Historias cortas y novelas de Male POV Detective

When my wife, Cynthia Larson, dies of bone cancer, I am in Penwood on a honeymoon with my "first love". After this is exposed, I—a well-known philanthropist—am subjected to the internet's rage for an entire month. Beyond threats and harassment messages, even my food deliveries are poisoned. As public outrage intensifies, the companies under my name are on the verge of bankruptcy. In overwhelming grief, I start a livestream. Tens of thousands of viewers flood in, demanding that I apologize to my deceased wife. They want to see me suffer as I chase after lost love when it is too late. Unexpectedly, I stand in front of Cynthia's grave holding a shovel. "She is already dead. Shouldn't her kidney be donated to Irene?"

Out of recognition for my achievements in the medical field, I've been made a member of the prestigious International Medical Institute. I return to the country after that. Yet, on my very first day at work, my niece, Angie Judd, ends up dying tragically in my ward. When she's found, the lower half of her body is covered in a sticky substance, and part of her uterus has dropped down. Her mother, Melanie Larson, has an emotional breakdown and jumps to her death. Her father, my adopted younger brother, Cody Judd, furiously stabs me in the abdomen. My wife, Serena Thompson, calls me a monster and immediately files for divorce. She ends up marrying Cody the moment the divorce is finalized. To make it up to Cody, my father, the police commissioner, uses his connections to forgo a proper investigation and have me imprisoned for sexual assault. My mother, the CEO of a company, takes it upon herself to transfer all of my assets to Cody. She also helps him become a renowned billionaire philanthropist in Crestbay. With no way of defending myself, I end up spending eight years in prison. The day I finally get released from prison, the entire family shows up at the prison entrance to wait for me. Serena, who's now my ex-wife, approaches with reddened eyes to hug me, but the look of concern on her face seems so fake to me. "All that matters is you've come back to us now, Hector. From now on, I'll always be by your side." The moment she finishes speaking, the nearby civilians swarm all around me. "Hector Judd! You got lucky with just an eight-year sentence! You should've been castrated and shot to death!" "That's right! To think you even hurt your own niece! You're a monster!" The endless torture and abuse I'd suffered in prison have left me feeling rather dazed. Eventually, a man who had once received financial aid from Cody rushes up and throws a bucket of sewage water at my face. "You monster! Mr. Judd even had to cancel his celebration party today just to welcome you home after your release from prison! You killed his wife and daughter, ruining his family, and now, you're even stealing the rest of the only family he still has? Go to hell!" Inhaling the putrid stench, I let out a sneer. They were the ones who falsified the evidence to throw me in prison back then. They broke my legs and injected me with a neurotoxic drug that addled my brain, making it impossible for me to protest. They did all of those things just to cover up the fact that Cody is the real murderer!

After my younger brother died, my parents and grandfather all killed themselves. Each of them died in a different way, but they shared one thing in common: Before their deaths, every one of them had read my brother's suicide note. And in that note, there was only a single sentence. Reporters fought for a chance to interview me. The police interrogated me overnight. Countless people wanted to know what that sentence said. But I never told anyone. Until the tenth anniversary of my brother's death, when I saw a figure standing in front of his grave. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of excitement. Because I knew my turn had finally come.

As soon as I've moved into my new home, Rebecca Zangler, the white-collar office worker who lives across from my apartment calls the cops on me. Her reasoning is that I've been peeping on her whenever she's taking a shower because my unrequited love toward her has transformed into brimming hatred and resentment. When the police show up, Rebecca starts crying her heart out. Then, she begins berating me. "You pervert! Every night, you're the one peeping at me with your binoculars! You even uploaded my photos to the Internet! "I saw everything, you know! Those eyes of yours are nothing but lecherous! You really are disgusting!" My neighbors begin pointing at me while mumbling about me. Someone even comes over and starts roughing me up and calling me a scumbag. "Perverts like him should be chemically castrated!" "He looks decent at first glance, but you'll never know that he's actually a peeping Tom!" When faced against everyone's backlash, I take off my sunglasses quietly, revealing my cloudy eyes. "Officer, may I ask how can a blind man like me peep on others in the first place?"

After coming home from work, I see my favorite dishes laid out all over the table. The liquor is warmed up, and its aroma is the type that I like. But I don't feel the slightest bit grateful toward my thoughtful and gentle wife. My gaze passes through her and lands on the wall behind her. There hangs a memorial portrait of her…

The empire's most beloved princess suddenly fell victim to a mysterious illness, slipping into a deep coma that no physician could cure. In the end, the royal astrologer delivered a chilling prophecy: only the man destined to be her true soulmate could awaken her with a kiss of genuine love. In the first lifetime, my eldest brother, plain-looking and desperate for the enormous reward promised by the crown, volunteered to go to the palace and kiss the princess awake. However, the moment she opened her eyes and saw him, she let out a horrified scream. Calling him a fraud, she ordered the guards to drag him into the royal fountain and drown him alive. "You liar! How could someone who looks like you possibly be my fated one?" In the second lifetime, my second brother listened carefully to the warning left behind by our reborn eldest brother. Determined not to repeat the same mistake, he sought out an underground black-market surgeon and took on the face of the most handsome man in the entire country before going to awaken the princess. This time, everything seemed perfect. The princess fell deeply in love with him, and for an entire year they lived in bliss. However, on the day their child was born, she took one look at the baby and completely lost her mind. In a fit of rage, she ordered my second brother to be beaten to death on the spot. "How dare you deceive me? Die!" By the third lifetime, after witnessing the horrific deaths of both my brothers, I hid silently in the corner, too terrified to say a single word. Unfortunately, the queen had other plans. She ordered her servants to forcefully hold me down and make me kiss the princess awake. I never expected that on the very night of our wedding, the princess would suddenly go mad, rush out of the castle, and accidentally fall into the lake, where she drowned. The queen was furious beyond reason. Believing me responsible for her daughter's death, she ordered my public execution, leaving not even my bones behind. Then came the fourth lifetime. Once again, the Royal Chamberlain arrived at our home with a line of armed guards surrounding the estate. "The astrologer has confirmed it," he declared calmly. "The princess's destined soulmate is one of the three sons of the Lynch family. "You have three days to decide. Whoever succeeds in awakening the princess will marry into the royal family and enjoy limitless wealth, power, and honor." This time, the three of us only exchanged uneasy glances. The fortune and status being offered were enough to tempt anyone in the empire, yet not a single one of us dared take a step forward.

I am a doctor. One day, I come across a weird patient when I am on duty. The first thing she says when she sees me isn't that she feels unwell somewhere. Instead, she says something hair-raising. "Dr. Cantrell, your girlfriend is a murderer." "What nonsense are you spouting?" I shoot back with widened eyes and shoot up from my chair. I feel offended. She calmly says, "She won't be home tonight because she needs to deal with the body. You will know whether what I say is true by tonight."

My wife, Alayna Watson, is childish as ever even though we've been married for eight years. From time to time, she'll use her prank toys on me just to trick me. Oftentimes, I just toss the toys into the store without thinking much about them. A few days later, when I'm cleaning the house, I suddenly remember the box that Alayna has pranked me with, so I decide to throw it away. When I open the lid, I smell a foul odor wafting from within the box. A severed arm lies quietly there. I slump to the floor instantly out of alarm and shock. With trembling fingers, I manage to call 911. When the DNA results are out, the police officer shows a weird and conflicted expression. "Sir, the DNA we've extracted from this arm… belongs to Alayna Watson."”

During my senior year of high school, I moved into an old house just to save money. Something about the place felt off. At first, it was just things I casually put down disappearing without a trace. Then, random objects that didn't belong to me started appearing around the house. One night, I finished my homework and was about to go to sleep when a girl's tank top suddenly fell from the ceiling. I froze for several seconds. Just as I was about to throw it away, I heard someone cursing out of nowhere. "Who's there? Darn it! What kind of creep steals a tank top?"

Lately, my seatmate had been looking at me strangely. Whether we were going to the cafeteria or heading to P.E., she kept her distance like she was afraid of me. I finally couldn't take it anymore and asked her, "Did I do something to offend you?" She flinched, backed several steps away, and avoided my eyes. "No. It's not your fault!" But the next day, she voluntarily transferred out of the honors track and into a regular class. Confused, I went to ask her what was going on. The moment I arrived at the door of her new classroom, she'd been chatting casually with other students. Then she saw me, started shaking all over, and screamed in terror. "It really has nothing to do with you. Please stop looking for me. Please!"

Do you have any dark secrets? I do. No matter how hot it gets, Mom never allows me to look unkempt in front of other people. Even after I start college, she still makes me wear undershirts when I go swimming. A classmate who can't stand me steals my undershirt and mocks me, saying I look like some pretty boy, all flimsy and effeminate. I refuse to take that lying down and want to duke it out with him. But when he looks at me, it's like he sees something terrifying. He whirls around and bolts. Later, he applies for a leave of absence. My dorm mates plan to visit him and ask me to go along. But the moment I reach the doorway, he grabs a broom and drives me away. "Get out, you freak! You're a monster!" he roars. Then, he turns to my dorm mates. "You'd better stay away from him. Otherwise, you'll be dead before you even figure out how it happened!" What he says completely baffles me, yet his words come true before long. Right before sitting for the grad school entrance exams, one of my dorm mates asks me out to blow off some steam. I go with him and end up drunk. When I wake up, I find him lying in the bathtub, the water dyed red with his blood. His body is already cold.

After the SAT, my daughter turned into something I didn't recognize. She repeatedly stabbed her grandmother, who had raised her, until the old woman bled to death. She pushed her little brother from the tenth floor and killed him on the spot. My wife and I tried to talk her down, our voices shaking, but she only laughed. "Grandma and Caleb were too good to me. That's why they had to die! And you two worked so hard to raise me. You paid for my education and gave me everything. You were too good to me, so you have to die!" Then she set us on fire. I closed my eyes in despair. When I opened them again, I was back one week before my daughter's SAT. This time, I installed a hidden camera in her bedroom. I didn't care what it took. I was going to find out why she killed us. When my wife and I watched the footage later, neither of us could say a word.

At 9:00 a.m., just as I arrived at the office entrance, two police officers stopped me. "Mr. Clarke, someone reported that you haven't shown up at work for a long time and that they couldn't reach you. They were worried that you might have been in an accident." I was shocked. I thought they had the wrong person. I had gone to work on time every day for the past six months. Sometimes, I even stayed late at the office until midnight. How could my company not be able to contact me? "You must have the wrong person. I go to work every day. Everyone at my company can prove it!" "The people who reported you missing are from your company."

I am a real estate agent. For the past three years, I have been the top seller in the industry. It is not because I am a smooth talker; it is because I can hear houses speak. The houses will chatter about a hollow wall, a leaking pipe, or a window with a bad seal. During move-out inspections, I point out exactly what tenants try to hide. When showing a place to renters, I warn them about hidden red flags. I have been doing this so long that both sides treat me like family. Then, one Friday, a regular client, Eleanor Wilson, shows up. "Devan, the tenants at the Eastmere place are moving out." Eleanor is in her 60s. Her husband is long gone, and she lives off the rental income. She is a sweet soul. She charges 20% below market rate and even makes cookies for her tenants during the holidays. The couple moving out this time is Henry Johnson and his wife. They run a fruit stand at the local market and have a six-year-old daughter, Lea Johnson. "Lea is missing," Eleanor says, her eyes welling with tears. "She vanished outside the market last month. Just like that, in the blink of an eye. Henry and his wife have been searching for a month. They're worn out and broke. They just can't take it anymore." A heaviness settles in my chest at her words. I grab the keys and head out with her. Eleanor gasps for air with every flight of stairs we climb. I walk ahead of her. The moment I slide the key into the lock of Apartment 602, the doorknob vibrates violently against my palm. A second later, I dial 911. "I want to report a case of murder. There's a hidden body on the sixth floor of 18 Montclair Heights, Eastmere. The victim is their daughter."

There are certain things one should never mess with. Like someone else's final exam revision notes, for example. Or a life-saving online calculus course. And a chicken curry meal ordered by a college student who has been starving for eight whole hours.

Over Memorial Day weekend, my parents took my younger brother Max Blair on a hiking trip. I wasn't in the mood to go, so I stayed home and spent the day on the couch. By the time night fell, I still hadn't heard from them. None of them answered their phones, and a growing sense of dread settled over me. Around midnight, an emergency alert from a local news station flashed across my screen. [A landslide struck the Mount Highmoor area earlier this evening. Search and rescue crews have confirmed that three hikers were killed. Authorities are still working to verify their identities.] The victims shown in the report were my parents and Max. I was still trying to process the news when someone suddenly knocked on the front door. "Adam, open the door! We're back from our hike!"

The day after our wedding, my wife claimed she didn’t know me. I’d spent years working myself to the bone and saving every penny before I could finally marry the woman I loved. Between the house, the car, and everything I’d paid toward the wedding, I’d spent three million dollars. But the very next day, my wife stared at me in terror and insisted she was single. Worse, the county clerk’s office had no record of us ever getting married. The house and car were both in her name. Half a lifetime of savings had vanished overnight. Furious, I tracked down her friends, certain they could prove the truth. Instead, every one of them claimed they’d never seen me before. I stormed into the county clerk’s office demanding answers. The staff thought I was delusional and called the police. “You’ve gone crazy from wanting a woman that badly, haven’t you? You probably got married in a dream. What bride refuses to recognize her husband the day after the wedding?” After trying to mediate, even the police decided there was something wrong with me. Desperate to recover my house and car, I fought to take back what was mine. Instead, my wife accused me of running a marriage scam and trying to steal her property. Whenever I showed up, the building’s security guards beat me and threw me out. My wife posted videos of my breakdowns online, and the entire internet mocked me. Everyone believed I was insane. In the end, exhausted and tormented beyond endurance, I wandered into traffic and was struck dead. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we were supposed to get our marriage certificate.

I didn’t get into college, so I took a job driving a city bus. Once I finished training, I started working the night shift with Uncle Tim. He had always been the kind of guy who followed every rule. But that night, he wouldn’t let me pick up a single passenger. He even made me keep the bus dark the entire route. Uncle Tim died shortly after that incident. A few days later, someone told me something that made my blood run cold. Uncle Tim had actually been dead for quite some time. So who the hell had been riding with me that night?