Is Under A Wing: A Memoir Available To Read Online For Free?

On my twentieth birthday, I had to choose a husband from the six angel heirs. Everyone thought I would choose Adrian Seraphiel, the brightest golden-winged heir and the man I had loved for years. In my last life, I did. Because of me, he inherited eighty percent of House Seraphiel’s fortune and became the next ruler of the angel clan. But after our marriage, he got involved with Celeste, my adopted half-siren sister. When my dragon family cast her out of House Drakon, Adrian blamed me. From then on, he hated me. He surrounded himself with women who looked like her, humiliated me again and again, and finally replaced my life-saving medicine with slow poison. I died carrying his child, while the last of my dragon blood burned away. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my twentieth birthday. This time, I decided to let them have each other. So in front of everyone, I chose Cassian Seraphiel, the sixth son of the angel family. Broken-winged. Mocked by everyone. No one believed he could ever inherit anything. The room burst into laughter. Adrian looked at me coldly and sneered. “Elena, are you choosing that useless cripple just to get my attention?” I ignored him. Because in my last life, after I died, this so-called useless cripple was the only one who collected my body, found the truth, and avenged me by stripping Adrian of his golden wings. But then Adrian stepped closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Funny,” he said. “That wasn’t who you chose in your last life.”

She felt like a caged bird. A bird that was meant to fly the high, blue skies, but was trapped like a prized possession for her master to impress others with. Ava is the daughter of a very powerful man in the underworld. Her blood, her family name makes her a tool for others to gain more power. Greedy men want her for her name, not for who she is. Being locked up all her life in her father's house makes her naïve and ignorant of the outside world. Meaning the greedy men have an easy game to play.

"I didn’t know I was marrying two people. He wore the suit, but she pulled the strings. The day I walked down the aisle, eyes locked with the man I loved, I thought I had found peace. I thought I was finally leaving behind the noise of my childhood, the ache of loneliness, and the years I spent praying for a love that would choose me, only me. But no one told me that some men never truly leave their mothers. They marry, yes,but their hearts remain tangled in an invisible umbilical cord, one that stretches past vows, past bedrooms, past boundaries. I moved into our new home, only to find that the walls had ears, hers. We lived in separate flats, but it never truly felt like my space. My marriage was a room she walked into, uninvited but ever present. Her opinions dripped into our arguments, her eyes followed me from behind lace curtains, and her voice echoed in decisions that should have belonged to me and my husband. At first, I kept quiet. I told myself it was cultural. Respect. Family. Then I told myself it was temporary. Then I stopped telling myself anything at all, because nothing I said made a difference. This is not a story of hate. It’s a story of love, tested by bloodlines, boundaries, and a battle I never asked to fight. This is my truth. The marriage I thought was mine. The home that never really felt like home. And the rules I never agreed to, but had to live by, simply because… I was under her roof".

Brandon Smith has flown for eight years. I've been with him since the time he was an assistant pilot, all the way until he successfully rose to the ranks as the head pilot. In the year Brandon's busiest with his career, I resign from my job and begin cooking according to his aviation schedule. Just once, I bring up the question, "Can you please show me the sight of being thousands of feet in the air in the near future? Just once, please!" Brandon continues eating from his plate. "The plane is a workplace, not an amusement park for you." I reply, "Okay." Since then, I never bring up that matter in front of him. That is, until I find myself suffering from insomnia one night. That's when I accidentally come across an encrypted photo album tucked away in Brandon's phone. There are over 40 photos in the album, all from his perspective as a pilot. There are seas of clouds, sunsets, double rainbows after a downpour, as well as the Milky Way in the night sky when the plane is over thousands of feet in the sky. Every photo has been sent to the same person with a bear's emoji as their name. The latest photo is a photo of the beautiful evening colors from three days ago. Half of the sun can be seen in the clouds. The caption that comes with the photo says, "Today's sky is still beautiful as ever. When you come over next time, you can take the observation seat on the right. It gives you the best angle of the sky." The bear emoji person responds with a hugging emoji and a short sentence. "Wait for me to go on my break." I put Brandon's phone back where it belongs without changing the password and deleting the album. Once the morning sun is up, I brew myself some coffee as usual before finishing it quietly. Then, I turn on my computer and book myself a flight ticket to Dalco. It's been eight years. Finally, I don't have to chase after Brandon's flight routes and wait for his mealtimes. I no longer have to stay in an empty house while guessing which flight destination he's headed to right now. Since Brandon's sky refuses to tolerate my presence, I shall move my roots elsewhere and watch the sunset on my own.

My dad is the youngest ace pilot in the country. He's equipped with extremely stellar piloting skills. But on the day my mom suffers from a sudden heart attack and desperately needs to transfer hospitals, he refuses to fly her out with the excuse that the weather is terrible. Later on, someone records Dad flying a private jet just to scatter flower petals from a high altitude on a sunny day in order to celebrate the birthday of another woman's daughter. Meanwhile, my mom ends up dying on the stretcher while waiting to be saved. He didn't even show up, right up until the burial. For the next 20 years, my uncle has to take on cab orders every night just to put me through flight school. The day I become the youngest chief examiner of the Federal Aviation Administration, an airline delivers to me the file of a piloting prodigy for a captain upgrade assessment. The CEO of the airline is present as the guarantor of said pilot candidate. He puts himself in a very humble position when he addresses me. "Mr. Lowe, this young woman is extremely talented. If you drop your signature now, she will become the youngest pilot ever." I flip through the candidate's piloting resume. When my eyes fall on the list of her family members and her emergency contact, I'm stunned for a moment. Then, I stare at the young woman's photo for a very long time. Finally, I close the file and state softly, "Sorry. I won't approve her evaluation."

In my previous life, I was accepted as a pilot and was about to enter aviation university for training. But because I stepped in to save the campus belle, Diana Fowler, from being assaulted by thugs, they retaliated against me. They broke both my legs, shattering my dream of flying. What angered me even more was that Diana, the very woman I saved, led the police to my hospital bed and identified me as the rapist. The two thugs who assaulted her were praised as heroes instead. My mother was so furious that she suffered a heart attack. When I was in prison, I fell into despair and took my own life. After being reborn, I watch indifferently as Diana cries for help in the alley. This time, I coldly put on my headphones.