

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.

Everyone in southern Italy knew that Lorenzo Moretti loved me like a madman. And yet he had been keeping a much younger woman in Naples. They said she looked just like I had years ago. He told people she was only a reminder of the woman he had once loved most. He also gave strict orders that no one was to let me hear about her. Until the day I found out I was pregnant. I went to his office to tell him the news myself, only to stop outside the door when I heard a young woman’s voice from inside. “Lorenzo… am I only here because I remind you of her?” The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw a young woman who looked too much like me, wrapped in his jacket and holding his glass. I stood there, barely breathing. Then I heard him answer. “Don’t compare yourself to her.” “She could never be what you are.” I turned and walked away without making a sound. That night, I called my mother. “Mother, I’ve made up my mind.” She was silent for a moment. “I want a fire,” I said. “Something no one survives. By the time it’s over, Sophia Moretti needs to be dead to the world.”
![[ENG DUB] The Day She Left, Stocks Fell](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
Yara, hailed as a business genius, repays her fiancé Charles's life-saving act by helping him build a company from scratch and granting him ten chances to make mistakes. Thanks to her drive, his firm quickly takes root in the capital but still can't go public, so Yara travels overseas to open new markets. Three years later,she comes back exhausted to a changed Charles, now harsh and,influenced by his cousin Sophia, constantly hurting her. When he exhausts all ten chances,Yara ends the engagement, and that very day Charles's company falls into crisis.
![[ENG DUB] Sorry, I Don't Do Tragic Endings Anymore](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
Zoey Shaw wakes up inside a novel as the infamous villainess doomed to a tragic end.Refusing to follow the same path, she decides to rewrite her fate—no self-destruction, no foolish choices, just survival and a new beginning. When a shameless ex and a scheming rival show up to cause trouble, she’s ready. This time, she protects her husband, claims her happiness, and crushes every plot against her. She clears her family’s name and rises from ruin to glory.

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.