

Driven to the edge, Rachel Yale makes a desperate gamble—using herself as bait to draw close to Louis Brown, Newfork's most untouchable power figure. He is ruthless, distant, a man said to have no heart. He sees her motives clearly—yet allows her closer. What begins as disdain and indulgent play turns into dangerous attraction. The god of power falls from his pedestal, becoming her shield, her storm, and her only refuge.

Yulia is sent by her father to the bed of her family's creditor, Yvan. What appears to be an orchestrated honey trap is, in fact, a calculated move by Yvan, a young CEO. Playing along with the scheme, Yvan pressures Yulia's father behind the scenes while playing the innocent victim in front of the clueless girl. His endgame? To trick her straight into marriage.

My younger sister, Lydia Miller, and I are unexpectedly reborn into a beastman tribe, where the Beast God gives us a choice of identity. The first option is to become a beast woman with tremendous strength and a tall, imposing physique. The second option is to become a saintess with the ability to reproduce across species and an alluring, graceful figure. In our previous life, Lydia became a beast woman to survive, while I became the frail saintess. She ended up scorned by the tribe's beastmen for not being feminine enough. Meanwhile, I captured the hearts of the three strongest and most handsome beastmen in the tribe with my delicate frame. I became their most cherished beloved. Eventually, they rose to rule the primeval forest, and I basked in endless glory as their saintess. Driven mad with jealousy, Lydia pushed me into a poison swamp when no one was looking. With my last bit of strength, I plunged a poisonous thorn into her body, and we died together. When I open my eyes again, we're back at the moment when the Beast God asks us to make our choice. This time, Lydia rushes to claim the saintess identity first. "Ella, this time I'll be the saintess. Since I pity you so much, I'll let you have those three defective, impotent beastmen." I bite back the wild joy flooding through me. What's so great about serving as a breeding tool anyway? In a primitive society, strength is everything.

Sophie grew up in an orphanage and was adopted by the wealthy Johnson family when she was six. She spent twelve happy years being doted on by her three brothers and adoptive parents. But when her adoptive parents' biological daughter, Camille, returned, Sophie went from being the beloved child to someone misunderstood and hurt at the family's edges. Camille plotted against her at every turn, constantly framing Sophie, and the family chose to believe her, repeatedly hurting Sophie with their coldness, leaving her disheartened. Sophie decided to become the first volunteer for the "Sleep Project" her eldest brother had been planning for five years, repaying her adoptive parents for their care through a life experiment. On her eighteenth birthday, she completely broke ties with her family, walked alone into the sleep pod, and donated her corneas to her blind second brother. When she woke up thirty years later, her family was now gray-haired, but she could no longer remember them—leaving only that misplaced sense of family as an eternal regret in the river of time.

In her previous life, Maggie Lopez was framed by her boyfriend, Jeffrey Harris, and her stepsister,Chelsea Lopez, and was put in jail. After Maggie got out of jail, her mom had already passed away. Finding out the truth about everything, Mandy chose to kill Chelsea and die with Chelsea and Jeffrey. When Mandy woke up again, she found she was back to the day she was framed for committing murder in her previous life.The next moment, she decided to get into the next room and use him as an alibi.

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.