Shu Yu

I was diagnosed with Soul Withering Syndrome, a high-risk condition where the wolf inside me was slowly starving to death. Full of hope, I went to find my mate, Gideon—the top healer in the alliance—desperate to find a shred of comfort from him. But as I stood outside his office, I heard him coldly state that I was just being unreasonable. "Chloe is weaponizing her anxiety to force me into a mating ceremony." He could not even be bothered to glance at my official medical scroll, instead accusing me of faking my pain just to steal his attention away from his obsession, the rogue wolf Yara. And when Yara called, lying about an obviously fabricated poisoning incident, he abandoned me without hesitation. He left me shivering in the freezing hallway, and eventually, due to the backlash of my withering soul, I coughed up pitch-black blood. For seven years, I had been waiting for him to see my pain. I could not understand how the man who had once exchanged mating tokens with me could be so blind. He let my soul rot in the dark, yet paraded himself as a loyal hero, running around at the beck and call of a woman full of lies. I did not shed a single tear, because my heart was already completely dead. Then, without hesitation, I threw his silver mate ring fiercely into the trash can. I contacted my family and accepted an arranged marriage—to wed the most feared Alpha in the alliance, Silas. This time, I chose to live for myself.

Elliana Castillo spent eight years being the perfect fiancée-the quiet, graceful woman who planned the parties, wore the right jewelry, and never asked questions. Then she saw the video. Her fiancé Preston, laughing on a yacht with another woman in his arms. "She'll just be at home, waiting for me. Like a good little canary in a cage." The words shattered eight years of devotion in a single breath. Elliana walked out that night. No tears. No screams. Just the cold, steel click of her engagement ring hitting the coffee table and the final swipe of her thumb blocking his number forever. But freedom came with a price. Her mother disowned her. Preston's thugs showed up at her door. She had nothing-no money, no allies, nowhere to run. Until the Marshall family came calling. Marry their heir, Julious Marshall. Ten million dollars. Unwavering protection. It sounded insane. A marriage to a complete stranger, arranged by a witch's prophecy about their "fate compatibility." But Elliana had learned the hard way that desperation and opportunity often wear the same face. She signed the papers. Now she lives in a gilded cage-a sprawling estate, designer clothes she didn't choose, and a husband she's never met. The staff speaks of Julious in whispers. The doctors rush into his room at all hours. And at night, through the heavy oak door that separates them, she hears the sound of a piano-haunting, powerful, filled with a pain that echoes her own. Then she finally sees him. Stooped in a wheelchair. His face devastatingly beautiful. His eyes- Empty. Clouded. Blind. The truth crashes down: her husband is dying. A brain bleed, inoperable. And he's been refusing food, refusing therapy, slowly surrendering to the darkness. But Elliana has been a prisoner before. She knows what it feels like to be treated like a fragile thing, a decoration, a canary in a cage. She's done being anyone's canary. She walks through the door. "I am his wife. It's my responsibility to take care of him." For the first time, the words feel true.

I was trapped in a hospital bed, supposedly in a persistent vegetative state. But I was actually wide awake, listening to the wet sound of my fiancé and my best friend kissing right over my "unconscious" body. "When we get the money, I'm buying you those diamonds," my fiancé growled with desire. They weren't just having an affair. They were plotting to steal my family's company. They planned to go through with our wedding next week, so he could use his power of attorney to drain my trust fund. They laughed at my passion for art and my disinterest in finance, treating me like a silent, dead vault just waiting to be cracked. Before leaving the room, my fiancé leaned over and whispered a final, cruel twist of the knife into my ear. "Rest in peace, Clara." Rage and pure hatred burned through my veins. I had trusted them with my life, and they were orchestrating my absolute ruin while I lay helpless. They thought they had won, treating me like a perfect golden goose. But on the day of our grand wedding, I didn't roll down the aisle in a wheelchair. I walked in on my own two feet, wearing a white silk gown, and played the audio recording of their dirty conspiracy on the massive screen. Watching their fake grief turn into slack-jawed horror, I took the microphone. "This wedding is canceled. But according to my grandfather's will, I must get married today to keep my company shares. Any man here willing to marry me right now will receive ten percent of my family's empire."

Harper walked away from her two-year marriage to billionaire Gustav Ellison with absolutely nothing, leaving millions on the table just to buy her freedom. But a few weeks after signing the divorce papers, she discovered she was pregnant. For over two years, she hid in a cramped Brooklyn apartment, raising their son alone and terrified that her ruthless ex-husband would find out. Then, Gustav suddenly returned to New York. To keep her job and pay for her sick son's medical bills, Harper was forced to do the unthinkable: beg the man she swore to never see again for an exclusive magazine interview. Gustav used every ounce of his power to humiliate her. He mocked her desperation, deliberately blacklisted her, and forced her to conduct the interview while staring at her with predatory vengeance. "I want to ensure that anyone who ever walked away from me lives to regret it." Harper swallowed her pride and endured his cruelty, her heart pounding with the terrifying secret of the little boy who looked exactly like him. She just wanted to finish the interview and disappear from his life forever. But just as the camera stopped rolling, Gustav leaned back with a flawless, devastating smile and dropped a bomb. "My return to New York isn't purely business. I'm getting married to my fiancée." Hearing those words, Harper's entire world stopped spinning.

When Alma's father stood in front of the bulldozers to protest, the energy company's thugs beat him half to death in the mud. Instead of arresting the attackers, the police handcuffed her bleeding father and threw him into a cruiser. "Stay back, kid," the officer barked, shoving Alma away. Her father was denied bail and framed for assaulting an officer. The corrupt mayor just smiled and told her not to cause a scene. Meanwhile, the company mailed her weeping mother a severance check that barely covered a month of groceries. Alma was forced to watch her family be completely destroyed by men with money and power. Kneeling in the cold dirt where her father's blood had spilled, she didn't shed a single tear. The panic in her chest died, replaced by a cold, absolute hatred. She realized that crying wouldn't do anything. In this world, justice didn't exist for the weak. Years later, Alma stepped onto a prestigious Ivy League campus, her cheap backpack slung over her shoulder. She was surrounded by the arrogant children of the very executives who ruined her life. She lowered her head, hiding her dead eyes, and put on the perfect mask of a timid, helpless charity case. Undergrad was just a training ground, and these elite kids were just her practice dummies. The hunt was officially on.

I'd lived as a mafia queen, ruling with quiet strength, only to discover my entire life was a lie. My husband, Dante, secretly divorced me three years ago, then married our timid nanny. I wasn't just betrayed; I was a dead ex-wife walking, a ghost in my own home. A mafia daughter, I expected routine at Rossi's law firm. But Rossi, pale and sweating, handed me an envelope: Dante's divorce judgment, signed three years ago, and his marriage certificate to Gia, our nanny. Truth slammed me: Gia poisoned me for years, causing infertility, making her bastard son the sole heir. Hidden, I watched her force Dante, the Underboss, to kneel, drink hallucinogenic tea, and profess devotion. She smirked. This was calculated murder: my existence, my legacy. Rage burned, but clarity struck: disappear, or vanish into the Long Island Sound. From a hidden phone, I called Luca, the underworld's elite cleaner. "I need a top-tier scrub. Target is myself," I commanded. "Get me out of this hell. I'd rather die than be his taxidermy specimen."

For seven years, I was the barren, wolf-less Luna, tolerating my husband's coldness and his "friendship" with Haven. I thought I was defective. Until I found the papers transferring our pack's wealth to Haven's son—a boy with Aiden's eyes. When I tried to leave, Haven framed me for kidnapping the child. Aiden didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't check the tracker that proved my innocence. He let them drag me to a warehouse, bound in silver chains that burned my skin. Drugged into a feral state, my own mate beat me until my ribs shattered, believing I was a rogue enemy. Through the haze of pain, I heard Haven's voice over the intercom, laughing. "She thinks she donated a kidney to you, Aiden. She doesn't know we drained her Wolf Essence to boost your power." My weakness wasn't a sickness. It was a theft. They had cannibalized my soul to build his throne. I was supposed to die there. But as Aiden walked away, leaving me in a pool of blood, a power I thought was lost ignited in my veins. I dragged myself to the wall and wrote with trembling, bloody fingers: "I REJECT YOU." The bond severed with a crack like thunder. They thought they were burying a dog. They didn't realize they were waking a Phoenix.

I was an artist who gave up my career for my tech CEO husband, Jakob. Pregnant with our child, I believed our life was a perfect dream built on his genius. That dream shattered when I discovered his genius was a lie, built on stolen code. Then I overheard his real plan: to drug me, publicly ruin me, and auction off my body after murdering our unborn child. At our anniversary gala, he forced drugged champagne into my hand. I watched him destroy my art-my last dream-before I collapsed, losing our baby on the cold museum floor. They left me for dead, having taken everything-my love, my art, my dignity, and my child. After I survived, I walked into the interrogation room where he was being held. I showed him a fabricated DNA report proving the baby was his, alongside a real document proving he'd had a secret vasectomy. He broke down, believing he'd murdered the son he never knew he could have. "I'll do anything," he sobbed. "Then sign these," I said calmly, pushing the divorce papers and a full transfer of his billion-dollar empire across the table.

I stood alone at the center of my art gallery opening, clutching a glass of warm champagne, while the guests whispered behind their hands. My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, wasn't there. A breaking news alert on my phone explained why. It was a high-definition photo of Dante shielding his mistress, Isabella, from the rain. He was touching her with a protective possessiveness he had never once shown me. Then came his text: "Isabella needed me. Go home." That was the moment the cage door unlocked. I didn't go home to cry. I went to his office the next morning with a stack of papers disguised as "gallery insurance forms." While Isabella sat on his desk, mocking me for being a boring housewife, Dante was too annoyed to read the fine print. He just wanted me gone so he could get back to her. He signed the divorce decree. He signed the asset dissolution. Most importantly, without looking, he signed the irrevocable relinquishment of parental rights. I walked out with my freedom, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. That night, I stared at a positive pregnancy test. I was carrying the Sovrano heir he had always demanded. And he had just legally signed away his right to ever know his child. I fled to the Swiss Alps, vanishing into the snow to raise my baby away from his world of blood and bullets. I thought I was safe, until six months later. Dante hadn't just sent men to look for me. He had burned his own shipping empire to the ground, destroying his status as King, just to prove he would trade it all for the wife he threw away.

I am Joanna Haney, heiress to a New York real estate empire. I had a perfect life with my husband, Brad, and our three-year-old daughter, Chloe. Then, a single sentence from a doctor shattered my world. "Chloe isn't your daughter." The truth was a nightmare. My husband and my best friend, Carla, had swapped our babies at birth. My real daughter was abandoned while I unknowingly raised theirs. They plotted to have me declared insane and locked away. At Chloe's birthday party, they publicly humiliated me, turning the child I raised against me until she screamed that she wished Carla was her mother. My husband and best friend saw me as nothing more than an obstacle to be permanently removed. But they underestimated me. With the secret help of Brad's own mother, I orchestrated my escape to Paris. Now, I will find my real daughter, and they will pay for every single lie.

The world turned into a twisted metal scream. One moment, I was humming along in the car with my son, Ethan, in the back. The next, a violent jolt, a blinding pain, and then - silence. Too much silence. My son was gone. My husband, David, pulled me from the wreck, a mask of panic on his face. But in the emergency room, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, his voice from the hallway cut through the fog: "Just make sure it' s done. No loose ends. The problem is solved. Now I can finally move forward without any… distractions." A distraction? Was our son just a problem to him? The man I loved, the father of my child, had orchestrated his death. And when I woke from surgery, he delivered another cruel blow, a lie that ripped away my ability to ever be a mother again. He buried Ethan without me, dismissed his toys, and called my love for our child an "obsession." The grief I felt became a chilling clarity. He hadn't just lost our son; he had murdered him. And then, at night, I found his hidden life-another woman, Victoria, and another son, Alex. An email from David, dated the day Ethan was born, called my son an "error." How could he have done this? How could his hate run so deep? Every moment, every memory, was re-framed by this horrific betrayal. The man I married was a monster, his grief a sickening performance. My son's last drawing, a simple wish for his daddy to play catch, solidified my purpose. I was no longer a grieving mother; I was an instrument of justice. My work was just beginning.

I waited three long years for Jen, my fiancée, to return from her "deep cover assignment," dreaming of the wedding we' d planned. Then, I overheard her icy voice in my own home office, admitting she' d hidden a pregnancy and given birth to a two-year-old son during her so-called mission, all while plotting to use me to secure a future for her family. The next morning, Jen and her accomplice, Drew, shamelessly brought her son to my house, maintaining their elaborate lie, while Drew set me up for a malicious scheme involving the boy' s severe allergy. Jen watched as I was unjustly accused, choosing to believe Drew over me, and then abandoned me, leaving me injured and alone on my kitchen floor. Drowning in her betrayal and the crushing weight of being a fool, a desperate coldness settled over me. That' s when I picked up the phone, calling my powerful grandfather, ready to accept the arranged marriage offer I' d always rejected, a contract that promised a way out, no matter the cost.

My head throbbed as I cooked Marcus's favorite meal. It was our tenth anniversary, a milestone I' d hoped would bring some semblance of peace to a decade marred by his growing distance. But Marcus never came home. Instead, an Instagram notification flashed: Skyler Reed, beaming beside my husband, champagne in hand, captioned: "Celebrating new beginnings with Mr. T!" When I finally reached him, his voice was dismissive, cold: "You've let yourself go, Ellie. Skyler's a breath of fresh air." The casual cruelty was a physical blow, leaving me reeling, a sudden nosebleed staining the anniversary tablecloth I' d prepared for a dinner that would never happen. Who was this woman I had become, a ghost of my former self, constantly tired, always bleeding? Why did I allow myself to be chipped away, humiliated, while he flaunted his affair so brazenly? Then, the final, devastating cut: my only comfort, my loyal dog Gus, brutally run down after Skyler maliciously kicked him into the street. My world went black, only to be replaced by the harsh hospital lights and a grim diagnosis: glioblastoma. Marcus, now belatedly awake to his ruin, would beg me to fight. Yet, the profound irony was a bitter pill: his decade of calculated cruelty had left me with no fight left. But though I was dying, this story was far from over-just not in the way anyone expected.

Alex Thompson, the quiet academic decathlon captain, just wanted to escape the loud, lavish graduation party. Surrounded by kids flaunting their Ivy League acceptances, he felt the sting of unspoken judgment. Mark O' Connell, the tech mogul's son, and his popular girlfriend, Brittany, singled him out. They mocked his "empty hands," implying he was a "total bust" with no college acceptance. The taunts escalated quickly, Mark blocking his exit and offering him a hundred dollars to admit he was a "failure." Brittany gloated, waving her USC acceptance, while others showcased their prestigious university logos. Tired of it, Alex quietly presented a small, unassuming metallic medallion. The popular crowd erupted in laughter, dismissing it as a "cheap keychain" or a "weird D&D guild pin." Mark, enjoying his power, then ordered his jock friends to "teach him some manners" and force him out. Why was Alex so unnervingly calm, even as the jocks moved in? What was this mysterious medallion that caused such ridicule, yet held him so composed? Their cruelty was palpable; his quiet dignity hinted at a secret they couldn' t possibly comprehend. Just as they reached for him, Alex's phone buzzed with an urgent, blocked call. "Reroute transport to O'Connell Innovations," he calmly requested. Mark scoffed about his "imaginary escort service," until a convoy of black, federal-looking SUVs suddenly pulled up outside. A sharp woman in a suit, Ms. Hayes, emerged, immediately addressing Alex: "Mr. Thompson, we were expecting you." With icy precision, she revealed his true designation: "The Prometheus Fellowship is a matter of national priority." The party instantly fell silent. Mark and his father, their faces drained of color, realized their petty bullying had just triggered a national incident. Alex, the perceived "loser," calmly walked out, leaving their shattered world behind.

The last thing I saw was the Chicago skyline rushing up to meet me. Then, merciful darkness. Now, blinding sunlight streamed through a window, hitting my face as I lay in my university dorm room. My head throbbed with a pain far deeper than a physical fall. It was the brutal, horrifying memory of my parents, David and Susan Miller. Their kind faces, now hauntingly overlaid with images of their blood on the polished floors of our beautiful Chicago home. They were murdered. And the architect of that devastation? Brittany Evans, the very scholarship student my generous parents had taken under their wing, hailed as their "charity case." Her smile, so sickeningly sweet and fake, her boyfriend Spike's cruel, calculating eyes, haunted my every waking thought. She had meticulously orchestrated their downfall: the forged will, the baseless accusations leveled against me. I endured the looks of disgust, the complete abandonment from everyone I had ever known. The crushing despair consumed me, pushing me to the desperate, final leap. How could such an act of profound kindness be repaid with such heinous betrayal and wanton violence? How could I have been utterly blind, so incredibly naive, to allow my entire family, my entire life, to be so mercilessly dismantled, ending in that horrific, unjust way for all of us? The injustice burned. But then, I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. My hands flew to my throat, my chest. I was whole. Alive. It was the first week of freshman year. Again. I had been granted a second chance, and this time, a cold, unyielding rage, something I' d never felt in my first, naive life, settled deep in my bones. Brittany Evans would not win.

At East Coast University, being Valedictorian wasn't an honor; it was a death sentence. Every year, the top graduate met a horrific end, fueling whispers of a chilling campus curse. Three years ago, my brilliant sister, Claire, delivered her valedictory speech, radiating hope and promising to break this very curse. But just a week later, she was found dead, an alleged suicide, leaving behind a cold, printed note: "Allie, never pursue peak glory." Claire always called me "Allie-cat," never just "Allie;" I knew instantly the note was a fake, a twisted cover-up for her murder. Consumed by grief and an unyielding desire for justice, I spent three years meticulously climbing the academic ladder, earning the top spot, becoming this year's Valedictorian to expose the truth and lure her real killer into the light. The night before graduation, I went live online, publicly challenging the murderer, declaring Claire was slain and not the first victim of this academic reckoning. But instead of catching *them*, the police stormed my dorm, arresting *me*, accusing me of being the serial killer responsible for all the other Valedictorian deaths. Then my own mother, face masked and frantic, burst in, screaming a desperate confession, trying to take the fall for *my* alleged crimes, hinting at a horrifying family secret far deeper than I could ever comprehend. How could I, the one tirelessly hunting the truth, suddenly become the monstrous subject of a nationwide witch hunt, framed as the cold, calculating killer I sought to unmask? Shoved into the back of a police car, the only image seared into my mind was my mother's face—pale, terrified, a silent plea begging me to finally unravel the devastating truth she couldn't speak aloud. Then, chaos erupted: a deliberate, violent car crash, my chance to escape the clutches of a corrupt system and dark accusations. Now, on the run, I chase the elusive whispers of Mom’s hidden fears and a mysterious clue from my long-dead father’s past, determined to unearth the real answers that lie buried beneath the surface of my sister’s tragic death.

Sawyer, an indifferent CEO, returned to exact his revenge and was determined to lay his hands on what he was entitled to. Nora, an illegitimate daughter, got set up by her own cousin. While seeking help, she ran into his arms and got rescued. That eventful night, she was being smothered by his unending saga of kisses. She had no way to escape since she had effectively become a prisoner of his love. “Ever since the moment we shared a bed, there has been no turning back,” he whispered in her ear like a sly devil.

When I was eight months pregnant, I collapsed suddenly from a severe pregnancy complication. In the hospital, my husband, Easton, refused to approve my emergency C-section. Standing beside my bleeding body with his mistress, Colette, he held a postnuptial agreement in his hand. He forced me to give up all our assets and take on Colette's massive debts. He even called the police and falsely accused me of stealing a fake luxury watch, trying to stop me from paying for my own medical care. "Sign it, and you get the surgery. Otherwise, don't expect to live." Because of his delay, my baby's heartbeat stopped. I completely broke down, grieving the child he had killed. He thought he had won. He thought I was a housewife he could manipulate however he pleased. But he forgot — I was the Chief Financial Officer who helped him build his entire corporate empire. And I had evidence of every single one of his financial crimes.

Annie Davis was beyond furious when she was told she had been inseminated with the wrong sperm which belonged to a Billionaire who insists he wants to be in her life and the baby's life if she falls pregnant.

My husband told me I was a bad investment, a legacy asset he was forced to liquidate after a car crash stole his memory of our love five years ago. He replaced me with a "Muse," a supermodel whose lies were as polished as the magazine covers she graced. But when her son—the boy Adrian believed was his heir—suffered a sudden allergic reaction, she tearfully accused me of being a jealous chemist who mixed poison to harm an innocent child. My husband, the man whose empire was built on the scents I created, didn't hesitate. In a blind rage, he declared that if my hands were used for evil, they shouldn't be used at all. He ordered his security team to bring quick-drying industrial cement. "Since you can't control these hands, I will seal them forever," he commanded, his voice devoid of mercy. He then had my hands encased in stone and had me displayed in the window of our flagship store, a public spectacle for the world to condemn. As I stood there, the heavy weight crushing my fingers and my soul, I finally understood. My blind love and foolish hope had been my downfall. I had loved the wrong man, and he had utterly destroyed me. But they made one fatal mistake. They didn't know about the hidden camera I’d planted in the nursery. And they had no idea that my family controlled the very flowers that kept his empire alive.

This book is a collection of short tantalizing stories which spins the art of sweet erotic romance, forbidden romance, dark romance, taboo, including domineering and submissive romance. As you slide through the pages, you will begin to imagine a world of fantasies and explore all dimensions of the art of lovemaking. Note that this book is intended for matured readers only as it contains graphic content, that leaves you breathless and crave more. This book is entirely fictional as any resemblance to any person or incident is highly coincidental.

TRIGGER WARNING Close this page right now if any of these will ruin your day: • Explicit stepmother/stepson incest (he calls her "Mom" while he's balls-deep) • Raw cheating on the husband/father • Rough degrading sex: choking, slapping, spitting, hair-pulling, "slut" talk • Bareback creampies, facials, swallowing • Almost-getting-caught adrenaline • Age-gap filth + forbidden obsession • Arranged-marriage jealousy and heartbreaking goodbye sex This is NOT romance. This is pure, dripping, no-limits taboo erotica. About "Hooked on his Dick" One open door was all it took. Natasha walks in on her stepson Noah stroking the biggest cock she's ever seen and instead of walking out, her panties soak through. From that second, they're doomed. Secret quickies while Dad's downstairs. Kitchen-counter pounding with the cake burning. One last soul-shattering night on the eve of Liam's wedding to his old school crush. She knows it's wrong. He knows it's wrong. But every time he growls "Mom" and slams into her, wrong feels so fucking right. No hearts and flowers. No redemption arc. Just sweat, cum, guilt, and the kind of dirty, obsessive sex that leaves you shaking. If you want your taboo served raw, breathless, and unapologetic-this one will ruin you in the best way.

"Why? I know it's not that you actually care about me. Then why? Tell me." I demanded looking down. "Be MINE, Caroline" he said. I always loved the way my name rolled on his tongue. I saw him coming towards me as I took small steps backwards until my back hit the wall. I could see his face getting closer to mine to reach my lips. Caroline Brook is the daughter of a wealthy business man. She has it all, looks, beauty, intelligence, money-of course! She's a true believer of LOVE. She lived a carefree life until a tragedy strikes hard. Daniel Rochester is one of the richest business man in New York City. He's the perfect definition for a Casanova. He never was a relationship kind of guy. And he rather chose to believe in one night stands. What happens when circumstances make these completely opposite people meet? Is there going to be an explosion of volcano of hatred or rain of love? Are they gonna make it together till the end?

A group of three girls go to a private chalet to spend three days as a holiday in the mountainous forest side. And to add to it there is a wild wolf who is roaming outside and the caretaker who is an ex murderer. Jeremy their friend is supposed to join them but goes missing before he even reaches there and they end up getting stuck with no light and phone connection. And many more stories .. A collection of thriller mystery romance adventure suspense historical novellas.

I was diagnosed with Soul Withering Syndrome, a high-risk condition where the wolf inside me was slowly starving to death. Full of hope, I went to find my mate, Gideon—the top healer in the alliance—desperate to find a shred of comfort from him. But as I stood outside his office, I heard him coldly state that I was just being unreasonable. "Chloe is weaponizing her anxiety to force me into a mating ceremony." He could not even be bothered to glance at my official medical scroll, instead accusing me of faking my pain just to steal his attention away from his obsession, the rogue wolf Yara. And when Yara called, lying about an obviously fabricated poisoning incident, he abandoned me without hesitation. He left me shivering in the freezing hallway, and eventually, due to the backlash of my withering soul, I coughed up pitch-black blood. For seven years, I had been waiting for him to see my pain. I could not understand how the man who had once exchanged mating tokens with me could be so blind. He let my soul rot in the dark, yet paraded himself as a loyal hero, running around at the beck and call of a woman full of lies. I did not shed a single tear, because my heart was already completely dead. Then, without hesitation, I threw his silver mate ring fiercely into the trash can. I contacted my family and accepted an arranged marriage—to wed the most feared Alpha in the alliance, Silas. This time, I chose to live for myself.

Ronald Gidwani, a billionaire, who is also a single father, finds love again when he meets Raina, The Queen Of His Heart.

I hid my identity as the Supreme Wolf Princess just to find true love, even sacrificing my soul core to cure the bloodline curse of my fated mate, Caleb. However, when he successfully became the Alpha of the Supreme Wolf Pack, he brought back Selene—a cunning she-wolf who faked an attack by rogue wolves to frame me. He would rather believe her fabricated tears than listen to my explanation, locking me on a balcony covered in toxic silver dust for three days and three nights. When I knelt and begged for forgiveness, telling him I was pregnant with his child, he sneered and accused me of carrying a rogue wolf's bastard. He watched coldly as Selene spiked my food with deadly poison and forced me to climb a tree covered in thorns. Ultimately, I lost my child, and my blood stained the earth red. I gave up my crown and my magic just to help him build his empire, only to receive humiliation in return. He even threw a banishment contract in my face, ordering me to be exiled to the wastelands. I felt a deep, agonizing sense of worthlessness for everything I had sacrificed for him! That was until the Royal Guard's helicopters blackened the sky, and my father—the Supreme Alpha of all werewolves—forced Caleb to his knees in a wretched state. "I accept your banishment." I threw that contract violently back into his trembling hands, watching his world crumble to ash. In this moment, he finally realized exactly what he had destroyed.