Fritz Heaney

On my eighteenth birthday, I expected the Federal Matchmaking Bureau to give me the same answer it always had. No Match Found. For years, I had survived as the Greer family's defective male Omega-an embarrassment with no detectable pheromones, no beast-mark potential, and no chance of producing the powerful Alpha heir my father wanted. A failed test meant freedom. It would unlock my late mother's fortune and let me disappear for good. Then the machine demanded a blood sample. The next second, the entire Bureau went into lockdown. Duncan Cain, the Empire's youngest war general. Hollis Beaumont, the crown prince of our enemy empire. A pirate lord, a king, the Alliance's chief diplomat... Six of the most powerful Alphas in the galaxy. All matched to me at 100%. My father, who had treated me like a worthless stray for eighteen years, suddenly seized my arm with greedy eyes. "Ansel, you're going to make this family untouchable." My stepsister watched in horror as the Bureau declared me a Shared Treasure of Humanity. Armed guards surrounded me. The Empire decided my body, my future, and six Alpha suitors all belonged to them now. They had no idea I was never the weak, obedient Omega they thought I was. I was an ace mech pilot, the secret heir to a fortune large enough to buy my freedom, and I had spent years preparing one perfect escape. So while my father dreamed of selling me to the highest bidder, I opened my terminal and sent a single encrypted message. They thought they had trapped a helpless Omega. Instead, they had just started my contingency plan.

I was running barefoot through a slick, rainy New York alley, chased by my foster parents' hired muscle and a swarm of bloodthirsty paparazzi. They had just sold me to a repulsive pig, Dusty Stephenson, in exchange for a lucrative family business deal. When I refused to be their puppet and escaped my own engagement gala, they didn't even bother to cancel the event. Instead, they found a cheap lookalike imposter to stand on stage in my place. Through the ballroom doors, I watched the fake "Eleanor Nash" smiling next to Dusty, accepting the applause of hundreds of oblivious guests. My foster parents were happily sealing their corrupt deal, stealing my identity to force the marriage through public opinion. When my best friend Arlie crashed the party to expose the fraud, Dusty's mother viciously ordered the security guards to grab her. How could the people who raised me be so completely ruthless? They treated my life like a disposable commodity, and when I wouldn't play along, they simply replaced me to keep their disgusting lie alive. I couldn't just hide in the shadows and let them destroy my name. I pushed open the heavy ballroom doors, walked straight through the stunned crowd in my ruined, damp dress, and stared them down. "I am the real Eleanor Nash. And in three days, I will expose this entire conspiracy."

I was dying at the banquet, coughing up black blood while the pack celebrated my step-sister Lydia’s promotion. Across the room, Caleb, the Alpha and my Fated Mate, didn't look concerned. He looked annoyed. "Stop it, Elena," his voice boomed in my head. "Don't ruin this night with your attention-seeking lies." I begged him, telling him it was poison, but he just ordered me to leave his Pack House so I wouldn't dirty the floor. Heartbroken, I publicly demanded the Severing Ceremony to break our bond and left to die alone in a cheap motel. Only after I took my last breath did the truth come out. I sent Caleb the medical records proving Lydia had been poisoning my tea with wolfsbane for ten years. He went mad with grief, realizing he had protected the murderer and rejected his true mate. He tortured Lydia, but his regret couldn't bring me back. Or so he thought. In the afterlife, the Moon Goddess showed me my reflection. I wasn't a wolfless weakling. I was a White Wolf, the rarest and most powerful of all, suppressed by poison. "You can stay here in peace," the Goddess said. "Or you can go back." I looked at the life they stole from me. I looked at the power I never got to use. "I want to go back," I said. "Not for his love. But for revenge." I opened my eyes, and for the first time in my life, my wolf roared.

For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart. Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig. He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce. His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement. He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash. Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage. I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion. Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up. He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions. Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line. "I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more." Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.

I was known as the "wolfless," ugly, and stupid Omega of the Stonefang Pack, treated worse than a stray dog by my own family. That miserable life ended when my sweet, perfect cousin Cassidy handed me a cup of tea. It was a paralyzing poison, and soon after drinking it, I was dragged into the deep woods and thrown into a freezing stream to drown. The toxic brew left my face disfigured with hideous blotches. I almost died in that water, nearly strangled by a cursed, berserk Alpha King who was losing his mind. I only survived by awakening a dormant Psychic Imprint left by my mother, forcing me to forcefully kiss the Alpha to siphon his energy just to keep my organs from shutting down. As my mind finally cleared, I realized the "feeble-mindedness" I suffered my whole life wasn't natural. It was their poison, a slow drip meant to keep me docile while they stole my legacy. Why did my own blood want me dead so badly? Dragging my broken body back to the pack estate, I found them draped in black, holding a lavish memorial service for my "tragic accident." Cassidy was at the altar, shedding fake, heartbreaking tears. I kicked the heavy oak doors open, stepping into the light with my ruined face and a stolen silver dagger. "Starting my memorial without the guest of honor? How rude."

For two years, Everleigh Conway hid from her billionaire husband, building her own company and raising her little boy in peace. Then, Brice Mckinney found her. He trapped her in the back of his Maybach and threw a DNA test onto the leather seat. It showed a zero percent probability of paternity. "You disappeared for two years to have another man's child?" he growled, his eyes burning with cold fury. Before she could explain his mistake, Brice launched a ruthless war against her. He used his massive corporate empire to blacklist her agency. Overnight, every client canceled. Her investors vanished. He was systematically starving her business to death, cornering her into bankruptcy just to force her back into her cage as his obedient trophy wife. "Come back," he demanded, "and we can pretend that boy doesn't exist." Everleigh felt a suffocating wave of injustice. He dared to accuse her of betrayal? He dared to demand reasons for why she ran? He had spent their entire marriage ignoring her, rushing to the side of his childhood sweetheart at every turn, treating Everleigh like a mere asset in his portfolio. Refusing to be his victim again, Everleigh agreed to meet him one last time. Instead of surrendering, she slid a grainy photograph across the table. It showed Brice in Paris, gently caressing his sweetheart's face. "You want a reason?" Everleigh said coldly. "This was taken the exact day I was in the hospital, having a surgery for our miscarried child."

For five years in London, I held onto the Carlisle patriarch's promise: when I returned, Ethan and I would finally get married. But when I rushed into Ethan's arms at the airport, his phone rang, and everything shattered. "Just picking up my sister," he cooed to the woman on the other end. He didn't take me home. He drove straight to his girlfriend, Morgan, letting her passionately kiss him right in front of me. At my welcome party, Morgan deliberately rigged a game of Truth or Dare to publicly humiliate me. She forced Ethan to choose between his girlfriend and his "ward" of a sister. Under the flashing club lights, the man who had chased away every guy I ever talked to just sat there, letting his friends tear me apart as a pathetic joke. I didn't understand. If I was just a sister, why did he call me every night? Why did he spend years giving me false hope, only to trample on my dignity so casually? Standing outside the club, shivering and utterly disillusioned, I made my choice. I turned my back on Ethan and walked straight toward Damien Carlisle—the ruthless, terrifying family CEO everyone feared. "I want to work in your department," I told him. I was done being their fragile little ornament. It was time to build an empire of my own.

In our beast world, females are treated as nothing more than precious breeding stock to keep the pack strong. As the pack's best Mender, I spent all my time focusing on my healing herbs, completely ignoring my maturity ritual. But tonight, the blind pack elder grabbed my wrist and delivered a chilling ultimatum. If I don't choose my mates by the next Full Moon, the Council of Elders will force a match and assign them to me. The threat is already suffocating. Arrogant, elite warriors like Caleb Quinn are pacing outside my door like starving wolves, stalking my porch and using pack business to corner me. At home, the reality of multiple mates is even worse. My mother has two mates—my father, the strongest Alpha, and my cold, intellectual step-father. Their toxic, murderous jealousy turns our house into a daily war zone. They literally unleash suffocating killing intent on innocent cubs just for hugging my mother. I am disgusted by this sick, possessive obsession. I refuse to let my life become a battlefield of jealous males fighting over who gets to guard my door, and I absolutely refuse to be forced into a harem by the Elders. So, I made a declaration that shocked my entire family and broke every pack tradition. "I will only ever take one mate." And to make sure none of those predatory warriors can touch me, I set an impossible trap. "Whoever wants me must defeat my father first."

For six years, I played the perfect, submissive wife to Wall Street titan Francis Castro. I suffocated my own ambitions to fit into his conservative world. But while I waited alone at a Michelin restaurant, a news alert popped up. My husband had just dropped millions on an aquamarine diamond necklace for his "muse," Chanelle. The real nightmare began when I rushed home to find our five-year-old son in severe anaphylactic shock. I frantically called Francis from the ambulance, but he manually rejected my calls. He couldn't leave the bidding war for Chanelle's PR launch. When he finally arrived at the ER, Chanelle was right beside him, wearing that blinding multi-million-dollar necklace. He didn't ask about our dying son. "Why weren't you watching him?" he demanded, his voice hard and accusing. And when my son woke up, hazy from the drugs, he rejected my touch and reached for Chanelle instead. Francis just stood there, praising Chanelle for knowing exactly how to calm him down. I stared at the three of them looking like a perfect, happy family. Six years of swallowing my pride, only to realize my husband would let our son choke to death just to buy another woman's smile. The last thread of my heart snapped. I handed him the divorce papers, demanding zero alimony. Then, I drove to a hidden Brooklyn loft, cut off my hair, and unlocked my safe. It was time to resurrect my true identity—the legendary fashion designer, Ember.J. I am going to burn her empire to the ground.

Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé. But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe. "Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic. "Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night. Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger. She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand. Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare. But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company. He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse. Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee. Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally." A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama. She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life. Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.

I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon. The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat. I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant. "Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive." There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission. For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment. When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself. "Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."

I spent seven years sacrificing my own culinary dreams for my boyfriend, Collin. For our fifth anniversary, I baked his favorite soufflé and waited for him to come home to the romantic dinner I' d prepared. He never showed. Instead, a video surfaced online of him at a party with his rival chef, Frankie. He was laughing as he mocked me to a crowd. "Emma's probably at home crying into her pathetic little soufflé," he slurred. The next morning, he tried to apologize with a "make-up gift." It was a cheap silver necklace, an exact copy of one Frankie always wears. He' d forgotten I'm allergic to silver. In seven years, he never even learned that about me. I wasn't his partner; I was just a dress rehearsal for the woman he really wanted. I packed my bags and flew home to Chicago. When Collin texted, demanding to know what "stupid designer bag" I wanted to make things right, I sent my final reply. "I'm engaged. And trust me, he's everything you're not."

I finally picked out the perfect gift for Jake, a vintage watch, for our third anniversary. I believed he loved me unconditionally, despite his busy schedule and our private relationship. But that night, at our favorite restaurant, I overheard his voice from the booth next to mine. He called me a "dog" and laughed, telling his friend that he' d never marry me. He was marrying heiress Chloe Peterson; it was "good for business." The words shattered me. He had bought me love and a career, only to discard me. I was publicly shamed, my career destroyed by his blacklisting and Chloe' s malicious smear campaigns. I went from a rising actress to an unemployable pariah, even my agent believed I was a gold-digger. I couldn' t understand how the man who once whispered sweet nothings could turn me into a cruel joke overnight. What had I meant to him? Was I truly just a plaything, easily replaced by a better "investment" ? Just as I felt completely defeated, an anonymous invitation to a high-society gala with a cryptic note: "Your enemies will be there. You should be too. Sometimes the only way out is through," ignited a fierce resolve in me. I would prove them all wrong.

The suffocating darkness of the barracks was my constant companion, a heavy blanket of dread thick with the smell of sweat and fear. Every whispered threat, every sneer from Caleb Blakely, my squad leader, was a reminder of the impossible secret I carried. I wasn't "Matthew Johns," a plebe at West Point; I was Molly, a woman masquerading as my injured brother, desperately clinging to his scholarship to save my family from financial ruin. Then came the night in the communal showers. A broken water main meant no privacy, nowhere to hide my true identity from fifty other men. Caleb had me cornered, his cruel smile promising public humiliation and the end of my impossible dream. I pictured the headlines, the disgrace, my family' s hope shattering before my eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic plea for an escape that didn't exist. Just as panic threatened to overwhelm me, a defiant spark ignited. I couldn't let him win. I couldn't let him break me. My voice, surprisingly steady, cut through the night: "I have a proposal for you, Sir. A bet." I challenged him to West Point's most brutal endurance course, the "Recondo," wagering my entire future on a desperate gamble. Either I finished, and he' d keep my secret, or I' d publicly expose myself and surrender everything. This was my last stand, my only shot to reclaim control and prove that even a scrawny plebe could fight back.

I just won fifty million dollars, enough to finally shed my quiet librarian life and embrace true freedom. Bursting with generosity and eager to share the news, I rushed back to my childhood home, the beautiful house my deceased mother had left to me. But instead of a warm welcome, my stepbrother and his pregnant girlfriend treated me like a parasitic squatter, demanding rent and arrogantly claiming my house was theirs. Then, my world truly shattered when I overheard my stepmother hiss about "getting rid of the problem" – me – with the same slow-acting "supplements" they'd used on my mother, whose fatal "accident" was, in fact, a calculated murder. My own father, complicit in my mother's death and now mine, was poisoning me daily. The naive Chloe died in that musty basement; a cold, calculating survivor emerged, armed with fifty million dollars to expose their deadly conspiracy and ensure justice for my mother and myself.

Prologue: Echoes of a Shattered Past, Seeds of a New Beginning Ethan Miller dedicated his life to his beloved wife, Isabelle, and the Montgomery industrial empire, believing he was building a shared future. Then, in his sixties, his world crumbled: Isabelle, with cold eyes, confessed their Ivy League son wasn't his, but his rival Liam' s. Decades of unwavering loyalty and sacrifice were shattered, the betrayal so crushing it literally killed him. But death was not the end. He woke up younger, back on the very day his arranged future with Isabelle was about to be sealed. The cold animosity in her eyes confirmed his worst fear: she remembered their past life too. Refusing to relive the heartbreak, Ethan chose a different path, pulling out of the Montgomery family entirely. His choice only fueled Liam' s malicious glee, who orchestrated a public spectacle. Stripped of every possession, Ethan was forced to cycle away from the mansion on a rusty old bike, his humiliation broadcast to the entire city. How could such profound devotion lead to such public disgrace, twice? Was he destined to suffer under Isabelle's shadow forever? Just as despair threatened to consume him, a sleek black Maybach materialized, offering an unexpected lifeline from a New York titan of industry. This time, Ethan Miller vowed to reclaim his destiny and build an empire of his own, leaving the specter of his past firmly behind him. Ethan Miller had dedicated his life to two things: Isabelle Montgomery and Montgomery Industries. He was the protégé, the one they said was brilliant, the one who would carry the family name forward even though he wasn't born with it. He married Isabelle, the love of his life, or so he thought. He poured his soul into the business, transforming it, making it a powerhouse in their Midwest city. Decades passed, filled with work, with a quiet devotion Isabelle rarely seemed to notice. Then, in their sixties, the world shattered. Isabelle stood before him, her eyes cold, a stranger. She wanted Liam Walker's name added to the Montgomery family foundation's main charter. Liam, the other protégé, the one who vanished years ago after a scandal, now "posthumously rehabilitated" in her mind. She wanted Liam's name to replace Ethan's. Then came the final blow. "Alex isn't your son, Ethan," she said, her voice flat. Their Ivy League son, the boy Ethan raised, was Liam's. Conceived before their marriage, a secret kept for a lifetime. Decades of lies, of a stolen life. The betrayal was a physical force, crushing his chest. Ethan Miller clutched his heart and fell. Darkness. Then, light. Confusion. He was younger. Much younger. He knew this day. The day the Montgomerys would formally announce Isabelle' s chosen husband. The day his first life truly began, and also, the day it was all a lie.

My dad and I always dreaded Christmas Eve at Uncle Tony’s mansion, a yearly spectacle of his over-the-top wealth, always making us feel small. Tony, owner of a modest pizzeria chain, never missed a chance to mock Dad's bus driver past or my "grease-monkey" mechanic job. This year, however, Tony’s arrogance reached a new low. He brazenly set up a high-stakes craps game, demanding $500 a throw, openly intending to publically humiliate his working-class family and assert his dominance. His cutting remarks about our "small wallets" and direct jabs at Dad’s sacrifices hit hard, watching my father shrink. Even my first few dice rolls, intentionally clumsy, led to quick losses, only intensifying Tony’s cruel mockery and predictions that I'd be "begging for bus fare home." The decades of quiet disrespect and open disdain for our honest lives boiled into an unbearable fury. Was family just a stage for his ego? This wasn't a game; it was an insult to everything we stood for. But as his taunts echoed, I remembered Sophia’s secret dice control lessons. Tonight, enough was enough. I stepped forward, voice steady, ready to use my hidden skill to make Uncle Tony pay—not just for tonight, but for years of casual cruelty.

My wedding day. Hundreds of guests, media vans outside. The Sterling family chapel, hushed, expectant. I was finally marrying Jackson Sterling, scion of a powerful political dynasty, the man I’d loved since childhood. It was meant to be my perfect happily ever after. Then he walked in. Not alone. A garish woman clinging to his arm, a wide, triumphant smirk on her face. "The wedding is off," Jackson announced, his voice steady. "I'm with Brandy now. We're leaving." My world shattered. Jilted at the altar, in front of everyone. The whispers rose, a tidal wave of shock, pity, and cruel amusement. I was Emilia Winston, the society joke. The humiliation was a physical ache. Jackson and his new "wife" continued to taunt, publicly disgracing me and demanding my inheritance, treating me like discarded property. How could the boy I adored become this arrogant, callous stranger? The endless insults, the blatant disrespect from him and his new flame. They sought to finish what they started, to grind me into dust and claim everything. I was left exposed, vulnerable, and furious. Just as I thought I was utterly ruined, a figure stepped forward: Senator Alexander Sterling, Jackson’s formidable uncle. He held out a document, his steady gaze meeting mine. "Perhaps you would consider marrying me instead?" A madness. Or a miraculous lifeline. I said yes. And that was just the beginning.

I woke up to the stench of rust and rotting flesh, no longer a master botanist who commanded life itself, but a D-class exile dumped on a wasteland planet. Memories that weren't mine flooded in. I was framed by my stepsister, betrayed by my fiancé, and banished by my own family to the Ashfall Peninsula to die. The original girl actually starved to death in despair. The moment I opened my eyes, a scavenger tried to smash my skull with a rusty pipe just to eat me. After I killed him to survive, I discovered a harsher truth: in this universe, plant seeds are classified as A-level strategic resources, completely monopolized by the Imperium. But the universe had a sick sense of humor. A mandatory background scan suddenly triggered a galactic broadcast: I, the exiled trash, was a perfect genetic match for the Imperium's top war hero, General Alexander Orr. The family that ruthlessly erased my existence instantly saw me as a golden ticket. My cheating ex-fiancé was dispatched to drag me back, furious that his "property" was matched with someone else. They all thought I was still that weak, naive girl they could manipulate. But as I held the pure, glowing Life Source Crystals I had secretly extracted from the scrap heap, a cold smile crept onto my face. "I didn't come here to die. I came here to build an empire." I turned my back on the galactic broadcast and stepped into the deadly wilderness.

I knelt on the cold stone of the Dragon God Altar, waiting to marry Lord Harper Carney. It was my only chance to escape the gilded cage of my family. But when Harper finally arrived, he wasn't alone. His arm was wrapped tightly around my cousin, Hettie. Right in front of the entire court, he coldly announced that our marriage was a mistake. Hettie leaned into his embrace, wearing a triumphant smile while playing the innocent victim. The assembled nobles openly jeered at me. They mocked my greatest failing—that I was a worthless "Dragonless" born without the inner fire. My own father was furious, not at them, but at me. He demanded I go to Hettie's estate and beg for her forgiveness. When I refused, he threatened to cut off all my funds and revoke my only job at the Royal Scribes' Office. I was publicly abandoned, stripped of my dignity, and left with absolutely nothing. I didn't cry, and I didn't scream. Why should I be the one to apologize when they were the ones who betrayed me? For years, I had endured their abuse, treated like a pawn to be sacrificed at will. But looking at their smug faces, my despair turned into cold resolve. I took off my betrothal coronet and dropped it at Harper's feet, publicly nullifying the contract myself. I thought I would have to face the ruin alone, until a mysterious, powerful man with burning golden eyes stepped out of the shadows. "Marry me," he said. "I will be your shield, and we will crush them together."

Lillian woke in a werecreature universe as a total loser. Good news was that women ruled here and could take multiple mates, yet she still ended up as the one everyone looked down on. Compared to her talented sister at every turn, she watched her first match get stolen and her next four mates reject her without mercy. The first mate was the King of Succubine himself. On their very first meeting, he warned Lillian that he was only staying long enough to recover from his injuries-and that there could never be anything between them. The second mate was a merman. He took one look at her and said he had no interest in a loser like her, tossing her some cash so she could break off their bond herself. The third mate was the progenitor vampire-over a thousand years old. He admitted to admiring her sister instead and made it clear he had no interest in a layabout like Lillian. Lillian cut every bond and chose her own path instead. But as she rose higher and higher, those same men returned, full of regret and begging her to look at them again. The fourth mate was a werewolf Lillian had rescued from an underground fighting ring. She thought he might actually stay-until he revealed himself as royalty. And of course, he wanted to break their bond for more power.

On my eighteenth birthday, I expected the Federal Matchmaking Bureau to give me the same answer it always had. No Match Found. For years, I had survived as the Greer family's defective male Omega-an embarrassment with no detectable pheromones, no beast-mark potential, and no chance of producing the powerful Alpha heir my father wanted. A failed test meant freedom. It would unlock my late mother's fortune and let me disappear for good. Then the machine demanded a blood sample. The next second, the entire Bureau went into lockdown. Duncan Cain, the Empire's youngest war general. Hollis Beaumont, the crown prince of our enemy empire. A pirate lord, a king, the Alliance's chief diplomat... Six of the most powerful Alphas in the galaxy. All matched to me at 100%. My father, who had treated me like a worthless stray for eighteen years, suddenly seized my arm with greedy eyes. "Ansel, you're going to make this family untouchable." My stepsister watched in horror as the Bureau declared me a Shared Treasure of Humanity. Armed guards surrounded me. The Empire decided my body, my future, and six Alpha suitors all belonged to them now. They had no idea I was never the weak, obedient Omega they thought I was. I was an ace mech pilot, the secret heir to a fortune large enough to buy my freedom, and I had spent years preparing one perfect escape. So while my father dreamed of selling me to the highest bidder, I opened my terminal and sent a single encrypted message. They thought they had trapped a helpless Omega. Instead, they had just started my contingency plan.

On my wedding day, I caught my fiancé in my stepsister's arms. She was pregnant with his child. And instead of begging for forgiveness, Damian Harrison laughed in my face. He admitted he had always planned to marry me, dump me in some forgotten country estate, and keep my stepsister as the woman he truly loved. So I burned my wedding veil in front of the entire Harrison family and walked away. That should have been the end of it. Instead, Damian's mother sent armed men after me. Why? Because I was a Dragonless nobody from the borderlands, and in her eyes, humiliating a Harrison was a crime worse than her son's betrayal. I had no dragon blood. No powerful family willing to protect me. Not even my own father would risk offending the Harrisons for my sake. If I wanted to survive, I needed someone they feared more than they hated me. So I returned to the Harrison estate and made an outrageous demand. I would marry Damian's uncle. Gideon Harrison-the legendary Dragon Lord, the kingdom's greatest war hero... and a man everyone believed was dead. Perfect. As his widow, I would outrank the man who betrayed me, become his aunt by marriage, and gain enough power to make every Harrison who humiliated me regret it. I signed the marriage pact without hesitation. Then a knight burst into the ancestral hall with impossible news. Gideon Harrison was alive. My dead husband wasn't dead. He was being brought home.

On my twenty-first birthday, I was just a broke orphan sitting in a dark apartment, staring at an overdue rent notice. A freak lightning strike suddenly shattered my reality, tearing me from Earth and dropping me into a primal alien jungle, where I was cornered by a massive white tiger. I thought I was dead, but I woke up in a high-tech hospital surrounded by people with animal ears, scales, and tails. The doctor looked at me with pity and delivered the crushing truth. "Earth is a lost world, Anya. To us, you are a purebred human relic." In this Varden Empire ruled by genetically superior Beastkin, I was painfully fragile, physically weak, and treated like a delicate museum exhibit. Worse, I learned that the monstrous tiger from the jungle was actually Marshal Jaxon Kensington, the ruthless and overwhelmingly powerful commander of the Imperial Army. I felt completely helpless and suffocated. I was trapped in an alien world where I was inferior to everyone, terrified of the military monster who had brought me here. Why was I dragged into this brutal universe just to be a weak specimen? What I didn't know was that the Empire's registry had just paired my DNA with the Marshal's, flashing an impossible 99% compatibility match. By Imperial Law, the cold, untouchable commander was now permanently bound to me, and his terrifying, primal obsession had just been awakened.

I gave Kaelen Sterling everything. My fortune. My family's trust. Even the military secrets that should never have left my father's hands. He swore he loved me. Then he used me to destroy my entire family. My father was beheaded for treason. My brothers died on the battlefield. My sick mother coughed up blood until her final breath. And the fortune my mother had saved for me became the stepping stone Kaelen and his precious "savior," Jacqueline Byrd, used to climb into the highest circles of the kingdom. When there was nothing left to steal, Kaelen locked me inside an abandoned manor and set it on fire. Through the flames, I saw him holding Jacqueline in his arms. She was pregnant with his child. And she was wearing silk bought with my mother's dowry. "Burn it all," Kaelen said coldly. "Leave no trace." I died screaming his name. Then I opened my eyes. I was twenty again. Kaelen had just returned from the battlefield after being declared dead for two years—and standing beside him was Jacqueline, looking fragile and innocent as ever. "She saved my life," he told me. "You will accept her." In my last life, I did. This time, I slapped him across the face. Then I burned our marriage contract. They all thought grief had driven me mad. They had no idea I remembered everything. Every betrayal. Every secret. Every scandal that had not happened yet. I knew which noble houses would fall. I knew which princes would rise. I knew the hidden weaknesses of the people who would one day control the Dragon Court. And they had forgotten something else. I was never just a wealthy heiress. I knew herbs. I knew alchemy. I knew how to survive a royal court where one wrong move could cost an entire family its head. Kaelen wanted my fortune. Jacqueline wanted my place. My stepmother wanted my mother's power. And the men above them wanted to use House Croft as another piece on their board. Let them try. I died once as their pawn. This life, I will take back my family, my fortune, and every drop of blood they owe me. And when I am finished, I won't just survive the Dragon Court. I will rule it.

My engagement to Kile, the heir of House Golden, was witnessed by the Duke himself. I thought my days as a helpless orphan were over. But right before our wedding, he coldly informed me that my status was being revoked. I was to enter his family as a lesser consort. The title of primary wife was being given to his lover, Journey. She hid behind Kile, wearing a spotless white dress and trembling like a fragile lotus. "Cassie, please don't blame him, I can live without a title," she cried, playing the perfect victim. Kile shielded her, glaring at me with pure disgust, shouting that I was being completely unreasonable. The next day, the entire Elder Council cornered me in their grand hall. They told me that as a "Dragonless" nobody, I should be immensely grateful for any scrap they threw my way. They all stared at me, waiting for me to swallow my pride and accept a lifetime of humiliation. They thought I was entirely broken. They thought I had no backing and no choice but to bow down to their cruelty. Instead, I looked straight at the Chief Elder and smiled. "I refuse to be a lesser consort," I announced clearly, watching Kile's smug expression freeze. "But to preserve our families' dignity, I will fulfill the contract." I looked right into Kile's shocked eyes. "I will marry your dead older brother, Lord Ayden."

In the final days before the world collapsed, Ivy Brooks died... betrayed by the very people she trusted most. She had fought, struggled, and sacrificed everything just to survive the apocalypse only to be pushed into death along with her three daughters at the very end by her own husband. With her last breath, Ivy made a vow. If she could turn back time...she would never be weak again and of course protect her daughters. This time, she would stand at the top. When Ivy opened her eyes, she found herself back in time with her still rounded belly of her third baby.... Twenty days before the apocalypse. Armed with memories of the future and a mysterious system in her mind, Ivy moved without hesitation. She hoarded supplies, secured weapons, and took control of every resource she could get her hands on. While others laughed, doubted, and wasted time... Ivy was building her empire along with her daughters. In this life, she would not be prey but will be an hunter. With danger closing in and only twenty days to prepare, Ivy must outplay enemies both old and new, uncover the truth behind the system, and carve out her own kingdom in a collapsing world. Because this time...she wasn't just going to survive the apocalypse. She was going to rule it along with a man, a love interest from the past before her marriage collapse. He provided everything Ivy needed. Money especially in change of a marriage with her and when the apocalypse started too....he ruled it with her as well as her daughters.

For five years, I poured my blood and sweat into restoring ancient manuscripts to save my fiancé Chalmers's family business from bankruptcy. But on the morning of our wedding, he abandoned me at the altar. He rushed off to comfort his childhood friend, Edla, who claimed to have a catastrophic injury. Under local guild laws, if I wasn't legally married by sunset, Chalmers's family would seize the proprietary rights to every single manuscript I had restored. When I went home to pack my things, Edla showed up leaning on Chalmers, wearing bandages stained with fake bakery dye and a luxury sweater that still had the anti-theft tag attached. She cried theatrical tears, begging me not to punish Chalmers. Instead of seeing her obvious lies, Chalmers called me a heartless, spiteful statue. He demanded I apologize, arrogantly offering a cheap steak dinner as compensation for my ruined wedding. He sneered that no man in town would ever marry a penniless orphan like me, and I would be begging on his doorstep by the end of the week. I looked at the man I had supported through 47 of Edla's orchestrated emergencies, feeling utterly disgusted by his endless manipulation and greed. Did he really think my dignity and my life's work were worth so little? I threw his cheap engagement ring directly into the greasy trash can. Then, I walked straight into the municipal registry hall and proposed to Everette Holmes—a paralyzed, debt-ridden outcast who radiated an unnerving, freezing aura. This time, I would rather tie my fate to a dangerous stranger than let Chalmers own my future.