1945 Pulitzer Winning

When I was reborn, returning back to the day of filling out the mate registration form, I decided to write my sister Sophia Harrington's name on the form. I would help her achieve her dreams with Adrian Northgate in this lifetime. Without waiting for Adrian to ask, I gave the wedding dress to my sister ahead of time and placed the ring that symbolized our mate bond into her hands. I did not argue or make a fuss. Instead, I facilitated every opportunity for them to spend time together. When he took my sister to fight in the southern territories, I quietly packed everything up and went to university in the northern grasslands. This was because, in my previous life, I devoted myself to caring for our family. Yet, after Adrian was promoted to the pack's first warrior, he and our son knelt before me, begging me to dissolve our mate bond so that he could fulfill his love for Sophia. Living this life again, I decided not to become mates with Adrian. I wanted to pursue my dreams — to study at the Northern Grassland Werewolf University, become a medical doctor, and live the free life I had always desired!

After an unexpected miscarriage, I left my ward in search of Victor. I saw him inside the doctor’s office. Just as I was about to knock on the door, I overheard their conversation. “Give my wife a hysterectomy. I don’t need her to bear me any children.” Victor Gayes pulled the woman beside him to face the doctor, his hand rubbing her belly. “The baby inside her belly will be my only child. You must protect it no matter what.” I knew the woman very well. She was Victor’s secretary of three years, Rachel Aniston. Victor reminded the doctor again and again, sternly and anxiously. “You have to give her the best medicine. I won’t allow anything to go wrong with this baby!” I pulled my hand back, all my blood running cold. To think Victor would do something so heartless to me, just after I lost our baby. To think my faith in him would become a dagger, stabbed straight into my heart. If love had another face, it would probably be letting these feelings go with a smile.

On our third wedding anniversary, I waited for Xander Christian for five hours at his favorite restaurant. Once again, he has disappeared. In the end, I found out where he went on the social media of his childhood sweetheart, Josie Law. He took her to Antartrica. [I just said I was in a bad mood, so he ditched the whole world just to cheer me up. Turns out, he cheers me up much more than the penguins.] In the photos, it was all icy and frosty, but he held her gently in his arms. I had never seen such blazing warmth in his eyes. Not once was it ever directed at me. At that moment, I was just tired. I was too tired to question. I was too tired to fight. I was too tired to cry. I simply liked the post and sent him a short message, [Let's get a divorce.] A long time later, he finally replied with a voice message, his tone was full of careless amusement, "Sure. I'll sign the papers when I'm back. We'll see who ends up begging me not to leave." Those who were loved and favored were often fearless. He didn't believe my words at all. Yet, Xander— No one was truly indispensable. People would only stay because they were in love. From this moment on, I no longer loved you.

"Miss Summers, are you sure you want to erase all your identity records? Once erased, it will be as if you never existed, and no one will be able to find you." Adele paused for a moment before nodding resolutely. "Yes, that's exactly what I want. I want no one to find me." There was a hint of surprise on the other end of the line, but they quickly responded, "Understood, Miss Summers. The process will take about two weeks to complete. Please wait patiently."

Four years of marriage. One signature—his own—that set me free, though he never realized what he was signing. I was Sophia Moretti, the invisible wife of James Moretti, heir to the city’s most powerful mafia family. But when his childhood sweetheart, the dazzling and privileged Vicky, returned, I finally understood: I had always been temporary. So I played my final move. I slid the papers across his desk—divorce disguised as routine university forms. James signed without a second glance, his fountain pen scratching across the page as carelessly as he'd treated our vows, without noticing he was ending our marriage. But I walked away with more than my freedom. Beneath my coat, I carried his unborn heir—a secret that could destroy him when he finally realized what he'd lost. Now, the man who never noticed me is tearing the world apart trying to find me. From his penthouse to the underworld's gutters, he's turning over every stone. But I'm not some trembling prey waiting to be found. I rebuilt myself beyond his reach—where not even a Moretti can follow. This time, I won't be begging for his love. He'll be begging for mine.

The day before the piano competition finals, my boyfriend deliberately locked me on the rooftop to help his childhood friend win. He stared at me intently, his voice low and steady. "You'll have plenty more chances. Can't you just let her have this one?" Later, to secure her spot in the orchestra, he went so far as to break my fingers with his own hands. I confronted him in anger, demanding to know why he would do this when we were supposed to be in a relationship. He looked at me solemnly and said, "Susan, Miranda's mother saved me all those years ago, and now I have to fulfill this wish for her." What he didn't understand was that for me, losing the use of my hands felt like losing my very life. After I made the decision to stop loving him, he shattered his own hand, hoping to get my forgiveness.

After my husband's death, I retained all his personal accounts and our marriage certificate. Since then, Chuck Smith had been wooing me persistently, declaring that he would give me all his love to overcome the pain of loss. He would search the entire city for some sweets that I mentioned on a whim, and he deleted every woman's number from his phone while keeping me updated on his location in real time. But just as his feelings reached me, and I was ready to marry him, I found Chuck getting frisky with his new secretary in the basement parking lot…

Scott Maynard and I were in love for eight years. I once believed he was my soulmate. We joined Doctors Without Borders together and ventured into war zones side by side. But everything changed the day Piper Ellison appeared. To protect her, he shoved me into danger during a rebel siege, using me as a scapegoat. Then, he fled the country with Piper, and left me to rot in the prison. Three years later, Miles rescued me. Yet upon returning home, the first thing I saw was Scott staging an elaborate proposal, surrounded by nine thousand roses. He twisted the truth about what had happened in Asternis, and those around us believed him. I revealed my wedding ring, and Miles stepped forward to shield me. Despite that, Scott still refused to let go. He became obsessed and relentless, even threatening his own life to force me back. This love, riddled with betrayal and cruelty, finally came to a complete end with his death.

I have claustrophobia, yet Luther Jansen abandons me in a stopped elevator so he can bring some flu medicine to his assistant. I ask for a divorce after that. He signs the papers without hesitation and laughs about it with his friends. "She's just throwing a tantrum—her parents are dead, so there's no way she'll leave me. "Besides, there's a 30-day cooling-off period for divorces, right? I'll generously let this matter slide once she regrets this, and she'll be back." The following day, he shares an intimate photo of himself with his assistant. "I want to record every moment of your shyness." I count the days until I'm free. Then, I calmly pack my stuff and make a call. "Can you buy me a flight ticket to Nanderton, Uncle David?"

I made a deal with Sonia Quindt—the billionaire CEO. After I'd proposed to her ninety-nine freaking times, she swore she'd finally show up for the hundredth. Spoiler: she didn't. She was out there at some concert with her boy toy. And, of course, someone caught them on livestream. Big kiss. Big viral moment. Meanwhile, my face was plastered all over the internet too—lonely guy number one, waiting for a bride who never existed. Everyone online started making bets. Who was the mystery woman? How long until I came crawling back for the hundred-and-first proposal? Sonia, apparently struck by some last-minute guilt, promised she'd make it right next time. Said she'd actually show up. And she did. Wedding dress. Perfect makeup. Cameras ready. She got a text from me: [Sonia, there won't be a hundred-and-first proposal. We're done.]