After Death 단편 소설 & Bias Countdown 소설

The ninety-ninth thing my adopted sister Isabella took from me was a grave in the sun. I had already paid the deposit, but the cemetery didn’t dare sell the plot to me. Because the Moretti family’s principessa wanted that plot for her dead dog. But I loved that spot. So I called my mother, the Donna of the Moretti family. Her voice cooled the moment I mentioned the grave： “Adriana, are you still pretending you have gastric cancer?” “Isabella just lost her dog. She’s suffered enough. Stop trying to take something else from her.” My father rejected my call. My brother, Luca, answered while helping Isabella choose the dog’s headstone. “Stop buying graves to frighten us. Why are you always so petty? Can't you stand to see your sister have anything good?” I looked at the oncologist’s report in my hand. Seven days. Maybe less. So even when I was truly dying, no one believed me. I chose the only plot left at the edge of the cemetery, where sunlight never reached, and signed the contract. Then I blocked my family one by one. They were right. I needed to stop begging them to care and remove myself from their lives for good. Seven days later, I died alone. That was when the Morettis finally believed me. And lost their minds with regret.

My wife had such a compassionate heart that she brought the young homeless man outside our apartment home for dinner, then demanded I give up my room so he could stay there. She spent the entire down payment I had saved on designer clothes for him and took him to five-star restaurants. She said she was only helping him and told me not to be so petty. Then, I got sick and ended up in the hospital. I called my wife and asked her to use the emergency funds in our bank account to pay for my surgery. She agreed right away. Despite that, I waited an entire day and missed the surgery, and the doctor told me I had only one month left to live. She never brought the money. Instead, I saw the photos she had posted on social media during her travels. My wife leaned against the homeless man in front of a famous landmark, smiling like she had everything she wanted. The caption read, "Wyatt said he's never been to any famous landmarks, so even if I have to spend every last cent, I'm going to take him around the world so he won't have any regrets. Also, someone was so afraid I'd spend money on Wyatt that he lied about being sick. He has no compassion at all!" Only then did I realize her so-called sympathy was just an excuse for falling for someone else. In that case, I did not want her anymore.

Since I was little, I've had the ability to see the Grim Reaper. After seeing the Reaper trailing behind my grandfather, my father, and my mother right before each of them passed away, my three older brothers concluded that I was a jinx. I was the one who brought disaster upon the family. From then on, I became the invisible one in the house. My oldest brother, Kieran, the Alpha, was too busy managing the pack to ever pay attention to me. My second brother, Rhys, was a gentle healer. But when I told him my stomach hurt, he just gave me a cold smile. "What does that have to do with me? As long as you don't bring us bad luck, I don't care." My third brother, Declan, was the pack's fiercest Gamma warrior. Whenever I got close, he’d clench his fists and warn me to stay the hell away from him. As for my younger sister, Chloe, they held her in the palms of their hands, treating her like a precious treasure. They called her their lucky star, because ever since she was born, everything in the family had gone perfectly.But didn't Mom die while giving birth to her? I was ignored for over a decade. Until the day of my eighteenth birthday, when the Grim Reaper stood by my bed. He told me he would come to take me away in three days. I wasn't sad. I just thought, this time, they’ll finally be happy, right? But on the day I actually died, the three of them cried.

The day I cross paths with Aileen Jordan again, I've just finished a deep-sea haul. Unlike her, standing composed on the cruise ship deck, I'm sprawled on a battered fishing boat reeking of fish and salt, too exhausted to lift a finger. Even so, her first instinct is to step in front of Mateo Bowers, my former friend, shielding him from me. It takes a moment before she realizes that ten years have passed since she got that prophetic phone call. Mateo won't be beaten to death by thugs on my orders, and I won't pick up a knife and try to take them down with me. She hesitates, then says, "Hendrick, none of what that call predicted is going to happen now. We're here to take you home." I don't answer. I just force a faint smile and reach for the oars, ready to push off. Mateo calls out to me, his gaze swimming with mixed emotions. "Hendrick, I know you still hate me. But if you won't think about yourself, think about your kid. "You took on the hardest, most backbreaking fishing jobs just to stay alive. Wasn't it all so you could wait for Aileen to come for you?" I offer no explanation and never look back. At the very end of my life, I have neither the strength nor the time left to deal with them. I just want to save enough money to reach that deserted island and lie in endless sleep beside the child who has waited for me for so many years.

The night Helen Kerr's first love proposes, I stand on the 33rd-floor terrace, holding my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis. Through the glass, I watch the man drop to one knee. They exchange rings, and she slides the ring meant for me onto his finger. I stay hidden outside in the excruciating pain, refusing to ruin their moment. Then Helen spots me. There is no panic or guilt, just pure disgust in her eyes. She sneers, gestures toward the ledge, and mouths through the window, "Jump, if you're gonna jump. Stop acting just to ruin my night. If you actually die, maybe I'll believe you." Right then, the last flicker of life in me goes dark. I look at the woman I've loved for a decade and finally smile. That's a smile of pure relief. I turn and climb over the railing. "You're free now, Helen. Enjoy the final gift."

I was the one who broke Kane Blackwood's heart. He was the Alpha heir, my boyfriend since we were kids, and I pushed him so hard that I drove him all the way to the Northern Stronghold. He stayed there for seven years. Now he was back. He had a new woman with him, and they were going to hold their bonding ceremony here, in our pack. That same week, the pack witch told me I had three months left to live. When my mother wheeled me outside to see him, Kane's mouth curled into that cruel, mocking smile I remembered too well. His dark eyes swept over me from head to toe, taking in the wheelchair, the thinness of my arms, the paleness of my face. "Well, well," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Seven years and you look like hell. Can't even walk anymore?" I tugged my sleeve down, hiding the scars—the silver tracings left by years of failed treatments. I kept my voice steady. "I fell. Broke something. It's nothing." He let out a short, cold laugh. "Right. Anyway, my bonding ceremony's coming up. You should be Vivra's maid of honor." I smiled back at him. I had gotten good at smiling through pain over the years. "Sorry, but I'm leaving soon. Somewhere far away." Then I patted my mother's hand. She didn't say a word, just gripped the handles of the chair and pushed me back toward the house. I didn't look behind me.

The nurse looks at me with sympathy as she moves the IV cannula from the back of my hand. "Ms. Charlotte Norton, Mr. Norton had the donor heart matched to you reassigned at the last minute. He says it's being sent to the special care unit on the seventh floor. What a shame—all your preoperative preparations have gone to waste." Valerie Hickman—the frail young woman my older brother, Reese Norton, brings home—is staying on the seventh floor. Just ten minutes earlier, Valerie suffers a sudden angina attack. My usually strong-willed mother, Winifred Baldwin, is so frantic that she breaks down in tears. My usually taciturn father, Elijah Norton, slams his hand on the table in front of the entire team of hospital specialists. He then gives Valerie the life-saving heart I've waited three whole years for—the very heart that is supposed to be delivered to my operating room. Clutching my aching chest, I lean against the cold wall and slowly slide to the floor. There's no point waiting anymore. My severe heart failure has reached its final stage, and my doctor, Jamie Hall, says I have only a few days left. I don't know how long passed before that mechanical voice sounds in my head again. "Charlotte, your vital signs are deteriorating rapidly. If you choose to terminate this body and leave this world right now, you still have a chance to start a new one. Do you confirm?" I watch as my fingertips slowly turn a deathly shade of blue and purple. "I do."

A witch prophesied that the stronger I became, the closer my twin sister, Elara, would come to death. To save her, my parents suppressed my wolf spirit for eighteen years. They forced me to hide my gifts and apologize for every success. The werewolf academy selection trial at eighteen was my only chance to escape this family. But on the day of the trial, they confiscated my token and locked me inside the winter store behind a silver door. “You know Elara could die because of you, and you still want to take the trial?” The silver walls suppressed my wolf spirit, leaving me helpless as the room grew steadily colder. I pounded on the door and begged for help. Mother replied coldly, “Stop pretending. The cooling system isn’t even on.” At that moment, I finally understood. As they left with Elara, the truth became clear. No matter how many times I gave in, they would always demand one more sacrifice. Blood ran from my forehead and slowly froze against my training uniform. I curled up in the darkness and stopped pounding on the door. They thought destroying my future would save Elara. When they returned, Elara was still alive. I was already dead.

Everyone in the pack thought I was a gold digger. I was an outsider wolf with no family, yet Alpha Adrian had chosen me as his mate. His parents, friends, and even the elders insisted I wanted only his fortune and the title of Luna. Adrian alone believed me. Then, on the night of our mating ceremony, I asked him to lend me three hundred thousand dollars. From that night on, he was convinced I was vain and greedy, that the only thing I loved about him was the wealth he possessed as Alpha. When I begged him to attend my father's funeral, he sent me money. Six months ago, when I was diagnosed with wolfsoul degeneration, he believed I was just looking for an excuse to get money. The last time he transferred money to me, he was away on vacation with his childhood sweetheart, Selene. He did not know the healer had just told me my wolf soul was in the final stage of degeneration. I had seven days left. He had no idea that I borrowed money on our wedding night because Selena had poisoned me with silver, and I needed the money to save my life. My body is now beyond cure, ravaged by illness. He never chose to trust me. After my death, he went mad with regret.

At Greg Jenson’s birthday party, an obituary suddenly created a huge ruckus in our school year’s group chat. “Oh my God, Luanne Lee is dead” “It’s got to be fake news. A bad thing never dies. How could a malicious woman like her die so easily? Back then, she literally took Greg...” Sitting at the head of the table, Greg twirled his phone in his hand, his eyes dark. “It's fake. I just got a call from her this morning. She said she was coming to my birthday party.” However, someone hesitantly held up their phone, showing the screen to the room. “If I'm not mistaken, this person really is Luanne. The memorial service is at the funeral home in the neighboring city. Should we go check it out?” On the screen was a photo of a funeral hall, and there I was, lying peacefully right in the center. Greg’s expression turned to panic. He bolted upright and headed straight for the exit, but the moment he opened the door, he froze dead in his tracks. The deceased ‘me’ was standing right at the doorway. Looking into those deeply familiar eyes, I smiled and said, “Greg, it’s been ten years. I'm here to wish you a happy birthday.”

My sister Kira and I had shared one body since birth, each controlling it for half the year. Even so, my CEO boyfriend Aiden loved me more than life itself. He built me a glass-domed garden where it was always spring so I could experience the seasons I slept through, tattooed my name over his heart, and promised, “You’re the only one I love.” I believed him. Yet our wedding was postponed eighteen times in six months. Before every wedding date, I was caught in an accident. Each time, I was badly injured but never killed. After I woke from the eighteenth accident, my private doctor told me my soul had suffered too much damage. When Kira woke in three days, I would disappear for good. I stumbled home in a daze and overheard my father talking to Aiden. “Eighteen accidents are too many. What if you really hurt Roxy?” “I calculated the risks in every accident,” Aiden said calmly. “None of them was supposed to kill her. How else was I supposed to keep postponing the wedding until Kira woke?” Tears blurred my vision. “As you wish.” Three days later, Kira woke as usual, and I never woke again. But after I died, Aiden went mad with regret.

I spend three years in prison taking the fall for Dwight Reed, the precious assistant of my hospital director wife, Gretchen Payne. On the day I am released, the first thing I see is yet another Medical Malpractice Liability Acknowledgment. "Sign it, Dustin. I want you to take the blame for this incident, too. Dwi has a bright future ahead of him. He can't have a stain on his record." Gretchen shoves a pen into my hand. "You've already served time. So, one more charge isn't going to make a difference." When I don't budge, she clicks her tongue impatiently. "Dustin, you're a convicted felon. You should be grateful for the chance to take the fall for Dwi! It's only five years! "Don't push your luck. Or is this about money? In that case, name your price!" I look at Dwight, who's sitting in the car with his arm around her waist, and let out a silent, bitter chuckle. My hand tightens around the late-stage leukemia diagnosis in my pocket. Gretchen, how am I supposed to serve five years when I only have seven days left to live?

When I was three years old, during a car accident, I was struck in the head by a car while trying to protect Mom. After that, the doctors said something inside my head had broken, and I'd never be quite right. Everyone back home called me the slow one. Late at night, I'd see her crying alone. On my seventh birthday, Mom took me to Manhattan, and that was when I discovered that she had a second home and another daughter, Charlotte. In front of strangers, she wouldn't claim me. She only let me call her Miss Eleanor. On the third night, She sat down at her vanity. On the table was a small black box. I thought it was a present. She opened the box and took out a black silicone bracelet, with a little light embedded in the clasp—small, dark, switched off. "This is called a TruthBand. It's something a company in California makes. The light turns green when you tell the truth, and red when you lie. If you wear this, Mommy will always know." She fastened it around my wrist. Tight. The little light blinked green. I thought that if I was good enough, she would love me the way she loved my sister. But then she made me do ski practice with Charlotte. Charlotte was a junior champion. "You're both my daughters. I don't play favorites. Whoever falls, gets punished." Charlotte never fell. I couldn't even keep my skis straight. Every single run, I was the one Mama dragged off the mountain and locked in the cellar. On Thanksgiving Day, Mama spent the whole afternoon cooking. I wanted to help. I dropped a bowl. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were red. She grabbed a little pill bottle off the counter, tipped my chin up, and forced something between my teeth. "Dumb as a rat. Are you happy now? Did you finally embarrass me enough? " I lay on the kitchen floor, gasping. While she wasn't looking, I scraped up three little pink pellets that had spilled and tucked them into my fist. Mommy, I told myself, I'll be good now, and then you'll be happy. Right?

During summer break, I worked part-time at a bungee-jumping site, where my best friend deliberately hid behind me and cut my safety line. I scrambled out of the way, but my boyfriend hugged my sobbing best friend and accused me instead. "All I did was comfort Vivi a little when she got scared while bungee jumping. Did you really have to damage your own rope and frame her deliberately?" I stayed away from them to protect myself instead of trying to explain. Then a typhoon suddenly struck, leaving the bungee platform swaying dangerously. My boyfriend was in charge, yet he gave the only spare safety rope to Vivian, who had already retreated to safety. “You’re the safety officer, and you’re certified in high-angle rope rescue. A little wind can’t hurt you. "Vivi isn't trained for this. She's a visitor who's afraid of heights. I have to get her out first." When I said nothing, he snorted and locked the bungee platform's gate. "Are you really going to act jealous at a time like this? Fine. Stay here and cool your head in the wind!" He even evacuated the other staff members before leaving with my best friend, supposedly so I could reflect properly. What he didn't know was that my safety rope was already damaged and could not withstand such powerful winds. He had no idea that as soon as he left, the system’s cold notification echoed in my mind. [The target has abandoned you for the ninth time. Would you like to leave this world?] I watched his figure gradually disappear and calmly nodded. "Yes."

On my sixth birthday, my older sister, Bettina Moretti, gives me a cake with a message written in frosting. It reads, "Happy Sixth Anniversary of the Day We Found You!" I burst into tears and run to my parents, desperate to know if it's true. My father, Vittorio Moretti, nods. "That's right. If your sister hadn't begged us to take you home, you probably would've frozen to death next to a dumpster." My mother, Elisabetta Russo, pats me on the head. "Your sister saved your life, Alessia Moretti. You owe her a debt you'll never be able to repay. Don't forget that." From that day on, Bettina always comes first. When she refuses to go through the family's grueling advanced combat training, I take her place without hesitation. Even when my ribs get broken, I don't dare complain. I don't want my family to think I'm a burden. But no matter how much I sacrifice, even when I put my life on the line, my parents only ever praise Bettina. "She's the pride and joy of the Moretti family!" Then, this Christmas, I come home to the estate early and find Bettina doubled over with laughter in our aunt, Giulia Moretti's arms. "Seriously, is Alessia an idiot? She actually thinks she's adopted! I made that up when we were kids, and she's believed it all these years!" Giulia stares at her in disbelief. "Wait, you never told her you were joking?" My father scoffs. "Why would we? It's just a harmless joke." My mother chimes in. "Exactly. Besides, if Alessia finds out she's our biological daughter and Bettina's the one we adopted, what if she starts picking on Bettina?" A sharp pain shoots through my chest. I clutch at it as my legs give out beneath me. For years, I've kept quiet about how sick I am, forcing myself to endure the pain because I'm terrified of being a burden to my family. Two days ago, I finally saved up enough money to see a doctor. But he told me I've waited too long to get treatment. I have only five days left to live. Suddenly, I taste blood in the back of my throat. "Papa, Mamma... if I die, you won't have to worry about me bullying Bettina anymore, will you?"

Five years ago, on our third anniversary, I rejected Matteo's proposal in front of the entire syndicate. I pointed at my stomach. I sneered at the man who used to worship the ground I walked on: "Don't be naive, Matteo. You're just a stray dog from the gutter. I'm carrying the rival boss's heir." It poured that night. He was shattered. He walked away from everything. Five years later, he climbed over a mountain of bodies. He ruled North America as the new Don. He returned to New York and bought out every single debt my family owed. Then, he brought his pregnant fiancée along and kicked down the rusted door to my run-down apartment. He looked down at me with cold eyes. "What's wrong, Princess? Hiding out in a dump like this now?" He had no idea. My body was already in the final stages of transplant rejection. Every single day I stayed alive was just to see his face one last time before I died.

The day I got my terminal cancer diagnosis, I stumbled upon a hidden album on my mafia husband’s phone. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-six intimate photos. All of the same woman. None of me. Three years into our marriage, all of New York still feared Damian Moretti. Even as his only legal wife, I never dared ask about the blood on his cuffs—or the stranger’s perfume clinging to his skin late at night. I used to think he was simply born cold-blooded. Until I saw her on his screen, wearing his shirt in a secret penthouse I didn’t know existed, smiling freely in his arms. The cruelest part? The timestamp on the last photo was from two hours ago—the exact moment I was sitting alone at the hospital, signing my own Do-Not-Resuscitate form. When Damian walked out of the bathroom, he caught me staring at the screen. No guilt. No panic. He just walked over, took the phone from my frozen hand, and hit delete without a flicker of emotion. “Stay out of things that don’t concern you,” he said flatly. “Forget what you saw.” Before the screen could even go dark, it lit up again with a text message: Damian, you left your shirt in my bed again. Whatever was left inside me finally shattered. I pushed the prepared divorce papers toward him. “Sign them,” I said quietly. “I’m setting you free.” Damian’s gaze turned lethal. In one swift motion, he pinned my wrist against the headboard, the heavy Moretti signet ring on his right hand digging brutally into my bone. “Don’t test my limits, Vivian,” he murmured, leaning over me, his voice low and merciless. “Moretti marriages only end with a funeral.” I met his icy stare and didn’t say another word. He had no idea I only had three months left to live. The funeral he asked for was already on its way.

In the Valenti Family, you're born with a chip. It's fused into the bio-watch on your wrist, its digital face counting down every second you have left to live. Everyone could see the numbers ticking down on my twin sister's watch. And on mine. They all knew she would die on our 18th birthday. So Vivian became the untouchable princess of our brutal world. Every diamond-stitched gown was hers. The rarest jewels were hers. Even our father's last shred of humanity was hers. That single sliver of warmth he showed only after his gun was holstered. I used to pity her. Her time was running out. But God, I envied her. She had everything I never did: our parents' love. Then, the night of her 18th birthday party. My parents worried I'd make a scene. That I'd piss off the Don of an allied Family. So they locked me in the cellar. Damp. Cold. While a deadly fever burned through me. I pounded on the heavy oak door, my voice cracking. "Mamma, please! Let me out! I'm burning up. My head is splitting open…" Outside, my mother's voice was a steel trap. "Enough, Sienna! Today is your sister’s 18th birthday. Her last day alive! Stop the theatrics! Can't you suffer in silence for the Family's honor?" "But I'm really sick..." Her footsteps clicked away, fading into nothing. Then the darkness swallowed me whole. And on my wrist, the bio-watch was flashing a critical alert. CRITICAL ALERT: Vital signs mismatch. Paired chip data incompatible. Please verify user.

My parents adopted a kid, and I treated him like treasure. Then he started looking uncannily like my husband, Brian. And I caught him whispering "Mom" to my sister, Ruby. Yeah. Plot twist: Brian had been cheating on me the whole time. With Ruby. They played house behind my back, smiling for family pics—with my parents' blessing. When the truth blew up, Ruby had the audacity to beg me to step aside. My parents told me to get over it. And that kid I loved like my own? Told me I deserved to die. But here's the kicker—Brian wouldn't even sign the divorce. Dude broke down, said he still loved me, swore the kid was a mistake. So I smiled and said, "Cool. You've got seven days. Prove it, and I'll forgive you." He went full simp mode. Emptied his bank account, treated me like I was gold. Even kicked Ruby down and yelled at her to apologize. Everyone thought I'd cave. Then the cops called, asked him to ID a body—and Brian totally lost it. He never knew I'd been dead this whole time. The Reaper gave me one last week to say goodbye.

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."