The Secret Heiress They Tried To Erase

After my family went bankrupt, I entered the entertainment industry to support my sister's education. In order to make money, I endured the advances of older men and even drank until I had stomach bleeding. My usually calm sister criticized me for being too eager for success and not respecting myself, but she used my money to help others and gain a good reputation. In order to get her a famous teacher, I exposed the scandals of her competitors. She accused me of being ruthless and malicious, but she didn't refuse the opportunities I fought for her. Later, she became a famous painter while I suffered from the revenge of her competitors, ruined my reputation, and accumulated huge debts. I asked her to ask her wealthy boyfriend for help, but she said, "Sister, I told you before that we should be kind and not have malicious thoughts. Look, you are now facing retribution!" She refused to help me in order to make me realize my mistakes. I was forced to jump off a building. When I opened my eyes, I was back to the day I entered the entertainment industry.

I stood in the Alpha's bedroom, trembling as I touched the healer's note hidden in my sleeve. After three years of waiting, I was finally pregnant with my mate's pup. But when Lucius walked in, his eyes were as cold as river stones. He threw a parchment onto the table. "Sign it. The Eastern Estate and the gold are yours." It was a contract to break our mating bond. He was rejecting me to marry Rosalind, the so-called prophesied Luna. I was immediately cast out of the castle. The pack mocked me as a discarded stray, and Rosalind's followers even smashed my parents' graves with iron hammers. Hiding in a freezing safehouse, I held my flat belly in despair. I couldn't understand. Eight years ago, I saved him from a rain-slicked alley. He had cried into my neck, swearing to protect me for all his days. Why did he suddenly turn so cruel? Why did he publicly abandon me, yet secretly threaten his new Luna with a brutal death if she ever dared to harm me? Until I found a hidden ancient text and saw the terrifying truth: The Mate Blood Curse. If he completed our bond, I and our unborn child would die in a river of blood. He didn't betray me. He shattered my heart to save my life, and now he was marching into the rogue lands to sacrifice his own soul to break the curse forever. Wiping my tears, the dormant, ancient power in my veins suddenly snapped taut. I am the White Wolf, and I will take back my pack and wait for my Alpha to come home.

I was the Luna of the Silver Moon Pack, mated to Alpha Ethan for nine years. But when my inner wolf was severely damaged, he spent all his time with Tiffany, a new Omega assistant. On my birthday and our mating anniversary, he completely forgot the rare moonstone I desperately needed to heal my fractured soul. Instead, he bought VIP gladiator tickets for Tiffany. Worse, when I was pale and weak, he carelessly handed me a healing potion laced with silver—the one element that could burn a werewolf alive. When I pointed out the poison, he just shrugged impatiently and told me to throw it away and eat bread. Before I could even process the heartbreak, Tiffany called, faking a heat fever. Ethan immediately rushed out of the house to comfort her, leaving me alone. In just three months, he had abandoned me seventeen times for another woman's artificial scent. I didn't understand how the boy who once took a feral rogue's bite to save my life could now casually hand me death. Why did my nine years of devotion mean less than a fake Omega's tears? The last thread holding my soul to his simply vanished. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to Paris, and opened the ancient Mind-Link. "I, Mia, reject you, Ethan, as my mate."

Debora went to prison to protect the man she loved, only to end up a paroled convict living under the roof of her abusive foster parents. When they found her positive pregnancy test from a one-night stand, they threatened to kick her out and send her straight back to a cell. Just as they were about to report her, the stranger from that dark hotel room suddenly appeared. He paid her foster parents one million dollars to marry her and take her away. Debora thought she was finally safe. But the moment they were alone, he looked at her with pure, venomous hatred. He didn't want a wife; he wanted a prisoner. He believed Debora was the ruthless murderer who had destroyed his life in a car crash, and he planned to make her suffocate in her own despair. He didn't know she was just a scapegoat. To survive and protect her baby, Debora found a job at a bridal shop, only to run into the real culprit—the man who actually drove the car and framed her. He was now happily engaged to a wealthy heiress. They deliberately ruined a priceless wedding gown and blamed it on her. "Kneel on this floor and apologize, or I'm calling the police to revoke your parole!" Why did she have to rot in hell for his sins, while the man she married wanted to destroy her? Just as her trembling knees were about to touch the cold marble floor, the heavy glass doors were violently shoved open. Her billionaire husband strode in like a force of nature, his eyes locked onto the wealthy couple with a terrifying, destructive rage.

My husband, Don Lorenzo Bianchi, the man who once took ninety-nine lashes for me, had just locked me in a guest room. I was four months pregnant with our child, the heir to his mafia empire. My crime was throwing a glass of wine on his mistress, a woman he had moved into our home. She cornered me in the garden, gloating that once the baby was born, he would give it to her to raise as her own. Later, she shoved me down the grand staircase, then threw herself down after me, screaming to my husband that I had tried to kill her. As I lay in a pool of my own blood, Lorenzo rushed past me, scooping her into his arms and carrying her away without a single backward glance. To force me to apologize, he had my parents brought to my hospital room and brutally whipped until they collapsed at his feet. He was no longer the man who had 999 crystals sewn into my wedding dress. He was a monster who believed every lie she told and punished me for her crimes. How could the man who swore to love me forever become this cruel stranger? But he didn't know the truth. Days before the fall, I had secretly terminated the pregnancy. I took the urn containing our child's ashes, filed for divorce, and disappeared from his world forever.

The passenger window bloomed into a spiderweb of cracks, and one razor-sharp sliver drew a searing, hot line across Amelia Hayes’s cheek. "Help me," she choked into the phone, but her husband, Ethan Caldwell, snapped: "Amelia, for God's sake, I'm in a meeting." A percussive blow, then a wave of encroaching silence. She awoke not on the hard-packed asphalt beside her car, but in her opulent master bedroom, the calendar marking three months after her wedding. Three months into a marriage that had already begun its slow work of killing her. Ethan stood by the window, his voice softening, "Yes, Jessica, tonight sounds perfect." Jessica Thorne, his true love, the shadow over Amelia's first life. The customary ache that had long occupied the space beneath her ribs did not flare, but rather receded, leaving behind a preternatural stillness—a silence so profound she could count the heavy, deliberate beats of the pulse in her wrist. For seven miserable years, she had given Ethan a desperate, unyielding devotion. She had endured his glacial distance, his brazen affairs, his emotional abuse, all for a flicker of his attention. She had become a shell, a caricature, ridiculed by Ethan's circle and condescended to by his family. The profound injustice, the sheer blindness of his indifference, was a bitter pill. The familiar, constricting tightness that had long defined her chest had vanished. In its place was a peculiar and unnerving lightness, as if some vital, heavy organ had been neatly excised, leaving behind a cavity that no longer knew how to ache. She recalled the final indignity from that first life: a vulgar scene at a gala involving Eleanor’s ashes. Ethan’s palm had struck her shoulder with such force that she stumbled two full steps backward; before her skull met the unyielding wall, she registered the faint, sickening pop of a vertebra in her own neck, his accusations echoing: "You are a disgrace." He comforted Jessica while Amelia's head reeled from the impact. That was the final insult. There were no tears, nor any tremor of rage. Her fingertips, which had so often trembled, now rested upon her knees with the weight and stillness of poured lead. She delivered a small velvet box to his penthouse. Inside: the wedding ring and a divorce decree. "I require you," she stated, her voice a thing of newfound clarity, "to be removed from my life. Permanently." She was reborn to be free.