Tragic

My wife, Chelsea Sloane, has always been an avid user of computers when it comes to work. But one day, she suddenly falls in love with the idea of using pen and paper. In fact, she loves one particular black pen to the point that she refuses to let anyone touch it. Unable to endure her twisted obsession over that pen, I decide to bring up divorce before her on our wedding anniversary. Enraged, Chelsea points at me and yells, "Are you seriously getting a divorce over a pen?" I reply coolly, "Yup. It's precisely that."

At the height of my love for Seth Scott, he gave his heart to someone else. The winter chill seeped through the walls, and I lay beneath my blankets, trembling through the long, dark hours. He was out there, holding another woman close, warming her feet against his chest. He dismissed me as dramatic, refusing even a final glance. But what he didn’t realize was that I was dying. And he would never have the chance to see me again.

It has been fifty-five days since my fiancé cut me off. I called off the wedding I'd waited eight long years for. All while he was caring for his childhood sweetheart, who was battling depression and seeking peace at a remote retreat. He even had the historic chapel—a local landmark called the Aethelred Sanctuary—closed to the public for six months because of her. And me? I was left to face the swarming reporters, hounded from one place to the next until I had nowhere left to hide—all because he disappeared without a word. Out of options, I went to the retreat to find him. But he turned me away, saying I would disturb the quiet and sanctity of the place. In the bitter cold of deep winter, I collapsed outside the gates, barely holding on. When I woke, I saw him—Jonathan—planting an entire garden of roses on the grounds, every bloom a declaration of love. Six months later, he finally left and returned home with his childhood sweetheart. The roses they had planted now filled what was supposed to be our wedding venue, from floor to ceiling. I watched them, cold and unmoved. What he didn't know was this—I was already engaged to someone else.

To save Hugh, I took the hit—literally. The kidnappers beat me so bad I ended up with a brain hemorrhage. My mind? Stuck at thirteen. Hugh, all guilt and promises, said, "Wenna, I'll protect you forever." And he did. He watched over me. When the house caught fire, he threw himself over me, took the burns, didn't flinch. Then came his oh-so-perfect foster sister. "Mia's not into... slow people. Maybe you should live next door," he said. And my son? The one I nearly died bringing into the world? "Stupid woman! You embarrass me and Dad. You're nothing like Aunt Mia—she's smart and pretty. If it weren't for you, she could've been my mom. You should just die!" To play hero for Mia, my son shoved me into the street. A truck did the rest. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Hugh proposed. This time? I wasn't here for his pity. And I sure as hell wasn't marrying him.

For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world. A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award. But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio. "All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares. Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now." Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off. I stand in the corner, my heart in despair. As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

When I was 18 years old, Luigi Conti, the craziest heir of the Conti family, pulled out a gun at an auction and executed the Don of the Serra family. That man happened to be my foster father, also the one who had me auctioned away as though I were a slave. When he was being dragged toward the armored car by the military police, he kept laughing like mad despite having blood streaking down his face. "Why must I atone for my sins? Since God refuses to save you, let me be your savior! From now on, no one in Sandalay has the guts to clip your wings anymore, my darling Isabella!" Seven years later, Luigi gets released from prison. He looks at me as I wash dishes for a living in the slums before snuffing out the cigar trapped between his fingers. That night, Luigi returns to his family and steals the position of the Don. After we get married, I'm the only person who has the highest access over the vaults under the Conti family. Luigi even forcibly expands the ring that signifies ultimate authority—which has been passed down from generation to generation for a century—and slides it onto my ring finger. He buys half of Sandalay's estates just so he can fill the vineyards with the white grapes I've mentioned in passing. He tells me that his turf is called Isabella. But everything changes when I discover a photo album stashed in a hidden compartment in Luigi's study. All 2,000 photos feature a young woman in a white dress who is reading in the library. That is the female assassin he's planning on training. The woman looks very pure and innocent. She's most suited to conquer certain bigwigs' hearts. But now, it seems that Luigi's the one being conquered by her. When Luigi finds out about my discovery, he throws the photo album into the fireplace and watches it burn in the fire with a stony expression. "I'm just repackaging her so that she can aid me in money laundering. Just pretend you never saw the photo album." I push the signed divorce agreement over to Luigi. "I said, sign the agreement." Frustrated, Luigi pins the divorce agreement on the table with a knife, his expression insanely dark. "Isabella Serra, have you forgotten about the Conti family's rules? There's no such thing as divorce. We can only be widowed."

I pleaded with my husband Cedric Fleetham over and over, and finally, he agreed to take our daughter camping in the mountains for her birthday. When I found her late the next night, she was already gone. She lay at the foot of the mountain, her tiny hand still clutching a drawing of our family. As I knelt beside her, my heart shattered. Meanwhile, Cedric was busy updating his social media. His post read, [You and our daughter are my treasures,] and it was accompanied by a photo, where he stood beside his childhood sweetheart and held hands with another little girl, watching the sunset. And there, in the corner of the picture, was a tiny hand—my daughter’s hand. The cruelest truth of all was that my daughter took that photo.

For six years, I took bullets for him and erased every sharp edge of myself. Because of the way he protected me, outsiders all believed I was the woman closest to his heart. However, when I asked for just one sincere “I love you”, he laughed and refused. “Mafia marriages aren’t about feelings. Know your place.” Then he said, “If Sophia doesn’t like it, don’t even bother.” When the bomb countdown hit thirty seconds, my don husband shoved me aside without hesitation and ran out holding Sophia in his arms. Only then did I understand that after six years of entanglement, I wasn't even worth a single hair of his sister. I slammed the divorce papers into his face. “I’m going to personally send you and your precious sister straight to hell!”

I am Ayna Radolf, the only White Wolf in Moonshadow Pack. Everyone says I grew up cherished by Carlson Moonclaw, the Alpha. When I was three, my father died in battle. Carlson held me in a pool of blood and swore to protect me for life. When I was five, I was bullied in the pack because of my unusual fur color. He announced to the entire pack that anyone who touched me was his enemy. For 15 years, I have lived under his protection, offering him my heart and my life without reservation. At 18, Carlson falls under the vampires' death curse. I willingly sacrifice half of my lifespan and beg a witch to use a forbidden spell to transfer the curse onto me. With that, I take on his certain death. On that same day, as I watch his unconscious form and tightly furrowed brows, I cannot help but kiss the corner of his lips. He wakes up. Unexpectedly, there isn't any tenderness or any trace of emotion—only overwhelming rage and disgust. He grips my chin with horror in his eyes, as if he is looking at a filthy maggot. "Ayna, I am your brother! How dare you have such disgusting thoughts?" From that day on, Carlson has avoided me like the plague. This goes on until Selena Fang, his so-called fated mate, returns. She cries and tells him that she is abused and abandoned by her former mate. Now, she is blind and covered in injuries. The healer declares that only my White Wolf's eyes are a perfect match for her. So my Alpha, the brother I loved for 15 years, comes to me. Carlson stands in front of me and says solemnly, "Ayna, I know this is unfair to you. But if Selena doesn't have eyes, she will live in darkness for the rest of her life. As long as you give her your eyes, I will do anything you ask—except give you my love." I snap back to reality and dig my fingers hard into my palm. The sharp pain clears my mind instantly. I am not dreaming. I am reborn and back to the day Carlson forces me to give up my eyes. In my previous life, I refused to the end. During the struggle, Serena "accidentally" fell off a cliff, and her body was never found. Carlson blamed me for everything. On my birthday, he gouged out my eyes and threw me into the dungeon where rogue wolves were imprisoned. There, I was assaulted endlessly. In the end, I died in the cold, damp darkness like a piece of discarded trash. The despair and pain from before my death still linger in my bones. I look at the man in front of me. The love that once filled my chest completely fizzles out into nothingness. I will give him these eyes as repayment for the 15 years he has protected and raised me. From now on, we will go our own ways, and we owe each other nothing.

The night before my engagement, I saw Leo Vitaly in a naked embrace with my best friend, Sophia, at the villa. I did not cry or create a scene. Instead, I went crazy as I slept with three of his best buddies. I left evidence of our lovemaking on the wooden desk of his office, condoms in the passenger seat of his car, and a leather whip in his private wine cellar. All of this was left behind on purpose to tell him what I did. When Leo found out about it, all he did was put out the cigar in his hand and made a group call to his buddies. "You've all slept with her? What did she taste like?" Taunting laughter was heard from the other end of the call. "She's pretty flexible in bed." "Not bad, but she needs to be more adventurous in bed. The minor celebrities I sleep with are better than she is." "Haven't you given her a taste before by giving her a good lesson, Leo? She's too tight down there." My meticulously planned revenge was nothing but a joke to him. Leo had not cared at all. That night, I broke down. Leo sent me to the sanatorium after that. He 'treated' me there for an entire year.