Short

I was five months pregnant when I watched my husband Lorenzo's adopted sister, Isabella, douse our penthouse terrace in gasoline. This time, I didn't press the emergency button on my wrist. In my last life, after I called for help, Lorenzo saved me, while Isabella was "shot" in the ensuing gunfight. He was as affectionate as ever, but on the fourth night after our son was born, he sank us both to the bottom of the icy lake, his excuse cold and simple: "Isabella took a bullet for you." As the frigid water swallowed me, he held me down with the same hands that had caressed me countless times, whispering in my ear, "Now you'll sink with what you treasure most." When I opened my eyes, I was back on the floor of our burning apartment.

I was seven months pregnant, lying on an operating table, and my own husband was the one holding me down. He believed the umbilical cord blood from our premature baby could save Sonia—the girl my family adopted. So he conspired with a private clinic to cut my child out of me. The moment they had harvested our baby's cord blood, he rushed away—leaving my fragile, premature child to die alone in an incubator. Later, my parents told me, "Harper, you owe Sonia. It's time you paid her back." My husband said, "We can always have another one. Is one child's life more important than Sonia's?" Rage and grief overwhelmed me, and I bled to death on that table. My soul floated above, watching them save Sonia with my child's lifeblood. They didn't even bother to cover my body with a clean sheet. No one mourned for me. My death caused no one pain. They pushed me into the morgue without a second thought and threw a party to celebrate Sonia's new lease on life. When I opened my eyes again, I had traveled three months into the past—to the day my family was pressuring me to sign the divorce papers.

My Alpha's chosen mate thought I was his secret lover. "I'll send you and your bastard pup straight to the Shadow Realm!" she snarled, her claws fully extended. She left me bleeding on cold stone, my face in ruins, my pup gone. Through the haze of pain, I heard my mate's voice through the mind-link. He was comforting *her*. "My poor moon, did she hurt you? Did she scratch you?" But when he realized the "intruder" his chosen one had destroyed was me— His fated mate, his bonded Luna— He shattered.

After my rebirth, I secretly changed my intended mate from the childhood friend who betrayed me in my past life to our Alpha's rebellious son. As the leader of the Argent clan, my dad was surprised by this change, but he still accepted my choice. In my previous life, when my dad asked who I most wanted to bond with, I had blushed and whispered Caleb Thorne's name. My dad had nodded. "Caleb grew up with you. You're both from pure bloodlines, well-matched in power. I'm sure he will treat you well." Later, Caleb and I held our bonding ceremony. The ritual was grand and solemn; even Alpha Alaric himself came to offer his blessings. But less than half a year after our bonding, Caleb applied for patrol duty on the border, claiming he wanted to contribute to the pack's safety. Not only did he abandon me to face his parents alone, but he also severed our mind-link after my dad was framed for treason against the pack. Just when I thought I couldn't bear the pain of my dad's imprisonment, I received the devastating news of Caleb's death in a bloody battle with rogue wolves. Under the double blow, my will to live shattered. I walked into a silver trap, letting the poison end my life. I never expected that, 40 years after my death, an elderly werewolf couple would visit the Moon Goddess Altar. Caleb, who was supposed to be dead, stood before my memorial, holding my cousin, Lila Vance. "Brandy, I'm sorry I deceived you. I only bonded with you to meet the clan's expectations. Lila is the one I've always loved." "Brandy, this is all my fault. I'm just asking you to stop tormenting Lila. If you have any resentment, direct it at me." So their love was that deep... To spend the rest of his life with Lila, Caleb had faked his own death to escape. He was even superstitious enough to believe that the curse afflicting Lila was my vengeful spirit. Once I learned the truth, my lingering obsession finally shattered, and I let myself dissolve into nothingness. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my dad asked me who I wanted as my mate.

The third time Federico stormed into the hotel room with his entourage to find me in bed with a stranger, I didn't scramble for my clothes or offer a frantic explanation. Not like the first two times. Savannah Cross, the Grayson Group's wealth manager, stepped forward, her voice dripping with poisonous sweetness. "Ms. Berry, this marks your third instance of infidelity." "And according to the prenup," she added, "that means you forfeit all assets and relinquish custody of your child." Federico’s patience had worn thin. His gaze burned with loathing as it landed on me. He slammed the divorce papers onto the nightstand. "The first time, you said you didn't know the man." "The second time, you claimed you had no idea how you got to the hotel." "This is the third time, Berry. What's your excuse now?" He expected another clumsy excuse, another pathetic denial. But I said nothing. I just calmly picked up the pen and signed my name. Then, I vanished from his world. So why, when I finally gave him exactly what he wanted—when I gave up everything, including our child—was he the one who completely shattered?

My Alpha mate Jonas's childhood friend, Cassia, was a prophet. She peddled prophecies that my wolf would corrupt his, using curses and other schemes to sabotage our bond. But each time, Jonas would let her off the hook, insisting she "just cared too much about him." Her sabotage reached its peak when she fed him an aphrodisiac and left her scent on his body. Then, while I was at my most vulnerable—enduring the agony of our bonding ceremony—she convinced Jonas to sever our mate bond. I died with all my hope shattered. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our bonding ceremony—just in time to see her about to lace our ceremonial wine goblets with "Corrosive Silver" powder. This time, I decided I would no longer hold back. "I think you're the one who needs purifying!" I snarled, flinging the wine in her face before the entire assembly.

At my third wedding anniversary party with Oscar Ashford, his assistant, Sloane, deliberately shoved our anniversary cake into my expensive custom gown. I slapped her. Then I grabbed a handful of the ruined cake and smeared it right back across her face. That night, on a massive screen at the family's charity gala, a live feed of him and Sloane kissing passionately in a backstage corner flashed across the screen. My mother had a heart attack watching it. She died without ever waking up. And while I was kneeling on the cold hospital floor, he was in Sloane's apartment, calming her down with a shopping spree—on our joint account. He came home reeking of alcohol, striding past my disheveled state to order me to the seaside estate to care for Sloane. She’d been frightened, he claimed, and needed to rest for the sake of his unborn child. He seized my chin, his voice dropping to a low threat, warning me that if anything happened to his only heir, he would make my life a living hell. After he left, I retrieved the divorce papers my lawyer had drafted from the safe in my art studio. Lying next to them was my ultrasound. I stared at the blurry, black-and-white image. Oscar, I thought, my heart a stone, in three days, you’re going to find out you lost more than just a wife.

The day I was reborn, my parents were forcing me to sign an agreement that would hand over my beloved Lynn to my sister, Camilla. I remembered how my last life ended. I had cried and begged, trying to make him believe I was the one who had cared for him at that countryside villa, not Camilla, but my pleas only deepened his disgust. Heartbroken and dazed, I crashed my car. I dialed his number, only to hear his cold voice on the other end. “Enough with the theatrics. You’re interrupting my engagement party with Camilla.” He then hung up and blocked me. I bled out in the highway wreckage, my consciousness fading to the sound of their party’s live broadcast crackling on the radio. This time, I clenched the expensive fountain pen, my fingertips turning white. This time, I would never beg again.

The night before the Beta selection, my mate and my mother conspired to cast me into hell. They injected me with wolfsbane, locked me in the alchemy lab, and let the silver-laced flames consume my skin and my future. I clawed desperately at the door, my nails splintering against the wood as the searing heat roasted my skin. I listened to my mother's fake sobs as she claimed she had accidentally activated the lab's lockdown protocol. But as my wolf was about to shatter from the agony, I heard her—whispering with my mate, my Alpha, Rhys. My mother’s voice was a nervous whisper. Was this too cruel? Destroying me with silver fire just to let Dahlia get ahead? But Rhys's voice was ice. It was my debt to Dahlia, he claimed. A price the ambitious Avalon had to pay. He would shatter my pride, break my power, and then chain me to his bed, mark me, and make me his broken, beautiful, exclusive property—a gift, he called it, to a defective thing like me. His words pierced me like silver needles. The family I had loved, the mate I had trusted with everything—they had joined forces long ago to build my tomb. I bit my lip, trembling, tasting blood, bitterness, and betrayal. A single thought cut through the haze of pain: the man who swore he loved me, the mother who gave me life—I was done with them both. -- Main Text --

Julia was Marco's childhood friend. After discovering my fatal childhood allergy to a rare shellfish extract, she slipped it into my seafood risotto. The moment I swallowed, a burning tightness seized my throat. My breathing grew ragged as the allergic reaction tore through me, every nerve screaming. In a panic, I reached for the life-saving epinephrine in my handbag—a special auto-injector my father had prepared for me years ago, just in case. But the medication inside had been replaced with a useless saline solution. The color drained from my face, and all strength fled my body. I collapsed, clutching desperately at my fiancé Marco’s leg. "Please—I'm having a reaction. That shellfish extract… you have to help me—" Marco hesitated. But Julia just crossed her arms and purred. "Marco, your fiancée is such a drama queen. It's just risotto. I've been around this family for years; no one reacts to a meal like that." The other family members chimed in. "Stop making a scene! It's just a bite of food." "She's just jealous of Julia, trying to ruin Marco's big night." Marco's expression hardened. "Julia grew up with me. If there were something wrong with the food, she would know. You'll be fine." I stopped begging. With the last of my strength, I shakily pressed the emergency call button on my phone—a direct line to my father, the Don of Chicago, Alessandro Volkov.

On the day of my engagement to Julian Rhodes, the one that got away jumped into a lake. Her eyes were red as she stared at the person live-streaming her, her tone desolate: "Go ahead and marry her. I'll go and prepare our home for the next life." Facing the reporters who suddenly swarmed in, my fiancé held my hand tightly. "The person I love most is my wife." I stood on my tiptoes, held his arm tightly, and smiled sweetly. But one week later, the always poised and reserved Captain Rhodes committed suicide by taking pills.

On the night I received a job offer to work in France, Owen Galloway was humiliating my mother in a private room. "Even if you're selling your daughter, you have to get a good price for her. Keep begging, and maybe I'll marry her." I was once Owen Galloway's goddess. To pursue me, he did all sorts of foolish things, even breaking off with his childhood sweetheart. During a flood, Sylvia Linton and I were trapped on a mountain. He saved me, which resulted in his right leg becoming disabled, while Sylvia Linton, whom he had abandoned, was disfigured. I finally accepted him, began to take meticulous care of him, and promised to be with him forever. But in just three years, his goddess became an old habit, and the childhood sweetheart became his lifeblood. He yelled at me more than once: "Why didn't you push me away back then? Do you know what kind of life Sylvia is living now?" He got into fights for Sylvia Linton, missed the birthday party I had prepared for him, and stormed out on me when I had a fever. He once promised he would marry me after three years. The three-year promise is up in a week, but he doesn't know that I am already preparing to leave.

When the deadly "Moonfrost" descended, my mate, Jaxon, the Alpha of the Ironfang Pack, took all our elite warriors to save Nadia, the woman he had always loved. In that moment, a jolt through our mate bond told me the impossible: Jaxon had been reborn, too. In my last life, I had cried out to him for help on our communicator, and he had rushed to my side without hesitation. Because of that, he missed the chance to comfort Nadia, who was emotionally spiraling from the blizzard. She killed herself. But before she died, she posted a final message on the pack's public channel, accusing me of cursing her with black magic for years and stealing the man she loved. After her death, the pack put me on trial, and I became a pariah, enduring endless harassment. My mate, Jaxon, claimed he didn't blame me, treating me with the same hollow affection as before. But at Nadia's memorial service, he broke my mother's limbs and mine, then dragged us both onto an altar before the statue of the Moon Goddess. "If I'd known you were using black magic to harm Nadia, I never would have accepted the Moon Goddess's bond! You're a healer, yet you deliberately used the communicator to lure me away. This is all your fault—Nadia would still be alive if it weren't for you!" With my mother's agonized screams ringing in my ears, scorching liquid silver was poured down my throat, and my inner wolf shattered in despair. And then, I died. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the Moonfrost fell. This time, he could go and protect his beloved. I would no longer stand in his way.

Our engagement party was supposed to be the most lavish social event in all of New York, but a month before the big day, my fiancé, Julian Sterling, had my father thrown into the city's most notorious private prison. Julian's reason? His ex-girlfriend, Scarlett Hale, claimed someone had leaked company secrets, and the supposed evidence was conveniently found on my father's computer. He gave me no chance to explain, informing me with chilling calm that unless I could spin a convincing tale, my father would rot there for the rest of his life. His thumb brushed my jaw, a touch devoid of any warmth, his eyes as cold as frost. He assured me he wouldn't call off our engagement over such a "trivial matter." The party, he said, would proceed as planned. The thought of my father suffering in that hellhole shattered me. In that moment, I made a vow: if this was how he treated the people I loved, then I was done with Julian Sterling. For good.

Rhys Lachlan, my fated mate, hated me for ten long years after the love of his life died. I did everything to please him, but he would only sneer. "If you really want to make me happy," he'd sneer, "drive a silver knife through your own heart." Those words broke my heart. Yet, when a silver-laced dagger came flying toward me, Rhys threw himself in front of me. He saved me, only to die in a pool of his own blood. With his last breath, he stared into my eyes. "If only... the Moon Goddess had never bound our souls..." At his funeral, his mother was overcome with grief. "I should have let Rhys be with Abigail," she wept, "I never should have forced him into the bonding ceremony with you!" His father resented me. "Rhys saved you three times. He was a good Alpha. Why couldn't it have been you who died?" Everyone regretted that I was his mate, including me. I was exiled from the pack. Three years later, on the night of the blood moon, I sacrificed half of my soul in exchange for the Moon Goddess's mercy. This time, I want nothing to do with Rhys Lachlan. And this time, everyone will get the fate they deserve.

On New Year's Eve, I returned to Chicago. At the welcome dinner held in my honor, my ex-fiancé, Declan Tierney, made a sudden appearance. He dropped to one knee, holding out a family heirloom: a necklace centered with a massive sapphire. "Though this is three years late, our destinies are forever intertwined," he declared. "Joanna, marry me!" Friends whispered among themselves, all expecting a tearful reunion. But they had all forgotten that on New Year's Eve three years ago, he had promised to get engaged to me. That night, I waited until dawn in a custom-made gown—but he never showed up. All I received was a curt phone call. "Cassidy's been targeted. I have to handle it. We'll talk about the engagement later." So, on New Year's Day, I flew to Italy alone and accepted my family's arranged marriage. The problem was, I had already married someone else. Three years ago.

After I handed over the Cianci family’s crucial Desert City casino project to Bianca Gallo—my husband’s mistress—he mistook my compliance for surrender. He thought I’d finally broken after his three-month-long silent treatment. He proposed a trip to the French Riviera to "compensate" me. He beamed. "Let's go to the French Riviera, Lia. We can start over." When Bianca heard, she threw a tearful tantrum and threatened to leave the family. Her usual trick. Brodie, completely bewitched, panicked. After three full days of placating her, he canceled our trip, citing "urgent family business"—then gave my first-class ticket to her. He just shrugged, dismissing me with a wave. "Emotions are a luxury, Lia. Family interests come first. You're my wife. You should understand the bigger picture." Of course. I just stared at Bianca’s latest post: an intimate photo of them on a private jet. She was wearing the couture gown I was supposed to wear, and the hand Brodie had resting on her bare thigh wore our wedding ring. I said nothing. Just a slow, deliberate nod. Brodie thought I was finally playing the part he’d cast for me: the quiet, sensible, elegant Donna. He promised an even grander "compensation" upon his return. Too bad for him, I had long since decided to exit this game of marriage and power. Too bad he had already signed the divorce papers with his own hand. We were over.

At my mate-to-be Jasper's approaching Alpha ascension ceremony, he publicly rejected our mate bond. He chose Corinne, the woman who was already carrying his child. "Corinne and her family can help me secure my Alpha title," he'd declared without a shred of shame. "And I need her to give me an heir." As for me? "Just wait a year. The Luna title will be yours in the end." Everyone thought I would accept. After all, I had been hopelessly in love with him for seven years. But that very night, I left to find my Second Chance Mate. Three years later, I returned to the Stonehaven Pack, accompanying my mate—the Alpha King—on a tour of his territories. He had last-minute pack business and sent someone to meet me. But at the airport, I ran into Jasper. "Done with your little tantrum?" he asked, a pitying smirk on his lips. "Corinne's son needs a nanny. You can come back and be his nanny."