Love Lost, Self Found

The old engine purred under Alex Stone' s skilled hands, a familiar comfort in the dusty garage that was his sanctuary. Suddenly, a sleek Bentley pulled up, an unwelcome intrusion, and two impeccably dressed strangers, his biological parents Richard and Catherine Davies, stepped out. They claimed to have finally 'found' him, expressing a theatrical agony over his humble life, then promptly exiled him to the servants' quarters of their opulent mansion. He watched them defend their adopted son Mark, a charming fraud, over their own flesh and blood, showering Mark with affection while treating Alex with open disdain and snobbery. Why had they waited decades to seek him out, only to treat him with such calculated contempt? Driven by a cold curiosity and a need for answers, Alex walked away from their pretense, but not before issuing a cryptic warning that would shatter their carefully constructed world.

The new penthouse apartment, meant to be a monument to our future, felt like a tomb. In my hand, a medical report confirmed my fiancée Chloe' s secret lover, Liam O' Connell, was dying from a highly contagious, deadly illness. A brutal memory tore through me: In my last life, my fury over this same betrayal led to Liam's accidental death. Chloe, consumed by grief, retaliated by orchestrating a fiery car crash that killed my parents and me. I still smelled the gasoline, heard my mother' s screams, watched her smiling face as we burned. How could this be happening again? I was back, at the very same moment, holding the very same report. This time, I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't rage. I would simply shred the proof and let nature take its course. Justice would be cold, patient, and meticulously planned. My phone rang. It was Chloe, her voice sharp and demanding about a declined credit card. Then, she uttered a chilling phrase: "Is this about Liam? Are you really going to be this pathetic? I thought we were past you trying to use his health to ruin my life." My blood ran cold. She knew. She remembered. She was reborn too. This wasn't just a breakup. This was war, and she had just made the first move.

The scholarship trophy, the culmination of years of relentless effort, was almost in my grasp. Then the world tipped sideways, and Madison' s tear-streaked face appeared, her trembling finger pointing directly at me. "She cheated," her voice echoed, accusing me of plagiarism in front of the entire faculty and student body. That was the final blow in the ruthless campaign Madison, my seemingly innocent roommate, had waged against me ever since we moved in. She' d subtly undermined my grades, isolated me from friends with "worried" lies about my sanity, and now, she' d orchestrated the destruction of my future. Expelled, my name dragged through the mud, the shame a suffocating weight-I ended it all on a cold, rainy night, unable to bear the torment. But then, a sharp poke jolted me awake. "Chloe? Are you awake?" Madison stood over me, holding a textbook, wearing that same vacant, innocent look I once fell for. Professor Miller' s class. This was it. The very beginning of her calculated destruction. Rage, pure and blinding, surged through me. I snatched the textbook from her, tossed it, and pulled the covers over my head, my voice flat, "Figure it out yourself." The silence that followed was deafening. She was confused. I had a second chance. And this time, I wasn't just going to survive. I was going to make Madison pay for every single tear.

My life was perfect, or as close to it as an art student could dream. I was the top candidate for the prestigious Atherton scholarship, a full ride that would launch my career, my paintings getting noticed, my grades stellar. Then my roommate, Chloe, pressed a tarnished silver locket into my palm, a "good luck" charm to secure my future. From that day, my life inexplicably soared, every creative block vanished, every anxiety quelled. Until the day the scholarship was announced. The gallery was packed, my paintings front and center, proud and beaming. And then, a searing pain, blinding and brutal, tore through my abdomen. I collapsed, screaming, the world blurring into a chaotic nightmare of pain and blood. Right there, under the bright lights, I gave birth. The scandal was instant, absolute, splashed across every headline: "Miracle Birth or Immoral Hoax? Art Student' s Public Scandal." The university revoked my scholarship, my parents disowned me, and my friends vanished. My future shattered, the baby taken away, I found myself alone in a cheap motel, walking to a bridge, looking at the dark, swirling water below. I only understood why everything happened after I died. The locket wasn't for luck, but a cursed object. It drained life essence and transferred stolen pregnancies. And the mastermind was Chloe, consumed by envy, orchestrating my downfall to claim my scholarship and my baby' s wealthy father. My soul screamed with a rage that transcended death. Then, a violent pull. I gasped, my eyes flying open. I wasn' t falling into cold water. I was back in my dorm room, the smell of oil paint thick in the air. Chloe stood before me, hand outstretched, the antique silver locket gleaming. "For good luck," she said, her voice dripping with the poison I could finally hear. I was back, and this time, the ending would be different.

The cold bit deep, followed by a throbbing pain. My eyes, impossibly heavy, finally opened to a sterile white room. My last memory? My own son, Alex, his face twisted in a rage I' d seen countless times, brought a vase down on my head. Again and again. As consciousness faded, a horrific truth surfaced: Alex wasn't my son. He was hers. My best friend, Lisa Hayes, had swapped our babies at birth. My sweet, healthy Emily for her violent Alex, cursed with a genetic disorder. Lisa had doomed me to a lifetime of hell, raising her monster while she raised my perfect child. I' d died, discarded on my living room floor, wondering why my life had been a constant struggle, why my child was so broken. I' d endured years of Alex' s violent outbursts, the judgmental stares, Lisa' s fake sympathy, and my mother-in-law' s relentless criticism. My marriage crumbled under the weight of a secret I never knew existed, and my love and patience were worn thin. Then, a nurse' s voice. "The epidural should be wearing off soon. You did wonderfully." Epidural? My stomach was flat. I looked at the calendar: October 12th, 2008. The day I gave birth, 16 years ago. I was back. A second chance. A chance to save my daughter, to protect my husband, to reclaim the life Lisa stole. This time, there would be no swap. This time, I would rewrite our fate.

The antiseptic smell of my deathbed couldn't mask the stench of betrayal. My wife, Emily, played the grieving spouse, her tears a performance, her whispers to her lover, Daniel, charting my demise. "He's not going to make it through the night. I'll be free soon, my love." That name, Daniel Sterling, a family friend I admired, shattered my world faster than my failing heart. My final sight was Emily's beautiful, lying face, cold and irritated by my inconvenient death. Then, blinding light. I gasped, sucking in real air, not in a hospital, but my old bedroom, decades younger, strong, unblemished hands. It was real. I was back. Memories of my first life flooded me: the loveless marriage, the quiet sacrifices, the children who weren't mine. Then, the pivotal memory from this timeline, the one that started it all: a party, too much to drink, Emily crying, pregnant, my naive proposal driven by a sense of duty, a lie. She was already carrying Daniel's child, using me as a shield to protect his budding career. The bedroom door creaked open. "Ethan? Are you awake?" It was Emily, radiant and innocent, carrying breakfast, her hand reaching for my forehead with the same feigned care from my deathbed. I flinched from her touch. "Emily," I said, my voice cold, "We need to talk about the wedding." Her smile faltered as I flatly stated, "I don't think we should get married." Her crocodile tears flowed, "I love you, Ethan!" she whimpered. "Don't," I warned, her words now poison. She played her trump card, placing her hand on her stomach. "I'm... I'm pregnant, Ethan. It's your baby." I almost laughed, knowing the truth this time. "Emily has always been like a sister to me," I announced, loud enough for our families downstairs to hear. "I'll always care for her." Her face, pure unadulterated panic, confirmed it. The game had just begun, and this time, I was making the rules.

"I heard you're going to marry Marcelo. Is this perhaps your revenge against me? It's very laughable, Renee. That man can barely function." Her foster family, her cheating ex, everyone thought Renee was going to live in pure hell after getting married to a disabled and cruel man. She didn't know if anything good would ever come out of it after all, she had always thought it would be hard for anyone to love her but this cruel man with dark secrets is never going to grant her a divorce because she makes him forget how to breathe.

PERMISSION IS TAKEN FRIM THE ORIGINAL, BE WARNED!! Do you believe in Myths? Just when she thinks it can't get any worse, it does. Lucy lost everything four years ago in a rogue attack. She's been abused, starved, rejected, and broken. As her eighteenth birthday approaches, strange things start to happen, things that only happen once every century. She finds friendship in the most unlikely place and escapes to find her true self with the help of the most dangerous Alpha. Warning: This werewolf trilogy is not intended for anyone under the age of 18 or anyone who doesn't enjoy a good spanking. It will take you on adventures around the world, make you laugh, fall in love, crush your heart and possibly leave you drooling.

Kaelyn devoted three years tending to her husband after a terrible accident. But once he was fully recovered, he cast her aside and brought his first love back from abroad. Devastated, Kaelyn decided on a divorce as people mocked her for being discarded. She went on to reinvent herself, becoming a highly sought-after doctor, a champion racer, and an internationally renowned architectural designer. Even then, the traitors sneered in disdain, believing Kaelyn would never find someone. But then the ex-husband’s uncle, a powerful warlord, returned with his army to ask for Kaelyn’s hand in marriage.

"Sign the divorce papers and get out!" Leanna got married to pay a debt, but she was betrayed by her husband and shunned by her in-laws. Seeing that her efforts were in vain, she agreed to divorce and claimed her half of the properties. With her purse plump from the settlement, Leanna enjoyed her newfound freedom. The constant harassment from her ex's mistress never fazed her. She took back her identities as top hacker, champion racer, medical professor, and renowned jewelry designer. Then someone discovered her secret. Matthew smiled. "Will you have me as your next husband?"

"Ahh!" She was in a moaning mess. She did not want to feel anything for this man. She hated him. His hands began to move all over her body. She gasped when he pulled down the back chain of her dress. The chain stopped at her lower waist, so when he zipped it off, her upper back and waist were exposed. "D-Don't touch m-ummm!" His fingers rolled around her bare back, and she pressed her head against the pillow. His touches were giving her goosebumps all over her body. With a deep angry voice, he whispered in her ear, "I am going to make you forget his touches, kisses, and everything. Every time you touch another man, you will only think of me." - - - Ava Adler was a nerdy omega. People bullied her because they thought she was ugly and unattractive. But Ava secretly loved the bad boy, Ian Dawson. He was the future Alpha of the Mystic Shadow Pack. However, he doesn't give a damn about rules and laws, as he only likes to play around with girls. Ava was unaware of Ian's arrogance until her fate intertwined with his. He neglected her and hurt her deeply. What would happen when Ava turned out to be a beautiful girl who could win over any boy, and Ian looked back and regretted his decisions? What if she had a secret identity that she had yet to discover? What if the tables turned and Ian begged her not to leave him?

For ten years, Daniela showered her ex-husband with unwavering devotion, only to discover she was just his biggest joke. Feeling humiliated yet determined, she finally divorced him. Three months later, Daniela returned in grand style. She was now the hidden CEO of a leading brand, a sought-after designer, and a wealthy mining mogul—her success unveiled at her triumphant comeback. Her ex-husband’s entire family rushed over, desperate to beg for forgiveness and plead for another chance. Yet Daniela, now cherished by the famed Mr. Phillips, regarded them with icy disdain. "I’m out of your league."