Short Stories & Novels

Steven Zimmer, the assistant of my wife, Lucy Quinn, has lost in a truth-or-dare session. Lucy doesn't hesitate to file for a divorce from me for the ninth time. In the courthouse, I hear the staff member asking Lucy curiously, "Your husband is like a well-trained dog now. You've already married and divorced him nine times! Aren't you worried that your husband might ditch you for real?" Lucy merely smirks at her. "Do you know that the more ruthless you are when you abandon your pets, the harder it'll be for them to live without you? In fact, they will just become more obedient and docile. As long as I curl a finger at him, he'll definitely sink down to his knees and beg me to remarry him." Everyone bursts into laughter after that. They bet that I'll plead pathetically to Lucy to remarry me for the tenth time in less than a day after I've obtained the divorce certificate. Lucy even declares that she'll stream the tenth wedding proposal on the Internet when it happens. But the next day, Lucy keeps waiting for me to show up at the city hall while clad in a wedding dress. All she gets is a text from me. "No more proposals. This is the end between us, Lucy."

I was lying in bed, scrolling on my phone with my pregnant belly heavy in front of me, when a local news alert popped up. 'Wife killed in suburban murder case. Husband stabbed her to death after she refused intimacy during pregnancy.' I clicked it open, only to realize the article was dated for tomorrow. And the killer's name? My husband's. At first, I thought it was some sick prank or a glitch on the site. But then I saw the photo attached to the piece: our wedding picture. My face had been completely blurred out. The moment my heart seized, the bedroom door creaked open. My husband stood there, licking his lips, his smile so chilling it made my blood run cold. "Honey, I want you tonight."

I was eighteen when I left my pack. I ran away with Stanley, my fated mate. He never gave me a proper mating ceremony. But I loved him. I would have done anything. I watched him build his pack. Become an Alpha. Take over half the territories in the North. The first time we made love, he marked my neck and promised me a grand ceremony. One day. I kept waiting. For over twenty years, I tried to be the perfect Luna for him. Then came my forty-fifth birthday. I thought it was time. Time for that ceremony he promised, in the sacred springs of Starfall Valley. But he had another surprise for me. I found him in our pack’s private hot spring, pinning his dead brother’s mate beneath him. That’s when I knew. To everyone, I was just a live-in servant. One who never got paid. One who would never leave. I was tired. I’d hidden my bloodline for so long. Too long. He was sure I had nowhere else to go. That he could crush me whenever he wanted. He didn't know. The blood of the oldest pack on the continent runs through my veins. When this wolf’s patience runs out… I won’t beg. I’ll rip out their throats myself. And then, I’m going home.

My childhood friend and I were both prodigies who grew up in an orphanage. I was born with a gift for divination, able to hear the Moon Goddess's oracles and perceive the threads of fate. She was born with an uncanny gift for attracting wealth, her fortune so extraordinary that even a scratch-off ticket could empty the jackpot pool. When we were eighteen, we found a wolf at the edge of our territory, his body covered in wounds. He was Alaric, one of the top contenders for the Lycan throne, brought low by a betrayal on the night that mattered most. I read the omens. My childhood friend pulled together the funds. Together we helped Alaric fight his way back and reclaim everything that was rightfully his. The moment Alaric became Lycan King, the first thing he did was perform the Bonding ceremony with my childhood friend. They were bonded as mates, and before long had brought two remarkably gifted pups into the world. As for me, I had grown weary of life among others and retreated alone into the depths of the forest. Ten years passed. The Crescent Moon Pack was finally welcoming another pup. He was overjoyed. He hired a private helicopter in the dead of night and flew into the forest, imploring me to appear and bless the newborn. Naturally I agreed, and I made my way to the top-floor VIP suite, where I pressed a blessing from the Moon Goddess onto the little princess's brow using moonflower nectar. On my way out, a sudden impulse took hold of me, and I tossed the star dice to read my childhood friend's fortune. The dice hit the floor and shattered, every last one of them, radiating the unmistakable scent of death. Ice flooded my chest. My gaze turned cold in an instant. If my childhood friend had already died, then who was this woman reclining against the headboard of the hospital bed, looking at me with such gentleness?

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."

My family hates me for causing my brother's death. From then on, I become a child no one loves. Meanwhile, my cousin, Evelyn Green, who looks like my brother, becomes the apple of my parents' eyes. From the age of ten to 18, my days are a cycle of beatings and forced apologies. On my 18th birthday, Evelyn wears a gorgeous gown and basks in everyone's adoration, while I'm shoved around in a maid's uniform and hit like I'm not even human. In my darkest moment, Morgan Oakley, the mafia boss, saves me. He takes me home, and step by step, wins his way into my heart. Because of him, I learn what love can feel like. He treats me like a treasure and promises me forever. However, on the day we're supposed to register our marriage, he keeps me waiting for a whole day and night. He never shows up. As I'm about to leave, my phone starts buzzing. A text from Morgan pops up. "Jasmine, I'm sorry. I ran into an enemy and couldn't make it to the city hall. A storm's coming, so make sure you get home quick!" My heart clenches in panic. I'm about to text back and ask if he's okay when Evelyn's message comes right after his. "Jasmine, I'm the one he loves. He skipped marrying you today because of me. You must be devastated, right?" Then, she sends a video. In it, Morgan holds her gently, his voice soft as he comforts her. "Evie, don't cry. You once saved my life, so I'll do anything for you. If you don't want me to marry Jasmine, then I won't. I love you. I only took her in so I could keep her close. That way, she'd be right there when you needed blood." My parents were off to the side. They chimed in tenderly, "Don't cry, Evie. Morgan loves you. He only pursued Jasmine because of your condition. You have a coagulation disorder and need transfusions of Rh-negative blood whenever you get hurt." I stagger back when I hear that, dropping my phone to the ground. So, Morgan's sudden passion is laced with poison. He only pretends to love me just so he can turn me into Evelyn's walking blood bank! Everyone goes to so much trouble to hide the truth from me just so Evelyn doesn't need to suffer from her condition! Rain mixes with my tears as they slide down my face. I stare at my phone on the pavement as bitterness floods me. A thought forms—I want to leave them forever. I want to disappear so they'll never find me again.

I have spent ten years fighting against the fake heiress, Cynthia Powell, to secure the Powell family's inheritance. Eventually, we both set our sights on the eldest son of the wealthy Wright family, Robin Wright. In my first life, I secure the marriage, but on the very night the shares are transferred to my name, I die a gruesome death. Blood seeps from my eyes and mouth as I collapse. As I lie there dying, Robin calmly wipes the poisonous powder from his fingertips and smiles at me. "My apologies, Kathy Powell. You have to die for the sake of the woman I truly love." I repeatedly curse Cynthia in my heart. In my second life, I am determined to avoid being murdered by Cynthia and her lover. So, I pass the marriage opportunity over to Cynthia. On their wedding day, I'm relaxing at home with a face mask when the police burst through my door and handcuff me. "Cynthia's car was firebombed on the way to the wedding ceremony, and she was burned to a crisp. We found your fingerprints on the fuel tank. You're under arrest for arson and murder. Please come with us," the police orders. The news shocks me. I'm sentenced to death, all thanks to Robin's manipulation. When I wake up, I'm in my third life. After seeing the Wright family's marriage proposal on the table, Cynthia and I take a step back. A chill runs down both our spines. Robin is a curse. How is it that whoever marries him ends up dead?

Just how rich can a person be? My husband, Don Leonardo Bianchi, is incredibly wealthy. Every time he abandons me for his childhood sweetheart, Sofia Rossi, he gives me a building. The first time, it was a luxury apartment building with a sea view. The tenth time, it was a commercial property in the prime downtown area. By the 50th time, the general managers of several real estate companies had started calling me "Boss". Five years into our marriage, my real estate spreads across the entire country. When the deed to the 97th building is delivered to me, Sofia sends me a taunting voice message. "You might have the property deeds, but I have Leonardo. Aurora Esposito, tell me, which one of us is the real winner?" After listening to it, I don't cry or make a scene. Instead, this time I take the initiative to draft an agreement and wait for Leonardo to sign it. Once Leonardo comes back, he signs it and praises me for being magnanimous. He then takes me to a party as his date. At the party, Sofia loses game after game and is stripped down to only her underwear. When she loses once more, she turns to me—who is wearing only a dress—with a meaningful smile and says, "What's the fun in just me taking things off? I think Aurora, the perfect Donna, should join in too." Amid the clamor of cheering, I quietly look at Leonardo. "You just have to take off one piece of clothing. Don't spoil everyone's fun. When we get back, I'll give you another building," he whispered to me coaxingly. I calmly acquiesce. Little does he know that he won't have another chance to give me anything, because what he blindly signed earlier is our divorce papers.

My girlfriend had spent three years chasing the one who got away. The night before our wedding, the two of them trashed her bride's dress together. I wanted to call it off. She just laughed it off. "I only wanted to make sure I wouldn't regret my youth. From now on I'm all yours, so can't you be a little generous about it?" So I turned around and prepared a grand gift for them instead, wishing them a lifetime of happiness. Later, she came back crying, begging me to forgive her. I held up my hand and let my wedding ring catch the light. "Sorry. I'm married."

My girlfriend, Celia Winters, had her first love save her life before, so she promised to do three things for him. The first time, he called her away to ride the Ferris wheel with him when I was supposed to propose to my girlfriend. The second time, he asked her to accompany him to see the northern lights while I was ill and hospitalized. I had a crush on my girlfriend for eight years, so I endured all of this. It was not until our wedding that my girlfriend publicly admitted that she had not married the one she loved the most. She comforted me, "Zane, I'll have nothing to do with Shane anymore after this. Could you please forgive me again?" However, I did not want to endure it any longer. Since she had not married the right person, I would let her marry him!

I hid my identity as a princess of the royal court and lived a quiet life with my fated mate, Kael Voss. The day I found out I was carrying his pup, he dropped a bombshell. "I'm actually the Alpha of the Thunderpeak pack. "In a week, I'm taking Freya Edris as my mate. She's the daughter of the Frostmoon pack's Alpha." I froze. He went on. "I'll set you up with an estate and a lifetime crystal ore stipend. It'll be more than enough for you and the pup." "So?" My throat tightened. "You want me to be your mistress? You want our pup growing up nameless, shunned by every wolf in the kingdom?" Kael looked away. "You're just a packless Rogue. Only Freya is worthy of standing beside me. She's the one who can help me grow the Thunderpeak pack. "As long as you behave, I can give you and the pup everything. Everything except the title of Luna." My eyes stung. So that was all I meant to him. Our pup, our mate bond, none of it was worth a thing. I lifted my gaze and looked him dead in the eye. "What if I told you I have a greater right to stand beside you than Freya ever will? "I wouldn't just help you grow the Thunderpeak pack. I could make it the most powerful pack in the entire kingdom."

The day Yancy Shepherd died, Benedict Page poisoned our dinner. His eyes were wild, and bloodshot, as he watched me writhe in agony. There was a madness in his gaze, but worse was the hatred, a disgust so deep it twisted his face into something unrecognizable. "If it weren't for you forcing your way into our lives, Yancy wouldn’t have died from heartbreak. You ruined us! It’s all your fault!" A photo slipped from his trembling hand and landed at my feet—Yancy at twenty, looking radiant, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. I collapsed to the ground, my strength fading fast like a rose withering in the final grasp of winter. Helpless, I waited for the darkness to claim me, consumed by despair and bitter regret. Why hadn’t I listened to the system and killed him when I had the chance? But when I opened my eyes again, everything was different. I stood watching Benedict flee our engagement ceremony. My brother moved to chase after him, but I quietly raised a hand, stopping him. This time, things would be different.

My husband dotes on me. He's always saying I'm the one he cherishes most in this life. Everyone else envies me too, saying I married well—pampered like a princess. It all started when I mentioned, offhand, that tailored cuts flatter my figure. From that moment on, he kept it in mind every day, going out of his way to gather all kinds of designer womenswear for me. In the walk-in closet at home, there's always a wardrobe filled exclusively with my new clothes—each piece haute couture, with exquisite fabrics and impeccable craftsmanship. On New Year's Eve in our third year of marriage, the house was lively, packed with relatives chatting and laughing. With a smile, my husband handed me a gift box. "Go on, open your New Year's present." The frustration and resentment I'd been bottling up for so long exploded in an instant. I shoved the box to the floor. "It's the New Year—can you just stop for once?" The moment the words left my mouth, everyone fell silent. The relatives' expressions shifted; one after another, they began to scold me for being ungrateful, for not knowing how lucky I was. My husband looked at me, eyes full of shock and hurt. "I just bought you some pretty clothes. Why are you angry?" Amid their pointing fingers and his wounded questioning, I rushed into the walk-in closet like I'd lost my mind, dragging out those designer clothes and throwing them all over the floor. Everyone stared at me, stunned. No one said another word.

It happened on the last shipment run I ever went on. My boyfriend and my best friend left me behind at the transfer station. I waited there for half an hour before they remembered they were one person short. Lawson called me, impatience all over his voice. "Why didn't you get in the truck?" "We're in a hurry for the celebration dinner tonight. We can't turn around." "Stop making a scene. Figure it out yourself." My mouth opened. No sound came out. Beth's voice carried through the line, clear and grating. "We're all adults here. Why does every little thing have to be handled for her?" "She has to grow up sometime." I listened to all of it and hung up without a word. The old me would have apologized on the spot, then done everything I could to catch up with them without causing a single problem. But this time, it all just felt pointless. I canceled every arrangement the family had made for me. I sent my mother a message: [I want to go to Northbay and take over the family business there.] They had always looked down on Northbay for being too small. But I had always wanted to go. I would never have to chase after them again. I would follow only myself.

I've just received a text from my CEO wife, Cara Lavigne. Apparently, she's gone on another last-minute business trip again, so she can't accompany me to the funeral home. But soon, I see Cara's silhouette being captured in a photo, where she celebrates her assistant, Warren Stone's birthday with him in a work-related post he has just uploaded. The caption reads, "Thank you for the amazing cake, boss! I feel so happy to be able to celebrate my birthday!" I just smile calmly before leaving a like and a comment. "Happy birthday." My colleagues, on the other hand, start betting pools like mad to see what kind of tricks I'm going to pull this time in order to kick up a ruckus. Cara calls me immediately just to scold me. "Warren is just celebrating his birthday, so what's with the comment? He's a very sensitive person, you know! How is he going to survive in this company now that you've passive-aggressively humiliated him in that public post? "It's been barely two years since Warren joined this company, not to mention he doesn't have any friends! What's wrong with me celebrating his birthday with him, huh? People like you, who are born with silver spoons in their mouths, will never understand Warren's plight! "I want you to delete your comment right now! We'll talk more about this once I'm home! Your dad is already dead anyway, so you can just wait for a few more days before claiming his body!" I can only clench my fists tightly as I listen to Cara's heartless and nonchalant words. "No need for that." Once she is back, the divorce procedures will be done.

My husband, Don Reginald, and my parents threw me in prison on the very night I gave him his heir. All because my sister, Felicia, set me up. She claimed I gave her a wild horse at the family races—a horse she knew she couldn't handle. It went crazy. It trampled a senator to death. With the FBI breathing down our necks, the whole family made me take the fall. Three years. Reginald didn't care that I'd just had our son. He pushed me. Over and over. "It was your horse. If you hadn't given it to her, the Feds wouldn't be after Felicia. Just do the time. When you get out, you'll still be my Donna." Three years later, I came back. Nothing had changed. They still chose her. Even the son I bled for now calls Felicia "Mama." He looks right through me, his own mother. I didn't fight. Not like the old me. I just walked away. But when I finally vanished for good, Reginald lost his mind. He tore the world apart, begging me to come back. To be his Donna again.

Three years after I died, Stella, my wife, decided to divorce me and marry her dying ex. She stormed into my old house like she owned the place, forcing me to sign the divorce agreement. Mom told her the truth—I was already gone. Stella rolled her eyes. "Why's he still pretending? Harvey's dying. I just wanna be there for him. What's so wrong about that? If he won't come out, I'm done paying your medical bills." She thought threatening Mom would shake something loose. But what Stella didn't get? Mom had already stopped treatment. She was just hanging on to watch her crack.

The day high school seniors across Cedarhaven received their college decisions, my own graduation ceremony had just ended. Adrian Hawthorne came to meet me outside the campus with Celeste Monroe, his newly divorced former sister-in-law. He had barely offered me the sunflowers in his hand when Celeste brushed them aside with a laugh. "Sunflowers? You could try harder if you're courting a young woman." Adrian smiled and handed the bouquet to her. "Then you choose. Clara will like whatever you pick." I stood beside them without finding a place in the conversation. Celeste patted his shoulder. "Your tie is crooked. There are too many people here for you to embarrass me." Adrian lowered his head and let her straighten it. After the graduation photographs, he drew Celeste close and told me, "You're good with a camera. Take a few more pictures of us." For three years, every movie meant for two came with a third ticket, and every anniversary dinner had been chosen around another woman's restrictions. I had protested before, but whenever the argument ended, I was always the one Adrian set aside. Then Celeste accidentally left her phone in my purse, and I saw the photograph on her lock screen. Across the image were the words: July 2 - finally free. The same date was engraved beneath Adrian's watch. He called impatiently, "Clara, hurry. Celeste can't wait all day." I stared at the screen for several seconds and deleted the photograph. Everyone online was discussing how to choose the right college, and I finally understood something too. When the first choice is wrong, you withdraw before it is too late. There was no reason to keep a photograph of Adrian and me either.

To be with Luca, I left New York and moved to Montreal. Three years of slaving over the stove, teaching myself the books, studying every detail of how to dress—all to fit into his world. To become his Donna. I actually believed I was on my way. But tonight, at the family banquet, the woman beside him wasn't me. It was Liliana—his childhood friend. His understudy leaned in and muttered in Italian. "Don, if you're settling things with Liliana, what happens to Catherine?" Luca took a slow drag of his cigar. "I love Catherine. But for the family, my Donna can't be some nobody." "And if she finds out?" "She loves me too much to walk away. I'll give her everything but the title." My chest tightened. A tremor ran through me that I couldn't stop. What they didn't know—I'd learned Italian in secret. I caught every single word. Liliana swept in wearing a long red dress. She shot me a look from above and gestured for me to move. Luca patted my hand. "Liliana's here to hold the room tonight. Go watch the kitchen. Don't let the staff screw up." I looked into his eyes. Three years of this—and it was all a joke I'd played on myself. I turned and walked out, pulling off his necklace and letting it drop to the carpet. My phone buzzed. My father asked how much longer I'd stay away. I stopped and typed. "Three days. I'm coming back to New York." Luca, when you find out your family doesn't even hold a candle to mine... what then?

At our wedding rehearsal, Dante Corleone brings Lucia Ferrante, the fiancee of his late brother, Davide. "Davide died protecting me in that shootout on Thanksgiving. Without him, I never would've become Don to the Corleone Famiglia," Dante says. "We have the rest of our lives together, Camilla, but this is Lucia's only chance." So I stand below the stage, watching my fiance drop to one knee before another woman in a wedding dress and reverently kiss the back of her hand. Then the priest turns to Dante and asks awkwardly, "Do you wish to stand before God and recite your vows to Ms. Ferrante?" Lucia bursts into tears and throws herself into Dante's arms. "Camilla, I'm not trying to steal anything from you," she sobs. "I just want to exchange the vows Davide never got a chance to give me before he died. If Dante is willing to stand in for his Fratello and marry me just this once, I'm sure Davide wouldn't mind." Without a second thought, Dante steps up to the altar. I stand below, watching him slip the very wedding ring I designed onto Lucia's finger. I look down at my own empty ring finger. And suddenly, it all feels so pointless. The vows could be borrowed. The ring could be borrowed. Even my man could be loaned out to comfort another woman. In that case, I'm done with this wedding.