Short Stories & Novels

For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media. The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.] I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?] Lionel called within minutes. “She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped. “How can you be so lacking in compassion?” In the background, I heard her muffled sobs. Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post.  This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.] I knew he bought it to soothe her temper. But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.

A while ago, my buddy Aaron Miller took me to a camping site, and that’s when I truly learned what camping was all about. I also discovered why so many men become obsessed with camping and can’t get enough of it. Inside each tent, there were stunning women, each one more beautiful than the last. There were the intellectual and graceful ones, the mature and seductive ones, the petite and delicate ones, and the quirky, fun ones—there was no type you couldn’t find there.

In my previous life, my girlfriend's childhood friend impersonated a rich heir and messed around with the fake power he had. I exposed him, and he crashed his car into me. In my final moments, my girlfriend's sister begged on her knees, pleading for my girlfriend's aid, hoping she could save me, but my girlfriend did nothing. "He wouldn't do that. Zacharias is beyond this. He would never dirty his hands for a nobody like this guy. He might be my boyfriend, but that doesn't mean he can do anything he wants. He'd better know his place." My girlfriend's sister remained on the ground for three days. In the end, Zacharias dragged her away, violated her, and killed her. Even at my dying breath, my girlfriend was still covering up for her childhood friend. She refused to believe Zacharias hit someone with a car and violated her sister. And then I was reborn. This time, I did not beg and plead for my girlfriend to give me a moment of her time. I called my brother instead. "Hey? Yeah, it's me. Some bastard impersonated me and is dragging my name through the mud. I need you to take that guy out. Also, I'm not marrying Annabelle Lawson. I'm taking her sister instead." I gave the Lawsons a lot of resources so they could grow, and what did I get in the end? An ungrateful woman who would leave me stranded and dying all for another man. With all their resources pulled, Annabelle and her childhood friend would be saying goodbye to their good old days and hello to their personal hell.

Brody Lewis, my fiance, said that I had a rare form of transient global amnesia, which was a sudden, temporary memory loss. Every seven days, I would open my eyes and become the twenty-five-year-old Riley Taylor again. My memories were forever stuck in the past. In my pen drive were videos of Brody taking me on trips, bringing me for treatment, and proposing to me. Everything seemed great between us, but I remembered none of it. “Riley’s still around. Can’t you keep your hands to yourself?” “Don’t worry. It’s Monday tomorrow. After she wakes up, she’ll remember none of it,” Brody said, and my heart sank. “Isn’t this more exciting?” Brody embraced my best friend, and they made out brazenly in front of me. They were not shy about it at all. I wondered just how many times this had happened over the past two years. I ran as tears blurred my vision. When I arrived at a tattoo shop, I grabbed the tattoo artist like a drowning man holding on to a log. Then, I asked the tattoo artist to tattoo these words on my arm in my handwriting. [Leave him.]

My husband’s childhood sweetheart pushed me off the cruise ship on purpose when she found out I was pregnant. I did not scream for help. Instead, I held onto my mother-in-law, who had fallen in too, and fought to survive. In my last life, I had screamed for help in the sea. My husband jumped in with others and saved both me and his mother. But his beloved ex, stained with blood, attracted a shark and was torn apart in the water. After she died, my husband said she deserved it for pushing me. He treated me with care and guilt, acting like the perfect husband. But when the baby was born, he killed him. "It is your fault, you wretch. I lost the woman I loved because of you. Now it is your turn to feel that pain!” I used everything I had left to drag him to death with me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the ocean—right before it all happened.

I have had a crush on Yannick for ten years but was too scared to confess. Then, I was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. So, I tied him up and took what I wanted—again and again. His eyes burned red as he struggled. "Yulia! If you’ve got the guts, untie me!" I thought that the second I let him go, he would strangle me in fury. But instead, he flipped the script—dominating me with a raw, almost punishing intensity, not stopping for a second. "Yulia, do I look like some weakling to you? So weak that you had to drug me?"

When I arrive at a villa to fulfill an order, the beautiful young woman living there looks at me expectantly, her face flushed. "Stop looking around—there aren't any dogs here. I'm the one you need to feed…" She changes into inviting lingerie and pins me to the couch. Her voice is coy, and her lips are soft. She parts them slightly and looks at me lovingly. "Remember to use all your strength to fill me up, okay? If you don't, I'll give you a bad rating…"

The night before our Mating Ceremony, my fated mate, Alpha Ryker of the Howling Moon Pack, ordered me to give him the Moon Soul Crystal—the very thing that protected my pack, the Willow Creek Pack. He said he needed it to power up the Howling Moon Pack's Blood Moon Altar. He also promised he'd keep me and my people safe. But he didn't know that we, the healers of the Willow Creek Pack, can only create one Moon Soul Crystal in our entire lives. Making one takes a crazy amount of moon energy. It's the treasure that keeps our pack alive. My mother, worried about me using up my moon energy while I was pregnant, gave up her own Moon Soul Crystal instead. But just three months after Ryker and I were mated, she got sick, fast. She was dying. I knelt in front of Ryker, crying, begging him for the Silverleaf Herb from the Howling Moon's forbidden grounds. It was the only thing that could save my mom. But he just looked at me, his eyes full of disappointment, and kicked me away. "I asked for the Moon Soul Crystal to test you," he snarled. "And just as I thought, you married me for our pack's treasures! Your mother's not sick. You're making it all up!" "You don't deserve to be the Luna of the Howling Moon Pack!" It wasn't until after my mother died, when he was arguing with me, trying to kick me out of the pack, that my mother's things fell and scattered everywhere. Her Soul Stone, the symbol of a wolf's spirit, shattered. That's when he finally realized he was wrong. He fell to his knees, begging me not to leave, crying for me to forgive him.

My boyfriend suddenly posted something on his Instagram. [I’ve offered my body and soul to the country.] I was about to ask what he meant when he sent me a plane ticket to the northwest. He explained that the mission was confidential and that he could not be in contact with me during this time. Ten months passed. He was supposed to be away, but he came home unexpectedly and caught me at a prenatal checkup. When he saw my eight-month-pregnant belly, his face turned pale with anger. “I’ve been gone for ten months. How are you pregnant?” I shrugged and said, “Weren’t you supposed to be gone for three years? Why are you back after just ten months?”

In our pack, every wolf has one chance in their lifetime to use an enhancement elixir to strengthen their wolf abilities, but this elixir is only effective when brewed by oneself. In my previous life, although I was a normal Omega, I worked day and night brewing my wolf enhancement elixir to become the Gamma of our pack. But on the day of the selection, after I shifted into my wolf form, I completely lost control. My wolf immediately prostrated itself at the feet of Victoria, the current Beta's granddaughter. Amid the cheers of the entire pack, Victoria became the new Gamma. Meanwhile, I was beaten and ridiculed. Everyone claimed I had stolen Victoria's enhancement elixir, which was why I couldn't control my wolf. They cut off both my hands and threw me into a silver mine. I died in excruciating pain in that silver pit, my very bones corroded by the silver. Until my dying breath, I couldn't understand—how could the elixir I brewed myself make my wolf submit to Victoria? When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to one week before the Gamma selection of the pack. This time, I gave up my right to compete and entered the forest alone to train for battle. Beta Richard stood at the empty doorway of my house, questioning me through our mind-link about why I was leaving the pack at such a crucial time. Meanwhile, I was removing my protective amulet, shifting into my wolf form alone to fight in the territory of the Rogue wolves.

The day Jessica Smith and I went to pick out our wedding rings, her long-lost first love unexpectedly returned to town. When we went to pick him up from the airport, she introduced me to him, saying, "This is Sebastian Grant, a friend." Jessica made it clear that I wasn't her fiancé. She even went a step further and called off our engagement party scheduled for the next day. Just when she thought I would fight and insist on marrying her, I suddenly said in relief, "Your best friend previously wanted to hook up with me, you know? And honestly, I was kind of interested."

My mother is a forensic doctor. When she's at the market for some grocery shopping, she sees human flesh being sold at a butcher's stall. She calls the police before contacting my cousin to tell her to stay safe. Her friend reminds her to also pay attention to me, but my mother is scornful. "She can die out there for all I care. I never want to see her again!" She doesn't know that she's already seen me, though. She didn't recognize her daughter from the pile of flesh that's waiting for her examination.

I catch the eye of a stranger on the bus. Then, I'm lured into his trap…

On the day of my marking ceremony, my mate, Alex Burke, and my sister, Rose Roth, are caught mating in the dressing room. This renders me the laughingstock of the entire pack. While I'm drowning in humiliation, the Alpha, Nate Hyland, steps forward and marks me in front of everyone! After we get married, Nate treats me exceptionally well. However, we're never able to conceive a pup. Eventually, I turn to IVF and finally get pregnant. Nate becomes even more attentive to me. He even calls me "Darling" in his sleep. I think this is a blessing from the Moon Goddess. This continues until I hear the conversation between Nate and his Beta one day. "How could you, Nate? Luna Diana adores you and cares for you so much. But just because Rose is scared of pain and doesn't want to go through pregnancy, you secretly switched their eggs and made Luna Diana carry her child? The pup is due in two months! What are you going to do about this?" Nate goes silent for a moment. Then, he sighs softly and replies, "When the pup is born, I'll hand him to Rose and let her live out her dream of being a mother. I'll tell Diana the pup was stillborn. She's just an abandoned Omega. Staying with her for life is compensation enough." So all the love and tenderness he showed me is fake. I immediately schedule an abortion, as I don't want this filthy pup. And I am certainly not holding on to this sham of a marriage either. I may be an Omega, but I am no one's pawn.

The year I was at my poorest, I impersonated my sister to take care of her blind fiancé in exchange for one hundred thousand dollars. On the day he regained his sight, I left without a word. When we met again, it was during a business interview. I was a nameless intern reporter. He had returned to his rightful status as the heir of the influential Hughes family. During the interview, the host asked, "We’ve heard that during your illness, your fiancée, Miss Dawson, stayed by your side through thick and thin. The two of you are about to get married?" He lifted his hand slightly, revealing a ring, and his lips curled into a faint smile. "Yes, we’re getting engaged soon." Yet, his gaze, through the lens of his glasses, landed—intentionally or not—on me, standing in the corner.

My husband's first love jumped to her death due to depression and landed right on me as I was passing by. I was rendered unconscious on the spot and subsequently rushed to the ICU. However, my orthopedic surgeon husband stayed by his first love's side to comfort her over her minor scratches. He even refused to sign my Critical Care Notification. "Whoever joined her charade can get lost along with her! Come to me when she's really dead!" he said. It wasn't until he received a death certificate that he realized in horror—the deceased's information was identical to mine.

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.

Ean's face twisted with anger as he grabbed me by the arm, dragging me toward the old, rusted freezer in the corner of the warehouse. "You're going to feel what Helen felt," he spat. "Maybe that'll teach you not to mess with her." I struggled against him, panic rising in my chest. "Ean, this is insane! It was an accident! Let me explain—" He wasn’t listening. He shoved me inside the freezing metal box and slammed the door shut. The echo of the lock clicking into place made my heart pound in my ears. I banged on the door with my fists. "Ean, please! You can’t do this!" I screamed, but the sound of his footsteps grew fainter as he walked away. He left me with nothing but a single bowl of water, like I was some kind of prisoner. I slumped against the cold metal, shivering. The temperature plummeted almost instantly. The hum of the freezer kicked in, and I realized too late—it wasn’t broken like he thought. It was working, and I was trapped. My body shook uncontrollably as the cold seeped into my bones. I screamed for help until my throat was raw, clawing at the walls in desperation. My bloody handprints smeared across the icy surface, a silent plea for mercy that no one would hear. Seven days passed. When Ean finally returned, the look on his face was one of smug satisfaction. He had expected me to beg, to apologize. But when they pried open the freezer, all they found was my frozen body, stiff and silent, my suffering long over.

The Langston brothers once vowed that they wouldn't marry anyone but me. However, when it's time for me to pick one of them as my husband, they both turn me down. Nigel says, "My career is my priority. I'm not considering marriage at the moment." Shawn says, "Sorry, but I haven't had enough fun yet." Shortly after, they make my asthma act up during my engagement party just so they can please their new princess. As I writhe from the lack of oxygen, they cover her eyes so she won't see. They also mock me, saying I won't die from this. That kills me inside. When I wake up in the hospital, I call my father. "I'll marry the heir of the Blackwell family."

The day my ex finally made it big, the doctor told me I had less than three months to live. On TV, a reporter was interviewing James Larson. “Mr. Larson, what drove you to success?” James chuckled, but his eyes were misty. “The biggest push? Probably when I was diagnosed with kidney disease eight years ago, and my ex walked out on me.” “I’m grateful she didn’t marry me. That was the wake-up call I needed.” After the interview, he called. “Amelia Simmons, I made it. Do you regret it now?” I rested a hand on the spot where my kidney used to be and let out a bitter laugh. “I do. And I have cancer now. Happy?” James sounded satisfied. “Serves you right.” He never knew—I got cancer because I gave him my kidney all those years ago.