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I was seven months pregnant when my husband, Graham, handed me a divorce agreement. He needed to marry another woman. A poor widow, he’d said, left behind by his best friend. He held me, his touch gentle, and promised it was only a three-month “technical arrangement.” He said he loved me. He said he had to honor his friend’s dying wish. He said that once he legally adopted the woman’s child and secured the baby’s place in the family trust, we would remarry immediately. He played the part so well. If only I hadn’t gone to his law firm. If only I hadn’t overheard him telling his lawyer— “Once Vivian gives birth to the Whitmore heir, she’ll have a reason to stay. She won’t leave me.” So that was his love. A calculation. His responsibility was just an excuse. And our child was the final chain he planned to use to bind me to him. I looked into his devoted eyes, smiled as I signed the papers, and said, “You’re so good to me.” He didn’t know that piece of paper would cost him his only heir. And he certainly didn’t know that on a stormy Thanksgiving night, when he abandoned me in premature labor for a manipulative woman and her child, he was dooming himself to a lifetime of regret, clutching nothing but a cold urn of ashes. … I was seven months pregnant when my husband, Graham Whitmore, brought his late friend’s widow, Sloane Mercer, and her wailing infant into our Beacon Hill home. I endured Sloane’s presence everywhere, the air of a second mistress settling into every room. I endured the fragile, dependent way she looked at Graham. I told myself he was only acting out of guilt and responsibility. The woman he loved was me. Until I found a receipt from a high-end maternity boutique in the pocket of his bespoke suit. Not a single item on it was for our child. Clutching that thin slip of paper, I drove to his lawyer’s office. I just wanted an explanation. But now I stood outside the heavy oak door of ......

I printed out three documents. The first was a petition for divorce. The second revoked my husband, Graham Whitaker’s, medical power of attorney. The third prohibited him from using any of our remaining frozen embryos. An hour ago, at a charity gala being livestreamed across the internet, my husband of six years—the man I had married in secret—declared that his first love was “the woman who taught me what home means.” Then he placed the Whitaker family ring on her son’s hand. On TikTok, everyone was praising him as Stepdad of the Year, waiting for him to give his first love the grand wedding she deserved. And I had just lost our baby, alone on an operating table. Late that night, Graham finally came home. He saw me watching the video of him putting the ring on that child and snatched the iPad from my hands. His brow furrowed, his voice sharp with impatience. “It’s PR, Nora. Why are you getting so worked up?” I looked up at him and smiled. He had no idea I’d channeled all that agitation into three notarized documents. Soon enough, his lawyer would tell him just how “worked up” I was. ... The moment he finished speaking, I turned and walked toward the study. I could feel his gaze on my back, laced with the irritation of a man who’d been defied. I stopped in front of the safe and looked back at him. “Where’s the ring?” I meant the Whitaker family signet ring, the one that had been passed down for a century. He had inherited it from his father and given it to me to keep. Tonight, that same ring had been on another woman’s son’s hand. Graham’s gaze flickered away, instinctively avoiding mine. “The foundation needed footage for the annual report. Something about family legacy. I just… lent it to Elise for a while.” The explanation was so clumsy it was almost funny. If this had been the old me, I would have pressed him until I got the truth. I would have demanded to know why the legal wife was absent from......

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❤Human woman Bonnie stumbled into Alpha Kane’s rose manor while drunk, spending an impulsive passionate night with him and bearing a permanent werewolf mark from their bond. She fled early the next morning in a sudden rush, leaving without a word. Five years later, Bonnie raises their half-wolf, half-human pups alone. Struggling to make ends meet, she takes a job as Kane's personal therapist to treat his intimacy addiction. Kane recognizes her instantly and insists she stay by his side. As they grow close, he discovers the five wolf cubs and learns they are his children. Sabrina, who has long pined for Kane, seethes with jealousy. She repeatedly schemes against Bonnie, even poisoning the sacred blood-testing water to claim the pups are not of Kane's bloodline. Her plot is exposed and she is imprisoned. But she escapes by sacrificing her soul, kidnapping the wolf pups once more. Kane and Bonnie race to rescue their children, plunging headfirst into a deadly new crisis.