

Ivy Shaw knew from the very beginning that the marriage certificate she and Noah Grant held was fake. But during their five years together, Noah had given her so much tenderness that she mistakenly believed she had finally exchanged sincerity for sincerity. It was not until she woke up once in the middle of a coma that she overheard Noah talking to his private doctor: the strange illness she had suffered every month all these years had been caused by Noah drugging her and drawing her blood, and he had stayed by her side only to use her blood to treat her half-sister, Chloe. Another hospital soon confirmed that prolonged blood loss and medication had caused multiple organ failure, and that she had at most a month left to live. Ivy no longer argued, and no longer waited for Noah to turn back. She relocated her mother’s grave, arranged her own burial plot and funeral, and even designated her father Richard and Noah as her pallbearers. But until the very last day of her life, Noah still chose Chloe again and again, and even ordered someone to destroy Ivy’s mother’s grave. In the end, Ivy died alone at home. Only after receiving the funeral home’s notification did Noah discover that Chloe had never been ill, that Ivy was the girl who had climbed over the wall to comfort him in childhood, and that the coma and blood draws he himself had caused had killed the one who truly loved him.

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully

Master weaponsmith Wilma Kirby transmigrates into a lovestruck fool in ancient times. Told to marry by twenty or face prison, she sets her sights on the shy, handsome Seth Zeller. When 100,000 troops threaten the Zellers, she forges unstoppable weapons, helps him crush their enemies, and wins both love and family—proving she can handle war, romance, and everything in between.

Jane dies saving Nora, only to awaken in Nora's body.Sold to Meridia by her own dad, Nora lost everything. Now, Jane unleashes hell to reclaim her life! Teaming up with rival Zavier to bust the traffickers, she learns a shocking truth: he's always loved her.

The zombies took the world. A conspiracy took his wife. For six years, Luke buried his divine power and lived as a nobody.But the day they took his daughter, the legendary War God rose again — and this time, no wall can protect the guilty.

When Netherworld descends upon reality, all humanity awakens professions based on their talents. Advancing through professional ranks requires massive amounts of Netherworld currency, nether credit. Colin Sanders, who died in the Netherworld in his previous life,returns to the past with his game interface intact, right before the descent begins. He frantically recharges his account with nether credit, filling his Netherworld bank account to unlimited capacity. When Netherworld finally arrives, Colin uses his infinite wealth to forge three divine artifacts, upgrading his D-rank blacksmith profession to a divine blacksmith,then advances twice more to become the God of Creation, ultimately defeating Netherworld’s final boss.

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.

All because I talked to a girl from school, my parents decided I was too young to date and sent me to a behavioral correction camp over winter break. I spent 14 days there before they came for me. When Mom reached for my backpack, I flinched and dropped to my knees. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'll carry my own things. Please don't touch me. You're the opposite sex." Her expression soured. "I told you to watch out for girls out there, not treat your own mother like one of them." I kept my head down and said nothing, because responding to the opposite sex was also a violation. On the drive home, Dad noticed me sitting rigid and perfectly still. He laughed, pleased. "Look at him. He's so well-behaved now." "It worked even better than I expected. We'll have our family dinner tonight and send him back in the morning. They need to straighten him out for good." I said nothing. I just turned and looked out the window. There would be no tomorrow. Tonight was my farewell gift to them.