His Loss, Her Eternal Unbreakable Love
My husband, Jackson, the Alpha of the Dorsey Pack, was supposed to be my partner, my equal. I paid for everything, from his suits to our private jet. Today, the man I loved told me I wasn't flying with him to the Alpha Summit.
Instead, he declared his mistress, Amber, "fragile" and needing my jet, while I got an economy ticket. His mother, Cornelia, added my healing "aura" was too "intense" for Amber.
My heart shattered from the public humiliation. Jackson kissed Amber, a tenderness denied me for years, while the pack looked away. He even blocked our mind-link, the ultimate rejection.
A searing, cold rage erupted. For five years, I suppressed my royal White Wolf blood, enduring their disdain for a man who now cast me aside like trash.
As my jet lifted into the sky, something inside me unleashed. I pulled out my phone, fingers trembling with resolve. "Cancel the Gulfstream's flight. Ground them. Cut everything. The game is over."
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Chapter 3
Haley's POV:
I stood at the threshold of my former marital bedroom-the Alpha's den.
In wolf culture, the den is sacred. It's where the Alpha and Luna solidify their bond and find peaceful rest.
Trespassing into another wolf's den without permission is a direct provocation. Leaving your scent there is a fight to the death.
The scent was overwhelming. It was everywhere. On the curtains, on the rugs.
On the bed, it was the strongest.
I walked over to the massive, king-sized four-poster bed.
I saw a long strand of blonde hair resting on the pillow.
My wolf, the white wolf I had hidden and suppressed for five years just to make Jackson feel powerful, clawed at the inside of my ribs. She wanted blood.
Burn it, she hissed in my mind. Burn it all.
I didn't need to be told twice.
I grabbed the corner of the mattress.
Werewolves are strong. Even a healer is stronger than ten normal humans.
Right now, fueled by the rage of a betrayed mate, my strength was on an entirely different level.
I let out a primal roar and ripped the heavy mattress clean off the bed frame.
I didn't stop there. I grabbed the pillows, the duvet, and the sheets.
I marched straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the front lawn and kicked the glass open. The glass shattered, but I couldn't care less.
I hurled the mattress out the window. It crashed onto the manicured lawn three stories below with a satisfying thud.
Then went the pillows, then the sheets.
I turned back into the room. The closet door was ajar.
I stepped inside. Jackson's clothes were on the left, mine on the right.
But shoved right in the middle, carelessly hung on my hangers, were cheap, gaudy clothes that didn't belong to me.
Leopard print skirts. Faux fur coats.
Amber had moved in. She wasn't just visiting; she had already started replacing me before I even left.
I grabbed massive handfuls of the clothes, not bothering with the hangers, just ripping them down.
I walked back to the window and tossed them out. They fluttered down like cheap confetti.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
I spun around.
Standing in the doorway was Jackson's younger sister, Jordan. She had been grounded for failing her exams and missed the summit.
She stood there, a bag of potato chips in hand, her mouth hanging open in horror.
"Spring cleaning," I said coldly.
"That's... that's Jackson's room! You can't just throw things out the window! Mom is going to kill you!"
"Your mom is currently stuck in some airport in Kansas, eating crackers from a vending machine," I said, walking over to the nightstand.
I saw a framed photo. It was me and Jackson on our wedding day. He looked smug; I looked hopeful.
I picked it up.
"You're crazy," Jordan sneered. "I always knew you were mentally unstable. Amber will be way better than you. She's fun. And she let me borrow her car."
"The car that I paid for?" I asked.
I dropped the photo. It didn't break on the carpet, so I drove the heel of my shoe into it, crushing it. The sound of shattering glass was incredibly satisfying.
"Get out, Jordan," I said. My voice was low, raspy, laced with a growl that made the girl take a step back.
"You can't order me around! My brother is the boss!"
"Your brother is a broke loser holding a deed he can't afford," I snapped. "And this Packhouse? My name is on the deed, not his. Mine."
Jordan paled. "That's not true. This is the Packhouse."
"This house was foreclosed by the bank when I met him," I said, stepping closer to her. "I bought it, I renovated it, and right now, I'm allowing you to live in it. That's it."
I picked up a bottle of perfume from the vanity-Amber's cheap vanilla body mist.
I walked to the window and tossed it. It smashed onto the driveway below.
Then, I did the forbidden.
I summoned my magic. But not the gentle, soothing blue light of a healer.
I dug deep, tapping into the bloodline I had always kept hidden.
The blood of the White Wolf.
A cluster of silver flames ignited around my hands. It was the fire of purification. An ancient ability lost to most modern wolves.
Jordan screamed, "What are you?!"
I touched the curtains. The silver flames engulfed them instantly, burning away the fabric and the intruder's scent, leaving nothing but ash. It didn't burn the wood; it only incinerated the filth.
"I am the one who's done being used," I said.
I looked around the empty room, now covered in ash.
"Tell your brother," I said to the terrified girl, "if he wants his den back, he can sleep on the lawn with his mistress's trash."
I walked past her, deliberately ramming my shoulder into hers, sending her stumbling into the hallway.
I had a flight to catch.
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7.8
Andrea was trapped in a suffocating marriage with billionaire Gregory Morse, forced to live as the pathetic substitute for his dead fiancée.
When armed intruders broke into their estate in the dead of night, she called her husband in pure terror.
"Stop playing these cheap, attention-seeking games," Gregory sneered with disgust, and hung up the phone.
She barely escaped with her life, but the cruelty only escalated. At the family mansion, his dead fiancée's sister deliberately scalded Andrea's hand with boiling tea. Instead of defending his wife, Gregory publicly humiliated her, ordering her to clean up the mess while calling her a stray dog.
That night, hiding in the dark wine cellar, Andrea overheard a chilling confession.
Gregory admitted to his brother that he knew Andrea was completely innocent of the car crash that killed his fiancée. He knew she had been framed.
Why did he marry her? Just to use her as a psychological punching bag to vent his twisted grief. He watched her suffer every single day, treating her like disposable trash, while violently threatening anyone who showed her an ounce of kindness.
He thought she was just a useless, helpless shadow who would quietly endure his torment forever.
He had no idea that behind her submissive facade, she was secretly Madame Lan, the apex predator of the global fashion world. And now, she was ready to burn his empire to the ground.
8.4
My love. My ruin.
Ashton Hampton saved me from my mother's scandal. I gave him my whole heart.
Then he told me he was marrying another woman for business. My role? His hidden mistress.
At our engagement party, his new fiancée accused me of ruining her brooch. Ashton didn't question it. He demanded I apologize.
The crowd attacked. He watched.
I climbed onto a helicopter and disappeared.
Eighteen years later, I saw him on a park bench—broken, hollow, begging for one more word.
I gave him two: “No comment.”
8.9
I sold three years of my life to a billionaire to save my mother. I was his pretend fiancée, a stand-in for his ex, counting down the days until the contract ended and we could finally be free.
But just as we were about to escape, his real girlfriend returned and publicly accused me of faking a pregnancy to trap him.
My fiancé, Drake, didn't hesitate. He called me a disgusting gold-digger and threatened to pull my mother's medical funding to force me into an abortion.
The shock of his cruelty sent my mother into cardiac arrest. She died right there in the hospital.
They demanded I abort a child that could never exist, a lie built to destroy me.
But they didn't know my secret. After my mother' s death, I finally told him the truth that shattered his world: I was born without a uterus. And with her last letter in my hand, I walked away from him forever.
8.5
Novel Notes
8.5
Years ago, when I was very small, we lived in a great house in a long, straight, brown-coloured street, in the east end of London. It was a noisy, crowded street in the daytime; but a silent, lonesome street at night, when the gas-lights, few and far between, partook of the character of lighthouses rather than of illuminants, and the tramp, tramp of the policeman on his long beat seemed to be ever drawing nearer, or fading away, except for brief moments when the footsteps ceased, as he paused to rattle a door or window, or to flash his lantern into some dark passage leading down towards the river.
9.3
She thought their love could survive anything. She was wrong.
For five years, Amara Hayes was the perfect wife - loyal, gentle, and endlessly forgiving. She believed her husband, Ethan Blackwell, when he said his late nights were for business. She trusted him when he swore his heart was hers.
Until the night she walked into his office and saw him making love to another woman.
Humiliated, heartbroken, and betrayed, Amara left without a word - leaving behind her wedding ring, her identity, and the man who destroyed her faith in love.
Three years later, she returns to New York as a powerful businesswoman with a new name and a cold smile. She's no longer the naive wife he controlled - she's his rival, his downfall, and his punishment.
But Ethan isn't the same man either. He's haunted by the woman he lost and desperate for redemption. And when fate throws them together again, old flames reignite amid a storm of revenge, pain, and forbidden desire.
He once broke her heart. Now, she'll make him wish he never did.
9.5
Sapphyra
9.5
Sapphyra used to have it all: a super-genius husband, a superhero career, and a dragon side she actually got along with.
Then everything went to hell.
When the world faced a threat she couldn't punch, Sapphyra tried to sacrifice herself so everyone she loved could escape. But Wyatt, her husband with backup plans for his backup plans, refused to let her die. He trapped her inside a digital coma, planning to wake her when the world settled down.
That was 100 years ago.
Now Sapphyra has ripped herself free and woken to a ruined city, a broken world, and a body she barely recognizes. Her powers are locked away. Her dragon side is caged. And the Class System controlling it all? Wyatt put it inside her.
Because of course he did.
It only gets messier. Guy, the charming golden retriever-energy hero she met inside the coma, is real-and so are his feelings for her. Meanwhile, Wyatt separated his mind from his body, so now his consciousness follows Sapphyra around like a brilliant, possessive bad hangover.
And then there's Rupert Domingo, the madman who escaped her digital nightmare and now rules the ruined city like his personal kingdom. He knows what happened while Sapphyra slept, and he'll give her answers...
If she survives his game first.
To win, Sapphyra has to rebuild her city, untangle her powers, face Wyatt's sins, and decide what scares her more: losing herself to grief, or becoming the dragon Rupert is desperate to wake up.