Tragic

When I joined my pregnant wife at her class reunion, I heard the thoughts of her male bestie. 'Once she kicks her bum husband to the curb, the money's all mine!' He was snuggling up to my wife, raising his glass in salutations with a perfect smile, but I still caught the flicker of disgust in his eyes. 'Stupid sow thinks I'm in love with her? Who would care about her if it weren't for her money?' He had no idea that Mary's family had gone bankrupt long ago, and her life of luxury now was all thanks to me!

In my fifth year of marriage to Dominic, I'd become the woman all of Chicago knew as the crazy one — the mental case. Jealousy gnawed at me constantly, and my temper frayed easily, my emotions sharp and unsteady, unravelling more with each passing day. So it only made sense when he slid a divorce agreement across the table. "Vivian's pregnant. A Harrington heir can't be born illegitimate, and Mrs. Harrington can't be a lunatic." "Once she's had the baby, I’ll marry you again, and you'll still be Mrs. Harrington." I was forced to sign my name, then locked away in a private sanatorium a hundred miles from the city. The first year, I waited with desperate hope for him to come take me home. Instead, he handed me an ultrasound report. "Twins — a boy and a girl. Vivian's pregnant again. Just wait a little longer." The second year, he had electric fencing installed around the sanatorium grounds. "Harrington Corp is going public. We can't afford any slip-ups right now." By the fifth year, he simply called to tell me to wait one more year. He must have expected me to scream and lose control the way I always did. But this time, I just nodded calmly. "Alright. However long it takes." After all. I didn't have much time left anyway.

My CEO husband developed a strange illness. His heart chose me, but his body chose his intern. He would vanish for ten days every month to see his intern for "treatment." “Zoe, the doctor says it’s a physiological dependency. My body chose Molly, but you’re the one I truly love, now and always!” To make me believe him, he swore vicious oaths and even went so far as to hurt himself to prove his love. My eyes burned red, but in the end, I softened. It wasn't until I was late in my pregnancy, when a falling billboard struck me and I miscarried. I called my husband again and again, but he never picked up. Then, moments later, I saw the intern’s post online. The caption wrote: [Unlocked a new identity: Mom. From now on, we’re a happy family of three!] In the photo, my husband looked at her with gentle affection. His hand rested on her belly and her prenatal report clutched in his other hand. That was when I realized the one his heart and body had chosen all along was her. At that moment, I knew our marriage was over.

On my coming-of-age ceremony, the pack elder has given me two choices—either marry Alpha Darius Vilkas, or enter a marriage alliance with the Solaris Pack. I choose the latter. Everyone in the Silvermoon Pack thinks I've gone nuts. After all, they know very well that I've been clinging to Darius for more than ten years. Every year, I make the same birthday wish, which is to become his mate. In my previous life, I got what I wanted. On the night of the full moon, Darius bit me on my nape and marked me. But Darius, who kept up a gentle and polite image in front of others, glared at me with only hatred brimming in his eyes behind locked doors. "If it wasn't for your shameless request to the elder, who forced me into mating with you, Ingrid wouldn't have entered that marriage alliance!" Only then did I realize that Darius was in love with my younger sister, Ingrid Whiteclaw, this whole time. In order to get revenge on me, Darius slept with various she-wolves every night. He made me endure the heartwrenching pain through our mate bond. On the day I was meant to go into labor, Darius personally fed me wolfsbane, which killed both me and my pup. Now that I'm reborn, I decide to grant his wish to be with Ingrid. But when he finds out that I'm about to enter the marriage alliance, he goes crazy from rage.

My fiancé, Aaron Willis, treated me like a prize he could toss across a poker table. One drink, one careless joke, and he lost me to his twin brother, Kevin Willis. They were both heirs to the Redwood Pack. I didn't cry or make a scene. I acted like I didn't know a thing and followed that quiet, cold wolf out the door. I stayed in his bed the entire night, tangled up with him until morning. At dawn, when Aaron came looking for me, I made sure I was wearing Kevin's shirt. Right in front of the staff, I let my voice turn soft and teasing as I complained about how out of control he had been the night before. Then I let one of Kevin's heirloom cufflinks slip loose and roll straight to Aaron's feet. His face went instantly gray, the arrogance in his eyes shattering. I rose onto my toes, slipped my arms around his neck, and murmured against his ear, "The way you had complete control over me last night… I really liked it."

When I married mafia don Paul Garcia, I was twenty-two, and he was thirty-two. By day, he was the cold, dangerous king of the underworld. By night, he was my daddy. Everyone in New Haven knew how much he loved me. I casually mentioned I disliked the ballerina competing with me for the principal role. The next day, she “accidentally” broke her leg and never returned to the stage. One night, I craved pasta from a specific restaurant. Without a word, he led his men into the kitchen, pressed a gun to the chef’s head, and forced him to recreate the dish overnight. I once joked about wanting to sleep among the clouds. He turned around, had the building of a rival family blown up, then bought the tallest one in the city and engraved my name on the top floor. However, in bed, he would exhaust me completely and refuse to let me go. Even when the doctor warned that I was in early pregnancy and needed restraint, he ignored my cries, tied my wrists with his tie, and went on until dawn. The next day, I started bleeding. I called him ninety-nine times, yet he rejected every single call. In my panic, I suddenly received a video from my best friend. “Emily, your don is pinning a woman down and kissing her at the bar of the Four Seasons in Moscovia.” When I opened the video, my heart stopped. The man was Paul, and the woman was my aunt. In that case, I’ll give him two gifts when he comes back: an abortion report and a divorce agreement.

Christmas Eve was meant to be the culmination of seven years of long-distance longing—the day Lorenzo finally slid an engagement ring onto my finger. Instead, a sudden emergency surgery chained me to the operating table. The patient wasn't just suffering from a premature delivery and catastrophic hemorrhaging; she was riddled with infections, the biological fallout of a reckless, hedonistic lifestyle. The girl on the table spat out orders with a venomous entitlement that made my blood run cold. "My husband is the head of the Corleone family. He’s second to none, and this entire city bows to him. If you can’t save my baby, you’re all dead." My mind went blank. There was only one head of the Corleone family: Lorenzo. "You’ve got the wrong man," I said, my voice wavering despite my frown. "The news said he’s already engaged to a woman from a rival family for a strategic alliance." The girl looked at me as if I’d just told a pathetic joke. She surveyed me with a mocking sneer. "Oh, he’s mentioned that woman. He said she’s like a cold corpse—that even touching her makes him sick to his stomach. She doesn't provide him a fraction of the pleasure I do." She smirked. "He heard something happened to the baby. He’s en route from Sicily right now with his personal detail." She flicked her phone screen open. There it was: a photo of her and Lorenzo, locked in a suffocatingly intimate embrace. I froze. A second later, a notification from Lorenzo vibrated against my palm. “Darlin’, something urgent came up tonight. I’m skipping the engagement dinner. I’ll make it up to you later.” Since they were so utterly in love, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I dialed a number that had been silent for three years—the number of the true mastermind of the underworld, Don Sebastian. "Does your proposal from three years ago still stand?"

After my husband picked up his secretary and our son, they went into the hotel for a business meeting. Photos of them were trending online. I gave him a call to ask him about it, but he hung up on me impatiently. “I’m meeting a client. Obviously, we’re meeting at the hotel! Can you stop being unreasonable?” I was busy contacting IT support to retract the trending topics. Two hours later, I received a call from the emergency department of the hospital. When I reached the hospital, my son was already dead. In his hand, he was still holding a staff ID tag. The secretary’s name was on the tag. I broke down crying. My husband, Zac Davis, had blocked my number so I could not reach him. After I completed the hospital procedures, Zac finally returned my call. He sounded very angry and impatient, “Did you fetch our son? Why didn’t you inform me? Don’t you know that we’re all waiting for him to pass us the agreement? Just send the document over now!” After that, he immediately hung up and blocked my number again. I stared at the notification on my phone and sneered. I was going to snatch your clients and force you into a dead end!

I had just returned from a business trip. The moment I stepped through the door, I scooped my wife into my arms and rushed her straight to the bathroom for a steamy shower together. We were kissing passionately when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something: the toilet seat was flipped up. I froze. Seven years ago, my wife had read a post online claiming that when men pee standing up, bacteria splash onto the seat. She begged me to sit down to pee for the sake of her health. I have kept that promise. For seven years of marriage, that seat has never been up. A knot formed in my stomach, but the bathroom was spotless, so clean it looked staged, not a single stray hair anywhere. Then I noticed the shower temperature. It was set five degrees lower than her usual 43°C. Men like cooler showers. Women like them hotter… At that moment, I knew, Ruby Lynch had cheated on me.

Arthur Black is the heir to the Alpha position in the Northland pack. He's cold and decisive, and he intimidates the rest of the pack. All in all, he's a cold-blooded black wolf. But after he and I get together, he formally announces to the entire pack that I, Ella Grant, am his mate. He never speaks with other she-wolves just to make me feel extremely secure. But what he doesn't know is that I've already personally witnessed his betrayal to my love. On the night of the full moon, Arthur embraces a sexy she-wolf while kissing her. He remarks casually, "Ella told me before that she will leave me if she ever finds out that I've cheated on her. I love her, and I can't ever lose her. "That's why you'd better not expose our affair to Ella. Otherwise… well, you know the consequences of doing so." The she-wolf, Lilian Frisk, retorts in displeasure, "Then why did you still seek me out?" Arthur smiles. "I'm just toying around with you, you see. You know that the she-wolf I love is Ella. But I've been staring at her face and sleeping with her for seven whole years. Even a devoted wolf like me needs something new every now and then."