Chapter 1 3.7 Dollars

'Oh God, if only I could win the lottery,' Luna Jefferson thought, her mind drifting into a desperate daydream. 'If I hit a fifteen-million-dollar jackpot, the first thing I'd do is buy a luxury riverview penthouse downtown.

'Then I'd snap up a few commercial properties and spend the rest of my days as a carefree landlady. No more catching the crack-of-dawn subway.

'I could sleep in until noon, tick off every Michelin-starred restaurant in Ancelens, and just travel the country whenever boredom struck. Well, even 1.5 million would be life-changing.

'Honestly, right now, even 30 thousand, or even 3 thousand dollars, would be enough to rescue me from this nightmare.'

But reality was cruel as Luna stared at her bank account balance. It was exactly 444.7 dollars.

'Well, at least it isn't a flat zero,' she thought.

Her phone vibrated, shattering her daydream. The moment she answered, her adoptive mother, Vivian Chandler, cried out.

"Luna, I can't take it anymore. I work so hard every day taking care of our family, and your dad lost 1,000 dollars playing cards.

"My back hurts so much that I can't even get out of bed, and now I don't even have money for groceries. I really don't want to live anymore," Vivian said.

Luna remained silent for a long moment before she spoke. "Didn't I just send you 300 dollars last week? I really don't have any money left."

Vivian's voice instantly shrieked. "I knew it. Every single one of you is so ungrateful. I should have never brought you home from the streets.

"I just couldn't bear to leave you when it was snowing so hard and you were freezing to death."

Luna had heard this story many times. She used to feel uneasy about it, but her adoptive father, Callum Chandler, had accidentally let the truth slip one night when he was drunk.

She hadn't been pick up from the snow at all; they had adopted her from a children's home.

They had been unable to conceive for years, and a fortune teller told them they were never meant to have children.

The only way to break the curse was to adopt an orphan destined to have siblings.

The fortune teller proved to be right. The year after adopting Luna, Vivian became pregnant, giving birth to a daughter/and she gave birth to a daughter.

However, from that moment on, that home became Luna's living hell.

Once they had their biological daughter, Luna was demoted to a maid. Whenever she dared to push back, her adoptive parents would throw their supposed kindness back in her face.

When she started college, they didn't give a single penny toward her tuition or living expenses, forcing her to work part-time jobs.

While other people in their twenties lived glamorous lives on social media, Luna only had an endless cycle of shifts.

She was so exhausted every day that she could barely crawl into bed. And every time she saved a little, some new bill would come along and wipe it out.

Luna hung up the phone and let out a self-deprecating laugh. Perhaps she was just destined to be poor. Still, she had no intention of always giving money to her adoptive parents.

She did the math. Over the fifteen years from the age of three to eighteen, her adoptive parents had spent 50 thousand dollars on her at most.

Yet ever since she started college, they had demanded money from her, using either their daughter Harper Chandler's illnesses or broken household items as excuses.

Luna opened her ledger and discovered she had transferred 49,300 dollars to them over the past four years.

Adding the 300 dollars she was given last week, she was only 400 dollars short.

Luna compiled the screenshots of her transfer history and sent them to Vivian along with a 400 dollars digital payment. [Fifteen years, 50 thousand dollars. We are even now. Don't contact me again.]

She quickly blocked her adoptive parents' contacts and left all the family group chats.

It felt amazing. She had wanted to do this for a long time. Having paid back the final 400 dollars today, she practically felt independent.

However, looking at the remaining 44.7 dollars in her bank account, Luna can't bring herself to smile anymore.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts since her internship salary would be deposited next Monday anyway.

She was currently a senior intern living in the school dorms, and her biggest expense was food.

She was used to eating discounted food and cheap takeout. Worst case, she'd just skip a few meals over the next couple of days and call it a diet.

The next second, a notification popped up in her dorm group chat.

Dorm Manager: [Under the new university regulations this year, students are strictly prohibited from staying in the dorms during winter and summer breaks. Students who haven't left for home must vacate the premises today. Water and electricity will be cut off starting tomorrow.]

'What the hell? I'm so screwed,' Luna thought. She gasped as she realized she didn't even have a place to live anymore.

Luna forced herself to calm down and quickly think of a solution.

Her internship salary next Monday would be 1,300 dollars. She had worked her butt off doing overtime for the company for an entire month, so asking for an advance on her paycheck shouldn't be unreasonable.

Luna pushed open the breakroom door, gathered her courage, and walked into the HR office.

Adrian Davis was playing a puzzle game, his heavy frame making the chair groan beneath him.

"Well, well, look who it is. If it isn't Luna from the Planning Department," Adrian said, giving her a once-over with his shifty eyes. "What brings you to my office?"

A wave of disgust washed over Luna. Adrian was usually nowhere to be found, yet she wondered why he happened to be at his desk today.

There had always been rumors around the office about him groping many of the young female interns.

Luna had only managed to avoid trouble because she worked in a different department.

She took a deep breath and spoke. "Mr. Davis, I'm here to ask if I can get an advance on this month's salary."

Adrian clicked his tongue and stroked his chin with his right hand.

He said, "Well, it's not that I don't want to help you. The company has strict regulations, and payday is payday. However, I'm hosting a dinner party tonight. If you are willing to join us, Luna..."

He let out a sleazy chuckle. "Giving you a 3,000 bonus won't be a problem at all."

Suppressing her revulsion, Luna replied politely, "If an advance isn't possible, I'll just head back to work."

"Wait a minute." Adrian raised his voice. "Luna, do you not understand your place here? You are just a lowly intern, yet you dare to reject me?

"Let me tell you something. You are coming tonight whether you want to or not. Otherwise, I will fire you."

Luna rolled her eyes inwardly. 'This is the final straw. There is no need to endure this any longer.'

She grabbed the cup from the desk and poured the hot coffee directly over Adrian's balding head.

"Damn. Luna. Are you insane?" Adrian shouted.

Luna dusted off her hands. She had been taking crap all day, and she wasn't going to take it anymore.

"You want to fire me? Go ahead," she said. "If I knew this company was such a dumpster fire, I would have never taken this job anyway. Keep your money and buy yourself a life, you sleazy creep."

Luna grabbed her backpack and walked straight out of the company doors.

Sometimes life just sucked more than she had ever imagined.

The moment she stepped out of the subway station, a sudden downpour drenched the streets.

Since she didn't have an umbrella, Luna had no choice but to duck into a random shop. Only after stepping inside did she realize it was a lottery store.

'Is this a sign? Am I actually going to win the lottery?' she thought.

Luna quickly spoke to the shopkeeper. "Sir, how much is your cheapest scratch-off? I'd like to buy one."

It wasn't that she was being cheap, but she only had 44.7 dollars left. If she didn't win anything, she would have to skip another meal.

The owner casually pulled out a scratch-off ticket and tossed it onto the counter. "3 dollars."

After paying, Luna scratched off line by line. Row after row, none were winning. Only the last line remained. If it won, the prize was 300 thousand dollars.

Luna's heart pounded wildly. 'How will I even spend 300 thousand dollars? I should rent a place first; no, I can buy a house. But is 300 thousand dollars even enough to buy a house?' she wondered.

It was a miss. As expected, luck would never favor a chronically unfortunate person like her.

Once she returned to her dorm room, Luna stared blankly at the balance on her phone.

The subway ride cost 3 dollars, and the scratch-off ticket was 3 dollars, leaving her with 38.7 dollars.

That was still enough to buy some bread to survive the next few days.

With a sharp chime, another notification popped up on her screen.

[Your linked Mango Video membership has been successfully renewed. A payment of 35 dollars has been deducted. Thank you for your support.]

Luna let out a choked sob. It turned out that when a person reached absolute despair, they couldn't even cry.

Her account balance had been double digits a moment ago, but now it was only 3.7 dollars.

She muttered to herself, "Why the hell is this happening to me? Why am I so unlucky? What did I do to deserve this?"

Luna can't give up, especially when she was cornered like this. She had already survived twenty-two years of hardships, and she refused to admit defeat now.

[System initializing. Three. Two. One. Congratulations, Host. You have successfully activated the Wealth Master System.]

Chapter 2 The Wealth Master System

Luna thought she was seeing things from all the bad luck. But soon she realized a glowing screen was actually floating in mid-air right in front of her.

Stumbling backward, Luna stammered, "Wait, you said 'the Wealth Master System'? What exactly is that?"

"Hello, Host. Simply put, the Wealth Master System is a system that provides you with funds for you to spend."

"What's the catch? What do I have to pay?" she asked.

"You only need to allow us to collect the emotional energy generated when you spend. Beyond that, your only task is to spend every penny of the mission allowance, leaving nothing left over."

Luna always knew you had to pay for what you got. Now a system suddenly appeared, promising her money to spend, she couldn't help but be skeptical.

"Why?" she asked again.

'Why does the Wealth Master System exist? Why choose me, of all people?' Luna thought.

"The system has detected that you have many questions. Detailed explanations will now be provided."

The screen filled with text. Luna read carefully, line by line, finally understanding.

The Wealth Master System originated from a Level 11 cosmic civilization. This civilization discovered that when humans spent money, emotional fluctuations generated a mysterious energy.

Humans couldn't harness this energy, and it had no side effects, but it could power the system.

The system also had strict requirements when selecting a host.

First, the host had to be genuinely kind and upright. Second, the host had to have a strong desire for money. Third, the system only activated when the host was at their most desperate.

Luna's eyes widened. "So it appeared because I was at the absolute bottom today," she whispered.

'Luck in disguise, then,' she thought.

"Yes and no. Each system has a fixed activation schedule. Hosts can also interpret this as destiny."

She nodded thoughtfully and flipped to the second page of the system instructions.

[1. Each day at midnight, the system will release a spending allowance, valid for only 24 hours. In other words, if unused by the next midnight, the money expires.

[2. Any spending above the spending allowance must be covered by the host.

[3. The system will automatically rationalize spending, so no one will notice unusual behavior.

[4. Spending allowance can't be used for investments, cash conversion, or charity, only shopping or hiring staff.

[5. Purchased items can't be transferred; they are for the host's use only.]

The rules seemed reasonable and avoided unnecessary trouble.

Even if the system eventually unbound, Luna's previous expenditures were considered profits. Besides, she was dirt poor, with barely 3.7 dollars left.

"Host, do you agree to bind to the Wealth Master System?"

Luna nodded her head hard. "Sure I'd be clueless if I didn't."

A long progress bar appeared on the screen, filling instantly to 100%.

"Binding successful. Please claim your black card."

In an instant, a matte-black bank card appeared in her right hand, sleek and elegant, engraved with her name.

'So this is the black card?' she thought as she ran her fingers over it. 'High-quality, definitely.'

"Note: The black card is permanently bound to the host, usable only by them, and can't be lost or destroyed.

"Do you wish to daily check-in?"

She decisively pressed the daily check-in button.

"Check-in successful. You have received a 3,000 dollars spending allowance."

'3,000 dollars. My living situation is secured. I don't have to worry about going hungry for the next few days,' she thought.

Luna had earned 3,000 dollars before, but never like this, effortlessly.

She rubbed her hands in excitement. "System, can I spend 3,000 dollars right now?"

"Please wait. The daily random multiplier must first be drawn."

A large prize wheel appeared on the screen. Each slot displayed a different multiplier: 1x, 10x, 100x, 1,000x, up to 100 million times.

'A 3,000 dollars prize multiplied by one hundred million?' Luna gawked.

She had seen rich people flaunt their wealth, but they were usually millionaires or billionaires. Even for most wealthy people, 300 billion was an astronomical figure.

She wiped the corner of her mouth. "System, you're talking about dollars, right?"

"Rest assured, Host. The amount is in Calverian dollar.

"Note: The spending allowance does not change based on geographic location. Even if you travel abroad, the daily check-in amount remains 3,000 Calverian dollars."

'How could I possibly spend 300 billion? And it has to be spent within 24 hours,' she thought.

Of course, winning 300 billion wasn't easy.

The wheel was weighted heavily toward 1x, which occupied over half the wheel. The higher the multiplier, the lower the probability.

300 billion occupied only a tiny, nearly invisible segment; its chance was 0.0068%, or 0.68 in ten thousand.

Even in gacha games, this was ridiculously low.

Luna's hand trembled as she reached out to tap the screen. She closed her eyes immediately.

Chapter 3 An Entire Apple Ecosystem

Luna's heart was about to pound completely out of her chest.

She told herself that the worst case scenario was still 3,000 dollars, so she wouldn't lose out anyway.

She slowly opened her eyes as the pointer gradually came to a halt.

The multiplier was ten times the original amount.

Even though it was the second lowest multiplier on the board, that was still 30 thousand dollars.

Over the years, Luna had worked herself to the bone. She competed fiercely for every scholarship and worked seven jobs a day.

From picking up breakfast and fetching packages to making presentations, cleaning, serving food in the cafeteria, and acting as a sparring partner, she had only earned a total of fifty thousand.

And now, with a casual tap on her screen, she received 30 thousand.

[Host, the daily check-in refreshes at midnight every day. You only have two and a half hours left to spend this allowance. It will expire if time runs out.]

Luna glanced at her phone. It was already nine thirty.

For the first time in her life, she had so much money that she didn't know how to spend it.

Luna asked, "Sys, can I use this money to pay off my student loans?"

When Luna first started college, she only had 2,000 dollars in her pocket from her summer jobs, so she couldn't afford the tuition at all.

Her foster parents told her she was eighteen and should be independent, and they didn't give her a single cent.

She had no choice but to take out a student loan. It cost 2,500 dollars a year, totaling 10 thousand for all four years.

The very first time she managed to save up that 10 thousand by working, Harper suddenly contracted allergic purpura.

Her foster parents couldn't save money at all and even planned to leave Harper to fend for herself.

Looking at Harper's pale face, Luna simply couldn't bear to let that happen.

After that, Luna worked even harder and became the famous working queen of Ancelens University, but her student loan remained completely unpaid.

"Identified as a reasonable spending channel. Repayment is permitted."

Luna breathed a heavy sigh of relief. With this simple confirmation, the last heavy burden weighing her down was finally gone.

She still had over 20 thousand dollars left to spend.

Luna quickly packed her backpack and took a taxi directly to the nearest luxury hotel. It was impossible to rent a new apartment at this late hour.

She passed by this hotel every time she took the subway. People said it offered a breathtaking view overlooking the downtown skyline in Ancelens along with a full panoramic view of the water.

The nightly rate, of course, had always kept her far away.

But things were entirely different now. Luna walked generously up to the front desk. "I need a river view room for three nights, please."

A river view room cost 1,000 dollars a night, and Luna had never imagined she could stay here.

However, now that she actually possessed it, she surprisingly felt it was an absolute steal.

She sat in front of a massive transparent glass window. She overlooked the most luxurious night view of Ancelens. The flickering neon lights added a distinct touch of magic to the bustling city.

Luna took a sip of the complimentary sparkling wine provided by the hotel. She didn't usually like the taste of alcohol, but this glass of champagne was unexpectedly smooth and delicious.

In the past, she could never understand why a single night in a hotel could cost almost as much as her entire monthly internship salary.

But as she lay on the soft bed surrounded by a faint lily of the valley fragrance, Luna finally understood. The wealthy were simply buying pure comfort.

"Host, please do not forget you still have a spending allowance of 17 thousand."

Luna stretched her body lazily. "Don't worry about it. I might forget anything else, but I will never forget to spend money."

She opened the Apple website and quickly added all the top tier products to her shopping cart.

For the iPhone 17 Pro Max, she chose the elegant silver over the classic orange color.

She selected the thirteen inch iPad Pro and completely maxed out the storage to two terabytes.

She also added a Apple Watch, AirPods Pro, and various protective cases, chargers, and data cables.

With a gentle tap to check out, she paid the grand total of 15.7 thousand.

Luna then opened a shopping app and selected everything she had sitting in her cart.

These were all the little trinkets she had always wanted but couldn't bear to actually buy. Clearing out the entire cart only cost her 1,100 dollars.

She was exactly 196.3 dollars short of her total spending goal.

Luna thought it over carefully. A couple of days ago, she had seen a beautiful Disney collaboration bracelet.

It featured a blue-violet butterfly in the middle, and the sterling silver chain was beautifully decorated with a circle of sparkling zircons.

She searched for the specific keywords and found the bracelet priced at 200 dollars.

She realized she was exactly 3.7 dollars short.

However, the System had clearly mentioned she could cover any excess amount herself, so she didn't need to spend the exact allowance perfectly.

Luna confidently pressed the pay button, and a message from her bank card immediately popped up on screen.

[Your bank card has been deducted 3.7 dollars for your recent purchase. Your current balance is 0.]

"Yes," she let out a happy cheer.

If someone had told Luna that she would jump up in excitement after her bank account hit absolute zero, she would never have believed them.

She would have definitely thought that person was completely out of their mind.

But things were completely different now.

She only spent 3.7 dollars to get almost the entire Apple ecosystem. It felt exactly like a wonderful dream.

"Friendly reminder, Host. You still haven't bought a Mac computer."

Luna playfully wagged her index finger. "Not exactly. I did that entirely on purpose."

She had previously used her best friend Flora Murphy's Mac computer to help her make presentations.

The operating system was quite different from regular computers, and she didn't find it very easy to navigate. Luna preferred to buy a high performance gaming laptop instead.

If she ever drew a spending allowance of over three million one day, she would definitely buy her own house in Ancelens and specifically set up an amazing esports gaming room.

Luna felt incredibly happy just thinking about using her brand new iPhone 17 tomorrow.

She was currently using a cheap phone that Harper had completely discarded in disgust.

There was a strict rule in their family. When Callum bought a new phone, his old one went to Vivian. Vivian's old phone would then go to Harper, and Luna only received what Harper no longer wanted.

In an era where phones already had two terabytes of storage, her device only had a pitiful sixty four gigabytes.

Not only was it as laggy as a brick, but the battery was also severely degraded. It would often die completely after she was out for just a few hours.

She could only download four or five basic apps and had to constantly clean up her files every single day.

Before she knew it, midnight had finally arrived.

Luna, who was previously lounging on the bed, suddenly sat bolt upright.

"System. It's time to daily check-in."

"Daily check-in successful. You have received a spending allowance of 3,000 dollars.

"Congratulations on completing the first day's spending task!

"You successfully spent 30 thousand. It will now be returned to you at a one to one ratio. This cashback is free from any restrictions, and you can use it however you please."

Luna could hardly believe what she was seeing. There was actually a cashback feature.

Luna hurriedly opened her mobile banking app. The balance had turned into 30 thousand.

"System, why didn't you tell me earlier that there was such a wonderful cashback feature?" Luna said.

"The cashback feature is only activated after completing the first day's task.

"This System also possesses other hidden features that you must discover completely on your own."

This System was truly mysterious.

Luna carefully examined the screen in front of her once again.

It seemed a new progress bar had miraculously appeared right below the roulette wheel.

Chapter 4 The Mysterious Hidden Reward

The progress bar had a total of seven slots. One was lit up, while the others remained dark.

"Is there some kind of hidden reward for daily checking in seven days in a row?" Luna asked.

"Yes, Host. This System does indeed include a cumulative daily check-in feature.

"Upon completing seven consecutive daily check-ins, the System will gift you one mystery box draw.

"Furthermore, the System will undergo an upgrade, leveling up from Version 1.0 to Version 2.0.

"Note: You must check in and complete the daily tasks for seven consecutive days to accumulate progress. If the streak is broken at any point, the progress will reset to zero."

"A mystery box draw? What can I get from it? Is it also spending allowance?" Luna asked.

"Apologies, but I can't reveal the specific prizes to you in advance.

"However, I can secretly tell you that the mystery box also contains some physical item rewards."

'What a cheeky System,' she thought.

Luna sat up straight. "Bring it on, let's draw!" She secretly wished to hit the jackpot.

The pointer slowly came to a halt on the largest slot: the 1x multiplier.

Today's spending allowance was 3,000 dollars.

"Don't be discouraged, Host. Your luck might just turn around tomorrow."

Luna felt a warm sensation in her chest. 'In my twenty-two years of life, this is the first time someone, wait, no, the first time a System actually cares about my feelings.'

She had always been completely alone. Perhaps this was the reason destiny had gifted her a System in the first place.

"System," she called out softly.

"What's wrong, Host?"

"If there comes a day when you can't give me money anymore, please don't leave me, okay?"

Even as she said it, Luna knew it was an extravagant hope.

If the System were human, she could support it herself, even without its Wealth Master features.

But the System required energy. Let alone an ordinary person like Luna, even the top scientists on Earth wouldn't know how to obtain that kind of energy.

If the Wealth Master System lost its functions, it meant it would definitely leave her.

"Why would you think that? This System hails from the highest, Level 11 cosmic civilization.

"Even if your current planet is destroyed, I can transfer you to another habitable planet to continue spending money.

"Therefore, you shouldn't worry so much. You should just focus on how to complete today's task."

After her experience of spending 30 thousand in two hours yesterday, today's 3 thousand was indeed a piece of cake.

However, Luna decided to stop overthinking. She decided to get some sleep first. Staying alive was the priority.

*****

Luna woke up feeling completely refreshed.

She rubbed her eyes and took a moment to fully wake up before remembering.

The unfamiliar room in front of her wasn't her cramped dorm, but a river-view hotel room that cost one thousand a night.

She wasn't dreaming. The Wealth Master System was real.

"Host, good morning. Hurry up and get out of bed to spend money."

'Well, what a beautiful urging sound,' she thought.

Before going to bed yesterday, Luna had already figured out exactly how she wanted to spend her money today.

After changing her clothes, she headed straight for the Michelin-starred restaurant at Grand Galleria.

She had always heard others raving about Michelin and Black Pearl guide restaurants, and today she absolutely had to try one for herself.

Choosing this particular location at Grand Galleria wasn't because Luna had a special preference for it.

It was because she only learned today that Michelin-starred restaurants actually required reservations, and the extremely popular ones needed to be booked months in advance.

In all of Ancelens, this was the only one where she could secure a table on the same day.

The moment Luna stepped into the restaurant, it felt like she was surrounded by a romantic sea of flowers. Both sides of every walkway were lined with freshly picked blooms, their petals still dotted with crystal-clear dewdrops.

Numerous uniquely styled paintings hung on the walls, clearly showcasing the owner's highly elegant taste.

A server led Luna to her seat. She noticed that every guest's table had a completely different arrangement.

In addition to a nameplate with her name on it, there was a mixed bouquet of Meravon blue orchids and lilies of the valley.

"This bouquet was specially designed based on your name. After your meal, you are welcome to take it with you," the server explained.

It was too elegant.

The 1,900 dollars set menu included a total of 14 chef's signature dishes.

The first to arrive were the aperitifs and sweet starters.

Luna took a light sip. The sweet, refreshing fruity aroma of lychee spread through her mouth, instantly awakening her taste buds.

The three starters were exquisite and bite-sized. The duck liver pâté was sweet, sour, and perfectly smooth, while the caviar tart was savory, fresh, and crispy.

What surprised her the most was her first time trying melon paired with mackerel; it was unexpectedly delicious.

Chapter 1 Half a Mil, for Your Funeral

"Helen, the Morgans have raised you for 20 years. We've done more than enough. Sign the papers."

Jacob Morgan slid a thick stack of legal documents across the mahogany desk toward her.

Then, with a detached calm, he pushed a check across the polished surface. "Here's 500,000 dollars," he said flatly. "Consider it compensation. After all, we were father and daughter once."

Helen stood before the desk, the faint scent of lavender drifting in the air. A cold, derisive smile touched her eyes.

"Five Hundred thousand?" Her lips curved in a mocking arc. "To buy out two decades? Am I really that cheap in your eyes, Jacob? Or is this paltry sum all the mighty Morgans can actually scrape together?"

Three months ago, the Morgans had discovered Helen wasn't their biological daughter. They'd spent a small fortune to track down and finally found her—Lydia Morgan.

The real daughter of the Morgans had come home.

With their biological daughter now home, Helen, who had been dumped in the countryside as a child and only brought back four years ago, had become disposable trash.

"What? Five hundred grand's not good enough for you?" Sienna Blyth's face twisted with disgust, her manicured nails tapping sharply against the desk. "Your real family in that backwater town would need years to earn that! Stop being ungrateful and sign it! Once you do, you and the Morgans are through. Clean break!"

"Mom, please, don't say that ... " It was true what they said—money refines a person. Two months back in the mansion and she was already picture-perfect: hair curled to perfection, wearing designer tweed and diamond earrings that sparkled under the sunlight.

Her face was sweet and gentle, her voice laced with honey. "Helen has been accustomed to a certain life for so many years, living in a mansion as a wealthy heiress. It's only natural she'd be reluctant to go back to ... rural living."

She'd heard all about Helen's origins. Dirt poor.

A bedridden grandfather, a deadbeat unemployed father, and three brothers who couldn't afford to get married.

The whole family was practically a nest of parasites.

Helen would probably be sold off for money the moment she returned.

A smug satisfaction curled inside Lydia. She deliberately emphasized the word "rural," all while studying Helen's reaction.

When her eyes fell on Helen's face, exquisitely stunning even in the harsh afternoon light, a flicker of pure envy shot through her.

She tilted her head, voice still syrupy-sweet. "I did hear your family lives in one of those ... low-income neighborhoods? But still, blood's thicker than water. Better to go home to your real family than staying here where you have to beg for kindness, right?"

She stressed the word "real," lacing it with triumphant glee.

The whole performance was so theatrically pathetic it almost made Helen laugh aloud. "Is that what happens when you spend too long in the gutter, Lydia? Forgetting basic manners now that you're back among the civilized?"

Helen's cool gaze swept over her. "Can't complain; I suppose it's in the blood."

That one line sliced clean through all three Morgans at once.

Sienna's face went red. She slammed a palm on the desk and shot to her feet, ready to explode.

But Helen's composed voice cut in. "I'll sign."

Sienna's tirade died in her throat.

Chapter 1 Exiled At 18

Beastfolk Empire, outside the Foxworth family estate.

The massive bronze gates stood over 12 feet tall. Carved into them was the Foxworths' crest—a fox howling at the moon, five tails spread behind it; dark red energy stones were set into its eyes. At that moment, they seemed to stare coldly down at the steps below.

Renna Foxworth was dragged by the arms by two guards and thrown out like a bag of trash.

Her body flew through the air in an arc before she miserably slammed onto the gravel-covered driveway. Her knees struck the sharp stones, sending a burning pain through her legs.

A second later, her suitcase came flying after her. It slammed into the ground, bounced once, then rolled several feet before the cheap latch gave way with a crack. The case sprang open, scattering a handful of old clothes across the dirt. The fabric was faded from years of washing, with loose threads hanging from the seams.

Renna lay face-down on the rough gravel. The skin on her palms had been scraped raw. Tiny beads of blood mixed with dust and sand. Then everything went black.

A woman stood just inside the gate. She wore a perfectly tailored dark purple robe embroidered with silver patterns along the hem. The outfit made her look elegant, powerful, and distant.

Her features resembled Renna's slightly, but her eyes held nothing except cold indifference. She looked at Renna the way someone might look at a broken tool. Without emotion. Without pity.

Amber Foxworth. The current head of the Foxworths. The family's greatest prodigy with S-rank mental power. A talent every major power in the Empire wanted to recruit.

Standing inside the gate, she was bathed in sunlight. The doorway cast a sharp shadow across the ground, dividing the two women like they belonged to different worlds.

"An FF-rank mental ability." Amber's voice was calm and steady. "We don't need trash like you." She sounded as if she were stating a simple fact. Nothing more.

She didn't even bother looking at Renna again but simply walked away. The hem of her robe fluttered lightly behind her.

Renna remained on the ground. A loud ringing filled her head. It felt as if a hundred drums were pounding beside her ears. Then memories came rushing in like a broken dam.

Beastworld. Females. Mental power. Comforting mental breakdowns. Mates.

Countless pieces of information crashed through her mind. Images flashed one after another. At three years old, she had been carried to a testing tablet for her first test. The stone had burst with bright red light. The excitement on everyone's faces had instantly turned into disappointment.

After that, she had been abandoned in a quiet corner of the estate. For more than ten years, no one cared about her. No one taught her anything. Sometimes servants remembered to bring her food. Sometimes they forgot. When they forgot, she simply went hungry.

And just today, she had been taken away for another test. The same red light appeared. Her rank was unmistakable. FF Rank.

Then she was thrown out.

It took Renna several minutes to untangle the flood of memories and piece together the original Renna's memories. When the pain in her body returned, she finally accepted the truth. She had transmigrated.

This was Beastworld. The intelligent races living on the continent were known as beastfolk. They were divided into males and females.

Male beastfolk were born powerful. Many awakened unique abilities. Their bodies were strong enough to rival steel. In their beast forms, they could tear through almost anything. But their strength came with a dangerous flaw.

Every time they fought or used their abilities, they slowly consumed their mental energy. Inside every male beastfolk was a mental field, fragile as a house built on the edge of a cliff. The more power they used, the more that foundation crumbled away.

Once a male's mental stability score passed the critical threshold, he would lose control and enter a berserk state. His reason would be swallowed completely by his wild instincts. Friend or foe no longer mattered. He would rampage until he either collapsed from exhaustion or was put down on the spot.

Female beastfolk, on the other hand, almost never awakened any real combat abilities. Instead, they possessed the rare gift of mental soothing. A female's mental power was like a gentle hand. It could pull a male back from the edge of collapse, calm his raging mind, and smooth over the cracks tearing through his mental state.

High-ranking females could soothe several males at once. On the battlefield, they were the true backbone of the Empire.

The Foxworths were a perfect example. Their bloodline was famous for producing females with powerful mental abilities. The weakest among them possessed at least B-rank mental power.

The problem was that families like the Foxworths were incredibly rare. Females were even rarer.

The numbers were ridiculously low. Across the Beastworld, the ratio of females to males was roughly one to 300. In other words, for every 300 male beastfolk, there was only one female.

For that reason, the law clearly stated that every adult female must have at least three beast mates.

Not a privilege, but a responsibility. Every high-ranking female was a walking source of mental support. Their very existence was considered a strategic resource of the Empire.

An S-rank female was an asset every major power fought to claim. An A-rank female was treated like royalty wherever she went. B-rank females were highly sought after.

As for C-rank and D-rank females, they might not attract the same attention, but they would never have to worry about food, money, or a place to live. Any small or mid-sized family would gladly welcome them and provide a comfortable life.

But F-rank? That was considered worthless.

And the original Renna was an FF-rank.

Worse than worthless.

The moment her second test ended today, her family threw her out without a second thought. They did not care that she was still young and should have been under her family's protection.

They called her a fraud and sent her away, never knowing she was the real heiress they’d stolen from. When she returned, the entire elite circle trembled at her name.

=====

Chapter 1 Kicked Out Of Home

Nicolas Kirk's hand trembled as he flung the bowl at Rylie Kirk's feet, the crash ringing out across the room. Bl**d stained his lips while fury contorted his face.

"How could you do such a thing? What kind of sister would wish harm on her own brother?" he said, his words splintered by a violent cough.

"I should've listened to Stacey. She warned me about the poison!"

Rylie's expression flickered as she looked down at the ruined medicine, disappointment shadowing her features.

"I keep telling you, Nicolas, there's nothing deadly in the medicine. It contains an ingredient that purges the old bl**d, which you need if you ever want to recover," said Rylie.

Watching the medicine soak into the carpet, she winced inwardly, knowing how much effort and money she had poured into finding the right remedy for her eldest brother.

Stacey Kirk, the adopted daughter of the Kirk family, stood at Nicolas' side, her arms wrapped protectively around the medical text that she always carried.

She raised her voice, tears prickling at her eyes. "Please, Rylie, just stop making excuses. Leland ran tests on your concoction, and the results were dangerous. It's full of toxins!"

Cold skepticism crossed Rylie's face as she met Stacey's gaze. "You complete f**l," Rylie said.

"There isn't a medicine in this world that's entirely safe, especially not for what Nicolas is suffering from. The only way to fight back is with a powerful dose. There's nothing mild that could work on him."

Stacey could barely contain her tears, her voice quivering as she pleaded with Rylie, "He's spitting up bl**d right in front of us, and you're still insisting this is the only way? We're just medical students, Rylie, not miracle workers. Don't put your pride above Nicolas' life."

Taking a shaky step toward Rylie, Stacey continued, her words thick with emotion, "I found a well-known specialist. He's already written a prescription that might actually save Nicolas. Admit you were wrong and let us try. Please."

Nicolas doubled over, hacking up bl**d, and fixed Rylie with a glare that burned with outrage.

"It wasn't enough that you fed me that mystery medicine, now you turn on Stacey too? If you had even a fraction of her compassion, things wouldn't have come to this," Nicolas snapped. "Apologize to her, right now!"

Rylie straightened her shoulders and faced Nicolas with an unflinching stare. "All I ever wanted was to help you. I have done nothing that warrants an apology. I owe her nothing."

Desperation twisted Nicolas' features as he scrambled to his feet, snatching a whip from the wall in a blind rage.

"That's it! You're going to push me into an early grave! Why can't you ever listen?" he shouted. "Get out! I don't want you here!"

Before the whip could lash out, Rylie shifted away, nimble and unafraid.

From the upper landing, someone's measured steps echoed, and a battered backpack landed at her toes.

Leland Kirk, her second brother, stood at the base of the stairs. His tone cut through the air.

"Let's lay it out plainly. You're just an outsider, and Stacey is our true sibling. We've kept this secret for your sake, hoping you wouldn't resent her, but today, we see just how cruel you can be. If you refuse to admit your mistakes, pack your things. We'll announce Stacey as our one and only sister. Your fortune goes with your name -- you'll have to go back to your birth family and live as they do."

Such a threat didn't faze Rylie. Years of living in the Kirk household had worn down her patience. However, the revelation that she was not bound to them by bl**d came almost as a blessing.

Her ch**t felt unburdened, lighter than it had in years. There was no need to waste any more of her knowledge or talent on a house that never valued her.

The thought had struck her as odd -- she always wondered why she stood out among siblings who never seemed to measure up.

"That suits me just fine." Rylie's voice held not a hint of regret.

With quick fingers, she snatched up the backpack, plucked a candy from the bowl, and let it dissolve on her tongue as she strode for the door.

Left in the hallway, Stacey could not hold back a grin of satisfaction. Five years of plotting had finally paid off.

With Rylie gone, she would be the Kirk family's prized daughter, adored and indulged by her brothers.

Still, she could not resist a final performance.

She darted after Rylie, her voice ringing out. "Rylie! Don't leave like this! You'll always have a place here! Please, don't make me feel like the villain. I'm begging you!"

Nicolas interjected sharply, "Enough, Stacey! Let her go. A heart as cold as hers belongs to her own impoverished family. She never deserved this home."

A cold laugh escaped Rylie when she overheard him. Was everyone in the Kirk family so easily fooled?

Did they genuinely believe that it was sheer luck that had brought Nicolas back to health, gotten him out of bed, and made him able to walk again?

Without her hands and her medicine, they'd see soon enough just how far good fortune could take him.

Drawing the hood over her head, Rylie let the breeze whip strands of hair across her vivid lips, a flicker of scorn glinting in her eyes.

...

Far away, inside the bustling capital city of Kouhron, the imposing Owen Mansion stood as a symbol of influence and wealth.

Within that opulent hall, Kendrick Owen struck his ornate cane against the marble floor. "You all promised she'd been located. Why is she still not here?"

Arrayed around him stood his three grandsons -- each a commanding presence in his own right, men whose names carried enough weight that even the highest government officials paid their respects.

Yet, despite their stature, the shadow of their missing youngest sister dimmed their confidence, and their faces bore deep lines of worry.

"Our search stalled in Crolens. According to the latest report, she spent some years in a mountain village, but after being trafficked, her whereabouts vanished from every record."

Agony creased Kendrick's expression. "For eighteen years, that child has been gone. Imagine the hardships she's endured in a place like that."

"Grandfather, there's been progress. One of the kidnappers came forward and claimed she was later sold to a rich woman in Crolens. We only need a bit more time -- her discovery is within reach."

Relief softened Kendrick's features. No trace of irritation remained as he rose from his chair, hope radiating from his gaze.

"In that case, let's not delay. I'm coming with you. We'll search together."

Chapter 2 Versatile Rylie

A heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, Rylie walked out of the Kirk residence without a backward glance, heading directly to the parking lot where her prized, limited-edition motorcycle waited.

Years of downplaying her skills and masking her sharpness for the sake of the Kirk family's fragile peace were finally behind her. Freedom now tasted real.

Down the city streets, her motorcycle roared, slicing through the afternoon air until she arrived at the imposing entrance of a gated community near a military compound.

At the checkpoint, security protocols ran tight as always, but the instant Rylie's motorcycle appeared, the guard broke into a broad smile and opened the gate wide.

"Miss Kirk, your visits are always a welcome surprise."

With a practiced motion, Rylie flipped up her visor and gave a polite nod.

Inside, cherry blossom petals scented the breeze, and several retired officers meandered beneath the blooming trees. Spotting her approach, they made their way over.

"Look who's back -- Rylie, I was just about to see you. I've run out of those pills you mixed up for me last time."

Her motorcycle came to a halt as she peeled off her helmet, her gentle features drawing nods of approval.

"You can swing by the clinic tomorrow. I'll be here all day if you need a refill."

Catching sight of another familiar face, she gestured toward an elderly man still sporting a neck brace. "As for you, I've told you before that brace is only making things worse for your neck."

An embarrassed grin spread across his face as he removed the brace. "Would you at least allow me to try a few easy exercises?"

"Take it slow, and don't do anything reckless," said Rylie, stepping inside an apartment building.

Long ago, her connection to this community began unexpectedly. During a visit to the Military General Hospital to buy medicine, she had encountered an elderly man suffering from epilepsy.

With a prescription that targeted his condition at the root, she gave him relief that no other doctor had managed.

That stranger turned out to be a celebrated, now-retired clinical specialist. Awed by Rylie's abilities, he insisted on calling her his savior and offered her an apartment in the community as thanks.

Easy rapport filled the community, and its prime location made life peaceful and convenient. In time, Rylie had come to see this place as the home that she had always needed.

As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, lights flickered on and a soft, familiar mechanical voice greeted her.

"Welcome home, Rylie. You've been gone for three days. There are two encrypted voicemails waiting, your email inbox has new messages, and your bath is ready."

Her backpack landed with a thud on the floor, sending the zipper flying open. A thick bundle of cash spilled out, scattering across the entryway.

She stared at the pile of bills, guessing that it must total around ten grand. The sound that escaped her lips was half a chuckle, half a sneer.

Was that really all the Kirks thought she was worth, tossing money her way like she was some beggar?

"Play my messages," she said.

Britton Davies' voice filled the room first, recorded late the previous evening.

"Hey, Rylie, registration for the relay's almost up -- two practice runs down already! Are you honestly still clinging to the Kirks? For real? I've been wiping the floor with Phillip these past few days!"

A slight arch in her brow gave away her recognition.

Phillip Kirk, her third brother, ran one of the most exclusive racing clubs in the world, churning out champions and stacking up prize money.

Long nights spent behind the wheel were her secret, pushing his team to one victory after another.

Yet each season, as the finals approached, Phillip would swap her out for Stacey, handing over the glory and the gold.

Year after year, her skills powered their success, but when the spotlight appeared, Stacey was ushered in for the celebration, leaving Rylie invisible to the crowd.

Trophies meant little to her. In those days, protecting her family's ego mattered more. But now...

A grin spread across her face as she called Britton. "I want half of the prize money."

Whatever disappointment Britton had felt vanished at once.

"Done! Phillip's team doesn't scare me. I've mapped out every move they make, but when you're behind the wheel, nobody can keep up. I never lose to him, Rylie -- I always lose to you!"

A small laugh escaped Rylie as she let out a soft sigh. "You've noticed it too. Funny how obvious it is, but they still manage to overlook everything I do."

Curiosity lit Britton's voice as he switched topics.

"By the way, something else came up. There's been chatter on the dark web about the Owen family -- the wealthiest folks in Kouhron. Word is, they're here in Crolens, searching for their missing daughter and throwing around serious money for information. Think we should get involved?"

Without hesitation, Rylie answered, "No interest. I have finals coming up, so I'll pass. See you."

On Britton's end, confusion crept in. Of all the reasons to bail, exams were the last thing that he would expect from Rylie.

As far as he could recall, she never even showed up for tests. The truth was, she was the one who wrote them.

Chapter 3 Invitation

Rylie moved on to the next voicemail, which turned out to be from Rory Carter, one of the most respected physicians at the Military General Hospital.

A note of flattery colored Rory's tone as he spoke.

"Rylie, I'm really in a bind. One of my old friend's sons has battled a rare illness for years, and his health is declining again. Those special pills you provided aren't helping him any longer. Is there any chance you could stop by and take a look?"

Pulling out her phone, Rylie dialed him back. "I'll come to the clinic after classes tomorrow evening. Tell him to swing by then."

Rory cut in with an apologetic sigh, saying, "He's stuck in the VIP wing at the hospital, and strict protocols mean he can't leave."

Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Rylie pressed for details. "Enough stalling, Rory. Who's the patient?"

After a pause, Rory's voice dropped to a whisper, saying, "It's Brad Morgan. Yes, the grandson of General Sean Morgan. This isn't just any case -- the Morgans have discreetly reached out to top doctors nationwide. They're offering twenty million dollars to anyone who can cure him."

An arched eyebrow was all the reaction Rylie gave. The Morgan family was legendary, led by Sean Morgan, a formidable general. He was a man even the President deferred to.

The name Brad Morgan brought back memories -- she remembered reading about him in the news.

Only thirty and already hailed as the youngest admiral of his era, his string of military victories made headlines everywhere.

That revelation puzzled Rylie. Something could actually bring down a man like Brad?

Her next move was to check her encrypted contract inbox, and sure enough, there sat an official invitation from the National Healthcare Department.

Working under the codename "Healing Hand" on the dark web, she had built a reputation for tackling medical mysteries, and eventually gathered an elite team of her own.

It seemed natural that the government would come looking for her.

Keeping her composure, Rylie responded, "I see the message. That reward would tempt anyone. I'll take the case."

Meanwhile, word of the Morgan family's urgent call reached the Kirks as well. Leland sprang into action, already strategizing and dialing contacts in hopes of getting their foot in the door.

Always just out of reach of the upper society, the Kirk family saw this as their shot. Healing Brad would mean acceptance into the highest social circles at last.

Another rumor had set the city abuzz: the wealthiest family in Kouhron landed in Crolens, promising a mind-blowing sum to anyone who could lead them to their missing daughter.

People all across town had dropped everything, desperate for a piece of the reward.

...

The next day.

The shrill ring of her phone yanked Rylie from sleep. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed.

On the other end was Timothy Powell -- her research advisor -- barely masking his irritation.

"Rylie! I told you to handle the data organization, but you're nowhere in sight. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of my research group? Stacey was here right at dawn. I expect you here immediately!"

She offered no answer, choosing instead to end the call and glance at the clock.

The digits read ten o'clock.

Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Lost in old medical texts, she'd worked long hours sorting through ancient prescriptions, and now she had overslept, letting Timothy's task slip her mind.

A yawn escaped as she flipped open her laptop, sent off a quick email, and hurried to get ready. Backpack in tow, she stepped out the door.

Her motorcycle zipped through city streets until she pulled up in front of the university lab. After finding a spot, she strode toward the entrance.

She pulled out her pass and swiped it, only to watch the screen blink and flash a denial -- her access had been revoked.

At that moment, the lab doors swung open and out came Stacey, flanked by two upperclassmen from the research team.

A mocking smile twisted one guy's lips as he spotted her dilemma.

"So, Rylie, you think you're special? Turning up late, ditching your work -- looks like you finally pushed Professor Powell too far. Lab access is locked, and your days here are over!"

Chapter 1 Reborn Again, But Where's My System?!

Reginald Haines pressed his dagger against Margaret Greene's neck. The blade was sharp—it cut right through her skin. Blood ran down her pale throat and dripped onto the pure white carpet. The contrast was shocking.

She didn't fight back. She just stared quietly at the man she had spent three whole years simping for. His deep, handsome eyes held no pity at all—only pure, deep disgust.

"Margie," Reginald said, his voice sharper than the blade itself. "You're not even good enough to be Nicole's stand-in anymore."

Nicole Hobb leaned weakly against his chest. She put on her usual fake, whiny voice—sickly sweet and grating. "Oh, Margie, I'm so sorry. Don't be mad at Reginald. He just loves me too much. He can't stand to see me hurt in any way."

But at that moment, Margaret couldn't hear a word Nicole was saying. Because a loud death alarm was blaring inside her head.

"Warning. Warning. The male lead's affection has dropped to zero. The host is about to face forced elimination by the system. Please take immediate survival measures. Now."

Then came the desperate, almost-sobbing voice of her system, Vex—the one that had been with her for three years. "Host! Host, don't just stand there! Do something! Cry! Get on your knees and beg him to forgive you! We've taken knives for him, given him our blood—three years of this! He must still have some feelings for you!"

Feelings?

Margaret looked into Reginald's cold, empty eyes. And then she smiled.

To hell with survival measures.

To hell with the doormat mission!

To hell with being the substitute heroine.

She was done with this rotten story. She didn't want to serve it another single day.

Reginald frowned. He thought she was about to beg like usual, wagging an imaginary tail. But Margaret suddenly exploded. Out of nowhere, she found a fierce burst of strength. She didn't try to push the deadly blade away. Instead, she grabbed Reginald's wrist—the one holding the knife—and with a smile of pure defiance, she yanked it hard against her own carotid artery.

A gush of blood sprayed out.

It splashed across half of Reginald's face. His eyes—always so cold—finally cracked wide open with absolute shock.

As the intense pain exploded inside her, the world went quiet.

Let it all end here.

Margaret had been physically transported into this book world. If her body died, her soul would be erased by the system, too. That was the escape she had always wanted.

But then... she opened her eyes again.

The first thing she saw was a rippling, blue, water-like light moving across the ceiling. It was flashy and gaudy—the kind of thing a cold, minimalist man like Reginald would never like. She stared at it for three full seconds. Then it hit her: this was definitely not a hospital. And it didn't look like hell either.

What is this? Does the system believe in recycling garbage? Has it given me another suffering mission?

Margaret didn't even have the energy to sigh.

Can't I just die in peace?

She tried calling out in her mind, "Vex?"

But she got nothing, just a terrifying, empty silence.

Margaret continued, "Hey, don't play dead. I know you can hear me. Didn't I fail the mission? Erase me or do whatever you want. I don't care. So why are you playing dead now? And where the hell is this?"

Her shouts echoed through the hollow space in her mind... and then faded away.

Vex is gone?

That mechanical voice—the one that had stayed with her for three whole years, the one that secretly played funny videos for her after Reginald humiliated her, the one that clumsily said, "Don't cry, host. We'll try again next time," when Nicole set her up—was that voice really gone forever?

She was all alone again in this world.

But before she could swallow the bitterness rising in her throat, an extremely impatient voice hit her ears. "You're awake. So stop playing dead."

Margaret slowly moved her eyes.

Three men stood by her bed. Well, to be precise, they didn't look like ordinary "men." They were at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. Even stranger, they had unusual hair colors and eye colors. Their faces were handsome—like the top-tier cosplayers she had seen back in her original world.

But the vibe they gave off—that top-predator energy—pressed down on her weak body and made her chest feel tight. It was physically uncomfortable.

The silver-haired man on the left looked down at her like she was trash.

"How dare you pass out?" The man let out a mocking laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Who are you performing for? You think playing possum will buy you time?"

The blue-haired man in the middle seemed a bit gentler. He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, but his tone was just as cold. "Margaret, since you're awake, let's talk about the divorce."

The moment he spoke, Margaret froze.

How does he know that name?

She had only ever told Vex the name "Margaret." In the orphanage on Earth, she was called Margie Greene. Before she set the fire and died with her abusers, she was Margie. In the book world, as a three-year substitute simp, she was also Margie.

Only in the depths of countless torturous, sleepless nights had she told Vex, "When I finish this mission, I'm going to rename myself Margaret. Burn the past completely. Be reborn."

So how does this stranger know?

Margaret lifted her heavy eyelids and looked at them. The red-haired man on the right didn't even glance at her. He was busy fiddling with the high-tech Holo-bracelet on his wrist, looking annoyed. "Why are we wasting words on her?" he said. "Just get her to sign the papers and kick her out."

Then, as if one hand wasn't enough, he ripped the Holo-bracelet off his wrist and started tapping rapidly on the virtual screen with his long fingers.

Margaret frowned. Then she did something that made all three arrogant men pause at the same time. She closed her eyes, pulled up the blanket, and lay back down on the bed—peacefully.

"Vex?" She tried again in her mind—still dead silence.

"It's really gone..." she murmured to herself, offering a bitter, mocking smile.

Fine. At least it's quiet now.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through her mind with a flash of white light. Then memories—the "original host's" memories—came flooding in like shards of broken glass.

Interstellar Era... Beastmen Empire... S-class males... gene matching... a worthless female with C-class spiritual power...

She was still trying to process the massive amount of information, but the three noble S-class men in front of her clearly didn't have that much patience.

"Are you deaf?" The silver-haired beastman had completely lost his patience. He reached out with his large hand to grab her shoulder.

According to the memory fragments that had just flashed through her mind, this hot-tempered, silver-haired man was named Raikes Walker. His true form was a silver wolf, and he was also one of her legal "husbands."

Before his hand could touch her, Margaret threw off the blanket and sat up in bed like a shot.

The sudden movement—combined with the original host's already weak constitution—made her dizzy. Her vision went dark for a moment. But she gritted her teeth, swallowed down the weakness, and sat up straight. Her eyes stared directly at the three men—her "husbands."

"Just now," she said, her voice hoarse from dehydration. "You said something?"

Raikes' hand froze in midair. He frowned. "Yeah? So what?"

This woman usually didn't even dare to breathe loudly around us. How dare she look at me like that today?

"What did you say? Say it again." Margaret picked at her ear, looking completely serious. "I had ringing in my ears. Didn't catch it."

Kiran Noah, the blue-haired one in the middle who seemed the most patient, frowned slightly. He suppressed the strange feeling rising in his chest and repeated, "We hope you'll agree to dissolve the marriage. The forced match between you and us was a system error. Continuing this is torture for everyone."

PERSONAL NIGHTMARE

ASTRA

The hallway smelled like cheap body spray and desperation.

“Is the little piggy gonna cry?” one of the jerks sneered, his voice loud enough to bounce off the lockers. They circled the other girl like hyenas, poking her, laughing when she flinched. I recognized her shaky hands clutching her books to her chest. Same hands I’d seen on myself in the mirror too many times.

I pulled my own hoodie up higher, letting the fabric swallow my hair and half my face. Keep moving. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t exist. I knew the rules: if they saw me, I’d be next. And nobody—nobody—ever stepped in when it was my turn. Why should I play the hero now?

I took another step.

Then a pair of expensive sneakers planted right in front of me.

My heart slammed so hard I tasted it in my throat.

“Going somewhere, Trash-tra?”

That voice. Low, lazy, laced with venom. Zane freaking Ashton.

I froze. Of course it was him. The king of this hellhole. Star quarterback. Golden boy. My personal nightmare.

He wasn’t with the piggy crowd, he ran with his own pack. Four of them flanked him now, all smirks and letterman jackets, like they’d rehearsed this in the locker room. Zane tilted his head, dark hair falling just over one eye, and flicked my glasses with one long finger. They slid crooked across my nose.

“S-stop it,” I whispered.

He leaned in closer, mocking my stutter perfectly. “S-stop it.”

I hated how my whole body vibrated when he got this close like every nerve remembered every time he’d made me feel small.

I hated him. I hated the way the entire school worshipped him. Yes, objectively he was stupidly handsome: sharp jaw, bright green eyes, broad shoulders that filled out that jersey like it was custom-made. But to me? Ugly. Rotten. A walking red flag in cleats.

This wasn’t random hallway cruelty. This was personal.

I glared up at him through my smudged lenses, channeling every ounce of sass I kept buried deep. “Move.”

His lips curved not a smile, more like a predator deciding whether to play with its food. “Or what, Trash-tra? You gonna write me a strongly worded essay?”

His friends snickered. One muttered something about “nerd.” My cheeks burned, heat crawling up my neck, but I didn’t drop my stare. I’d learned early: looking away was surrender.

The bell rang suddenly, sharp and deafening. Everyone scattered like roaches, rushing to class. I tried to sidestep him.

Zane shifted, blocking me effortlessly. He leaned down until his breath brushed my ear, voice dropping so low only I could hear.

“Keep walking around like you’re invisible, and maybe one day you will be. But not to me.”

A shiver raced down my spine, cold, unwanted, electric. He straightened, smirking like he’d won something, then turned and sauntered off with his squad, leaving me rooted to the spot.

The hallway emptied.

I sucked in a shaky breath, fingers trembling as I fixed my glasses.

“It’s almost over,” I muttered to myself, the words barely audible. “Senior year. One more semester. Then I’m gone.”

But deep down, I knew better.

Guys like Zane didn’t let things end that easily.

The rest of the school day dragged on in a haze of lectures I barely heard and hallways I tried to disappear in. I kept my head down, hoodie up, weaving through corridors and avoiding any spot where Zane or his crew might appear. When the final bell finally rang, I didn’t wait around. I bolted out the side exit, grabbed my scooter from the rack, strapped on my helmet, and slung the delivery bag over my shoulder.

I kicked the scooter to life and headed straight to the strip on Maple Street, the busy stretch with the pizza place, burger joint, and coffee shop where orders came fastest after the school rush. It was my daily routine: park near the curb, open the app, wait for the first ping.

The city air hit different out here, cooler, freer. My regulars were the only people who ever smiled at me like I mattered.

“Extra pepperoni, just how you like it, Mrs. Hannah.” I handed over the warm box at her door. The old lady’s wrinkled face lit up.

“You’re a blessing, sweetheart. Here…” She pressed a crumpled five into my palm. “For your trouble.”

I tried to wave it off, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Thank you, Mrs. Hannah. Have a good night.”

Next stop: Mr. Brown’s apartment on the third floor. He opened the door in his usual bathrobe.

“Saved me from another frozen dinner,” he said, chuckling. “You’re keeping me alive, kid.”

I laughed—real, for the first time all day. “Happy to help, Mr. Brown.”

I ran four more deliveries before the sky turned bruised purple. My legs burned, my throat dry, but every dollar counted.

I had no idea this would be my last normal night.

When I finally pulled up to our building, my stomach dropped.

Everything was outside.

Mom’s faded quilt, my textbooks, clothes spilling from ripped bags, a cracked lamp, my old stuffed bear half-buried under papers, scattered across the cracked sidewalk like trash. A couple of little kids from the next building were poking through it, giggling as one held up my old sketchbook.

“No—drop that!” I lunged forward, snatching it back. My voice cracked. “That’s mine.”

They scampered off, laughing. I knelt, trying to gather things, hands shaking so badly I couldn’t hold anything.

The door creaked open. Mrs. Delgado, our landlady, stepped out with her arms crossed, face scrunched in a familiar frown.

“Two months, Astra. Two months behind. I warned you.”

I stood up fast, heart hammering. “Please, Mrs. Delgado. I’m working every day after school. My mom’s in the hospital, you know that. The bills….”

“I know.” She cut me off. “I feel for you, girl. But I got my own bills. This ain’t charity.”

People were staring, neighbors on balconies, a guy walking his dog. Heat crawled up my neck. I dug into my pocket, pulled out the crumpled bills from today’s tips, maybe forty bucks total and thrust them toward her.

“Please. This is all I have right now. Take it. I’ll get more tomorrow, I swear.”

She looked at the money like it insulted her, then snatched it anyway. “Not even close to what you owe.” She pocketed it and turned away. “You’ve got till morning to clear this mess off my property.”

The door slammed.

Chapter 1 Your Naughty Girl's Home

It was nine-thirty at night when Scarlett Lane keyed in the code and let herself in.

The living room was pitch dark, and only the faint outline of a tall figure was visible against the shadows. The familiar scent of his body wash hung in the air.

Scarlett dropped her bag, loosened the belt of her trench coat, and sauntered up to him, hips swaying. Her arms looped around his neck. One leg slid up to brush along his thigh.

"Honey," she murmured, "your naughty girl's home."

He gave no answer. The shift in his breathing said everything.

A flirty smile crept across her face. She caught his wrist, guided his hand inside her open coat, and walked him backward step by step.

The moment she'd landed, she'd slipped into a changing room at the airport and thrown this outfit on, all to surprise her billionaire boyfriend.

Right in the middle of that thought, his arm cinched tighter around her waist.

Scarlett raised both arms and laced them behind his neck. "Carry me, honey."

He scooped her up on cue. Her palm slid down and pressed flat against his abs.

'Damn, it's been a while, and he's gotten even more cut,' Scarlett thought, biting back a grin.

Her fingers traced the ridges, and she couldn't resist teasing him. "Honey, your abs keep getting harder every time. So hot."

Behind her, the door lock chirped open, and the sound froze her in place.

Half a second later, she snapped into motion. She slid down out of his arms and pulled her outfit back into place as fast as her hands could move.

The front door swung open. The living room lights snapped on right after.

Scarlett looked up. The man walking through the doorway was Shawn Taylor. Her brain stalled out. Her shoulders locked up.

'Shawn?' Scarlett thought. 'So the man I was wrapped around two seconds ago—'

"What're you doing here?" Shawn looked her up and down.

Scarlett snapped back into the moment. She walked straight up to him, threw her arms around him, and let her voice go soft. "I missed you, honey."

Chapter 1

In the three years since I drew my last breath, it had snowed every June and brought devastating droughts every October.

The entire pack was barely holding on, and rumors spread like wildfire. Everyone believed the Moon Goddess was punishing them for my sins.

So Alpha Raymond Barrington–my ex–mate–brought in a pack Shaman to crush my soul once and for all.

When they reached the cabin where they had once kept me imprisoned, they found the word "WRONGED" smeared across the walls in blood.

Raymond immediately pulled Emilee Garza–my sister–behind him to shield her, disgust written all over his face.

"Brittany is so vicious," he muttered. "Even in death, she's still trying to scare Emmy. If I knew she was still playing games from the grave, I would've fed her carcass to the rogues and let them scatter her bones."

My parents hated me just as much as he did. They both agreed I didn't deserve to be their daughter, constantly complaining that I'd never been as obedient or gentle as Emilee.

But they didn't know that the one who killed me was none other than their sweet, kind–hearted Emilee. Three years ago, she'd personally torn me apart, gouged out my eyes, and left me there to bleed for seven days and nights until I finally died.

Now, my mutilated remains lay buried beneath the hawthorn tree that Raymond and I had planted together.

---

The air around the cabin felt heavy and grim. Even in broad daylight, it gave everyone the creeps.

Jacquelyn Clayton, the witch, frowned as she surveyed the scene.

"Luna Brittany is holding onto way too much resentment," she said. "Ordinary charms aren't going to suppress this. We have to exhume her and hammer one hundred and eight silver spikes through her remains. It will shred her soul forever. It's the only way to destroy her soul for good."

The method was so cruel that even Jacquelyn, usually all business, hesitated.

Raymond, however, agreed without a trace of doubt. "Do it. I don't care if we have to dig her up. As long as it helps Emmy sleep at night, I'll do anything, even if it means cutting Brittany's remains to pieces."

He ordered two Omegas to head up the hill and dig up my coffin.

But before the men could step out of the cabin, Emilee emerged from behind Raymond and blocked the doorway. Tears pooled in her eyes as she gently shook her head.

"Alpha, Brittany was my sister," she said softly. "Whatever mistakes she made, they're in the past. Now that she's gone, we should let her rest in peace."

Raymond's face softened. He smiled and patted the back of her hand.

"You're always so kind," he murmured. "But I am never giving Brittany another chance to hurt you. I stripped her of her Luna title and locked her up years ago, and today, I'm destroying her soul once and for all."

Emilee nodded and buried her face in his chest, careful to hide the flicker of unease in her eyes.

Over in the corner, Jacquelyn lit a bundle of sage to prep for the ritual.

Up on the hill, the Omegas complained nonstop as they dug for my body. It had been three years. Thick weeds had overgrown the small, neglected mound that marked my grave. The crude tombstone bore words carved in Raymond's own hand.

"In Memory of Brittany Garza, My Sinful Ex–Mate."

One of the Omegas spat on the grave and kicked the stone aside. "A cheating bitch like her doesn't even deserve a name."

Another stomped on it hard. "She's the reason the Moon Goddess cursed us with years of drought. If it weren't for this bitch, my wolf and I wouldn't be so weak, and I wouldn't be stuck as a low–ranking Omega."

"You joined late, so you missed it. Alpha Raymond used to dote on her. And how did she repay him? By framing her own sister for sleeping around. What a monster."

They kept hurling insults as they worked, venting their frustration on the patch of earth. Before long, the soil was cleared, revealing a warped, rotting coffin.

The lead Omega hawked and spat on it. Then they dragged it down the hill–kicking and hauling it the entire way–before dumping it at Raymond's feet.

For a split second, a conflicted look crossed Raymond's face–maybe three years really had dulled the edge of his hatred. But the second he noticed the carved hawthorn blossoms on the lid, his eyes went ice–cold.

"A cheating whore like her doesn't deserve to be associated with something so pure," he snapped. "Break it open!"

With a loud crack, the coffin splintered apart, dust billowing into the air.

But inside, there was no decaying body like they'd imagined. Instead, it contained only a pair of severed arms, pinned beneath jagged stones.

Chapter 1
The staff member shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t change the seats now. The match is about to start any minute.”
-------
Our family were clutching our hard-won World Cup tickets. When we finally made it to the very last row, we stopped dead in our tracks. The middle seat was totally wrecked — the cushion was torn open and the metal frame was showing. Completely unusable.
Mom’s face turned bright red. “What the hell is this?!” she shouted angrily. “We paid so much money for these tickets!” She grabbed my brother and stormed off to find the staff. Before leaving, she looked back at me with her usual worried expression. “Scarlett, stay right next to Raphael, okay? Don’t wander off. It’s too crowded here. If you feel hot or uncomfortable, tell me right away.”
I nodded quietly, looking like the perfect daughter. But inside, I was secretly thrilled. Finally… some time alone with Raphael.
I stayed calm on the surface, but my mind was spinning. Ever since Mom got remarried, Raphael had become the strong center of our home. He was a retired professional soccer player — broad shoulders, narrow waist, those perfect eight-pack abs you could see when he stretched, and powerful, muscular thighs that looked like they were carved from stone. More than anything, what kept me up at night was that one accidental moment I saw him in the shower. That huge, thick cock hanging heavy between his legs, veins wrapping around it like twisted ropes, so long and thick that even one hand couldn’t fully wrap around it. That image kept coming back to me again and again in the middle of the night, making me touch myself while feeling so guilty and so turned on at the same time.
Mom paced back and forth, still complaining. She turned to check on me twice, pressing her hand to my forehead. “Scarlett, your face is red. Is it too crowded? Are you okay?”
I tried to stay calm on the outside, but my heart was racing wildly. “Mom, it’s fine,” I said softly. “There’s no time left. Let’s just watch the game first. We can deal with the seats after it ends.”
Mom sighed, looking defeated. “Alright…” She glanced at Raphael. “You’re okay with her sitting on your lap?”
Raphael nodded. “Of course.”
My brother offered, “Mom, you can sit on my lap,” but Mom shook her head. “No, the game is too long. I’m too heavy — I’d crush you.”
So the decision was made.
I stood up, my pulse hammering in my ears. I walked the short distance to Raphael and turned around. The moment I lowered myself onto his lap, a huge wave of shame washed over me.
His thighs felt incredibly firm and hot, like solid iron wrapped in warm skin. I could feel every powerful muscle through his pants. As my ass settled fully onto him, his broad chest pressed tightly against my back, radiating intense heat. His breathing grew heavier, warm and masculine against my ear. That thick, intoxicating male scent completely surrounded me, making my whole body go soft. My legs trembled slightly. My soft ass was pressed right against the root of his thighs, and I could already feel the area near his crotch slowly getting warmer… and harder.
Every single point of contact felt electric — the hard ridges of his thigh muscles under me, the steady rise and fall of his strong chest against my back, the warmth of his stomach pressing into me, and his big hands resting on my hips to steady me.
I tried so hard to sit normally and look innocent, but my mind was spinning. Oh god… I’m really sitting on Raphael’s lap… I can feel him getting hard under me… This is so wrong… but it feels so fucking good…
The referee’s whistle blew. The game started.
The entire stadium erupted in a deafening roar. The seats shook violently. Fans behind me kept bumping their knees into my back, pushing me forward again and again, pressing me even tighter against Raphael’s growing bulge.
The air felt thick and sticky. Someone spilled beer nearby, mixing a warm yeasty smell with all the sweat around us. I pretended to watch the field, but my heart was exploding. All I could focus on was Raphael — every twitch of his muscles, every shift of his body, and the way his thick cock was slowly waking up underneath me, getting hotter and harder against my ass.
Raphael leaned close, his lips almost touching my ear. In a low, calm voice he started explaining the game. “See that formation? They’re playing a 4-3-3 today…”
His warm breath rushed into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. My pussy tightened greedily.
Mom is sitting in the row in front of us… and I’m on Raphael’s lap feeling his cock getting hard… This is so shameful… but I’m so excited… I don’t want this to stop…
But inside, I was melting. Raphael’s hands stayed on my hips, holding me a little tighter. His breathing grew deeper. And under me, his thick cock continued to swell, pressing insistently against my ass with growing heat.
Chapter 2
Whenever the fans behind us jumped up to cheer, the entire row would shake. I used those moments. First, I let myself lean forward just a tiny bit, my ass lifting slightly off him for a second. Then, slowly… so slowly… I pressed my soft ass back down again. I could clearly feel Raphael’s cock inside his pants starting to react. At first it was just a warm, heavy thickness, but gradually it began to swell. The thick, long outline hardened, pushing upward until it nestled right between my ass cheeks, separated only by our thin clothes. It felt like a thick, burning-hot iron rod slowly waking up beneath me.
I repeated the motion, even slower this time.
Lean forward slightly... feel that thick, pulsating shaft slide down along my crack... pause for a breath... then press my soft ass back down with deliberate slowness, letting my cheeks squeeze around his growing thickness. The friction was exquisite. The heat of his cock increased with every tiny movement, the blunt, swollen head starting to nudge right against my most sensitive, soaking spot.
The environment made everything ten times more intense. The stadium was a pressure cooker of noise and heat. Fans kept standing and cheering, causing the seats to rock violently. Each jolt was a perfect excuse to grind my weight onto him. The air was thick with the smell of spilled beer and testosterone.
I "accidentally" rested my hand on his rock-hard thigh, my fingers inching inward, feeling the massive muscles twitch under my touch.
Raphael’s breathing was no longer calm; it was a ragged, heavy sound that made my hair stand on end. He leaned closer, his lips dragging against my earlobe, and whispered in a voice that vibrated through my entire skull:
“Scarlett... stop moving. Or Daddy is going to lose control right here in front of your mother.”
His words were like a lightning bolt to my pussy. I froze, but then I felt it—a sudden, violent pulse from the monster beneath me.
To my right, I felt a heavy gaze. The handsome Italian guy was no longer just glancing; he was watching us with a dark, knowing smirk.
Despite my obsession with Raphael, I couldn’t ignore him—he looked like a movie star with features so sharp they felt dangerous. His eyes traveled from my flushed neck down to where my hips were fused to Raphael’s lap.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face. He knew. He could see exactly what I was doing to my stepfather, and he was enjoying every second of it.
Inside my head, everything was screaming. Mom is right there... her head is barely six inches away...
But instead of pulling away, a fresh wave of uncontrollable desire surged through me, pooling low and heavy in my belly. My body betrayed my fear; my hips began to move on their own, rolling in slow, agonizing circles against him. I couldn't stop. The shame of being watched by a stranger only made the friction feel more electric.
I tilted my head back, my lips brushing against Raphael's jaw as I let out a broken, needy whimper.
"Then don't control yourself, Daddy," I breathed, my voice thick with lust and desperation. "Please... I’m so wet for you."
The air between us practically combusted.
I felt Raphael’s large, calloused hands suddenly tighten on my waist. His fingers dug into my skin, pulling me back with a sharp, possessive jerk. I felt his thick cock lunge upward, stabbing hard against my entrance through the thin fabric of my skirt.
“You want this, don't you?” he growled, his hand beginning to slide dangerously high up my inner thigh, heading straight for my wet panties. “You want me to take you right here while everyone watches?”
The referee blew a long, sharp whistle. The crowd surged forward. In the chaos, Raphael’s thumb hooked the edge of my lace...”

Chapter 1

The older boy next door raised me with the utmost care, treating me like a porcelain doll.

Every time he brought me to a party, his friends would tease him about raising a child bride.

He never denied it. He just looked at me, his eyes brimming with pure indulgence.

I secretly swore to myself that when I grew up, I would give him everything.

So, on the night of my 18th birthday party, I decided to offer myself to him.

But he was drunk. And instead of pulling me close, he slapped me hard across the face.

"Kinsley Cole," he spat. "Do you think I'm such an animal that I'd fall for the girl I raised with my own hands?"

After that night, he pulled away.

To completely sever my attachments, he went as far as marrying my own sister.

That was the exact moment I knew.

It was time to let go.

The banquet hall blazed with light. I gripped my champagne flute, my knuckles turning bone-white against the glass.

It wasn't the lavish crowd making my stomach knot. It was the semi-transparent text floating in mid-air right in front of me.

Bullet comments.

[Girls, pay attention! This Kinsley Cole is the doomed side character in the book. In three months, she'll be strangled to death by Lior Harrington.]

[For real? Doesn't Lior spoil her the most?]

[Spoil, my ass. The male lead only sees the side character as a sister.]

I lowered my lashes, letting the glowing letters drift around the edges of my vision like ghosts.

The first time they appeared, I nearly screamed in the middle of a lecture.

I thought I was losing my mind. But the flood of words that followed pieced together a truth that was as absurd as it was cruel:

I was just a doomed side character in a novel. And the male lead, Lior Harrington, would eventually kill me with his own hands. All for the sake of the female lead—my own sister, Blair Cole.

But in the past, Lior used to reserve all his devotion just for me.

Five years my senior, he was the eldest son of the Harrington family, close friends with the Coles.

I was twelve when we first met.

He stood in the sunlight in a crisp white shirt, leaning down to hand me an ice cream cone.

"Kinsley," he smiled. "Call me Lio."

That vanilla ice cream melted all over my fingers, but that moment burned itself into my memory for ten whole years.

During my middle school finals, a severe fever landed me in the hospital. He canceled his board meetings, rushed over, and stayed by my bed for three days and three nights.

When I woke up in a haze, he was slumped against the mattress, fast asleep. A cooling gel patch was still gripped tightly in his hand.

When I boarded in high school, he showed up at the school gates every single Friday without fail, the trunk of his car packed with my favorite snacks and fruits.

"Your brother treats you so well," my roommate used to sigh with envy.

"He's not my real brother," I would brush it off. But my chest would bloom with a sugary sweetness.

On the day college acceptances came out, he checked the results before I even could. When he called, his voice actually trembled.

"Kinsley, you got into the university here. Come live with me. I will take care of you."

My freshman year, he brought me to the Harrington mansion.

"From now on, this is your home too."

But now, staring at his fingers tightly interlaced with my sister Blair's, my chest felt utterly hollow.

No anger. Just a dead calm.

"Kinsley, what are you spacing out for?" Blair's voice drifted from beside me, dripping with honey.

I looked up into that delicate, flawlessly innocent face.

Dressed in a pale pink gown, she clung to Lior's arm. They looked like a match made in heaven.

On stage, the host announced the main event of the night.

Lior slipped his hand free from Blair's. Under the shocked gazes of the crowd, he strode slowly to the center of the stage.

Dressed in a custom black suit, his sharp, cold eyes swept the room before locking onto Blair.

The corners of his lips tipped up.

"Tonight, I want to take this opportunity to do something I've been thinking about for a long time."

His low, magnetic voice rumbled through the speakers, washing over the entire hall.

Under the blinding spotlight, he dropped to one knee. He pulled a diamond ring from his jacket pocket and looked right at Blair.

"Marry me."

Thunderous applause erupted.

At the exact same time, lines of glowing text dragged across my vision:

[The iconic scene is here! The male lead proposes to the female lead, and the doomed side character Kinsley is shaking with anger in the back.]

[Watch out, Kinsley's villain arc starts now. She's going to slap the female lead right here.]

[The male lead is just going to feel more protective over our baby Blair. Do it, Kinsley!]

The old me would have charged forward without a second thought.

But in this moment, I just stood perfectly still.

"Kinsley, say something. Aren't you closest to your Lio?" someone nudged my shoulder.

Every eye in the room snapped toward me.

Including Lior's. He was still kneeling on the stage.

Reborn Again, But Where's My System?!

Reginald Haines pressed his dagger against Margaret Greene's neck. The blade was sharp—it cut right through her skin. Blood ran down her pale throat and dripped onto the pure white carpet. The contrast was shocking.

She didn't fight back. She just stared quietly at the man she had spent three whole years simping for. His deep, handsome eyes held no pity at all—only pure, deep disgust.

"Margie," Reginald said, his voice sharper than the blade itself. "You're not even good enough to be Nicole's stand-in anymore."

Nicole Hobb leaned weakly against his chest. She put on her usual fake, whiny voice—sickly sweet and grating. "Oh, Margie, I'm so sorry. Don't be mad at Reginald. He just loves me too much. He can't stand to see me hurt in any way."

But at that moment, Margaret couldn't hear a word Nicole was saying. Because a loud death alarm was blaring inside her head.

"Warning. Warning. The male lead's affection has dropped to zero. The host is about to face forced elimination by the system. Please take immediate survival measures. Now."

Then came the desperate, almost-sobbing voice of her system, Vex—the one that had been with her for three years. "Host! Host, don't just stand there! Do something! Cry! Get on your knees and beg him to forgive you! We've taken knives for him, given him our blood—three years of this! He must still have some feelings for you!"

Feelings?

Margaret looked into Reginald's cold, empty eyes. And then she smiled.

To hell with survival measures.

To hell with the doormat mission!

To hell with being the substitute heroine.

She was done with this rotten story. She didn't want to serve it another single day.

Reginald frowned. He thought she was about to beg like usual, wagging an imaginary tail. But Margaret suddenly exploded. Out of nowhere, she found a fierce burst of strength. She didn't try to push the deadly blade away. Instead, she grabbed Reginald's wrist—the one holding the knife—and with a smile of pure defiance, she yanked it hard against her own carotid artery.

A gush of blood sprayed out.

It splashed across half of Reginald's face. His eyes—always so cold—finally cracked wide open with absolute shock.

As the intense pain exploded inside her, the world went quiet.

Let it all end here.

Margaret had been physically transported into this book world. If her body died, her soul would be erased by the system, too. That was the escape she had always wanted.

But then... she opened her eyes again.

The first thing she saw was a rippling, blue, water-like light moving across the ceiling. It was flashy and gaudy—the kind of thing a cold, minimalist man like Reginald would never like. She stared at it for three full seconds. Then it hit her: this was definitely not a hospital. And it didn't look like hell either.

What is this? Does the system believe in recycling garbage? Has it given me another suffering mission?

Margaret didn't even have the energy to sigh.

Can't I just die in peace?

She tried calling out in her mind, "Vex?"

But she got nothing, just a terrifying, empty silence.

Margaret continued, "Hey, don't play dead. I know you can hear me. Didn't I fail the mission? Erase me or do whatever you want. I don't care. So why are you playing dead now? And where the hell is this?"

Her shouts echoed through the hollow space in her mind... and then faded away.

Vex is gone?

That mechanical voice—the one that had stayed with her for three whole years, the one that secretly played funny videos for her after Reginald humiliated her, the one that clumsily said, "Don't cry, host. We'll try again next time," when Nicole set her up—was that voice really gone forever?

She was all alone again in this world.

But before she could swallow the bitterness rising in her throat, an extremely impatient voice hit her ears. "You're awake. So stop playing dead."

Margaret slowly moved her eyes.

Three men stood by her bed. Well, to be precise, they didn't look like ordinary "men." They were at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. Even stranger, they had unusual hair colors and eye colors. Their faces were handsome—like the top-tier cosplayers she had seen back in her original world.

But the vibe they gave off—that top-predator energy—pressed down on her weak body and made her chest feel tight. It was physically uncomfortable.

The silver-haired man on the left looked down at her like she was trash.

"How dare you pass out?" The man let out a mocking laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Who are you performing for? You think playing possum will buy you time?"

The blue-haired man in the middle seemed a bit gentler. He pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, but his tone was just as cold. "Margaret, since you're awake, let's talk about the divorce."

The moment he spoke, Margaret froze.

How does he know that name?

She had only ever told Vex the name "Margaret." In the orphanage on Earth, she was called Margie Greene. Before she set the fire and died with her abusers, she was Margie. In the book world, as a three-year substitute simp, she was also Margie.

Only in the depths of countless torturous, sleepless nights had she told Vex, "When I finish this mission, I'm going to rename myself Margaret. Burn the past completely. Be reborn."

So how does this stranger know?

Margaret lifted her heavy eyelids and looked at them. The red-haired man on the right didn't even glance at her. He was busy fiddling with the high-tech Holo-bracelet on his wrist, looking annoyed. "Why are we wasting words on her?" he said. "Just get her to sign the papers and kick her out."

Then, as if one hand wasn't enough, he ripped the Holo-bracelet off his wrist and started tapping rapidly on the virtual screen with his long fingers.

Margaret frowned. Then she did something that made all three arrogant men pause at the same time. She closed her eyes, pulled up the blanket, and lay back down on the bed—peacefully.

"Vex?" She tried again in her mind—still dead silence.

"It's really gone..." she murmured to herself, offering a bitter, mocking smile.

Fine. At least it's quiet now.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through her mind with a flash of white light. Then memories—the "original host's" memories—came flooding in like shards of broken glass.

Interstellar Era... Beastmen Empire... S-class males... gene matching... a worthless female with C-class spiritual power...

She was still trying to process the massive amount of information, but the three noble S-class men in front of her clearly didn't have that much patience.

"Are you deaf?" The silver-haired beastman had completely lost his patience. He reached out with his large hand to grab her shoulder.

According to the memory fragments that had just flashed through her mind, this hot-tempered, silver-haired man was named Raikes Walker. His true form was a silver wolf, and he was also one of her legal "husbands."

Before his hand could touch her, Margaret threw off the blanket and sat up in bed like a shot.

The sudden movement—combined with the original host's already weak constitution—made her dizzy. Her vision went dark for a moment. But she gritted her teeth, swallowed down the weakness, and sat up straight. Her eyes stared directly at the three men—her "husbands."

"Just now," she said, her voice hoarse from dehydration. "You said something?"

Raikes' hand froze in midair. He frowned. "Yeah? So what?"

This woman usually didn't even dare to breathe loudly around us. How dare she look at me like that today?

"What did you say? Say it again." Margaret picked at her ear, looking completely serious. "I had ringing in my ears. Didn't catch it."

Kiran Noah, the blue-haired one in the middle who seemed the most patient, frowned slightly. He suppressed the strange feeling rising in his chest and repeated, "We hope you'll agree to dissolve the marriage. The forced match between you and us was a system error. Continuing this is torture for everyone."

Ardon Flame, the red-haired man on the right, finally looked up. His red eyes were full of undisguised sarcasm. "Let me spell it out for you," he said. "You're not good enough for us. C-class spiritual power. D-class gene rank. Other than being female, what do you even have? Top S-class males like us deserve a pure-blood female like Phoebe James—S-class spiritual power just like us. Your pathetic little spiritual power isn't even enough to give us mental counseling."

"Stop." Margaret pressed a hand to her throbbing temple and raised her other hand in a lazy, dismissive gesture.

The three men, who were used to being in charge, all paused and looked at her.

Margaret took a deep breath. Her whole body felt terribly weak. But that was fine. She was used to weakness. After three years of being a simp and getting abused by the male lead in the book world, she had forged a will of steel.

"Let me get this straight," she said, holding up her pale, thin fingers and ticking off points one by one. "One—you three are my legal husbands. Two—you want a divorce because I'm a C-class loser, and you've got an S-class dream girl in your hearts. Three—you just spent three full minutes verbally abusing and personally attacking a patient who just woke up from a coma. That patient is me. Did I miss anything?"

She looked up. Her pale face showed no emotion, but her eyes were blazing.

Raikes felt strangely irritated by her stare. His beast intuition told him this woman seemed different. But he still snorted, "So what if that's right?"

"So, nothing," Margaret said flatly.

Then, the next second, she smiled. It was a bright, arrogant smile—with a hint of madness that had been bottled up for too long. "I just wanted to confirm the situation," she said. "Now that that's done—it's my turn."

She stepped barefoot onto the cold metal floor. The chill shot up from her feet, but she didn't care. She walked toward the three men slowly. She was a full head and a half shorter. But the aura she gave off somehow forced the three S-class beastmen to take half a step back.

Margaret smiled, "First—about the divorce. Yes. Absolutely. Right now. Immediately."

She pointed at them, looking at them like they were unrecyclable trash. "You idiots with your flashy, messy, rooster-feather hair—whoever backs out is a coward. Where are the divorce papers? Give them to me. I'll sign them now."

The three men froze on the spot.

"Second," she said, stepping closer and looking up. "About me being a C-class loser. You're right. I am a loser. So what? Am I eating you out of house and home? Am I polluting your precious air? Is it my fault the Central Brain matched me—a C-class—with you? Why don't you look in the mirror and ask yourselves why you're so inadequate? Have you been working hard enough all these years? Because obviously the system thinks you only deserve a C-class like me."

Kiran, who was usually so eloquent, was left completely speechless.

"Third, and most important." Margaret stood on her tiptoes and jabbed a finger hard into Raikes' firm chest. Her attitude was ridiculously aggressive. "You three—listen up and listen well. Starting today, I, Margaret, will no longer run circles around you, you arrogant studs. From now on, I'm done serving you. You want to go lick your S-class goddess' feet? Go ahead. I don't give a d*mn."

She paused and looked around at the three completely petrified faces—each one a different shade of stunned. A nasty, cold smile curled on her lips.

"But—" she said, "if any of you ever talks to me in that condescending tone again...

"I will immediately log onto the Starnet, pull up the Beastmen Empire's Female Protection Act, and file three signed complaints to the highest court. I'll describe in detail how three S-class males mentally abused and personally attacked their weak, just-woken-up legal spouse. And don't forget—you admitted it yourselves."

Chapter 1 The Countdown Ends

"Welcome to the Extreme Cold Survival Game.

"Earth no longer exists. This is your new home. This is your grave.

"Survival rules are as follows.

"1. Each player begins with one campfire. It is your only defense against the cold. If the campfire dies, you will be judged deceased by the system. Not that it matters—without the fire, you won't last anyway.

"2. This is a real world. You can die from hunger. From exposure. From animal attack.

"3. Supplies stockpiled in your previous world do not carry over. Only items on your person, or in direct physical contact at the moment of transfer, are retained.

"4. Struggle to survive. It is your only hope."

Riley's heart slammed against her ribs.

She looked down at herself.

Workwear. Intact.

And—

She was still sitting on the three giant toolboxes.

They sat solidly in the snow, dusted with powder, unmistakably here.

One month before the apocalypse countdown reached zero, she had already begun preparing for survival.

Now, however, she could only bring whatever was physically touching her.

Fortunately, she was wearing the custom workwear she'd specially designed for this moment, sitting atop the massive toolboxs packed with equipment.

"Whew." Riley let out a long breath. A white cloud dispersed in front of her face.

Pity, though. During her renovations, she'd stocked those boxes with a lot of power tools. The expensive impact driver. The reciprocating saw. In a world with no electrical outlets, once those batteries died, they were just dead weight.

But even so. The hand tools. The consumables. The sheer volume of stuff in those boxes—it was a treasure beyond measure in a place like this.

Riley forced herself to calm down. She was here. She'd deal with it.

Something new lived in her mind now. She concentrated, and a translucent pale-blue screen materialized in front of her eyes. Looked just like a video game HUD.

"Personal Panel

"Name: Riley Carter

"ID: 1120-US

"Level: 1 (Standard Survivor)

"Strength: 8 (Years of manual labor have made you stronger than average)

"Agility: 8 (You've got quick reflexes)

"Constitution: 6 (You've been skipping meals lately)

"Spirit: 9 (You keep your head when others panic)

"Inventory: 16/16 slots (Base capacity)"

"Inventory?"

Riley studied the sixteen empty squares at the bottom of the display.

She reached out, touched one of the toolboxes, and thought the word, "Store."

Whoosh.

The heavy box vanished. In its place, a tiny icon appeared in the first inventory slot, a miniature "x1" in the corner.

"It actually worked."

For the first time since arriving, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Retrieve.

Thud.

The toolbox landed back in the snow, puffing up powder.

No energy cost. No sense of weight. And in that inventory, she could carry anything, regardless of how heavy it was. Later on, when she went scavenging, that would make all the difference.

Riley rubbed her stiff, freezing hands together and turned her attention to the campfire at her feet.

It was the only warmth in this frozen wasteland.

Hovering above the flames, visible only to her, were a few lines of glowing text.

"Basic Campfire (Lv.1)

"Remaining Burn Time: 05:28:00

"Current Coverage: Radius six feet (Blocks wind and snow)

"Upgrade Requirements: Wood x50, Stone x20, Coal x10, Steel x5

"Description: This is your life. Do not let it die. Upgrading expands your safe zone and unlocks additional construction options."

"Needs upgrading."

Riley frowned.

Wood and stone she could probably find. But coal? Steel? Out here in the middle of nowhere?

A flash of movement caught her eye. A small wooden box, half-buried in the snow not far from the fire.

The starter crate. Had to be.

Riley didn't rush. First, she pulled the claw hammer from her belt—the one she always kept there, habit from years of work—and gripped it tight. She scanned the tree line. Listened past the wind.

Nothing moved. No sounds but the storm.

She walked over quickly, crouched by the box. No lock.

She pried the lid open with the claw end of her hammer.

Inside, a handful of items.

"Obtained: Iron Axe x1

"Obtained: Stale Dark Bread x2

"Obtained: 500ml Bottled Water x1

"Obtained: Kindling x5

"Obtained: Insulated Field Jacket x1

"Obtained: Utility Rope (25ft)

"Obtained: Thermal Underwear (Set) x2

Not much. Barely anything.

Riley picked up one of the dark loaves. It was rock hard. She examined the jacket—basic, but warm-looking.

"So this is what a standard survivor starts with."

At least the system had thought of everything. Including the underwear. She'd half-expected to wake up naked in the snow; at least she didn't have to worry about that.

She stored everything in her inventory, then shrugged on the field jacket.

She hurried back to the campfire. She pulled the five units of Kindling from her inventory and tossed them onto the flames.

The fire roared higher. Warmth flooded over her.

"Fuel added. Remaining Burn Time: 10:28:00"

Ten hours.

If she didn't move fast, in ten hours she'd freeze to death on this ice field.

Riley lifted her head and scanned the landscape.

She was in a sparse coniferous forest. Barely alive trees, crusted with frost, dotted the area not far from her position.

"Wood."

The wood could probably keep the campfire burning for a while.

The problem was the cold.

The trees were frozen so solid they felt like iron.

She swung the iron axe the system had provided.

Clang.

Not even a dent appeared in the trunk.

Ten minutes passed.

Her arms were numb, her hands aching and weak.

The tree wasn't even halfway chopped down.

Meanwhile, the campfire was shrinking, its flames growing weaker and weaker.

Once it burned out...

That would be the end of her.

Anxiety twisted in Riley's chest.

She gritted her teeth and hacked at the tree several more times.

The only result was a sharp pain shooting through her hands.

The tree didn't even look like it was thinking about falling.

Then suddenly, her eyes lit up.

"That's right!"

Chapter 2 The Chainsaw

A slow smile spread across her face. She patted the toolbox beside her.

"Other people might have axes. But felling a tree with just an axe takes hours. Exhausts you."

She unlatched the box. Pulled out the chainsaw. Checked the battery gauge—full.

"I've got a handsaw in here too. And a chainsaw with a full charge."

The battery wouldn't last forever. But it would last long enough to give her a massive head start. In this race for survival, that was everything.

The wind screamed across the open ground, picking up loose snow and flinging it against her goggles like sand. It sounded like static.

Riley had pulled her basic work gear from the toolbox before heading out. Now she stood in the snow, surrounded by clusters of thin conifers that looked half-dead already.

She took a breath. The air burned going down.

"Zzzzzzz—!!!"

She squeezed the trigger. The orange-and-black lithium-ion chainsaw in her hands roared to life, the chain spinning so fast it blurred. She buried the teeth in the nearest pine trunk.

Wood chips exploded everywhere.

Fragrant shavings—still wet with resin—scattered across the pristine snow, stark and yellow against all that white.

Five seconds.

Crack.

The pine tree, thick as her arm, groaned and tilted. Then it fell slow and heavy into a drift, sending up a puff of powder.

"God bless modern technology."

Riley shook out her wrist—the vibration had numbed her fingers—and allowed herself a small smile.

Harper's POV

The library smelled like old paper, stale coffee, and the quiet desperation of third-year med students. I had my face buried in a neuroscience textbook, highlighter in one hand, iced latte in the other, when my phone buzzed for the third time in ten minutes.

Mom: Harper honey, you’re coming to Jax’s game tomorrow night, right? Family box. The twins are so excited!

Mom: He’s been playing amazing lately. We need to show support ❤️

Mom: Don’t make me come drag you out of the library.

I groaned and dropped my head onto the open book with a thud.

Ten years. Ten whole years of this bull*shit.

I typed back with one finger: Fine. But I’m only staying for one period.

Li*ar. I knew I’d stay the whole game. I always did.

I closed my eyes and let the memory hit me like it always did when I was trying not to think about him.

Ten years ago.

The house was still new back then — boxes everywhere, the faint smell of fresh paint. I was ten, awkward, glasses too big for my face, clutching my favorite stuffed rabbit like a shield. Mom had just married Richard, and Richard had a son.

A giant fourteen-year-old with stormy gray eyes and a permanent scowl.

“Harper, this is Jax,” Mom had said, smiling way too brightly. “You two are going to be siblings now!”

Jax had looked me up and down, snorted, and muttered, “Great. A four-eyed bookworm.”

I’d narrowed my eyes, hugged my rabbit tighter, and shot back, “Better than a du*mb caveman who probably eats rocks for breakfast.”

That was the beginning of war.

And somehow… it never ended.

I shook the memory away, packed up my stuff, and headed home. The entire drive I told myself I wasn’t going to the game for him. I was going for the twins. For Mom. Definitely not because the thought of Jax in full gear, sweating, breathing hard, made something low in my stomach tighten in the most traitorous way.

When I got home, the house was chaos. Lily and Leo were running around in tiny Blaze jerseys with Jax’s number on the back. Mom was doing her makeup in the hallway mirror.

“Harper! Finally!” She beamed. “Go change. I lai*d out Jax’s spare jersey for you.”

I froze halfway up the stairs. “I’m not wearing his jersey.”

“You always wear his jersey,” Leo yelled from the living room. “It’s tradition!”

I hated that it was tradition. I hated even more that I secretly liked the way his scent clung to the fabric long after the game.

Twenty minutes later I was in the passenger seat of Mom’s SUV, drowning in Jax’s oversized Arizona Blaze jersey. The number 19 and his last name — DONOVAN — stretched across my back like a brand. It smelled like him. Clean soap, faint cologne, and something darker that always made my thighs press together.

The arena was loud and electric. We made our way to the family box, and I tried to disappear into the corner seat. But the moment the team came out for warm-ups, my eyes found him instantly.

Jax.

Six-foot-four of pure muscle and barely contained aggression. His hair was damp with sweat already, gray eyes sharp as he skated across the ice. Even from up here I could see the way his shoulders flexed under the pads, the way his thighs powered every stride. He was a goddamn weapon.

He looked up toward our box like he always did. Our eyes locked.

For a second, the noise of the arena faded. His gaze dropped slowly down my body — or rather, down his jersey on my body — and something dark flickered across his face. His jaw tightened. He smirked, slow and dangerous, then turned away like it was nothing.

My heart was hammering so hard I felt dizzy.

Stop it, Harper. You ha*te him. Remember?

After the game (a brutal 4-2 win), Mom insisted we wait for him outside the locker room. The hallway was packed with reporters, WAGs, and staff. I hung back, arms crossed, pretending to scroll on my phone.

The door finally opened. Players started filing out. And then Jax appeared.

Still damp from the shower. Gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. Team hoodie unzipped, showing the hard planes of his chest. A duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder. He looked like every fil*thy fantasy I’d ever had and immediately hated myself for.

His eyes found me immediately.

“Bookworm,” he drawled, voice low enough that only I could hear as he stopped right in front of me. “Nice jersey.”

“Caveman,” I shot back, tilting my chin up. “You played like gar*bage in the second period. Almost cost the team.”

He stepped closer, towering over me, that stu*pid cocky smirk on his face. The scent of his body wash and fresh sweat hit me like a dr*ug.

“Yeah?” He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Then why were you staring at me the whole time like you wanted me to bend you over the boards?”

My face burned. My pussy clenched.

“I was not—”

“Bullshit.” His breath was hot against my skin. “I could see your thighs squeezing together from the ice, Harper. Every time I looked up, you were wet for me.”

I shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge.

“You’re dis*gusting,” I hissed.

“And you’re soaked right now.” His eyes dropped to my lips, then lower, like he could see straight through the jersey. “Keep wearing my name on your back, babygirl. Looks good on you.”

Before I could come up with a scathing reply, Mom called out, “Jax! Great game, honey!”

He straightened instantly, flashing her that perfect golden-boy smile. “Thanks, Mom.” Then he looked back at me, voice dropping again. “Ride home with me tonight. We need to talk.”

“I’d rather walk.”

His grin turned wicked. “Suit yourself. But tomorrow after the last regular season game… I’ve got something for you.”

He walked away, leaving me standing there with my heart racing, nipples tight against my bra, and a traitorous ache between my legs.

I hated him.

I hated him so much it hurt.

And the worst part?

I was starting to think the feeling wasn’t ha*te anymore.

Not even close.

Freya’s POV

The silver chains around my wrists burned against my skin. Every werewolf knew what moon-silver did—suppressed our inner wolves, weakened our strength, prevented shifting. My wolf cowered deep inside me, whimpering in pain as the ancient metal did its work, leaving me feeling hollow and exposed.

I blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the polished stone floor of the Crescent Court. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. The courtroom's silence pressed against me like a physical weight as I waited.

When Alpha Thorne Grey entered, my chest tightened painfully. He walked with measured steps to the raised platform, his dark ceremonial robes flowing behind him. Five years I had loved this man. Five years I had memorized every line of his face, every shift in his expression. Now those familiar features were set in cold detachment as he took his seat.

"Freya Riley, step forward."

His voice cut through me. My legs felt wooden as I forced myself to move to the center of the courtroom. I could feel hundreds of eyes watching—judging—from the tiered seats surrounding us. My fingernails dug into my palms as I fought to keep my composure.

The elite families of Moon Bay's Grey Moon Pack occupied the front rows—Betas with generations of pure bloodlines who once had respectfully nodded to me as the treasured daughter of the Riley clan. Now those same wolves stared with barely concealed smirks, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at my fall from grace. My gaze landed on Kaelin Brooks, sitting perfectly poised with her arms wrapped in white bandages. When our eyes met, I saw the flash of victory in hers before she quickly lowered her gaze, shoulders hunching in a practiced display of trauma.

My jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"Freya Riley," Thorne began, his golden-flecked eyes sweeping over me without warmth, "you stand accused of assaulting Beta Elite Kaelin Brooks during a documented phase episode, causing grievous harm and endangering her life."

"I didn't do it." The words came out stronger than I expected, hanging in the silent courtroom. "I was framed."

Whispers erupted around me. I saw Edward Brooks, Kaelin's father and commander of Moon Bay's enforcement division, lean forward in his seat, his expression darkening at my defiance.

Thorne's fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. I noticed the slight muscle twitch in his jaw—a tell I knew from happier times that he was controlling his emotions.

"The evidence has been presented," he said, voice flat. "Multiple witnesses arrived at the garden pavilion to find you standing over Kaelin Brooks as she lay bleeding. Her wounds match your claw pattern. The doctor confirmed her moon phase syndrome was active that night, making her especially vulnerable."

I took a shaky breath. "She provoked me deliberately," my voice cracked as I tried to explain. "She said horrible things about us. She pushed me until I lost control for just a second. She wanted me to attack her—it was all part of her plan to 'correct' your mistake of choosing me."

"Enough!" Thorne's voice snapped across the courtroom. For a moment, his control slipped, and I glimpsed something in his eyes—a flicker of doubt? Pain? But it vanished so quickly I couldn't be sure. "Even if she did provoke you, attacking a werewolf during a phase episode is inexcusable. The doctor's testimony confirms the wounds could only have come from your claws, and that Brooks was indeed experiencing a phase episode."

I looked around desperately, searching for my family. The Riley seats stood empty. Three weeks in a silver-lined cell with no visitors had told me everything I needed to know about what had happened to my family in my absence. Whatever it was, I now stood completely alone.

The realization made my stomach twist painfully. My breathing quickened, becoming shallow.

"The evidence is conclusive," Thorne continued, his voice mechanical now. "Freya Riley, once of the founding Riley family, you are found guilty of assaulting a Beta Elite during a vulnerable phase. The punishment under pack law is exile to the Forgotten Wilds for a period of three years."

The words hit me like physical blows. My ears rang as the courtroom erupted in whispers and growls of approval. My knees weakened, and I swayed slightly before catching myself. The Forgotten Wilds—the barren, lawless territory where exiled wolves went to serve their punishment. Few returned. Those who did came back changed. Broken.

"You will wear the Alpha's mark," Thorne said, gesturing to a Wild Guardian who approached with a silver collar. "This will suppress your shifting abilities and mark you as an exile. Any attempt to return to pack territories before your sentence is complete will result in immediate execution."

The Guardian approached, and I couldn't stop the visible trembling of my hands. This wasn't just restraint—it was humiliation. Three weeks ago, I had stood in the grand ballroom as Thorne's chosen mate. Now I would wear a collar like a criminal.

"I'm innocent." My voice came out barely above a whisper, breaking on the last word. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look directly at Thorne. "You know me. Five years I've loved you. How can you believe I would do this?"

Thorne's expression flickered, his eyes darting away from mine for the briefest moment. When he looked back, his gaze was resolute but guarded.

"The court's decision is final," he said, each word precise and measured. "The transport to the Forgotten Wilds leaves at dawn. Until then, the prisoner will be held in the Silver Shackle Prison."

The finality in his voice shattered what little composure I had left. Hot tears welled up, blurring my vision. I tried to blink them away, not wanting to give the watching wolves the satisfaction of seeing me break, but they spilled down my cheeks anyway.

"You planned this!" The words tore from my throat in a broken sob as the Wild Guardians moved in to take me away. I twisted in their grip, my gaze fixed on Kaelin through my tears. "You said those things on purpose! You wanted me to lose control! Tell them what you really did, Kaelin!"

My outburst sent ripples of shock through the courtroom. Kaelin immediately shrank back in her seat, her father protectively putting an arm around her shoulders. She buried her face in her hands, her body trembling in an exquisite performance of trauma. Several nearby Betas rose to their feet, growling in my direction.

"You see?" Edward Brooks called out, his voice heavy with practiced concern. "This is exactly the kind of uncontrolled aggression that led to my daughter's injuries. She can't even control herself in front of the Alpha and the entire court."

The guards tightened their grip on my arms, pulling me toward the exit as I continued to sob, my accusations dissolving into incoherent pleas. My wolf howled in despair within me, a mournful sound only I could hear.

As they dragged me toward the heavy doors, I twisted to look back one last time. Thorne remained seated on the raised dais, his posture rigid, his face a perfect mask of Alpha authority. The courtroom was already returning to order around him, the drama of my sentencing nearly forgotten as pack members rose to leave or leaned toward each other in hushed conversation.

Our eyes met across the distance. For just a heartbeat, something flickered in his golden gaze—doubt? Regret? Whatever it was vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold detachment of a judge who had delivered his verdict and moved on.

Disappointment crushed what remained of my heart. This man, who I had loved for five years, who had held me in his arms and whispered promises of forever, now watched impassively as they took me away.

Three weeks ago, I had been Freya Riley, daughter of one of Moon Bay's founding families, soon-to-be mate of Alpha Thorne Grey. The engagement announcement had been hours away, the culmination of five years of persistence and hope.

Now I was a condemned criminal, stripped of everything—family, status, freedom, and the man I loved. All because of Kaelin Brooks and a trap I had walked right into.

Memories of that night flooded back—the night everything changed. The night of our engagement celebration, when my dream finally seemed within reach, only to transform into this nightmare.