Short Stories & Novels

Throughout our seven-year marriage, my CEO wife, Ruby Irving, goes on yet another business trip on Memorial Day once again, so she can't travel back to my hometown with me. But soon, I saw the photos uploaded by her assistant, Wilbur Stork, on his social media feed that featured her sweeping the grave in his hometown instead. The caption writes, "Mom and Dad must be very satisfied with their daughter-in-law because the gloomy weather has cleared up in an instant." I chortle in amusement for a brief moment before liking the post calmly. Then, I comment, "I respect your relationship and wish you nothing but happiness." But my colleagues all go nuts over the latest bombshell. They are quick to form their chat groups and speculate as to how I'm going to cause my next ruckus in the company this time. Ruby soon calls me while sounding very stern. "I know Wilbur does things very brashly due to his young age, but you shouldn't have caused him trouble in the comment section! What will everyone else in the company think of him? How is Wilbur supposed to continue working in this company? "Moreover, Wilbur doesn't have anyone left in his family. What's wrong with me keeping him company just this once? People with happy families like you don't have empathy for others at all! "I want you to delete your comment and remove your like right now. Once the holidays are over, I'll free up some time in my schedule to go back to your hometown with you." As I listen to Ruby making yet another empty promise to me in such a casual way, I let out a soft chuckle. "It's fine." Once the holidays are over, we'll be able to obtain our divorce certificates.

Even after five years of marriage, Benjamin Lane continues to maintain his image as a devoted husband. He's the scion of the Lane family, yet he strictly adheres to curfews and comes home on time. He drives me to work every day and goes all out to prepare gifts for me on various anniversaries and holidays. His social media is also all about his doting love for me. The online community calls him a hopeless romantic; countless people ship us together. However, he's logged in to his WhatsApp account on his tablet. I see a video another woman has sent to him.

My best friend was obsessed with playing the part of a socialite, always chasing after rich heirs. When she saw posts online about guys making money over the summer by 'renting themselves out,' she decided to copy them. Two thousand for a hike. Five thousand for a dinner date. Twenty thousand for a trip. The prices kept climbing. I was worried she would run into the wrong kind of people, so I tried everything to talk her out of it, to keep her from walking straight into trouble. Later, the wealthy guy she had her eye on went public with another influencer who had built the same 'socialite' persona. She took it out on me. Sold me to a nightclub. I was abused in every way imaginable until I died. There was not even enough left of me to bury. Then, I opened my eyes again. She was already scheming: "Guys like that can make 500 just tagging along on a hike. I'm way prettier. Charging 2,000 isn't too much, right?"

On the night of our engagement banquet, Mandy Sutton's boyfriend, Lenard Johnson, sends my fiancee, Sarah Lindt, a video clip of him jerking off. It also comes with a text message. "Using my hand doesn't feel good at all. I miss your tight little mouth." I want to call that jerk on the spot and cuss him out. But Sarah, who has flown into a state of panic, quickly stops me out of anger. "Are you dumb? It's obvious that Lenard has sent all of these things to the wrong person! He's my best friend's boyfriend, for crying out loud! There's nothing going on between us! Must you be so paranoid, Jonathan? "You're the one that's oozing negativity and dark thoughts, so stop assuming that everyone else is the same as you! Put that jealousy of yours away and stop embarrassing me already!" To think that Sarah is actually accusing me of being jealous and paranoid when she's the one who has cheated on me behind my back! I merely chuckle coldly before forwarding the video clip to our mutual college group chat. At the same time, I've withdrawn my sponsorship from Sarah's company. I'm quite curious, though. Without the support of a jealous, embarrassing man who has zero confidence like me, just how long can Sarah maintain her image as a strong and independent businesswoman?

My sister and I married into wealthy families at the same time and became glamorous society wives. She had been childhood sweethearts with her husband, a CEO who was admired and respected by all. On the surface, their marriage was harmonious and respectful. But three years after the wedding, she got drunk one night and tearfully confessed to me. "Carrie… he's seeing someone else. He even has a love child now. They've been together longer than we've been married. He's been lying to me all this time. I'm just a joke to him." My eyes burned, brimming with unshed tears. "Actually… Kai's cheating too. He even bought his mistress a luxury car." We cried together all night. Gradually, our sorrow slowly turned into cold, clear resolve. "I don't want that bastard anymore, Carrie." "It's okay, Rachel. If you're walking away, I am too. I don't want my scumbag husband either." After a long talk, we made our final decision: Since this life wasn't working, we'd disappear. We'd leave it all behind and vanish without a trace.

When the zombie apocalypse hit, pets leveled up into guardians. Three per person. That was the cap. My buddy dropped serious cash on three Caucasian Shepherds. My landlord dumped his fish and started raising crocodiles. My girlfriend bolted to the zoo and came back with a lion. Me? I had three strays. Bubba—blind. Missy—lame. Snowy—barely a month old. The second the system locked pet slots, I knew I was screwed. I barricaded myself inside with my three "broken" cats and kept my head down. Day one—fear. Day two—helpless. Day three—the cats strolled back in, tails up, dragging something I didn't recognize. Bubba looked at me. "Dad, I bit off every zombie head on the block. I'm solid, right?" I just stared.

The ninth time I tried to divorce my husband, Don Louis Romano, my best friend Jenny Parker, who had always talked me out of it, handed me the papers herself. Every time before, she'd done everything in her power to stop me. She'd even taken over the Family's day-to-day affairs just to create chances for us to see each other and reconcile. I took the papers and couldn't help but ask. Years of pent-up exhaustion showed in Jenny's eyes, and to my shock, her voice was edged with resentment. "You got Vivian shot this time. She nearly didn't make it. How long are you going to keep this up?!" Vivian Hale was the woman Louis had been seeing. I stared at her in disbelief. "Vivian's had a hard life. I'm the one who introduced her to Louis. "I know it's not fair to you, so I've been trying to make it up to you. But you've been at this long enough. It's time to stop." Jenny sighed. "Back during the arms shipment ambush, Louis and I risked our lives to pull you out of that firefight. "If our saving your life means anything, stop using divorce as a way to get Louis's attention." I couldn't speak. My fingers clenched. The love and friendship I'd treasured for years had only ever been real to me. The last ember of loyalty in my heart burned out completely. The moment Jenny looked away, I picked up the pen and signed my name without hesitation. Sherry Bennett. This time, I was really getting a divorce.

Even knowing that wailing at an Eravalen aristocratic funeral was considered disrespectful to the deceased, I let my husband's adopted sister make a scene anyway. In my previous life, my husband, Robert Baker, had a distant relative among the Eravalen aristocracy who passed away. A lawyer informed him that he stood to inherit the estate and invited him to attend the funeral. His adopted sister, Mia Carter, insisted on tagging along to see how the privileged few in another country lived. She wanted to rub shoulders with nobles and make herself look important, even planning to wail dramatically in front of everyone. I rushed to stop her. "Loud mourning is taboo among the Eravalen nobility. Forget inheriting anything. We'll all be thrown out!" Yet she burst into tears, accusing me of looking down on her and thinking she was not good enough to mingle with aristocrats. She stormed out and was killed by street thugs in a random attack. I thought Robert would fall apart, but he stayed silent through the entire funeral and collected his inheritance without a hitch. Six months later, on our wedding anniversary, he took me to the snowy mountains for a photoshoot. The moment we reached the peak, he shoved me into a sleeping bag and tied it shut. "If you hadn't blown everything out of proportion, Mia never would've run off and gotten herself shot." He buried me alive in the snow. I froze to death, and he used that aristocratic fortune to become the CEO of a publicly traded company. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Mia insisted on wailing at the funeral.

During a company team-building event, I collapse from a seafood allergy. Yet my fiance, Frederick Scott, rushes Beatrice Sutton, who only twisted her ankle, to the hospital. I come close to dying because I don't get treatment in time. Later, Frederick explains, "Beatrice is my best friend's sister. He's seriously ill now, and I promised him I'd take care of his sister. I swear I'll keep my distance from her from now on." This isn't the first time I've heard an excuse like that. On our fifth anniversary, Beatrice accidentally deleted a work file and burst into tears out of worry. When Frederick heard about it, he left me stranded on a mountain and drove back to the office himself. I spent a whole day and night walking home through the rain. On Christmas, Beatrice's house lost power. Frederick was worried that she might be scared of being alone, and he rushed over to her place without even telling me, leaving me out in the snow waiting for him until dawn. These kinds of things have happened countless times. Afterward, he always brushes them off with the same excuse. I've long since lost all faith in him and no longer believe a single word he says. I pick up my phone and call the company that keeps reaching out to me. "I've decided to accept your offer from last time. I'll bring the core technology with me."

At the New Year’s team-building event, the intern, Lilith Woods, did not obtain my approval and changed our suburban trip to a seven-day tour of Baline. “Mr. Lucian Stone, I hear a change of scenery can really spice things up. Don’t lock up tonight. I’ll come by for a deep dive into our collaboration.” She pretended to be drunk and fell into my arms while slipping the room key into my pocket in the process. To avoid suspicion, I did not return to the hotel. However, in the middle of the night, the police called me in for questioning—someone had reported a dine-and-dash. Only then did I realize that the reserved budget of $100,000 for the accommodation had long since been exceeded. Lilith had upgraded their room to a presidential suite, feasted on high-end seafood buffets, and even used company funds to buy luxury handbags! When I showed up at their private room, the interns were still casually taking king crabs and several unopened bottles of the Macallan Whisky with them. “Mr. Stone, you’re just in time. Could you please settle the bill?” Lilith looked utterly righteous as she said this with a grin. “Young people like us make mistakes, while adults help to pay the price. You’re not exactly short on cash, anyway. Just think of it as buying my happiness.” I stared at the $700,000 bill and paid it in silence. The next day, the payment invoices made their grand entrance in the group chat, accompanied by my pinned message. [Upon financial review, this team-building event does not meet reimbursement criteria. All expenses will be shared equally among the seven participants.] [Each person will need to pay $100,000, payable immediately. If payment needs to be deferred, please print the proof and submit it to the President’s Office.]

At our first anniversary celebration, my wife publicly announced that she was divorcing me to marry her true love. My past mission targets coldly watched me, thinking I would cause a ruckus and trouble Ivan Lowe like I always had. However, I merely walked over to a nearby lake and jumped into it. Unbeknownst to them, Serena Gale was my very last mission target. If I failed, I was supposed to go home. So, why did they only begin to regret their choices after I finally died?

After the Silvermoon pack lost the war, the vampire prince demanded a noble she-wolf as the price of peace. Everyone knew what that meant. No she-wolf sent to the Blood Court had ever been allowed to return to her pack. Our Alpha had no daughter, so he ordered his Beta’s two daughters Evelyn and me to draw lots. Before the draw, my fiancé Rowan whispered to me, “I marked the safe parchment with a crescent moon. Choose that one.” I trusted him and I chose the crescent. But when I unfolded the parchment, two words stared back at me: VAMPIRE BRIDE. My mother pulled Evelyn into her arms in relief. “Thank the Goddess it wasn’t Evelyn.” My father showed no sympathy. “You’re the eldest. Protecting the pack is your duty.” Rowan wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You saved the Alpha’s life once. If anything happens, he’ll bring you home. Evelyn has no such protection.” They all thought I had a way back. They didn’t know I had already used the Alpha’s life debt three years ago to save Rowan from execution. The draw had never been fair. They had chosen me to be the daughter who never came home. Fine. I would leave and never return.

During the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, the brakes on my brand-new car suddenly fail, causing a massive pileup. Two people die at the scene, another 24 are injured, and the total property damage runs into the millions. The authorities determine that I am entirely at fault. I desperately try to explain that the brakes had malfunctioned, but when they have the car inspected, they find absolutely nothing wrong with it. I'm stunned. When I pressed the brake pedal earlier, it simply wouldn't move. I refuse to accept it and have the car examined by several reputable automotive inspection facilities, but every single one comes back with the same conclusion—there's nothing wrong with the car. Even the state troopers and the insurance company are speechless. "Ma'am, if you're trying to commit insurance fraud, you're going about it the wrong way." "If you don't know how to drive, you shouldn't be on the interstate. Think about all the families you've destroyed. They didn't deserve any of this." In the end, I am convicted of vehicular manslaughter and sentenced to prison. To compensate the victims' families for their losses, my parents work themselves to death. When I hear the news in prison, I tie up my sheets into a noose and end my life as well. Then, when I open my eyes again, I am back at the beginning of that fateful road trip.

Not even halfway through the Thanksgiving holidays, my boss, Bill Griffin, calls me back to work. He demands I cold-call customers for sales and promises generous overtime pay. Eager to give my son a better learning environment, I seize every chance to earn more money and agree without hesitation. But once the holiday ends, the management posts a notice. "An employee has generated an excessive phone bill working overtime during the Thanksgiving holidays and incurred company losses. Please reimburse the phone bill immediately." Bill, whom I had worked alongside since graduating from college, swiftly turns on me. "Some people in their 30s are about to be laid off. Having a job at all is a blessing, yet they don't know how to appreciate the opportunities the company gives them." Refusing to bow to the absurd demands and open threats, I hand in my resignation that very same day. A company that discards its employees the moment the job is done isn't worth a second of my time. They will learn the hard way who holds the leverage.

The moment I was born, my mother implanted a chip in my brain and began shaping me into her idea of a perfect daughter. She blocked my sense of hunger so I would only have simple meals daily to maintain the "ideal" figure. She erased my ability to feel pain so she could inject me with endless chemicals to keep my skin smooth and flawless. She tampered with my senses, deleting every trace of negative emotion from my mind, all so I could remain eternally innocent. I couldn't tell right from wrong. I didn't know sadness or anger. I only knew how to smile. When the neighbor's dog died, I smiled and was scolded harshly for being heartless. When my classmates bullied me, I smiled and became the class freak. When my grandfather passed away, I smiled again, and my relatives cursed me for being soulless. Eventually, my father couldn't take it anymore. He left us. Mom, however, didn't seem to care. "They don't understand," she told me. "Everything I've done is for your own good. One day, you'll thank me." … On my 18th birthday, she planned a grand live broadcast, ready to show the world her perfect creation. She never knew that the day before her grand broadcast, I had already lost myself completely. By then, I was no longer human. I had become a machine.

Just a moment ago, after nearly bleeding to death, I gave the Rossi family their heir. But my husband, Carter, the Rossi's underboss, let his confidante, Sofia, film me giving birth just because she said she was bored. She captured everything: me losing control of my body, my screams, my face twisted in agony. Afterward, she took screenshots, turned them into memes, and passed them around a private group chat for the family's inner circle. Through the door of my hospital room, I could hear Sofia's wild laughter. "Carter, this is the best entertainment all year. You always know just what I want." "But Sloane's going to throw a fit when she wakes up and sees it." The anesthesia hadn't worn off yet. My eyelids were heavy, and through the haze, I heard Carter's usual, nonchalant tone. "She won't get really mad. You know Sloane. She always does what I tell her." "I'll just have to sweet-talk her a little. Besides, with the heir here now, she wouldn't leave me." My fingers, hidden beneath the silk sheets, clenched into a fist. My mind flooded with everything I had given up for him over the years. Carter had probably forgotten who made him the man who runs these streets. Since you love games so much, I'll play a real one with you. The day I walk away, you will all regret it.

I hadn't seen my mafia husband, Luca Moretti, and our daughter Dora in three whole months. Why? Because his mother, Fiona, said Dora should stay with her "for a while." And Luca? He was "too busy with business," as always. So when Luca finally called and said he was going to pick me up for a family reunion at the villa, I was overjoyed. I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd finally get to hold my little girl again. I spent the whole damn day running around the city, buying her favorite dolls, snacks, a new pink dress, anything I thought would make her smile at me again. But when the car arrived, it wasn't what I imagined. Before I could even say Hi, Dora turned her head, took one look at me… and then wrapped her arms even tighter around Maria, the maid. She buried her face in Maria's neck like I wasn't even there. Like Maria was her mom. I tried to approach her, but Dora straight-up told me she didn't want to ride in the same car as me. And Maria, wearing that fake, polite smile, kept trying to gently talk me into giving Dora "a little more time." I looked over at Luca, hoping he'd step in. Instead, he just looked annoyed, like he couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to help fix things between me and our daughter. Clearly, they didn't want me there. So what was the point of trying to join the ride? I stepped back from the SUV. Then Luca just turned to me and said, "Just wait here. I won't be long." What he'll never understand is… I'm done waiting for him.

After years together, we finally hit our wedding day. At the altar, Damien Huxley had the ring halfway on my finger when his old college crush from Francia called. The guy everyone swore loved me more than his own life? His eyes went red. Then he bolted for the airport. My hand froze midair. Then a stream of comments popped up in front of me— [Oh my god, guys! I just saw his old crush's profile pic—she looks exactly like the new cadaver donor at our school!] [No way. Don't freak me out. Keep that creepy comment away from me!] [Either they're twins, or you need glasses. Chill.] I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I knew about Damien's old crush—our college classmate. But I remembered one thing clearly. She was an only child...

On the day my husband, Martin Clark, took wedding photos with his secretary, I didn't cause a massive scene like I used to. Instead, I personally went to help them pick out the best shots. I even had the photos framed and hung them right in the living room for every visiting guest to see. Rumors spread like wildfire among the families of Sicilana that I was the most powerless donna, allowing any mistress or side-chick to climb over my head. I simply smiled and said nothing. Half a month later, Martin explained to me, "The photos were just a birthday wish of hers." I nodded obediently. "Okay." In my past life, the moment I saw those photos, I rushed right in front of Martin and threw a huge fit, even posting all of his explicit cheating photos onto social media. To punish me, Martin deliberately sabotaged my father’s shipping lines, causing our family to suffer devastating losses. Using the excuse that I was mentally ill, he sent me to a psychiatric hospital, where I was controlled with drugs and died within a few years. Now that I have a second chance, I won't harbor a single shred of love for Martin. I only want money! Every single time he has an affair, I will divert another one of the Clark family's shipping lines away. Right now, there are only three lines left. One more mistress, and the Clark family will be turned into an empty shell.

“Darcy is feeling dizzy tonight. Let's suppress our bond, Emma. We can have our marking ceremony some other day.” Those were the exact words he spat when I called him on the day that was supposed to be our marking ceremony. It was the seventh time he asked me to suppress the sacred bond between us for his childhood sweetheart. The first time he suppressed it was because Darcy’s pack was under attack and he wanted to be by her side. “Darcy is fighting for her survival and you want me to be pulled by our fated bond? Don't make me believe you are this selfish., Emma.” The third time he suppressed it he said, “Darcy is having a fever. I can't leave her alone.” By the sixth time, he didn't bother explaining why he had the witch suppress our bond in the most brutal way possible because he was in a hurry to go meet Darcy. Since we were fated mates, every time he wanted to be intimate with her, he would have a witch suppress the bond between us. As an Alpha, this suppression barely affects him but as an Omega, it would leave me in a terrible pain that I could not get up from my bed for weeks. Though devastated seeing me in such pain, he would offer me only a few lines of apologies and a bundle of promises to make it up to me in future. That's it. So, when the seventh time, he refused to mark me and came home to suppress our bond to be with Darcy, I had already packed my clothes. It will be the last time he suppresses our bond because the next time, there will be no bond between us to suppress.