Cerita Pendek & Novel Homewrecker Fake Death

I'd been secretly in love with Adrian Shaw for ten years when he finally stumbled into my bed, drunk. The next morning, he told me coldly that he'd do the right thing by me. But not long after the wedding, Adrian left me behind, pregnant, to take charge of the company's overseas operations. He was gone for five years. Once, I took our son abroad to see him. Our boy reached up and brushed Adrian's face with one little hand, but Adrian pushed him away in disgust. "Don't you know his hands are covered in drool? "I'm a germaphobe. You two had better keep your distance." Watching my son stand there, unsure what to do, broke my heart. After that, my son and I were always careful around him, and I kept the house spotless. But Adrian still refused to come home. He never held his son, not even once. I'd almost convinced myself that all germaphobes were like him when I came across a video a reporter had recorded. In the video, Adrian was holding another little boy and carefully wiping grease from the boy's mouth. With his other hand, he held the hand of his first love, Chloe Davis. They were pressed close together, and Chloe leaned in for a kiss. So it was true. He'd spent all five years abroad with her. And his so-called germaphobia only ever applied to my son and me. That was the last straw. I faked our deaths and took my son away.

On the day my twin sister, Alexia Cavanaugh, and I turn 22, I collapse and find out that I have late-stage cancer. Ignoring the doctor's advice to be admitted, I walk out of the hospital. All I want is to spend one final birthday with my family without a single worry. But when I arrive at the party, a server stops me at the door and tells me the venue has been reserved exclusively for Alexia. Outsiders aren't allowed in. Through the glass, I watch as my brother holds a cake and my father places a birthday hat on Alexia's head. Even my boyfriend is there, smiling as Alexia makes a wish. I stand there for half an hour, gripping my phone, before my boyfriend finally answers my call. "I was just at the hospital. I—" He cuts me off. "Ophelia, you've always been healthy. It's Lexi's birthday today. We should talk later." Isn't today my birthday too? My mother died giving birth to me. The doctor later explained that I deprived Alexia of nutrients before birth, which left her frail from the start. And just like that, everyone decided I should always step aside for my twin, who was born five minutes before me. I ball up the report with my cancer diagnosis and toss it in the trash. I'm done letting their favoritism hurt me. I've never received their love anyway, so I choose to leave for good.

On the third anniversary of our son's death, I stood outside the cemetery chapel, holding a bunch of white daisies. From inside, I heard the voice of Giovanna Valeri, my mother-in-law and the former Donna of the Valeri family. "Sooner or later, you'll have to accept that the boy is gone. "But Aria's baby is a Valeri by blood. The family must recognize him as one of our own." I froze outside the door. I'd found Aria abandoned by the roadside when I was a child and taken her home. I couldn't bear the thought of her freezing or starving, so I took her in and raised her like my own sister. And now she was pregnant with my husband's baby. Inside, there was a long silence. Then Niccolo spoke, his voice low. "Tomorrow, I'll call the elders together and make it official. Aria's baby will be recognized as a Valeri. "Don't... tell Elena about this yet." The browning petals were cold to the touch, reminding me of Leo's lifeless body in my arms three years ago. That day, my husband, Niccolo Valeri, had looked at me with red eyes and made me a promise. Our son would not die for nothing. Leo would always be his only child. Three years. That was all it took for him to break his promise. And I was the one person he wanted to keep in the dark.

My husband, an Army regimental commander, was killed in action. Before his body was even cold, I didn't hesitate. I filed for his death certificate and notified the Army, the Social Security Administration, and our bank. Then, three days later—on the very day his twin brother married his childhood sweetheart—I moved out, changed the locks, and remarried quietly at the courthouse, taking my son and the full line-of-duty death benefits with me. To everyone else, I was heartless. Cold. I let them curse me. I just looked into my “brother-in-law's” bloodshot eyes and felt a quiet, cruel satisfaction. Only I knew the truth. In my last life, I discovered the body sent home wasn't my husband's at all—it was his identical twin brother's. I ran to confront him, but by chance I overheard him and my mother-in-law whispering. "Mom, Sarah is strong. And we have our son. She'll be okay. The benefits will take care of her. But Amy has waited for my brother all these years. If she finds out he's dead, she might do something drastic." Their words struck me like lightning. I tried to expose them, but my husband knocked me out. He told everyone grief had driven me insane. He locked me in the garage apartment and, with cold detachment, married his sweetheart. And when that woman complained my son was too loud, my husband slipped sleeping pills into our boy's juice—right as my crying child was coming to look for me. My son never woke up. The day they buried him hastily, I ended my life in the garage, utterly broken. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day they delivered my brother-in-law's body to our home.

On Mother’s Day, I was driving an intoxicated wealthy woman home when she suddenly said, “You know, I stole my husband from another woman.” Then she handed me a photo. The moment I saw it, my entire body went numb. The man smiling with his arm around her looked exactly like my husband — who had supposedly died eight years ago. After my husband, Cedric Foster, died in an accident, he left me drowning in debt and caring for his comatose mother. To pay everything off, I worked a day job and drove for a rideshare service at night. When creditors came knocking and I had no money left, I sold my blood more times than I could count. “Handsome, isn’t he?” said the woman with a smug smile. “He was married back then, but for me, he walked away from his wife and abandoned his family.” As we entered an exclusive luxury neighborhood, the woman rushed toward two figures waiting ahead. The moment I recognized them, every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. I could barely breathe.

Every year on Dante Moretti's birthday, they played a game. Whoever drew the ace of spades could order anyone to do one thing. The first year, Sofia Cavarro poured red wine over my head. She was the Cavarro family's precious princess, and no one had ever dared to cross her. So that night, she smiled and told me to kneel and lick the wine off the tips of Dante's shoes. The second year, she hung a price tag reading "three million dollars" around my neck and let everyone guess whether Dante's purchase of me had been worth it. Dante sat on the sofa with his glass of wine, watching them jeer with a smile. Because everyone knew I was the woman he'd bought at an auction seven years ago. And I loved him, so I endured it, time after time. This year, Sofia drew the ace of spades again. She didn't make me kneel. She didn't give me a new punishment. She simply handed me a ring and told me to put it on her finger myself. That was how I found out. In one month, Dante was going to marry her. For the first time in seven years, I asked to leave. Dante laughed. "Elena, have you forgotten? I paid for you. "No matter who I marry, it doesn't change the fact that you belong to me." He was certain I had no family, nowhere to go. He was certain that as long as he didn't let me go, I would never be able to leave his side. But three days later, twenty black sedans surrounded the Moretti estate. The man who made the entire Sicilian Mafia tremble stormed in and knocked Dante to the floor with a single punch. He held up the price tag, his eyes red. "My precious daughter, the one I've spent twelve years searching for... "How could she have ended up here, a slave for seven years?"

At the top of the dark web’s most heavily encrypted bounty board was a contract on the wife of Chicago’s most powerful crime boss. **Make Valentina survive one hundred attempts on her life before she dies. Progress: 79/100.** In the past three months, I’d survived a man-made avalanche, nerve gas, and an electrified swimming pool. Every time, my husband, Damian, had dragged me back from the brink, covered in blood. He’d even driven out everyone in the family who suspected me of killing his mistress. I was so grateful I burned the divorce papers I’d already signed. I looked forward to our anniversary, when I planned to tell him I was five months pregnant with his heir. Then, hoping to help him find the traitor in our ranks, I used my highest-level access to break into the account behind the bounty. Damian’s private encryption key appeared on the screen. Beneath it was a voice message from him. “Claudia spent a hundred seconds knowing her plane was going down. This is only number seventy-nine. Leave Valentina breathing every time. She doesn’t get to die that easily.” “On our anniversary, seven days from now, blow up her private jet. Let her pay for Claudia’s life.” So he had believed it was me all along. I stared at the screen for ten minutes. Then I cleared my browsing history and called a cleaner who specialized in making people disappear from the underworld. On our anniversary, I slipped the ultrasound image of our five-month-old baby into Damian’s jacket pocket. On the plane, I left a woman’s body in my place, fitted with dental work that matched mine and wearing my wedding ring. One second before the fire started, I escaped through a maintenance hatch beneath the cabin and detonated the main fuel tank. I heard that when the plane burst into a rain of fire over the tarmac, the man who had ruled Chicago for ten years vomited blood on the spot. Then he fell to his knees with the ultrasound image in his hands—the baby’s tiny form already visible—and stayed there all night.

In five years of bonding to Alpha Damon Blackwood, I'd suffered three miscarriages. I lived with the grief of losing my babies and the guilt of failing to give him an heir. But Damon never once pressured me. He'd even stood up to his own mother, former Luna Helena, when she blamed me. Everyone said I was the luckiest Luna in the northern territories, cherished beyond measure by my Alpha. Just when I'd given up hope, I got pregnant again. I couldn't wait to tell Damon. I knew he'd pull me into his arms and call our baby a blessing from the Moon Goddess. But to my shock, I walked out of the hospital and spotted Damon with a little boy. “Daddy, can we go see the northern lights for my birthday in three days?” That was when I realized Damon hadn't given up on having an heir for my sake. He already had children with another woman. The entire pack knew about his children. Everyone except me. His Luna. So I faked my death in a plane crash, took a new identity, and disappeared into the far north. When Damon finally found me, he begged me to come home, his eyes red with tears. But the Alpha King pulled me into his arms and looked Damon straight in the eye. “Alpha Blackwood, she doesn't need your apologies anymore.”

My wife—Nancy Valente—had been "missing" for three months after some fake skiing accident. I spotted her at a bar. She was draped over Finley Bennett's shoulder, laughing like she hadn't wrecked my life. "Good thing you came up with this plan. I almost forgot what freedom felt like." Her crew kept clinking glasses, asking when she planned to pop back up. She glanced down. "Maybe in a week. I'll show up once he's lost his mind." I stayed in the shadows, watching her bask in her little escape act. Then I grabbed my phone and called a buddy at the Vital Records Office.

In the third year of my marriage, Don Scott Cullen's lover, Elena, threw me over the second-floor railing. The fall killed my third unborn child and destroyed my last hope of ever carrying a child to term. She was never punished for any of it. Even though I had just miscarried, I was forced to kneel and scrub her swimming pool. Elena accused me of cutting her finger with broken glass and had me plunged into a tub of ice water as punishment. When my grandmother lay dying, I begged them in the rain, only for the guards to drag me away and dump me across the road. Later, I was kidnapped and called Scott. At a banquet, he had his arm around another woman and scoffed that I was lying to him again. The cruise ship exploded. Seawater flooded my nose and lungs. At last, I was going to die. As I closed my eyes, I seemed to slip into the past. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and promised to take me and our baby to an island to bask in the sun. What if he knew this call was the last time I would ever beg him for anything?

Three years into my fake death, my wife and daughter showed up at my door. To get rid of them, I grabbed a knife and threatened to end my life. Then my seven-year-old daughter put her hand on my father's ventilator. Claire Harrison stood beside her, her voice trembling as she delivered her ultimatum. "Wesley, either you see your father suffocate to death, or you come back and be my husband again. Your choice." I was shaking with rage, but I put down the knife and remarried her. Walking back into that familiar villa, I became the Harrison family's model "devoted husband and father." When my foster brother needed her company because he was feeling down, I cleared out and booked myself a hotel. I ended up with a perforated ulcer, went into surgery, and never once called her. When my daughter got picky and said she only wanted her uncle's cooking, I went straight to Dylan's place and brought him back to live with us. Even on my birthday, when Dylan suddenly started crying and said, "I'm so jealous of you, Wesley. You've got such a wonderful wife and kid. Me? I've never even gotten a decent birthday present," I didn't hesitate—I slid the onyx bead bracelet off my wrist and pressed it into his hand. The deep black beads gleamed against his pale skin. But Claire's eyes went red. She grabbed my wrist, her voice sharp as a blade. "Wesley, that was the love token I prayed for you—step by step on my knees—all the way across the Mojave."

My older sister, Jovina Valenti, catches the eye of the cold and ruthless mafia Don, Carlo Laguardia. However, she fears the danger that arises out of his identity and wants to go abroad to pursue a passionate romance. On the day Carlo sends his men to retrieve her, she drugs my drink and sends me to Carlo. After that, she leaves the country and disappears completely. I, Nerissa Valenti, am forced to become Carlo's wife. He treats me as nothing more than a pet. Despite being married, I ignore Carlo's existence and treat him as if he were invisible. He, on the other hand, continues to make me his pet. When he's pleased with me, he shows me affection. But when I upset him, what awaits me is either cold neglect or harsh reproach. After eight years of this, one day, Carlo suddenly orders that I be locked inside the freezing ice house. I tremble from the cold. When I see Jovina at his side, I realize belatedly that she has, for some reason, decided to return to the country. The first thing she does upon her return is seek Carlo out and lie to him that I drugged myself back then to take her place. Consequently, she was heartbroken and decided to go overseas. Jovina stresses that because of my interference, they spent eight long years being apart from each other. From that moment on, there isn't a trace of emotion left in Carlo's eyes when he looks at me. Under the excuse of visiting me, Jovina comes to the ice house and tampers with the settings. She puts the cold air on full blast at the lowest temperature. "Don't blame me for this, Nerissa. As long as you're alive, my lie will be exposed sooner or later," she says ruthlessly. I don't even last half a day before freezing to death miserably. When I open my eyes again, I return to the day Jovina first catches Carlo's attention. This time, I take the initiative to say, "Jovina, go abroad and look for your true love. I'll marry Carlo in your place." This time, the one Carlo loves will be me.

The morning after my wedding, my wife disappeared. I gave up my right to inherit the family business without any hesitation. I even sold my shares in the company I had built myself. After eight years together with three years of a long-distance relationship, we finally exchanged rings yesterday in front of our family and friends. But when I woke up, the ring was gone! My wife was gone too! I searched for her like a maniac, and everyone said no one named Sophia Wellington existed. They said I had lost my mind! I won't believe that! I had held a wedding with her at the hotel just yesterday! I rushed back to the hotel and found the lobby manager, but he said, "Mr. Leon Gomez, you checked in alone. Besides, the banquet hall on the second floor was under renovation yesterday. We didn't host any weddings. Are you sure you… Weren't dreaming?"

Just days before our wedding, I was told that my fiancé, Matteo Ferrara, had died in a car crash. The car had been completely destroyed. The only thing his men recovered was a bloodstained diamond tiara. His father, the Don, pressed a pistol to my forehead and growled, “If Matteo hadn't been rushing to give you the tiara he designed himself, he would still be alive!” His adopted older sister, Isabella Ferrara, was at the Don's feet, playing a video of Matteo's last words as he sank into the sea. “Don! Matteo's last wish was for Layla to live! Please don't kill her. Let him rest in peace.” So I was locked in the Ferrara family's punishment room and made to kneel for 72 straight hours. They didn't let me out until the fourth night. But Matteo's funeral was already over. I never even got to see him one last time. Numb with grief, I slipped into my wedding dress, swallowed poison, and made my way to the dock where Matteo had supposedly died. I'd just climbed over the railing when applause and whistles erupted behind me. Isabella rushed over, practically jumping for joy. “I won, Matteo!” The crowd parted. Matteo stepped out of an armored car with a cashmere wrap. He ruffled Isabella's hair and gave a resigned sigh. “A bet's a bet. You wanted a dress just like Layla's, right? I'll have one made for you when we get back.” Only then did he look at me. He draped the wrap over my shoulders. “It's freezing out here, and you're soaked. You'll catch a cold.” Then he smiled. “Isabella was worried you only wanted to become the next Donna, that you didn't actually love me. So she came up with this little test. “Well, congratulations. You passed. Now let's go get married.” I stared at him, struggling to process what I'd just heard. None of it had been real. The fatal crash and the video of his last words as he sank into the sea were all part of Isabella's elaborate prank. Matteo had staked my life on their bet. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I struggled to steady my trembling body against the pain, then shook my head. “Call off the wedding. “I don't want to marry you anymore.”

I was on my way to pick up my son from school when I got a call from his teacher. “Mrs. Corleone, you don’t need to come. Your husband — the one who’s been missing for five years — just picked up your son from school.” My chest tightened with unease, and I quickly corrected her. “Teacher, you must be mistaken. My boy's dad in Sicily on business. Where is this ‘other husband’ coming from?” After a short pause on the phone, the teacher spoke again. “Mr. Corleone said you don’t have to lie. He said he won’t kick you out of the Corleone family, since you gave him a son after you ran away from the wedding.” “You only have to give your position as his wife to the woman who saved his life.” I rolled my eyes. Deliberately raising my voice, I sent a voice message to his uncle. “Darling, come home immediately! Your nephew is back and trying to take our son!” Then I heard a crash on the other end.

After three years in a psychiatric hospital, I finally escape. Three years ago, I watched my fiance, Ethan Cregger, die in a car accident right in front of me. Already born with a heart condition, I spiraled under the weight of grief. Then everything else fell apart. My family lost everything. Dad seemed to age overnight. Mom cried until there were no tears left. Adrian Mercer, my childhood friend, gave up the money he'd saved to study abroad just to pay for my treatment. Even my younger sister, Mia Bennett, worked three jobs and begged me through tears not to give up on life. Not wanting to burden them any further, I voluntarily admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital. Three years later, I finally make my way back to our old family estate, now supposedly sold, for one reason. I want the bottle of wine Ethan and I buried together years ago. But through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see a dead man—Ethan. He is alive and well, with his arm wrapped around my sister. My parents look happier and healthier than ever. Adrian is placing a birthday hat on the young boy standing between them. Everyone claps and sings, gathered around the cake like one big, happy family. And suddenly, I understand. Ethan never died. He simply built a new life with my sister. While I spent three years trapped in the past, everyone I love moved on without me. They created an entire lie just for me. Fine. If they've already decided there's no place for me in their lives, then I don't want them anymore.

Just before closing, the restaurant had one last serving of spaghetti with meat sauce left. I’d spent three years paying off my boyfriend’s debts to loan sharks. I hadn’t eaten all day and was finally about to dig in. But Jax Carter snatched the bowl away from me and carried it over to Camilla Price, the recently divorced owner of the flower shop next door. “Camilla’s got it tough raising a kid on her own. Skipping one meal won’t kill you.” The neighborhood lowlifes at the other tables whistled and hooted. “Jax and Camilla are a match made in heaven. They’ve both had it rough. Hurry up and shack up already!” “What a good guy Jax is, looking out for Camilla like that! It’s nice to see young people still care.” That night, a debt collector’s thug smashed a bottle over my head, and blood ran into my eyes. Jax didn’t even look at me. He was busy helping Camilla pick up the flowers that had been knocked over. I wiped the blood from my face. That was when it hit me: I’d wasted three years on a relationship worth less than a bowl of spaghetti. It was long past time to walk away.

The Shermans are the richest family in town, and both of the Sherman daughters are about to get married on the same day. I, the older of the two sisters, am about to marry Andrew Hammond, a wealthy scion and the man I've loved for many years now. Meanwhile, my younger sister, Celine Sherman, is set to marry the heir of the Wright family. The upcoming wedding fills me with joy and anticipation, but suddenly, Andrew disappears for three whole days. When I go to confront him about it, I end up overhearing a conversation between him and his friends. "On the wedding day in three days, you guys must ensure that the wedding cars are switched, so that it's Celine's car that comes to the Sherman residence instead. "That illegitimate son of the Wright family is a cold, heartless man. I can't let Celine suffer by marrying him!" "Relax," one of his friends replies. "We've made all the arrangements with the drivers and everything. But what about Joanna?" Brimming with confidence, Andrew declares, "The Sherman family has the Wright family's business by the throat, and everyone knows that Joanna is mine. There's no way the Wright family would dare to do anything to her. "When the time comes, I'll send Celine off and bring Joanna back for the wedding ceremony. I'm sure the Wrights won't dare to say a single word." The initial shock leaves me on the verge of a breakdown, but eventually, it morphs into the stillness of despair. In the end, I decide to go along with the plan, letting Andrew and Celine get their happy ending. Thus, when Andrew proceeds with the next part of his plan and arrives to pick me up, all he's greeted with is the sight of my cold dead body.

The whole world envied how much Don Arthur Valenti adored his wife. What no one knew was that I'd hated his guts for a long time. The weekend I found out I was pregnant, I yanked the steering wheel and deliberately drove straight into the guardrail on an overpass. The airbag exploded. The crash gave me exactly what I wanted. Blood poured from my body, soaking the leather seat beneath me. When Arthur rushed into the hospital, his custom suit, always immaculate, was a wrinkled mess. Sitting up in the hospital bed, I took the pink diamond ring he'd proposed to me with and threw it in the trash right in front of him. "Congratulations, you took over the entire East Side today." He was always calm and in control, but now his eyes burned with rage as he gripped my shoulders. "Cecilia, have you lost your mind? You'd kill your own baby just to get back at me?" I looked at him and laughed hysterically. "Arthur, you set a trap to take over the Corsica family and sent my father to a maximum-security prison yourself. You didn't think that was crazy?" His face stiffened, then went cold. "The family has no mercy for traitors. You have no one to blame but yourself." He leaned over me, the heavy smell of cigars closing in around me. "The baby's gone. We'll have another. Once we have a child, you won't have time for those foolish thoughts anymore." "When that day comes, we'll take the baby to Alcatraz to visit your father. Then the whole family can be together again." I stared quietly at the ceiling. It was too late. Half an hour earlier, the prison had called. My father had died of a sudden heart attack. I had no reason to stay with Arthur anymore.

The day Lily Bianchi returned from abroad, the Don Dario Moretti threw a street race in her honor. She was the woman he valued most. He ordered me to race, even though my old injuries hadn't healed. The wound on my arm tore open, and I lost control of the steering wheel. The car slammed head-on into a boulder. Pain ripped through me. When Dario drove past, he instinctively slowed down for a moment. Lily, riding shotgun, immediately rested a hand on Dario's shoulder. "Dario, why on earth did Lucia crash into the mountainside? Is it because you let me ride with you? She got jealous and hurt herself just to get your attention." Dario scoffed. "Nobody help her. She'll live. "Anyone who takes her to the hospital gets sent to the border for hard labor." With that, he sped off in pursuit of first place without looking back, Lily at his side and dust swirling behind them. He raised Lily's hand in triumph, floored the gas pedal, and crossed the finish line cheering. The drivers behind him glanced over at me. None of them dared disobey Dario's orders. All they could do was slow down when Dario wasn't looking and toss first-aid bandages through my car window. A few of the veteran guards quietly got out of their cars to help stop the bleeding. Their hands were gentle, their eyes full of sympathy. Dario didn't send anyone to take me to the hospital until nightfall. When I woke up, the first thing I did was reach for my phone. Six hours had passed since the accident, but there was only one message from him. "Stop playing dead. Be back by six, or you know what happens." I set the phone down, my throat tight. Dario cared about many things: money, power, Lily. Everything except me. Eventually, I stopped hoping for his love. It wasn't until I died before his eyes that he went mad with regret.