Live Streaming Short Stories & Novels

At a highway service area, the man parked in the next space points under his van and shouts that it's leaking fuel and is about to explode. I am a veteran auto mechanic with ten years of experience. Without hesitation, I slide under the vehicle and, within ten seconds, clamp off the fuel line. The moment I crawl back out, I catch the smell of mineral water. The owner, Billy Dickson, immediately pulls out his phone and starts a livestream while several of his accomplices pin me against the hood. "Watch this, everyone! We set the perfect trap and caught a gang of catalytic converter thieves! See how smoothly he got under the chassis? He's obviously a repeat offender. Every missing part at this service area has to be his doing!" Covered in dirt and grease, I try to explain to the crowd that I only cut the line because I thought the vehicle was about to catch fire and endanger everyone nearby. Billy spits a thick wad of phlegm right onto my shoe. "Who asked you to stick your nose into my business? You crawled under my van because you wanted to steal parts! Either you pay for a brand-new vehicle today, or I'll hand you over to the police and make sure you rot in prison!" Not wanting to delay getting my wife, who's about to go into labor, to the hospital, I grit my teeth and transfer them 20,000 dollars to settle the matter privately. Three days later, on a long downhill stretch of a winding mountain road, Billy's van completely loses its brakes. Black smoke pours from the tires. He recognizes my car and frantically blares the horn. Rolling down his window, he begs me to tell him how to survive. I simply press down on the accelerator and widen the distance between us, my face completely expressionless. "Back for another livestream to chase views? Give me a break. To prove I'm not a car thief, I already threw my wrenches into the river. You'll have to figure out for yourself how to jump out of the van."

"He forced me! That night, he got me pregnant." Before the Werewolf High Council, at a public trial livestreamed for the world to see, a low-ranking Omega named Selena cradled her belly and accused me. "I tried to fight back, but I was utterly paralyzed by his Alpha presence. He broke the leg of someone who tried to stop him!" Outside the Council hall, furious protesters brandished signs, their shouts branding me a monster who couldn't think past his dick. Online, every comment section was flooded with the same demand: "Execute that monster Alpha!" The stock of the Blackstone Group, the empire I built from nothing, plummeted. Even the elders I myself had elevated were now clawing over one another to strip me of my Alpha title. When the Chairman brought down his gavel, I stepped forward, slowly raising my hands to unbutton my shirt. "I am a female Alpha." "So please, tell me, in front of the entire werewolf world, how exactly did I get you pregnant with something I don't have?"

I was lounging at home, scrolling through social media, when a livestream title suddenly caught my eye—"The Other Woman Crash Course." Curious, I entered to see a woman talking animatedly, "My sugar daddy gives me 200,000 every month. I just need to keep him satisfied!" Viewers were doubtful and asked, "I don't believe you. Tell us how you two met." She smiled. "That's alright. You don't get to meet someone like that every day. I met him after doing a bone marrow transplant with his girlfriend three years ago. That's how I met this golden bachelor." I frowned. I had a bone marrow transplant three years ago too. Suddenly, the door opened, and she covered her phone in panic. A man's deep voice came through the microphone, "Baby? What're you doing? You're acting weird." My fingers froze the moment I heard that voice. He sounded so much like my fiance, Leo Harvey. I called him. The very next second, the custom ringtone I had set for Leo's phone rang clearly through the livestream.

To support my husband Jasper Young's business, I spent four years livestreaming myself eating. I went from 100 pounds to 200 pounds because of that. Tonight, I started my live stream as usual, but a message from Jasper suddenly popped up on my phone. [End the stream now. Stop eating. Ruby feels sick just watching you eat.] The food in my mouth was suddenly tasteless, but I didn't dare stop. Instead, I shoved the food into my mouth even faster. My phone kept buzzing. His criticisms came one after another. [Kirsten, I told you to stop eating. Ruby is already suffering because of her pregnancy. Are you trying to upset her on purpose?] [You're both women. And Ruby's your best friend. How can you have no empathy for her?] [Is this because you can't have children? Are you jealous of her?] [You were the one who agreed to let Ruby have my child in the first place.] [Are you trying to go back on your word and make everyone miserable?] Tears finally fell into the bowl, and the food in my mouth tasted like dust. I had spent four years livestreaming, and ten years by his side. I gained 100 pounds, and this was what I got in the end. I couldn't keep swallowing the bitterness of this marriage anymore.

Mom and Dad aren't bothered at all when I completely start slacking off. Kennedy Quinlan, my girlfriend's brother, who has established a reputation as a genius inventor, completely breaks down, while I slack off instead of conducting research in the lab. In my past life, Kennedy files an identical patent application just one day before I do, causing everyone to brand me as a fraud and accuse me of blatant plagiarism. I try to explain myself, but no one believes me. Kennedy eventually launches a live stream to blast me online, accusing me of trying to scam my way into their family's fortune. They run a massive cyberbullying campaign against my whole family. Mom and Dad only want to clear things up, but Kennedy's crazed fans push them off a high-rise building, leaving them to die in unresolved grief. Unable to handle the blow, I fall into a severe depression and end up slitting my wrists. I still can't wrap my head around the whole situation, even in my final moments. It is obviously the fruit of my own painstaking research, so why does someone else get to file the patent first? I suddenly open my eyes and find myself back on the day before my invention is stolen.

I watched my own pup be brutally slaughtered with my own eyes, yet I protected the killer for seven years. The Elders begged me to name the killer, but I simply yawned and went to sleep. The pack cornered me in the courtyard, accusing me of being a heartless traitor, so I picked up a silver dagger and threatened them all. My Alpha mate, however, never broke our mating bond. This man who had once held me in the highest regard had bound me in our home's dungeon with a silver chain. Defying the pack's opposition, he insisted on keeping my Luna title, yet he came to interrogate me every single day. Until, seven years later, when a witch claiming she could extract memories arrived at the pack, he sent me to the memory trial altar. But after seeing the killer in my memories, everyone was left in absolute shock. My mate, especially, could barely even stay on his knees.

On the day the channel Edith Parker and I run as a couple surpasses 30 million followers, I finally step in front of the camera for the first time as a fan event reward. I woke up at 5:00 am to get styled and try on more than ten suits. But right before filming starts, Edith stops me. She says, "Holden, let Caden appear on camera instead. He looks better on screen. The fans will like him more." Caden Sparks is my best friend. I stand there stunned for a long time, but I eventually nod. From that day on, Edith and Caden pretend to be a couple on camera for three years. I remain behind the camera. I write their scripts, set up the lighting, and edit their videos. I watch the comments flood in again and again. Someone writes, "They really look like they love each other. I'm obsessed!" I also watch Edith grow more comfortable holding Caden's hand. Then, on the three-year anniversary livestream, the host asks them, "What was the moment that made your hearts race the most?" Edith and Caden smile at the same time. "The day we appear on camera together for the first time." At that moment, the entire comment section explodes. And I sit alone in a dark corner, suddenly barely able to breathe. So, for three years, they pretend to be a couple. But I am the only one who still believes that is all it is. After the livestream ends, I remove all my access from the channel dashboard. Then I open the overseas filming invitation sitting in my inbox for half a month. I calmly reply, "I accept." From now on, I won't play a part in their romance anymore.

In the seventh year of our secret relationship, Alex Timbers became the hero pilot the whole country was talking about. His flight had run into extreme weather. Somehow, on nerve and skill alone, he'd brought the plane down safely. I watched the livestream the whole time, crying so hard I could barely stand. Then, ten minutes later, during an on-site interview at the airport, a three-year-old boy ducked under the barricade and threw himself into Alex's arms, sobbing and calling him Dad. Right behind him came my best friend, Natalie Wilde, her eyes red. In front of the entire country, Alex pulled them both into his arms. Before I could even process it, two more familiar faces appeared on screen. My mother, Susan Healey, hugged Natalie, her voice breaking. "It's over now, Natalie. Alex made it back alive. You and the boy finally have someone to lean on." My father, Dale Healey, clapped Alex on the shoulder, beaming. "Your family of three is whole again. Nothing beats that." In that instant, every drop of blood in my body ran cold. Over the past seven years, I'd had three miscarriages because of Alex. Each time, he'd held me and sworn, eyes red, "Mary, for your reputation, I can't let you have a child out of wedlock. Once I make captain, we'll get married." I laughed until the laughter turned into tears, blurring my vision. It wasn't just Alex. My parents had been standing with them the whole time. I'd been the only one left waiting, seven years, in a place no one could see. I typed out in the livestream's comment section: [Congratulations.]

After the college entrance exams ended, the class heartthrob suggested the whole class take a trip together. To save on costs, he rallied everyone to go sightseeing at my house instead. "Didn't Nico say his house was bigger than the Palace of Versailles, with more servants than anyone could count?" Everyone watched me like they were waiting for a show, eager to see me humiliated. I kindly warned them that once you set foot in my house, there was no leaving. Tyler Knight, the class heartthrob, laughed. "Doesn't matter. If your house is really that big, we'll stay for the rest of our lives. No, scratch that, we'll stay for the next eight hundred lifetimes. "Nico's really committed to the act. I want to see how he keeps bluffing once we actually show up at his place." Since everyone was dead set on going, I had no choice but to call my father, the King of Hell. "Dad, my classmates are coming over in a few days. Tell Agnes to make a few extra pots of her special soup."

Everything runs perfectly at my grilled‑fish restaurant until a famous food‑blogger Brandon Cooper turns up unannounced to film a review. To my horror, the moment he gets a good look at the fish in my tanks, his face goes pale. "Look, everyone! This is an endangered fish. Eat any one of these, and you could end up behind bars!" Overnight, my restaurant's shut down, I'm under investigation, and my entire family's being harassed online. Everything I've built over the past ten years is nearly destroyed. Once the investigation findings came out, the truth finally came to light. I got my chance to turn the tables. "I've lost at least two million dollars since my restaurant was shut down. It's time for you to pay up!"

The fake heiress was dead. My biological parents believed I was responsible. Together, they reported me to the authorities and demanded that my memories be extracted. After watching my memories, everyone broke down in tears. But I smiled. This was exactly what I wanted. To become the perfect victim.

I was getting ready to bring my girlfriend home to meet my mother when Rosalind Whitehall suddenly went silent. I was starting to panic when a notification popped up on my phone. It was a wedding livestream from a couple with 1,000,000 followers. "Looking back, the laughter and joy of that wedding celebration made it the happiest moment of my life. Mr. Grosvenor, I'm counting on you for the rest of my life." "We promised that once we hit 1,000,000 followers, the groom would finally show his face. A promise is a promise." In the video, Rosalind stood in a wedding dress and gently exchanged rings with a man. Our mutual friends flooded the comments. [Five years, and we finally got to watch you two tie the knot!] [The part where Victor read his vows wrecked me. Today was another day I cried over a real-life fairy tale.] My best friend proudly declared on camera, "As Victor's security guard of love, I can finally retire." As I stared at the familiar face on my screen, I suddenly couldn't breathe. Rosalind and I had been together for seven years, but for five of those years, she'd been in love with another man. My closest friends and our mutual friends knew, but I was the only one left in the dark. Everyone had been part of that wedding except me.

The captain of our college cheer squad was drowning. I fought to pull her ashore and performed mouth-to-mouth in front of the entire student body and faculty. But three days later, she went live, sobbing, and accused me. "Owen Ellis pushed me into the water... He's wanted to force himself on me for ages! "He threatened me, too. He said if I didn't sleep with him, he'd post photos of him kissing me on a porn site and ruin me!" Overnight, I went from a lifesaving hero to a would-be rapist reviled across the internet. The university expelled me. My parents were doxxed by online mobs, lost their jobs, and both sank into depression. In my darkest moment, I stood at the same lake where I'd saved her and jumped. As the water closed over my head, a notification lit up my phone. The cheer captain was smiling on her livestream as hundreds of thousands of fans flooded the chat. The stream title read: "A Strong Girl Rises from the Ashes." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment she started drowning. She was thrashing in the water, those wet eyes locked on mine, and she cried out. "Owen... save me..."

When the kiss cam swept across the stands at the baseball stadium Warren Doyle, a married investor in the league, had his arms around his PR director and was kissing her. The two of them went up on the jumbotron, and the crowd erupted in hoots and cheers. Warren stormed into the camera bay and demanded I hand over my camera. I told him the camera pointed wherever the control room told it to. He stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly let go and let me leave. I thought that was the end of it. The next day, audio from the crew channel shot to the top of the news feeds, with nothing left in it but two ambiguous lines from me. "Camera locked on row seven. Keep rolling. Don't cut." Overnight I became the shameless camera operator who'd filmed them on purpose. I was suspended from my job, my father's food cart was trashed, and Warren sued me for a million dollars. But he didn't know that the recording he was using to convict me could only ever convict him.

I was the traitor everyone in the Flame Pack loathed. I was the former Alpha's sister, and at the Flame Pack's darkest hour, I abandoned my mate and my baby daughter and defected to our enemy, the Dark Moon Pack. I even killed my own brother and climbed over his corpse to become the Dark Moon Pack's Beta. Two months ago, gravely wounded, I collapsed on the Flame Pack's border. The guards on patrol threw me into prison and tortured me for information. I never said a word. My former mate, Eugene Carter, now the Alpha of the Flame Pack, kept delaying my execution on the grounds that there wasn't enough evidence. That angered everyone. Furious crowds took to the streets, marching and demanding the traitor be put to death at once. So Eugene's current mate, Edna Parker, proposed putting me on trial with the Memory Crystal. The Memory Crystal extracts a person's most important memories and projects them for everyone to see. The price is agony beyond human endurance, followed by death and the complete dissolution of the condemned person's soul. For ten years, Edna had passed along countless messages that helped the Flame Pack resist the Dark Moon Pack. Her contributions had been immense. Everyone supported her proposal, certain the Memory Crystal would prove my guilt once and for all. Eugene agreed. But none of them knew that the truth they were about to uncover with their own hands was far crueler than anything they had imagined.

Tomorrow was supposed to be my engagement party with my fiance, Jason Miller. To surprise him, I flew back a day earlier after spending three long years studying abroad in London. The moment my plane landed, I called him. But he just laughed and casually dropped a bombshell. He had lost a high-stakes poker game, and he had just wagered me off to his friend as a free maid for a month. Before I could even speak, my phone lit up with a notification. He had added me to his wealthy inner-circle group chat. The title was vicious. [Congrats to Marcus on his new ugly maid!] Jason dropped a photo of me, from before I left the country, into the chat. In the picture, my skin was broken out, my hair was a wild mess, and I had severe buckteeth that made me look completely awkward. The group chat exploded. "Holy crap, Jason! You're brutal! She looks frightening!" "A bet's a bet, Marcus! You gotta bring the monster to the yacht party tomorrow!" Someone immediately set up a poll, betting cash on whether I would actually have the nerve to show up in a swimsuit. Jason instantly dropped ten grand on the poll, betting I would hide in embarrassment. "Sorry to ruin your eyes, bro," he texted the group. "Just think of her as a free circus act." I stared at the screen, a cold smile touching my lips. He never bothered to call me while I was away. He had no idea I spent the last three years in Europe undergoing three hundred thousand dollars' worth of top-tier facial reconstruction and styling. He had no idea that a single unedited photo of my face was now pulling hundreds of thousands of followers online. They wanted a show? Tomorrow on that yacht, I would give them one.

My best friend and her boyfriend started a couples' vlog channel together, and it recently went viral online. I immediately followed it, watching every single upload. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that her blurred-out boyfriend acted suspiciously like my husband. When I mentioned it to her, she just flicked my forehead. "Girl, you're so crazy in love that you see your husband everywhere! Keep this up, and I'm gonna start getting jealous!" Blushing, I rubbed my head and quickly changed the subject. That was until my husband's company retreat, where I dragged Barbara Moore along to keep me company. Out of nowhere, our flight back suffered a severe emergency. Flight attendants handed out paper for everyone to write down their final words. With trembling hands, I finished writing mine, only to catch a glance at theirs. They had written down each other's names! My husband turned on his camera, framing both of them in the shot. "Barbara, I'm content to spend my final moments with you. Everyone, this channel won't be updating anymore. Goodbye." Neither of them noticed that off-camera, my face had gone deathly pale. Yet in the end, the plane managed to land safely. None of us died. I didn't cry or throw a scene. Instead, I simply tore up my final note, opened the car door, and got in. "What are you guys standing there for? Get in."

In my sixth year of running an inn in Rimevale, I'm diagnosed with bone cancer. I leave the inn in the hands of my fiancé, Eric Jones, and head to Varenia with nothing but an old enamel mug. Once I'm there, I start a livestream called "My Last 100 Sunsets." Every day at 7:00 pm, I turn the camera toward the snowcapped mountains and make coffee just out of frame. On my 31st livestream, a comment suddenly catches my eye. "Wait. Does that mug at the edge of the frame have a V-shaped chip in it?" Six years ago, when a blizzard left us stranded in the mountains, I kept that same mug filled with hot spiced cider for Eric all night. The chat explodes. "That's Alice Graham from Veylune Inn!" "Alice, why are you calling these your last sunsets?" Then a private message from Eric pops up. "Alice, where are you? Send me your location right now." What he doesn't know is that the night before I start chemo, I go back to the inn to get my documents and hear him and our receptionist, Denise Snyder, together in our bedroom. They're in the bed I picked out for us. "What if Alice comes back and catches us?" Denise asks. Eric laughs. "She won't leave me. Not after six years together." Standing outside the door, I open the confirmation email from an assisted-dying clinic in Varenia and click "Accept." By the time more than 100,000 people have signed up to watch my 100th livestream, Eric finally recognizes the snowcapped mountains outside my window and realizes where I am. I change the stream title to "My 100th Sunset: I Won't Be Here for Sunrise."

My husband, Mitch Cooley, has been with me through my fifth year of battling depression. While searching for recipes online, a notification for a late-night livestream for anonymous confessions pops up on my phone screen. "What's the biggest lie your husband has ever told you?" I tap on the notification out of curiosity as my eyes are drawn to the profile picture showing two hands tightly clasped together. The interviewee replies, "I'm still single, but if it's about my stupid best friend, then she'd been lied to by her husband three times. "The first time, her ex-boyfriend died in a car crash while cheating on her, and her now-husband hid the truth on purpose so that she thought the main reason her ex died was that she wanted to break up with him. "Her husband knew all along that her ex-boyfriend had been cheating on her with me, but he watched her try to slit her wrists in remorse multiple times without telling her the truth. "As for the third time, I just mentioned to her husband that he could only ever have a baby with me, and he immediately got himself a certificate proving that he was sexually frigid and refused to sleep with her. "But the most ridiculous thing is that my best friend still stupidly went to get an IVF done while I was rolling in the sheets with her husband every night." I feel alarm bells go off in my head. Mitch had also suddenly experienced sexual frigidity recently. The hospital he went to for treatment was one recommended by my best friend, Lexie Moyer. My hands tremble as I click on the interviewee's profile picture. I then realize that the red mole on the ring finger is the exact same one on Mitch's finger. The interviewee's tone suddenly turns low and restrained. "Even when her husband told her today that he would be working overtime at the company, when he was actually keeping me and our son company, she still made a whole table of dishes waiting for him to come home." I freeze on the spot the moment the interviewee's voice changer malfunctions for a bit. I know that voice too well. It is Lexie's.

The night before the Global Finals, my boyfriend, our team captain, handed my starting spot to an academy trainee just to indulge her. Every question I got wrong, I had to hand over a piece of gear that had carried me through championships. But every answer had been rigged from the start. In the end, he pulled my account key and gave my Finals seat to the trainee. "Just let her play one match. You're twenty-six, stop being so petty." I snapped my account card in half on the spot and signed the termination papers they'd drawn up. The whole team expected me to crawl back to base. But when the Finals lineups took the stage, I was wearing our rivals' starting jersey, standing on the other side. They still had no idea who had really been carrying whom to those three straight championships.