No More Sacrifices: A Rebirth

My life as Jocelyn Fuller, the oil heiress, ended the day my father went to prison and my sister Molly fell gravely ill, leaving me desperate. My ex-fiancé, Ethan Scott, a DC power player, promised Molly the best medical care money could buy if I agreed to a "deal." That deal turned into a nightmare: I was sold to Caleb Duncan, a ruthless West Texas rancher, becoming his captive and plaything, suffering unimaginable abuse and even a miscarriage. After three years, Ethan reappeared, claiming Molly was alive and well, offering me freedom and a new life. But I knew his game. I was done being a pawn in their brutal power struggles. So, I jumped off a cliff, faked my death, and became Stella, a ghost hidden away in a small Colorado mountain town, vowing to live free. Then, one by one, they showed up; first Caleb, then Ethan, both determined to drag me back into their twisted worlds. But I wasn't Jocelyn anymore. I was Stella, and this time, I was fighting back.

I woke up with the familiar scent of burnt coffee, seeing my charming boyfriend, Ethan Scott, across from me in our town's diner. He was pitching a blueprint for his "ultimate survivalist influencer retreat," that smile on his face the same one that made everyone swoon. But then, it all crashed back: the blueprint, the diner, the date. Ten days until the solar flare. Ten days until the end. I' d lived this before. In my previous life, I poured my family's everything into building this exact bunker for him. He promised payment, sponsorship. It never came. When the sky turned green and the grid failed, he locked us out-my parents and me, begging at the reinforced window of the shelter we built. He laughed as we died in the chaos. Now, as he spoke, his voice a smooth river of lies, another voice echoed in my head, sharp and clear: his real, sickening thoughts. This wasn't a dream. It was a second chance, and with it, a terrifying new ability to hear the betrayal lurking beneath his words. He took everything from us then. This time, I'm taking it all back. And I' m starting with his ultimate retreat.

My life was perfect. I had a loving husband, Andrew, and our bright, energetic five-year-old son, Caleb. We lived happily in Chicago, a normal American family. Then, in a screech of tires and a thunderous crash, a low-slung, obscenely yellow Lamborghini, driven by rich kid Barney Hughes, stole them from me. One moment they were alive, the next, crumpled on the asphalt. But the nightmare didn' t end there. Barney' s father, a powerful real estate magnate, bought off the police, made surveillance footage vanish, and had my family' s bodies illegally cremated. Every lawyer I approached laughed me out of their office, warning of "professional suicide" against the Hughes empire. I lost my job, and then Barney sued me for harassment. My world crumbled. One night, Barney and his thugs broke into my home, beat me mercilessly, shattered every photo of my family, then committed the ultimate desecration: they opened the box of ashes, the stolen remains of my husband and son, and dumped them over my head. "Buy yourself a new kid or something. Get over it," he sneered, before urinating on the floor beside me. How could this happen in America? How could a family of heroes, dedicated to service, be murdered and then have their memory so brutally insulted by a corrupt system? Lying broken on the floor, covered in dust and urine, I suddenly remembered two Medal of Honor recipients and an old promise: "The United States Army does not forget its own." I packed the medals and made a silent vow. My fight had just begun.

My twin brother, Ethan, was always the golden child, adored by our parents, effortlessly charming. I was the "difficult" one, often overlooked, watching from the porch as two smiling women lured Ethan with a rare comic book. Then, a sudden, blinding change. One moment I was an observer, the next I was in the back of their van, the world a dizzying blur, Ethan smirking from where I had stood. They sold me. For ten years, I was a ghost in a life not my own, trapped with a clan of survivalists in the Appalachian mountains, enduring abuse and forced labor. When I was finally found, broken and scarred, Ethan pulled his final trick. He swapped us back, instantly spinning a tale of how I, out of jealousy, had orchestrated his abduction. My own parents, without a shred of hesitation, believed him, seeing only a damaged stranger. They decided to commit me to a psychiatric hospital. How could my family, my own twin, betray me so utterly? Why was I always the one discarded, the one forgotten? But then I woke up, the smell of bacon filling the air, back in my childhood bed. It was the same day. This time, I wouldn't just watch.

It was my wedding night in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, the air thick with the hum of my guitar and the sweet promise of a new life with Jennifer. Everyone called me a prodigy, especially when I poured my essence into the "Soul Chord," a gift that felt like pure magic flowing through my fingers. Then, the juke joint doors burst open, and a biker gang stormed in, dragging me off stage. They held me down, and their leader, with a ball-peen hammer, systematically crushed the bones in my left hand, the one that played my Soul Chord. Through a haze of blinding pain, I saw Jennifer, shielding Caleb, watching without a word, her eyes cold and distant. Later, in the clinic, drugged but awake, I heard their whispers: Jennifer, Sabrina, and Caleb. They had planned it all, drugged me, orchestrated the attack to steal my music for Caleb' s album. My deepest secret, a dormant Soul Chord in my right hand, was brought up. And then, Jennifer quietly, methodically, severed the tendons in my right wrist, destroying my last hope, my last chance to play. They framed me as a violent gang affiliate, spread lies, and announced Jennifer and Caleb' s engagement, built on my ruin. My own adopted mother, Sabrina, then ordered my legs broken, leaving me a helpless, shattered mess. Thrown into a swamp to die, betrayed by everyone I loved, a cold rage ignited in me. They destroyed my body, my spirit, my life, but they made one fatal mistake: they left me breathing. Now, all that pain, all that fury, has become something more. And I' m coming back for every single one of them.

The charity gala was suffocating, a gilded cage where I, Jocelyn Duncan, watched my husband, Andrew, openly parade his mistress Maria, making my irrelevance a public spectacle. Our five-year-old twin sons, Caleb and Jayden, in an innocent accident, spilled chocolate mousse on Maria, provoking Andrew to condemn them to a brutal desert "behavioral correction camp." I begged, humiliated myself, but he was unmoved; my babies were ripped from my arms, their screams echoing as Andrew watched with chilling indifference. Hours later, driving through the arid landscape to rescue them with my sister-in-law Molly, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification: Andrew' s sonogram announcement with Maria, "A new chapter begins." At that exact moment, police officers emerged from the camp gates and delivered a horrifying truth: my sons, Caleb and Jayden, had died from dehydration and heatstroke. My world shattered, but Andrew, when I called, laughed and accused me of melodramatic lies, dismissing their deaths as a tactic for attention. How could he deny them, our own children, who had just died from his callous cruelty, while he celebrated a new life that would never know theirs? I had nothing left but an unbearable, burning agony, and a single, unyielding resolve: I would leave the shattered remains of my life with him, taking my sons' memory and only my unbreakable will to survive.

At their wedding night, Kayla caught her brand-new husband cheating. Reeling and half-drunk, she staggered into the wrong suite and collapsed into a stranger's arms. Sunrise brought a pounding head-and the discovery she was pregnant. The father? A supremely powerful tycoon who happened to be her husband's ruthless uncle. Panicked, she tried to run, but he barred the door with a faint, dangerous smile. When the cheating ex begged, Kayla lifted her chin and declared, "Want a second chance at us? Ask your uncle." The tycoon pulled her close. "She's my wife now." The ex gasped, "What!?"

Rejected by her mate, who had been her long-time crush, Jasmine felt utterly humiliated. Seeking solace, she headed to a party to drown her sorrows. But things took a turn for the worse when her friends issued a cruel dare: kiss a stranger or beg her mate for forgiveness. With no other choice, Jasmine approached a stranger and kissed him, thinking that would be the end of it. However, the stranger unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, "You're mine!" He growled, his words sending shivers down her spine. And then, he offered her a solution that would change everything...

"I, Riccardo Saviano, future Alpha of the Grey Shadow Moon Pack, reject you, Artemisia Guerrieri, Daughter of Alpha Franco of the Blood Moon Pack, as my mate and future Luna." One single sentence. One stupid single sentence was all it took to disintegrate my life. And the day of my birthday, on which this sentence was audaciously uttered to me, I lost the love of my life, my future mate, and my wolf, all at once. As I'm still assembling the pieces of my shattered heart years later, there they come. Like lightning out of a crystal blue sky. My Mates. But wait... If I am mated to triplets, how come I'm about to be mated to 5 gorgeous men? *** TW: explicit and foul language; spicy content; explicit sex scenes ***

After three secretive years of marriage, Eliana never met her enigmatic husband until she was served with divorce papers and learned of his extravagant pursuit of another. She snapped back to reality and secured a divorce. Thereafter, Eliana unveiled her various personas: an esteemed doctor, legendary secret agent, master hacker, celebrated designer, adept race car driver, and distinguished scientist. As her diverse talents became known, her ex-husband was consumed by remorse. Desperately, he pleaded, "Eliana, give me another chance! All my properties, even my life, are yours."

Doing a part-time job in a speakeasy bar, Wendy got drunk unexpectedly. When she woke up, she found that she was regarded as a call girl and lost her virginity. After having a one-night stand with Charlie, an incredibly handsome man, Wendy threw out two hundred dollars to defend her own dignity. However, Wendy's arrogant actions annoyed Charlie, who grabbed Wendy back to bed repeatedly for revenge. "What do you want?" Wendy was annoyed. "Be responsible for what I did to you." Charlie smiled. "But how?" Wendy continued. "By keeping sleeping with you."

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.