

I died on the day I was supposed to receive the Pack’s Distinguished Service Award. Three hours after I died, my parents, my brother, and my mate were just wrapping up the graduation party they’d thrown for my sister. While my sister, Ella, was posting a cozy family photo on Instagram, I was locked in our basement, using my tongue to swipe on my phone and call for help. The only person who answered was my mate, Ryan. All he said was, "Sophie, cut the drama. Ella's graduation party is important. Enough with the tantrums!" This was the ninety-ninth time they had let me down. And the last. I lay in a pool of my own blood, my lungs still. They thought I was just throwing a fit, hiding somewhere. That if they taught me a lesson, I’d come crawling back. But they didn't know. I was home the whole time. I was already dead.

On my birthday, one of my husband’s subordinates leaned close to him and whispered in Russian, “Sasha has a surprise prepared for you tonight.” My husband smiled at me as he finished cutting my cake. Then, in the same language, he replied, “She has quite a few tricks in bed. I’ll see her later. “Just don’t let Madam find out, or I’m afraid I’ll get thrown out.” Everyone around laughed and assured keep it quiet. None of them knew that I’d been fluent in multiple languages since I was a child. What they also didn’t know was that I’d found the hidden phone he kept in the false drawer, where all the filthy videos of him and Sasha were saved. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I contacted a few remaining connections in the Vegas and had them prepare a new identity for me. In three days, Claire Vega would no longer exist, and he would never have me again.

“I need your help to fake a private jet crash,” I said quietly. “It’s the only way I can ever leave Luca Moretti.” People said he’d given up the Mafia throne for me. They called him the man who traded power for love— the heir who walked away from blood and gold just to marry a waitress from the slums. For years, he made the world believe in us. He built empires under my name. He sent me roses every Monday. He told the press I was his salvation. But love doesn’t always mean loyalty. While I was busy believing in forever, he was building a second home behind my back— one filled with laughter, toys, and twin sons who had his eyes. The night I disappeared, his empire burned. He tore apart cities, bribed governments, and buried men alive just to find me. But by the time he did— I was already gone. And the woman he’d once died for no longer loved him enough to stay alive.
![[ENG DUB] Call from the Sealed Memory](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
After losing his mother to cancer, Yale Mond falls into deep despair. Soon after, his girlfriend Lillian Jones is diagnosed with leukemia. Not wanting Yale to endure another heartbreak, Lillian hides her illness and ends their relationship.Devastated, Yale goes abroad to study medicine.Five years later, he returns as the director of a hospital, bringing with him a miracle cancer drug.Unbeknownst to him, Lillian’s leukemia has worsened after she secretly gave birth to their daughter Annie. Unable to afford treatment, she ends up living under a bridge. Through Annie, Yale finally finds Lillian, and the long-standing misunderstanding between them is resolved. Using the miracle cancer drug, Yale saves the dying Lillian, and the family of three is finally reunited.

After losing his mother to cancer, Yale Mond falls into deep despair. Soon after, his girlfriend Lillian Jones is diagnosed with leukemia. Not wanting Yale to endure another heartbreak, Lillian hides her illness and ends their relationship.Devastated, Yale goes abroad to study medicine.Five years later, he returns as the director of a hospital, bringing with him a miracle cancer drug.Unbeknownst to him, Lillian’s leukemia has worsened after she secretly gave birth to their daughter Annie. Unable to afford treatment, she ends up living under a bridge. Through Annie, Yale finally finds Lillian, and the long-standing misunderstanding between them is resolved. Using the miracle cancer drug, Yale saves the dying Lillian, and the family of three is finally reunited.

After losing his mother to cancer, Yale Mond falls into deep despair. Soon after, his girlfriend Lillian Jones is diagnosed with leukemia. Not wanting Yale to endure another heartbreak, Lillian hides her illness and ends their relationship.Devastated, Yale goes abroad to study medicine.Five years later, he returns as the director of a hospital, bringing with him a miracle cancer drug.Unbeknownst to him, Lillian’s leukemia has worsened after she secretly gave birth to their daughter Annie. Unable to afford treatment, she ends up living under a bridge. Through Annie, Yale finally finds Lillian, and the long-standing misunderstanding between them is resolved. Using the miracle cancer drug, Yale saves the dying Lillian, and the family of three is finally reunited.

To defuse the bomb strapped to the hostage, I had no choice—I cut off all her clothes. My clueless new wife, Dana Poole, blasted it online. She cried as she faced me. "Why not at least leave her underwear on? You were saving her, I get it—but did you have to take everything? Doesn't a girl's dignity matter? With cameras everywhere, how is she supposed to live after this? You couldn't even cover her up?" The backlash exploded. The unit benched me to calm things down. So I stopped caring. I followed procedure, no improvising, no extra effort. Then one day, at the busiest mall in the city, Dana's mom got strapped into a brand-new linked bomb. This time, the whole unit panicked.

Sylvie, once the ace assassin of the revolutionary army, was tamed and abused by a general as a "mad dog." While on the run, she was taken in by a priest, but betrayal led to a massacre in the church and the priest's brutal death. She rescued the young Benny, using her body and her skills in killing to forge him into a lethal weapon. Over the next ten years, their bond deepened from master and apprentice, to master and slave, to soulmates—together, they hunted down the general and his political backers. In the end, Benny died shielding her; Sylvie alone stormed the enemy's stronghold, slew her nemesis, then carried his corpse to the shore and cut her own throat, joining him in death.

The doctor told me I had 72 hours left, unless I got access to the newest experimental treatment. However, there was only one slot available, and my husband Bowen Liddell gave it to my sister Yvonne Lawson instead. "Her kidney failure is more critical," he said. I nodded and swallowed the white pills that would only speed up my death. In the time I had left, I got a lot done. The lawyer's hand trembled as he passed me the documents. "Are you sure you want to transfer the two billion dollars in shares?" I replied, "Yes. Give them to Yvonne." My daughter, Candice Liddell, was giggling in Yvonne's arms. "Mommy Yvonne bought me a new dress!" I said, "It looks beautiful. Make sure you always listen to Mommy Yvonne, okay?" The art gallery I built from the ground up now had Yvonne's name on the sign. "You're too kind, Kathy," she said, crying. I told her, "You'll run it even better than I ever did." I even signed all my parents' trust fund away. That was when Bowen finally gave me his first genuine smile in years. "Kathleen, you've changed. You're not so aggressive anymore... You're beautiful like this." Indeed. This dying version of me finally became the 'perfect Kathleen Sullivan' in their eyes—obedient, generous, and no longer argumentative. The 72-hour countdown had already begun, and I couldn't help but wonder what they would remember when my heart stopped for good. The good wife who 'finally learned to let go', or the woman who completed her revenge by dying?

I died on the day I was supposed to receive the Pack’s Distinguished Service Award. Three hours after I died, my parents, my brother, and my mate were just wrapping up the graduation party they’d thrown for my sister. While my sister, Ella, was posting a cozy family photo on Instagram, I was locked in our basement, using my tongue to swipe on my phone and call for help. The only person who answered was my mate, Ryan. All he said was, "Sophie, cut the drama. Ella's graduation party is important. Enough with the tantrums!" This was the ninety-ninth time they had let me down. And the last. I lay in a pool of my own blood, my lungs still. They thought I was just throwing a fit, hiding somewhere. That if they taught me a lesson, I’d come crawling back. But they didn't know. I was home the whole time. I was already dead.