Why Does This Property Is Condemned Have A Tragic Ending?

I’m Tessa Dean, the true heiress of the wealthiest family in United States! This time around, I’m gonna make both of you pieces of shit pay the price! On my wedding anniversary, I walked into my home carrying groceries and hope. Minutes later, a photograph destroyed my marriage. “You’ll seduce my brother whenever I’m away on business, right?” Curtis spat, his fingers tightening around my throat. “You’re such a whore!” I was pregnant. I was trembling. And I was innocent. But in the Deveraux family, truth means nothing—status means everything. Lauren, the woman who was meant to marry my husband, stepped forward with that calm, polished smile. “I’ll give you one day to divorce Curtis and leave Deveraux Manor.” Before I could defend myself, I was pushed. I hit the table. Blood spread across the tiles. At the hospital, I begged, “Please save my child.” My baby died. At the cemetery, Curtis looked at me with hatred in his eyes. “Who’s the father of this bastard?” When he poured my son’s ashes over my kneeling body, something inside me broke. But not completely. I’ll return and make them pieces of shit crawl on their knees and beg for mercy!

Because I was a cheapskate, I rented a cheap apartment. The catch? Someone had died in it. The soundproofing of the house was bad, and I could hear my neighbor’s wife moaning every night. But my other neighbor told me that there was no one living in the apartment next to mine.

The fake heiress, Jean Shore, has left a suicide note prior to taking her own life. In the note, she claims that I'm the one who killed her. In order to make me admit my crime, my parents has sent me to an institution as a human test subject. Every day, I'm forced to endure inhuman torture of all sorts. Needless to say, I'm in so much pain that I choose to secretly take some poison in order to kill myself. But my enraged older brother, Sebastian Shore, saves my life. With bloodshot eyes, he yanks me by the hair while yelling at me. "The pain that you've gone through isn't even a thousandth of the pain Jean had endured! You don't have the right to die!" I can only obey Sebastian numbly. But soon, I get sent to the restricted area. There, my belly swells with life, only for me to lose it some time later. Finally, I've learned my lesson and become docile. No matter what anyone asks me, I keep admitting that I'm a vile woman who has killed Jean. My parents burst into delighted tears. Sebastian can't wait to have me sent to the court, where I will be sentenced for my crime. He tells me, "As long as you admits your crime and go through the punishment, we'll forgive you." I say yes in an obedient manner. I know that my family wants me to be sentenced to death. But what they don't know is that I can't live long enough for the death sentence to be carried out.

"Okay guys, we're here." "Alright, let's do this!" ~•~•~ Five teenagers decide to go on a dangerous adventure in a dark and hollow abandoned house in a deserted area miles away from their town. The house was rumoured to be a death trap for anyone who steps into it but all they really wanted more than anything was an adventure of their own - well, some of them. But in the end, they never made it out to tell their adventurous story. Twenty years down the line, a dorky and introverted 17year old Isabella Davies, who was a high school final year student decides to go on an adventure of her own in that same house. She barely managed to escape but her normal dorky life turns into a horrifying nightmare overnight as she becomes cursed with a ghost of death.

I am a real estate agent. For the past three years, I have been the top seller in the industry. It is not because I am a smooth talker; it is because I can hear houses speak. The houses will chatter about a hollow wall, a leaking pipe, or a window with a bad seal. During move-out inspections, I point out exactly what tenants try to hide. When showing a place to renters, I warn them about hidden red flags. I have been doing this so long that both sides treat me like family. Then, one Friday, a regular client, Eleanor Wilson, shows up. "Devan, the tenants at the Eastmere place are moving out." Eleanor is in her 60s. Her husband is long gone, and she lives off the rental income. She is a sweet soul. She charges 20% below market rate and even makes cookies for her tenants during the holidays. The couple moving out this time is Henry Johnson and his wife. They run a fruit stand at the local market and have a six-year-old daughter, Lea Johnson. "Lea is missing," Eleanor says, her eyes welling with tears. "She vanished outside the market last month. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. Henry and his wife have been searching for a month. They're worn out and broke. They just can't take it anymore." A heaviness settles in my chest at her words. I grab the keys and head out with her. Eleanor gasps for air with every flight of stairs we climb. I walk ahead of her. The moment I slide the key into the lock of Apartment 602, the doorknob vibrates violently against my palm. A second later, I dial 911. "I want to report a case of murder. There's a hidden body on the sixth floor of 18 Montclair Heights, Eastmere. The victim is their daughter."

When Asher Terrell's family crumbled into bankruptcy, I stood steadfast by his side. We lived in a dank basement, where I toiled through three jobs to help clear their crushing debts. He bounced back and proposed, promising me a true home. Three years into our marriage, I discovered the deed to our house bore the name of his first love. "This is what I owe her," he confessed. Swallowing my pain, I nodded and pushed forward a photo from back when we were crammed in that basement, with a whole table piled high with debt notices. "You've paid your debt to her with our house," I said. "But what about the debt you owe me?"