The Alpha's Lost Heir: A Rejected Luna's Revenge

No Longer His Wife, His Mother

As the building crumbled around us, my husband, a paramedic, held the only oxygen mask. He gave it to his high school sweetheart, not to me, his wife who was struggling to breathe. Pinned under a beam, I gasped that I was pregnant. He told me to stop being dramatic and left me to die, taking our son with him. My own son agreed, telling his father I always "bounce back." I lost our baby, alone in a hospital room, while they fussed over her "anxiety attack" across the hall. They had chosen her, leaving me and our child in the rubble without a second thought. When he finally confronted me, it wasn't to apologize, but to demand I stop my "games." So I gave him exactly what he and our son had wished for. "I'm divorcing you," I said calmly. "And you can have Jax. I no longer want to be his mother."

From Broken Wife To Billionaire Power

Lying in the hospital bed, I clutched my empty stomach, the doctor' s words about my miscarriage still ringing in my ears. I called my husband, desperate for comfort, but he sounded annoyed. "Allison, not now," Erik snapped. "Barbie' s dog is throwing up. She' s hysterical. Just get a cab and stop being so dramatic." He hung up on his wife who just lost their child to comfort his mistress' s Pomeranian. When I dragged my broken body home, he didn't hug me. He forced me to apologize to the dog. Then came the final blow: I watched on TV as he gifted my entire photography portfolio to his mistress, claiming it was her work, while handing me a bottle of perfume he knew I was deadly allergic to. Broken, I went to a radical clinic to have my memories of him erased forever. But the procedure didn't leave me blank. It unlocked a door I didn't know existed. I wasn't the orphan Allison Day. I was Allison Woodward, the missing billionaire heiress. And I was done apologizing.

His Cruelty, My Despair

The heavy oak door of my penthouse swung open, and I looked up, my heart hoping Ethan was finally home alone. He wasn' t. Olivia Chen was clinging to his arm, her smile bright, her eyes sweeping over our home with a look of ownership. "Chloe," he said, his voice flat, "We need to talk." For a month, he' d been asking for a divorce, claiming our life was monotonous. He meant someone new. "I' m not signing the papers," I told him, the words tasting like ash. Olivia' s sugary sweet voice cut in, "Ethan, darling, maybe she just needs more time to understand." A cold fury ignited in my chest as he gestured vaguely, tired of "this" -our ten years together. Then he led her right into our custom-designed master bedroom. My blood ran cold. He couldn' t. But he did. And her light laughter drifted out, cutting right through me. A sudden, searing pain shot through my chest, making me gasp. It felt like a wire pulled tight, a strange agony I' d been feeling for weeks, always when his betrayal was deepest. I stumbled toward the door, pushing it open, and the sight shattered the last piece of my hope. He had her pressed against our bedroom window. "What are you doing? Get out," he said, his eyes filled with cold irritation, not shame. "This is my room," I whispered. "Not for much longer," he said cruelly. The pain intensified. He didn' t just want a divorce; he wanted to erase, to humiliate me. With the calm of despair, I walked to the study, and signed the divorce papers. "Here," I said, my voice empty, holding them out. "It' s what you wanted." He snatched them, his eyes lighting up with unconcealed joy. "Finally. Let' s go. We can get this filed right now." He dragged me to his new Aston Martin, personalized with Olivia' s initials. He was so eager to be rid of me, he was blind to his own betrayal. At the courthouse, ten years dissolved in twenty minutes. As he walked away, I felt something snap inside me. "The bed," I called out. "The million-dollar bed. It was a gift from my grandfather." "It' s just a bed, Chloe." "It' s not just a bed. It was for us!" I cried, the pain in my chest flaring. "I was bored. Love isn' t some fairy tale," he said, dissecting our love like a failed business deal. Another sharp pain, more intense than any before, shot through me. I crumbled to the ground, black spots dancing in my vision. "Stop being so dramatic," he said, pushing me into a cab. I curled into a ball, the world fading to black. I woke in the condo he' d sent me to, weakened. A few days later, Olivia showed up, demanding the pearl necklace Ethan had given me. "He told me it represented the years we had built together, each pearl a precious memory." "I' m here for the pearls," she said. "No," I said, my voice firm. Then Ethan appeared with security guards. "She' s been unwell. She might not be thinking clearly. Retrieve the jewelry box." One pushed me. I hit my head. Olivia cried, "Oh my god! She fell! Ethan, she tried to attack me!" He looked at her, not me. "She' s unstable. Take her to the old property with the basement apartment. Make sure she stays there." They dragged me to a dilapidated building, throwing me into a damp, dark basement. The heavy metal door slammed shut. I was a prisoner. And I began to remember. Not just in this life, but a past one. He had saved me then, binding his life force to mine with a forbidden ritual. His betrayal now was severing that bond, killing me. I would not die in this basement. I found a way out, desperate to clear my name. I went to Marcus Green, Ethan' s business partner, our friend. "Ethan said you' d gone to a wellness retreat," Marcus said, shocked by my appearance. I told him everything. "He locked me in a basement. Olivia set me up!" "Ethan is my partner. He wouldn' t do something like that." "Olivia is pregnant," Marcus said. The words hit me like a physical blow. A baby would secure her position. "It' s a lie," I whispered, though I knew it was likely true. Marcus reached for the phone. "I' m going to call Ethan. He' ll know what to do." Panic seizing me, I ran, a fugitive on the streets, with no money, no phone, nowhere to go. My body was failing, the cough persistent. He found me in a doorway. "You' ve caused a lot of trouble," he said, leading me to his car, straight to the penthouse. Olivia' s things were everywhere. "Olivia is having a difficult pregnancy," he said. "She needs someone to look after her." "You' re going to take care of her." He wanted me, his ex-wife whom he had imprisoned, to nursemaid his pregnant mistress. "No!" I cried, a spark of defiance. "You don' t have a choice. Or I will have you committed." He had me trapped. The next weeks were hell. I cooked for her, cleaned for her, treated like an invisible servant. My health declined rapidly. One afternoon, carrying a heavy tray, an unbearable agony struck. I collapsed, gasping for breath. I woke in a hospital bed. Dr. Hayes was grave. "Your body is shutting down." From the other side of the curtain, I heard Ethan and Olivia. He cooed, "Don' t be scared, I' m right here." Then, kissing. The pain in my chest exploded. "How can you be so cruel?" I gasped, tears streaming. "Honestly?" he said, his voice flat. "I' d be relieved. It would make things a lot simpler." His words were the final blow. He wanted me dead. A few days later, I was back in the penthouse, facing a grim prognosis. The only comfort was Whiskers, my rescue cat. I found him huddled in the bathroom, a bloody gash on his fur. "You did this!" I screamed at Olivia. She lied. "He scratched me." Ethan walked in. She burst into tears, showing him her scratch. "Chloe' s cat attacked me! And now she' s accusing me of hurting it. She' s crazy!" "You did this?" he snarled at me, blindness in his eyes. "No! Ethan, she' s lying! Look at him!" He slapped me, sending me stumbling. Whiskers fell, crying. "You' re a monster. Get out, and take that disgusting animal with you." I carried Whiskers' dying body out, buried him in a quiet park, and returned, hollow. Ethan arrived later, searching. "Where is it? The herb. The life-saving herb I gave you." He wanted the miraculous herb that could save my life, to give to Olivia and his child. "It' s for the baby, isn' t it?" I asked. "It' s for both of them. Tell me where it is. Olivia' s life is on the line." "It' s mine. You gave it to me. I think I might need it." I placed a hand over my aching chest. "Don' t be dramatic, Chloe. Olivia is the one who is really sick." He twisted the past, claiming his life-binding sacrifice was a debt I owed him. "That bond is the reason I' m dying," I whispered. "Your betrayal is killing me, Ethan. Literally." He dismissed it as insanity, tearing the condo apart. My pain flared. I knew I didn' t have much time. I remembered the herb, hidden in my jewelry box. I could let him fail. But suddenly, what was I fighting for? A life without love? I pulled out the box, then the powerful herb. "Give it to me," he demanded, his eyes gleaming. "You can have it. But you have to do one thing for me. I want the divorce finalized. Now. Every last tie. I want to be free of you." He quickly agreed. An hour later, the papers were signed. The pain ripped through me as I finished. I cried out. He snatched the papers. "The herb, Chloe." With my last strength, I placed it in his hand. He didn' t notice me dying. "Thank you," he said, already turning. "Ethan," I gasped, "Help me." "You' ll be fine. You just need to rest." And he was gone. I lay dying, unseen. My life flashed before my eyes. I saw him racing to the hospital, giving Olivia the herb, her "miraculous" recovery. Then, their lavish wedding. As they kissed, a final, passionate sealing of their union, I took my last breath. My death was quiet, unnoticed. He was blissfully unaware he was dancing on my grave. A few days later, nightmares began for Ethan. He' d wake in a cold sweat, a profound sense of loss. He' d hum a lullaby, my mother' s song, and a sharp pang would hit. He looked for me in crowds, picked up the phone to call me. He tried to contact my lawyer, but my lawyer had vanished. A frustrating, low-grade anger grew. A cold dread then seeped into his bones. What if I had been telling the truth? He doubled down on his new life, but the nightmares came back. I was always there, just… gone. The emptiness was a gaping wound. My friend, Sarah Jenkins, called my lawyer, Liam Rodriguez. He told her everything. My death. The cause: heart failure from severe emotional and physical distress. "Ethan did this," Sarah said, her voice shaking with rage. "He killed her." Liam also told her about my will, leaving everything to Sarah. And Ethan was trying to contest it. Olivia, listening on a hidden device, realized she had to keep him in the dark. Once married, his claim would be stronger. The day before the wedding, Ethan found himself at my condo, staring. He felt an overwhelming urge to go up, to see me, to apologize, to fix his mess. But he drove away. It was too late. I was probably gone, living a new life. The wedding day. Ethan waited at the altar, but as Olivia walked down the aisle, a knot of dread formed. He was looking for me. He wanted me to stop this. His numbness continued until the reception. Sarah found him on the dance floor. "I' m Chloe' s friend. Chloe is dead, Ethan. She died three weeks ago. Alone." "No," he whispered. "You' re lying." Sarah shoved my death certificate at him. He stared at it. His vision swam. "She' s dead," he repeated. His mind flashed back to me, collapsed on the floor. He had walked away. He spiraled. "He' s lying! This is a trick! Chloe is trying to ruin my wedding!" "She' s gone, Ethan. And you killed her." The words broke through. He ran from the ballroom, collapsing in the gardens. Every cruel word, every selfish act, rushed back. He had taken my love, my loyalty, my life force, and thrown it away. He had traded a diamond for glass. Regret was a poison. He went to Dr. Hayes. "Tell me about Chloe. Her condition… it was unusual, wasn' t it?" "Rapid. As if her body had simply lost the will to live." "It wasn' t her will," Ethan said. "It was me." He found Olivia packing. "The baby isn' t yours to take. It' s mine. You' re not going anywhere." He told her about the bond, how he had killed me. She tried to dismiss it as grief. "You lied to me, Olivia. You lied about everything." "I did it for us! She was always going to be between us!" she shrieked. "Tell me the truth, Olivia. Was the baby ever in danger?" he roared. "No!" she sobbed. "The baby was fine! I lied!" He let her go. He looked at the wreckage. His new life was a lie. Only Chloe' s love had been real. And he had killed her for it. He drove to my grave. A simple, unmarked patch of grass. He found my locket. Inside, his smiling face, and Whiskers. "I' m sorry," he whispered, collapsing. He stayed for hours, tormented by memories. He found the truth. The long-buried memories of another life, of his sacred vow. He had murdered his own soulmate. Olivia and her mother, Lily, were plotting. He looked at them. "I' m going to destroy you, Olivia." His revenge was cold, systematic. He dismantled her life, piece by piece. He revealed her lies. He confined her to a gilded cage until the baby was born. He gave the child to another family. Olivia was given money and a one-way ticket. Ethan sold everything. He lived in exile, consumed by regret. He poured his fortune into finding a way to bring me back. He sought mystics, bought ancient texts, performed bizarre rituals. He came close, but the ritual required him to burn the locket, to erase my memory forever. He threw the locket into the flames, a final, agonized cry. The ritual failed. The memory was gone. He was utterly broken. Years bled into a decade. Ethan returned to New York, a ghost, the memory of my face burned away. All that remained was a hollow ache. He overheard talk of a reclusive spiritual guide, someone who could help him find what he had lost. Hope flickered. He undertook the perilous journey. Weeks of climbing, enduring, shedding his old self. He just needed to know why. At the monastery, the monk tried to turn him away. "I need to find her! I lost her, and I don' t even remember her face!" he yelled, an agony he couldn' t name. The master saw him. "The soul you seek cannot be brought back. Her spirit has moved on." "But there is a way for you to see her. She is in the world again, living a new life." "Where? I have to find her!" "To see her, you must first truly remember her. It is hidden in the place where your love was strongest." He searched their old haunts, desperate. At my unmarked grave, he knelt. "I can' t remember." His hand brushed against a smooth, white stone. He remembered. A promise on a beach. Our love was in the promise. The floodgates opened. My face, my smile, my voice-it all rushed back. He remembered everything. He then felt a faint, distant echo. He focused, and saw an image: a young woman with familiar eyes, painting in a bright, sunlit studio. He found the studio in Brooklyn. He watched her emerge. It was me. But she was younger, unburdened, happy. His first instinct was to run to her. But the warning held him back. "To interfere would be to risk causing her harm once more." He saw her with a young man, Noah. They were in love. It was a fresh stab of pain, but also a profound relief. She was happy. He started to follow her, a silent protector. One day, he sat near her in the park. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was no recognition. But he felt the last, tattered remnants of their bond flare. She felt a strange chill, a flicker of a forgotten nightmare, and hurried away. He had scared her. His presence, his dark history, was still a poison. He finally understood. To truly love her, he had to let her go. He would set up one final, massive trust fund, delivered upon his death. Then disappear. He watched Noah propose to Lily. His heart clenched. She was moving on. He had to hear her answer. He moved closer. Noah saw him, putting himself between Ethan and Lily, his voice protective. Ethan froze. On Lily' s hand, he saw the new ring. And on her thumb, another, a simple silver band. The one he had given me. "Chloe," he whispered. Lily' s eyes widened. "I' m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else." Noah stepped forward. "I think you should leave." Ethan backed away, the image of her frightened eyes burning him. He had broken his own rule. He realized his guardianship was selfish. He would make the final arrangement, then disappear completely. A few weeks later, he saw them again in the park. Lily was smiling, talking about her solo show. Noah then proposed their wedding be soon. "Ever since that strange man in the park, I' ve felt this sense of urgency. I need to protect you." Ethan lowered the binoculars, a tear of sorrow and peace tracing his cheek. She had a protector now. His job was done. He walked away, not looking back. Letting go was harder than imagined. His purpose gone, he felt the hollow ache of grief. His obsession turned inward. He began to stalk her again, a ghost drawn to the light. He watched her gallery opening. She was radiant, confident. Noah was beaming. Ethan was the outcast peering from outside. That night, his nightmares returned, but they were Lily' s. The cold basement, the dying cat. He was experiencing the echoes of my trauma. He woke screaming, realization dawning. His presence was actively harming her. He dreamed again. As his spiritual self, he watched Lily' s spirit. "His regret is meaningless," my spirit-voice whispered. "It is the regret of a man who mourns what he has lost for himself, not what he has taken from another." He woke with a gasp. His atonement, his years of suffering, had all been about him. He was still selfish. He knew what to do. He had to erase himself from the world. A final, selfless act. He walked to the Brooklyn Bridge. "I love you, Chloe," he whispered. "Always." And then, he let go. Lily woke with a start, the nightmare more vivid than ever. Noah held her, reassuring her it was just a dream, but she felt a strange sense of finality. A few days later, a lawyer named Liam Rodriguez appeared. "He passed away. And he has left you his entire fortune." "Ethan Miller?" Lily stammered. "I don' t know any Ethan Miller." "I think you do," Liam said, showing her a photo. A younger Ethan, and her. Chloe Davis. "That is you, in a former life. And that is Ethan Miller. He was your husband." The words, the photo, the nightmares-it all coalesced. The dream wasn' t a dream. It was a memory. He handed her a thick envelope. "He wanted you to know the truth." Noah read Ethan' s confession. About the love, the betrayal, the spiritual bond, the cruelty, the long, painful atonement. How he watched over her. How he orchestrated her success. His final, selfless act. Lily cried. "He did all that?" "He was your guardian angel." A week later, Lily decided. "I' ll accept it. But on one condition. I want to use it to create the Chloe Davis Foundation for the Arts." She looked at Noah, her eyes clear. Chloe Davis was a part of her story, but she was Lily. In the months that followed, the nightmares faded. She and Noah married. The Chloe Davis Foundation became her life' s work, a legacy of hope. Liam called. Ethan' s official coroner' s report was out. "His heart… looking like the heart of a very, very old man. Worn out from overuse." Lily knew. The spiritual bond, the echo of his sacrifice, had drained him. His final act was the severance of a physical tie his heart couldn' t survive without. A package arrived. The silver locket. Returned by the mystic. "A soul' s story should never be erased." Lily looked at the locket, a symbol of a great, tragic love. She placed it in her safe. She returned to her canvas, a new, bright painting waiting. She had a new story to tell. Her own. And it was just beginning.

From Betrayal to Bliss

The post went live at 8:00 PM, announcing my engagement to Ava Green, the woman I' d chased for three years. My heart was full; our future, a perfect blueprint, finally felt real. Then, her phone rang. It was Ben Carter, her childhood friend, and the way she fled to the balcony, her face pale, sent a jolt of dread through me. She returned to tell me Ben' s grandmother was dying and had one last wish: to see him settled with a fiancée. He wanted Ava, my fiancée, to pretend to be his for a few days to grant a dying woman peace. "A small lie?" I scoffed. We were getting married in less than two months, and she was willing to fly across the country to play house with her ex-crush. My carefully constructed world crumbled as she packed, ignoring my pleas, placing my brand-new engagement ring on the nightstand. She walked out, leaving me in a deafening silence. As I stared at the ring, a white-hot rage surged through me. Three years, my devotion, all thrown away for a lie. She chose him, manipulated by his family drama. This wasn' t just about her; it was about proving something. What if I showed her a man who was truly settled, with a fiancée? I picked up my phone, scrolled to a name I hadn't thought of in years, and made a call. "Chloe," I said, my voice strange. "Are you busy on October 8th? Do you want to get married?"

The Day I Said No！

The smell of ozone meant a blizzard, and the buzzing of Tyler's call meant the end of my life. In my last life, I answered, running to save Ethan, the man I loved, from a Rockies storm. That rescue shattered my leg, my climbing career, and ultimately, my spirit. Ethan married me out of pity, our life together a silent torment. Then came the fire, my bad leg trapping me, choking smoke filling my lungs. My husband, Ethan, and our teenage son pulled his mistress, Brooke, from the flames first. The last thing I heard was my own son screaming, "You're a cripple! You ruined Dad's life!" Why did I sacrifice everything for them, only to be betrayed and left to die? Why did I have to be the broken one, the victim in my own story? Then I woke up. Here. Today. The day it all went wrong. This time, when the phone buzzed, I answered, not to save him, but to save myself.

The Architect of Her Own Ruin

Matthew Scott, my fiancé and business partner, looked at me with that serious expression I used to find charming. He told me our architecture firm, our shared dream, was on the verge of bankruptcy. I didn't hesitate when he asked me to invest every dollar of my life savings – the down payment for our future home – into the company. It was for us, he said, to protect our dream. The very next day, I saw an Instagram post from our office manager, Sabrina. It was a photo of a deed for a brand new condo. And on it, clear as day, were the names: Matthew Scott and Sabrina Todd. My savings, gone, for their secret purchase. Before I could even process the betrayal, Sabrina faked a breakdown, accusing me of bullying her for merely 'liking' her post. Matthew, my fiancé, publicly sided with her, demanding I apologize and pay her moving expenses for emotional distress. He called an emergency all-hands meeting, grandstanding about family values while humiliating me in front of the entire office. He even tried to illegally garnish my salary, claiming it was for Sabrina' s brother' s education. The shock, the disbelief, the sheer audacity of being betrayed and then publicly pilloried by the man I loved and trusted with everything. How could he do this? How could he use my hard-earned money and then try to destroy me professionally and financially? That moment, watching him stand there with her, delivering his sick performance, something inside me snapped. I didn't argue. I didn't cry. I simply picked up my phone and called the Texas Workforce Commission to file an illegal wage claim.

Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You Can't Afford Me Now

The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

When Love Comes Late

In order to fulfill her grandfather's last wish, Stella entered into a hasty marriage with an ordinary man she had never met before. However, even after becoming husband and wife on paper, they each led separate lives, barely crossing paths. A year later, Stella returned to Seamarsh City, hoping to finally meet her mysterious husband. To her astonishment, he sent her a text message, unexpectedly pleading for a divorce without ever having met her in person. Gritting her teeth, Stella replied, "So be it. Let’s get a divorce!" Following that, Stella made a bold move and joined the Prosperity Group, where she became a public relations officer that worked directly for the company’s CEO, Matthew. The handsome and enigmatic CEO was already bound in matrimony, and was known to be unwaveringly devoted to his wife in private. Unbeknownst to Stella, her mysterious husband was actually her boss, in his alternate identity! Determined to focus on her career, Stella deliberately kept her distance from the CEO, although she couldn't help but notice his deliberate attempts to get close to her. As time went on, her elusive husband had a change of heart. He suddenly refused to proceed with the divorce. When would his alternate identity be uncovered? Amidst a tumultuous blend of deception and profound love, what destiny awaited them?

Burned By Him, Reborn A Star

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to Evelyn in the ambulance, her lungs raw from the penthouse fire. She was alive, but the world around her felt utterly destroyed, a feeling deepened by the small TV flickering to life. On it, her husband, Julian Vance, thousands of miles away, publicly comforted his mistress, Serena Holloway, shielding her from paparazzi after *her* "panic attack." Julian's phone went straight to voicemail. Alone in the hospital with second-degree burns, Evelyn watched news replays, her heart rate spiking. He protected Serena from camera flashes while Evelyn burned. When he finally called, he demanded she handle insurance, dismissing the fire; Serena's voice faintly heard. The shallow family ties and pretense of marriage evaporated. A searing injustice and cold anger replaced pain; Evelyn knew Julian had chosen to let her burn. "Evelyn Vance died in that fire," she declared, ripping out her IV. Armed with a secret fortune as "The Architect," Hollywood's top ghostwriter, she walked out. She would divorce Julian, reclaim her name, and finally step into the spotlight as an actress.

The Queen Returns: Pampered By Her Three Powerhouse Brothers

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

THE LYCAN KING'S TREASURED LUNA

Narine never expected to survive. Not after what was done to her body, mind, and soul. But fate had other plans. Rescued by Supreme Alpha Sargis, the kingdom's most feared ruler, she finds herself under the protection of a man she doesn't know... and a bond she doesn't understand. Sargis is no stranger to sacrifice. Ruthless, ambitious, and loyal to the sacred matebond, he's spent years searching for the soul fate promised him, never imagining she would come to him broken, on the brink of death, and afraid of her own shadow. He never meant to fall for her... but he does. Hard and fast. And he'll burn the world before letting anyone hurt her again. What begins in silence between two fractured souls slowly grows into something intimate and real. But healing is never linear. With the court whispering, the past clawing at their heels, and the future hanging by a thread, their bond is tested again and again. Because falling in love is one thing. Surviving it? That's a war of its own. Narine must decide, can she survive being loved by a man who burns like fire, when all she's ever known is how not to feel? Will she shrink for the sake of peace, or rise as Queen for the sake of his soul? For readers who believe even the most fractured souls can be whole again, and that true love doesn't save you. It stands beside you while you save yourself.