

For five years, Gideon—my brother's Beta—and I had a secret.We were supposed to announce our mating at the pack's Winter Solstice festival.Instead, he breathed hot against my ear."Babe, we've been sleeping together for five years. I'm bored with you. Find someone else for the marking ceremony, alright?"I didn't cry. I just gave a calm, simple nod. "Alright."Only because in my last life, I had begged him through tears to complete the bond.After he finally marked me, he grew cold.He never again woke me by rubbing his stubbled chin against my forehead.Even when we made love, he kept his eyes shut, as if he were wit for my life, he left me.He was going to comfort his savior, Aveline. The old wound she suffered saving him had relapsed, sending her into a mental spiral. In that moment, I finally understood.A mark I had to beg for was nothing but a curse, a wound that would never heal.This time, I pulled away with a smile, removing his hand from my waist. "You're right. I'm tired of it, too. We're done."h someone else, just using my body.When I was in agony giving birth to our pup, fighting

Anne Cooke is about to get married when she discovers her fiance has been cheating. With her mother gravely ill and five years of love too heavy to just drop, she swallows it, until the sleeplessness becomes unbearable and she wanders into a traditional medicine clinic. There she meets James Young,and something shifts. On impulse she propositions him. Just one night. What she doesn't know is that James already knows exactly who she is, and has quietly decided to help her find her way back to herself. Through carefully prescribed remedies and steadier conversations, he walks beside her as she slowly remembers she has a spine. On her wedding day, she exposes her fiance in front of everyone and walks away with her head up. By then the feelings between Anne and James have long stopped being subtle, and the revelation that he comes from money and that his mother once knew hers feels less like a plot twist and more like something that was always going to happen. He proposes in the same clinic where they first met.

Seraphina, a six-winged Seraph, was framed by her adoptive sister Aurelia and brutally slaughtered by demons in the Abyss. Seven days after her death, her spirit watched as her parents busied themselves with their adopted daughter, utterly indifferent to her disappearance. By the time they finally discovered that the mangled remains belonged to their own biological daughter, Seraphina had already vanished, consumed by despair. Her hatred coalesced into her return as Astrea, the eight-winged Angel of Judgment; she turned the tables on her tormentors, exacting a retribution a hundredfold for the abuse she had suffered. With her vengeance fulfilled, she transformed into a star, and the power of her eight wings chose the orphan Lilith to carry on the legacy of hope.

On the eve of her wedding, Natalia was cruelly betrayed by her scumbag fiancé, her reputation was ruined, and she lost everything! At a critical moment, her three long-lost elder brothers found her and revealed that she actually came from a wealthy family. From then on, she embarked on a life of being cherished by her family, seeking revenge on those who had hurt her, and reaching the pinnacle of her life!

When my parents divorced, their lawyers drafted a custody agreement. My sister and I would live with separate parents, then switch homes at the start of every school year. The handoff happened every August at La Serata, the Moretti family's restaurant. Every year, my parents fought over who got more time with Sofia. "Come to St. Barts with me for Thanksgiving," Mom coaxed. Dad's face hardened. "Sofia is with me this year. She spends the holidays with me." Mom pulled up her calendar. "You dumped her on me for nineteen extra days last year. I get those days back. Every single one." "Two of those days were school overnights. They don't count." Sofia rested her chin on one hand and gave them the helpless smile of a princess burdened by too much devotion. "If only there were two of me." Half an hour later, my parents compromised by booking the trip together. Only then did Sofia glance my way. "What about Emilia?" Dad picked up his water and looked past me. "She's not my responsibility this year." Mom finally met my eyes. "The hotel group closes an acquisition next month. I don't have time for this. St. Gabriel still has rooms in the senior dorm. You'll board there." They had just counted every hour Sofia had spent away from them. When it came to me, they could hand off an entire year without blinking. Under the table, I smoothed the napkin I had crushed in my fist. My phone lit up. [Ms. Harper: Your record puts several top East Coast schools within reach. Westbridge Institute's research scholarship would also be a great fit. Which one is your first choice?] I looked at California on the other side of the map and typed my answer. [Westbridge.] Three thousand miles ought to be far enough to leave my family for good.

After a failed tribulation, Quella, an ancient cultivator, is transmigrated as a mistreated noblewoman. Her quest for revenge is complicated when she falls for a charming merchant, Xavier, only to realize he's the man she slept with years ago. Now she must win back his love.

On my 10th wedding anniversary, my former best friend posted a photo of her daughter, my son, her and my husband, with the caption "The perfect pair." I replied "Perfect indeed." The next day, my husband and son blamed me for upsetting her. I threw the divorce papers at them: "If it’s all my fault, I quit your perfect family of four."

Elena Graywood couldn't understand why her grandfather insisted on her marrying a man from a mountain village. Until, this man revealed to her that he was actually a divine physician with unparalleled medical skills.

A broke small-town perfumer agrees to a $50,000 marriage of convenience—only to discover her "nobody" husband is the werewolf king who married her for the scent that calms his beast.

My daughter, Ruby Pratt, has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant—and fast. Out of everyone in the family, my husband, Dan Pratt, was the only match. I begged him for an entire month before he finally agreed to go through with the donation. But on the morning of the surgery, he went completely off the grid. I stood outside the hospital all day, waiting. No calls. No texts. Not even a shadow. That night, his childhood friend, Valerie Kinder, posted on Instagram. In the photo, Dan was holding Valerie's hand with one arm and carrying her young son with the other—on a beach in Lulabo City. The caption read: [Soaking up the sun! Dan cleared his whole schedule to join us on a month-long trek and we finally made it to the coast! My little boy said Uncle Dan made his ocean dream come true. Pure joy!] My heart splintered. While I was drowning in worry over my daughter, he was off playing happy family with them. I wiped my tears and typed a comment beneath her post: [Not 'Uncle.' From now on, he's your son's father.] That night, I finally got a call from him. "Babe, don't be like this," Dan said. "You're not being fair. "Valerie's son has been bullied at school for not having a dad. I couldn't stand seeing him hurt, so I took them on this trip. It was supposed to help him heal. "I'll catch the first flight back tomorrow and head straight to the hospital to donate the marrow. I promise." I hung up with a bitter smile. The next morning, Dan rushed into the hospital room. But all he found on the bed was a death certificate.