Short Stories & Novels

Queenie Zeller, my sister, gets mad at Mom and Dad and sets off a gas canister in the house. They all make it out of the house unharmed, while I suffer severe burns all over my body and lose one of my legs to amputation since I'm fast asleep inside. Mom and Dad spend all day crying their eyes out, right up until Queenie comes home with a boy and a paternity test report. Overnight, I am reduced to the fake heir who's accidentally switched at birth. Just like that, half of the family's guilt vanishes. I barely scrape by until I turn 18. They all head out to the rightful heir's birthday banquet, leaving me lying in bed, twisting and writhing in pain. Mom and Dad are away on a business trip, so no one has helped me change positions for a long time. It has gotten so bad that the wounds on my back have become infested with maggots, making the itch unbearable. I try to turn over on my own, only to end up falling onto the floor. Suddenly, I hear a voice filled with suppressed anger carrying over from the balcony next door. "How long are you going to hide the fact that you fabricated the paternity test from your parents, Queenie?" Queenie snaps, immediately becoming defensive. "Shut up! I brought Nathan back because I wanted to keep our family from falling apart. Do you want me to tell them I lied because I felt guilty? "Where does that leave me, then? How am I supposed to stay in this family? I don't want all of us to spend our whole lives drowning in guilt over Henry! It's just a harmless lie meant to protect everyone!" I lie on the floor, frozen in shock. Is that lie supposed to protect me, then?

When I start middle school, Dad quits his job to become my full-time study coach. He devotes every ounce of energy to monitoring my academics and refuses to let a single distraction near me. My best friend in middle school has average grades, so Dad goes straight to his parents for a talk. "My son is going to a top school. Don't let your kid's low IQ rub off on him." I lose my closest friend after that, and the rest of my classmates start keeping their distance too. In high school, the class rep asks me a math question one day, and Dad sees it happen. Without a word, he slaps her across the face. "Already flirting with boys at your age? I'll have the principal expel you! "Just asking a question? My son's study time is precious. If you're too stupid to figure it out, hire a tutor!" After that, I have no social life left at all. I finally get into a top university out of state. Dad even agrees to let me live in the dorms. I think this is my chance to break free. But on move-in day, he shows up at the campus gate, suitcases in hand. "Let's go, Tyler! I thought it over and decided to move here with you!"

During a viral family mediation livestream, the notoriously difficult Dolores Bishop appeared on camera clutching her beloved toy poodle, Buddy, who was foaming at the mouth and suffering violent seizures every night. Convinced her daughter-in-law cursed the dog to death, Dolores demanded half a million dollars in emotional damages. The chat erupted with criticism, calling her a shameless bully trying to extort her own family. But after reviewing Buddy's test results, renowned veterinarian Dr. Alex Warren delivered a devastating diagnosis: irreversible neurological damage. The only humane option was euthanasia before the seizures became even more agonizing. Just as everyone accepts there's no hope, I heard Buddy's desperate voice. "Don't kill me! Please, Grandma, save me! I'm not sick! Every night that chubby three-year-old grandson uses me like a mop, dragging me across the floor after spilling peppermint oil everywhere. It burns so badly I can't stop convulsing!" My hand jerked, nearly shattering the teacup I'd just poured. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to Dolores. "Mrs. Bishop, is your grandson carrying a full bottle of peppermint oil in his pocket?"

When I found out about Kenneth Hale, I didn’t argue with Claire O’Neill. I simply handed her the divorce papers. Her eyes turned red as she sat there. After struggling with the decision for a moment, she tore them up. "Give me ten days. I’ll send Kenneth far away, and he’ll never appear in our lives again." So over the next ten days, Claire went whitewater rafting with him, climbed snow-covered mountains, bungee jumped, and went skydiving. They did every thrilling thing they could think of. They watched the sunrise together by the ocean and went to Silver Pines Retreat to meditate, filling those days with every romantic experience imaginable. Then, on the ninth night, after I had packed all my belongings, I accidentally answered a video call from myself ten years in the past. "You really are me ten years from now! Then Claire and I must already be married with kids, right?" Pain flickered in my eyes. I walked straight onto the balcony and pointed the camera down at Claire and Kenneth, who were holding each other tightly, unable to let go. "This is what happens." Finley Morton looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. "That’s impossible…" My voice was exhausted, as though every last bit of strength had been drained from me. "Finley, please. Don’t marry her."

The altered invaded after civilization collapsed. I awakened no ability at all. My body was weaker than an ordinary person's, yet the director of the Federal Anomaly Command personally invited me into Meridian Bastion's SSS-level sanctuary in the Blackridge Exclusion Zone. Because I was the world's only "Reality Anchor". As long as my emotions stayed stable, the dimensional breach above the city wouldn't collapse, and millions of altered creatures couldn't cross into our world. Everyone treated me like something sacred and avoided giving me even the slightest shock. Then one day, a newly awakened S-class destruction operative kicked through the sanctuary's ballistic glass and crushed my limited-edition Nova-9 figure beneath his boot. "The soldiers outside are bleeding to hold back the altered, and command is spending public resources to pamper a useless man who can't even fire a rifle. What makes you worth it?"

The day after our wedding, Justin Hudson and I are finally about to leave for our honeymoon. A trip that's supposed to be just for the two of us. But as we're about to board our flight, his mother, Karen Cruz, shows up beside him with a suitcase and a warm smile. "I'm not here to get in your way," she says. "I'm just tagging along." I freeze. Justin simply takes my hand and tries to reassure me. "My mom raised me all by herself. It wasn't easy. If she wants to come, let her. Don't start acting selfish the minute we're married." The entire trip, the two of them sit together, reminiscing about relatives I've never met and sharing stories I've never heard. Karen even jokes that the neighbor's daughter used to insist she'd only ever marry Justin. Justin laughs as he peels an orange for her. "Mom, don't start." He never even looks at me. When we arrive at the hotel, the front desk informs me that the honeymoon suite I booked has been changed to a family room. Karen immediately takes my hand. "Zoe, I was just trying to save you two some money. We're family. Why pay for two rooms?" That night, she complains that the air conditioning is too cold, the shower is too loud, and my perfume gives her a headache. By the end of the night, she's called Justin over to sit beside her bed. He stays there until dawn. Only then does he finally turn to me. "My mom's getting older. Just let her have this." I stare out at the pale gray ocean. And in that moment, I finally understand. This honeymoon gives the two of them exactly what they want. As for me, I'm nothing more than the extra bride in their story.

30,000 emergency meals meant for the disaster-stricken area were all sent to the incinerator as hazardous waste. The order to destroy them came from the deputy chief of the Health Department, Joanne Shea, my wife. The whistleblower was her childhood friend, Kevin Stafford, who claimed to be a retired undercover journalist. This was already the third time he had targeted my company. The first time, he reported my truck for illegal parking. Joanne then forced me to issue a public apology. The second time, he conducted an undercover investigation and accused me of violating packaging label regulations. Joanne issued a fine without hesitation and ordered my company to undergo a month-long rectification. Each time, Joanne has sided with him, using me as an example for others to learn from. This time, with water and electricity cut off in the disaster area, I rushed supplies there overnight only to be blocked at the entrance once again. Holding the certification of compliance, I pleaded, “The front lines can’t wait. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the blame with my life!” However, Joanne coldly waved me off. “Kevin is a journalist. He would never take the disaster area lightly! Destroy the supplies immediately!” Two days later, the lab report confirmed that the food met all standards. However, the emergency rations had already been destroyed, and the “‘Poisoned Meals for Disaster Relief” scandal had spread like wildfire online. The company faced a widespread online boycott, and major clients terminated their contracts overnight. Joanne looked at the lab report. She felt guilty but still kept her arrogance. “I guess Kevin misjudged the situation, but he meant well.” I found it all hilarious and slipped off my wedding ring. “I’ve given you three chances. Let’s get a divorce.”

To prove she was fair, Valerie forced me into the family's live-fire drill. She knew I had a severe heart condition. She knew I couldn't stand the sight of blood. Three hours under the blistering sun. My hands shook wildly. I stared at the trembling rabbit tied to the target, terrified to pull the trigger. "You can't even kill a freaking rabbit? How are you supposed to lead this family?" Valerie's icy voice lashed at me from behind. Tears filled my eyes. I finally pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the rabbit. Blood spattered everywhere. The smell and all that red triggered my blood phobia instantly. Everything went pitch black. Chloe, the intern medic, walked over and grabbed me roughly. Her eyes were full of pure malice. "Underboss, her vitals are totally fine. Is she faking it just to escape training?" Valerie looked down at my pale face. Disgust and disappointment covered her face. "Gemma, is this how I raised you? Everyone else finished. You don't get special treatment." "You finish this drill today—even if it kills you!" Then, my chest stopped moving. Dead silence. My soul floated into the air. I looked down at Mom, filled with guilt and despair. I'm sorry, Mom. This time, I really couldn't hold on.

After I'd had one too many drinks at a work dinner, my wife sent the university student she was sponsoring to pick me up. It was the fifth time that month. Faith Cameron gritted her teeth through the smell of vomit I'd left all over her and got me into the bedroom before disappearing into the kitchen. Lying in bed, I pulled up a video that had just come through, bored out of my mind. In the dim light of the frame, my wife, Cassidy Solen, sat hunched over a glass, drinking away her irritation. Her voice was thick with annoyance. "Preston's flying back in two days, and I still can't shake the one at home. It's exhausting." A bitter ache rose in my chest, and I dragged a hand down my face. When I looked up, Faith had come in wearing a thin shirt, carrying a bowl of hangover soup. "Mr. Kempton, the soup's ready." I switched off my phone with a blank expression, then reached out and pulled her against my shoulder, chuckling. "You can finish the job tonight." The next morning, I posted to my social feed: [Turns out I've been way too hard on myself. Should've tried the sporty, full of energy type sooner.] The photo showed a bedroom in complete disarray. One minute later, my phone was ringing off the hook. My wife, who couldn't seem to shake me no matter how hard she tried, was calling nonstop.

My fiancee, Bianca Milas, had a peculiar quirk. She never answered my phone calls after 9 p.m.. Even during our honeymoon phase, she would hang up on me without hesitation as soon as it was 9 p.m.. Once, I came home late and realized that one of my enemies had sent killers after me. In a panic, I had called her. When she finally answered, she simply said impatiently, “Grow up. Ever heard of respecting someone’s routine?” That night, I was slashed three times and nearly lost my life. One day, while using her computer, I accidentally saw a call log synced to her phone showing a call from 9 p.m. to 9 a.m.. Every single night, for five years, she had been engaged in twelve-hour calls. I recognized the number. It belonged to her mother’s student, Derek Steadman. Derek worked as her teaching assistant. My whole body sagged, and fatigue washed over me. I sat there motionless for a long while, then called off our marriage license appointment. She never answered my calls, so I did not see the point in answering hers any longer.

When I asked building management to reset the smart lock on the condo we had bought for our marriage, the technician hesitated before asking: "Ms. Foster, are you sure you want every user deleted? Sophie Clarke has administrator access, while you're listed as a temporary guest." I smiled. "Delete them. Don't leave anyone." The night before, stomach pain had left me crouching outside the elevator, my hands shaking as I entered the code, but the lock kept flashing ACCESS DENIED. I called Marcus Reed, and he lowered his voice on the other end. "Stop messing with the lock. Sophie just fell asleep. Her nerves are fragile, and the alarm will scare her awake." Sweat covered my forehead from the pain. "This is my home." He was silent for two seconds before answering with reproach in his voice. "She's only staying for a few days. Besides, don't you have the code? Don't embarrass her over something this small." Only later did I learn what "temporary" really meant. Her fingerprint had been placed first on the access list. Meanwhile, I was the name on the deed, yet I had been locked outside without even being able to reach my stomach medicine. I stared at the entry in the smart lock's activity log. [Marcus Reed removed Natalie Foster's emergency access at 11:48 p.m.] I didn't call him again. I simply paid off the home improvement loan early and contacted a realtor to put the condo back on the market. I no longer wanted the home that in my name. And I no longer wanted him.

Halport's shipping tycoon is marrying off his daughter and making a high-profile scene by grandly parading 99 wedding ships across Lumina Harbor. Jeremy Sutton, my best friend, excitedly drags me over to watch the spectacle. I instinctively take a photo to send to my girlfriend, Hazel Shepherd. I suddenly see two familiar figures in my camera frame. Hazel, who is supposed to be working overtime, is wearing a diamond-encrusted satin wedding dress and holding the hand of her childhood friend, Chris Lussier, as they board the magnificent lead ship. I freeze for a moment, then angrily try to rush forward and confront them. But Jeremy grabs me and holds me back. "Chris has always been Hazel's fiance. You're just humiliating yourself if you walk over and cause a scene. "I feel so bad for Hazel, who pretended to be poor and stayed with you in that cramped apartment for eight years. I'm saying this as your best friend—show some self-respect and don't be a shameless homewrecker." I feel completely numb inside as the cold sea breeze brushes against my face. It turns out that the woman I have been with for eight years has been lying to me all along. Even Jeremy, my best friend, has known the truth all along and hides it from me. I suddenly receive a message from Hazel. "I just got off work and took on two more tutoring gigs, Sebastian. I'll work hard and save up the 12,000 dollars for the wedding fund soon. I'll then head back to your hometown to get married to you, Sebastian." I look at the wealthy heiress standing on the ship, finding the whole thing utterly ridiculous. "You don't have to do that anymore. Mom is telling me to return home for a blind date."

The final race would decide everything: win, and I'd make the national team; lose, and I'd be kicked off the racing team. Twenty-eight years ago, my father was crippled by the same man. His spine was broken, and he never stood again. Two hours before the race, I saw him crouching beside my car with my own eyes. When I went over to check, I found the brake line had been cut and the brake fluid had been mixed with alcohol. The method was exactly the same. My father had waited in his wheelchair for twenty-eight years. I crouched down and stared at the severed brake line for a long time. Then I stood up, wiped away the fingerprints, and put on my helmet. I didn't report it. I didn't change cars. I didn't tell anyone. Because I wanted him to watch with his own eyes— To see how he'd be sent to hell by the "loser" he despised. The engines roared. The green light came on. I released the brake and floored the throttle. The moment I shot forward, I knew— This car's brakes wouldn't last past the seventh lap.

Right before graduation, our Resident Advisor (RA), Jasper Hollister, posts a message in the group chat announcing a hygiene inspection in two days. At the same time, he sets up a pool and demands 200 dollars from each of us to hire a professional cleaner. I immediately ask, "How on earth does a cleaning service cost 800 dollars for a tiny four-person dorm room?" Jasper instantly gets defensive and snaps, "If we get held back from graduating because of you, are you gonna take the blame?" Not wanting any drama, I just pay up and spend the next two days quietly grinding out my thesis at the library. On inspection day, I get a furious phone call from our Residence Hall Director, Deborah Campbell, screaming at me to get back to the room immediately. I push the door open to find the other three beds are spotless. Meanwhile, my bed and desk are buried under a mountain of takeout containers and trash that reeks to high heaven.

The day we took our engagement photos, the photographer said my smile looked a lot like my brother Wesley's. Stefani Lundberg, my fiancée, immediately had Wesley change into the same white tuxedo. "Perfect chance to get a few keepsake shots." When it was time to pick the photos, everyone crowded around Wesley's. Mom said he was born to wear a white tux. Dad said he looked more distinguished than me, the actual groom. Stefani studied the screen for a long moment, then pointed at a photo of Wesley looking back over his shoulder. "Let's put this one at the wedding reception. It looks great." I asked where my photo was supposed to go. Only then did she seem to remember I was there. "You and Wesley look so much alike. The guests won't even notice the difference. "Besides, he's never getting married. It's not every day he gets to wear a custom tux." I let out a quiet laugh. From the time we were kids, life had always been harder for Wesley. That meant I was the one who had to give in. If he wanted something, I was expected to hand it over. If he couldn't have it, neither could I. Even my wedding had to become the dream he never got. I slipped the only photo of Stefani and me out of the album. I was standing beside her, trying hard to smile. Now it felt like I was looking at strangers. Spring hadn't failed to come. I'd just spent too long standing in someone else's shadow, waiting for it. This time, I was done waiting.

Luna Smith was a famous tarot reader. When Dean Stark and I were going to register our marriage, she flashed three cards, saying that marrying this day would ruin his destiny and fortunes. Dean promptly called it off, and told me to wait a couple of days… which ended up being five years. When I got pregnant, she said that the child would be a jinx to its father, and I was hence forced to get an abortion… on four different occasions. When my mother was diagnosed with liver cancer, I begged Dean for $200,000 on my knees. Even before Dean said a word, Luna frowned and said, "Your mother and her family are jinxed. If the money changes hands, Dean's career will be over." Dean sighed as he pushed me away. "Death is inevitable. Just accept it." I finally went hysterical, but Luna slapped me across the face. "You're being hounded by jinxes. That's why things aren't going well for Dean lately!" Then, blushing as she turned to Dean, she said, "Just sleep with me once, and let your male vigor erupt to blow away the jinxes. That's the only way." Everyone else promptly told me to be understanding and think of the big picture, while Dean himself said, "I swear—this will happen only once, and I will close my eyes the whole time. "We will marry once it's over. You've waited a long time for this, right?" Hence, he scooped Luna up in his arms and strode into our bedroom. As everyone else laughed and cheered, I quietly left and took out my phone, texting the famous demon king ruling the city, "We should register our marriage today, as it says in the cards. Are you coming?"

Lately, the husband whom the Jeston heiress had loved for years seemed like a completely different person. A month ago, during a heavy downpour, Sierra Parker forgot her husband, Caleb Finch, who had been at the airport waiting for her to pick him up, instead choosing to accompany her late cousin's husband, Riley Cross, for a round of karaoke. Caleb, who usually possesses a petty streak, didn't even get angry this time. He simply caught a taxi home alone. Two weeks ago, Sierra forgot Caleb's birthday entirely while she stayed out to nurse the drunk Riley. Caleb didn't stay up waiting for her like he always did. Instead, he cleaned up the mess and headed to bed. Two days ago, Sierra abandoned Caleb while he's running a high fever, all because Riley nearly scalded himself. Even their daughter, Amelia Finch, was worried about Riley. When they crossed paths at the hospital, Caleb merely sat down and received his IV drip in silence. He forgot their vows to grow old together and even Amelia's words of appreciation for how hard he had worked to care for their family over the years. Now, Sierra wants to bring Riley into their home and support him for the rest of his life. Seeing the sadness in Caleb's eyes, she merely purses her lips. "Caleb, we've been married for seven years. I'm only letting Riley move in with us. You don't have to threaten to walk out on me." Amelia looks equally annoyed with him. "Dad, stop being so dramatic. Isn't it a good thing to have another person around to look after me?" Silently enduring the loss of his memories, he calls out to the system, "System, I'm ready to go now."

I was a full-blown possessive psychopath, and so was the person I loved. By day, I worked diligently as his poker-faced secretary. By night, I used a burner account to flood him with messages, harassing him without restraint. After he rejected yet another one of my confessions through those texts, I took advantage of my position and impulsively installed 138 surveillance cameras in his home. I watched Cassian from every possible angle for an entire month. It was fun until I realized he seemed to be planning to imprison his crush. I was green with envy as I continued messaging him through my burner account. I even offered suggestions. "I once bought a set of incredibly practical chains. They're perfect for imprisonment. I guarantee that once your crush steps into your house, she'll never be able to leave. In exchange for sharing this great find, could you be my puppy for a month? Just one month." I waited for a long time after sending him the link to the chains. Alas, no reply ever came. Just when I thought Cassian would never respond to my alt account again, I woke up one day to find that I had been imprisoned. The chain bound around my ankle was exactly the one I had recommended. It didn't just end there, as I now had the dubious honor of being filmed by all 138 cameras I had installed in Cassian's home. I froze, completely stunned. 'What's going on? I'm the one Cassian wanted to imprison? I'm his crush?' As shock coursed through me, Cassian finally replied to my burner account. "Your chains work very well. Still, I'm sorry. I can't be your puppy. I only like my secretary."

After working as a dishwasher abroad for five years, I've finally paid off all the debts my wife, Nora Palmer, owes. I'm thinking of going back home to give Nora a surprise. But when I get home with our son, Rick Moore, I realize that our rented apartment is worn-down and locked. A neighbor who's passing by asks in shock, "Didn't you break up with Nora? What are you doing here?" I immediately head to Nora's office, but the receptionist stops me. "Are you looking for Ms. Palmer? It's her child's sip-and-see party today, so she's not at work." A notification rings on my phone, and the contents show up on the screen. "CEO of Palmer Group, Nora Palmer, drops millions of dollars on her child's extravagant sip-and-see party, and the couple looks completely in love!" Just then, I receive a voice message from Nora. "Honey, I bought some clothes on discount for Rick online, and they're getting delivered to your place today. Remember to pick up the package, okay?" In the background, I can hear the grin in a man's voice as he says in a teasing tone, "The bet is already over. How much longer are you going to fool Adam with that fake marriage certificate? You've been pretending to be poor for years. Haven't you had enough?" I have had my doubts before, but this confirms it. All this while, I'm the only one who's actually penniless. Turns out, after all that hassle, I have turned into the homewrecker instead.

My girlfriend told me she'd been bonded to a System. It let her see a Demand Index for how much everyone around her needed her. At first, her eyes had gone red with tears. "Your number's only thirty. Does that mean you don't love me?" "Not needing you doesn't mean I don't love you," I told her. After that, she started holding an umbrella for her male assistant on rainy days and driving out of her way to take him home. When I asked why, she brushed it off. "Don't overthink it. His number was just high, so I figured he needed the help." Then I came down with a fever and took to my bed, and she chose to go shopping with him instead. "Your number's low, but his side is more urgent. Let me finish helping him first, then I'll come look after you." She shut the door behind her. I closed my eyes for a moment, then picked up my phone. "Mom, I'm coming home alone this New Year."