Tragic

The day Eve Jones came back to town, Zac Gibson did not come home all night. The next day, I saw a post on her social media, showing a photo of two hands tightly intertwined, along with Zac’s peaceful, childlike sleeping face. When he finally came home, he threw divorce papers at me and said, "You’ve been standing in Eve’s place this whole time. Now that she’s back, it’s time for you to move on." It did not matter anymore. I was not going to live much longer anyway. Whoever wanted the title of "Mrs. Gibson" could have it. Later, I died. But Zac cried at my grave, kneeling, promising he would never hold anyone else’s hand again.

My husband has azoospermia. After trying all the options available, I finally conceived. However, my husband is worried my child will hurt his first love's feelings—she had a miscarriage. He tricks me into going for a prenatal checkup. In truth, he conspires with a doctor to induce labor when I'm only five months along. He says, "You must be the one with the problem. Why else is it so hard for us to have children? The baby won't be healthy even if it's born! We can have more children when you're healthier. Julie has just had a miscarriage; I don't want to aggravate her." He doesn't know he has azoospermia. I only managed to conceive this child after trying out IVF countless times and taking countless folk remedies. He will never have a child of his own in this lifetime, and I discover his true colors. I ask for a divorce, and that's when he loses his mind.

By the time I got home from my business trip, it was already past midnight—and my husband wasn't there. A woman's blouse lay on the sofa. It wasn't mine. I called him. He said he was working late at the office. I didn't bother with pretense. "Whose blouse is on the sofa?" His tone was light and casual. "Who else would it be? It's obviously a gift for you. Try it on." Suspicious, I picked it up and held it against myself. The blouse was clearly one size too small. "Honey, this is a size S. I always wear M." My husband owns a clothing company. He handles all my clothes. He's even used my measurements to design women's wear. There's no way he doesn't know my size. On the phone, he froze for half a second, then spoke as if piecing something together. "This is a new women's line I'm launching. I ordered custom pieces for you and my sister. I must've grabbed the wrong one. I'll switch it tomorrow." A moment later, his voice softened with exhaustion. "Babe, you've been gone for days. Without you, I feel so tired… I miss you so much…" It was already late into the night. Hearing him sound vulnerable—something he rarely did—made my chest tighten. I blamed myself for overthinking. But the moment I hung up, realization struck. His sister has the same build as me. She always wears size M.

"Stop... Don't! I'm already at my limit!" I'm on my knees on the floor, tears streaming down my face, while a shirtless man stands in front of me with a leather whip in his hand. His voice stays gentle, but his movements never slow. "Babe, we're only halfway there." After I come back from the dead, I spend 80 million dollars hiring the most expensive male model in all of Navarro to spend the night with me. With that kind of money on the table, the service absolutely lives up to its price. He pulls out every trick I've never tried in my life. The next morning, I'm sitting astride him, using him as my morning workout, when suddenly there's one more person in the room. My husband, the Don of a mafia family, Leone Vieri.

On New Year's Eve, my husband, Max Davis, took me to a private dinner hosted by a big industry player. We had barely made our way around the room when a strange woman suddenly shoved me into the pool. When I insisted on checking the surveillance footage and calling the police, Max firmly held me back. He warned me to "remember my place" and not embarrass him in front of everyone. In the brief time I changed into another gown, I returned to find that same woman perched on my husband's lap, her red lipstick leaving traces on his collar. "Max, you're right! That nasty scar on her stomach really does look like a centipede. It's so hideous!" She giggled with mock innocence, adding, "It's been so fun messing with your wife. Next time, can I slap her when no one's looking?" Meanwhile, Max gazed at her like she was the only woman in the world, gently tracing his finger over her nose. "Of course, you can," he replied, eyes still locked on hers. "I'll even tie her hands behind her back for you."

On the seventh Valentine's Day after our bond was formed, my Alpha, Ethan Carrillo, goes on a business trip with a female Beta. When he returns, he gives me a blue sapphire necklace worth millions of dollars as an apology. Everyone thinks he loves me to the core, but I discover the female Beta wearing something rarer—a full set of blue sapphire jewelry. She has a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet. I act like I don't know anything and continue playing my part as the perfect Luna. The two of them go wild in the study at home after I fall asleep, wanting to add some spice to their lives. The following day, Ethan gives me a rare blue fox-fur shawl. Only then do I realize that each blue gift he gives me is a sign of his diffidence. My wardrobe is full of the blue things he's given me over the years! I start preparing a gift for him, too. He'll never know that I'm getting ready to leave him. I'll never let him find me.

After waking from a coma caused by a car accident, Clair learned that her husband Jasper—the son of an Alpha—had never once visited her. She had always known about Jasper's first love, Elodie, and now she resolved to let go completely, reclaiming her freedom. But only after Clair left did Jasper realize how much she truly meant to him. By then, it was already too late for redemption.

On the 99th floor of the most luxurious apartment building in the capital city, my husband's sister was once again threatening to jump down the building for the 63rd time. Dana realized she was getting tired all of a sudden. She was even thinking of jumping down herself. The police on the other side of the call couldn't say anything else except, "Mrs. Hill, how many times is this already…? Just deal with it yourself and let her do whatever she wants."

Eight years after I married that award-winning actor, he publicly declared he was dating the top starlet, Celine James. He even posted a picture of the two of them celebrating their adopted “baby’s” birthday. I did not call him to interrogate him as usual. Instead, he hurriedly explained, “It’s just a pet we adopted. As its ‘dad’, I have to be there for its birthday.” I said calmly, “Rather than adopting a furbaby, why don’t we get a divorce? Then you can have an actual baby with her.”

My husband persuaded my daughter to donate her kidney to save his lover. After the surgery, he stayed by his lover’s side and neglected my daughter who developed kidney failure that led to her death. When I confronted the nasty couple, they refused to believe that my daughter had passed away and kicked me out by force. Afterward, I took my daughter's ashes to her eighteenth birthday party where my husband showed up with his lover and tore down all the decorations, going as far as to scatter my daughter’s ashes. He then accused my late daughter of undermining his lover’s career. When he finally had to accept that his daughter was dead, he still insisted on defending his lover. Eventually, I showed him proof that it was his lover who refused the hospital’s proposed organ donor so that she could plot to take my daughter’s kidney instead. Upon finding out the truth, he lost his mind and killed his lover. Now that those two have gotten what they deserve, I bring my daughter’s ashes and travel to the places she had always wanted to go to.