I am the true heiress. But for years, a college classmate has been living my life. Now, she’s marrying a supposed billionaire. And she’s holding the wedding at my family's estate. "This estate belongs to me! Get the hell out, all of you!" I shouted. They just roared with laughter. The bridesmaids swarmed me, their fists flying. "Still playing pretend? You pathetic imposter!" They tore my clothes off and shoved my head into the toilet bowl. “You really are just a whore who sells her body! Girls, let's smash her car!” Just then, a black Rolls-Royce ghosted up the driveway. A man stepped out. This impostor’s fiancé immediately dropped to his knees. "Mr. Lancaster… what are you doing here?" The man’s gaze landed on my bloody, broken form. A terrifying rage ignited deep in his eyes. "So this," his voice was dangerously soft, "is the 'imposter' you mentioned?"
Everyone envied me. Mrs. Calloway. Wife to the untouchable titan of Wall Street. But they didn't know our secret. In two years of marriage, my husband had never once touched me. Then, at the annual charity gala, he kissed the love of his life. In front of everyone. I walked straight up to them and ripped the diamond from my finger. “You want the title of Mrs. Calloway?” “It’s all yours. I’m done.”
At the freshman welcome party, the show-off girl wearing all brand-name clothes boasted that her brother had donated two classroom buildings for her. Immediately, everyone around her rushed to curry favor with her. I glanced at the brother holding onto her arm and asked with a forced smile, "When did you go and pick up a little sister behind my back?"
Bruce Harris and I are notorious rivals in the entertainment industry. Our agents have been at each other’s throats for three years, and our fans can’t even be in the same room without getting into heated arguments. But on the first day of filming for our new drama, I found myself face-to-face with him on set. Director William Nelson pointed to the script and said to us, “Alright, let’s start with the kissing scene.”
When I went to the hospital to collect my medical report, I stumbled upon my husband accompanying his mistress for a prenatal check-up. I ran over in disbelief, weeping, to confront him. He kissed his mistress and said nonchalantly, "Melinda is carrying my child. Let's divorce." I shook my head frantically in denial, clinging to him and refusing to part ways. Later, tests revealed Melinda's child wasn't his. He travelled to the West Coast of the Pacific solely to seek my forgiveness. I magnanimously forgave his infidelity and refused to divorce him. After all, divorce would mean forfeiting my share of our entire fortune. And he was dying.
I was raised by Damien, the Alpha of the Moonshadow Pack. He always called me his treasure, claiming my wolf's spirit was a perfect match for his. But on my eighteenth birthday, I eloped with his most trusted Beta. After we were caught, he brutally executed the Beta. He then forced me through the bonding ceremony and kept me imprisoned by his side. He announced to the entire pack that I was his one and only mate. He confined me to a magnificent manor, but I suffered one miscarriage after another. Until one day, a pregnant she-wolf named Lyla Thorne appeared. She told me that Damien believed my soul and bloodline had been "defiled," so only her child could inherit the pure bloodline of the Moonshadow Pack. I was destined only to miscarry. So that was it. The real reason I lost my pups, time and time again. But Damien forgot. I was the fated mate of a mad Alpha. How could there not be a wildness to rival his own raging deep within my inner wolf?
I, Daisy Winters, am diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. One year after my breakup with Thomas Vance, I call him and our paths cross again in Belrith. I learn he cheated on me with Quinn Carver. My euthanasia is scheduled on the same day as his wedding. After I “die,” I become a ghost, and he realizes his love for me too late. Miraculously, I’m resurrected in another woman’s body. Amidst the chaos, memories return, and I confront Thomas. In the end, my wish to see him again makes me stay, and we decide to be together forever.
My fated mate, the Alpha of the pack, Liam Blackwood, was dead. It was a carefully planned ambush. After his "death," his adoptive parents, the pack elders, plied me with wine laced with wolfsbane. When I awoke, a man was lying beside me. It was Liam's younger brother, Ethan. He tore at my dress, his hot breath ghosting across my skin. "Liam's dead," he growled. "You, and everything that was his, are mine now." In my past life, this was how he imprisoned me, forcing me to carry his pup. In the end, my unborn child and I died a brutal death, a silver comb driven through my heart by his jealous fiancée, Chloe Monroe. Two bodies, one grave. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to this very night. Ethan was leaning over me, his lips about to press down. I steeled my trembling body. The mate bond with Liam hadn't yet been broken. Through our bond, I spoke, channeling the voice of a dead man. "My soul has not yet found peace, and you're already so eager to touch my mate?" "Have you ever had a single shred of respect for me, your Alpha?"
After being deceived and taken to Thailand, my beloved boyfriend became a sensational star. I was kidnapped while filming in Thailand, and my celebrity boyfriend tried every means to rescue me. He sought help from the police, contacted the embassy, and reached out to social media influencers to stir public opinion online. Eventually, thanks to the power of the public, I was saved after being tortured to the point of being covered in scars. The entire internet praised him as the most wonderful boyfriend on earth, and I thought so too. Meeting him was the luckiest thing in my life. But later, I saw the conversation on a group chat on his phone called "Promotion and Fortune, Dead Wife": "Weren't you just supposed to pretend to help hype things up? Who told you to actually torture her to the point of being half-dead?" "Now that my public persona is established so well, everyone is watching. I even have to take care of her like a fussy nurse!"
My twin sister, Rosalie, an Omega like me, died on the full moon of our eighteenth birthday, killed by the trauma of being forcibly marked against her will. Her so-called best friend, Isabella Thorne, didn't just stand by and watch. She unleashed a "scent memory crystal" that broadcast my sister's humiliation and despair to the entire pack. For my revenge, I took a consecrated silver blade and carved up Isabella's face—the one she hoped would replace my sister's—leaving a scar that would never fade. I cupped her face, black blood weeping from the wounds, and admired my work—a masterpiece of retribution. "My dear sister rests in the Moon Goddess's embrace," I whispered. "But the souls of those who violated her will be damned for eternity."
My husband, Samuel Merrick, and I had a wonderful relationship. He was kind, thoughtful, and always made sure to tell me if the company hired a new female employee. I thought I would live this happy life forever, but everything changed with an unexpected car accident. One day, I noticed a string of numbers floating above Samuel’s head, growing bigger by the day. At first, I didn’t understand what they meant. That was until the day Samuel’s new secretary, Remy Pruitt, came to his hospital room to give her report. I saw the same numbers hovering above her head, identical to Samuel's. Finally, the bubble above Samuel’s head changed. [Number of times we’ve slept together: 48 times.]
1.Five years ago, I was abused by Cloe, leaving me with serious psychological trauma. It was my husband who redeemed me, but in the third year of our marriage, I discovered he had officially announced his relationship with Cloe. 2.My husband helped me overcome the shadow of the abuse, but after three years of marriage, I found out he had a family with the woman who had once hurt me.
On the day of my wedding to Marco Moretti, his secretary, Isabella, was shot. I grabbed his wrist before he could take a step. "Marry me, Marco," I whispered. "Or every dirty secret you have with the Russian mafia goes public." After the ceremony, a call came from the hospital: Isabella was dead. Marco said nothing. A month later, he fed me to our rivals. He smiled as they put a gun to my head. "You did this to yourself." He killed me. And our unborn child. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding day. Watching him try to leave once more, I smiled. I turned, made a call, and found myself a new groom.
Framed by Alpha’s true daughter, I spent three years in prison. When I was released early for good behavior, she wouldn’t let me go. Dragging my former mate before me, she sneered, “You’re nothing but a dog raised by the White family. It’s your fortune you took the fall for me.” The worst part? My family stood with her—even my brother, the one who once swore he’d protect me. Disappointed and broken, I walked away. But within six months, they were begging for me to return, their voices filled with regret. Yet —it was too late. What was broken could never be fixed.
The door to the hospital's VIP ward stood ajar. I heard my beloved fiancé and most trusted confidante sniggering inside. "That silly woman, still thinks she's actually saving lives." "Who can blame her for being so gullible? Might as well take advantage." That night, they held a gun to my head, intending to end my life on the hospital rooftop. Until a man emerged from the darkness, the crimson gem on his chest gleaming with the Romano family's aura. "Fear not, your brother awaits you." A month later, I shall return as the Romano family's eldest daughter. Let us settle this score once more.
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not available...” This is the fifteenth time Silas has stood me up for his First Love. My birthday and our anniversary were all overshadowed by the name Evelyn. "This is the last time," I thought to myself. If Evelyn is so important, then they can enjoy their time together. “Happy breakup, Clara!” I willingly walked toward freedom and happiness. But Silas, disheveled, said he regretted it.
“I want Isabella to present your game for the E3 Game Show.” My husband Michael’s voice cut through my concentration as I sketched a character design. I stared at the man I had spent five years with. “Don’t be so petty, Sophia,” he said, his voice cold as stone. “The studio needs fresh blood. My decision is final.” He wanted to hand my masterpiece to his new assistant. I clenched my fists, a fire of rage churning inside me. Fine. If this is how he wanted to play it, he couldn’t blame me for walking away.
After the divorce, my ex-husband was famous. I was shopping with my boyfriend and saw my ex-husband's autograph session. My usually-uninterested-in-everything boyfriend’s eyes suddenly sparkled. I was surprised, "You like him?" "Many people say I look like him." He asked me, "Do you think we look alike?" "No." I said, "He has a mole on his arse, unlike you." Then the corners of a certain man's mouth slowly pressed down again.
On the opening day of the ski resort amusement park, I overcame my fear and slid down the super ice slide. Excitedly, I sent a video to my boyfriend, only to unexpectedly discover that the couple on the adjacent track were none other than him and his junior. He held her tightly in his arms, a radiant smile on his face. I confronted him, eyes red with anger. “Didn't you say you were busy? Why are you here?” He laughed indifferently. “Yara is here on vacation. I was just being a good host. What's the big deal?” “When did you become so selfish?” “Is it necessary to blow things out of proportion over a game? If you're this paranoid, why are we even in a relationship?” Jameson's words of scorn deeply wounded me. I turned and called my childhood buddy from abroad. “Does your previous promise still hold? I am ready.”
When I was 29, I received a large inheritance. From William, the math prodigy. According to the lawyer, he only had one last wish. Every year on the anniversary of his death, I need to bring a bouquet of jasmine flowers to his grave and talk to him. Just me, no family.