Lily

At my bastard father's birthday party, I was drugged by my sister Emily—and worse, she planned to have her boyfriend assault me. As the substance coursed through my veins, desire began overwhelming my rational mind. But in that moment of vulnerability, my contract husband saved me. I found myself burning only for him. What started as his attempt to help me through the drug's effects became a night of raw, passionate intimacy that shattered every boundary we'd carefully constructed. In his arms, I discovered a hunger I never knew existed, and he claimed me with a possessive intensity that left us both breathless...
*
When Amelia Thompson signed that marriage contract, she never knew her husband was an FBI undercover agent.
Ethan Black approached her to investigate Viktor Group—the corrupt corporation where her late mother worked. To him, Amelia was just another lead, possibly the conspirator's daughter he was sworn to destroy.
But three months of marriage changed everything. Her warmth and fierce independence dismantled every defense around his heart—until the day she vanished.
Three years later, she returns with their child, seeking the truth about her mother's death. And he's no longer just an FBI agent, but a man desperate to win her back.
A Marriage Contract. A Life-Changing Inheritance. A Heart-Shattering Betrayal.
This time, can love survive the ultimate deception?

"White wolf! Kill that monster!"
That roar stole my eighteenth birthday and shattered my world. My first shift should have been glory—blood turned blessing into shame. By dawn they'd branded me "cursed": cast out by my pack, abandoned by family, stripped of my nature. My father didn't defend me—he sent me to a forsaken island where wolfless outcasts were forged into weapons, forced to kill each other until only one could leave.
On that island I learned the darkest edges of humanity and how to bury terror in bone. Countless times I wanted to surrender—dive into the waves and never surface—but the accusing faces that haunted my dreams pushed me back toward something colder than survival: revenge. I escaped, and for three years I hid among humans, collecting secrets, learning to move like a shadow, sharpening patience into precision—becoming a blade.
Then, under a full moon, I touched a bleeding stranger—and my wolf returned with a violence that made me whole. Who was he? Why could he wake what I'd thought dead?
One thing I know: now is the time.
I have waited three years for this. I will make everyone who destroyed me pay—and take back everything that was stolen from me.

After spending a full day at the FBI analyzing criminal profiles, I dragged my exhausted body home to find Marcus down on one knee, surrounded by candles and roses filling the entire room.

"Isabella, marry me." He stared at me with something in his eyes that I mistook for devotion at the time. "Let's have the wedding soon. I can't wait any longer."

That ring was everything I wanted—being with him, away from all those bloody cases.

"Yes." Tears came instantly. "Yes, I will."

How could I say no? We were such a perfect match. I'd helped him with his AI project, doing behavioral analysis; and he gave me warmth beyond the hunt for killers.

But as he slipped that ring onto my finger, how could I have known I was embracing a monster?

Our wedding? It won't be a celebration.

It will be his doom.

Three years ago, I abandoned my crown and my name. I wanted "ordinary love." I thought I was choosing freedom.

What a joke.

The fake heiress flaunted my necklace. The man I funded swaggered around his company, brazenly declaring: "Real success doesn't come from privilege. I despise spoiled rich kids."

Then he turned around and slept with her—because greed always recognizes greed.

So when I appeared at her birthday party in haute couture, stepping out of a Rolls-Royce with lawyers and media trailing behind me like an imperial entourage—every spotlight followed me.

Every whisper fell silent.

They finally learned the truth:

The identity she flaunted? Mine.

The mansion she posed in? Mine.

The man she stole? Nothing but trash I'd long since discarded.

I'm not here to fight for anything. I'm here to reclaim what was always mine.

As for those two? They don't even deserve to kneel at my hem, let alone touch it.

"Not pregnant again?"
Those three words have become more familiar than "I love you" in my marriage. For two years, I've dreaded the monthly ritual—the single line on the test, Damon's disappointed sigh, his mechanical "We'll try again."
Until yesterday.
"Congratulations, you're four weeks along," the doctor beamed, sliding the report across her desk.
I gripped that paper like a lifeline, tears streaming down my face as I touched my still-flat belly. Finally, he'll look at me the way he used to.
But some victories come with a price I never saw coming...

"You're just adopted. Know your place."
"She's your sister—what's so hard about letting her have it?"

Those two sentences were my life sentence.
I gift-wrapped my pain, mistook silence for virtue,
foolishly believing that if I just endured enough, someone might love me back.

Until the day I watched my sister take my fiancé, while they all acted like she deserved him more than I did.

That's when it hit me—I'd been fighting for a seat at a table that was never set for me.

No screaming. No begging. I just turned around and picked up Sophia.

Walking away wasn't giving up. It was finally getting it—you can't make a home where you were never meant to belong.

You want to know why I left the mafia? Because I had a kid. That's it. I didn't care if I died, but I cared if she did, so I cleaned myself up, proved I wasn't a threat anymore.
Ten years, every single day, I thought about going home, holding her, hearing her laugh again. And the moment I opened that door, I knew something was wrong. She smiled, but it wasn't real. Her eyes didn't look at me the way they should. Even the way she stood wasn't like my child.
My mind tried to explain it away, but my heart already knew—she wasn't my daughter.

Five years ago, I walked away pregnant and heartbroken.
He chose someone else.
He let me go without looking back.

Now I’ve returned—with a son who carries his blood
and a strength I never knew I had.

He kneels, begging for forgiveness.

Five years ago, my sister vanished the night before her wedding. She left behind a crying newborn in a crib and a mafia heir on the verge of losing control.

And I was forced into her place—the temporary bride, the contract wife, the whispered “replacement” in every gilded hallway.

I thought I only had to survive five years. Five years to earn what I was promised, and then walk away from this city of shadows and blood.

I clawed my way through bullets, politics, and betrayal. I earned respect. I gained power.
And somehow... I tasted a tenderness I was never meant to have.

Now, with only ten days left on our marriage contract, I thought everything was finally under control. I thought freedom and power were within reach.

Until she came back—wrapped in grace, dripping secrets, smiling as if she owned the world she abandoned.

She looked at me and said, “Little sister, give me back my life.”

In three days, I'll put on the white ceremonial dress and stand beneath the moonlight, addressed by the entire pack as—his Luna.
I've replayed that moment countless times: his hand closing around mine, his voice declaring our bond to the tribe,
and me—no longer an ordinary Omega, but the partner who stands beside an Alpha.
In my mind, that moment has always felt like fate.
I've believed that the second I step onto that ritual platform, my life will change forever—
as if every wait, every hope I've ever held, will finally be answered.
I keep telling myself:
destiny is waiting for me.
I just don't know
what it's preparing to give.

I was born into a powerful duke’s family—the kind everyone envied.
For years, I lived as the perfect daughter: admired, protected, untouchable.
Until the day a timid girl walked into our mansion. She kept her head down, too nervous to speak. She had never worn silk, never learned table manners. I thought she was the maid’s child, so I taught her how to smile, how to behave.
I believed I was helping her. But when she transferred to my school, she changed.
She cried at the right time, said the right words, and everyone took her side.
Then I found out the truth—she wasn’t a servant’s daughter, she was my father’s illegitimate child
.
And then she took everything from me.
I thought that was the end, but when I opened my eyes again, time had rewound.
Everything had started over.

I grew up in the slums—no father, no real home, and a foster mother who drowned herself in alcohol every night. She was volatile, often violent, yet she was also the woman who picked me up from the roadside and kept me alive. For eighteen years, I learned to survive between rusted alleyways and crumbling buildings, learned not to bend under fate, and learned to look down on those cowards who preyed on the weak.

To protect others, I often fought until my knuckles split open; to protect myself, I buried all my rage deep inside. I thought this was the life I was destined for—poverty, violence, chaos, but real in a way that still felt like mine.

Until one day, a group of strangers stepped into my shabby apartment and told me, “Zara, you don’t belong here. You’re our lost Alpha heir.”

As the lady of an old manor, I once believed I had everything—a powerful family name, immense wealth, flawless social standing, and a husband the world praised as perfect.
He was attentive and tender, and I truly thought my happiness would only deepen once our baby arrived. But during a walk in the garden, I slipped and fell into the pond—water, darkness, suffocation.
I thought I had killed myself and my unborn child with one careless misstep… until a voice whispered to me in the void: “You were murdered.”

When my mother died, our home fell unbearably silent.
And just when I was at my weakest, my father brought a strange girl into our house.
She was sweet, polite, effortlessly lovable—everyone adored her.
Everyone but me.
Because something about her felt wrong—as if her arrival was never a coincidence.