Perswaysion's Books and Stories
His Unwanted Mate, The Secret White Wolf
My mate, Alpha Santino, brought another woman into our home. She was a pregnant Omega, the widow of his fallen Beta, and he swore to protect her above all others. He gave her my seat of honor, left our bed cold each night to soothe her feigned nightmares, and ignored me completely. I was the Luna of the Blackstone Pack, but I was becoming a ghost in my own life. The final betrayal happened in my own bedroom. She stood over my vanity and deliberately shattered my mother’s sacred moonstone necklace, the last piece of my family I had left. When Santino burst in, he didn’t see my heartbreak. He saw only her fake tears. “What did you do to her?!” he roared, his voice laced with the Alpha’s Command, a sacred power he used to crush my will. Then, for her, he did the unforgivable. He raised his hand and struck me, his mate. In that instant, the love I had desperately clung to turned to ice. The man I had sworn my life to had not only betrayed me but had defiled the sacred bond the Goddess herself had blessed. As the pain of his betrayal ripped through me, something ancient and powerful awakened in my blood. I rose to my feet and spoke the words that would destroy his world and begin mine. “I, Alessia Bianchi, reject you, Santino Moretti, as my mate.”
No Longer Your Bridge: The Heiress Awakens
I thought I was the center of Michael’s universe, carrying the heir to his shipping empire. That illusion shattered the day I found his journal. It turned out I was just a "vessel" to launder money, while his "cousin" Selena was his true love. The cruelty peaked at lunch. When a tureen of scalding lobster bisque tipped over, Michael didn't lunge for his pregnant wife. He threw his body over Selena to protect her silk dress. The boiling soup soaked my stomach. As I screamed in agony, feeling the life slip from my womb, Michael only glared at me. "Stop making a scene, Liv! It would have ruined her outfit." That fall killed his son. But I didn't tell him. Instead, I watched him panic when Selena went into kidney failure days later. He begged me to get tested as a donor. "She's family, Liv. Please." I asked him, "If it were me dying, would you ask her to cut herself open?" "No," he whispered. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt her." That was the answer I needed. I agreed to the test just to distract him. While he liquidated his entire fortune to buy her a black-market organ, I finalized the divorce, emptied the accounts, and vanished. I left him with nothing but a medical report on his desk: *Fetal Demise due to abdominal trauma.* He saved her dress. But he killed his heir.
His Unwanted Wife Wants A Divorce
In the fifth year of marriage, Rylan had an affair with a somewhat famous internet celebrity. His friends asked him, "If Stella finds out and wants a divorce and half of your assets, what will you do?" He laughed disdainfully while smoking, "Stella, she's just someone who throws herself at me, loves me to death, and can't leave me." Later, when I presented him with the divorce agreement, he cried and tried to hold on. But, cold wine can still be warmed, how can a cold heart be warmed?
The Alpha King's Forbidden Love, My Silent Vengeance
For three years, I was the Luna for the powerful Alpha Kaelen. He showered me with gifts but never with love. When he touched me, his eyes looked through me, searching for a ghost I couldn't see. When my human father was dying, I reached out to him through our sacred mind-link, begging for my Mate's comfort. He blocked me. I called for him ninety-nine times while my father died alone. Two days later, our Beta sent me a vision of Kaelen in Paris, holding my aunt, Lyra, with a tenderness he had never once shown me. When he returned, he lied effortlessly, blaming the distance for the broken link. I found the truth locked in his private study. It was a shrine to her. His diary revealed everything: our first meeting, the rogue attack where he saved me—all of it was a lie, staged so he could have a substitute for the woman he truly loved. I was just a vessel for her bloodline, and the pup I carried was conceived from that lie. So I tricked him into signing two scrolls. The first was a protocol to magically hide my pregnancy. The second was a blank rejection form, which I signed and filed with the Elders before walking onto a ship bound for a new continent, erasing myself from his world forever.
When Ambition Destroys, Love Saves
My five-year relationship wasn't just with my CEO girlfriend, Olivia; it was with the company we built from scratch. I poured my heart into both, from the late nights debugging to the vision of an empire. Then her entitled nephew, Liam, an intern who knew nothing, pushed a catastrophic error into our live system. It was a million-dollar mistake that could cripple us. When I confronted him, he whined to his aunt. Olivia called me into her office, her voice cold. Liam sat there, feigning tears. She snapped that I was bullying her nephew, who was "just trying his best." Her solution? A choice: either I get demoted to Liam's personal assistant, mentoring him and taking full responsibility for his incompetence, or I clean out my desk and move out of our shared apartment. I signed my resignation, printing it from her own printer, and slid it onto her desk. "I choose option two," I said, handing back her apartment key. "We're done." Olivia, stunned, ripped up my resignation, screaming that I was fired. As I walked out, Liam, emboldened, pointed and yelled that everything was my fault, that I had sabotaged the company. I just kept walking.
His Mistake, Her Liberation
My husband, Michael Miller, was cheating on me. I knew it like a storm on the horizon; the air between us had grown cold and quiet for months. Tonight, on my birthday, I found him at a rooftop bar with his ex-girlfriend, Brittany Blake, a social media influencer he' d long desired. They looked like a perfect couple, and his words, "Sarah? Oh, she's probably at home. You know how she is. A little boring. A little...needy," cut through me like a knife. Public humiliation felt like a physical blow. Hours later, in agonizing pain from a miscarriage, Michael, smelling of Brittany' s perfume, abandoned me in a pouring rain to rush to her side. He believed her fake emergency, leaving me, his bleeding, pregnant wife, alone on a dark street, just blocks from the hospital. His casual cruelty was staggering. "You didn't fall. You were pushed. And you deserved it. You tried to attack Brittany." When I finally uttered the words "I'm pregnant," he sneered, "You're lying. You're making it up to manipulate me." The pure, unadulterated selfishness of it was staggering. Then, at the hospital, as I mourned our lost child, he asked me to make soup for Brittany. I understood everything. He saw me as disposable, a placeholder. It was then, looking at the beating heart I had saved, that I declared, "I want a divorce."
His Loss, Her Lasting Love
Six years. An engagement ring on my finger. A future designed together, just like the buildings we drafted. All of it shattered when Mark, my fiancé and professional partner, coldly declared, "It's not working, Ava. I'm with Chloe now." My world crumbled further as Mark and his new, younger intern, Chloe, began a calculated campaign to erase my contributions at work, culminating in Chloe taking credit for my projects and Mark accusing me of mental instability to sideline me professionally. The betrayal escalated when, after I tried to confront Chloe about my vandalized portfolio and missing belongings-acts I knew she committed-Mark brazenly defended her, painting me as the aggressor. "You' ve gone from pathetic to dangerous," he sneered, publicly suspending me and demanding I leave the premises. Shoved into a dark storage closet by security, alone and overwhelmed, I overheard Mark' s contemptuous voice: "She's faking it. She's just looking for sympathy. Leave her there. It's what she deserves." Then Chloe appeared, her face close to mine, venomously whispering, "You should have just stayed broken. He was mine. This job was mine. You had your turn." She pressed down hard on the bruise Mark had left on my arm, a chilling, triumphant smile on her face. Just as I thought I couldn' t bear another moment, a new voice cut through the air outside, loud and utterly unfamiliar: "I'm looking for Ava Miller. Her fiancé sent me to pick her up. Where is she?"
Heartbreak and Hidden Art
My grandmother, Eleanor Vance, a woman who curated lives as meticulously as her art collection, had decided my future: marriage to the influential gallery owner, Daniel. My dream, however, was to attend the prestigious Blackwood Art Academy, a dream she' d promised to fund-on the condition of this union. But then, my cousin Olivia, ever the delicate flower, executed a theatrical faint at the dinner table, perfectly timed with the announcement of my tuition. She claimed a rare heart condition, and my grandmother, blind to the obvious manipulation, diverted my entire academy fund to Olivia' s supposed treatment, even suggesting I become her "assistant." The injustice burned, the audacity of Daniel-my supposed fiancé-proposing I become his mistress after he secured the Vance fortune through Olivia, was breathtaking. Was my art, my entire future, to be sacrificed for a transparent charade? Just as I believed all hope was lost, a mysterious letter arrived: a full, anonymous scholarship to Blackwood, the exact academy I had been barred from, exposing Olivia' s deceit in front of the city' s elite.
The Wife Who Returned
My first life ended in a sterile hospital room, watching my own sister, Jessica, and husband, Leo, gloat over my dying body. "You and your kid were just in my way," Jessica whispered, her words a venomous hiss right before the heart monitor flatlined. I gasped, ripping back into consciousness, but this time Leo was beaming, telling me we were pregnant, surrounded by the familiar scent of his cologne. It was the very day my perfect life had first begun its slow, agonizing crumble into a nightmare, unknowingly orchestrated by the two people closest to me. How could the man I loved and my own sister conspire to destroy me, to silence me and my unborn child so coldly? But this time, I wasn't just back; I was back to rewrite the ending, with every betrayer poised to walk straight into the traps I'd already set.
The Widow's Vengeance: A Second Chance
The funeral was a grand affair, fitting for a hero. My husband, Michael, a decorated NYPD detective, was killed in the line of duty, they said. I stood by the open casket, three-year-old Leo clutching my hand, expected to be a shattered, grieving widow. But I felt absolutely nothing. Because the man in that casket wasn't Michael. It was his identical twin, Mark. And the man openly sobbing beside my mother-in-law, the one they called "Mark," was my husband, Michael. I knew this because I' d lived this nightmare once before. In my first life, I' d exposed his lie. His response? He had me committed, claiming my grief drove me mad. From a barred window, I watched him marry his high school sweetheart, Ashley. That night, he gave our son, Leo, 'sleeping medication.' A week later, Leo never woke up. The loss of everything-my child, my freedom, my entire life-was too much. I ended it, regretting only not calling my kind college friend, David. Then, I woke up. I was back, standing before the casket, Leo' s warm hand in mine. I remembered Michael' s chilling words to his mother: "Chloe is strong. She'll manage. I'll take Mark's place." He thought I' d quietly raise our son while he lived happily ever after. He was terribly wrong. This time, I wouldn't be strong for him. I would play his grieving widow. And I would burn his entire world to ashes.
The Chill of Betrayal
My daughter, Chloe, had just won the National Science Medal. I swelled with pride, our family's future seemingly shining bright. But my wife, Victoria, saw only betrayal. Her eyes, cold as stone, fixed on Chloe's medal, accusing her of ruining her cousin's life. In a fit of twisted rage, Victoria locked Chloe, claustrophobic and terrified, in our freezing wine cellar, turning down the thermostat to Arctic levels. Then, she had me dragged and sealed inside a blasting steam room, forcing me to watch through the glass as my brilliant daughter gasped for her last breaths, turning blue from cold and panic. My desperate pleas for help echoed uselessly. Every call was sabotaged, every rescue attempt blocked by Victoria's ruthless power and influence. My heart screamed. How could a mother do this? How could my own wife become such a monster, deliberately torturing her daughter to death, leaving me helpless? The sheer injustice was a searing blaze hotter than the steam engulfing me. Yet, even as my world crumbled, a flicker of defiance ignited. Though Chloe was lost, her grandpa, the family patriarch, stripped Victoria of everything and bequeathed his entire empire to me. Now, fueled by grief and a burning need for justice, I, the once-powerless father, rise to forge a new legacy from the ashes of our shattered family, ensuring no one ever forgets Chloe's name, or what was done to her. Victoria herself met a grim, solitary end.
Ava's Endgame
The applause roared like the ocean, but my world felt silent. On stage, my twin sister, Stella, was smiling, delivering the salutatorian address at Northwood University. She was using my name, Ava Davenport. But this wasn't her life. It was mine. I knew because I' d lived this moment before, watching from a dark room, right before the police arrested me for a murder I didn' t commit. This time, I was here, walking down the aisle towards her. The murmurs started, questions of two identical girls. Dean Harrison demanded to know who I was. "I'm Ava Davenport," I stated, clear and steady, pointing at the impostor. Chaos erupted as my biological parents, the Davenports, stepped forward. They embraced Stella, claiming she was their daughter, and called me a disturbed impostor. Stella produced pristine ID with her face, bearing my name. My mother then revealed the "definitive proof" : a star-shaped birthmark on Stella' s left wrist. Ethan, the high school quarterback, vouched for Stella, his words echoing my conviction in a past life. My foster parents, brought by the Davenports, labeled me a "pathological liar" obsessed with my "real family." Security guards advanced. The weight of their orchestrated lies was crushing, turning the crowd' s whispers into a deafening judgment. They saw a crazy stalker, a criminal. Every detail was identical to my previous nightmare, a life where I endured and lost everything. But this time, my heart wasn't racing. It was cold, heavy, and ready. "Just one more piece of evidence," I declared, calm and collected, reaching for my phone.
