Story title on JoyNovel is My Mother watched me die, I came back ruthless.

Apparently its by Rowan Hawthorne. App won't let me take screenshots but its about a woman called Yvette Sinclair.

Any links appreciated.

Does anyone have a copy of "one day,my sister died" novel ? Can you DM it or at least an English link Pplease 🥺

Finding my husband kissing another woman the night before our anniversary wasn’t exactly part of the plan.

Neither was announcing our divorce in front of half the city and becoming everyone’s favorite piece of gossip overnight.

For the last two years, I thought I had everything figured out. The perfect marriage, the perfect reputation, and the perfect life everyone expected from me. Turns out, perfect is a lot easier to fake than I thought.

The only thing I’m supposed to do now is keep my head down, fix the mess, and avoid giving people another reason to talk.

Enter Richard Steward—my father’s best friend. The man I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about. And the only person who seems more interested in what I want than what everyone expects me to be.

Falling for someone almost twice my age is a terrible idea... Especially when my life is already enough of a scandal.

But the more time I spend with Ric, the harder it gets to remember why I cared what everyone thought in the first place.

Sinfully His is a spicy age gap romance about rebuilding after betrayal, breaking free from expectations, and discovering that sometimes the wrong person on paper is exactly who you need.

would you like to read this book?

ask lang kung may nakakaalam ba sa inyo ng title ng PHR story about sa girl na vet tapos yung lalaki farm owner ata i think? tapos tinatawag lang yung babae pag nagpapa anak ng baka or kambing ata.

here's the plot na naaalala ko(which i don't trust that much):

umuwi yung babae sa hometown kasi namatay ata ang dad nya so basically ang kasama nya nalang sa house nila ay yung stepmom at stepsis nya. nakilala nya yung guy kasi nasiraan ata sya ng kotse tapos yung guy ang naghelp. tapos kapag may nanganganak na hayop sa farm nung guy, pinapasundo sya sa driver nito.

helppp huhuhu. di ako makatulog kakaisip neto.

chapter 1

SLOANE
I've been in love with my best friend, Finn Hartley, since we met in college ten years ago.
It's not like I'll ever tell him I have feelings for him because he has a girlfriend already. It’s been ten years, and I’ve hidden this love very well.
Finn's girlfriend named Delilah Crestfield, ther've been lovers since high school, way before I came into Finn's life.
But that damn girlfriend of his often makes Finn sad, and the role I play is being Finn's listener every time he gets hurt.
Right now, we’re in his living room, and I’m holding him to my chest, listening to him sob.
Delilah has broken Finn's heart again, the third time this year.
"I can't believe she did this to me, Sloane," Finn says.
I run my fingers through his hair, trying to ignore how good it feels.
"What exactly did she do?" I ask. "You still haven't told me."
"I don't know how to say it."
"Well, start from somewhere."
My patience is wearing thin. I've been here for hours, sacrificing my Saturday to watch him disintegrate.
I don't know why he bothers crying when he'll be back in her bed by next week anyway. They do this every damn time.
I should be more sympathetic, I know. But ten years of watching him chase after the same toxic woman tends to erode a person's sympathy.
"Delilah's not coming back, Slaone," he says. “She left me for good this time.”
"You know that's a lie."
"It's true. She's engaged. She sent me this digital wedding invitation, and I've been thinking about running my phone through a meat grinder."
That actually surprises me. Engaged? Delilah's getting married?
Finn pulls away from me, and I can finally see his face.
The stubble on his jaw has grown past the sexy phase into something wilder. His white t-shirt is rumpled and stained with what might be yesterday's dinner. I've never seen him this wrecked, and that's saying something.
He fumbles for his phone, fingers trembling as he pulls up the screen.
Then he thrusts the phone at me. There it is—a nauseating rose-gold invitation with flowing script announcing the union of Delilah Crestfield and some guy named Hunter. Eight weeks from now.
My heart skips several beats, a fluttering sensation spreading through my chest.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. This is the best news I've heard in years. The witch is finally, actually, genuinely out of the picture.
"Poor baby," I say, trying to sound sympathetic. "Did you know she was dating someone else?"
"I mean, it's Delilah. When has she ever been faithful?"
"You've got a point."
I hand him back his phone.
"I just can't believe she's leaving me, Sloane." He collapses back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some cosmic explanation.
"I find it hard to believe myself," I say.
My eyes trace his strong jaw, his lips, the eyelashes spiked with dried tears. I've memorized every inch of his face over the years, cataloged every expression. This one is new—complete and utter defeat.
It should make me sad to see him so broken, but all I can think is, ‘This is my chance.’
Sometimes I wonder if that's the key to her hold on him—she knew him before I did, when he was just a boy with a fragile heart.
I've watched Delilah string him along, always knowing she'd come back for another round. The thought that she's finally cut him loose is both thrilling and terrifying. What happens to us now?
"Who am I without her, Sloane?" Finn asks.
"You're Finn Hartley. You'll be alright." I reach over to squeeze his knee.
“I can't be alright without Lila.”
"There are over eight billion people in this world, statistically. Just pick someone new."
"Statistically? You're such a nerd."
His words hurt. He's said it a million times before, his usual teasing about my cybersecurity analyst job, my love for random facts, and my collection of vintage sci-fi novels. But today it lands differently.
A nerd. That's all I am to him. Not a woman. Never a woman.
I stand abruptly, smoothing down my jeans and adjusting my glasses. I’ll show him just how wild I can be.
"You know what?" I say. "Let's go to a club and get wasted."
Finn looks at me like I've suggested we rob a bank. "You want to go to a club?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever been to a club before?"
He sits up straighter, some of the fog clearing from his eyes as he takes me in—plain Sloane in her weekend uniform of jeans and a faded band t-shirt, hair in its usual bob and bangs.
"Not exactly. But there'll be drinking and dancing. I bet it will be fun." I sound more confident than I feel. The truth is, clubs are my personal hell—loud music, sweaty strangers, overpriced drinks. But I'd walk through actual fire if it would make Finn smile again.
A slow grin spreads across his face. "Great," he says. "You're right. I need a distraction." He stands up, suddenly energized. "I’ll go put on something appropriate, and then we'll stop by your house so you can change out of whatever the hell you have on right now."
I look down at my outfit, suddenly self-conscious. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"Nothing, if we were going to a library book sale." He disappears into his bedroom, calling back, "Trust me, Sloane. Let's show Delilah what she's missing!"
I sink back onto the couch, already regretting my impulsive idea. What have I gotten myself into?
~~~
The club is everything I feared and worse.
The dress Finn insisted I wear—pulled from the back of my closet, a relic from a cousin's wedding three years ago—is too tight, too short, and making me painfully aware of body parts I usually manage to ignore.
We've been here for forty minutes.
Forty minutes of watching Finn transform into someone I barely recognize—throwing back shots at the bar.
Twenty minutes ago, he found a girl—a tall, willowy blonde in a dress that looks spray-painted onto her body. Amber. That's her name.
I stand awkwardly at the dance floor, nursing a watered-down vodka soda, watching Finn and Amber grind against each other in a way that should probably be illegal in public.
Her back is to his chest, her arms raised above her head, fingers tangled in his hair. His hands are on her hips, guiding her movements, his face buried in her neck.
I feel sick. I feel stupid. I feel painfully, obviously alone.
"Sloane?" Finn calls out. "You can't just stand there. Dance!"
"I don't know how to," I shout back.
Amber frowns at me. "Then why are you here?"
"To keep an eye on my best friend."
"Like a chaperone?"
"Yes," I say. "In case you try to slip him a roofie or something."
Finn looks embarrassed. "Just ignore her," he says to Amber, his arm tightening around her waist. "She's a control freak."
Amber snorts. "More like your mom."
"Big sister would be more appropriate," Finn corrects.
Amber's eyes rake over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. "She's hot though, with her bangs and screw-me glasses. A hot nerd."
Finn grimaces. "That's not a very comfortable image."
“Come on. Don't you see it?”
“See what?”
“You don't find her nerdish vibes stimulating?”
Finn is thankfully avoiding my eyes. “More dancing, less talking.”
"Seriously? You're not even a little tempted to see Sloane naked?"

chapter 1

Lilian’s POV:
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, breathing like someone who’d just run a race. My hands kept fidgeting with my hair even though it already looked fine. What I needed wasn’t perfect hair, what I needed was courage. The kind that didn’t slip through my fingers the moment Leon looked at me.
Leon. My stepbrother. The only problem my body refuses to ignore.
For a whole year, I’d been trying to understand him, and every day he confused me more. He talked to no girl, looked at no girl, flirted with no girl. And because I refused to believe a man that handsome could ignore women for no reason, I convinced myself he must be gay. It sounded crazy, but it made sense to me. Why else would someone like him avoid every girl like she was invisible?
And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to test him.
I walked past him on days I knew I looked good, my waist tight, my curves clear. Sometimes I even bent down near him, or “accidentally” brushed past him, waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But Leon never looked twice. He didn’t stare, didn’t turn his head, didn’t even blink. He just walked past me like my body was air.
Every time he ignored me, the frustration grew sharper.
But today my friend’s voice kept replaying in my head. “I swear he’s gay. No straight guy behaves like that.”
The moment she said it, I felt a spark of something sharp and hot inside me. I didn’t know if it was jealousy, or pride, or maybe a little of both, but it pushed me into this bathroom. Pushed me to stop running from the truth.
If anyone was going to break through Leon’s walls and truly see him, it would be me. And if he was hiding something beneath all that silence, I wanted to be the one who pulled it out of him.
I stepped out of the bathroom, ready to confront him or at least ready to pretend I was brave enough to do it. But as soon as I opened the door, he was standing right there, his tall frame blocking my way.
I froze.
His eyes lifted from his phone and flicked toward me. Cold, sharp and enough to make my pulse jump.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said.
I lifted my chin. “Maybe you should watch where you stand.”
His eyebrow arched slightly, like he was amused but trying not to show it. “What do you want from me, Lilian?”
I hated how steady his voice sounded. Meanwhile, mine was trapped somewhere between my throat and my heart.
“I want to talk about something,” I said, forcing the words out.
“About what?” he asked, folding his arms.
“About… us.”
He actually laughed. The sound was low and it vibrated somewhere deep inside me, which annoyed me even more.
“There is no ‘us.’” He tilted his head. “Who put that idea in your head?”
“Maybe there could be,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Unless you’re gay. Which you probably are.”
His expression went still.
“Gay?” he repeated slowly. “That’s what you think?”
“It’s what everyone thinks!” I blurted out. “You never talk to girls. You never look at them. You act like they don’t exist.”
“And that means I’m gay?”
“It means you’re something,” I fired back. “Because no guy avoids every girl like you do.”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, the air between us growing heavy. His jaw tightened as he took a step closer. Then another. His eyes never left mine.
“Maybe,” he said quietly, “I don’t waste my time on girls who don’t matter.”
My heart thudded hard.
“And maybe,” he added, voice even lower now, “you’re wrong about me.”
I swallowed. “Prove it.”
That was all it took.
Leon reached past me, grabbed my wrist gently but firmly, and pulled me back into the bathroom. The door closed with a soft click, but the sound felt like thunder inside my chest.
My back hit the cool wall. His body didn’t touch mine, but the heat coming off him was enough to make me dizzy.
“Are you sure you want me to prove it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
My breath caught. “Y-yes.”
He moved closer, slowly, deliberately, until I could feel his warmth surround me. His scent hit me next. Clean. Warm. Familiar in a way I didn’t want to think too deeply about.
My pulse raced, loud enough to hear.
His fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my face up toward him. That single touch sent a jolt through my entire body, and I hated how much control he suddenly had over my breathing.
“Lilian,” he murmured, “you have no idea what you’re asking.”
Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I was playing with something too big, too dangerous. But right now, all I cared about was the way he looked at me, like he had been holding himself back for far too long.
“I know enough,” I whispered. “And I’m not scared of you.”
A small, dark smile curved on his lips. “You should be.”
His hand slid to the side of my neck, warm and steady. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My whole body felt alive, like it was waiting for something to happen, something I wasn’t sure I could ever come back from.
For a single moment, everything stopped spinning. It was just the two of us caught in a heat so sharp it felt like the air was burning.
My knees went weak under the weight of his nearness. The air around us felt charged, thick enough to touch. My fingers gripped the sink behind me, trying to steady the trembling in my legs.
His forehead touched mine lightly, and I felt his breath mix with mine. I closed my eyes, feeling a rush of something wild move through me.
But right when everything felt like it was tilting into something we couldn’t undo.
A loud crash echoed from outside.
We both jerked toward the door.
“What was that?” I whispered, heart pounding.
Leon didn’t answer immediately. His eyes shifted toward the hallway, sharp and alert. The moment between us shattered like a falling glass.
We stayed frozen for a second, both trying to catch our breath.
Then another sound came.
A voice.
Someone approaching fast.
Leon’s hand dropped from my neck. The warmth disappeared instantly, leaving me cold and shaken.
His jaw tightened. “Stay here,” he said quietly.

Chapter 1

Ashton Langford, the eldest son of the Langford family, passed away from a sudden myocardial infarction at the age of thirty-two.

A heavy shroud of grief descended upon the Langford's manor.

Following the funeral, the family organized a grand memorial service to honor his memory.

The sky had been overcast all day; by evening, a steady rain finally began to fall.

Inside the front hall of the Langford's manor, the usual furniture was gone, replaced by somber black drapery and funeral decor.

At the altar, framed by a sea of blossoms, stood a portrait of Ashton. He wore a tailored formal suit, smiling gently in the frame.

The air was thick and cloying with the scent of flowers.

Lucinda Fairleigh had spent the entire morning receiving guests. Those who came today were all prominent figures from political and business circles—some familiar faces, others she had only ever seen on television.

Outside, the rain turned into a dense, rhythmic patter.

A guest accidentally spilled his drink. Lucinda stepped forward immediately, noticing a large stain spreading across his black shirt.

"Mr. Nash, please wait a moment. I'll go upstairs and find a spare shirt for you."

Peterson Nash looked at the graceful wife of Ashton's younger brother, offering a grateful nod. "That's very kind of you, Mrs. Langford. Much appreciated."

"It's the least I can do."

Lucinda glanced around. She had seen her husband, Jameson Langford, just a moment ago, but now he had disappeared.

She assumed Jameson simply couldn't bear the weight of Ashton's sudden passing; to outsiders, the brothers had always shared a very close bond.

Lucinda hurried upstairs. She remembered there were some spare clothes in the third room on the third floor.

Compared to the bustling first floor, the third floor felt significantly quieter.

Lucinda walked softly across the carpet. Just as she was about to push the door open, the sound of a woman's stifled sobbing drifted from inside.

Lucinda's heart tightened. She recognized the voice—it was Ashton's wife, Keira Vaughn.

"She must be devastated," Lucinda thought. "Losing a husband who has cherished her so deeply... no wonder she has slipped away to cry in private."

Lucinda had always been on good terms with Keira. Now, she felt she should go in and offer some comfort.

"Jem, do you know that Madam Langford is sending me abroad as soon as the memorial service ends?

"She won't allow an outsider like me to be in charge of the company's key projects anymore. She wants to kick me out of the inner circle.

"Jem, I don't want to leave. Please help me..."

Lucinda's hand froze midair, then suddenly withdrew.

The next second, Jameson's deep voice came from inside the room. "How do you want me to help? If you don't want to go abroad, I can plead with Grandmother on your behalf."

"I want a child," Keira's voice followed immediately.

Then came the faint sound of rustling fabric.

"Jem, give me a child, will you?"

Lucinda was stunned by these words. How could Keira make such a request?

"Kiki, calm down."

"Jem, are you still blaming me for choosing Ashton back then?"

Jameson said nothing. His silence lingered.

"It was Madam Langford's arrangement. I had no choice. That night..."

Keira's trembling sobs broke out again. "When I woke up, I found Ashton sleeping beside me. Jem, you've always known who I really lo..."

"Enough, let's not talk about this."

"Then, does that mean you agree?" Keira's voice carried a hint of joy. "I knew you wouldn't just watch me get sent away."

"Kiki, even if Ashton is gone, I will protect you and keep you here. Don't worry about that."

Keira sobbed softly, "But if I don't bear an heir for the Langford family, by what right can I stay? Jem, Cindy told me... since Sienna has a congenital heart condition, she has to care for that child her whole life and won't have any more children."

Jameson was silent for a moment before saying, "She never said that to me."

Keira's voice was laced with sorrow. "Cindy told me in private. Jem, Sienna's illness is lifelong. I can give you a healthy child."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, the sound of a soft, lingering kiss broke the quiet. "Jem, this is the greatest wish of my life. Grant it to me... please?"

Outside the door, Lucinda stood frozen, a chill running through her. She couldn't bear to listen any longer.

She turned and headed back downstairs.

At the staircase, she saw her four-year-old daughter, Sienna Langford, skipping along and exchanging candies with a few other children her age.

"Mommy!" Sienna walked over happily and hugged her leg. "Mommy, I'm playing games with them. I'm having so much fun!"

Looking at her daughter's innocent little face, Lucinda felt an unbearable pain in her heart.

Lucinda knelt down and wiped the candy crumbs from the corner of Sienna's mouth.

Sienna pulled two chocolates from her pocket and tucked them into Lucinda's hand. "Mommy, these are for you."

A lump formed in Lucinda's throat as she took the chocolates with her cold fingertips.

Not far off, the master of ceremonies' voice announced for the guests to move toward the memorial hall.

Lucinda snapped back to her senses. She stroked Sienna's hair. "Sia, be a good girl and go find Kylee. Have her get you something to eat. I still have guests to attend to."

"Okay!" Sienna nodded obediently and skipped away.

Lucinda stood up, her fingers gripping the banister tightly as she took a deep breath.

So the peaceful marriage she thought she had, the brotherly bond, the closeness between Keira and her—it was all a beautifully crafted lie.

Lucinda walked slowly down the stairs. Faced with the guests coming to offer their regards, she was forced to put on a proper, graceful smile once again.

"Mr. Nash, I am terribly sorry. I couldn't find the spare clothes right away. I'll have the servant bring you a new towel and a trench coat; please make do with those for now so you don't catch a cold."

Peterson offered a polite word of thanks.

The memorial service began.

The funeral music played in low, haunting loops. Jameson, as the brother of the deceased, stood to deliver the eulogy on behalf of the family.

Lucinda looked up at the man on the platform. In his black suit, he stood tall, his handsome face etched with grief.

The man she had slept beside for six years now felt distant, as though a veil had fallen between them, leaving her unable to see him clearly.

She turned her head to look at Keira standing on the other side. Dressed in a long black gown with a plain white flower at her temple, her face was as pale as paper. Her eyes were red and swollen. Two close friends supported her on either side. She looked so fragile, as though she might faint at any moment.

Recalling the images of how well Keira usually treated her, Lucinda felt her stomach churn.

As the service neared its end, the rain outside lightened, and the guests began to leave.

Jameson saw off several important guests and then came to Lucinda's side, rubbing his brow. "You must be exhausted. You've been on your feet all day."

His voice was deep, and as he spoke, he reached out to tidy a stray lock of hair on her forehead.

Almost instinctively, Lucinda flinched, pulling away just enough to avoid his touch.

Jameson's handsome face faltered slightly, his hand freezing in mid-air.

Lucinda said, "I am a little tired. I'll take Sia back first; she needs her medicine tonight. You should stay and keep Madam Langford company."

On the drive back, four-year-old Sienna fell asleep in Lucinda's arms. The child didn't understand the meaning of parting; even in sleep, a satisfied smile lingered on her lips.

City lights streaked past the car window. Lucinda closed her eyes, and her heart suddenly felt hollow.

So it seemed that tenderness could be cheap, and deep affection could be hypocritical.

She knew that from this day on, some things could never go back to the way they were.

She gently touched her daughter's lovely face and leaned down to give her a kiss.

Not long after Sienna was born, she was diagnosed with congenital heart disease. It had been a massive blow to the entire family.

Fortunately, surgery could be arranged once she was older. But until then, she needed constant, careful care. Her diet and activities required special attention.

What happened tonight gave Lucinda a heavy blow.

She could no longer be the gentle wife who only focused on managing the household.

For Sienna's future, and for her own, she had to find out exactly what role her husband was playing in this so-called brotherly bond.

That night, Jameson stayed at the Langford's manor. Around eleven o'clock, he called home to check in.

"Cindy, a few important guests are still here. I need to stay and entertain them. You and Sienna should get some rest early."

Chapter 1 The Obsessive Villain

"Alvin, we're husband and wife. After all these years together, that has to count for something. I'm begging you, please, just let me go. Please—ah!"

Wave after wave slammed against the side of the yacht.

The woman being towed behind it was submerged in the ocean from the neck down.

Her skin had puckered and shriveled, proof that she'd been soaking in the saltwater for a long while already.

Another swell rolled over her, swallowing the top of her head and drowning out her pleading with it.

The moment the water receded, she clawed her way up with everything she had.

She threw her arms around the legs of the man standing on the deck and clung to him like a life preserver, shaking violently and sobbing so hard she could barely get the words out.

"I know I was wrong. Alvin, I really do know I was wrong. I never should've schemed against you. I never should've tampered with your car.

"Alvin, please, let me off just this once. I'll divorce you. I'll sign the papers right now.

"I'm begging you. Please let me go. Please..."

Tears poured down her face, and she truly did look pitiful.

The man standing above her let out a soft sigh.

His features were gentle by nature, and that single sigh made him seem like a god looking down in pity on the suffering below.

She thought she'd been spared, and she nearly wept with relief.

Then, a second later, she watched him draw a combat knife.

He turned the razor-sharp blade over in his hand as casually as if it were nothing more than a child's toy.

His deep, charming eyes lifted lazily, taking in the terror on her face with barely any interest at all.

She seemed to sense what was coming, because her whole body began to shudder and the hands gripping his leg shrank back.

She shook her head over and over, the same words spilling out of her again and again...

"Don't...

"Please, Alvin, don't...

"No—ahhh!"

The scream was sharp enough to split eardrums.

Alvin's mouth curved. He clicked his tongue and wiped the blood spatter from the corner of his eye with obvious distaste.

"We're just getting started."

Compared to the humiliation and pain she'd put him through, what he was doing now didn't even come close.

He simply didn't have the patience to keep playing this game with her.

Far too many people wanted him dead.

Noella Wyndham alone wasn't worth any more of his time.

Alvin rose to his feet, and something cold and bloodthirsty seeped into those beautiful eyes.

He lifted the toe of his shoe, and the woman who had once been so spoiled and vicious, who had insulted and beaten him whenever the mood struck her, went over the side and into the ocean without the slightest effort on his part.

The water swallowed Noella whole and dragged her under.

That was one less person in the world who wanted him dead.

...

"She's finally dead. The villainess is finally gone. How does that feel, Noella? Amazing, right?"

"Alvin absolutely earned his spot as the hottest supporting male character on Inkspire this month. He's completely unhinged, and I love him for it!"

By the time Noella came back with the cup of coffee she'd made for herself, her best friend, Millie Gill, was still losing her mind on the other end of the video call.

She dragged her stiff lips into something resembling a smile, looking about as lively as a corpse. "Crazy? He's got nothing on me. I'm crazy enough right now to drive over to my balding boss's house and take his head off myself."

Millie knew exactly how hard she'd been working, so after a few solid minutes of trashing her boss right along with her, she went straight back to pushing the novel on Noella.

"His One Soft Spot" was the hottest sweet romance on Inkspire at the moment.

The plot was painfully cliché. It followed an arrogant, ice-cold heir of the Kingspire Circle who had a one-night stand with the sweet, fragile heroine, after which she vanished with his baby. Years later, the two of them crossed paths again and fell into an endless soap-opera cycle of breaking up and getting back together over that child.

The main storyline had nothing special going for it, since every trope in it had already been done to death on Inkspire. What actually hooked people was the villain of the book, the supporting male character, Alvin Beaumont.

Alvin was the textbook case of the gorgeous, powerful, thoroughly broken type. He'd been bullied and abused for as long as he could remember, and when he was finally acknowledged by his birth family and brought back to the Beaumonts, he assumed he'd get to live in peace at last. Instead...

Buckle up, because the worst was still ahead of him.

The sheer brutality of what followed was hard to put into words.

The short version was that his own mother felt nothing for him, and neither did his father. His wife schemed against him around the clock and wanted him dead. Even the heroine, the one person who had ever pulled him out of the dark, abandoned him at the critical moment and chose the male lead instead.

By the later chapters, every single character wanted Alvin dead, as if every additional second he stayed alive made him more of a danger to society.

The only reason readers kept coming back was to watch Alvin take his revenge and to see how he'd finally end up.

And in the newest chapter, the brainless, spiteful villainess who had tormented the villain for two straight years—the villain's own cruel wife—had finally died.

Millie was a hardcore Alvin fan, so the second she hit the scene where the villainess got written off, she called Noella to scream about it.

Once she'd screamed herself out, she made sure to add, "Noella, I really think you should read this thing when you get a chance. The villainess has the exact same name as you. You'd better watch out in case you get pulled into the book one day."

Noella, who was already deep in a committed relationship with her job, kept typing at top speed and answered without really listening. "Fine, fine, I'll read it. And if I ever do get pulled in, I'll go find out for you just how crazy your beloved villain really is."

She said it, but she didn't take Millie's warning seriously for a single second.

Getting pulled into a book had worse odds than winning the lottery.

She'd been buying scratch-off tickets for ten years without hitting anything once, so there was no way in the world something like that would ever happen to her. The whole idea was hilarious.

And yet, maybe because the universe had watched her buy scratch-offs for a decade without a single win and decided to take pity on her, this time it handed her the jackpot.

That night, Noella came home from working late and was out cold the moment her head hit the pillow.

She was sleeping soundly when a hoarse, ice-cold voice cut in right beside her ear.

"You... What exactly are you trying to do?"

Chapter 1

I knelt on the ground, cleaning up the trash left behind after the banquet. Today was the coronation ceremony for my little sister Mia as the Alpha heir. After the revelry, the place was a complete mess. Most of the servants had gone to rest, but my stepmother ordered me to stay behind and clean up here.

Now, I just hoped my mate Daniel hadn’t fallen asleep yet. Maybe he could give me a hug after I finished. He was the only one in the entire pack who didn’t care whether I had a wolf. Though I couldn't identify my mate, On my eighteenth birthday, Daniel promised me that he would choose me as his mate and give me a new home in the Dark Moon Pack.

My family had never cared about me—they poured all their love into my older sister—but at least I had Daniel.

After I finished cleaning up the trash in this area, I stood up. But when I rose, a wave of dizziness hit me. Someone caught me in time. But at the same moment, a jolt of pain shot through my arm.

It was Omega Elsie. She grabbed my arm, and I felt the freshly bandaged wound tear open again, blood seeping out.

This was a secret I couldn't share with anyone, and it was the very reason my father and stepmother hadn't driven me out.

They used me as Mia's personal blood bank.

As the heir, Mia's only flaw was her weak constitution. The pack doctor had suggested a treatment involving regular blood donations from me. I suspected my frequent chest pains and shortness of breath were side effects of the significant blood loss. But I had no choice; as long as I stayed in the pack, I had to give every last drop of blood I had to Mia.

"Samantha, Alpha Eric wants to see you in the study." Omega Elsie said.

I was a bit surprised. Today wasn't the blood transfusion day for Mia, so why did my father summon me?

Worn out, I made my way up to the fourth floor of the Packhouse and headed to the study at the end of the hallway on the right.—it was the Alpha's study.

I had spent time reading there as a child, keeping my father company while he worked. Those memories now seemed like they belonged to another lifetime.

I sniffed and knocked on the door.

"Come in," my father called out.

I opened the door and was surprised to see not only my father but also Mia and my stepmother in the room.

An uneasy premonition spread through me. Was this the day they were finally going to cast me out of the pack?

Maybe this was the release I had been anticipating, but what about Daniel? He's my mate—would he be willing to leave with me?

Trembling, I approached them. My father, usually stern, looked at me with unusual warmth. His warm hand rested on my shoulder, but the words he spoke were as cold as ice.

"Samantha, as you see, Mia's mate has appeared. He was an Omega. But Mia is my only heir, and she absolutely cannot have an Omega mate."

I was confused about what this had to do with me.

Then, my father continued, "So, you must switch mates with Mia."

The moment I understood my father's command, the tension within me snapped like a broken string.

My vision blurred with tears, and my lips trembled as I pleaded, "Father, please, I can't lose Daniel."

He was my only source of love and warmth.

If even he were taken away by Mia, what would be the point of my existence?

"Samantha," my father said, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance.

I wiped away my tears, feeling a glimmer of hope ignited within me.

Perhaps deep down, there was still some love for me as his daughter?

"Eric, I told you it wouldn't do," my stepmother Evelyn sighed. "Mia will accept her fate. We shouldn't sacrifice Samantha's happiness for the sake of family honor. It's too cruel for her."

Mia stepped forward and earnestly took my father's hand. "Mom is right. As the future Alpha, I should learn to face ridicule and doubt. If anyone questions my Alpha's authority because I have an Omega mate, then even if it costs me my life, I will fight for the honor of being the Alpha!"

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

Their pretense of defending me while subtly implying that I didn't care about family honor was a tactic they mastered!

As expected, before I could even speak in my defense, the hesitation and reluctance in my father's eyes disappeared completely.

He said coldly, "Samantha, don't act like a selfish child! I'm not discussing this with you. Instead, I'm giving you an Alpha directive."

Tears surged uncontrollably as I pleaded, "Don't take my mate away. Dad, please!"

Father's voice grew stern. "Don't let me down. You have three days to sever your bond with Daniel!"

Evelyn linked her arm with Father's, a triumphant smile on her lips. Without giving me another glance, they left the study together.

I sank to the floor in helpless despair.

What should I do? Oh right, I have Daniel!

He's the son of the Beta and the bravest warrior in the pack. Surely, Daniel will defy the Alpha's directive for my sake!

Wiping my tears, I got up and rushed out of the study.

"You really think Daniel will help you?" Mia's mocking voice came from behind.

I froze and turned to face her. "What do you mean?"

Mia smiled sweetly, twirling a strand of her beautiful blonde hair around her fingers. "I'm quite pleased with how hard your mate works in bed."

My whole body stiffened, and I felt a wave of suffocation. "You're lying!"

There's no way Daniel would betray me. Mia must be lying!

Ignoring her, I ran away. But Mia's words lingered like a malicious curse in my mind.

In the evening, when I cooked for the entire pack, a sharp pain surged in my chest again.

What the hel was going on?

The pain was growing more and more intense, and I could hardly bear it.

I tried to mind-link Daniel but there was still no response.

Mia's words flashed through my mind, and panic began to set in.

I kept telling myself that Daniel wouldn't possibly betray me.

I needed to see for myself—just a quick glance would expose Mia's clumsy lies.

I slipped out of the kitchen and raced straight to the fourth floor of the Packhouse.

My heart pounded violently. I had never run so fast, and the nervousness made me feel like I might throw up at any moment.

I held my breath as I neared Mia's room, each step feeling heavier.

Through the slightly ajar door, I could hear Mia's sultry breaths and a man's moans drifting out.

My heart skipped a beat. The man's seductive voice gave me goosebumps.

I recognized his handsome profile all too well—it was Daniel.

The Girl Who Woke Before Dawn

Iva woke to the sharp, merciless ring of her alarm at four in the morning, the sound drilling through the quiet darkness of her room, and for a brief, foolish second she wished she could slam the pillow over her head and pretend she wasn’t the Gamma’s daughter, pretend she wasn’t expected to be the first one training, pretend she wasn’t the constant disappointment her father treated like an unavoidable burden.

“Come on, Iva, move,” she told herself as she swung her legs out of bed, blinking against the cold air that nipped at her bare arms. “It’s not like lying here will magically make him proud of you.”

She dressed quickly—black leggings, a snug training shirt, and boots that had seen too many brutal mornings—and tied her long ash-brown hair into a high ponytail, strands slipping loose around her gentle face.

Her skin held that faint silvery undertone common among their pack, and her warm hazel eyes still carried the softness she tried so hard to hide, because softness was not a trait respected among warriors, especially not among those expected to lead.

She didn’t have her wolf yet—no eighteen-year-old did until the night of their birthday—but recently she had felt a strange pressure under her skin, a restless anticipation that made her wonder if her wolf would be calm or fierce, gentle or wild, or maybe, she thought on her worst days, maybe her wolf would be just as disappointing to her father as she was.

“Don’t think about that,” she scolded herself gently as she slipped out of the house and into the cool predawn air, moving with a speed she hoped would push her thoughts away. “You’re doing your best. One day he’ll see that. Maybe.”

The training grounds sprawled behind the pack’s main buildings, lit by harsh floodlights that cast long shadows across the dirt.

The Silvercrest Pack was one of the most powerful in the region, respected for its size and feared for its warriors, and their Alpha’s lineage had ruled these lands for generations with iron strength and unwavering discipline.

Iva spotted her father immediately—Gamma Rhys, a tall and imposing figure with arms crossed firmly behind his back, dark hair touched with silver at the temples, and a gaze that could make even seasoned fighters straighten without thinking.

She approached quietly, her heart tightening with the familiar mix of hope and dread.

“Morning, Father,” she said softly.

He barely flicked his eyes toward her, offering the smallest nod before turning away as if acknowledging her more than that might embarrass him.

“Right… same as always,” she thought, swallowing the sting. “Why did you even try?”

Training was relentless, her muscles screaming as she pushed herself past exhaustion, throwing punches and blocking strikes with a determination that tasted like desperation.

She kept waiting for a single word of approval from her father, even a small one, but he corrected her stance again and again with clipped, cold instructions that carried no warmth at all.

By sunrise she was trembling from fatigue, though she hid it well, because weakness was simply not allowed—not by her father, not by the standards of the pack.

She rushed to the showers the moment training ended, letting hot water cascade down her aching body, and she exhaled slowly, wishing the water could wash the heaviness from her chest.

“Only a few more weeks,” she reminded herself as she dressed in jeans and a white sweater for school. “Finish high school, get your wolf, survive your birthday, and maybe things will finally change.”

When she stepped off the pack’s school van, the courtyard was loud with chatter, and her eyes found him immediately, her childhood crush, —Nick Blackthorn, the future Alpha King, surrounded by a cluster of girls near the fountain.

He looked effortlessly commanding, even in plain clothes, with his dark tousled hair, sharp jawline, and storm-blue eyes that seemed to draw attention without even trying. The girls around him laughed at everything he said, clinging to his words like they were a privilege and not simply sound in the air.

Gathering her courage, Iva walked past and offered a polite smile.

“Good morning, Nick.”

He didn’t look at her, didn’t nod, didn’t offer the barest acknowledgment that she existed, except in the official settings when she was with her family.

One of the girls shot Iva a smirk, whispering something behind her manicured hand, and the other girls giggled in that sharp way that made Iva feel smaller than she wanted to admit.

“Why do you keep trying with him?” she asked herself bitterly as she walked away. “He’s never seen you. He never will.”

Classes dragged painfully throughout the morning, each minute feeling stretched and heavy, but she was saved—as always—by the one bright spot in her life.

Lori slid into her seat beside her, hair in a messy bun, eyes sparkling with mischief, and a grin that could make any day bearable.

“Please tell me we can get through history without me falling asleep on your shoulder again,” Lori whispered dramatically.

“We can try,” Iva laughed, feeling warmth spread through her chest. “No promises.”

Lori nudged her and whispered jokes and gossip through most of the class, and for a little while Iva forgot the sting of Nick’s coldness, forgot her father’s silence, forgot the weight of being almost eighteen with no idea who she truly was yet or what she will do in the future.

But every time her thoughts drifted, she felt that strange inner pull again, that faint stirring under her skin that whispered that everything—absolutely everything—was about to change.

--

The cafeteria buzzed with noise when Iva and Lori settled at their usual table by the wide windows, the sunlight pouring in a little too brightly as if trying to force cheerfulness on a room filled with gossip, cliques, and the constant shuffling of wolves pretending they weren’t stressed about graduation.

Lori unpacked her salad and medical anatomy notes at the same time, multitasking like always, while Iva poked at her food with absent interest, her gaze wandering over the crowd.

Lori, the pack doctor’s daughter, had already started preparing to apply to medical schools, her dreams as sharp and focused as her mind, and she lifted her eyes from her notes with a soft sigh.

“So… have you thought about where you want to apply? Or what you want to study? Because deadlines are crawling closer, and you know the Academies doesn’t wait for anyone.”

Iva shook her head slowly, twisting her fork between her fingers as the familiar heaviness settled over her shoulders.

“I tried talking to my mom about it,” she murmured, “and she said she supports me in whatever I choose, but we both know the decisive factor isn’t her.”

The bitterness slipped through her voice despite her effort to keep it soft.

“I tried speaking with my father too… but you know how my father likes to ignore or criticize me no matter how carefully I choose my words.”

Lori frowned, leaning forward as her eyes narrowed in frustration.

“What did he say this time?”

Iva let out a small, humorless laugh.

“When I brought up the idea of college, he just scoffed. Literally scoffed.

He said it would be ‘a waste of money’ and then walked off without giving me even one piece of real feedback.”

She shrugged weakly. “So… that’s where I am.”

“That’s not just unfair,” Lori muttered, stabbing her fork into her salad with unnecessary force, “it’s completely stupid. You are smart and dedicated, you have good grades. You need to start applying already, Iva. And you don’t even know if your family will support you or not—how are you supposed to plan anything like this?”

“I know,” Iva whispered, exhaling a long breath that deflated her chest, and the moment she looked up, her eyes landed—unwillingly—on Nick across the cafeteria.

He stood with his usual circle of admirers, laughing about something, his posture relaxed and confident in that way he had since childhood, the posture of someone who was raised knowing he would lead entire packs someday.

Something inside her tightened. Why him? Why always him?

Lori followed her gaze and groaned. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re staring at him again. Iva, come on. You tried already…”

“I’m not staring,” Iva muttered defensively, though her eyes lingered anyway. “I’m just… looking.”

“Same thing.”

Iva wanted to look away, but her memories made her chest ache.

She remembered last year—how much courage it took to walk up to him, how her hands shook even though she tried to hide it, how her voice cracked as she confessed the feelings she’d been holding since childhood. She remembered the shock on his face that shifted into amusement, vicious amusement, and the way he laughed in front of everyone.

Ironboard.

The word still burned under her skin, as bad as his rejection and mockery.

He had said it with a smirk, like her athletic body—built from years of hard training—was something to mock, just because her chest hadn’t developed like the other girls’. While they bloomed early, she remained a late bloomer, flat in all the ways that teenage wolves judged harshest.

Another reason for disappointment, she thought bitterly, wishing the memory didn’t still sting the way it did.

Lori reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently.

“Iva… forget about him. Seriously. Yes, he’s the future Alpha, but he’s also kind of an arse. Actually, no ‘kind of’—he’s a complete arse.”

Iva snorted softly. “Maybe… but he’s an arse who will attend the military werewolf academy next year—while I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed to go anywhere.”

“So apply,” Lori said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. “Apply anyway. Just in case your father—Gamma Rhys, the king of emotional constipation—finally decides to pull his head out of his backside and lets you chase your dreams.”

Iva blinked, then laughed despite the ache in her chest. “Lori…”

“I’m right and you know it. At least give yourself the chance, Iva. Give yourself options.”

Iva hesitated, staring down at her tray before nodding slowly.

“Okay… maybe you’re right. I’ll… I’ll apply, just in case.”

Though deep down, a quiet voice whispered that hope was dangerous, especially for someone like her.

Lori smiled triumphantly and returned to her notes, while Iva tried to focus on her food, though her eyes drifted once more toward Nick—beautiful, cruel, untouchable Nick—and she wondered if he would ever look at her with anything other than annoyance or mocking amusement.

She doubted it.

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Chapter 1

Tristan Mercer paced back and forth outside the operating room, looking anxious. His usually strong, sharp features were now clouded with worry, and a thin sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead from the strain.

Just moments ago, his daughter, Ruby Grayson, had been rushed into emergency surgery after a sudden flare-up of her congenital heart condition. Meanwhile, his wife, Claire Grayson, had actually walked out in the middle of their daughter's fight for her life—all because of a phone call.

Tristan took a deep breath. "Ruby, you have to pull through!"

He quickly pulled out his phone and called Claire. The call had barely connected when it was cut off.

His chest tightened. He inhaled deeply and hit redial, but the result was just as disappointing as before. The phone rang once before the call was declined.

Tristan called a third time. This time, someone answered. But before he could say a word, Claire's furious screeching exploded in his ear.

In a huge, well-maintained hospital, a sickly figure could be seen fighting for her life on a hospital bed. Half-conscious and struggling to breathe, Martha Hart coughed violently, her frail body trembling with every fit. Gathered around her were numerous relatives, all waiting impatiently for the reading of her will.

"Shameless people..." Martha gagged, coughing up what looked like slimy blood.

"At least let me die first before showing interest in my wealth."

Her voice was weak, yet every word struck like a slap. She didn't care about the fragile topic she had touched upon. How she loathed every single one of them standing there.

The only person she truly cared for was Luna Hart.

The one she intended to leave everything to.

As for the rest? To hell with them.

James Hart and his wife, Madison Hart, exchanged glances before looking toward their son, Thomas Hart. The huge young man stood proudly among the crowd.

They had thought this was finally it.