How Did The Big Time Rape Case Conclude?

He raped me. Not for once, but several times. The first time, I could scream, I could plead to him. However, it wasn't the same afterwards. I had to stop screaming for help when he jumped over me like a hungry animal, I couldn't plead to stop him. Because then he became my husband.He was given the right to do whatever he wanted with me. And I wasn't given the right to stop him.Unlike other women, I didn't choose to be a slave of my husband. I didn't fall for my husband.

A girl was lost her mum during her childbirth, the father remarried and the step mother started mal treating her. She basically was addressed as the house girl. Even the father hates her because he thinks she was responsible for the late wife's death.

On my third day driving for a ride-hailing app, I picked up a female passenger who was completely wasted. Early the next morning, the police knocked on my door. At the station, the woman pointed straight at my face and screamed, "It was this driver! He raped me while I was drunk in the car. I’m still bleeding down there!" Her boyfriend lunged at me, trying to punch me, but the officers restrained him. People at the station started pulling out their phones to record, shouting insults like "scumbag" and "pervert" at me. An officer who wore a gloomy face asked, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" I calmly took off my baseball cap. I even thought about unbinding my chest. "Officer, there’s something I’m really curious about. I’m a woman. With what, exactly, would I have made her bleed?"

I had just moved in when the young male model across the hall called the police. He claimed I had fallen in love with him, turned bitter when he rejected me, and had been harassing him ever since—banging on his door, threatening him, and even trying to sexually coerce him. When the police showed up, he pointed right at me and started yelling, “Pervert! You knock on my door every night! You even use binoculars to spy on me, and you’ve been posting my photos online! “I’ve seen you! Standing by your window, staring at me, always trying to get close. It’s disgusting!” The neighbors gathered around, whispering and pointing at me. Someone even shoved me, calling me shameless. “Women like this are trash.” “She looks normal. Who would've thought she's a creep?” Under everyone’s accusations, I slowly took off my sunglasses, revealing the hollow sockets where my eyes should be. “Officer, how exactly is a blind person supposed to peep at anyone?”

Right after I hosted my first corporate gala as Sterling Corp's newly appointed COO, department manager Brenda Jenkins dragged me before the Pack Council court. She stood at the witness stand, sobbing her eyes out. She accused me, Vic Sterling, of raping her intern niece, Chloe Jenkins. "My Chloe just turned eighteen! She was ruined by Vic, this monster in a suit! Trash like him who abuses his power should be executed under pack law!" Her niece backed up the lie. "Vic said if I didn't strip, he'd snap my neck... I was so scared..." The Council members acting as the jury exploded with righteous fury. They demanded harsh punishment for this arrogant Alpha. "Animal! Vic is a shameless monster!" "Punish him! Don't let this beast in a suit get away with it!" The crowd howled for my death. Brenda and Chloe traded smug smirks. The judge raised his gavel to sentence me. Deadpan, I stripped off my jacket and ripped open my shirt, sneering at them. "As a female Alpha, please enlighten me... how exactly did I rape you?"

My crippled sister, Monica Porter, jumped from the roof of the classroom building. The day before she died, she had just been fitted with the custom prosthetic legs I had paid for with ten years of savings. She was glowing, excited to finally stand up on her own. But my wife's best friend, a guy she said was just like a brother to her, locked Monica inside an empty art room. He smashed her new legs, forced her to crawl on the floor and lick paint clean to retrieve the broken parts, and recorded everything on video. And my wife, a judge, ultimately ruled that the case could not stand. "The video cannot confirm the time it was recorded and may represent consensual performance art between both parties," she said. Sandra Pauley's final judgment was simple. "The deceased had a history of depression. The school and the defendant bear no responsibility." I smiled and cooked her a full table of food. The next day, I hung the bully, Eric Hoyles, from the school's flagpole and livestreamed it to the entire internet. "Honey, remember how you said Monica had such pretty legs?" I raised a claw hammer and brought it down on his ankle. "If you don't hand over the video evidence right now, I'll hook out his Achilles tendon one strand at a time and let him learn what it feels like to crawl!" The wind passed through. His screaming broke apart in the air, mixing with the strained creaking of the flagpole until it sounded almost like music. The live chat went insane. Meanwhile, I laughed until my eyes filled with tears.