. Rusty scissors. Cold metal. I close my fist around them. This is the last thing in the world that can save me.

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“If the Moon Goddess grants us another life, I will never take you as my mate again.” These were Silas’s final words to me at the end of his life. It seemed the Moon Goddess answered our prayers, sending me back to the exact night Alpha Silas saved my life. When I opened my eyes, the thick stench of ash and blood filled my lungs. I crawled out from the hidden bunker beneath the burning ruins of our packhouse. Silas stood before me, his heavy combat boots planted firmly on the scorched grass. He had just shifted back into his human form, and the silver blade in his hand was still dripping with the blood of rogues He asked, “Are there any other survivors from your family?” In my past life, I had no idea that my sister, Serena, had hidden in the abandoned Moon Shrine to escape the massacre. I had shaken my head and denied it. Because of my ignorance, she was captured by the savage rogues. Later, Silas took me as his mate, but only to repay a life debt he owed my late parents. It was a completely loveless bond. Everything fell apart the day he returned from a border patrol mission, bringing my sister Serena back with him. She was five months pregnant and completely shattered. Seeing her like that, the usually cold and collected Alpha entirely lost his mind. Silas believed I had intentionally hidden the truth about her out of jealousy. He hated me for the rest of his life. He hated me for letting the female he truly loved fall into the hands of rogues and suffer unspeakable horrors. He loathed himself for being bound to me, unable to spend his life with Serena. Right up until his final breath, he never once looked at me with an ounce of tenderness. Suddenly, a low, rumbling growl from Silas’s inner wolf pulled me back to reality. I looked up at him, my voice perfectly steady. “My sister… Serena is still alive. She is hiding in the abandoned Moon Shrine.” As soon as the words left my mouth, a frail figure stumbled out of the dark woods, sprinting toward us. Serena grabbed my hands tightly, tears streaming down her soot-covered cheeks. “Aria, are you hurt? I thought I would never see you again.” Her hands were incredibly warm. I stared at her blankly and murmured, “I am fine.” Silas took a step forward. His tall, imposing figure cast a long, dark shadow over us. He took off his heavy tactical jacket and draped it gently over Serena’s shivering shoulders. His voice was impossibly gentle. “The night air is freezing. Do not catch a chill.” In that moment, everything finally made sense. I understood why, in this life, Silas had arrived at our packhouse fifteen minutes later than he did in the past life. Serena collected herself and wiped away her tears. She looked at me and explained, “Aria, this is the Chief Enforcer of the Lycan Council, Alpha Silas Thorne. He visited our pack when we were just pups. If he had not fought off those rogues at the shrine, I would have…” Her face turned pale with horror, unable to finish the sentence. Silas gripped her hand tightly, his knuckles turning white. His lips were pressed into a grim line. His inner wolf was clearly terrified of losing the female standing in front of him. He cut her off softly. “This is not a safe place to talk. I am taking you back to my pack.” Silas guided Serena toward his armored SUV, pulling open the passenger door and carefully helping her inside. Not once did his gaze fall on me. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was fulfilling the dying vow he made in our past life. Finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief. My life was my own again. After a three-day drive, we arrived at the territory of the Bloodwood Pack. Serena and I were settled into the East Wing of the packhouse. In my past life, this area had been strictly forbidden. It was the one place Silas had entirely banned me from entering. Now, basking in the light of Serena’s privilege, I finally got to see what was inside. White roses bloomed beautifully in the private garden. The interior design of the rooms was almost a replica of Serena’s old bedroom in our destroyed packhouse. Even the diffusers were filled with the exact vanilla and jasmine scent she always used. The only thing missing was a certain portrait. In my past life, I had sneaked into this wing only once. I found Silas standing in front of an oil painting of a female. His eyes held a profound, tender love that I had never seen before. Before I could clearly see the face of the woman in the painting, his wolf sensed my presence. The tenderness vanished instantly, replaced by his usual cold, ruthless demeanor. His eyes filled with absolute disgust, and his voice was like ice. “Who gave you permission to enter?” “I told you, without my direct order, you are never to set foot in here.” At the time, I did not understand the bitter regret in his eyes. It was not until much later that I realized the woman in that painting must have been Serena. Silas was a man with a heart of stone. During the harshest winter of my past life, he had the heating in my quarters cut off for three days straight. The bitter cold seeped into my bones, making my knees ache as if thousands of needles were piercing my joints. To survive the freezing nights, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and beg him to stay in my bed a little longer, just to share his body heat. Silas would laugh coldly, gripping my chin tightly. “The Vance bloodline is supposed to be noble and pure. How did your parents raise such a shameless Omega? You are nothing like…” He would cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say. A flash of vicious hatred would cross his eyes. “Since you brought this upon yourself, do not regret it.” That night, he had claimed me with unbearable roughness. The pain was so agonizing that I nearly blacked out. “Do you need anything else for your room? I can have the omegas fetch it for you.” A warm, polite voice pulled me back to the present. Serena smiled shyly. “You are too kind, Alpha. I have everything I need.” Then, she turned to look at me. “What about you, Aria?” As soon as she spoke, a heavy, unfathomable gaze fell upon me.

His overwhelming Alpha aura was suffocating. A phantom ache flared in my knees, a lingering memory from my past life. I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you, Alpha Silas. I don’t need anything.” A faint, scoffing laugh broke the silence. Even without looking up, I knew exactly who it was. It was the sound I had heard the most in my past life. Cold and laced with heavy mockery. My previous life was filled with unbearable suffering. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him anymore, neither as a pack member nor as a mate. But avoiding him was impossible. Because of Serena, Silas visited our wing frequently. Sometimes he brought imported pastries from the eastern market, other times rare perfumes and romance novels to make her smile. It was obvious that Serena was falling for him， too. It was perfect. Without me standing in their way, they were destined to be the perfect mates. “Aria, is this pretty?” Serena’s soft voice sounded next to my ear. It was a hand-stitched leather amulet pouch, finely embossed with two intertwined wolves. I nodded. “It is beautiful. Your stitching has always been the best among the females in our pack. He will absolutely love it.” She smiled bashfully, looking down. “You always know what to say.” Then, a hint of melancholy crossed her face. “There are so many high-ranking noble she-wolves in the Bloodwood Pack. I don’t know if the Alpha will actually like something so simple.” I gave her an encouraging nod. “He will.” It was exactly like my past life. Back then, shortly after Serena was brought back to the pack, my relationship with Silas had hit rock bottom. An older Luna I befriended gave me some advice. She told me to stitch an amulet pouch for him, claiming that male Lycans could never resist a mate’s soft, devoted gesture. But my hands were clumsy. The intertwined wolves I stitched looked like stray dogs. I pricked my fingers until they bled, and some of the blood even stained the leather. Then, a few days later, I saw Silas walking out of Serena’s room with a rare, genuine smile on his face. Hanging from his tactical belt was a leather amulet pouch. I knew immediately it was Serena’s handiwork. That older Luna was right. Male Lycans could not resist such gestures. But she left out one crucial detail. It only worked if the gesture came from the female they truly loved. For the next few days, Silas was surprisingly decent to me. He even bought me my favorite pastries from the market after finishing his Council duties. I ended up never giving him my ugly pouch. Later, it disappeared from my room entirely. One of the omegas probably saw it, thought it was trash, and threw it away. Serena was called out of the room by one of the pack’s omegas. I stared blankly at the beautiful amulet pouch left on the table. If my stitching were this perfect, would someone treat me with that kind of love, too? A tall shadow fell over me. Thinking Serena had returned, I picked up the pouch and held it out to hand it back. I looked up, only to crash straight into a pair of pitch-black, predatory eyes. Silas’s gaze dropped to the pouch in my hand. A cruel, mocking smirk formed on his lips. “Aria Vance, what kind of pathetic trick are you trying to pull now?” I didn’t miss the absolute disgust swirling in his eyes. “Are you really that desperate? Trying to shamelessly crawl into my bed again?” “I told you before. I will never claim you as my mate. You’d better kill that delusion right now.” A long-forgotten terror gripped my heart. His aggressive pheromones carried the chilling bite of that past winter, making me shiver violently. I trembled, taking a long moment to find my voice. “Alpha, this is Serena’s handiwork. She made it for you.” Silas froze. The vicious expression on his face twisted for a fraction of a second, shifting into a scrutinizing glare. “Alpha Silas, you are here.” Serena’s gentle voice drifted from the doorway. Silas immediately stepped back, putting distance between us. His cold features softened into warmth as he looked at her, his tone slightly probing. “Aria just showed me something. She said it belongs to you.” Serena understood instantly. A deep blush spread across her cheeks, though she met his gaze earnestly. “You have taken care of us for so long, and I have nothing valuable to offer in return. Fortunately, my stitching is passable.” Even though I wasn’t the smartest, I knew how to read a room. I quickly shoved the pouch into Serena’s hands and practically ran out the door. My legs were still shaking. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead. The spring air in the Bloodwood Pack was surprisingly freezing.

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On the eve of signing our marriage contract, I discovered my fiancé was hiding a girl. That day, I slammed the mafia marriage contract on the table and gave him two choices. Either tear up the contract, or send her to the asylum. Matteo Rossi smoked all night at the firing range, but ultimately picked up the pen and signed. Later at the wedding, a girl with scarred wrists suddenly rushed to the altar. “Matteo, my brother died for you, won’t you even give me this last bit of love?” The bouquet handed to me fell to the ground, and he only left me with a hurried back. I tore off my corsage and held down the Don’s hand. “If you walk out that door today, our marriage contract is void.” His footsteps paused, but he still left. … The wedding music stopped, and the guests’ whispers pierced my ears like needles. I froze at the altar, staring at the empty doorway. My parents walked up and draped a coat over my shoulders. “Elena, let’s go home.” I nodded and followed them down the aisle. Passing the Rossi family’s table, I stopped. The Donna grabbed my hand, her eyes red: “Elena, Matteo didn’t mean it, don’t blame him.” I pulled my hand away and bowed to them. “I am sorry.” After speaking, I didn’t linger and left the cathedral with my parents. That night, Matteo didn’t come back. The next day, neither. On the third night, he returned reeking of alcohol. He stood at the door, looking at me sitting on the sofa: “Why haven’t you slept?” I didn’t answer and pointed to a document on the table. “Read it.” He walked over and picked up the document. It was Sofia Conti’s involuntary commitment order. Because she self-harmed at the wedding and violated the Family’s code, she was sent to the mob sanitarium. “You did this?” he asked coldly. “It’s the rules,” I said flatly. He crumpled the document and smashed it to the floor: “Elena, she is just a patient, her brother died to save me, I owe her!” “What you owe her shouldn’t be paid by me.” “Can’t you be a little considerate of me?” I looked at him, suddenly feeling he was a stranger. We had known each other for ten years, and he had never spoken to me in this tone. I stood up and walked back to the bedroom. “Matteo, let’s separate for a while.” I closed the door, listening to him smashing things outside. Lying in bed, I was sleepless all night.

When I woke up the next day, Matteo was already gone. A note was left on the table. [I went to take care of Sofia.] I threw the note into the trash and went to the underground trauma center. I was the youngest neurosurgery director in the Family’s medical network. Today there was a highly difficult surgery. I stood for thirteen hours. Finally walking out of the operating room, I was almost too exhausted to stand. A colleague handed me a bottle of water: “Dr. Vargas, you broke the record again.” I smiled and said nothing. Returning to the office, I saw a thermos on the desk. It was delivered by Matteo. I opened it, and inside was my favorite squab soup. The soup was still warm. I put the lid back on and pushed it aside. My phone rang; it was a call from Matteo. I didn’t answer. He sent another message: “Did you drink the soup? Made it just for you.” I replied with one word. “Yes.” He replied quickly. “I’m sorry, I was impulsive yesterday.” “Elena, after all our years together, let’s not fall apart over this small matter.” I stared at that message and didn’t reply for a long time. At night, I returned to the Manhattan penthouse we prepared as our marital home. Someone was standing at the door. It was Sofia Conti. She was wearing a hospital gown, pale-faced, and looked at me timidly: “Dr. Vargas.” “Why are you here?” I asked. “Matteo brought me out.” She lowered her head: “He said the sanitarium is too depressing.” I took out my keys to open the door: “Do you need something?” “I… Can I come in and sit down?” “No.” I refused directly. She bit her lip and tears fell: “Dr. Vargas, I know you don’t like me, but I really have nowhere else to go.” “Matteo said he would take care of me, just like my brother took care of him.” “I just want… to have a home.” I looked at her, only finding it ridiculous: “Your home shouldn’t be my home.” I pushed the door open to go in, preparing to close it. She suddenly stuck her foot in the doorway and tumbled inside. Her forehead hit the doorframe and immediately turned red. “Ah!” she cried out in pain. Matteo rushed out from the elevator lobby. He shoved me aside and helped Sofia up. “Sofia, are you okay?” Sofia trembled in his arms, crying and shaking her head. Matteo looked up and glared at me: “Elena, do you have to be like this?” “Did I push her?” I asked. He didn’t speak, just held Sofia, his eyes full of disappointment. “She is my fallen friend’s sister, he died for me, she is homeless now, and her mental state is unstable.” “I just want her to stay here temporarily, is it that hard?” “This is our marital home.” I reminded him. “It’s just temporary!” he emphasized. I looked at him, unable to say a single word. He carried Sofia past me, walking into our home. Into our master bedroom.

Sofia moved into the master bedroom. Matteo didn’t leave that night; he also stayed in the master bedroom, claiming he was “afraid something might happen to her at night.” I locked myself in the guest room, listening to the low murmurs of comfort and sobbing from next door. The next day, I went to work as usual. Coming home after work, the house had changed. My favorite landscape painting in the living room was taken down and replaced with an oil painting. The orchids I grew for three years were gone, replaced by a pot of lucky bamboo. Sofia was wearing my nightgown, busy in the kitchen. Seeing me, she smiled somewhat embarrassedly. “Dr. Vargas, you’re back. I made dinner, I don’t know if it suits your taste.” I stared at the nightgown she was wearing. That was hand-sewn for me by my mother, and I had never even brought myself to wear it once. I walked over and pointed at the painting: “Who told you to touch that?” “It… it was Matteo.” She spoke timidly: “He said the landscape painting’s colors were too depressing, not good for my recovery.” “And the flowers?” “Also… also Matteo, he said orchids are too delicate, I wouldn’t know how to keep them alive.” I walked right up to her. “Take it off.” She froze: “What?” “Take off the nightgown you are wearing.” Her face instantly flushed red, tears welling in her eyes: “Dr. Vargas, I’m sorry, I just thought this dress was pretty… I didn’t mean anything else.” Matteo walked out of the bedroom. “Enough, Elena!” He walked to Sofia’s side and shielded her behind him. “It’s just a nightgown, is this really necessary?” “She likes it, just let her wear it. You have so many clothes, are you short of this one?” I looked at his self-righteous expression. The last bit of feeling I had for him in my heart was gone. “Matteo, make her leave.” “Impossible.” He answered categorically. “Fine, I’ll leave.” I turned and returned to my room, sorting out my treasured manuscripts and notes. I placed the manuscripts on the desk to start packing my luggage. Just as I turned around, Sofia walked in holding a glass of water. “Dr. Vargas, drink some water, don’t be angry anymore.” She handed the glass over. I didn’t take it. Her hand tilted, and the entire glass of water splashed over my notes. The water rapidly seeped into the paper. My brain buzzed loudly. I rushed over, grabbed the notebook, and desperately soaked up the water with tissues. But it was useless. The ink was already a blurred mess. I looked up at the panicked Sofia. She kept apologizing: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Dr. Vargas, I didn’t mean to…” Matteo also came in. Seeing the scene, he frowned, pulled Sofia over, and checked her hands. “Did you get burned?” Sofia shook her head, crying even harder: “Matteo, I ruined Dr. Vargas’s things…” Matteo glanced at the soaked notebook. “Isn’t it just a book? I’ll buy you a new one.” He said indifferently: “Sofia didn’t do it on purpose, stop holding a grudge over it.” Holding the ruined notebook, my hands were trembling. That was left to me by my mentor. It was the only copy in the world. I looked at Matteo: “You’ll replace it?” “How will you replace it?” He choked on my question, looking a bit embarrassed. “Elena, stop being unreasonable.” I laughed. I threw the notebook on the floor, turned around, pulled out my suitcase, and began packing. Matteo stood at the door, watching me: “What are you throwing a tantrum about now?” “I said, I’m leaving.” I didn’t look back. “You’re running away from home over this little thing?” “Elena, can’t you be a bit more mature?” I ignored him and continued packing. Sofia cried softly on the side: “It’s all my fault, Matteo, don’t fight with Dr. Vargas…” Matteo sighed, walking over to comfort her. “It has nothing to do with you, she is just too childish.” I zipped up my suitcase and stood up. Walking past Matteo, I didn’t spare him a single glance. Reaching the door, I stopped. “Matteo, this is what you chose.” With that said, I pulled my suitcase and left the place I once thought would be my home. That was my first time walking out on him. Three days later, Matteo found the hotel I was staying at. He brought my favorite desserts and a beautifully wrapped notebook. “Elena, stop being angry, come home with me.” “I had someone restore that book, look, it’s as good as new.” I opened the notebook. The handwriting inside was forged, and many of the data didn’t match. I handed the notebook back to him: “Matteo, just go.” The smile on his face froze: “Elena, how long are you going to keep making a scene?” “I already sent her away, what more do you want?” “Can’t you stop blowing things out of proportion?” I looked at him. “I never blow things out of proportion.” I closed the door. He stood outside the door for a long time, but eventually walked away.

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The night I miscarried and nearly bled to death, I was trapped inside an apartment with the door bolted shut. And my godfather-turned-husband was at the hospital, kissing his mistress. He’d cut the water, the electricity, the phone line. He’d even tried to force me to kneel before Rowena and apologize. He called it a little lesson—because I, his “vicious wife,” had dared to compete with his mistress for his affection. But what he didn’t know was this: That night, he killed his only heir with his own hands. … … It was just past nine months into the pregnancy when a sharp, plummeting pain tore through my abdomen. My pants were already soaked through with dark red. Something was horribly wrong. I grabbed the bathroom doorframe for support and called out to Colby, who sat by the window. “Colby, I’m bleeding. Take me to the hospital.” He was on a phone call, brow furrowed, murmuring something in Italian. After he hung up, he walked straight to the entryway and picked up the hospital bag I’d packed for labor. “Rowena’s gone into labor. It’s an emergency. She’ll need these first.” I stared at him in disbelief. “I’m bleeding, Colby. Our baby might be coming!” He picked up my phone from the coffee table, slid it into his suit jacket along with the building access card. “Your due date isn’t for another two weeks. You heard me on the phone just now, didn’t you? This is another one of your pathetic little tricks to compete with Rowena. It’s cheap.” “Stay home. Don’t bother me.” Then the door slammed shut behind him, the deadbolt sliding into place with a sound that was dull and final. I dragged myself to the door, gripped the handle with both hands, and pressed down with everything I had. It didn’t budge. He’d locked it from the outside. Another contraction hit—the pain exploded from my lower spine outward—and then a warm rush of liquid coursed down my inner thighs, splattering against the oak floor. My water had broken. He’d taken my phone. Gritting my teeth, I crawled toward the landline on the side table by the couch—I remembered, I remembered there was still— The instant my fingertips touched the receiver, I saw it. The phone cord had been snipped cleanly from the jack. A neat cut. Deliberate. I had no time to process it. The contractions were coming closer together now, the stabbing pain blurring my vision. I slid down the wall inch by inch until I collapsed on the floor. Survival instinct drove me to summon one last breath and crawl toward the balcony. I shoved open the glass door. December night air rushed in, so cold it sent my entire body into spasms. We lived on the second floor. The balcony overlooked the apartment building’s parking lot. “Help! Is anyone there? Call an ambulance!” Nothing. Empty. Colby had reassigned every single bodyguard to protect Rowena—his mistress, about to give birth. No one answered my screams. Every avenue of outside help had been sealed shut. All I could do was stumble back inside. The baby seemed to sense the danger, kicking frantically, each strike sending white-hot pain through my organs, my vision going black in waves. Suddenly my knees buckled and I crashed to the floor beside the coffee table, my arm sweeping the crystal fruit bowl off the surface. Shards exploded across the floor, mingling with the blood pooling beneath me. A scene of utter devastation. The spike of sharper pain jolted a brief moment of clarity back into my mind. I cannot die here. My palm groped across the floor and closed around the sharpest piece of glass I could find. I have to find a way out. I have to save my baby. That’s when the red light on the ceiling-mounted surveillance camera blinked on. “Serena, are you done with this little tantrum?” Colby’s voice—low, cold, detached—ricocheted off the walls of the empty room, dripping with condescension. I tilted my head back and fixed my gaze on that blinking red dot. He actually had the leisure to check the home security feed. I raised my blood-soaked hand toward the lens, making sure he could see it clearly. “Colby, I’m bleeding. I really am going into labor. Please—save our baby…” “Cut the crap.” A scoff. Contemptuous and impatient. “This again.” “Last time you used red ink to fake bleeding. What is it this time? Food coloring?” “Rowena is in so much pain she’s about to pass out, and you’re holed up at home putting on this little sob show.” “Serena, you are truly a disappointment.” My body was convulsing with pain. I didn’t have the strength to argue. Watching the blood pool into a dark puddle beneath me, soaking through my nightgown, all I could do was beg. “Colby, for the sake of our child.” “Call me an ambulance.”

He was silent for two seconds. Then he sighed, his tone carrying a thread of exhaustion, as though my desperate plea was nothing more than a tired plot point in a bad soap opera. “I looked at your prenatal report before I left—the doctor’s notes in black and white say everything’s normal, and you’ve still got two weeks until your due date. You’re lying on the floor playing dead because you want to trick me into coming back from Rowena’s side.” “These little games of yours are pathetically juvenile.” I gasped for air, each word requiring every ounce of strength I had left. “My water… already broke… the baby will lose oxygen…” “Colby, this is your own flesh and blood.” Through the speaker came a rustle of movement—the friction of fabric, Rowena’s low moan, and Colby’s voice going suddenly, impossibly soft. “Rowena, is it hurting again? Don’t be scared, the doctor’s on his way.” After soothing her, he turned his attention back to the microphone. His tone shifted instantly from tender to cutting. “Serena, Rowena is an orphan. In this entire world, she has no one but me.” “And you? You already have the Donna title that everyone envies. Why do you insist on competing with a girl who has nothing?” “She borrowed your hospital bag—that’s all—and you pull this disgusting stunt to force me back.” “You’re rotten to the core.” My cheek pressed against the cold oak floor. Tears and cold sweat mixed together, splashing onto the back of my hand—warm yet desolate. I stopped looking at the camera. I clenched my jaw, braced my elbows against the floor, and began crawling toward the entryway. Glass shards pierced my palms, punctured the skin, embedded themselves in the flesh. I couldn’t feel the pain. Only one thought remained in my mind: Get out. Get out alive. I made it to the entryway, pushed myself upright, and smashed the largest piece of broken glass against the door lock. Time was precious. The agony had already drained me of any energy to search for a more suitable tool. The glass shattered on impact, the jagged edge slicing open the skin between my thumb and wrist. Blood sprayed onto the cream-colored wall. The lock didn’t budge. Colby’s voice came through the speaker again, barely containing his rage. “Serena! What are you doing! If you damage that door, there will be hell to pay when I get back!” I ignored him. With blood-soaked hands, I tore through the shoe cabinet. I vaguely remembered a spare key kept here. Colby’s housekeeper often locked a spare key in a hidden compartment at the very bottom of the shoe cabinet. He thought I didn’t know. If I could find the key, I could get out. I could survive. I dumped everything from the cabinet onto the floor, and finally—in a small tin box at the very bottom—my fingers closed around a cold brass key. I braced myself against the wall and stood, legs shaking, aligning the key with the lock. It wouldn’t go in. I leaned in close, squinting in the residual light from the hallway. The keyhole had been filled. Dried industrial-strength adhesive had sealed every millimeter of the gap. The lock cylinder was completely blocked. “Don’t waste your energy.” Colby’s voice carried a note of satisfaction. “You think I don’t know what a temper you have? Stubborn, impossible to control, always looking for a chance to bolt. I was afraid you’d use the opportunity to run out and cause trouble for Rowena.” “So before I left, I personally sealed the keyhole with Gorilla Glue.” “Serena, the rules are simple. All you need to do is be a good girl, admit you were wrong, and promise never to harass Rowena again. Once she delivers safely, I’ll come home and be with you. Understood?” I stood there, numb, listening to my husband’s calculated confession of attempted murder. My back slid down the door panel, my body sinking inch by inch. This wasn’t negligence. This wasn’t carelessness. This was premeditated. He meant to strip me of every right to survive. I tilted my head up and stared at the surveillance camera—its lens trained unflinchingly on my trembling body, like the barrel of a gun ready to fire. “Colby, let’s get a divorce.” The speaker went briefly silent. Then came the explosion. “Threatening me again! Serena, is this the only trick you know? You think saying ‘divorce’ will make me cave? What else can you do besides cry and throw tantrums!” I closed my eyes. I didn’t answer. The contractions stacked on top of each other, wave after wave, like someone was taking a dull blade to my body. Something was descending—heavy, unstoppable. I could feel it. “Colby Blackwell.” I called his full name one last time. “I don’t want you anymore.” When I said it, I didn’t cry. Then, very calmly, I raised the brass key—metal slicing through the air—and hurled it with perfect aim at the surveillance camera. The housing shattered on impact, the circuit board popped loose, the red indicator light flickered twice, and went permanently dark. The living room returned to silence. I lay in a pool of blood, gulping air that grew thinner by the second. And then, without warning, the darkness came.

Every light in the living room died in the same instant—the chandelier, the wall sconces, the motion-sensor nightlights in the hallway. Even the hum of the air conditioning and refrigerator cut off abruptly. “Ah—” The scream left my lips the same moment I understood. It was Colby. He’d used his phone’s smart home system to kill the apartment’s main power supply with a single tap. The only thing still functioning was a Bluetooth speaker, its ring of pale blue light glowing in the darkness. Colby’s voice emerged from that circle of blue. “Serena, since you insist on being ungrateful, you can sit in the dark and reflect on what you’ve done.” “When you’ve come to your senses and apologized, I’ll turn the lights back on.” “Don’t expect me to go soft. You brought all of this on yourself.” His voice was ice-cold, controlled. As though he’d completely forgotten that ever since his rival faction locked me in a warehouse for twenty-four hours three years ago, I’d developed nyctophobia. That day, he’d held me in his arms and promised that as long as he was with me, the lights in our home would never go dark. But now… Colby had apparently forgotten that promise entirely. Forgotten the wife he’d locked in the dark. I curled up on the floor, biting down hard on my lower lip, fighting the physiological terror. Blood was still leaving my body. The abdominal pain surged like a tide, each wave more brutal than the last, and with every crest, my consciousness blinked out for seconds at a time. I can’t give up. I can’t give up. The bathroom had scissors. Towels. If no one was coming to save me, I would have to deliver this baby myself. I forced myself to stay calm, feeling my way toward the bathroom in the dark. I crawled until my elbows and knees were raw and bleeding, and just as my fingertips brushed the bathroom doorframe, the bedroom television screen blazed to life. A video call had been force-cast onto the seventy-five-inch LCD. The sudden light illuminated the entire living room—and the long trail of dark red I’d left behind me. On screen, Rowena reclined against her hospital bed, complexion rosy, makeup flawless enough for a magazine cover. Colby sat on the edge of the bed, his arm around her, my hospital bag beside him. “Colby, is Serena mad at me?” Rowena’s voice was coy and aggrieved, each word pitched with just the right amount of a quiver. “I didn’t mean to take her things—it just came on so suddenly… Maybe you should go back and check on her. I can manage alone.” Colby pressed a tender kiss to the back of her hand. “Forget about her. She just can’t stand seeing me be good to you. The moment she notices I’m over here, she starts pulling stunts.” “She smashed the security camera at home. She’s probably in some corner breaking things and throwing a fit right now.” He turned to face the camera, his gaze turning razor-sharp. “Serena, look at how considerate Rowena is. How thoughtful.” “Now look at yourself—smashing things, lying, acting like a complete shrew.” “I’m warning you one last time.” His voice dropped low, the kind of quiet menace that needed no volume—like a warning issued to a traitor who’d tried to flee the organization. “If you dare make one more scene that upsets Rowena—” “Tomorrow I’ll cut off every penny funding your brother’s hospital stay. And you can watch him die.” My heart felt like an invisible fist had clenched around it. Ethan. My eighteen-year-old brother. After the car accident three months ago, he’d been lying in the ICU, kept alive by machines maintaining his most basic vital signs. He was my only remaining family in this world. And Colby knew it. He wielded Ethan like a noose suspended above my head, ready to tighten at any moment. On screen, the loving couple nestled together. And I lay in my own blood, watching this broadcast from the darkness. A violent wave of nausea churned in my stomach. “Colby Blackwell.” I screamed it with every last shred of strength. “You make me sick.” On screen, Rowena immediately shrank into Colby’s arms, her voice trembling. “Colby, Serena is so scary… my stomach hurts so much…” Colby’s face went iron-gray. “Serena, you’re asking for death.” “Since you love acting insane so much, you can stay in there and rot.” The video cut to black with a single click. Then came a hollow rumble from inside the walls—the sound of water flowing through the pipes vanished all at once. He hadn’t just cut the power. He’d remotely shut off the main water valve. I dragged myself to the sink and twisted the faucet. A few residual drops fell—plink, plink—and then nothing. No water. No electricity. No communication. He’d driven me into a dead end, then turned around to be with another woman while she gave birth. My back against the cold bathroom tile, I gasped for air. The blood beneath me had soaked through my entire nightgown, and the metallic smell filled the cramped bathroom, so thick it tasted sweet. The baby was getting quieter. The little feet that had been desperately kicking moments ago now only produced faint, intermittent squirms. “No… no…” I pressed both palms against my swollen belly, and the tears finally broke free. “Don’t be afraid.” “Mama will fight to the death to save you.” Gritting my teeth, I fumbled through the storage cabinet beneath the sink. My fingertips touched something cold and metallic—a pair of rusted scissors. This was my last tool.

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I was reborn. In my last life, the zombie virus destroyed everything. My husband, Mark, only cared about hiding out with his first love, Krystal, in our mansion. He locked me, pregnant and helpless, outside the door. He left me to be torn apart by a horde of zombies. Now that I’m back, I’ll use my father’s industrial park to hoard supplies and build a fortress that no one can break into. In the chaos of the coming apocalypse, I’m done with being naive and kind. Anyone who gets in my family’s way will be left to die. … One second, I was feeling the searing pain of my flesh being ripped from my bones. The next, I found myself back in the master bedroom Mark and I shared. The memory of being eaten alive was still fresh, and my head was splitting open. I instinctively reached out to steady myself on a tall figure next to me, but he violently shoved me away. “Jessica, that’s enough! You got the wedding you wanted, so start acting like it! Don’t you dare think you’ll get anything more from me!” I looked up at the sound of his voice and saw Mark’s handsome face, twisted with disgust. Without another word, he stormed out. I was… back? Fifteen days before the zombie outbreak? I’d been obsessed with Mark since we were kids. In my last life, a drunken night led to me getting pregnant with his child. He only married me because my father forced him to, and he hated me for it. To be with him, I put up with everything. I even looked the other way when I knew he was still messing around with Krystal. After we were married, I was nothing more than his full-time maid. He barely glanced at me, his pregnant wife, let alone took me to a single prenatal appointment. When the apocalypse began, he tricked me into going out, claiming we needed more supplies. It was just an excuse to get me out of the house so he could move Krystal in. When I came back, exhausted and loaded down with groceries, they had locked the doors. They left me outside to be eaten alive by zombies. The gut-wrenching pain is a feeling I’ll never forget. I felt my life draining away, along with the life of my unborn child. Now, I scanned the room. This was a huge, isolated mansion in an upscale suburban community. It was the largest property on the block. No wonder Mark was so desperate to kick me out and bring Krystal in. But wait. There had to be another secret about this house. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have risked coming back here. I searched every corner of the house, tapping on the walls. Finally, I found something strange behind the wall-mounted TV. There was a hidden emergency shelter. I went down the stairs and discovered a massive space. It was perfect for stockpiling supplies. And it was already half-full. Could it be? Did Mark know the zombie apocalypse was coming all along? It all suddenly made sense. That’s why he was willing to marry me, even though he hated my guts. He just wanted my family’s money to buy this house. My parents never liked him, but I was blinded by love. My dad finally caved and paid for the house, hoping Mark would treat me right after we were married. But he never gave me a second glance, not even as I was dying outside his door. I’ve seen how horrible the zombies are. I’ve felt it firsthand. Now that I have a second chance, I refuse to die a fool’s death again.

Seeing this underground space, I knew Mark had been preparing for a long time. And if he knew in advance, he was definitely keeping it from me. I had to act fast and build a real safe house for myself and my family. Mark’s mansion was isolated, but it was still in a rich neighborhood with too many people around. Once society collapsed, this place would become a target. It wasn’t safe at all. Then it hit me. My father owned a huge, abandoned industrial park dozens of miles outside the city. I remember questioning him about it, saying it was a bad investment. But my dad said that business wasn’t just about profit. He said buying the land helped the previous factory owner out of a tough spot. Who knew that piece of land would end up saving our entire family? It was far from the city, massive, and perfect for stockpiling a mountain of supplies. It was the ultimate location for an apocalyptic fortress. With a rough plan in mind, I drove straight to the industrial park. But when I got there, I realized it wouldn’t be so simple. The place was a wasteland, overgrown with weeds. The huge warehouses were old and falling apart, with leaky roofs that wouldn’t stand a chance against the horrors to come. Looking at the mess, I felt a wave of despair. That, combined with my morning sickness, made my stomach churn. I knew I couldn’t handle this alone. I drove straight to my parents’ house. The park was a wreck, and I had no idea how to renovate it, but I had a father who could get anything done. When I got home, I didn’t waste any time. I told them everything—about my rebirth and the coming zombie apocalypse. My parents were stunned for a long moment. But seeing how deadly serious I was, they fell silent and began to think. “Dad, Mom, you have to believe me!” I pleaded. In my last life, Mark didn’t just betray me. He also stole the credit card my father gave me, using our family’s fortune to buy his own supplies. Meanwhile, my parents were trapped in their city home. They starved to death. This time, I would not let history repeat itself. “It’s okay, Jessica. My poor daughter, you’ve suffered so much,” my mom said, her eyes telling me she believed every word. “Robert, you heard her!” My dad slammed his fist on the table. “I told you that son of a bitch Mark was no good! Why didn’t you tell me how much you were suffering?!” I said nothing. I knew how stupid I had been. “Alright, Robert, don’t blame her now,” my mom cut in. “The most important thing is to listen to Jessica. We need to start gathering supplies immediately. Survival is all that matters.” My eyes welled up with tears. The feeling of being eaten was still terrifyingly real, but I had no time to get emotional. I immediately laid out my plan to turn the industrial park into an “underground Noah’s Ark.” My father’s anger vanished. He took my rough sketches, glanced at them, and immediately called one of the top security construction firms in the city. “Dave? It’s Robert. I need a favor. I’ve got an industrial park that needs an urgent overhaul. That ‘off-grid survival’ design you mentioned to me once sounds a lot like what I need. Can you send a team to the site today?” “Money is not an issue. I care about quality and speed.” “Of course, Mr. Robert. We’ll see you on-site in an hour.” You can’t beat experience. My dad has been in the business world for decades; his connections and efficiency were second to none.

When we got to the industrial park, I showed the foreman, Dave, my sketches and list of requirements. He was incredibly efficient. His team generated a 3D model on their computer right there on the spot. Their process was seamless. My dad and I gave him a credit card with no spending limit. We gave him our list of required materials, from steel and concrete to solar panels, and laid out the exact zoning for each area. Most importantly, all exterior walls and security systems had to be built to the highest military-grade, blast-proof standards. “Dave, as long as you can meet all our requirements as quickly as possible, money is no object.” The foreman took the card, nodded seriously, and immediately got his crew and equipment moving. The workers started right away, tearing down the old asbestos panels and laying a new foundation. The whole place was a whirlwind of activity. My dad took the design plans and pointed to the sewage system. He told Dave, “Don’t connect this to the city’s grid. I want an independent biogas energy recycling system.” I immediately understood what my dad was thinking. Biogas could be used for electricity and heat. I quickly added that the construction company should dig a massive underground bunker in the farthest corner of the park. This would ensure we had enough storage space and a final escape route. My dad immediately called the head of the construction company and added a few hundred thousand dollars to the budget. He demanded they double the number of workers and run three shifts around the clock to get the job done in the shortest time possible. With my dad’s money backing us, things moved at lightning speed. We became their top priority. They brought in more workers, and their efficiency was astounding. Digging the bunker, reinforcing the warehouses, installing blast-proof doors—they didn’t miss a thing. In just a few days, the rundown industrial park was completely transformed. The most impressive part was the underground bunker. All the living quarters could be accessed through secret passages. Even though we already had three layers of protection on the surface, it was always good to have another way out. One day, the foreman, Dave, couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “Boss, this underground space is big enough to build an apartment complex. Do you really need it to be this large?” My dad was quick on his feet. “In business, you always have to plan for future expansion. Just securing the space in advance.” The workers nodded, not quite understanding, and went back to their work. The construction was on track. I showed my mom the shopping list. She frowned, crossed off some of my choices, and wrote a new, more professional list. The staples were replaced with vacuum-packed rice and flour that could be stored long-term, ordered by the hundreds of pounds. We were buying shipping containers full of compressed biscuits, military MREs, all kinds of canned goods, antibiotics, first-aid supplies, and toiletries. We also needed to buy tons of frozen chicken and pork, and hundreds of large freezers to store it all. “No, wait,” my mom said suddenly. “According to you, the power grid and internet will go down completely. We have to be prepared for everything. Go buy more chicks and feed. We have plenty of space, we can raise our own!” “Dad, Mom, thank you for trusting me without question. I need to go home for a bit so Mark doesn’t get suspicious about what we’re doing here.” “Silly girl! Be safe. Your mother and I will always have your back. Don’t worry about things here, we’ll stay in touch.” After returning to the house, I received the final design plans from the construction company on my phone. After a careful review, I told the crew to add another layer of steel plating to all interior and exterior walls. Our fortress was nearly surrounded by mountains, making it difficult for zombies to climb over. The entire park covered a huge area. Once completed, the outer perimeter would be the first line of defense. Inside, there were layers upon layers of protection, plus a double-layered dome and a natural air circulation system. We could survive normally even without external power and water. I was extremely satisfied with the overall design. There were still about two weeks left. Plenty of time. Just as I was feeling relieved after reviewing the plans, the front door of the house suddenly opened. Mark shouldn’t have been home at this hour. But the person who walked in was Krystal.

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Isabella Grey, Harbor City’s richest heiress, has one rule in relationships: she only keeps boyfriends for a month, never letting feelings get in the way. Men are lining up all over town to date her, and honestly, who can blame them? If you’re lucky, she might throw a villa your way. If not, a million-dollar breakup check is still yours. Everyone in Harbor City loves laughing at me behind my back. They call me the most pathetic kept husband in history, and they aren’t wrong. Everyone thinks I’ll just take it forever. Then Isabella brought home this college kid named Trevor Mason. He was completely average looking, nothing special about him at all. But somehow, he broke her one-month rule. She actually kept him around. One day, Isabella gave me two choices. Option one was to accept an open marriage and let Trevor have equal standing with me as her partner. Option two was to divorce her, take half her assets, and we’d call it even. Her friends were all standing around watching this go down, and I could see it on their faces. They were absolutely sure I’d pick the money and keep playing the fool. I didn’t even hesitate and took the divorce. See, in my past life, I chose to put up with it. I thought I was being smart and playing the long game. But Trevor just got worse and worse. He told Isabella she couldn’t touch me anymore. He told her she couldn’t have my kids. By the time we got old, I watched Trevor surrounded by his grandkids while I had nobody. And when Isabella finally died, her will didn’t even mention my name. Every single thing she owned went straight to Trevor. I spent my whole life being known as Isabella’s husband, but I ended up completely alone. This time around, I finally get it. Take the money and leave. Cut all ties with her and never look back.

I grab the divorce papers and read through everything carefully. Then I sign my name without hesitating. Isabella actually speaks up, and there’s this tension in her voice that she probably doesn’t even realize. “Caspian, you better be sure about this. Once you sign, there’s no going back.” My hand doesn’t stop. The pen glides across the paper in one smooth stroke. Signed. Done. “I’ll pack my stuff and get out of here today.” Regret? Not a chance. In my past life, I thought bringing Trevor home was just another twisted way for her to get back at me. I was naive enough to believe that after all those years together, she had to feel something for me. What a joke. She and Trevor had two kids within three years and stayed madly in love until they were old. Meanwhile, I was just this awkward piece of furniture in the house, embarrassed for half my life and laughed at for the other half. It wasn’t until we were old that I finally overheard her talking with Trevor in the hospital room. She told him that whole scene where I got “caught” cheating with the maid, the one who was half-dressed and everything, she’d arranged all of it herself. “I was just bored with him and didn’t want things to get too messy,” she said. Her eyes were clouded, not a hint of guilt in them. “So I set that whole thing up. That way, whatever I did after that looked totally justified.” So that’s how it was. No wonder every time I tried to explain, all I got from her was cold disbelief. She knew the truth the whole time. She didn’t love me, but she used that fake accusation to trap me for 50 years. She could’ve just made a clean break, but instead, she chose to torture me slowly until the day I died. I look up at her face now, young but just as cold as ever, and I don’t feel any love left. Just this churning hatred deep in my chest. She stares at the signed agreement like she can’t believe what she’s seeing, completely shocked. Outside the door, the sounds of people eavesdropping suddenly stop. The next second, my “wonderful” in-laws burst through the door looking absolutely thrilled. Isabella’s mother grabs Trevor’s hand and examines him from every angle, gushing the whole time. “Oh my, young people are just so much better! Look at how energetic he is!” Isabella’s father, who’s always looked at me like I’m dirt on his shoe, suddenly has this warm smile on his face. He shoots me a loaded glance and says, “Finally got rid of that dead weight. How many years has it been? Not even one grandkid to show for it.” Trevor lowers his head like he’s being modest. “Mr. Grey, don’t say that. I’m not that much younger than Mr. Wilde…” He pauses and his face turns red. “Actually, Belly is already a month pregnant. We just haven’t said anything because it’s still early.” I raise an eyebrow. Of course. Same passive-aggressive bullshit, same disgusting tone as always. The difference is, this time I don’t care anymore. For years, I worked myself to the bone at Grey Group during the day just to be a good husband. Then I came home at night and had to wait on these two demanding assholes hand and foot. I’m barely past thirty, but I already have gray hair at my temples. Yeah, I look old. I turn around and head to the bedroom to pack my pathetic little collection of belongings. I’m already thinking about where I should go first once I get my money, somewhere I can actually relax. I don’t notice Isabella following me inside. “It’s late. You don’t need to leave right now. Just go tomorrow,” she speaks softly. “That villa on the west side is still empty, right? You can stay there for now, and I’ll come visit you when I have time. “Caspian, I know you love me. Stop being stubborn.” She gently rests her hand on her flat stomach. “But I can’t stay married to you anymore. I can’t let my child be born with the stigma of being illegitimate.” I don’t respond. I just grab my suitcase, walk past her, and head straight for the door. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. I’m happy we’re getting divorced. If you actually have any conscience left, just hurry up and send me the money you owe me.” The night, wind hits my face and carries tiny snowflakes with it. It’s freezing and sharp, but it can’t put out the fire that’s burning hotter and hotter inside me.

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When I rushed to the hospital, my mother-in-law’s family was already on the brink of death. The doctor said this kind of venomous snake was extremely rare, and only my husband’s company had the special antivenom serum. I kept calling my husband, Trent Lester, but every call was rejected. When I pressed the dial button for like the hundredth time, he finally answered. “Tonight is Karen’s birthday. I’ll keep her company for one night. Stop calling me!” Worried about the people in the emergency room, I swallowed my questions and rushed to say, “Our parents and younger sister were bitten by snakes. The hospital doesn’t have antivenom for this kind of snake. Only your company has it. Hurry and bring the serum here!” Before I could finish, Trent impatiently interrupted me, his tone mocking and cold. “One dose of antivenom costs more than a hundred thousand. Bella, are you serious?” “Your family got bitten and you come to me for free antivenom? What do you take me for, a sucker?” “Leave me alone, alright?” He hung up mercilessly and blocked me. I sat there blankly in the hospital chair, unable to believe those words had come from my husband. A notification popped up on my phone. It was from a Chanel sales associate, informing me that my parents had ordered a birthday gift for me, a limited-edition bag worth tens of millions. And it had just been picked up by my husband. No need to guess. That bag was probably hanging on Karen’s arm. He had done such things before, stealing my things and giving them to his crush, Karen. Every time I objected, he would sneer. “You’re already married. Carrying such an expensive bag out to show off? No one will even pay attention to you. Let Karen have it. She’s negotiating deals lately.” “Don’t be so petty. Karen is like my own sister! If you love me, you should tolerate my concern for her.” Karen was at the very center of his world. Limited-edition bags were given to her at will. He brought her sports cars and luxury houses, one after another. He’d literally done everything he could for her. And I, his real wife, wasn’t even worth a few life-saving doses of medicines. How ridiculous. Just as I was typing a message to the Chanel sales associate, Trent posted on social media. “The most valuable bag, for the one I love most. Tonight belongs to us.” Karen soon followed with her own post. “Your medicine didn’t just save my family-it saved my heart.” The photo showed the two of them cuddling intimately. Karen had my bag on her shoulder and held the special antivenom serum in her hand, smiling radiantly. My anger surged, and I nearly fainted with rage. Trent was truly heartless. To satisfy Karen, he spent money without hesitation, yet he ignored his own family! The doors of the emergency room slowly opened, and the doctor walked out. I hurried over. “Please give me a little more time. I’ll definitely get the medicine as soon as possible.” The doctor shook his head and removed his mask. “There’s no need. The patients no longer have vital signs. Please accept our condolences.”

My nose stung, and pain filled my heart. Just two hours ago, they were still laughing and chatting. In the blink of an eye, they had become five ice-cold corpses lying in the hospital, while their son was still enjoying himself outside. He was a total dick. I forced back my tears and sent a message to the sales associate. “I haven’t been to the store to pick up the bag. It must have been fraudulently claimed by someone else. Please call the police immediately.” The doctor said the venomous snake that bit my mother-in-law’s family was almost extinct in the country. That’s why the hospital didn’t have any antivenom. It was a strange coincidence. A venomous snake rare in the country got into my mother-in-law’s family tent. And five people died at once. The police took the case very seriously and launched an investigation right away. It didn’t take long to find out that someone had bought venomous snakes in bulk online and released them. The suspects turned out to be Karen’s parents. However, Trent actually tried to save them. When he learned the truth, he would go mad. The police explained to me, “Ma’am, although we’ve established the facts, these two suspects are currently undergoing emergency treatment in the hospital. So we can’t bring them in for questioning yet.” I replied expressionlessly, “They were also bitten by snakes, but the poison has already been neutralized.” “It won’t affect your interrogation. You can go over right now.” The police looked at me again, clearly puzzled by how I knew this. But seeing my exhausted expression, they didn’t ask further questions. “Rest assured, we will thoroughly investigate and give you an explanation.” After the police left, I filed a lawsuit on my phone. A sudden call interrupted me. Trent was furious and said, “Bella, are you deliberately causing trouble? I’m your husband. Can’t I help you pick up your bag?” “And you even called the police? Were you bitten by a venomous snake too? Is something wrong with you?” His rapid-fire accusations and curses showed no concern at all for how I felt at this moment. I said coldly, “That doesn’t make sense, because I never saw that bag at all. You said you picked it up for me. Fine. Then tell me, where is the bag now?” Trent fell silent. After a long stalemate, his tone softened, and he changed tactics. “You and I have been married for so long. Why be so calculating? Isn’t it all marital property anyway?” “Karen wanted a limited-edition bag. There’s only one in the domestic boutiques. Today happens to be her birthday. I just wanted to make her happy.” “It suits her perfectly when she carries it. I’ll tell her it’s from you. Don’t be so petty.” He was utterly shameless. I shot back, “How dare you say that? Why don’t you spend your own money to buy it for her? Damn bastard!” Trent froze for a moment, his voice full of disbelief. “What did you just say? Are you crazy?” In the past, I would have spare his pride and been very careful with my words. Looking back now, there was no need for that. I didn’t want to give him a chance to argue. I snapped, “If you’re even human, hurry to the hospital morgue and see the stupid thing you’ve done!” “They’re already dead. Me going there won’t bring them back! It’s such an auspicious day. Don’t bring bad luck on me!” Trent roared angrily, then added, “Don’t cremate their bodies yet. See if they can be sent to my company to be used as cadavers for teaching.” “Karen’s parents had an accident. She’s crying nonstop. I’m gonna stay with her first.” The call ended, and I laughed. So he thought it was my biological parents who had died. I had originally planned to let his parents be laid to rest as soon as possible. Now, I directly ordered five large freezers. Just as Trent wished, I had his entire family brought out of the morgue and sent to his company in a freight truck.

After a whole morning of chaos, I had just gotten home and was about to take a nap. But Trent rushed in and slapped me across the face. “Karen cried so hard she was about to pass out! Her parents just came out of the operating room, and you actually sued them. Do you have any humanity at all?” Covering my burning cheek, I sneered. “At least they’re still alive. Didn’t you give them all the remaining serum? The people bitten to death by the snakes they released are still lying in freezers, unable to rest in peace!” Trent’s eyes flickered as he craned his neck and yelled at me, “That serum is mine. I can give it to whoever I want! Your parents were crazy enough to insist on going camping in a park. Death was just their fate!” “Karen’s parents have already been taken in for questioning at the hospital because of this. Your whole family is dead. Can’t you show a little consideration for the living?” “Maybe your parents being bitten to death is the retribution for how vicious you are!” The more he spoke, the more self-righteous he became. “They’re elderly people. How could you bear to send them to prison? They didn’t mean to do it!” “Maybe your parents were destined to face this calamity. If not snake bites, they would’ve died some other way!” “Now that your entire family is gone, I’m the only one you can rely on in the future. Don’t be ungrateful.” Seeing that my expression remained cold and that I wasn’t persuaded at all, Trent softened his tone. “Bella, I know you’re in pain. But the dead can’t come back. The living still have to go on with their lives.” “Karen is kind-hearted and willing to compensate you fifty thousand. I’ll chip in as well. Let’s make it one million for you. That’s enough, right?” He spoke so calmly as if nobody had died. Five living, breathing lives were worth only one million in their eyes. Trent had been doted on by his parents since childhood. Thinking about how he would react when he opened the freezers and saw his parents inside, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “What are you laughing at?” Trent frowned. “Stop acting crazy. Say something.” “Fine.” I wiped away the tears and held up the payment QR code on my phone. “Transfer it to me now.” “Received a transfer of 1,000,000 dollars.” Karen put in fifty thousand. The remaining nine hundred and fifty thousand that Trent covered for her was probably all the liquid cash his company could scrape together. Seeing that I’d taken the money, Trent’s expression turned smug. “I’ll be straight with you. This morning, I issued a letter of forgiveness in your name as your spouse. Karen’s parents have long been cleared.” “You should thank Karen for being soft-hearted. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even have this one million in compensation. As for the bag, go explain it to the officer and say you made a false police report. Don’t let them bother Karen anymore.” I sneered, took the divorce agreement I had prepared that morning from the bedside table, and slammed it in front of him. “Sign it. Return my bag, and we can call it even. Otherwise, I won’t let you go.” “Just for this, you want a divorce?” Trent’s face was full of anger. He was reluctant to lose my father’s connections. But he then remembered that my family was already dead. And Karen had cried to him yesterday, saying she wanted someone to rely on. Gritting his teeth, Trent quickly signed his name. He threw the divorce agreement back into my arms and turned to leave. I called out to him. I checked his signature carefully to make sure there were no mistakes. Only then did I say calmly, “Trent, even though we’re divorced, there’s still a one-month cooling-off period. After all, we were husband and wife. Let’s go to your company together and see your parents one last time.” “I’ve already followed your instructions and sent them to your company to be used as cadavers for teaching.” Hearing that I had sent them to the company, the coldness on Trent’s face finally eased a little.

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The bedroom smelled like betrayal. Sex and stale smoke. Liam didn’t panic. He just sat there, arm around Bella, checking his watch like I was late for an appointment. “If you’re going to vomit, do it outside,” he said. “I’ll call the cleaners.” I stood frozen in the doorway of what was supposed to be our wedding suite. The man who swore to protect me was looking at me like I was a glitch in his software. Red lipstick. Black lace. The sheets we picked out together. “Get out, Sarah.” My legs wouldn’t move. Bella giggled. Twenty-two years old, influencer-perfect, wrapped in my fiancé like a designer accessory. The next morning, I heard him muttering in the kitchen. Not to himself. To *It*. “Algorithm, suspend the Sarah Protocol.” His voice was cold, mechanical. “Pause it for a year. I want to focus on Bella. Full optimization.” A voice materialized in my head—robotic, inevitable, like an automated message you can’t skip. **[REQUEST ACKNOWLEDGED. WARNING: SUSPENSION WILL RESULT IN PERMANENT DATA LOSS FOR SUBJECT.]** He didn’t care. He didn’t know that “data loss” meant my love. The Interface turned to me. An invisible prompt waiting for a command. **[DO YOU ACCEPT TERMINATION?]** I was frying eggs when it happened. My hand slipped. Hot oil splashed across my palm. I gasped. “Is breakfast ready yet? You’re being so slow…” Liam was urging me on, because his little secretary had already arrived at her workstation, waiting for the loving breakfast he had made with his own hands. But how could the busy President Carter have time? I, his actual girlfriend, had somehow become a helper for their love affair. I felt resentful, tears hitting the floor. With a spatula, I cut the fried eggs into pieces, turned off the heat, dumped out the water, and slammed the kitchen door. The man in the living room holding a jewelry box startled, frowning at me. “What’s your problem?!” My throat felt dry. After a long while, I choked out: “I burned myself.” He impatiently dropped what he was holding and came over perfunctorily. “Such a small injury, stop being so dramatic!” As he spoke, he pulled burn ointment from the drawer, his movements irritable. I watched his fingers moving in circles, suddenly remembering the video my friend had sent me. Bella had frowned from the pain of a blood draw, and he had been so heartbroken he cried, kissing her hand in public to comfort her, not caring about the onlookers. But my casual complaint had become a burden in his eyes. “Done! If you don’t want to make breakfast, then don’t. Don’t hurt yourself trying to win sympathy, Sarah. I’m busy!” I lowered my head and pressed my lips together. Busy caring about Bella’s menstrual cycle timing, busy discussing wedding details, busy transferring most of his assets before I found out. Indeed, very busy. The door slammed. The air still carried traces of Bella’s perfume. Liam’s phone on the table buzzed. I looked up, and the Chat contact name “Sweetheart” pierced my heart like a thorn. He found it troublesome and never gave me a contact name. Once, when I changed my username, he didn’t message me for three days. When I finally got angry, he replied matter-of-factly: “You changed your name, so I couldn’t find you!” Back then, I was madly in love with him, truly blaming all the problems on myself, trying to please and apologize. From then on, I kept the same name and profile picture for many years. But now it seemed his bottom line was only set for me. The phone buzzed again. Possessed, I picked it up. The password was easy to guess—Bella’s birthday. It used to be mine, then he changed it to hers. Even Liam’s habit with lovers was the same. “Honey! Have you arrived yet? I’m starving to death!” Three angry emojis in a row. “Also, tell Sarah not to toast the bread too long! It hurts my throat when I eat it!” She added another line, and my eyes grew hot. With trembling hands, I scrolled up. Every complaint and grumble from Bella had a reply. “The weather’s bad today.” Liam replied: “Having me who loves you is enough.” “Met a cute cat downstairs.” Liam replied: “How cute? Cuter than you?” Those simple sweet nothings were pipe dreams for me—after all, nowadays even a reply from him felt like charity. The Algorithm saw I hadn’t spoken for a long time, just kept crying, and prompted again. **[Does the conquest target agree to terminate the relationship? Once…]** “Agree!” My response was firm. I was too tired of living like this. I didn’t want to consider everything for Liam anymore, having to mind his schedule even when getting angry. Didn’t want to be what others called a desperate woman who couldn’t keep her man but refused to leave. Even more, didn’t want to become Liam’s last resort after he’d had his fill of fun. He was supposed to be conquering me, but in the end, I’d become the pathetic one. **[Conquest target agrees. All feelings will be purged within seven days.]** My chest ached, and I collapsed to the floor. The sound of the door opening. Liam grabbed his phone from the table. His eyes fell on the emojis, smiling sweetly, but he didn’t spare a single glance for me curled up on the floor.

When I woke up again, it was already dark. I looked up at the photo in the corner and felt surprisingly little emotion. The fried eggs in the pot had swollen from soaking, just like my relationship with Liam—unrecognizable. The first day I met Liam, a Algorithm appeared in my mind. It told me that the nervous boy in front of me, who was trembling when he spoke, wanted to successfully conquer me. I didn’t understand and asked what “conquest” meant. **[Conquest means making you fall in love with him!]** The Algorithm’s response scared me terribly, so I knocked the candy out of the boy’s hand, scattering it on the ground, and fled in panic. My mother fell in love with my father, but in the end, he beat her so badly in domestic violence that he broke three of her ribs. I just wanted to live safely. Loving someone was too dangerous for me. But Liam did everything possible to resolve all my concerns. When my parents’ divorce got violent, he kicked down the door and took me away from that suffocating home. When classmates bullied me, he took a stick and fought a gang of thugs alone, getting beaten until his head bled. Later, I was dumped at my grandmother’s place in the countryside, almost forced to marry an old bachelor. Liam drove a broken biker and brought me out from the mountains. So falling in love with him seemed to become natural. And he continued to be good to me year after year. He took care of all three meals a day and all the housework. He used his meager wages to support us both. When a crooked boss scammed him out of every penny, he would only hide outside and cry, never bringing any negative emotions to me. I became a useless person who couldn’t do anything as long as Liam was around. Everyone said that Sarah meeting Liam was the luck of several lifetimes. I believed this in my heart too. Until Bella appeared. She was twenty-two then, fresh out of college, lively and bright. Liam and I had already stumbled our way to twenty-seven. We had lost the vitality of youth. All our love was hidden in the thick clothes prepared when it got cold. I thought gentle warmth was happiness, but I forgot. When Liam and I first fell in love, we loved intensely too. He started habitually going on business trips, forgetting our anniversaries. His bag had cute sticky notes and plush toys. When I found them while cleaning, he dismissively threw them in the trash, muttering in annoyance. “That new secretary really doesn’t know the rules. I’ll fire her tomorrow…” But Bella stayed by his side just fine for three years, and the things he’d thrown in the trash, he secretly retrieved late at night. Later, his favoritism became more and more obvious. On Valentine’s Day, the bracelet he gave me was a free gift that came with Bella’s present. Intimate photos posted on social media: “Little troublemaker insisted I post this. Guess I’m learning to document life like young people!” The tone was indulgent. Many mutual friends replied below. “Liam, you’re not old at all! An age gap is perfect!” “She makes trouble, he smiles—I ship it!!” … Only one comment stood out awkwardly: “Did you block Sarah from seeing this?” Three minutes later when I refreshed, I could no longer see that post. There was even a period when he put me on his blacklist, only removing me when he needed me. I confronted him, crying until I was hoarse. He just replied impatiently: “I’m really busy lately. Weiwei told me to block people unrelated to work. It improves efficiency!” Seeing my red eyes, he sighed heavily and transferred me 100,000 yuan. “Is this compensation enough?” The door slammed. I collapsed on the sofa. The transfer notification on my phone burned my heart. Liam, when have I ever been with you for money? But that question fell in the empty house with no answer.

Three days later, I was already frequently forgetting about Liam. Bella had added me on WeChat at some point, and her feed full of wedding preparations looked exactly like showing off. **[Today my honey showed me the wedding dress he designed himself. It’s really beautiful!]** I looked at the picture. That wedding dress was Liam’s graduation project from his design school days, created during the most passionate time of our love. That wedding dress that embodied all our feelings ended up being worn by the mistress. How ridiculous. I actually laughed, my heart still aching densely, just not as heart-wrenchingly as before. I couldn’t help but feel grateful that the Algorithm could control my emotions. But even so, the bitterness and joy that Liam had brought me in those memories still made me choke up. A moment later, another social media update popped up. **[Wedding gift! Making you both a husband and a father at the same time!]** The ultrasound image clearly showed that Bella was already three months pregnant. That barely-formed fetus was like a harsh slap across my face. The calm I’d achieved through self-comfort instantly crumbled. I clenched my phone screen tightly, my right hand trembling, wanting to look closer, to see more clearly. But tears poured out uncontrollably. Through my blurred vision, I broke down sobbing. No wonder! No wonder Liam suddenly requested to temporarily terminate the conquest relationship. No wonder he’d been secretly transferring assets. My stomach suddenly churned. I rushed to the sink and dry-heaved, but nothing came up. After a long while, I looked at my wretched self in the mirror—face pale white, hair plastered to my face, swollen eyes no longer looking like they once did. Why? Why should I suffer alone? I picked up my phone and, without hesitation, screenshot that social media post and sent it to the alumni group chat. **[Congratulations, Boss Carter, on becoming a father.]** The tone was flat, but it shocked the group into instant silence. I didn’t know what waves that message caused, but I figured it must have had quite an impact on Bella. Otherwise, Liam wouldn’t have rushed over from the company in just half an hour, seething with rage. “Sarah, what do you mean by this?” “How is Weiwei supposed to hold her head up after you posted that photo in the group?! A girl’s reputation is so important! Why are you so vicious?!” He slapped our photo, shattering it. I looked at the man’s twisted face and couldn’t find a trace of how he used to be. “Don’t most people in that group already know about your relationship?” “What are you still pretending for?” I picked up the fallen photo, glanced at it, felt annoyed, and tore it to shreds right in front of Liam. His surging anger stopped for a moment. Suddenly, he slapped the scraps out of my hands. “What are you doing?!” He glared at me, his eyes full of incomprehension. “I’ll handle this. Why do you have to make such a scene?!” My chest ached terribly. His “handling” meant giving the wedding he’d promised me to Bella, or using the wedding dress he’d designed for me as a love token for his mistress? I couldn’t even ask. After a long while, I looked up at him. “Do you still love me?” He froze, his fingertips curling, hesitation flashing in his eyes. I waved my hand: “Never mind. If you don’t love me, then you don’t. Soon, I won’t love you either.” As I said this, I looked down, the pain in my chest reaching its peak. Tears pooled in my eyes. I took a sharp breath to keep them from falling. “Sarah, you’re not a twenty-year-old girl anymore. This tantrum will only make me annoyed!” His tone was cold and hard, as if certain I was just being stubborn. He probably never knew that the Algorithm agreed to his request because I had agreed too. Our relationship—he was the one who gave it up first.

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Today was my daughter’s one hundred days’ celebration. It should have been perfect. Until the ‘dead man’ showed up at my gate… My former fiancé… “Eva, darling. I’m back!” Holt Ashford. The Beta who’d faked his own death on our wedding day three years ago to run off with his hooker Omega mistress Willow. And now he was standing on my doorstep like he’d just returned from a pleasant vacation. “Willow and I’ve done,” he climbed the steps without invitation. “Do you miss me, honey?” Did he just— Did this motherfucker just say that? How did he dare be this shamless? “I know the fake death thing was… unfortunate,” His tone suggesting he was discussing a minor social faux pas. “But really, Eva, you’re an Alpha female. A few rumors about being cursed? That’s nothing. Willow, on the other hand—she was a hooker and an omega. I ruined her reputation. I had to marry her.” My temples throbbed. He spoke of his past mistakes and betrayal so casually? Mother fucker! I’d loved him once. Stupidly, naively loved him. Then on our wedding day, he’d “died.” Dropped dead right before he could mark me. The same night, Willow—the most famous courtesan in Silvermoon City—had hanged herself, leaving a note: “I wish to be the west wind, forever in your embrace.” The scandal had been immediate. Brutal. I was the cursed Alpha Princess. The mate-killer. The monster who’d destroyed true love. Father had dissolved the engagement. Three months later, my father had arranged a new match… Alpha Jasper. War hero. Orphan. Alpha blood. My True Mate… My true love. “You mourned me for three years. Very touching, really.” He smiled like he was bestowing a great honor. “I even heard you adopted a pup to continue my bloodline. So loyal. So devoted.” Wow! Was he high? Was he actually fucking high right now? “Don’t worry,” Moving closer. “You’ll be my Chosen Second Mate—equal to Willow, of course. I’ll treat you both fairly. You can even manage the household finances.” Three years ago, this man had shattered my heart. I’d mourned him. Cursed myself. Believed I’d somehow caused his death. Now? Now I felt absolutely nothing. “Get. Him. Out. Now.” My voice came out flat. Cold. The Alpha command rippled through the air—not loud, but unmistakable. If my present husband Alpha Jasper sees this Beta on our doorstep, he’s going to lose his shit. Holt didn’t move. Worse—he smiled?

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.” I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly detached a retina. “Look, I get it. You’re upset. We’ll have a proper ceremony in seven days. I’ll make it up to you.” He actually winked. “Holt.” I kept my voice level, though my wolf was snarling. “What makes you think I’ve been waiting for you?” “Father already arranged another match for me. I’m married. I have a daughter!” Then he laughed. “Who would marry a woman still in love with another man?” He looked genuinely pitying. “Maybe some desperate Gamma trying to climb the social ladder married you, but I know you. You’re too proud to actually… consummate anything. You’re saving yourself for me.” I must have been blind three years ago to fall for this delusional Beta!! “The pup,” Holt continued. “I know you adopted her to give me an heir. How thoughtful.” My jaw clenched. “And I’ve been watching, Eva. Princesses of other packs move into their estates after marriage. But you? You’ve been living here alone, waiting at Mountain Moon Estate. Waiting for me.” I’m going to have an aneurysm. “Your Alpha father is ill. And your Alpha brother Dominic has no heir. But I’m virile, strong. If you give him a son to adopt, think of the political advantage—” “Holt.” I cut him off. “How many times do I have to say this? You died. I got married. I have a daughter. My own daughter. And I’m not giving her to anyone!” I wanted to laugh. “Eva.” Holt’s voice dropped to what he probably thought was seductive. “You’re still so bold. Flirting with me in broad daylight.” “Go home. Get your wedding dress prepared. Seven days. We’ll have a proper ceremony.” “Close the gate!” I ordered. The gate slammed shut with a satisfying crash. Outside, Holt’s laughter echoed. “Still throwing tantrums! So adorable!” The whole situation was absurd. Infuriating. — [In the afternoon] My mate. My Alpha. My husband. Jasper was a Alpha male through and through—all muscle and intensity, with a possessive streak a mile wide. He was gentle with me, patient with our daughter Pearl, deadly to everyone else. And when he got jealous? He’d “punish” me while he was fucking me on the bed. Thoroughly. Just thinking about it made me tremble… His huge penis… But my husband seemed don’t know this… He’d planned an outing—Stellar Restaurant had new menu items, and he’d reserved a private booth on the second floor. Unfortunately, right as we reached the restaurant, his Gamma arrived with some urgent matter. “Go ahead,” Jasper said, kissing my forehead. “Order whatever you want. I’ll join you soon.” I entered Stellar Restaurant alone. And immediately heard a familiar, insufferable voice from the second floor. “Stalking me AGAIN?” I looked up. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?! Holt Ashford stood at the top of the stairs. “Really, Eva. I said I’d marry you. You don’t need to follow me everywhere.” He descended the stairs, shaking his head. “The fake death thing won’t happen again. I promise.” I turned to leave… Holt followed me into the private booth.

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