Short Stories & Novels

When I was three months pregnant, Stella Falcone, the principessa of an allied family, was also carrying another man's child. To preserve the alliance, my Mafia lover, Matteo Gallo, had to marry her. "Stella is Don Falcone's only daughter. In our world, alliances are worth more than sentiment." "Ava will understand." What Matteo forgot was that I had no one but him, and that the child I carried was the true Gallo heir. Later, as everyone mocked my unborn child, calling him a bastard who would taint the bloodline, Matteo stood by with his new bride and did nothing. That was when I learned that in this world of blood and secrets, love was the most worthless currency of all.

When I was twenty, my alpha mate's brother died protecting him from a rogue attack. To repay that debt, Adrian moved his widowed sister-in-law, Vanessa, into the pack estate. From that day on, everything I had—my home, my future, even my place beside my fated mate—came second to her. Vanessa swallowed a handful of pills and claimed I'd driven her to suicide. Adrian slapped me in front of the pack guards, stripped me of my Luna privileges, and threw me out of our home. "Get out. I don't need a vicious woman for a mate." Later, to make Vanessa feel "useful," he gave her the research position he'd promised me. This time, I didn't argue. I simply signed the waiver and let her have it. Adrian thought I'd finally grown up and stopped being jealous. He planned to make it up to me on the fifth anniversary of our mating bond by giving me the Luna ring I'd waited years for. What he didn't know was that our anniversary was also the day I was leaving for a classified research institute in Alaska. By the time he realized my room was empty, my number had been disconnected and my pack transfer was complete. The only thing I left behind was one final email. [Adrian, I don't want you anymore.]

Half a year after our divorce, my ex-husband became a trending topic online. His current wife, who had just given birth, jumped off a building. When she jumped, she was clutching a printed, 98-page copy of the "Cloves Family Code of Conduct." The reason for her suicide? She couldn’t buy discounted groceries online. A reporter came to interview me and asked, "Excuse me, were you also given the same family rules?"

It's my first time celebrating the holidays with my biological parents after I get reunited with them. The fake heiress, Stella Knight, suggests that we spend the holidays on an overseas vacation. But as soon as we arrive in the foreign country, Stella burns my passport while my parents are away getting a massage. Before I can even fight back, I find myself getting pushed into a scamming den. With a twisted smile on Stella's face, she spits out, "Trash like you don't even deserve to fight with me!" As I gaze at the people who are approaching me, I suddenly find them familiar-looking. I found the emblem of my adoptive parents' company. I've spent the last 20 years being pampered by my adoptive parents before I finally made up my mind to reunite with my biological parents in order to fulfill my wish. I never expect to be sent right back into my adoptive parents' territory.

I was the one who broke Kane Blackwood's heart. He was the Alpha heir, my boyfriend since we were kids, and I pushed him so hard that I drove him all the way to the Northern Stronghold. He stayed there for seven years. Now he was back. He had a new woman with him, and they were going to hold their bonding ceremony here, in our pack. That same week, the pack witch told me I had three months left to live. When my mother wheeled me outside to see him, Kane's mouth curled into that cruel, mocking smile I remembered too well. His dark eyes swept over me from head to toe, taking in the wheelchair, the thinness of my arms, the paleness of my face. "Well, well," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Seven years and you look like hell. Can't even walk anymore?" I tugged my sleeve down, hiding the scars—the silver tracings left by years of failed treatments. I kept my voice steady. "I fell. Broke something. It's nothing." He let out a short, cold laugh. "Right. Anyway, my bonding ceremony's coming up. You should be Vivra's maid of honor." I smiled back at him. I had gotten good at smiling through pain over the years. "Sorry, but I'm leaving soon. Somewhere far away." Then I patted my mother's hand. She didn't say a word, just gripped the handles of the chair and pushed me back toward the house. I didn't look behind me.

On 1st of June, I unexpectedly receive a phone call from my future daughter. With a smile on my face, I ask her, "Sweetheart, are Mommy and Daddy still happy and in love?" She proudly replies, "Of course! Mommy and Daddy have a great relationship. They never fight. He says she is the person he loves the most in his life!" My face flushes with embarrassment. I think to myself that Malcolm Gray really shouldn't be saying things like that in front of a child. Lost in happiness, I continue asking questions. "Then did you take my last name, Rosewood, or Daddy's last name, Gray?" She falls silent for two seconds, like she is confused. Then, she replies, "I have Daddy's last name, but my mommy's last name is Parker. Her name is Summer Parker." I freeze at those words. Summer Parker is the name of my best friend since childhood. Just yesterday, she and Malcolm end up in the hospital after getting into a physical fight because of an argument involving me.

Before the engagement ceremony takes place, my fiance, Vincenzo Rizzi, makes a formal announcement on the deck of a cargo ship docked at the new harbor. Apparently, my younger stepsister, Sofia Russo, will become his legitimate wife. Vincenzo has an arm wrapped around Sofia's waist. As they stand beneath the spotlight, Vincenzo smiles tenderly at her. "According to the mafioso's rules, only those who have received the core elders' acknowledgment shall become the Madre of the family. Others are nothing but lovers and mistresses." Under the family elders' blessings, Vincenzo gives Sofia a black diamond necklace. Then, they exchange vows with each other and are now engaged. I just watch the ceremony take place quietly. Then, I make an appointment to have an abortion. I have loved Vincenzo since I was 16 years old. I'm 28 years old now, meaning I've been in love with him for 12 years. Yet, Sofia is the only one he has ever loved. In that case, I choose to let go of him once and for all. After that, I travel to a hidden safehouse located in Sombral. All I've left for Vincenzo is a letter stating the termination of our engagement and a farewell gift. But the man, who has never shown concern toward me this whole time, ends up breaking down to the point he doesn't even have the mood to deal with his family matters.

There's a whiteboard in my house, with the countdown to my death written across it. "Estimated days until Harold's heart fails: 47 days". Every morning, Mom carefully wipes away yesterday's number and writes in a new one. It's just like a countdown for a big sale at the supermarket—precise, cold, and dripping with anticipation. My name is Harold Irwin, and I'm 12 years old. I was born with a congenital heart disease. The doctors say I won't be able to survive past another six months without surgery. The surgery costs 450,000 dollars. Yet, my father, Shaun Irwin, who is worth 300 million dollars, says, "450,000 dollars? That's not worth it." Because there's another healthy child in our family—my little sister, Magdalene Irwin. She's eight years old, brilliant, pretty, plays the piano, and knows how to charm the adults. She's the only child in the family who's "worth it".

As I'm unable to get a ticket for my return trip after the Thanksgiving holiday, I specifically booked a first-class seat home. Just as I find my seat, I see an unruly child jumping around on it. I patiently smile and say, "Kid, this is my seat. Where is your seat?" He makes a face at me. "It's mine now, old hag!" I grab him by the collar of his shirt, wanting to lift him out of the seat. At that moment, a woman's piercing voice sounds behind me. "What are you doing? Let go of my son!" I release my grip and say as gently as possible, "Please control your child. This is my seat." Suddenly, she raises her voice. "He's just a child! Can't you, as an adult, give way to him? You're young and dressed decently. How can you have no compassion at all?" I'm so angered by this distorted reasoning that I laugh. "If you're so compassionate, why didn't you spend the money to buy your child a first-class seat?"

Jason Hart's mother, Victoria Hart, suffered from Alzheimer's disease, and during her manic episodes, I was the only person she would recognize or tolerate. Today, as Victoria tightly clamped her fingers around my wrist, refusing to let me leave, Jason looked at me with an expression of profound, agonizing conflict. "I already paid for the VIP amusement park passes," he sighed. "I guess I'll just have to let Jake take your spot. What a waste!" I stared down at Victoria's iron grip on my skin, feeling drained. It had become a clockwork routine: the moment Jason and I planned a romantic date, she would suffer a sudden, debilitating medical emergency. Because I felt morally obligated to stay behind and care for her, our mutual friends took turns stepping in to accompany him so his plans wouldn't fall through. My best friend went with him to catch the sunrise up in the mountains. His brother, Jake Hart, accompanied him to Disneyland. His buddy went with him on a weekend camping trip in the wilderness. But today, I accidentally discovered a group chat on Victoria's phone. It was called "Susan's Guardian Crew." Susan Jennings was Jason's ex-girlfriend. I tapped into the logs and saw the latest message. Jason: [Susan's doing a lot better. Mom, thanks for keeping Ellie occupied with those episodes.] Victoria: [Don't worry about us. Just focus on keeping Susan happy. I've got things handled here.] She then proceeded to tag the entire group: [Everyone, keep your stories straight. Do not blow our cover!] All the familiar people replied: [Got it.] My hands shook as I set the phone down. Hot tears splashed onto the screen, reflecting my pathetic expression. For five years, every date that belonged to me had gone to another woman. And the most humiliating part? The entire world was in on the joke, while I was the only clown kept in the dark.

For the fifth year of our secret relationship, Diego Barrett went on a blind date behind my back. I happened to catch him in the act. My gaze lingered on him for only a heartbeat before I looked away as though nothing had happened. A moment later, a text from Diego appeared. [My mom set this up. You know how she is. If I'd turned her down, she would've nagged me for days.] I watched the "typing..." indicator flicker beneath his name. Then I smiled and replied with my usual patience. [It's okay. I understand.] After all, I was only here because my parents had pressured me into going on a blind date too. My date had already been waiting in the private dining room for quite a while.

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.

Seven days before our bonding ceremony, I overheard my mate joking with his friends. He had already moved our bonding from the snowfield altar I chose to the coastside grounds because Lyra liked the sea. But that was not the part that made them fall silent. What shocked them was that he had also prepared a Luna crown for her. One of them laughed nervously. “Changing the bonding site is one thing. Maybe Serena will forgive that. But the Luna crown? That’s different. For a woman, that crown means everything. Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave?” My mate only smiled, calm and certain. “It’s just a crown. Serena won’t care.” “She loves me. When has she ever refused me anything? She’s not going to throw a tantrum over something this small.” And for the first time, I realized he was right about one thing. I had loved him enough to forgive too much. But not anymore. So when the bonding day came and he stood at the coastside grounds calling for me again and again, I only watched the snow fall outside the window and thought: He was right. I did not make a scene. I did not demand an explanation. I just walked away without a word. He thought that meant it was nothing. He would only understand later that a woman who leaves in silence is not giving you another chance—she is leaving you with nothing but regret.

My future mother-in-law loved to twist the truth. She gave me 1,300 dollars as the wedding fund, then told everyone it was 130,000. All she did was take me to a jewelry store to try on a few pieces, yet she went around bragging that she had spent tens of thousands on me. I told myself it was fine. I was going to spend my life with my husband, not her. So I swallowed it. Until the night before the wedding. We had a minor argument, and he let it slip without thinking. "My family already spent 150,000 dollars just to marry you. What else do you want? "We've spent 130,000 just for the wedding. Anyone who didn't know better would think your family was selling a daughter." For a second, I could not even speak. That money had never passed through his hands. Both families had sat down and discussed it together. However, he believed every word his mother had said. He really thought I had taken some outrageously expensive wedding gifts. That was when it finally sank in how wrong I had been. So when my future mother-in-law sent me a pathetic 1,000 dollars for the wedding banquet, while telling everyone she had given me 15,000, I stopped holding back. On the wedding day, I swapped out the luxury banquet for instant noodles. Then, I played her stingy little transfer on a loop for all the guests to see.

When my brother Beau Campbell and I drowned together at the age of four, I was the only one who survived. From that day on, my mother came to loathe me. She would often creep into my room at night with colorful "candies" in her hand, trying to pry open my mouth. However, Dad always stopped her just in time. Later, I cut off my long hair and threw away all my dresses, desperately trying to become Beau's shadow. Only then would Mom spare me a glance. Three years passed, and Mom got pregnant again. She said it was Beau coming back to us. I was happy for her and told myself it was good that Beau was back. After all, it also meant this family no longer needed the stand-in who had lived in his place. So, I found the same "candies" Mom once tried to force into my mouth, and I quietly swallowed them.

In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.

While the criminal was brutally killing me, my dad, the head of the criminal investigation division, and my mom, the chief forensic pathologist, were attending my sister Lily Lambert’s match. In a bid for revenge, the criminal, who had once been captured by my dad, cut out my tongue and used my phone to call him. My dad only said one thing before hanging up. "No matter what’s going on, Lily’s match is the top priority today!" The criminal sneered, "Seems I’ve kidnapped the wrong person. I thought they would love their biological daughter more!" At the crime scene, my parents were shocked by the brutal state of the body and condemned the cruelty of the killer. However, they did not realize that the horrifically mutilated corpse was their own daughter.

My fated mate, Alpha Kaelen, rejected me seven times. The first time we bonded, he whispered against my ear, his breath hot. “From now on, my soul sings only for you.” But then his first love, the Omega Seraphina, came back for him. And just like that, he rejected me. They shared a mate’s mark from their past. It left her hopelessly addicted to his scent. “I’m sorry,” he’d said. “I have to be with Seraphina. The scent addiction is destroying her. She can’t even shift. Her wolf is weakening.” The first time he rejected me, I slashed a silver dagger across my wrist. I let the blood flow, hoping the pain would make him look at me. It worked. Kaelen was horrified. He left Seraphina for a moment and rushed to my side, holding me, comforting me. The third time, I disguised myself as an ordinary pack wolf. I got an internship at his pack headquarters, just to breathe in the air he breathed. But this time, he looked right through me, as if we were strangers. By the sixth rejection, I had learned how to calmly erase my scent from his suite. I left without a sound. My screams. My surrender. My begging. And what I got in return? Every time he was with her, the full moon would rise, and he’d call me back. Just to play the same sick game all over again. Until now. I heard Seraphina was coming back again. So I handed him the ceremonial dagger myself. He set the date for my return, just like always. He had no idea. This time, I'm the one severing the bond for good. And I am never coming back.

On the day of the United Nations meeting, I noticed a new electronic watch on my wife’s wrist. She said it was a gift from her first love to monitor her health. It was a veiled jab, which implied I was not as thoughtful or caring as an outsider. Something felt off, so during her lunch break I secretly checked, and found a bugging device. I reported it immediately, using my official title to cover her wrongdoing. Her first love, however, was now wanted by the authorities. While fleeing, he tragically died in a car accident. My wife said coldly that it served him right, yet treated me with even more care and attention. However, she deliberately leaked my translation files at work, which resulted in me being accused of espionage and taken in for investigation. “Miles, that bug was clearly planted by you. You were jealous of Ash and wanted him dead!” “I truly regret giving up Ash to marry someone as malicious as you. You should go to hell and atone for him!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back there once again on the day her first love gave her that watch. I did not interfere this time. I simply signed my name on the divorce papers.

On the flight home, the plane starts shaking violently. Certain I'm about to die, I call my husband, Rhys Callahan, to say my last words. He hangs up on me, and his auto-reply flashes on the screen. "Driving. On my way to pick up Daphne." I've taken 86 flights in our five years of marriage. Every time I'm about to land, I ask him to come get me, and every time, the answer is the same. "Daphne's getting in too. I have to pick her up." He picks up Daphne Langston all 86 times. The lowest point comes during a rainstorm. I drag my suitcase through the downpour outside the terminal for two hours, unable to get a ride. When I call him, Daphne's voice comes through, laughing. "Oh, Rhys is helping me with my luggage right now. He can't come to the phone." Now the cabin fills with screaming and sobbing. The plane spirals out of control at cruising altitude, the left wing shearing away as flames light up the windows. My phone buzzes with a message from him. "Just picked Daphne up. What time do you land? I'll come get you." I stare at the screen and let out a bitter laugh. After five years, he's finally offering to pick me up. But fire swallows the plane as it plunges toward the ground. He doesn't know I'm no longer coming home.