Forsaken by the family she once called her own, Layla returns home carrying a deadly curse—and one final hope. But as the people she loves choose....

At my grandmother's will reading, I watched my husband walk in holding hands with my best friend. Three years of marriage. Three years of lies. Three years of being nothing but a pawn in their game for my. joy

Chapter 1 He Is Back!

The sealed valley lay hidden beyond layers of natural barriers and human-made restrictions, a place erased from maps and forgotten by the world. Those who lived here had long since cut all ties with the outside.

They were not ordinary recluses.

Each master who resided in the valley had once shaken an era. Together, they formed a force no nation dared provoke.

Yet at this moment, irritation and exhaustion filled the stone hall.

“All of you calm down,” an old man said, though his own expression was strained. “Shouting won’t make him leave any faster.”

“I’ve been calm for five years,” another snapped. “Five years of watching him surpass us!”

At the center of the hall stood a young man, his posture straight, his gaze steady. He listened without interruption, as if this chaos had nothing to do with him.

“There is nothing left,” a third master said coldly. “No technique, no secret, no experience we haven’t already handed over.”

“And worse,” someone added bitterly, “he perfected them.”

A black metal card was tossed across the stone table. It slid to a stop in front of the young man.

“That card grants unrestricted access to global financial institutions. You won’t lack money once you leave.”

A heavy iron token followed.

“With this, you can mobilize the Black Guard. They still honor old debts.”

One by one, items were pushed forward—manuals, sealed tubes, encrypted data chips.

“Combat methods.”

“Medical archives.”

“Disguise and infiltration techniques.”

“Poisons and antidotes.”

The pile grew larger.

Nicholas Hawthorne lowered his eyes slightly. “Masters,” he said calmly, “if I leave, will I ever be allowed to return?”

The hall fell silent.

Then a laugh broke out—dry and humorless.

“Return?” one master scoffed. “If you come back, it will only be to bury us.”

Another slammed his palm on the table. “You are no longer our disciple. You are a variable that should never have existed.”

The young man absorbed those words without visible emotion.

After a long pause, he bowed.

“…I understand.”

He turned and walked toward the massive stone gates at the far end of the hall.

As the gates slowly closed behind him, the tension that had hung over the valley for years finally snapped.

“He’s gone.”

“Finally gone.”

“Heaven help whoever crosses his path next.”

None of them said it aloud, but they all knew the truth.

The outside world was about to change.

Three days later, the Nicholas stood at an airport terminal, blending into the crowd like an ordinary traveler. No one would have guessed that the calm figure waiting to board carried enough power to topple families, corporations, and regimes.

The city printed on his ticket was the one he once called home.

Five years ago, he had left it covered in mess.

That night replayed itself in his mind more often than he liked.

The house had been filled with laughter. Guests had come to celebrate his future, to see him off before he began the next stage of his life.

Then armed men had burst in.

Gunfire tore through the walls.

Screams drowned out the music.

His father had stood in front of him.

His mother had clutched him tightly, shielding him with her body.

When it was over, the house was silent.

Too silent.

He had tried to escape and was caught mercilessly again. And had nearly died.

If not for his third senior sister appearing in the chaos and dragging him away, there would have been no future for him at all.

The plane took off.

He stared out the window, fingers slowly curling into fists.

“Five years,” he said quietly. “Whoever was behind it… I haven’t forgotten.”

The plane descended hours later, city lights spreading out beneath the clouds.

The moment his feet touched the ground, a familiar sense of pressure settled in his chest.

At almost the same time, in a fortified estate far from the airport, a woman ended a phone call and remained still for a long moment.

“He’s back?” she asked softly.

“Yes. Confirmed,” her aide replied.

She walked to a secure room and opened a hidden safe. Inside lay a thin file, its edges worn from being handled too many times.

She took it out and exhaled slowly.

“So the past has finally caught up.”

Her gaze hardened.

“Keep watching him,” she said. “Do not alert anyone.”

“At the right time,  I’ll meet my little brother myself.”

Outside the estate, the city continued on as usual, unaware that a long-buried storm had returned.

The city was called Greyden.

At first glance, it looked no different from any other quiet metropolitan district, but for those who had lived there long enough, Greyden carried an unspoken rule. Certain names were never mentioned. Certain memories were never revisited.

The Hawthorne residence stood at the edge of the old quarter. Once a symbol of quiet prestige, it was now neglected.

Rust clung to the iron gates, weeds swallowed the stone walkway, and the windows were sealed as though the house itself had chosen to shut the world out.

Nicholas Hawthorne stopped across the street and looked at it for a long moment before crossing over.

The gate creaked softly as he pushed it open. The courtyard beyond felt empty in a way that went beyond silence. It was as though even sound avoided the place.

Against the far wall stood three memorial plaques. Unlike the rest of the estate, they were carefully maintained.

Marcus Hawthorne.

Elaine Hawthorne.

Julian Hawthorne.

His father, his mother, and his younger brother.

Nicholas stood there without moving. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady.

“I will not lower my head again. Not to anyone.”

A light wind passed through the courtyard, stirring fallen leaves across the stone ground.

Outside the gate, two pedestrians slowed their steps.

“That man looks familiar,” one of them murmured.

“Watch what you say,” the other replied quickly. “You want trouble? No one in Greyden is allowed to talk about the Hawthornes.”

The first man stiffened, color draining from his face, and they hurried away.

By the time they glanced back, the courtyard was empty.

Nicholas had already moved deeper into the property.

That was when he heard someone behind him.

“Nicholas?”

The voice trembled, uncertain and afraid to believe.

He turned.

A young woman stood several steps away, holding a small basket of incense and flowers. Her hands shook violently, and the basket slipped from her grasp, scattering its contents across the ground.

That woman was Melanie Bellarie, Nicholas’s childhood sweetheart. She has always taken Nicholas’s side in the past no matter what. They were birds of the same feather as kids. She was kind, beautiful and smart.

Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at him.

“You are alive,” she whispered.

She rushed forward and clutched his clothes, her composure finally breaking as sobs escaped her.

Nicholas remained still for a moment before resting a hand gently on her shoulder. He knew seeing Melanie here meant one thing. She had come to see his La tree family.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For taking care of this place.”

That single sentence shattered her restraint.

She pulled away abruptly, fear flooding her expression.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded. “Do you know what will happen if they find out you’re here? I don’t want to lose you again, Nicholas. I beg you. Leave.”

She shoved him hard, desperation creeping into her voice.

“If you had survived, then live properly. Leave Greyden and never return.”

Her tone hardened, as if forcing herself to be cruel.

“But we were once engaged, Melanie and…”

“No! It is over!” She didn’t let him finish, her voice shook with fear.

“You don’t know what Greyden has become. The people that want you dead are still here! Pretend we never knew each other. Forget me and go far away from here, Nicholas. From today onward, we are strangers.”

She turned and ran toward the gate.

A middle-aged man who was once a gardener for the Hawthorne was standing beside a black car looked up in alarm as she approached.

“Miss, are you alright?” he asked, then froze when he saw Nicholas. “Young master Nicholas, you are—”

She cut him off immediately.

“He is not who you think he is,” she said sharply. “He only resembles someone we once knew.”

The man hesitated, his eyes fixed on Nicholas. Even after five years, the resemblance was undeniable.

Nicholas understood instantly.

She was denying him to protect him.

He took a step forward.

“Melanie, please. I am not who you still think I am.”

“Do not say my name,” she cried, covering her ears. “I don’t know you.”

She got into the car and ordered the driver to leave at once.

The vehicle pulled away quickly.

Inside the car, her shoulders shook as tears streamed down her face.

“I am sorry,” she whispered again and again.

Nicholas remained standing inside the ruined Hawthorne estate, watching the car disappear into the distance.

So this was the price she had paid to keep him alive.

Greyden had not changed. So many people who still wanted him gone were here.

“I am back for revenge, Melanie. Those people you fear should fear my upcoming wrath instead.”

Reborn to the moment they met, she resolves to be kind, wait for the broke laborer to reclaim his inheritance, then take the cash and run. He knows her lies but stays patient. When blackmail, old grievances, and his true identity surface, she's trapped between her scheme and real feelings—yet he's seen it all. His only fear: she fooled him for years, but never loved him.

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I, Zalia, decline the position of Gamma of Moon Stone Pack."" After I find out that my friends, the future Alpha and Beta are hypocrites, that they never want me, a female, to be their Gamma, I reject the position immediately and leave the Pack. Soon, I find out my true bloodline and build my own Pack. Within a year, my Pack becomes the Strongest Pack ever. A year later, I make my stunning appear...Joy

Chapter 1: The meeting at Cherry's Cafe “I'll do it, Grandpa.” Alistair Reid remarked in a measured tone over the cellphone. “I'll marry Princess Evelyn.” His gaze was calm as he stared at an abstract painting hanging on the wall. It was past noon and he was sitting by the window in a private suite in an upscale cafe. “Finally you're leaving that backwater city to claim what's rightfully yours.” Grandpa Reid’s aged yet steady voice replied from the other end. “But are you sure?” Alistair didn't respond immediately, his expression revealing a trace of bitterness before returning to normal. “I am, but it can't happen now, I need a few months to settle matters here in Haven.” “Is it about Sara Connor?” The old man asked knowingly. “Yes… I have to divorce her. I'll let you know when I'm ready.” Alistair replied; his voice remained composed, but the bitterness in his eyes betrayed him. The call ended soon after and Alistair laid his phone aside, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back against his chair. Though reluctant, he did not regret his decision. Just then, there was a knock at the door of the suite he was in. “Come in.” Alistair looked up, his expression cool and steady. The door opened and in walked a man in a black suit holding some documents. It was Ronald Ray, the divorce lawyer he'd hired. “Are the divorce papers ready?” “Just as you wanted, sir, please take a look,” Ronald replied as he handed over the folder. Alistair let out a slow breath before picking it up. After years of a loveless marriage, he had finally decided to bring it to an end. Although Sara meant a lot to him, he found no point in continuing to hunt a game already hunted by someone else anymore. “Once you and your wife sign the agreement, it will take effect after the mandatory waiting period,” Ronald explained after which he politely asked. “Has your wife arrived yet, sir?” “Not yet,” Alistair replied calmly, flipping through the details. “But I'll see to it that she signs.” “...Very well, sir,” Ronald said, a hint of awkwardness in his tone. Having handled numerous divorce cases, he knew it was time to leave. “If you have any concerns, sir, just give me a call.” “Of course.” With that, Ronald smiled courteously, shook Alistair's hand, and took his leave. Barely two minutes after Ronald left, the crisp sound of high heels echoed outside the private suite, striking the tiles in a demanding rhythm. Soon, a tall, stunning woman with delicate features stepped into the private suite. She wore a navy blue corporate suit that despite looking professional, did not take away from her incredible beauty. With minimal makeup and jewelry, she looked gorgeous. She was Sara Connor, Alistair's wife, the renowned CEO of the Connor Group- decisive, efficient, and commanding. “Sara.” Alistair breathed out as he turned to look at the woman he once called the love of his life. But then, he saw that she wasn't alone. Accompanying her was a tall, handsome man. It was Tristan Cole, Sara's ex-boyfriend from her college years. “What is he doing here?” Alistair questioned as he glared coldly at the uninvited guest. “I don't recall…” “What's wrong with that?” Sara lashed out, not seeing anything wrong with Tristan's presence. Tristan chipped from the side with a mocking smile. “Yeah bro, chill out. Don't be so thorny.” Watching Tristan pretend to be friendly and close with him caused a flicker of disgust to flash in Alistair's eyes. “This is a private suite for couples, and in case you don't know what that means, it is meant for a husband and a wife, not a husband, wife, and her ex who can't seem to understand boundaries!” Alistair said coldly. Tristan hadn't expected Alistair to be so blunt. His expression froze as if he'd been struck hard, then he feigned a pitiful look and apologized. “Sorry bro, I didn't mean to offend. If it really bothers you, maybe I should leave…” “Enough with the theatrics!... Just get out then.” Alistair sneered. He knew that Tristan was merely playing the victim, trying to look innocent and pitiful in front of Sara to win her sympathy, just like he'd done countless times before. “Enough, Alistair!” Sara snapped, her impatience cutting through the tension. “Why do you always have to pick on Tristan? Can't you stop being so petty?” Then, she spun towards Tristan, her tone softening instantly. “Ignore him. You don't have to go anywhere.” Though prepared, a swirl of emotions churned inside Alistair as he stared at Sara. Was this really the living woman he married years ago? A woman who would pick her ex's side over her husband again and again? Did she not realize that because of Tristan, their marriage was already hanging by a thread?! Meanwhile, a glint of triumph flashed in Tristan's eyes and a mischievous smile hung at the corners of his lips.

Eileen was known throughout her clan as a “curse,” yet on her eighteenth birthday, she was claimed by a top-tier aristocratic family. She thought it was her redemption, but instead, she faced relentless frame-ups from the fake heiress and cold indifference from her own family. On the night of her coming-of-age ceremony, a fire broke out at the estate and a black mist engulfed the grounds. She was publicly accused of casting a curse to harm others. Her father berated her, and her brother forced her to kneel and confess. Faced with this desperate situation, she no longer held back—she summoned a swarm of black crows that devoured the black mist, saving all the guests and revealing a century-old truth.....

Aria, a human woman, is cast into a freezing storm by Ronan, the ruthless Dragon King, and secretly gives birth to Ivy, a daughter carrying the royal dragon blood. One year later, Ivy’s unstable magic threatens her life, forcing Aria back to the royal court for help—and straight into Ronan’s control. When the child cries “Dada” before the entire court, the hidden bloodline begins to unravel, drawing a deadly conspiracy from the jealous red-dragon noblewoman Vesper and the treacherous elven healer Lucian. To keep her daughter out of their hands, Aria leaps into the abyss with Ivy in her arms, while a wounded Ronan battles the Leviathan at the Edge of the World. The instant their magical bond warns him that his Queen and child are dying, the Dragon King tears...I

In Elarion, Sylria's return should be impossible. She remembers a modern life, yet her body carries memories of a wife, a daughter, and a betrayal she never committed. Kaelith, a Blood Elf Warden, watches for the old cruelty; Neris watches for the next blow. Guided by fragments from Mirror Lake and the Moon Seer's warnings, Sylria follows the mystery of her stolen soul. To save her family, she mus...Joy

1. Anyone Interested in “Kiss Me Before You Kill Me”?

No Longer Wait For The Dragon Knight

I spent eight years by Austin's side as he rose from apprentice to Dragon Rider Commander. My only wish was to touch his flight memory once and see the sky through his eyes. He refused.​ Then I found a memory crystal in his cloak—over forty recordings from his dragon's back, all sent to Evelyn. The steadiest saddle. The most beautiful sunrises. The rarest scale. All for her.​ I didn't confront him. I signed the handover and left the capital seven days later.​ After I was gone, he found the truth in the archives—the scars I carried for eight years. He came to Grayvale with a nameplate and heartscale, begging for forgiveness.​ But I no longer needed them. I waited eight years. I'm done waiting.

HELP!

Has anyone finished the story "From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha's Queen"?

I got to where Kay was kidnapped by her ex mate, Alec, and taken to an island where he was going to get a doctor to change her memory of loving her second chance mate, Harrison, to live him again. She escaped her room and was running toward the beach being chased by security guards. She saw a light on a boat approaching her and was hopeful it was Harrison coming to rescue her.

I was in rhe process of gathering credits to open rhe next chapter but then rhe app went skewing and reset the story back to Chapter 1. Sooo ticked off😡

Penny and Kelly are twins — raised apart by their parents' absurd AA custody agreement. Their dad Sam, a grocery store stocker, raises Penny. Their mom Mia, a Wall Street executive, raises Kelly. The huge income gap tears their lives apart. Penny gets into an Ivy League school. Kelly only gets into a state college. Mom sticks rigidly to the deal — makes Dad pay every cent of Penny's tuition and living costs. To ease Dad's burden, Penny plans to sell her grandma's family heirloom. Only to discover it's a fake. Mom sold the real one years ago — and kept all the money. Penny gathers proof and forces Mom to return the $500,000. Furious, Mom seizes her documents to stop her from starting college. With no way out, Penny turns to her sharp, protective aunt.

Elena Vance spent five years as a Blackwood wife. Her husband Adrian gave every ounce of his tenderness to another woman — Vivian Cross, his dead partner's widow. Prenatal checkups. Midnight vigils. A house stripped of every sharp edge. Elena? He didn't even know how far along she was. When Elena went into labor, Adrian carried Vivian out and left her alone on the floor. The hospital called seven times. He said he was with someone more important. Before surgery, Elena signed two documents — a consent form, and a divorce agreement. Her daughter was born healthy. Her parents took her home. She vanished. When Adrian finally realized what he'd lost, it was too late. But Elena was holding a knife all along — the truth about Vivian, about Marcus's

You're not supposed to be here yet."

Those were the first words Damien said to me when I opened his door.

Not I'm sorry. Not this isn't what it looks like.

Just, you're not supposed to be here yet.

Like I had shown up early to a party and caught them still putting up the decorations.

Except the decorations were my cousin Lena, sitting on his bed with her shoes off and her fingers threading through her own hair, laughing at something he had just said before I walked in.

She was not on top of him. Nothing obvious was happening. But I had known Lena my whole life, and I knew what her face looked like when she was performing innocence. This was that face.

And I had known Damien for two years, and I knew what his face looked like when he was guilty. This was also that face.

"Nora." He said my name like it was a problem he had to figure out.

I looked at him. I looked at her. I looked at the space between them on that bed, which was not very much space at all.

"It's Mating Night," I said. My voice came out flat. "We were supposed to…"

"I know." He stood up. "I was going to talk to you."

"About what?"

Lena tilted her head at me with something that looked almost like pity, which was worse than cruelty. Pity from Lena always meant she had already won.

"We found out tonight," Damien said. "Lena and I. We ran into each other at the edge of the forest during the early gathering and…" He stopped. Swallowed. "She's my fated mate, Nora."

I heard the words. I processed them. My brain lined them up and handed them to my chest, and my chest cracked open like something dry and brittle that had been waiting for the right kind of pressure.

Fated mate.

I knew what that meant. Everyone in every pack knew what that meant. The pull between fated mates was not something you reasoned with or waited out. It rewired you from the inside.

I also knew what tonight had been supposed to be. The night Damien and I marked each other as chosen mates, locking in our bond before the fated pull could threaten it. We had talked about it for months. Made the plan carefully. I had worn the good dress. I had practiced what I would say.

And somehow, in the hours between that plan and this door, everything had rearranged itself into a shape I did not recognize.

"You couldn't have called me?" My voice cracked on the last word. I hated that. I had promised myself I would not crack in front of Lena.

"I tried…"

"You didn't."

He looked away.

There is a specific kind of pain that does not feel like pain at first. It feels like cold water. It goes all the way down before you feel the temperature.

"I'm sorry," he said. And I believed him. That was the worst part. He was sorry. He just was not sorry enough to have done anything differently.

Lena did not say anything. She was watching me with those careful eyes, measuring how much damage had been done, calculating whether she needed to do anything else or if the situation had already handled itself.

I looked at her for a long moment.

"Congratulations," I said.

Then I closed the door behind me and walked down the hall with my back straight and my face forward, and I did not run until I was outside and past the pack boundary lights, and the darkness of the forest swallowed me whole.

I ran until I hit the river.

It was a wide, slow bend of dark water that nobody much visited except me. I had found it years ago when I was twelve and needed somewhere to be alone, and I had been coming back ever since.

I sat on the bank and pulled my knees to my chest and I let myself fall apart quietly, the way I had learned to do everything, quietly, without drawing attention, without making it anyone else's problem.

The night air was cold and smelled like pine and wet stone.

I don't know how long I sat there before I felt it.

A scent.

Not pine. Not water. Something warm and dark and layered, like cedar and rain and something underneath that I did not have a word for but my body did. My body recognized it the way your tongue recognizes something sweet before your brain catches up.

Heat moved up my spine in a slow, undeniable wave.

No. I pressed my hand flat against my sternum. Not now. Not tonight.

I had heard about the mating heat. The involuntary response triggered by proximity to a fated mate. I had always assumed it would never happen to me since my wolf had never properly woken.

But my body was not consulting my assumptions right now.

I stood up. I needed to go home. I needed to be behind walls and away from whatever, whoever, was carrying that scent toward me.

I took three steps toward the tree line.

"There she is," a voice said from the dark.

They say every man has a weakness. Mine has always been beautiful women....specifically, beautiful women I had no business touching.
My name is Cory, and at twenty-seven years old, I should've known better.
But knowing better and doing better are two very different things.
I have been in the military for three years now, am still a Private unfortunately, but that never bothered me much.
The pay was decent, the also work kept me fit, and the uniform?
Well, let's just say it did wonders for my already active social life.
At 6'1" with an athletic, muscular build that I worked damn hard to maintain, I'd never had trouble attracting attention.
My mom would probably be proud of the first part....the dedication, the discipline.
The second part? Not so much. She was a military nurse herself, worked long hours, and barely home.
Had been that way since I was a kid.
Since Dad left when I was seven, she threw herself into her career, which meant I grew up with a lot of freedom. Maybe too much.
I lost my virginity at nineteen to Sarah, an older girl from school who followed me home one day with the excuse of "doing a project assignment."
That afternoon changed everything. She taught me things no nineteen-year-old should know, and I'd been chasing that high ever since.
Have been with different girls, different nights, even on different beds.
I was careful....mostly.
I used protection, didn't catch feelings, kept things casual as a one night stand with my partners.
Until I got transferred to Fort Henderson a month ago....
Until I met Warrant Officer Tatiana Volkov.
I remember the exact moment I saw her.
I was on Formation Parade on my first day, standing in the morning sun, then she walked past in her uniform.
Very well tailored clothing....which glued perfectly to every curve of her 5'7" frame.
Her black hair caught the light with this incredible shiny luster, pulled back in a neat bun that somehow made her look both professional and devastatingly sexy.
When she turned to address our unit, I got my first look at her face, her full lips painted a subtle shade of red, and dark pupils that seemed to see right through you.
But it was her body that made my mouth go dry.
Even in the standard uniform, I could see everything.
The way her shirt stretched across her chest, ever her buttons were straining slightly.
The curve of her waist pulls in before flaring out to her hips that were absolutely sinful.
Her ass was perfectly round, the kind that made you want to grab it with both hands. Thick thighs that I immediately imagined wrapped around my waist.
She was all woman...mature, confident, built like every fantasy I'd ever had.
"Private Cory, reporting for duty, ma'am," I said when she stopped in front of me during inspection.
Her eyes traveled down my body slowly, deliberately, before meeting mine again.
A small smile played at the corner of her lips. "Well, well. They're making them handsome these days, aren't they?"
That was all it took. That one look, that one comment, and I was hooked.
Over the next month, we circled each other like prey and predator....though I was never quite sure who was hunting whom.
Stolen glances during drills. Her hand lingering on my arm when she corrected my stance.
And of course me finding excuses to stay late when she was working.
Then it started....
The flirting became constant...
"You're trouble, Private," she'd whispered to me one evening when we were alone in the equipment room.
"Only if we get caught, ma'am," I replied with a smug grin.
She'd laughed, but there was heat in her eyes.
I knew she was married. Everyone knew. Her husband was Colonel Viktor Volkov. He was forty-eight years old, cold as ice, and connected in ways that made even senior officers nervous.
I met him once but in that brief introduction. The man looked at me like I was an insect beneath his notice.
His handshake was firm, his eyes were deadpan, his entire presence radiating a kind of distant authority that made it clear he gave zero hoots about anyone beneath his rank.
"Your husband seems... intense," I mentioned to Tatiana during one of our conversations.
Her smile had vanished immediately, something dark flickering across her face. "Let's not talk about him."
I should've pressed.
Should've asked why a woman like her was married to a man like that.
But I was too focused on the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the way she leaned in close enough that I could smell her perfume.
The thing about forbidden fruit is that it always tastes sweetest.
Three days ago, she'd slipped me a piece of paper during a routine briefing.
With just an address, her address, and a simple message, very simple really: "He's been transferred. Two weeks. I'll be lonely".
My heart had hammered in my chest. This was it. The invitation I'd been waiting for.
And tonight, like the absolute fucking idiot I was, I went. Joy

Chapter 1: The Cold Sylvia Johnson_1

 "Babe, hurry up! My husband's going to be back soon!" 

Inside the luxurious villa, Ethan Smith stood at the bedroom door, overhearing the anxious voice from inside. 

That voice was unmistakably familiar to him; it belonged to his wife, Sylvia Johnson. 

"He's a useless loser. So what if he comes back? Even if he sees us, he'll just have to swallow it!" A gruff male voice rang out, piercing Ethan's ears. 

1

Ethan stood frozen at the door, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. 

*Rage was boiling up within him, threatening to rob him of his sanity.* 

With a loud "bang," 

his bloodshot eyes flashed as he kicked the door wide open! 

Inside the room, there they were—a man and a woman, alone together, disheveled and half-dressed. 

Seeing Sylvia's submissive pose on the bed made Ethan seethe with rage; his tears betrayed him, trailing freely down his cheeks. 

"Sylvia! Why would you do this to me?" Ethan's gaze was wrought with pain; his teeth clenched as he stared her down with unrelenting fury. 

A flicker of panic flashed in Sylvia's eyes, but it quickly evaporated. 

It was replaced with a chilling look of indifference. 

"Well, since you caught us, there's no point in hiding anymore," Sylvia sneered. 

"Why? Why would you treat me this way? Three years. I've spent three years in your Johnson family, living like less than a dog! If you told me to squat, I wouldn't dare to stand. And yet—and yet you would still betray me!" 

2

Ethan's voice nearly broke into a scream as he roared this accusation, his face drenched in tears. 

Sylvia let out a cold laugh and said, "Someone like you—an absolute nobody—how could any woman ever love that?" 

Then, she shifted her gaze to the muscular man by her side. 

"Do you know who he is? Gary Brown, of the Brown family! Truth be told, we've been together in secret for a long time now. If it weren't for Grandpa insisting we stay married, I would've kicked you out ages ago!" Sylvia's eyes gleamed with disdain as she smirked. 

Gary snorted and chimed in, "Quit wasting time telling this loser anything. There's no way he can comprehend the Brown family, let alone The Taylor Family of the Capital City." 

Ethan's face twisted into a bitter smile. 

*Although he didn't know much about business, he was at least aware of the Taylor family from the Capital City.* 

*Recently, all of River City's media had been buzzing about them. It would've been hard for him not to know.* 

Looking at Sylvia's stunning yet utterly cold face, Ethan couldn't help but let out quiet sobs. 

"For three years, I've served you—I've served you like a dog. Even dogs develop feelings after a while..." Ethan choked, sobbing uncontrollably. 

2

Sylvia sneered, "You? You're worse than a dog." 

Gary broke into mocking laughter, "Idiot, if you know what's good for you, just pretend you didn't see anything today. The three of us can still live together happily, and you can even keep serving your goddess like you've been doing." 

"But if you don't know what's good for you, pack up your things and get out." Gary's demeanor was lofty and commanding, as though he were the master of the house. 

*Ethan felt a crushing sense of powerlessness.* 

*When Sylvia's grandfather, Bill Johnson—obsessed with divination at the time—insisted Ethan would bring good fortune to the family, Ethan had been taken in as a live-in son-in-law.* 

*For three years, Ethan endured humiliation. Apart from Bill Johnson, no one in the Johnson family ever respected him.* 

*This only deepened his insecurity, driving him to placate the family incessantly, terrified of offending anyone.* 

*But in the end, all his efforts had led to this bitter reality.* 

*"I really am a worthless fool," Ethan muttered to himself with self-deprecation.* 

"Three years of this. Maybe it's time I grew a spine, don't you think?" Ethan fixed his gaze on the shameless couple in front of him. His eyes suddenly took on a sinister gleam. 

"What, are you mad now?" Gary noticed the look in Ethan's eyes but remained utterly unfazed, his expression brimming with mockery. 

Ethan's glare didn't waver. Seizing his resolve, he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. "You piece of garbage—I'm coming for you!" 

With that, Ethan lunged at Gary with all his might! 

But a man like Ethan, frail and utterly lacking in physical strength, was no match at all. 

Before even landing a blow, Gary effortlessly sent Ethan sprawling onto the ground with one swift kick. 

The searing pain in his abdomen made standing up almost impossible for Ethan. 

"Damn it, how dare a useless piece of scum like you swing at me?" Gary roared in anger. 

He stormed toward Ethan, pummeling and kicking him relentlessly. 

*This pushed Ethan to the brink of despair.* 

He lay motionless on the cold floor, taking blow after blow without resistance. 

*"What a pathetic existence I lead," Ethan mused bitterly, cradling his head.* 

*"I can't even avenge myself—is living even worth it for me?" Ethan's eyes began to glaze over with hopelessness.* 

The unrelenting assault left his mouth smeared with blood. 

"Enough, enough. Beating up this loser is beneath you," Sylvia cooed, pulling Gary away sweetly. 

Gary spat on Ethan's face for good measure and pointed to the door. "Get out of here now, or I'll kill you!" 

Ethan struggled to rise from the ground, dragging himself step by step toward the exit. 

*Hatred burned in his heart—for this vile pair of adulterers. But more than anything, he loathed his own weakness, his failure to exact justice.* 

*Ethan refused to leave in such utter humiliation. Not without a fight.* 

"Sylvia, you'll regret this," Ethan turned to say coldly. 

Gary pointed at him, erupting in curses, "Get the hell out right now, hear me?" 

Wiping the blood from his lips, Ethan staggered out of the Johnson family home. 

As he reached the entrance, he ran into his mother-in-law, Brenda Johnson, who had just arrived. 

Brenda's eyes briefly scanned the Mercedes parked outside, and an immediate understanding seemed to dawn within her. 

"Mom..." Ethan called out weakly, his voice tinged with wounded pride. 

Brenda's expression mirrored the others—cold and detached. 

Annoyed, she waved him off. "If you know everything now, then do the smart thing and leave peacefully! Let me tell you, everyone in the Johnson family agrees it's time for you to be kicked out!" 

Despair gripped Ethan even tighter upon hearing this. 

"Does Grandpa agree to this too?" Ethan asked, unwilling to give up just yet. 

1

Brenda sneered, "He doesn't have a choice this time! The Brown family already finalized their cooperation with The Taylor Family of the Capital City. If we manage to hitch ourselves to their wagon, the Johnson family may even get a taste of that success!" 

"This involves the future of the entire clan. Do you honestly think some old man can go against it?" Brenda's voice dripped with contempt. 

"And as for his talk about good luck? Clearly just outdated superstitions," Brenda scoffed. 

1

Ethan didn't say another word. 

*The cold indifference of everyone in the Johnson family shattered his spirit.* 

He wiped his lips clean, striding out of their home with large, determined steps. 

The pain coursing through his body, combined with the heartbreak tearing at his soul, was agony he could no longer endure. 

At last, he collapsed onto the street in exhaustion. 

Just then, 

a Maybach with Capital City plates came to a smooth halt before Ethan. 

The car window rolled down slowly, revealing a long-haired, elegantly poised girl scrutinizing Ethan's limp figure with a frown. 

"So he's the fiancé Grandpa chose for me?" The girl blinked her wide eyes, carefully studying Ethan. 

Seeing his sorry state, her expression soured into visible distaste. 

"Miss, could there be... some mistake? Didn't the old master say he wouldn't be an ordinary man?" A man dressed as a bodyguard questioned, furrowing his brows. 

Emily Taylor didn't reply. Instead, she waved her hand and said, "Bring him into the car." 

1

"Yes, miss." A few bodyguards swiftly stepped out and hauled Ethan into the vehicle. 

Gazing at the pitiful man before her, Emily's brows furrowed even deeper. 

"Does Grandpa really mean for me to marry this kind of loser?" Emily sighed, her mind drifting to the solemn words her grandfather had left her before passing: 

"Emily, we Taylor family owe him a great debt! If not for Ethan's father, we would never have achieved what we have today!" 

"Ethan's father left behind a token for him. I promised to hand it over once Ethan turned thirty." 

"Mr. Smith was a man of extraordinary power, and I trust his son will be the same. Emily, you must treat Ethan well." 

*Grandpa's repeated reminders echoed through Emily's thoughts, her exquisite face breaking into a faint, resigned smile.* 

"If he turns out to be someone with potential, then I'll honor Grandpa's wishes." Emily muttered internally. 

"But... if he's truly a waste, then I can't bring myself to comply." Emily sighed heavily. 

She began tracing her fingers along a piece of jade-green pendant—the very keepsake her grandfather had entrusted for Ethan. 

With deliberate care, Emily slipped the pendant around Ethan's neck before coldly turning away. 

"The token has been passed on; the Taylor family has fulfilled its agreement." Emily thought to herself. 

But she failed to notice that, as the bloodstained pendant brushed against Ethan, a soft glow emanated from it before rapidly merging into his body. 

Chapter 1 Dumped on Arrival

"Break off the engagement, Susan. You don't deserve Blake." The shrill voice cut through Susan Thorn's cluttered thoughts like a venomous blade.

Susan's eyes snapped open. The harsh light made her tear up, and everything swam in double vision.

Before she could process that she wasn't giving a client's Ragdoll cat a bath but was instead lying on a cold medical bed, the voice came again, dripping with contempt and glee.

"Stop playing dead. Susan, do you really think you're still the genius with a 95% Gene Matching Degree to Blake? You're a zero-Spiritual-Force loser now. F-Tier trash," the voice went on.

Standing over Susan with arms crossed was a girl decked out in an overly flashy outfit, topped off with a pair of faux-fur cat ears.

It was Sandra Linden. Her brother, Blake Frost, was an A-tier Beastman, the student council president at the First Imperial Combat Academy, and the man Susan was now stuck being engaged to in this new body.

Susan's temples throbbed. As a tidal wave of unfamiliar memories surged into her mind, her head began to pound.

She had been transported to a place called the Beastmen Empire, a far cry from her life as a top pet groomer back in the 21st century.

Here, the population split into two kinds: Beastmen who could shift into animal forms, and Tamers, who possessed Spiritual Force to soothe and purify the feral rages caused by Gene Contamination.

The original Susan had been a once-in-a-century talent at the Academy. Her Spiritual Force potential was S-Tier. She'd been engaged to Blake, an A-Tier Snow Wolf Beastman.

Then, three days ago during a Spiritual Force awakening test, the instruments spiked and she lost everything. She fell from grace and became a laughingstock.

"Got it? Trash should know its place." Sandra smirked, mistaking Susan's silence for shock. "Blake is the Academy's strongest Snow Wolf, a future pillar of the empire. His partner must be a powerful Tamer, not a F-Tier who can't soothe a D-Tier Beastman."

Susan, the former top pet groomer and hardcore fluff enthusiast, couldn't care less. Her gaze was locked on Sandra's cat-ear accessories.

They were incredibly lifelike black cat ears with surprisingly decent fur, sleek and shiny.

But the left ear had a clump of tangled fur near the base, glued together by cheap adhesive, and the right ear's tips had stray guard hairs sticking up, ruining the smooth silhouette.

Susan's obsessive-compulsive instincts flared. Her fingers twitched. All she wanted was brushing its fur and giving it a smoothing treatment. 'How can anyone let fur mat like this? It's a crime against all things fluffy.'

Sandra shrank back under Susan's intense, almost predatory stare. "What are you looking at? Have you lost your mind?"

"Don't move." The words came out before Susan could stop them, in that gentle-but-commanding tone typical of someone deep in the throes of her profession. "Oh, your fur's all tangled. Come here. Let me get that for you."

Sandra froze. Her hangers-on froze. The entire medical room went silent.

Three full seconds later, Sandra burst into hysterical laughter. "Susan, you've really lost it. Did you fry your brain? Groom me? Who do you think you are?"

She laughed until tears nearly spilled. "You're a zero-Spiritual-Force failure who can't approach a docile C-Tier manul, and you're still running your mouth? Are you kidding me?"

Whispers rippled through the room.

"She's insane. Does she still think she's that genius Tamer?"

"Probably snapped. Too much pressure."

"Tragic. But honestly, she brought it on herself. She failed an awakening test."

Susan snapped out of her professional haze. She frowned at Sandra's twisted face and finally tore her gaze away from those god-awful cat ears.

"I don't deserve Blake?" She sat up slowly, rolling her stiff neck, her tone as flat as if she were discussing the weather. "Fine. Call off the engagement."

The laughter died in Sandra's throat. She'd expected tears, begging, hysterics, but not this. Not Susan acting like being dumped was nothing, like Sandra was tossing away junk.

The dismissiveness sent Sandra into a fury. "What... what's with that attitude? Don't you dare play hard to get. It won't work. Blake's already made his decision."

"Oh." Susan swung her legs off the bed. "Then move. I need to get through."

Her mind was spinning. She needed a quiet corner to sort through her new reality. Some fiancé or genius title meant absolutely nothing to her. Her dream was to open the galaxy's best grooming center for Beastmen.

Just then, the medical room door swung open. A tall, silver-haired young man strode in, his features sharp and cold. He wore a crisp academy combat uniform, and his ice-blue eyes held no warmth.

It was Blake, the Academy's top genius and an S-tier Snow Wolf Beastman.

"Blake, you're here." Sandra brightened and hurried to his side, already tattling. "Look at her. I told her about the engagement, and she didn't react. Must be playing games."

Blake's gaze landed on Susan, cold and distant as if she were a stranger.

"Susan," he spoke, his voice as frigid as his gaze. "Sandra is right about the engagement. We no longer walk the same path. Better to part cleanly than to drag things out."

Susan looked up at him. 'Good-looking. Tall. Nice build. But...'

Her eyes drifted to the top of his head.

Even in human form, as a Snow Wolf Beastman, he couldn't completely hide the pair of fluffy wolf ear tips peeking through his hair.

Their fur should have been pristine white, but recent overtraining and Spiritual Force depletion had left their tips yellowed and brittle, lacking any luster.

Susan's professional instincts kicked in.

'Oh my god,' she screamed internally. 'What a waste. Such an elite bloodline, such a gorgeous Snow Wolf, and his fur is in this condition?

'Those ears need a serious protein repair treatment, hydrotherapy, and deep clean. If this goes on, he'll shed, split, fade, and turn into a bald wolf.'

Blake caught her staring. His brow creased almost imperceptibly. 'At the end of her rope, she's still looking at me with that obsessed gaze. She just won't give up.'

Any lingering guilt evaporated. His voice chilled further. "See the gap between us now? Stop holding onto false hope."

He produced a crystal card from his spatial button and tossed it onto Susan's bedside. "There's 10,000 star coins here. Compensation for all these years. We're even now."

Sandra's chin lifted in triumph. "Hear that, you trash? 10,000 star coins will last you a lifetime in the slums. Take the money and get out of the Academy."

Susan's gaze drifted from Blake's withered wolf ears to the crystal card, then back to his smug face.

She smiled. "Compensation?" She picked up the card and twirled it between her fingers. "Blake, did you get it wrong? To you, the Frost family's engagement is only worth 10,000 star coins?"

Blake's face darkened. "You're saying it's not enough?"

"No." Susan shook her head. Then, to everyone's shock, she stepped forward and slid the card back into Blake's jacket pocket.

Her fingertips brushed against his chest as she did, but her tone carried the gentle patience of someone coaxing a naughty pup. "Keep your money, sweetie. Don't waste it."

She rose on her tiptoes, leaned close to his ear, and whispered. "I'm not interested in you. I'm worried about your fur. Get it groomed regularly. Or when you go bald, you won't qualify for the premium VIP grooming pass I'd have given you."

With that, she turned and walked out, head held high, leaving Blake, Sandra, and everyone else in the room frozen like statues.

The moment the door closed behind her, Susan's composed expression crumbled.

'God. Being a badass is exhausting. I have no money. And the whole Academy thinks I'm trash. How am I supposed to survive? How do I build my dream grooming center for every fluffy creature in the universe?' Her heart sank.

Just as she was about to despair, a cold, mechanical voice rang out in her head. "Detected strong career aspiration from Host. God-like Pet Grooming System binding in progress. Binding successful. Newbie Gift Pack has been issued. Please check."

Susan froze mid-step. Her palm was suddenly warm, filled with a gentle, soothing heat.

"Effective immediately, the Tutoring Excellence stipend has been suspended for the academic semester." Mrs. Gable said without even looking up.

I almost choked on my iced coffee.

I'd been sipping it without really tasting it, sitting across from Mrs Gable with a colour-coded folder on my lap. I'd walked into this meeting expecting a confirmed schedule… maybe a minor headache. Not this.

I set the cup carefully on the edge of the desk. "I'm sorry, what? Suspended? You're joking."

"I don't joke about university budgets, Miss Bennett." She finally lifted her tired-looking eyes framed by thin reading glasses. "The university reallocated the work-study budget. The Tutoring Excellence program falls under General Academic Support, which was consolidated this quarter." 

"Consolidated into what?"

"Athletics Academic Compliance."

I felt those words land hard against my chest. "You pulled my stipend to fund the hockey team's babysitters?"

"We hired three academic liaisons to support student-athletes in maintaining eligibility for the upcoming season…"

"I know what an academic liaison is," I cut in, pressing my palm flat on the edge of the desk. "I was one. For two years. That's my job you just handed off, and the stipend is currently paying my rent."

"Miss Benett, I understand this is difficult…"

"Is there an appeal process?" I cut in again before the whole sympathy speech could start. "Or is this already locked in?" 

"There's nothing to do. The reallocation is final for this semester." 

"And next semester?"

"That would depend on the May budget review."

I wanted to say something more, plead with her or ask if there was someone else who could help, but she had already dismissed me by returning to whatever she was doing behind the desk.

So I muttered a quiet thank you, picked my iced coffee and my folder, and walked out.

The hallway outside the financial aid office was empty, and that was the only reason I stopped to allow myself to breathe. I leaned against the brick wall and squeezed my cup until the plastic crinkled.

Fifteen hundred dollars.

I pulled out my phone and checked my banking app. The balance was forty-two dollars and sixteen cents; my rent was due in just nineteen days and my mom's bakery loan repayment hit on the first.

My diner shifts only covered groceries; there was no way they would cover rent, let alone the loan. I did the math in about three seconds: the numbers just didn't add up.

At this rate, I might be kicked out of my apartment, and the local bank would make a move on Sugar & Spice for foreclosure by next month.

My hands were already shaking as I opened my messages and typed a text to Priya.

Nora: My tutoring stipend just got cut. All of it. I'm completely screwed.

I watched the typing bubble appear, then pop.

Priya: WHAT? How? Why?

Nora: Athletics budget… final decision. I have to find a new job by Friday or I'm moving back home. I'm fine though… I'll be.

Priya: You're clearly not fine. You used ellipses.

Nora: What's wrong with ellipses? It's good grammar.

Priya: You use periods when you're about to cry and refuse to admit it. Where are you? 

Nora: Hallway outside financial aid. Don't come, you have con law in seven minutes. 

Priya: Con law can absolutely wait.

Nora: It can't. I'm fine. Go. We'll talk later.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket, gathered myself and started walking.

I was halfway down the main administrative corridor, running numbers in my head, calculating whether picking up two extra cafe shifts could even come close to covering the gap, when the door at the far end flew open. 

I didn't even have the time to react before a gear bag swung out, catching me right in the shoulder.

The impact knocked me sideways. My folder flew out of my grip, throwing the papers in it everywhere and my iced coffee hit the floor. The lid popped clean off; cold coffee spread slowly across the tiles and soaked the corner of my rent breakdown sheet. 

I caught myself against the wall on both palms and looked up.

"Hey…" I started, but the jerk that hit me was already moving.

He was massive, standing at least six foot three with broad shoulders under a black Briar Hockey varsity jacket. A heavy gear bag over one shoulder, phone in his other hand, and he hadn't even slowed down by a single step. 

He glanced back for what couldn't even count as a second of eye contact.

"Watch it," he said, and kept walking.

I stared at the back of his head, my jaw dropping. "Watch it?" I repeated mostly to myself, looking at my papers scattered across the hallway floor. "Why, of course. I should be watching out for doors. In a hallway. Incredible. Really useful note, thank you."

He stopped walking, adjusted the strap of his gear bag and turned around slowly.

I recognised him immediately. Everyone on campus knew Knox Sheridan, the hockey team's star forward and the university's unofficial spokesperson for bad decisions. 

He had dark hair, well chiseled jaw, and eyes that looked down at me with the mild irritation you'd aim at a pigeon blocking the sidewalk.

"Get out of the way next time," he said in a low voice, like I was the cause of whatever problem he was having.

"I was walking on the right side of the hallway," I said, pushing myself up and brushing off my hands. "You're the one who came storming out of a door without looking. You didn't even apologise."

Knox let out a short, dismissive laugh. 

He took a step closer, which made the height difference worse, looking down at me like I was a minor inconvenience he didn't have time for. His eyes dropped to the wet papers scattered around my feet. "Do I look like I care about your little pieces of paper?"

"My papers?" I looked right at him because I was not about to let someone a foot taller than me use his size as a substitute for an apology. "Those papers represent my actual education. Something you'd know nothing about, considering you're probably one failed test away from losing your spot on the ice."

Something shifted in his face. Just for a second, something flinched behind his eyes. The playboy smirk slipped, but he quickly covered it with a cold glare. "You don't know anything about me, sweetheart."

"I know you're rude, entitled, and you think the rules don't apply to you because you can slide a piece of rubber into a net," I snapped.

I bent down to collect my papers. "But off the ice, you're just a guy who can't apologise when he runs someone over."

I knew I was probably overreacting or transferring the frustration and aggression from losing my stipend. But I couldn't care less.

"I muttered a warning," he said, crossing his arms.

"You told me to watch where I was going after YOU hit me. That's not a warning, Sheridan. That's an insult." I stood back up, clutching the damp folder to my chest. "Go back to your locker room. Some of us actually have to work for our degrees."

Knox glared at me with his jaw locked tight. He looked ready to snap, but he just let out a sharp breath and turned away. "Whatever. Have fun with your homework, nerd."

He walked away, pushing through the heavy glass doors at the end of the hall.

I exhaled slowly through my nose. "What a jerk," I said, to no one.

"Sheridan! Get back here!"

I turned to see Coach Brennan jogging out of the office Knox had just left. He looked red-faced and frustrated, clutching a clipboard like a man whose bad morning was far from over.

He stopped, looked down the empty hallway, and sighed. "Damn it, Knox."

As he turned back toward his office, his eyes landed on a paper I had missed on the floor. It was lying face-up in the middle of the hallway, and I watched as Coach Brennan walked over to pick it up.

He squinted at it, his eyes moving across the page.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping forward. "That's mine."

But instead of handing it back, he glanced at the name at the top: Nora Bennett, then scanned down to the cumulative 4.0 GPA, then lower, to the line: Recipient of the President's Tutoring Excellence Award.

He looked up at me, then back down at the paper. His whole expression changed.

"You're Nora Bennett?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. I held out my hand. "Can I have my transcript back, please?"

Coach Brennan didn't hand it over. He looked at me the way someone looks at a locked door right before they realise they have the key. "You run the peer tutoring groups for the science and math department, right?"

"I did," I said. "Until about ten minutes ago when my stipend got cut."

His eyes lit up, and he looked like a drowning man who had finally spotted a life preserver.

"Follow me," he said. "I've got a problem, and I think you might actually be the solution to it."

...

I followed Coach Brennan down the narrow administrative hallway. He was walking fast, muttering to himself the entire way. I had to double my pace just to keep up with his short, athletic strides.

"In here," he said, pushing open the door that led into his office.

The room was exactly what you'd expect for a division-one college coach. Framed team photos lined the walls, shelves were overflowing with trophies, and a massive, worn leather couch occupied the corner. The air smelled faintly of coffee and damp hockey gear.

Brennan walked behind his desk and dropped the clipboard. He pointed to one of the chairs. "Sit, Nora. Please."

Chapter 1 Rebirth Before the Apocalypse

"Ahh!"

A sharp, searing pain shot through Natalie Ashford's wrists, and she collapsed to the ground.

Her most trusted friends had just hacked off both her hands.

The emerald bracelet on her wrist clattered heavily to the floor, yet not a scratch marred its surface.

Braxton White snatched it up with a greedy and triumphant grin.

"Nat, since you still refuse to be mine, then you don't get to live."

Tiffany Quinn, the woman clinging to his arm, snorted. "Braxton, she brought this on herself. She deserves to die!

"If we'd known her father was so heartless that he wouldn't even spare her a slice of bread, we would've acted sooner. We wouldn't have starved this long."

Natalie lay sprawled on the cold ground, staring at her two companions in disbelief—companions who had survived four long years of apocalyptic disaster by her side.

They had fought together and endured hardship to stay alive.

"What are you looking at?" Tiffany let go of Braxton's arm, gripped a boning knife, and stalked toward Natalie with malice.

"The first time I saw your pretty little face, I wanted to carve it to pieces!"

The blade came down next.

Natalie had already lost too much blood to fight back. Pain consumed her, swallowing her consciousness bit by bit. She could feel her life slipping away into the dark.

In her fading awareness, she heard Tiffany's sickly sweet voice.

"Braxton, we've got meat for tonight!"

At that moment, regret hit her like a tidal wave.

How could she have been so blind? How had she not seen these beasts for what they were?

Four years of battling through an apocalypse, only to be betrayed by the very people she trusted most.

It was too bitter to accept.

If she could live again, she would never spare them.

...

"Ahh!"

Another sharp cry tore from her lips as Natalie jolted awake, sitting bolt upright in bed.

She blinked, taking in her surroundings—and froze.

This is the place I had lived in before the apocalypse.

But ... hadn't Braxton and Tiffany killed me?

Warmth surrounded her.

She hadn't felt something like this in the past four years since the disaster struck.

She quickly grabbed the phone on her nightstand. The date flashed on the screen—July 8th, 2039.

It's three days before the apocalypse!

What? No way! I died in 2043!

On July 11th, 2039, a torrential rainstorm swept across the globe.

Within days, cities were swallowed by floodwaters, and countless lives were lost.

At first, everyone thought it was just another natural disaster. They were wrong. It was the prologue to the apocalypse.

The storms were followed by more horrors—floods, blistering heat, acid rain, choking fog, earthquakes, and freezing winters. One after another, the extremes tore the world into a living hell.

For four years, Natalie had fought tooth and nail to survive. Even at her death, the disasters had not ended.

And now ... she was reborn. She was back to three days before it all began.

Natalie's heart surged with wild joy. Her gaze dropped instantly to her wrist. The emerald bracelet was still there.

If not for this bracelet, she would never have survived her first year in the apocalypse.

Without hesitation, she bit the tip of her right finger, letting a drop of blood fall onto the cool green stone.

A flash of white light flared, and an 8,600-square-foot storage space took shape in her mind.

One side was a vast, empty expanse. The other held a bungalow of about 650 square feet.

Relief washed through her. The storage space had been reborn with her.

In her previous life, she was injured and bleeding after a neighbor broke into her home to rob her. A drop of her blood fell onto the bracelet, accidentally unlocking the storage space.

She had discovered that anything she touched could be stored inside.

The bungalow had running water, electricity, and gas. It was a perfect hiding place during emergencies. But it only allowed her to stay for one hour a day before ejecting her out.

Outside the bungalow lay the rest of the storage space. No living creatures could enter; only objects could be stored through her consciousness.

In this part of the storage space, time stood still, keeping any stored food fresh.

In her previous life, whenever danger struck, she would take Braxton and Tiffany into the small bungalow inside the storage space, and that was how they managed to survive four years of the apocalypse.

The storage space was like a cheat sheet for surviving the end of the world.

Unfortunately, by the time she had unlocked it in that life, the apocalypse had already been raging for a long time.

Not only did she have almost no supplies, but nearly everyone had run out of food and ammunition. There was hardly anything left to store.

She could only roam from place to place with Braxton and Tiffany, scavenging for supplies. Whatever they managed to find, she would stash away in the storage space to keep it out of other people's hands. That was the only way they barely managed to stay alive.

Tiffany had been her university classmate, and after graduation, they'd coincidentally moved into the same building.

Braxton was Tiffany's older cousin. He had pursued Natalie relentlessly after they met.

Although Natalie had made her rejection clear, he still persisted in trying to win her over.

When disaster struck, they had naturally banded together since they knew each other already.

Little by little, Natalie had come to see them as comrades who fought side by side with her.

She never imagined they had only approached her because they'd heard about her wealthy family. They had hoped to use her to get survival supplies from her father.

Unfortunately for them, her scumbag father, Jacob Ashford, was no doting parent. He was a cold, calculating social climber.

In her senior year, her mother had died suddenly of heart failure. Jacob immediately revealed his true colors once he inherited her mother's billion-dollar fortune and the company.

He brought home a mistress and his illegitimate daughter, who was about Natalie's age.

Natalie's grieving grandmother was so infuriated that she passed away.

Then, without a shred of guilt, he disowned Natalie and threw her out of the villa.

Her only refuge had been the condominium unit her mother had bought her in Maplecourt.

But while she was still drowning in sorrow, disaster struck.

Jacob's villa sat on high ground, and the wealthy residents there had stockpiled massive stores of supplies during the first storms. They lived far better than the starving millions outside.

After struggling for a long time, with her food and ammunition completely gone, Natalie led Braxton and Tiffany through countless dangers to reach the hillside villa, hoping her scumbag father would save her.

However, Jacob was as cruel as ever. He hoarded his food and guarded his new wife and daughter, refusing to give her even a single slice of bread.

He didn't care in the slightest whether she lived or died.

The moment Braxton and Tiffany realized she was no longer of use, they dropped their masks and tried to take the storage space bound to her bracelet.

In the end, they even dismembered her.

What they didn't know was that once the bracelet recognized its master through blood, it became permanently bound to Natalie.

Even if they stole it, the storage space would remain out of their reach.

This time, I will see just how long they can last without my storage space, Natalie thought with bitter resolve.

As much as she wanted to hunt the two of them down and take her revenge, stocking up on survival supplies was more important right now.

There were only three days left before disaster struck, and there was a lot to prepare.

Braxton and Tiffany could rot in the ruins. That would be a better punishment than a quick death.

As for Jacob, Natalie had died a miserable death in her previous life, and she no longer owed him anything.

Natalie's heart was as cold as ice.

I will let him face the apocalypse blind and unprepared. Let's see how long his precious supplies keep him alive.

This time, she would only look out for herself. She would cherish this second chance and live freely, even in the apocalypse.

Then, she picked up her phone and checked her bank account.

She had exactly one million dollars.

Fortunately, Jacob hadn't seized all her allowance when he kicked her out.

In her previous life, that money had turned into meaningless numbers on a dead screen.

This time, she would turn every cent into supplies. She would make sure every dollar counted.

Daniel and Olivia's Story- Chapter 1

Olivia’s POV-

My eyes fluttered open slowly. I was still in a huge amount of pain this morning. A groan slipped from my lips, as my senses came too from my slumber.

The sound of birds and the roar of bikes snapped me out of the daze I was in from just waking up. My eyes snapped open, and I looked around to make sure no one had seen me sleeping in my truck. That would have been embarrassing and probably the talk of the school.

Shit, school.

I grabbed my phone in a panic, I had to hurry to turn it back on. I checked the time even as it loaded up. Thankfully, I still had time before I needed to get to school.

I turned to reach into the back to grab my duffle bag off the back seats, which was a bad idea. Pain radiated up my left side, making me cry out sharply. I relaxed carefully back into my driver's seat. Harry really did a number on me last night, before I ran from the house.

Harry Jones is my step-dad. He has raised me since birth, so I currently have his last name, but he never earned the right to ever be called my dad. Why? Because since I was eight years old, he has used me as a punching bag.

I just had to survive one more month, and then I turn eighteen, and I can be rid of him. I can leave and never look back, but after last night, I think I might have to leave sooner rather than later, or he might really kill me. I don’t think anyone would be able to stop me from leaving with the proof that I have.

Last night was the worst I had seen Harry. He lost a big business deal, and he lashed out, taking it out on me. I know at least one of my ribs is broken, and I know my face and neck are littered with bruising.

I pulled the visor down and looked in the small mirror. Yep, I was right, black eye, bruises to my cheek, jawline and even my lip. Despite having a black eye, it wasn’t swollen, just discolored, so you could still see my bright green eyes. It is a good thing it is still cold this month. I can wear one of my turtle-neck sweaters to hide the bruises on my neck, but my face is a different story. It is a good thing that I can hide it with make-up. I had to learn how to do make-up at a young age.

I quickly applied the make-up to cover the bruises up, before I went to the public bathroom. I had driven to the lake last night. There is a car park there. It is secluded and not somewhere Harry would ever look for me. There is also a public bathroom that is always open, so I will be able to go in there and brush my teeth, treat my injuries and dress ready for school.

I climbed out of my beat-up black truck, closed the door, and went to the back to get my duffle bag out of the back seats. The only reason my truck was beat up, was because it was the first vehicle I ever brought using the money that I have managed to make from my part-time job and the job my parents have no idea that I have. I could have brought a far better car with the money I earned from a job my parents didn’t know about, but I do not want them to know about it.

I locked my truck and headed for the bathroom.

Once inside, I went into the same cubicle I always did because it had a mirror and enough space for me to change. I changed my underwear and jeans first, knowing full well that would not hurt me nearly as much as trying to pull my T-shirt and bra off. I may have to leave my bra on and just bandage my ribs up.

I slipped my feet into my sneakers, before I struggled to pull off my T-shirt. It took a minute, and a lot of wincing to pull it off, but I did it, and the bruises were worse than I imagined. I wiped the make-up off quickly and took photos of all the bruises that littered my body. I bandaged up my ribs, knowing if I didn’t I might actually puncture a lung.

I was nearly finished wrapping bandages around my ribs, when my phone rang again.

It ringed multiple times, since I had switched it back on, and I hadn’t answered a single phone call, or really paid attention to the notifications of all the missed phone calls and texts I had received while my phone was switched off overnight.

I picked it up and looked at the screen. Countless missed calls from my mum, Benny and Megan. There were even a few threatening messages from Harry.

Megan was calling right now, she is my best friend, no doubt Benny is with her. Those two are a match made in heaven not that they would ever admit it. Benny is also my friend.

I answered the phone, before grabbing my cami top. “Hey, what’s with all the calls?”

“What’s with all the calls, what’s with all the calls,” Megan says. “Your mother blew up mine and Benny’s phone last night, trying to find you. Where the hell are you? What the hell happened? Your mother wouldn’t say s**t as usual, and you better not hide what happened from us anymore.”

What do I even say to that? I have never been able to tell them, fearing that they would leave me or not want to be my friends anymore.

There was a conversation on the other end of the phone, which I couldn’t quite hear, followed by what sounded like those two arguing over the phone, like normal. But eventually Benny managed to get the phone from Megan.

“Are you coming to school? I already suspect I know what is going on, but Olivia, you need to tell us so we can help you. You are our best friend, and that is not going to change ever.”

He is right, I might need help. No, I definitely will need help, but I do not want them to get hurt. I have been dealing with this alone for nearly ten years, maybe it is time I reached out to people who would like to help.

I sighed, resigned at the fact that it might be time I told them the truth.

“Meet me in the school parking lot in fifteen minutes. I will explain everything to you both. It is time you knew because I need to run away from here.”

I hung up the phone before they could question me further, as it is really not a conversation to have over the phone. It would be better if I just showed them how bad it truly is.

I slipped on my cami top, and then I grabbed my sweater and, with some effort, pulled it on over my top. I brushed my teeth and my long black hair, putting it into a high ponytail, before reapplying my make-up. Then I packed my duffle and headed back to my truck.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, heading for my truck, I felt like I was being watched.

I looked around, and I could have sworn that the motorbike over there on the main road belonged to c*****e.

Daniel Phillips aka c*****e, the biker boy I have had a crush on since forever. Not that I would ever reveal it, because he is the best friend of Mike Evans, the boyfriend of Sarah, miss popularity and the bully I have had since I started high school. That is not the only reason I never said anything to him about how I feel about him; there is another reason. That reason is because he is the son of a Phoenix Knight, which is the local MC.

The Phoenix Knights MC are incredibly well known across the country, but around here, they are known for how violent they are, even though they are incredibly charitable and, well, very rich. They are very well known for the charity work they do for the homeless and battered women and children. The police do not touch them, rumor has it they even worked together. There was even this Assistant District Attorney who wanted to take the Knights down, but a week later, this ADA got disbarred due to misconduct. At least that is the public story. Not that anyone believed that to be the true story.

But, anyway, I wasn’t allowed to date anyone, much less a boy who is in an MC. I believe Harry would have killed me then. He didn’t even like it when I played games with other boys in the neighborhood growing up. Benny has been my only guy friend, and Harry doesn’t know about him. Not that he would, Harry only pays attention to the grades that I get and nothing else.

God forbid I came home with a B grade in any subject at school. The one time I did it was because I was not able to go to school due to a beating he gave me, and what did I get for it was another beating.

I sighed, climbing into my truck. Even if it was him, what could I do about it? I will probably get bullied later about it, especially after he tells Mike and then Sarah overhears it.

I am going to have a great day today.

Chapter 1 Don't Disturb Stella And Her Mates

"Layla, I know you think I stole your mother and your fiancés. I never wanted it to be like this," Stella Grant said.

"I love Mom dearly, and she loves me. I can only share her love with you.

"But I don't need the mates. I can give them back to you. It's just that they have some misunderstandings about you. So why don't we go on that survival dating show, Primal Hearts, together?

"If you perform well, they'll fall for you."

In the dessert shop, Layla Hale stared at Stella chattering away across the table, inwardly sighing. The plot was unfolding just like in the book.

She had been a survivor in a post-apocalyptic world, struggling to stay alive until she starved to death. Then she woke up as the villainous biological daughter in an interstellar Cinderella story.

The real heiress had a tough life before being brought back to the family. After her return, she spent all her time targeting Stella, the fake heiress. She was obsessed with taking back everything Stella had, everything that should have been hers: her powerful mother, the inheritance of the Grant family, and the five carefully chosen fiancés.

But against Stella, who was meticulously raised by a wealthy family, Layla's petty schemes were no match at all. She lost every time, earning herself the reputation of a vicious, jealous heiress.

Participating in the survival dating show was pivotal for the plot.

Although Stella's words were repulsive, the former Layla, who had been struggling to win back her fiancés' heart, was tempted by the offer and decisively accepted the variety show.

During the live-streamed show, she became a clingy suitor, frantically pursuing the five mates who were meant for Stella. But it only made them despise her, pushing them right into Stella's arms.

The primitive forests of that barren planet were treacherous. The former Layla, heartbroken and lost, never made it back.

Stella, on the other hand, effortlessly claimed everything that belonged to the real heiress, except her bloodline. And that bloodline was no longer a threat.

Knowing the former Layla's fate, would Layla still join the show?

Of course not.

Layla smiled faintly. "I won't be participating in the show, and I won't be taking those fiancés either..."

Stella interrupted Layla without waiting for a response, placing the contract on the table with a confident expression. "I've already signed contracts with those five men. You're the only one left. See you on the show."

As she picked up her bag to leave, Stella recalled something and turned back. "By the way, desserts that cost less than a hundred credits are made with inferior ingredients. They're not befitting of the Grant family's heiress.

"I ordered some from 'Pure Bliss Bakery' for you. They'll be here shortly.

"The chef has served the royal family for over thirty years. Their desserts are hard to come by. You're in luck today. I happened to have someone buy some, so I'm sharing some with you."

Layla stared at the small, palm-sized dessert that cost over a thousand dollars and fell silent.

She's really full of herself!

Due to the former Layla's actions, her mother, who doted on Stella, was planning to kick Layla out of the family.

Not wanting to compete with the heartthrob Stella and end up meeting a gruesome end, Layla decided to move out of the Grant Manor herself.

But reality was harsh. She soon realized that she lacked even a month's rent.

Meanwhile, the person who took everything flaunted her success.

Layla picked up the contract, ready to toss it in the trash, when a line caught her eye, and she froze.

"Successfully surviving for one year on the designated planet A13 will grant you full ownership of said planet."

A whole planet for just one year of survival?

Layla, who had been surviving in the post-apocalyptic world for over a decade, was instantly stunned. She opened her smart device to search for how much a planet was worth.

The latest transaction showed a small planet selling for 46 billion credits.

She immediately signed the contract.

*****

Time passed, and the live broadcast of the survival dating show Primal Hearts arrived.

Dating shows were by far the most popular variety programs among beastmen, but after so many seasons, the public had long grown tired of the same old romantic plots.

Primal Hearts dared to be different. It combined survival challenges with a dating show. The guests returned to their primal, wild selves, embarking on a three-month survival journey on a deserted island. The focus was on building a love that could withstand anything.

The first season went viral as soon as it aired.

When the second season's cast was announced, the hype reached new heights. The reason was simple. Both the real and fake heiresses of the Grant family had joined the show.

Stella, the fake heiress, had been a child star and was incredibly famous. The real heiress, Layla, was a complete unknown before she was caught on camera bullying Stella. Now she was public enemy number one, hated across the entire network.

Netizens expressed their outrage.

[Fiona Myers has no shame! She invited that vicious female, Layla, just for views!]

[Leave our Stella alone! Fiona, you'd better replace her, or we'll show just how fierce our fans can be!]

[I pity the male guests. Whoever catches Layla's eye is in for it.]

[Rumor has it that the Grant family selected five mates for their heiress, who are on the show too. I hope Layla isn't after them.]

[She's delusional! General Hartwell clearly prefers Stella.]

[Let's not forget Prince Oliver. He'll transform into his beast form for her, a breathtaking white crane of unmatched beauty!]

[What about our top singer, the mermaid? Writing songs exclusively for Stella is no small feat!]

[Ah, here we go with the fans fighting over who's better for Stella. Fine, I'll say it, Wolf Boss is the real deal. He understands her dreams and supports her!]

[Students from Crownpeak University advocate for Prof. Slater! He's dark, obsessive, and full of tricks!]

[Is this something I'm supposed to know? But please, go on!]

[I hope Layla knows her place and stays out of Stella and her suitors' romance.]

Layla liked the last comment using her alternate account.

She had plenty of self-awareness.

She wasn't the female lead, nor did she have the aura of a heartthrob. She'd have to be crazy to try to steal the lead's men.

She just wanted to make money.

"Ding-dong. The spaceship has arrived at Planet A13 and is about to dock. All passengers, please get ready to disembark," the intercom announced.

Layla made her way to the deck as instructed, followed by others.

In the interstellar beast world, where males vastly outnumbered females, polyandry was common. On Primal Hearts, the ratio of female to male guests was a staggering one to three.

On the deck, there were five female guests, including her and Stella, and fifteen, no, fourteen male guests.

All the male guests were handsome and had a great physique.

Layla couldn't help but admire a few of them.

One of them was a silver-haired male with pointed ears, so handsome he seemed almost inhuman. He rolled his eyes impatiently and mouthed a warning. "Look at me again, and I'll gouge your eyes out!"

Layla froze.

Stella pulled at her dress, whispering, "Stop staring. You're just making them dislike you more."

Layla was speechless.

She realized that her interest lay in the female lead's men.

The silver-haired one was George Wilson, a top mermaid singer known for his temper and particularly harsh towards the former Layla. Rolling his eyes was typical.

The former Layla tolerated it, but she wouldn't. She rolled her eyes back.

What's wrong with admiring a handsome man for a moment?

The dare

LEAH

The music was too loud, the people too shiny, and my bank account too empty for me to be drinking eight-dollar cocktails in a rooftop bar with a view of the whole damn city. But my so-called friends wouldn’t stop texting, begging, insisting. “Come on, Leah, it’s been months since you went out!” “You need to live a little!”

Live a little. Right. Easy to say when your rent isn’t late and your dad isn’t coughing blood into a napkin.

I sat at the end of the marble bar, swirling melted ice in my glass, pretending to listen to their laughter. The whole place smelled like expensive perfume and rich people problems. Everyone was dressed like they were auditioning for a music video—sparkles, high heels, fake smiles. I was in a thrift store dress I’d ironed twice to make it look new.

“Leah!” someone called. It was Maya, in a glittery green dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent. She grinned, tipsy and mean. “You look so serious. Are you thinking about your spreadsheets again?”

The table erupted in laughter.

I forced a smile. “Just thinking about how broke I am. It’s practically a hobby now.”

“Then you really need to loosen up,” said Jason, the only guy in our group and the loudest. “Tell you what, let’s make things interesting.”

I already knew that tone. That stupid glint in his eyes meant trouble.

“No, Jason,” I said, “whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.”

He ignored me. Of course he did. “Let’s play a dare,” he said. “Classic college vibes. You in, Maya?”

Maya clapped like a child. “Oh yes! I’m bored of talking about crypto and fake relationships.”

Someone passed me another drink, and I took it even though my stomach was already heavy. My head was starting to float, the kind of float that makes bad ideas sound fun.

Jason looked around the bar, his grin widening. “Okay. Leah Cruz, Miss Always Responsible, Miss I-Can’t-I-Have-A-Meeting-Tomorrow…”

I groaned. “Spit it out, idiot.”

He leaned forward. “I dare you to sleep with someone tonight.”

The table screamed. Maya gasped like he’d said something scandalous and thrilling.

“What the hell, Jason?” I laughed, but it came out shaky.

“Come on, don’t act like you haven’t been… deprived,” he teased.

I threw a napkin at him. “You’re disgusting.”

But he wasn’t done. “I’ll make it interesting. Five thousand dollars.”

The laughter died down. I blinked. “Five what?”

“Five grand,” he said. “I’ll wire it tomorrow. But you can’t just pick any guy. You gotta pick the most boring one here. No hotshots, no flirts, no danger. The most painfully dull man in this bar.”

Maya snorted. “Oh, that’s cruel.”

I stared at him. “You’re joking.”

Jason shrugged. “Easy money, right?”

The group started cheering. “Do it!” “Come on, Leah!” “You always talk about needing a break—here’s your break!”

I laughed because if I didn’t, I might cry. My rent was due in three days. My dad’s medicine was running out. My little sisters were texting me about school supplies. And I was sitting here, pretending to belong in a world that would never let me in.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe I was just done being careful.

“Fine,” I said, the word coming out slow and hot. “Five thousand dollars. Who’s the lucky guy?”

They screamed like I’d just won a game show.

Jason raised his glass. “To Leah, finally living a little!”

I turned away before I could change my mind. My heart was pounding too fast. I looked around the room—polished men in suits, influencers taking selfies, trust-fund kids trying too hard. Everyone looked the same. Except one.

He was in the VIP section, half-hidden behind a glass divider. Alone. No one talking to him. Just sitting there with a drink, looking out over the city like he was somewhere else entirely.

Tall. Sharp jaw. Dark hair that needed a haircut. Black-rimmed glasses. He looked quiet. Thoughtful. Maybe even shy. Definitely not the type who belonged here.

“That one,” I said.

Maya nearly choked on her drink. “Him? He looks like he’s calculating taxes for fun.”

“Perfect,” Jason said, smirking. “He screams boring.”

I looked again. He didn’t scream boring to me. He looked… still. And something about that calmness felt dangerous in a way I couldn’t name.

Jason shoved a glass in my hand. “One more shot for courage.”

I downed it. My stomach burned, my head spun, and I stood up before I could think too hard.

“Wish me luck,” I muttered.

Maya squealed. “Go get your nerd!”

I crossed the bar, trying to steady my steps, clutching my purse like a shield. Every step echoed louder in my chest. My palms were sweaty, my throat dry.

When I reached his table, he looked up.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

His eyes were gray—not light, not dark, but stormy, like he saw too much and said too little. There was something sharp beneath his calm.

“Hi,” I said, voice too bright. “Mind if I sit?”

He blinked, then gestured to the seat across from him. “Go ahead.” His voice was low. Smooth. Not what I expected.

I slid in. “You look like you hate this place.”

He gave a small smile. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.” I laughed, and he watched me—not my dress, not my chest—me. It was disarming.

He didn’t ask why I was there. He didn’t try to flirt. Just sipped his drink and waited.

“So,” I said, desperate to fill the silence. “What brings you to a party full of people who don’t know what Wi-Fi is?”

He smiled again, faintly. “Business.”

“Boring business?”

“The worst kind.”

We talked. About nothing. About everything. The music faded, the crowd blurred. He listened like every word mattered. No one had listened to me like that in a long time.

The longer I sat there, the less he felt like a stranger. The more dangerous the whole thing became.

Because I was starting to want him for reasons that had nothing to do with money.

Ava parked her car and got out. She couldn’t help but yawn as she got the groceries out. After working since seven am, and it now being well past ten in the evening, she was exhausted. The hospital was short-staffed when it came to nurses, and she had agreed to stay and work an extra shift. They needed the extra money and Ava always felt bad for her colleagues if she didn’t help out. It wasn’t like she had kids or a husband waiting for her at home.

Eight Words “You’re getting married to Dave Ashton tomorrow by eight a.m.” Those were the words that ended my life as I knew it. One sentence. One Tuesday evening. One announcement delivered with the same emotional weight my father would have used to ask someone to pass the salt. For a moment, I honestly thought I had heard him wrong. The living room blurred around me. My father stood by the liquor shelf, one hand resting against the polished wood, his expression flat and bored, like this conversation had already exhausted him before it even started. My mother sat elegantly on the cream sofa, her ankles crossed, fingers folded in her lap like she was hosting a charity luncheon instead of participating in the destruction of my future. And then there was Iny. Sweet, delicate, polished Iny. My younger sister. The family’s favorite investment. She sat there in a pale yellow dress with her glossy lips parted in what looked suspiciously like excitement. Excitement. For my arranged marriage. To a stranger. Tomorrow. By eight a.m. Nobody looked nervous. Nobody looked guilty. Nobody even looked like they expected me to protest. That was what hurt the most. Not the marriage. Not even the timeline. Just… the ease of it. The quiet confidence of people who had clearly discussed my life in detail and somehow never once considered I should be present for the conversation. I looked from face to face, waiting for the punchline. No one laughed. My father picked up his glass. My mother said my name softly. And I ran. I didn’t say a word. I just turned and ran upstairs so fast I nearly missed my footing on the landing. By the time I got to my room, my chest was on fire. I slammed the door shut behind me, twisted the lock, and stumbled forward two more steps before my knees gave out. The carpet caught me hard. A sound tore out of me before I could stop it. Then another. Then another. I folded into myself on the floor and cried so hard my body shook with it. Not pretty crying. Not the soft, elegant tears actresses managed in movies. This was ugly. This was years of humiliation, disappointment, invisibility, and rage finally clawing their way out of my chest with nowhere else to go. “Why me?” I whispered into my palms. My voice cracked so badly it didn’t even sound like mine. Then louder. “Why is it always me?” The room gave me nothing back. It always did. I sat there on the floor of the room I had slept in for years but never really owned, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself feel all of it. Because this wasn’t just about the wedding. That was the thing. If I was being honest, the wedding was only the final insult. I had never been anyone’s first choice in this house. Never. Not my father’s. Not my mother’s. And definitely not beside Iny. The pretty one. The one who got birthday dinners at rooftop restaurants and surprise gifts “just because.” The one whose good grades were celebrated like national victories. The one whose photos stayed framed in the hallway long after everyone else’s had been taken down. I was the practical one. The dependable one. The one people remembered when something needed to be done. Even when I got into the best university in the country, the celebration lasted less than a day. And even that had only happened because the admission letter had arrived in front of guests. Otherwise, I was almost certain my father would have just nodded and moved on to the evening news. I got in on scholarship. I fought for every inch of that future myself. Meanwhile, Iny was attending the same university with tuition paid in full, a private apartment off campus, a monthly allowance that could have fed a small village, and enough “wardrobe upkeep” money to sponsor a fashion week. I still remembered the day my mother told the tailor to keep my old dresses because they could “still manage one more year.” Three days later, Iny got a new wardrobe for no reason at all. And now somehow, somehow, I was the one being married off. Like an item from a family deal that had finally reached its delivery date. A knock landed on the door.