1 Month Anniversary

In order to protect my father, I was tortured for ten hours, but my father was busy celebrating his adopted daughter’s eighteenth birthday. With my dying breath, I called my father and said, “Dad, it’s my birthday today. Could you wish me a happy birthday?” “You crazy monster! You got your mother killed in order to celebrate your birthday! How could you still ask me to celebrate your birthday? You should just die!” With that said, he hung up. The next day, my corpse was placed in different flower pots and put in front of a police station. My father was in charge of inspecting my corpse, and he could immediately tell that the murderer did this for revenge. What they did to me was cruel and made a mockery of the police’s authority. But he did not manage to tell that the deceased was the daughter he hated.

Seraphine Hale, a genius musician, announces her return to the country. When a reporter asks whether she's back for her first love, she smiles icily. "Are you talking about that trash? It wouldn't be any of my business even if he were to drop dead tomorrow." What she doesn't know is that I've already been dead for close to a decade.

On my birthday, Connor Simpson's first love jumped off a building due to depression. She died on the spot. Connor blamed everything on me. I never celebrated my birthday again after she died. After the murderer electrocuted me for more than ten hours, they forced me to call Connor. "Connor, it's my 25th birthday today. Can you come over and spend time with me?" However, Connor did not notice anything unusual. His voice was laced with venomous iciness. "Clarisse Winter, Audrey wouldn't have died if it weren't for you. How dare you ask me to celebrate your birthday? If only you were the one who died." I heard him coaxing a woman on the other end just before he hung up on me. That low and gentle tone was what I loved to hear the most in the past. That night, the murderer cut my body into countless pieces, packed them in bags, and threw them in front of the police station. Connor was summoned back overnight. He spent two days and two nights piecing together the body parts, but he did not realize that the dead person was the wife that he hated the most.

I was five months pregnant when my husband, James Fletcher, allowed his mistress to invade our lives—on the very night of our wedding anniversary. But she didn’t just come to flaunt her presence. She came to take my life. Pregnant and vulnerable, I confronted her, desperately clinging to my dignity. But the fight ended with me tumbling down the staircase, my swollen belly crashing against the cold, hard ground. Blood seeped across the floor, vivid and unrelenting. James only arrived after hearing about his precious mistress’ ordeal. He stood there, staring at the pool of blood, at my broken body. But instead of helping me, he rushed to her side. She had nothing but a few superficial scratches, yet he swept her off to the hospital like she was the one dying. By the time he returned, my child was gone. The doctors barely managed to save me. And what did James do? He struck me in front of everyone, his words sharper than the sting of his hand. "Lisa only wanted to bring you a Christmas gift, and you attacked her out of nowhere! You shameless witch!" “She didn’t force her way in! What nonsense! I gave her the house key ages ago. You just can’t stand that she’s prettier and kinder than you!" “You didn’t just hurt her. You killed my child! You vile, despicable woman. Why couldn’t it have been you instead?” Lisa stood beside him, pretending to comfort him while flashing me a smug, victorious smirk. James’s vicious tirade didn’t stop there. He dragged my name onto the internet, painting me as a monster.

เมื่อรักครั้งแรกมัน ก็ยังหวังกับรักครั้งใหม่ เป็นผู้ชายลูกติดแล้วผิดตรงไหน?

เธอคือครูสาวบรรจุใหม่ ส่วนนักการวัยคราวพ่อจะเข้าถึงเธอได้อย่างไร ต้องไปติดตาม

รับส่งขึ้นสวรรค์ทั่วทุก ‘ซอย’ โดยเฉพาะ ‘ซอยถี่ๆ ซอยลึกๆ’ ผมยิ่งชอบ ‘ซอยตัน’ วิ่งไปชนจึ๊กๆ ผมก็รับนะครับ สนใจใช้บริการนี่นามบัตรผม กด 6969 เรียก ‘ผัวเบอร์ 1’ รับประกันส่งถึงสวรรค์ไม่มีหยุด สะดุด ให้เสียเซลฟ์

จากหญิงสาวที่ยึดมั่นในรักเดียวยินยอมเป็นชายาอ๋องแม้จะได้เปนชายารอง แต่กลับถูกตอบแทนด้วยความตาย บัดนี้สวรรค์เข้าข้างให้มาเกิดใหม่ เสิ่นลู่ถิงตั้งมั่นที่จะขึ้นเป็นสนมของฮ่องเต้เพื่อแก้แค้นทุกคนแทน

A family where cannibalism and having s*x with family is legal due to curse from their old family circle. A family where dark secret is still running to their blood. Ang sumpang sumira sa buhay nila. Paano kaya nila matatakasan at makakalimutan ito kung ang sarili nilang pamilya ang nakataya dito? Paano nila ito mabibitawan kung ang Pamilya Barber ay gumawa ng kasalanan walang sinoman ang makakatakas? Isa sa biktima ng kanilang family Dark Secret ay ang pangalawang Anak ni Paulo na si Miguel. Nung nalaman nito ang nakaraan niya mula sa kanyang pamilya ay mas lalo itong nakaramdam ng init at galit sa pagkatao. Paano kaya kung malaman nya rin ang nangyari sa kanya nung 15 years old pa lang siya? Matatakasan pa kaya ng pamilya nila ang sumpa na hanggang ngayon ay nagpapasakit parin sa angkan nila o tuluyan na itong mapuputol sa kanilang dalawang magkapatid? Sino nga ba si Miguel at ano ang papel ni Carlo sa kapatid para matapos ang cursed sa Family nila?

Deux inconnus dans un ascenseur en panne, entre deux étages d'un hôtel anonyme. Lui, les mains encore marquées par un récent accident. Elle, les lèvres teintées du rouge à lèvres qu'elle vient d'effacer nerveusement. Pas de noms. Pas d'histoires. Seulement l'espace exigu qui rétrécit à chaque expiration. L'électricité statique qui fait crépiter la laine. Un regard accroché à un poignet, une veine qui bat sous la peau fine. La chaleur devient palpable, suffocante. La première parole est un juron étouffé. Le premier contact n'est pas une main, mais un souffle contre une tempe. L'étreinte qui suit est une affaire de survie, une tentative désespérée de prouver qu'ils sont encore vivants face à l'étreinte de fer qui les emprisonne. C'est brutal, urgent, sans fioriture. Le cuir de sa ceinture laisse une marque sur sa hanche. L'agrafe de son collier lui griffe la nuque. Dans l'obscurité intermittente des lampes de secours, ils se dévorent. Chaque baiser est une question sans réponse, chaque morsure une ponctuation. Ils extirpent l'un de l'autre des gémissements qu'ils ne se connaissaient pas, des peurs qu'ils n'avouaient pas. Ils sont à la fois le remède et le poison, l'oxygène et la privation. Quand les lumières se rallument et que l'ascenseur repart avec un grondement sourd, ils se séparent comme on se scarifie. Aucune promesse. Juste l'odeur de l'autre sur la peau, indélébile. Elle sort à son étage, il descend au rez-de-chaussée. Leurs vies respectives les attendent, inchangées en apparence. Mais quelque chose a cédé. Quelque chose a brûlé. Et chacun, dans son silence, porte désormais la mémoire brûlante de cette chute libre partagée, de cet instant parfaitement égoïste et absolu où ils n'ont été que chair, pulsion et vérité crue.