Independence Revenge Short Stories & Novels

Every witch awakened a gift when she came of age. Mine was simple. I could siphon my husband's fortune. On Christmas Eve, my husband spent 20,000,000 on a ring and proposed to his mistress as if he were buying a headline. The trending page exploded. Everyone waited to see how quickly I would be thrown out. The pathetic wife was finally swept out the door. When I stayed quiet, Jasper Prescott's tone turned playful, almost indulgent. "She's just a kid. She wanted the whole 'moment.' Your place isn't going anywhere." Then he added, as if assigning me a chore, "She's young. She can't handle things. Pay more attention to the engagement party's details." As though he feared I might cause trouble, he slid a black card across the table with casual ease. "Babe, you know what I value most," he said. "You being sensible." I pinched the cold card between my fingers, smiled, and nodded. No one knew the rule hidden inside our marriage. After we married, every time Jasper betrayed me, I took a piece of his fortune, stripping it from him one point at a time and adding it to my own. Once Christmas was over, I would take whatever he had left.

Just a few days before my wedding, I accidentally come across a post while scrolling online. The title reads, "To the guy getting married in this city, your fiancée's already cheated on you." Curious, I click in to see the gossip, only to realize I'm the one being talked about. A deep male voice plays in the video. "I heard you're getting married?" The woman in the frame, bare-backed and trembling, chokes back a sob. "After you left, I realized you're still the one I love most. I'm done with him. Take me away, please!" The moment I hear her voice, it feels like someone punches me straight in the chest. Then I notice something on her wrist—the luxury couple's bracelet I gave her just yesterday. And in that instant, I feel like the biggest joke of all. Turns out the fool was me.

My father-in-law, George Lane, suffered from a brain aneurysm and fell onto the ground. The floor was covered in his blood. I calmly picked up a mop and wiped the floor clean. As his daughter-in-law, I gave up on saving him within the most critical time. In my last life, I was the first person who found out that George was injured. I immediately got an ambulance and sent him to the hospital. Before the surgery, the hospital required his immediate family member to sign off the consent form. However, when I asked my husband, Brian Lane to come to the hospital to sign that document, he thought that I was acting out of jealousy because he was spending time with his first-love. He thought I was making an excuse to get him home, so he refused to go to the hospital. In the end, George passed away as he did not receive the treatment on time. Brian did not manage to see George for the last time, and he blamed it all on me. He then hacked me to death. “It’s your fault! My dad was so old, and you didn’t take good care of him as a daughter-in-law! Since you’re not doing your part when he’s alive, then you should continue your duties as a daughter-in-law in hell!” When I opened my eyes, I found myself on the day when George died again.

For three years, I was the only one allowed inside my husband, Matthew Carter's, secret room on the top floor. Until that day—when I walked in and found his young assistant there. "Matthew asked me to get things ready for his dinner party," she said, all confidence and no shame. I smiled. It turned out this was what it felt like to have my privileges as his wife trampled on. Fine. If the rules of the game had changed, then I would show everyone who the real player was. One by one, I dismantled the Carter family's most prized projects. That was when Matthew finally panicked. He demanded, "Why? We're husband and wife!" "Exactly," I said, tossing the divorce papers onto his desk. "And that's why betrayal comes with a steeper price, doesn't it?"

On the day of the World Rally Championship finals, I pressed the accelerator to the floor, ready for the final dash. The next moment, the engine exploded in a deafening roar, and thick smoke instantly filled the cockpit. Flames spread toward the fuel tank. I yanked at the door, desperate to jump out, but the handle wouldn’t budge, and the brakes felt welded in place. In that instant of despair, my husband’s voice came through the comms. “Attention, all teams, no need to rescue her. My wife is the Iron Racer! “For today’s live broadcast challenge, let’s see if she can drive this burning car across the finish line!” His co-commentator, recently recruited onto the team, chimed in with excitement. “Thomas, the sponsor just confirmed! As long as Jane holds on to the end, they’ll increase investment. I can get a permanent spot!” I understood instantly then that the husband on the commentary platform I had supported for years was using my life to pave the way for his mistress. Smoke clawed at my throat. However, I forced down the dizziness and begged, “For the sake of all our years together…” Only for him to cut me off with irritation. “Save your energy for driving. You’re skilled. Just hold on a little longer. Mandy’s promotion depends entirely on you.” The cockpit had become an inferno; my skin searing with every second. I gripped the blistering wheel, steering through the smoke for the last time. This time, my finish line was the commentary platform where the two of them were huddled together.

I used to be the cockiest rich kid in high society, but somehow I became the biggest simp in the whole circle. It was all because I was bound to a heroine conquest system. If I failed, I would be finished. To stay alive, I had no choice but to do everything Samantha said and constantly try to please her. Knowing I could give her anything she wanted, she took the sports car I gave her and went for a drive with her childhood friend, Charles Lindsey. Then she left me alone on the highway in the middle of a violent storm. "Samantha, my asthma is acting up. My medicine is in the car. Can you come back and get me?" She gave a cold, mocking laugh. I could also hear Charles laughing on the phone. "Walk home yourself. There’s no room in the car for you." With only ten seconds left to live, I finally snapped. "You stupid system! How can a woman this cruel be the heroine? I want to switch targets!" The system froze for a long moment before a notification appeared. "Target has seriously deviated from the assigned character profile. Select a new target within five seconds!" In a panic, I pointed at the thin, miserable-looking figure in the distance. "New target selected: Destined Villain. Confirm?" I shouted with all the strength I had left. "Her! I choose her!"

Word on the street in the city of Hereshire was that Roy Chester had a penchant for eighteen-year-old girls. Yet, Willow Croyton was twenty-one when they started dating, and she stuck by him for nearly three years. She was a well-known simp to Roy, her only merit being her docility and good behavior. Later, when Willow left, Roy was spotted multiple times near her apartment block, his eyes teary. 

I'm an elite animal behaviorist in the country as well as the only person in the world who has the ability to communicate with wild beasts of bigger stature. When my daughter, Harper Sheffield, falls into the tigers' enclosure at the zoo, I decline the SOS phone call that my wife, Madeline Cross, has dialed. Then, I start a livestream coolly and begin recording the thrilling scene. A few minutes later, my father, Randall Sheffield, calls me in a mixture of alarm and rage. "Harper will die at this rate! Where the hell are you? I order you to find a way to save her right now, or else you can kiss the inheritance right to my company goodbye!" I adjust the focus intensity on my phone calmly before replying, "I'm busy right now. Stop disturbing me when I'm trying to make money from my livestream."

My neighbor is a physics genius. He's spent the past six months preparing for an important physics competition. However, he wants to skip it to care for his girlfriend, who has a fever. I tell his parents about it. So, he's forced to participate in the competition. He wins first place and is admitted to Quinver University. Later, he establishes his own business and finds success. I become one of his employees. He looks down at me imperiously in a dim basement. He stomps on my fingers, shattering them. "You deserve this for being so wicked, Larissa Clarke." When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to before any of this ever happened.

I sponsored Emily Fagan from an underprivileged background just to help her get through school. She was good-looking but wasn't exactly the brightest. Despite my warning not to tamper with my things, she slipped stimulants into my water bottle. Thanks to her, I was accused of cheating in the swimming competition. Our team's score was nullified. As for me, I was banned from competing for life and kicked out of college. When I confronted her, she cried pitifully, "Julie, I just wanted you to win. I didn't know that'd happen." My boyfriend, Elijah Strauss, held her and comforted her. He even snapped at me, claiming, "Em had good intentions. Why are you giving her a hard time?" Crushed, I shut myself in at home. Feeling sorry, she and Elijah visited me and brought along some vodka as an apology. After I took ten shots, I asked her to buy some over-the-counter pain relievers for my splitting headache. Little did I know that she'd make me take a dangerous dose of Ibuprofen mixed with alcohol. The bleeding in my stomach was what killed me. Emily looked pitifully remorseful at the hospital. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't even tell what I shouldn't have given her…" During the police interrogation, my boyfriend gave false testimony to protect her. He accused me of taking my own life by mixing Ibuprofen and alcohol because I couldn't handle the mental stress from cheating in the competition. When I reopened my eyes, I found out that I was transported to the day before the competition.

The whole school thought I was using my family's money to treat Lucas Reid, the broke campus heartthrob, like a dog. When I went shopping, he trailed behind me carrying dozens of bags. Whenever I complained about the heat, he'd stand motionless in the sun for two hours holding an umbrella over me, until one shoulder burned and peeled. Countless girls at school felt sorry for him. Then Celine Lawson, the department's new it girl, turned everyone against me. Suddenly, the spoiled rich girl was public enemy number one. While Lucas was at the lab, Celine and her crew cornered me in a classroom and knocked the latte out of my hand. Coffee splashed all over my shoes. She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at me. "Oops. My hand slipped. "I figured you only drank human blood anyway." Then she slapped a photo on the desk. Lucas's arm was streaked with blood. The students crowding around us pointed and whispered. Celine scoffed. "Get a good look? "Because of you, he comes to class covered in injuries every single day. "You've got a little money, so you think you can walk all over people? You really think nobody can stop you?" She shoved a withdrawal form in front of me. It read, "I voluntarily withdraw from school and publicly apologize for bullying Lucas Reid." "Sign it. Now." She held up her phone and played a video. "Or I'll post this video of you making him stand in a downpour as punishment, and you'll be ruined." I looked at the familiar figure in the photo. Are these people out of their minds? My dad pays ten million euros a year for a top bodyguard from the Middle East. Since when is it a crime to make him do his job?

My husband, Samuel Crawford, made an excuse about attending a company business meeting and refused to participate in our daughter's school activity. He also suggested that we should not participate either. Seeing my daughter's disappointment, I decided to take her myself. As soon as we entered the school, I spotted Samuel sitting on the stage with his ex-girlfriend, Monica Sterling, and her son. They looked intimate, appearing every bit like a perfect family of three. Samuel spoke confidently into the microphone about achieving family harmony and career success. Throughout his speech, he occasionally exchanged glances and smiles with Monica. The audience applauded enthusiastically. Samuel's expression grew increasingly smug, and even the little boy beside him wore an arrogant look. Soon the Q&A session came. I then grabbed the microphone and asked, "Mr. Crawford, when did you have a son? Does your wife know about this?"

Right before graduation, my roommate waved around a job offer from some overseas company. It had a three-day workweek, with a starting salary of $50,000 a month. It sounded too good to be true, so I warned her it might be a scam. When she struck out on other job leads, I asked my dad to get her a position at his company. She scoffed at the eight-hour days and $6,000 monthly salary, calling it slave labor. Then she went live online, falsely accusing my dad of inappropriate advances and pressuring her to bear him a son. When skeptics questioned her, she swore no woman would lie about her honor. The internet erupted, branding my dad a predator. Our company collapsed under the backlash, leaving us drowning in debt. To spare me, my dad jumped from a rooftop to his death. Devastated, I wandered into traffic and was struck by a truck. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Amber got that shady offer.

On the day I married the most feared woman in the underworld, words suddenly appeared before my eyes. [Marry her and you're dead! She's actually in love with your stepfather. This whole thing is a trap to make him swoop in and steal the bride! [Run now while you still can. Otherwise, she'll auction off your virginity tonight in front of everyone and let her rich girlfriends have their turn with you! [Three days from now, after she's had you beaten within an inch of your life, she'll tell everyone you died of a sudden illness and dump your body in the outskirts for the wolves!] Last time around, I bolted the moment I saw those messages. That was a mistake. I got grabbed by Yvette Sinclair's enemies and brutalized. Meanwhile, my stepfather took my place in the wedding car and became the crime boss's pampered husband. After narrowly escaping death and finally making it home, he was already standing in the doorway with tears in his eyes. "I know you hate me," he said, "but why did you knock me out and throw me into another woman's bed?" My mother didn't even let me explain. She said I had humiliated the family, and she threw me out without a second thought. Told everyone she'd never had a son like me. My sister, the one who had always doted on me, stood there and watched me burn alive. Then she locked the door and walked away. It wasn't until after I died that I found out the truth. My stepfather had written those messages himself. Then I opened my eyes again, and I was back to the day of the wedding. The same words were already floating in front of me. I watched my stepfather fuss over my tie with a warm, satisfied look on his face. I grabbed the kettle and poured boiling water all over him. This time, I was going to give him a taste of his own medicine!

On my wedding anniversary, my three-year-old son gave me an alpaca as a gift. I turned right around and shipped it off to the circus, where I found it a strapping alpaca husband. All because I'd been reborn. In my last life, that alpaca was sweet and gentle with everyone—except me. Every single day, it spat on me. Determined not to disappoint my son, I tried everything to win it over, but nothing worked. My mind unraveled. I stopped sleeping. I started hearing things that weren't there, and every night I dreamed of that alpaca chasing me down to spit in my face. My husband called me vicious. My son called me petty. And the two of them only grew closer to that alpaca by the day. Worn down and broken, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills and ended it. Floating above my own body after death, I watched in shock as it stood back up on its own. My son ran sobbing into "my" arms. "Mom, you're finally not an alpaca anymore!" My husband smiled and pulled them both into an embrace. "Nadia, you've been through so much. If it weren't for needing a healthy body to move your soul into, you'd never have had to suffer inside that alpaca for two years." That was when I finally understood. That alpaca had been Nadia Salem all along—the sickly impostor who'd stolen my identity for over twenty years.

I was a mafia princess, sick of the life. After my father died, all I wanted was a normal life. I helped my husband, Marco, take his company public. I fought his battles. I took care of his mother. I paid for his sister’s tuition and her addiction to luxury. Then, at our tenth-anniversary party, he gave my mother's bracelet to his childhood flame, Isabella. He even fucked her in our bed. I hired a PI. Found out he knew who I was from the start. He used me. Planned to be a Wall Street hotshot, then toss me aside. He thought my family was wiped out. That no one had my back. That he could walk all over me. He didn’t break until his company was bleeding partners and staring down bankruptcy. He got on his knees, crying and begging me to forgive him.

On my wedding day, I jumped from the 38th floor of the hotel. It all started when I got together with my first love, Colin Frey. My best friend, Alice Manning, came to me and said she had bound herself to some kind of love system. She claimed that every guy I dated would fall for her and dump me. I thought she was just messing around and did not believe her. However, just a few days later, Colin came to me and confessed that he wanted to break up because he had fallen in love with Alice. After that, I got smart about it. I stopped telling anyone about my relationships and did not even post anything on social media. Yet, somehow Alice always knew. It was as if she had installed some kind of tracking device on me. No matter who I dated, she would find out. Then, within days, they would all fall head over heels for her and leave me behind. I was completely heartbroken, so I moved back to my hometown to get as far away from Alice as possible. Through my parents' arrangement, I was set to marry a guy through a blind date setup. Yet, on the actual wedding day, he stood up in front of everyone and confessed his love to Alice, saying he wanted to marry her instead. My parents, who were sitting in the audience, were so furious and devastated that they collapsed on the spot. They were rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. They were gone. Meanwhile, Alice was wearing the ring that was supposed to be mine, looking absolutely smug as she boasted, "A man this amazing? As if you deserve him. Now he's mine, so why don't you just step aside like a good girl?" I could not take the blow, so I climbed to the hotel rooftop and leapt off without hesitation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the very moment before Alice had ever mentioned that so-called system.

My boyfriend, Allen, is a fitness coach who is cheerful, handsome, and has eight-pack abs. After getting together with me, he transferred all his female students to other colleagues and would send me daily check-in photos. In anticipation of becoming his fiancee, I happily prepared for our engagement ceremony. However, two weeks before the ceremony, I discovered a bright red lipstick mark on Allen’s workout pants. I quickly pulled up the check-in photo he had sent me that day. Through the reflection on a dumbbell, I saw a woman standing next to Allen—her lips painted in the exact same lipstick color. Most of the previous photos had flaws, but I had trusted Allen too much to notice them. Looking at his message under the photo, I let out a cold laugh. "Baby, I have to work overtime today to train a male student." He actually dared to deceive me. Just then, my phone rang. It was the wedding planning company confirming the engagement ceremony setup. I quickly responded with a confirmation. The ceremony would proceed as planned—except I had a special surprise prepared for Allen, one he would never forget.

Someone posted a love confession to me on the college's confession wall. But then my roommate's boyfriend left a comment claiming I had slept with every guy on campus. I was furious and ready to call the police. My roommate begged me to forgive her boyfriend, promising she'd make him apologize publicly on the confession wall. But before that apology ever came, an adult video started circulating in the student group chats. Everyone was saying I was the girl in the video. The college summoned me for a meeting and suggested I take a leave of absence. When I went home, my parents refused to acknowledge me as their daughter. I lost everything. Depression consumed me, and with the endless rumors, I finally gave in to despair and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, it was the day my name first appeared on the confession wall.

The Volkovs. The most brutal family in Russia. Their Don was holding our arms deal hostage. He wanted the De Luca princess. Isla. My adopted sister. I was their biological daughter. The blood heir they found in the slums twenty years too late. But Isla was the one they actually loved. The news broke. My mother walked into my room for the first time in forever. “Aurora, my best girl. You know how fragile Isla is. If she marries him… that man will break her. He’ll kill her.” My fiancé, Julian Caldwell, heir to the Caldwell family, made me a candlelit dinner. He held me, kissing me softly. “You’re so much stronger than her, Aurora. Please. Do this for her. I’ll give you a private wedding. Just us. Even if I can’t marry you for real, you’ll always be my wife.” Even my father—a man who never smiled at me, the Don of the De Luca family—actually slid a blank check across the desk. “Take her place instead of Isla. Name your price. Anything you want.” They were so sure I’d say yes. Because I’d always been that pathetic girl. Desperate for their approval. Willing to do anything. But not this time. I was done. I looked at the blank check and laughed. “A blank check? Not even close. I want one hundred million dollars. And a blood contract that cuts all ties. Forever.” They had no idea. I wanted more than that. In seven days, I was going to give them a gift. I wanted their lives.