Elisha Plasket

Richard is only a year older than me, but he has always used his status as my older brother to pressure me. When we were kids, he would scold me for skipping class, and as we grew up, he would still interfere in my love life. My friends joked, "Your brother can't possibly like you, right? You two aren't even real siblings." Since then, I deliberately distanced myself from him, but during the New Year, he suddenly brought home a girl. "Tricia, call her sister-in-law." That night, I locked myself in my room and cried uncontrollably. He pulled me out from under the covers and gently wiped away my tears. "You're allowed to make me mad by dating a boyfriend, but I can't be upset with you?"

I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra. But the man beside me—Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York—had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right. She wasn't his fiancée. I was. The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up." He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush. To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture—a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting. So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home. I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet. On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war." By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life.

He called me his wild rose, the foster kid he rescued from the streets. He built me a gilded cage and told me it was love. Then I saw the text: my best friend, Karis, showing off the engagement ring he' d just given her. I rushed to his office, only to overhear the truth. I was just a "placeholder," a "stray he picked up," a useful toy to keep his family happy while he planned his real future with her. He laughed about how easily he could control me. "A little gaslighting, a few well-placed gifts, and she'll be back where she belongs. Under my thumb." His final act of love? Drugging me and handing me over to a monster, sacrificing me as a "body double" to protect his precious Karis. He thought I was just a broken foster kid with nowhere to go. He thought he could erase me. He was wrong. As the private jet he put me on exploded over the ocean, I was already gone-saved by the powerful family I never knew I had. Now, I'm coming back, and they will pay for every single lie.

My husband locked me in a glass cage in the center of the ballroom, announcing to the elite of the pack that my father was dead. While his assistant, Debra, draped herself over him, Austen turned the thermostat down until industrial coolant pumped into my prison. I was eight months pregnant with his heir, begging for mercy, but he only raised a champagne glass to his new "Nolan Pack." To prove my submission, he ordered warriors to douse me in ice water laced with silver and wolfsbane. The chemicals burned my skin, but the cold killed my unborn son. As I lay in a pool of frozen red blood, watching the life fade from my womb, Austen finally panicked—not for me, but for his reputation. My father, the Supreme Alpha, wasn't dead. He tore the doors off their hinges to save me, but it was too late for the baby. Waking up in the hospital, empty and broken, I listened to Austen beg not for forgiveness, but for a cover-up to save the stock price. "We can just make another one," he said, dismissing my dead son like a broken toy. That was the moment the weak, loving wife died. I stood up, my eyes glowing with the ancient silver light of the White Wolf. I didn't just divorce him. I used the Alpha Voice to sever our bond, stripping him of his rank, his sanity, and his name. Now, I am the Queen of the Winter Moon Pack.

The bright town fair turned dark when my ten-year-old daughter Lily, clutching her voice recorder, was tormented by Brandon, my ex-husband' s girlfriend' s son. When he shoved her, my defensive slap echoed, breaking my world. That protective act was instantly weaponized by Mark' s manipulative partner, Victoria. Convinced I was "unhinged," my ex-husband Mark swiftly sent us to "Tranquil Pathways Youth Academy" -a grim place, more prison than therapy. Inside, I was systematically drugged, shamed, and isolated. They promised Lily' s well-being hinged on my "compliance" while she vanished into a "specialized unit." To Mark, I was painted as psychotic, my desperate pleas dismissed, yet my mother's intuition screamed betrayal. The injustice and helplessness maddened me. My ex-husband had abandoned us, believing their lies. Lily was gone, somewhere in those cold walls, and I was being stripped of my mind, consumed by fear for her. Months later, Mark arrived, finally doubting. Through my drugged stupor, chilling clarity led him to a hidden floorboard in my desolate room. There, beside Lily' s lifeless body, was her cherished recorder-holding the undeniable truth, and igniting a cold, unyielding vengeance within me.

He always called me his little bird. For six years, since my parents died in that tragic fire, my uncle Michael Davies was my world. He promised to protect me, to give me a gilded cage where I could feel safe. But on the eve of my 18th birthday, that gilded cage became a prison. I overheard him in his study, a phone call that shattered my entire existence. He was talking to Emily White, his ex-fiancée, the woman he truly loved. And in that chilling conversation, I learned the truth. My "savior" had orchestrated a monstrous plan: he was going to auction me off at my own birthday party. And Emily, the woman he swore he loved, revealed she was the one who set the fire that killed my parents. My uncle knew. He' d known all along. Every sweet word, every gentle touch, every act of supposed kindness was a lie designed to keep me a pawn in his twisted game of revenge. I was just a substitute, a cheap copy of the woman he truly desired. The pain was unbearable, a betrayal so profound it left me gasping for air. But the girl who loved Michael Davies died in that hallway. A new Sarah was born, cold, hard, and desperate to escape. I would not be his victim. I would not be their entertainment. I would survive this. My only escape was a desperate plea to his grandfather: arranging a marriage to a comatose man, miles away. It felt like a desolate choice, a sacrifice for freedom. But it was my only hope. I had to get out.

One month before my wedding, a text from an unknown number shattered my perfect world. It was a photo: Chloe' s hand, unmistakably, holding a positive pregnancy test, with a single, chilling line of text: "Congrats on being a dad. Or, stepdad, I guess. - Jake." My fiancée, Chloe, didn't deny it. She laughed, casually admitting she only agreed to marry me to make her ex-boyfriend, Jake, jealous. Every memory, every tender moment, twisted into a cruel performance. I stood there, surrounded by wedding invitations, realization dawning: I wasn' t a partner; I was a prop in her twisted game, about to become a convenient father for another man' s child. The woman I adored had meticulously built our future on a foundation of calculated lies. The betrayal was total, tearing through my very core. How could I have been so blind, so foolishly tethered to a ghost? The humiliation burned. I tore the wedding invitation in half and told her I was done, disappearing from her life. I packed my bags, leaving the broken pieces of my past behind, and headed to the farthest, coldest corner of the Earth: the Arctic, determined to freeze her out of my soul and rebuild a life she could never touch.

Havenwood, Maine, was a town owned by the Thorne family, but their ancient mansion held an even darker grip through a chilling tradition. Each new Thorne bride spent her wedding night alone in the windowless Founder's Study, a tradition that consistently ended in death, just like my sister Sarah's eight years ago. Police ruled Sarah's brutal throat-slitting a "suicide," a convenient lie swiftly followed by seven more inexplicable deaths of Julian Thorne's brides in the very same room. No one believed Sarah could do that, nor could the champion swimmer who supposedly drowned herself in a tiny basin, yet my father succumbed to the narrative, claiming we couldn't fight the powerful Thornes. But I refused to let it go, spending eight years mastering forensic psychology, and now I'm back in Havenwood, declaring to a stunned town and a resigned Julian: "I will be his ninth bride."

I sacrificed everything for her. My top-tier university scholarship, my architectural dreams, all to work for her father' s firm, playing the perfect, accommodating husband to Chloe for five long years. One Tuesday, curiosity led my hand to unlock an ornate wooden box on her vanity, a box she claimed held precious family heirlooms. Inside, there was no jewelry. Only a discreet urn and two receipts: one for a D&C procedure, the other for cremation. My blood ran cold when I saw the 'father' s name' wasn't mine. It was Leo, the musician she' d painted as a crazed stalker, the man I' d served a restraining order to protect her from. That restraining order, my very act of protection, wasn't a deterrent to their affair; it was the ultimate foreplay, according to a recording I later heard. Her family dismissed my pain, my father-in-law openly favored Leo, even hiring him to work alongside me. But the true breaking point came when Chloe watched, impassively, as I thrashed in a cold lake, struggling to breathe after she pushed me in. She walked away, leaving me to drown. The love I had for her didn't just die; it was extinguished, replaced by a chilling void. It wasn't about anger or sadness anymore, but an utter sense of betrayal that twisted my entire reality. And that's when the plan began to form. A cold, precise design to give them the "legacy" they truly deserved, on the biggest stage of all: the dedication ceremony of the skyscraper I designed.

It began innocently enough. My high school roommate, Jessica, needed a place to stay during a break, just as my older brother, David, was prepping for his SATs, his ticket to an Ivy League dream. My trusting parents welcomed her into our home. Then, the nightmare struck. A scream in the night. Jessica, teary-eyed, accused David of something unspeakable-a monstrous, venomous lie. That lie didn' t just stick; it decimated us. David's scores plunged, his dreams shattered, expelled from school. He found a dead-end job, then an accident claimed his life. Our parents, heartbroken, soon followed. And Jessica? She remained, a parasite feeding on our grief, playing the survivor while I simmered with impotent rage until everything ended in fire. The memory was a raw, bleeding wound-the profound injustice, the agony of watching my family crumble from a fabrication. Why did it have to end like that? Why couldn't I have seen through her sweet facade sooner? But then, I gasped awake, sunlight streaming through my familiar window. The calendar showed the exact date. Downstairs, I heard her voice: Jessica' s. I was back. This wasn't a dream. This was a second chance, a fierce, burning clarity-a chance to save David, my parents, and myself, and to dismantle Jessica' s wicked game, piece by deceitful piece.

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.

For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted. Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke. Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph. Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!" With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off." A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!"

"Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress. With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap. Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell. On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling."

Linsey was stood up by her groom to run off with another woman. Furious, she grabbed a random stranger and declared, "Let's get married!" She had acted on impulse, realizing too late that her new husband was the notorious rascal, Collin. The public laughed at her, and even her runaway ex offered to reconcile. But Linsey scoffed at him. "My husband and I are very much in love!" Everyone thought she was delusional. Then Collin was revealed to be the richest man in the world. In front of everyone, he got down on one knee and held up a stunning diamond ring. "I look forward to our forever, honey."

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.

After five years of playing the perfect daughter, Rylie was exposed as a stand-in. Her fiancé bolted, friends scattered, and her adoptive brothers shoved her out, telling her to grovel back to her real family. Done with humiliation, she swore to claw back what was hers. Shock followed: her birth family ruled the town's wealth. Overnight, she became their precious girl. The boardroom brother canceled meetings, the genius brother ditched his lab, the musician brother postponed a tour. As those who spurned her begged forgiveness, Admiral Brad Morgan calmly declared, "She's already taken."

In their previous lives, Gracie married Theo. Outwardly, they were the perfect academic couple, but privately, she became nothing more than a stepping stone for his ambition, and met a tragic end. Her younger sister Ellie wed Brayden, only to be abandoned for his true love, left alone and disgraced. This time, both sisters were reborn. Ellie rushed to marry Theo, chasing the success Gracie once had-unaware she was repeating the same heartbreak. Gracie instead entered a contract marriage with Brayden. But when danger struck, he defended her fiercely. Could fate finally rewrite their tragic endings?

Sophie stepped in for her sister and married a man known for his disfigured looks and reckless past. On their wedding day, his family turned their backs on him, and the town laughed behind their hands, certain the marriage would collapse. But Sophie's career soared, and their love only deepened. Later, during a high-profile event, the CEO of some conglomerate took off his mask, revealing Sophie's husband to be a global sensation. *** Adrian had no interest in his arranged wife and had disguised himself in hopes she would bail. But when Sophie tried to walk away, Adrian broke down and whispered, "Please, Sophie, don't go. One kiss, and I'll give you the world."