Bias After Death Short Stories & Novels

My husband's true love developed acute kidney failure, and I was the only matching donor. To save her life, he forced me to terminate my pregnancy at six months. Despite his gentle tone, he said the most heart-wrenching words, "Can't you be a little kinder? You're just losing a child, but she's losing her life." I resisted with every fiber of my being, but he threatened his own life to force my hand. On the operating table, both my child and I died. Meanwhile, his true love's transplant was a success, and she lived. Although the outcome was exactly what he wanted, he spiraled into madness upon hearing news of my death.

When I was three years old, my twin brothers, Silas and Julian, nearly died in an explosion while trying to save me. The Vampire King happened to pass by and turned them into high-ranking vampires. He had wanted to turn me too, so our family could stay together forever, but they refused. The King's power was too overwhelming, they said-the transformation would be agonizing. So they promised to turn me themselves when I turned eighteen. They spent every last penny they had on an impossibly rare serum-a blood-calming agent that would ensure I survived the transformation safely. But six months ago, they brought home a fifteen-year-old human orphan named Elena. Silas snatched my serum and handed it to Elena, his voice cold as ice. "You're strong enough to endure the transformation on your own. Elena is far more fragile than you-she needs this more." Julian's face twisted with undisguised contempt. He pointed at the door and snarled, "Get out! Don't come back until you learn to share!" I didn't say a word. I picked up the suitcase I'd already packed and disappeared into the rainy night. They assumed I was just throwing a tantrum. They figured I'd come crawling back in a few days. To celebrate ridding themselves of their "burden," they took the orphan on a vacation to the Caribbean coast-the trip I'd been dreaming about for years. But when they returned to the castle two weeks later, they were stunned to discover that I had undergone the Vampire King's transformation personally. Not only that-I had voluntarily signed a hundred-year agreement to join a classified isolation research project studying resistance to holy silver and crucifixes. A century of solitary confinement. I was never coming back. That day, they completely fell apart.

I have pica. I have had a compulsion to eat hair for as long as I can remember. Whenever I feel strands of hair tugging inside my stomach, I feel strangely calm. I look at my thin wrists and the sharp outline of my ribs, and I feel proud. Sometimes Mom cries and asks why I became like this. Seeing her hurt because of me fills me with satisfaction. Dad runs himself ragged trying to get me appointments with specialists, his hair turning completely gray from the strain. And somehow, that makes me feel happy too. My therapist asks whether there is some knot inside me I can't untie. I shake my head and say that my parents have always favored and spoiled me. How could there be a knot? It isn't until Mom completely breaks down in the consultation room that the truth begins to surface. She drops to her knees in front of me, presses her forehead to the floor, and sobs. "Please forgive us. Please stop doing this to yourself, okay?"

In the third year after my mate and I bonded, I was handed over to Alpha Kyle Draven like a bargaining chip. Kyle never forced me to take his mark. He treated me kindly and gave me my freedom. He let me go back to my old pack regularly to see my family. When the backlash left me bedridden with a high fever, he stayed by my side all night. Little by little, I fell for him. It wasn't until later that I found out the truth. Kyle was using me as bait to distract the rogues running wild across his lands while he secretly rescued his fated mate. Once the woman he'd longed for was safe, he no longer needed me. All his warmth had been an act. He placed a bottle of sleeping potion in my palm. "It will suppress your vital signs for only three hours. "After the funeral, my people will wake you and take you far away, to the southern lands." So I went back to my pack to say goodbye. My former mate, Miles Carver, came to pick me up himself. My parents held me, trembling, and told me how much they'd missed me these past two years. I thought someone here, at least, would want me to stay. But that very night, my former mate carved my headstone himself. My mother dressed me in the clothes I was meant to die in. My father chose a solid wood coffin for me. They all tried to persuade me. "You'll only appear to be dead. You can start a whole new life in the south." As I watched my pack bustle around, it hit me that every word they'd said made sense. The Alpha wanted to welcome his fated mate. My former mate wanted to erase the shame of giving me away. My pack wanted to protect its standing and its honor. They'd planned every detail of my fake death. They kept saying it was for my own good, but no one asked if I wanted it. They wanted a perfect show. But I didn't want to play my part anymore.

It's the third year since my wife, Joyce Sinclair, cheated on me. I spread her intimate photos with her male assistant, Bryan Long, on the internet. Then, I doused myself in gasoline and threatened to drag everyone down to hell with me. Bryan's so scared that he flees the city that very night. I think I've won. However, to settle my lawsuit and cover the damages, my older sister, Rachel Lovett, sells her house and takes out high-interest loans. In the end, the burden becomes too much for her, and she jumps from a high-rise building. Her voice is hoarse in the recording she leaves me. "That's enough, Ray. We've lost everything. Mom and Dad have aged overnight, and I can't take it anymore..." Mom clutches Rachel's belongings and cries until she passes out. Dad's emaciated hands clamp around my neck as he demands at the top of his lungs, "How many more lives do you have to destroy before you're satisfied?" Tears silently trail down my cheeks, and I finally come to my senses. I no longer neurotically look into every single man around Joyce, and I stop badgering her with questions about the scent of men's cologne on her. Even when I walk in on her staring at a photo of her and Bryan and reminiscing about the past, I take the initiative to bring him back. It all comes to a head when Bryan wishes to become Joyce's lawfully wedded husband on his birthday. Without the slightest hesitation, I print out the divorce agreement, sign and seal it, and deliver it to him. To my surprise, Joyce rips the agreement to shreds. She grips my chin and demands hysterically, "Raymond Lovett, what happened to the stubborn man who'd rather die than divorce me? Where is he now?"

It was our seventh year of marriage when my husband, Joseph Lowe, brought my best friend, Teresa Shaw, to my ward. And they were the picture of a perfect couple. I gave them my most genuine blessing. "You two make the perfect match." Joseph tossed an agreement in my face. An asset transfer. He demanded that I give Teresa everything I had. I took the papers and signed my name without wasting a moment to think. Teresa laughed happily, pleased with my obedience. She then hugged Joseph and said, "Thanks for taking care of Joseph for me, Selina. Oh, there's the divorce papers, too. How about…" I noticed the look of impatience in Joseph's eyes, so I snatched the papers from Teresa's hand. "Yeah, I'll sign them all."

When the nurse pulled the IV needle out of the back of my hand, her gaze was filled with pity. “Mr. Young, the heart meant for your transplant was transferred at the last minute. It was sent to the VIP ward on the seventh floor. It’s a shame, but all your pre-operation prep has gone to waste.” Marcus Stewart was warded on the seventh floor. He was the frail young man my sister brought home. Ten minutes ago, Marcus suddenly had terrible chest pain. My usually strong mother burst into tears. My stoic father slammed the table in front of every expert in the hospital, then decided to give Marcus the heart I had been waiting three years for. It was supposed to save my life. I hurried to the end of the corridor, but the green operating light had already come on. Clutching the twisting pain in my chest, I leaned against the ice-cold wall and slid to the floor. There was no need to wait anymore. My heart failure was terminal. The doctor said I would not last the next few days. The mechanical voice sounded in my head. [Master, your vital signs are rapidly deteriorating. If you terminate this body and leave this world now, you still have a chance at a new life. Would you like to proceed?] I looked at the faint grey hue of death tinging my fingertips. “...Yes.”

I'm married to Marcello Marchetti, the Don of the Marchetti family in Newstone. He has an adopted younger sister, Letizia Marchetti, who's supposedly a genius hacker. While she's not related to him by blood, he has raised her since she was a child. One spends all her time wreaking havoc, while the other dutifully cleans up all of her messes for her. Everyone in Newstone knows just how much Marcello dotes on that sister of his. Then, she hacks into my car remotely and messes with the brakes. The car crashes into the road divider at a speed of 120 miles an hour. It flips over three times, and I get caught under the wrecked metal, bleeding profusely. By the time the ambulance arrives, I've gone into shock three times. The blinding lights in the emergency room look like they're mocking me. Marcello stands beside the nurse, signing the consent form as he sighs. "Don't be mad at Letizia. She just thought there was something wrong with the braking system for that car, so she decided to run some tests. She had no idea you'd be using it today." Just then, his phone rings. He takes the call, and after just three seconds, his expression changes. "What did you say, Letizia? Someone spiked your drink at the bar?" He throws the pen down and heads toward the door at once, leaving in such a hurry that he doesn't realize he has selected the wrong blood type on the transfusion consent form. When I see the bag of blood the nurse brings me, my lips twitch. I suddenly lose all desire to stay alive. "Go ahead with the transfusion."

The day I'm diagnosed with cancer happens to be the birthday of my wife's adopted son, Logan Smith. Before the party starts, I end up coughing up blood and ruining the cheerful atmosphere. My wife, Rosalie Smith, doesn't take me to the hospital. Instead, she locks me up in the basement. She looks down at me bleeding out on the ground and says coldly, "Xander Kastel, you really know how to pick your timing. Of all days, you had to cough up blood on Lolo's birthday. How dare you do it today?" I beg her to take me to the hospital, but she says she has already consulted the doctor and knows that early-stage cancer can't cause me to cough up blood. She's convinced I'm deliberately putting on an act to get back at Caleb Anderson, her first love. I pleaded desperately. "I am your husband! Rosalie, please take me to the hospital. I promise I'll never show up again." Rosalie's face darkens, and she grabs me by the throat. "Don't play these push-and-pull games with me. As long as you stay here quietly until midnight passes and Lolo's birthday is over, of course, I'll take you to the hospital. Once you've recovered, you'll still be the Smith family's live-in son-in-law." I keep screaming from the agonizing pain I'm in. Rosalie thinks I'm being annoying, so she takes Caleb and Logan to a hotel to celebrate instead. Some time later, she suddenly thinks of me, so she asks her secretary if my surgery has gone well. Her secretary's face pales as he answers in a trembling voice, "Mr. Kastel has… has left with Ms. Kastel."

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

Four years after my death, my wife—the CEO—was desperate. Her first love was dying of an incurable disease, and I was the only surgeon in the world who could save him. To force me out of hiding, she ran my mother down with her car, leaving her brain-dead with no chance of recovery. She had my father hanged from a tree beside my grave—while he was still alive. Then she went live on social media, threatening to burn my younger sister to death. She was waiting for me—the selfish man, in her eyes—to come crawling back, beg for mercy, and agree to operate on her one true love. But then her men finally looked into my records. "Boss... he's been dead for four years. "He died on the very day he gave you his heart."

My Alpha mate Kieran ordered our eight-year-old son to burn my mother alive because his Omega assistant accused me of killing her pet dog out of spite. Kieran's eyes were filled with impatience and disgust. "You're supposed to be our pack's respected Luna. Why would you target an innocent Omega? Whatever harm her pet suffered, your mother will endure the same. Your mother is paying the price for your jealousy!" I fell to my knees, begging Kieran to spare my mother. But he commanded our seven-year-old son Owen to light the fire himself. My son didn't hesitate for a second as he threw the torch into the pile of wood. "That's what you get for always going against Aunt Sera!" I screamed and cried, desperately begging them to help me put out the flames. "Please, I'm begging you, take my mother to the healing center..." "Enough, Aria. Your mother is still lying in the hospital bed. That's just a training dummy. Stop putting on this pathetic act." After saying that, father and son walked away without looking back. They didn't know that it really was my mother burning in those flames. But when I finally gave up on them and left, why did they both come crawling back, begging me to return?

I'm born with severe allergies, the kind where a whiff of pollen can trigger a full-blown asthma attack. But my mom, who is also the principal of my school, insists that I go on a field trip to the botanical garden with the rest of my class. I plead with her, my eyes reddened, but she stays as cold and hard as ice. "You've got all your meds, don't you? It's just a little thing. Why are you being so dramatic? I'm the principal, so I have to treat every student the same. If anything, you have even more reason to go, so people don't think I'm playing favorites!" To show what a good relationship I have with my classmates, she publicly commands me to get into the flowerbeds and pick flowers to be given to the top student in our grade, Rachel White. The moment I get close to the flowers, I start coughing and wheezing violently. A crushing sense of suffocation floods over me. Mom doesn't look worried in the slightest. Instead, she bites out, "Penelope, how long are you going to keep this act going? You're doing this on purpose to cause trouble for me and embarrass me, aren't you?" She has no idea that my throat is already swelling and closing up. Every breath I take feels like I'm swallowing broken glass. It looks like I won't be a problem for her anymore.

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives. However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.” The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night. The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor. The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention. Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.” However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.” So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?

Maynard Hansen planned a luxury birthday cruise for Darlene Thompson, but the cruise ship capsized when a violent storm swept in without warning. Without hesitation, Maynard gave the last seat on the lifeboat to Darlene. As I struggled in the water, my son, Waldo Hansen—whom I carried for nine months and gave birth to—cried out, "Don't let Mom up! She'll push Ms. Thompson off." Clutching nothing but a broken plank, I somehow made it to shore. By the time I collapsed on the sand, I was frozen, exhausted, and done. I had never felt so alone. Shortly after, I found myself clutching a diagnosis of severe depression in my hand. I was ready to bring this wretched life to a quiet end. But when my husband and son realized I truly didn't want to live anymore, they collapsed into tears. They wrapped their arms around me as they sobbed, "Please don't leave us. We really can't live without you."

Mom had taken me to a psychological examination for depression. When I filled out the questionnaire, I checked the option saying I felt down and hopeless nearly every day. She frowned and reached out to correct my choice. "How could you possibly feel down and hopeless? Aren't you happy with your life?" The furrow between her brows deepened when she noticed I described myself as having trouble establishing connections with other people. "You've been an outgoing child since you were young, don't you remember? Come on, you need to consider each statement more carefully." If she said so, I would not argue with her. Next, she reminded me that I had never experienced negative thoughts about myself, and I obeyed her. Following that, she told me that I slept like a log at night, so my answer on the questionnaire was that I had no trouble falling asleep at all. I filled out the questionnaire. Almost every answer had easily matched her wishes. Mom picked up the papers to review them. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. "That's more like it. You should fill it out with more care from the beginning. You don't want to confuse them and have them diagnose you as unhealthy, don't you?" Lastly, I came out as having minimal depression. Mom breathed a sigh of relief. On our way home, I could not help but keep touching the scars hidden under my sleeve. All I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My vision blurred, and everything began to fade from my consciousness. Everything had gone blank in my mind. And all that remained was a dead, suffocating silence.

I'm the middle child. My older sister, Jessica Carter, is a straight-A student. My little brother, Tommy Carter, is the baby of the family. I'm the one everyone overlooks, yet Mom and Dad are always praising me in front of other people. "Riley is such an easy child. She never asks for new clothes and is perfectly happy wearing Jessica's hand-me-downs." "When there are only two pieces of bacon left at the table, she won't even reach for them. She just keeps her head down and eats her toast as if she hasn't noticed." "Jessica shuts herself in her room to study, and Tommy hogs the TV. But even at ten years old, Riley insists on doing the dishes and sweeping the floors. We can't get her to stop." The day before Christmas Eve, Dad comes home beaming. "My bosses gave me four tickets for a cruise! We're taking a Christmas cruise to Cranford!" Mom looks around at all of us before asking quietly, "But… who's going back to Grandma's place to spend Christmas with her?" All four of them turn to look at me. I raise my hand at once. "I'll stay with Grandma!" Dad gives me a thumbs-up. "That's my girl! We can always count on you. Take good care of Grandma." But they have no idea what was waiting for me… By the time I got to Grandma's house on Christmas Eve, she's already dead. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I've let you down. You trusted me to take care of Grandma, but I've failed you… I sit beside Grandma's cold, lifeless body, lost in thought for what feels like forever. Then I quietly open the cupboard and take out the bottle of pesticide. I've made up my mind. I'm going to punish myself the only way I know how—quietly, without making a fuss.

Seven years ago, I was the city's youngest chief medical examiner, on the verge of solving the Scarlet Murders and bringing the killer to justice once and for all. But the night before I could expose the truth, my fiancé's first love, Isabelle Sinclair, joins forces with the real murderer and has me killed in cold blood. Using my own scalpel, Isabelle fakes all signs of a guilt-ridden suicide on my body and stages the crime scene to make it look as though I've attacked her before fleeing. She plants just enough fabricated evidence to make her story seem airtight, then waits for the police to arrive. When Sebastian Jacobson showed up, he found Isabelle covered in blood, sobbed as she claimed I've tried to kill her and destroy the evidence before escaping. The scene is meticulously arranged to support her story, right down to the blood trail leading to the exit, as if I've fled in a desperate panic. It looks like an open-and-shut case, so no one bothers to question her account or investigate further. Everyone believes Isabelle. Sebastian despises me for what he thinks I've done. He publicly denounces me as a disgrace to forensic science and the greatest shame of his life. The forensic center erases my name from its records, my own parents publish a newspaper announcement disowning me, and my alma mater revokes the honorary academic title it has awarded me. Even the mentor I've spent years admiring refuses to acknowledge that he's ever taught me. My case becomes a textbook example of professional misconduct, and my former colleagues curse my name for betraying the very principles of truth and justice I've sworn to uphold. Overnight, I go from being the brightest rising star in forensic science to a disgraced fraud in the eyes of the entire law enforcement community. Then, seven years later, an unidentified skeleton arrives in the autopsy room. As the medical examiners begin examining the remains, they uncover evidence that's been buried for seven years—evidence that could finally expose the truth behind a murder everyone thinks they understand. The skeleton is mine. And after seven years of lies, the truth about my death is finally about to come to light.

The Clan Healer told me that without the vial of Progenitor's Blood, the Blood Blight afflicting me meant I had only seventy-two hours to live. But my husband, Miles, the new Duke of our world, gave the only vial of the precious cure to my adopted sister, Vivienne, the woman I had turned three years ago. "She's in agony from the rejection, Isolde. It's a pain you can't possibly understand." His tone was self-righteous, devoid of any concern for the patch of skin on my collarbone already turning to stone. I nodded, watching as the life-saving, dark red liquid slid down another woman's throat. I accomplished a great deal in the time I had left. As I signed the documents, the lawyer's hand trembled. "Are you certain you want to transfer everything, Your Grace? The territorial rights of a thousand-year-old clan..." I didn't hesitate. "Yes. To Vivienne." My adopted daughter, Lily, the girl I had risked everything to save, who was now forever frozen at the age of eight, cowered in Vivienne's arms, pointing at me and screaming, "Aunt Vivienne is my real mommy! You're the witch who turned us into monsters!" I offered no defense. "Yes, that's right. Be a good girl and listen to your new mother now." The Progenitor's Ring, the symbol of the clan's supreme authority, now rested on Vivienne's hand. "Oh, sister, you're too kind," she sobbed, her sobs a practiced performance. "I'll be sure to protect the family in your stead." I nodded. "You'll run things better than I ever did." I even signed away my control over the Elder Council, a council sustained by my own blood. For the first time in a century, a shadow of complex emotion crossed Miles's face. He stared at me,"Isolde, stop fighting. It's better this way. You need to rest." Yes. On my deathbed, I had finally become the perfect, submissive Isolde they always wanted. An Isolde who was about to turn to dust. The seventy-two-hour countdown had begun. I wondered, when I finally turned to ash,

My brother is the Alpha of the Moonlight Pack, and I should have been the happiest little wolf in the pack. But my brother's destined mate Selene accused me of bullying her. In a fit of rage, my brother, the only family I had left in this world, sent me to the Pack Rehabilitation Center —a place for underage criminals and delinquent wolves. For two years, I have been abused until I permanently lost my ability to shift, becoming the docile sister he wanted. But when he discovered I'd lost my wolf and become a true Omega, he went mad. "Skye, please, just call me brother one more time!"