Plot Twists-Kurzgeschichten & Bias Countdown-Kurzromane

The Blood Moon Feast was over. I was delivering the synthetic blood supplement I'd developed for the vampire lord, Evander, when he suddenly threw me to the ground. "Give it to me... I want you..." His crimson eyes burned with desperate hunger. My face flushed. I thought he finally understood the love I held for him. So I let him sink his fangs into my neck. I let him form a blood bond with me—a human. I wanted eternity with him. But when I woke up, Evander's eyes were filled with shock and regret. It wasn't love. Just an uncontrollable frenzy from his once-a-century bloodlust curse. And now it was too late. A human bonded to an ancient vampire suffers excruciating, soul-tearing pain. To forcibly break the bond? A death sentence. Evander chose to honor it. He owed me—I'd saved his life once in the human world. But everything changed when Odette died. His true love, waiting centuries to bond with him. When she learned of our union, she shattered—left the City of Eternal Night alone and walked into an ambush by rogue hunters. They burned her to ash. When his family brought back the only thing left—a moonstone pendant—Evander's hands closed around my throat. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? You trapped me in this bond. Then you conspired with hunters to kill Odette. Go to hell and apologize to her yourself!" He ripped the bond from me, tearing away the very blood that kept me alive. A day and a night of agony as my organs ruptured. Then I died. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the night his curse erupted.

Keane Mercer was the captain of the Boston Blades, one of the biggest teams in professional hockey. We'd been together for five years, and I hadn't missed a single one of his games. I could never get seats near the glass. Every game, I settled for the best spot I could find in a corner, lifting my camera to capture every moment he was on the ice. I asked him once. "Could you save me a seat in the friends-and-family section just once? The view is so much better from there." He didn't even look up. "I'm the captain. I can't play favorites. Maybe another time." He never said when "another time" would be. I never asked again. The friends-and-family seat remained empty season after season. Until the semifinals this year. For the first time, someone was sitting there. She was a young woman with a warm, bright smile, standing with the help of a crutch. Every time Keane scored, his eyes found hers. When the final buzzer sounded, he skated straight to the stands, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out, shielding her as they disappeared into the crowd. I lowered my camera, packed away my gear, and walked out of the arena alone. Then I reopened the transfer offer I'd deleted and clicked "Accept". If I was never going to have a place in Keane's friends-and-family section, then I was done waiting on the sidelines. It was time to build a life that belonged to me.

After three days of the silent treatment, my fiancé, Matteo Vitale, decided I had finally learned my place. I no longer asked where he was or called to make sure he was safe. He kissed my forehead, pleased. "Now you're finally acting like the future Donna of this family." Later, he boasted to his friends. "You can't let a woman get too clingy. Ignore her for a while, and she'll learn to be independent." I said nothing. I booked a flight to New York for three days later. A year earlier, his convoy had been ambushed. He disappeared for thirteen hours and came home bleeding. Afterward, he promised to call whenever he was safe. But in less than six months, he grew tired of the promise he had made himself. Then he started using that promise to train me—to stop being so "clingy." The last time I couldn't reach him, I called all night and caught the first flight home. I found him drinking champagne. His assistant, Nora, was bragging that she had received her call before eleven. "It was a bet," his friend laughed. "He told us to ignore you. Behave today, and he'll announce the wedding date." I hadn't argued. That was what he mistook for progress. When he saw my packed boxes, he assumed I was moving into his estate. "That's my good girl." I let him believe it. If he thought my love was a cage, I would set him free. This time, he would be the one waiting for a call that never came.

During our graduation trip, we got trapped in a snowstorm and were forced to spend the night in a cave. There were five of us. My boyfriend, Marcus, the future Alpha heir, took the blankets out of his backpack. Without hesitation, he shook out two and draped them over Lily. Lily was an Omega wolf who had recently been found and brought back to our pack. There were two blankets left. I had just reached for one when Victor and Henry, my other two childhood friends, snatched them up and covered Lily with them as well. When they noticed me staring, they merely smiled nonchalantly. "We only brought four. You're usually pretty tough. You can manage one night without a blanket." At midnight, Lily complained that she was hungry. Marcus immediately handed her the last piece of chocolate. Victor took out a thermos of hot water, while Henry hurried to open a packet of crackers for her. I sat on the freezing ground, watching the three of them fuss over Lily. The gnawing hunger in my stomach suddenly disappeared. I remembered how they'd forgotten only my plane ticket for this trip, forcing me to buy a seat on the next red-eye flight. I remembered how, whenever we went out to eat, they somehow always managed to forget to order anything for me. There were always five of us, yet Lily was always the only one who received all three people's affection. By dawn, the blizzard had finally stopped, and the rescue team found us. The four of them walked toward the helicopter together, laughing and chatting. Not one of them looked back at me, sitting alone in the corner. I said nothing. I simply took out my phone and checked the admission offer from an overseas academy specializing in werewolf genetics. If their world only had room for four people, then I'd leave with my dignity intact.

In her third year of dating Jackson Hunter, the cool and proud Lumina Walker took out a secret loan of one million dollars to repay his debt. She even resorted to performing stripteases in a bar. Everything changed when she overheard a shocking conversation between him and his friends. "You're ruthless even to yourself! Just to get back at Lumina, you pretended to be a bartender for three years, tricked her into taking out a loan for you, and used her nude video as collateral. You even got her to strip at your bar! " "If she ever found out that you're the loan shark and own the bar she stripped at… She'd probably drop dead from anger right there and then!" another chimed in. Celia Price was Lumina's living nightmare, her tormentor for nine years since their middle school days—relentless bullying, harassment, and abuse. The painful twist? Celia was Jackson's secret love all along—for a decade, to be exact. Yet Lumina didn't cry, didn't fight back. So when her Uncle Howard called and ordered her to marry the mute oldest son of the powerful Morgan family from Crown City, she agreed without hesitation.

It wasn't until my first month of college that I found out the entire pack had been calling me a leech behind my back. The nickname came from Sienna Blackwood—Lucas's partner. To every wolf in Silvermoon, I was just some weakling squatting on pack land. They saw me use Lucas's pass, saw the tiny cabin at the edge of his territory, and filled in the blanks themselves. I went to find Lucas, thinking he'd defend me like he used to when we were pups. But he just waved a hand, didn't even look up from whatever he was doing, and said, "It's just a nickname, Elena. Sienna's joking around. You're being too sensitive." Then he added, "Besides, you're always around me. You use my pass, you live a stone's throw away—to everyone else, yeah, it kind of looks like that." In that moment, something inside me just... broke. Eighteen years of being by his side, and all he saw was a wolf leeching off her Alpha. I didn't cry. I didn't get mad. I just opened my logbook, calm as anything, and submitted my withdrawal from the pack. They had no idea who I really was. They had no idea I wasn't some leech clinging to anyone for survival. Seven days left until I walked out of Silvermoon for good.

I have a secret. Whenever I touch someone, I can see the face of the person they love most. This is not an ability ordinary werewolves possess. I am a Moon Seer, a rarity that appears perhaps once in a century. I cannot read thoughts or memories, but I have never been wrong about a person’s heart. I had been the person Ronan Hartson loved most since he moved next door at seven. Our wolves recognized each other when we turned eighteen. When our Mate Bond awakened, I still saw only myself in his heart. Ronan officially claimed me at twenty two. He left his mark on my neck and announced before the entire Blackridge Pack that I was his only mate and the Luna of Blackridge. Our Mate Bond remained unshaken for three years. Then, at six weeks pregnant, I touched his collar before he left for work. I had known Ronan for twenty one years and touched him more than a hundred thousand times. This was the first time I discovered that I was no longer the only woman in his heart. That night, he lied about patrols. That night, I saw him feed her cake with his own hands. He thought our Mate Bond would keep me tethered to him forever. He thought I would never leave. But he forgot one thing: I don’t need a man to feel whole. And I will never raise my child in a house built on lies. He chose to protect her. I chose to protect myself.

The day I learned I was pregnant, I walked out of a private clinic holding the test results, ready to tell my husband that we were finally going to have a child. I never got the chance to make the call. A sports car driven by Damian's foster sister, Serena, struck me outside the clinic. When Damian arrived, he rushed past the paramedics and lifted Serena into his arms, even though she had suffered only minor injuries. He never recognized his wife being loaded into the ambulance. After surgery, he called to tell me that Serena had been in an accident and needed him beside her. "I am sorry, but I have to cancel our anniversary dinner." I did not tell him that I was the other person involved in the crash. I did not tell him that the child we had wanted for five years was gone. He gave me the title of Donna while reserving his forbidden devotion for her. Since he could not bear to lose either of us, I would make the choice for him. In seven days, I would leave New York and return to my parents in Sicily. Damian would receive the two gifts I left behind. The first would be a divorce that restored his freedom. The second would be the wedding he and Serena had always wanted. This time, I would not ask why he betrayed me. I would quietly give them my blessing, and then I would disappear forever.

The night I found out, I almost fixed it. Almost. My assignment had been changed to Everglades Academy. Two thousand miles south. Swamp territory. Three omegas died there last year. I'd asked Kael to file my school preference. Silver Peak Academy. Together. The way we'd planned since we were twelve, lying in the snow making promises to the stars. Now the screen said Everglades. I called him immediately. He picked up on the second ring, relaxed as always. "Hey." "My assignment," I said. "It says Everglades." "Oh." Not guilt. Recalibration. "Lil came by while I was filing yours. She wanted to play a prank—switched it to Everglades for a laugh." He laughed. Light. Careless. "Deadline's tomorrow night. Just override it yourself. It takes thirty seconds." "If I hadn't checked—" "But you did check." That patience. "Fen. You always check everything. That's why she knew you'd catch it. It was just a joke." Just a joke. So my future was a punchline. My life, someone else's entertainment. I said nothing. I packed my gear. I left for the transport hub on departure day. Kael found me at the platform. His smile was gone. "I told you to override it. You didn't change it back?" "No."

After I discovered Chelsea Stone’s infidelity, I ended the relationship without giving her a chance. I packed my luggage bit by bit. She watched me, then suddenly said, “Jensen Scott, do you know what was the most boring thing about you?” I paused and turned around. She blew out a puff of smoke and smiled in a flirtatious way. “You were so boring. You did not even know how to sweet‑talk in bed. It was so uninteresting.” I walked away with my things, and I held back my tears. Three years later, I ran into her in the hospital corridor. She wore a white coat, and the medical record book in her hand almost slipped when I bumped into her. Our eyes met. She looked me over, and her tone turned playful. “Oh, is this not my blockhead ex‑boyfriend?” I smiled and did not reply. As I left the hospital, she stepped in front of me and lowered her voice. “Three years have passed. Have you learned how to sweet‑talk in bed?” I raised my hand and showed her my wife’s ultrasound report. “I have, but not to you.”

After the ball is over, Prince Adrian Valmont delivers a glass slipper to my family. Whoever fits into the slipper will become the future princess. In the first life, my oldest sister, Mira Carrington, steels her heart and chops off her toes so that she can wear the slipper. She successfully becomes the princess afterward. On their wedding night, Adrian spots Mira's bleeding foot. He's quick to unsheathe his sword and cut her into pieces. "This is what you get for impersonating the princess!" In the second life, my second sister, Bianca Carrington, dices off her sole in order to fit her foot into the slipper. But Adrian still discovers her injury on the day after their wedding, resulting in him hanging her from the castle wall. "How dare you impersonate her? You definitely have a death wish!" In the third life, my foot slips into the glass slipper very easily. But Adrian still gouges out my heart on our wedding night. His features are contorted heavily. "You don't love me at all, so why are you impersonating my princess?" In the fourth time loop, Adrian comes knocking on our door with the glass slipper once again. This time, neither of us has the guts to approach him. This leaves Adrian enraged. "The owner of the glass slipper is in your house! If I don't see her in three days, all of you shall die!"

Whenever Jacob called my name, his first instinct was always to utter his ex's name, "Anna". On our first anniversary, the gift he gave me was written: [Anna, let’s be together forever.] When we were intimate, he couldn't stop himself from whispering in my ear, "Anna, tell me you love me." Every time he called me by the wrong name, I could only helplessly reiterate, "My name is Anya, not Anna." Over time, Jacob probably felt some shame. Before addressing me, he would pause to think for a moment, and then successfully say my name, "Anya." Just when I thought he had finally stopped confusing the two of us, Anna suddenly returned. From then on, whenever Jacob introduced me to the rest of the pack, he called me "Anna" more frequently than ever. Even during our mating ceremony, as he held out the ring to me, he called out, "Anna, will you be my mate?" Looking at Jacob standing before me, I didn't bother to correct him this time. Since the name he called wasn't mine, I shouldn't be the one to accept.

Ever since my husband, the mafia capo Rocco Marchetti, poured all his attention and the family's resources into his brother's widow, the woman whose husband took a bullet for him. I found our daughter Tessy's diary, where she had started writing, "My Papa is gone." A nun from her private Catholic school called, asking about his passing. I paused for a moment. "Yes," I replied. "He passed away a long time ago." On Father's Day, the school organized a trip to the church to light prayer candles. While other children wrote cards praying for their fathers' safety, Tessy neatly wrote just two words on hers: "To Heaven." During the parent-teacher open house, the nuns displayed the children's decorated diaries on their desks. The theme for their entries was My Father. My Papa died in a shootout in the next neighborhood over. A lady there wouldn't stop crying, and then Papa never came home. After every entry like this, she would clutch the crucifix on her necklace, her small hand gripping it so tightly her palm grew slick with sweat. Eventually, Rocco sensed the growing chill at home. He dropped everything and rushed back to the estate with a bouquet of expensive red roses, hoping to celebrate his daughter's birthday with her. The door opened. On the coffee table lay Tessy's new diary, its title scrawled in a childish hand: If Papa Were Still Alive.

Every time I texted my husband, Dominic, the rising Mafia Don, all I got in return was a bank transfer. This time, my brain cancer had reached its final stage. The doctor asked if I wanted to go ahead with the surgery. Gasping for air, I clutched my phone. I hesitated before finally sending Dominic a text. [The doctor says surgery could buy me another year. Should I do it?] Right before they wheeled me into the operating room, my screen finally lit up. [Deposit Alert: $50,000] Just like every other time over the last three years. He answered me with money. I put my phone down. I had nothing left to say. On our wedding night, I asked to borrow three hundred thousand dollars. From then on, he was convinced I was a gold digger. His brothers said I only wanted his name and money. He believed them. I even took a bullet for him once during a shootout. He just had his accountant wire me money. I begged him to attend my father's funeral. All I got was another massive transfer. Six months ago, I was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. It was hereditary. Soon, I would be just like my dad. Covered in tubes. Rotting away in a hospital bed. I broke down and left him ninety-nine voicemails. I only got ninety-nine deposit notifications in return. Now they were about to crack my skull open just to keep me alive. Then my phone buzzed. A news alert popped up on a dark web gossip site. He was with Vivian, the Mafia princess. They had been up all night drinking and playing pool in her penthouse. I stared at his gentle profile in the photo. I smiled bitterly and pulled the IV needle from my vein. Dominic once asked me where we went wrong. His voice was full of disappointment. He asked what our marriage even meant. Well, Dominic. This time, I will give you the answer with my death. I will finally set you free.

On my fifth wedding anniversary with Rebecca Leavitt, I sign an organ donation consent form. My entire family opposed my decision. Mom sobs as she slaps herself across the face. "This is all my fault. I'm useless. I couldn't make enough to pay for your heart transplant…" Dad took an overnight train from our hometown. The moment he stepped inside, he knelt down in front of me. "I'll sell my kidney on the black market. Please don't do this!" he pleads. My younger sister, Winona Zander, tore the consent form to pieces, scattering the scraps across my face. "Will, just hold on for another six months. My scholarship will come through soon!" Only Rebecca said nothing. She sits calmly on the couch, painting her nails with the polish she just bought, its crimson shade resembling blood. "Do whatever you want," she said, blowing lightly on her nails. "The doctor said your heart wouldn't last more than three months anyway."

I'm famous in the rich wives' society for having an ostrich-like personality—cowardly and often loves escaping from reality. In my three-year marriage, I've personally conducted cosmetic surgeries on 99 substitutes of Callum Holden's first love, Alice Teller. Veronica Dane, the 99th substitute, stares at her reflection in the mirror in delight. There's a trace of mockery in her eyes at the same time. "Mrs. Holden, I heard that you've been alone throughout your marriage. What a shame… To think that the nation's best plastic surgeon can't work on altering her own face. "In order to thank you for your efforts, I'll give you a glimpse of Callum's bedroom performance when the time comes. How about that?" I tune out Veronica's mocking words. After all, I've gone through similar situations 98 times in the past, and I have fought back before. But all Callum said to me was, "You owe me this much, Talia. You can never finish atoning for your sins, even if it takes you your entire life!" The thing is, he has forgotten that I've given him 99 substitutes, just as I had promised. Now, I will never go looking for the love that is never mine, to begin with.

Before it's our turn to get our marriage registered, I beam brightly as I scoot closer to Charles Scott for our commemorative photo-taking session. But he suddenly darts away from me for no reason. "I saw you when your team was in action yesterday." I freeze momentarily. "How is that even possible? This week is filled with secretive prostitution-busting campaigns…" Charles nods lightly. "When you led your team to inspect the venue next door, I was in the middle of pinning her against the wall while screwing her brains out. "She was so nervous that she shook even more than the first time we slept together. Later on, you were summoned to another place. Only then did she have the guts to keep moaning." After following Charles' line of sight, I find myself looking at the young woman, who's currently taking photos of us with her camera. That's when my mind buzzes loudly. It's Samantha Wood, the hostage whom my dad has taken seven stabs for just to save her in a kidnapping case. Just now, Samantha was all tears and snot as she swore to me, "Nat, if he dares hurt you in any way, I'll definitely exact revenge on him, even at the cost of my life!" Charles moves to shield Samantha from my gaze, though his tone remains gentle. "It's your choice now. Do you want to continue with the process? Or do you want to take some time off to cry your heart out, and we can do this another day?" I feel my blood turning to ice at that moment. The system's warning blares loudly in my mind. "Warning—you have failed in registering your marriage with the target. The eradication protocol will be activated soon. You now have a 48-hour countdown."

I'm Sicily's best-known assassin and Don Donatello Vicari's secret wife. At night, Donatello and I made love all over the estate, leaving traces in every room. By day, all he gave me were cold orders. I carried them out from the top of a bell tower, killing whoever caused trouble for the family. We never made our marriage public. He said that was how he protected me. But I'd had enough. I'd realized I would always be hidden away, never acknowledged as his wife. All I could do was watch my husband grow close to another woman, Gia Ferrini. That day, I had a woman in a red dress in my scope. I was about to pull the trigger when he quietly stopped me. "Let her go. She's never been part of the family business." The stray bullet tore into the market below. People turned to look, and my cover was blown. But he just raced down to help the woman in red to her feet, leaving me to face the danger alone. That was when I realized his talk of protecting me was just an excuse. I wasn't the one he cared about. I didn't want to stay in Sicily as his secret wife anymore.

After I got back with Lily Reid, I finally had a chance to catch a breather. She no longer returned home late, and she no longer hid her social media posts from me. Finally, I no longer felt like an insecure madman in our relationship. It was as if nothing had happened before. Things were very peaceful. It seemed as though love could ease everything. One day, Lily got into a car accident. My childhood friend was with her, and he was found completely naked. The police passed the mediation letter to me and said sternly, “The surveillance footage showed that your girlfriend was driving distractedly and hit the car in the opposite lane.” I signed the letter numbly. Then, I collected the items from the car accident. There were a pair of sexy leggings, birth control products, and a guarantee letter that had been torn into pieces. [I, Lily Reid, promise to cut all ties with David Anderson, or I will rot in hell.] When I rushed to the hospital, Lily was struggling to sit upright and shield David. “I was the one who went to him. If you’re angry, direct it to me!” I shook my head and laughed in relief. It turned out no matter how hard I held on, I could not save the romance. The air tickets that I bought for our anniversary trip became my exit.

After the young officer Edward Shaw took first place in a high-profile shooting exhibition attended by senior officials, his family adopted a rather peculiar tradition. At the annual family banquet, he would perform a blindfolded shooting. Whichever woman's token his bullet struck was taken as a sign that she would become his fiancée. Determined to marry him, I placed the handkerchief I had carefully chosen as close to him as possible. Yet, for three consecutive years, his shots hit nothing at all. I told myself the handkerchief must have been too light, too easy to miss. So each year, I replaced it with something more refined, more eye-catching than before. That illusion lasted until the night before my eighteenth birthday, when I happened to overhear him speaking with a friend at a reception. "Miss Jasmine's handkerchief is right in front. Even blindfolded, you should be able to hit it. How do you keep missing every year?" Edward swirled his glass, his tone casual. "Tracy's still young. The moment she hears I'm getting engaged, she starts crying. "I promised I'd wait until she's a little older. As for Jasmine, she's waited for me all these years. It's not like she's going anywhere." With that, he casually tossed his glass into a metal bucket in the corner. It rang out with a sharp, hollow clang. I lowered my gaze and thought of my younger sister, only a year younger than me. So it had never been about the token. It was about the person who placed it there. In that case, there was no reason for me to keep holding on. After all, my father had already arranged a marriage for me. Three days later, at that same family banquet, I would be formally engaged.