A Thousand Folds Novels & Stories

On my way home from the night shift, a patient who held a grudge against my husband, the hospital director, forced half a bottle of pesticide down my throat. Terrified, I called my husband, Jasper Flint, for help. He rushed over and saved me. I survived by sheer luck. But tragically, his first love, Ruby Gray, died in a car accident on her way home that same night. After Ruby's funeral, Jasper carried on as if nothing had happened. I thought he had finally let her go. But on New Year's Eve, he poisoned our food, tied up my parents and me, and took us hostage. Through tears, I begged him to spare my parents. He killed them right in front of me. Their blood splashed across my face. "If you hadn't been so jealous of Ruby, if you hadn't pretended to drink pesticide just to lure me away, she never would've driven off like that. She'd still be alive!" he snarled. "How does it feel to watch your parents die? When Ruby died, what I felt was a thousand times worse than this! Since you like drinking pesticides so much, go ahead. Drink up!" Jasper forced my mouth open and poured the poison down my throat. I died in agony beside my parents' bodies. And then I opened my eyes—only to find myself reborn alongside Jasper. This time, Jasper chose to save his first love.

I am the young lady of the vampire house of Kaelaris. Having reached marriageable age, I chose, from a stack of portraits, the eldest son of the human family Norefax. My family indulged my preference and arranged our engagement, awaiting the day of my wedding. I do not drink red wine, but for the sake of human ceremony, I secretly went out—without telling my family—to select a rare century-aged vintage, intending to prepare it for the engagement ritual. The woman beside me glanced at the cabinet I had pointed to and immediately instructed the sales associate, “That bottle looks quite fine. Let me have a look.” Without hesitation, the associate rudely brushed me aside and handed the bottle straight to her. A chill entered my gaze as I spoke, “There is an order to everything. I selected that bottle first. What you’re doing is hardly proper.” She looked me up and down with open disdain and let out a mocking laugh. “This bottle costs sixteen thousand six hundred dollars. Dressed like that, I doubt you even qualify to smell it.” “I am Ethan Norefax’s stepmother. In New York’s Upper East Side, so-called ‘rules’ have always been decided by the Norefax family.” What a coincidence—Ethan was precisely my fiancé, and the very reason I wanted to buy that bottle. I dialed his number at once and said evenly, “Your stepmother has taken the bottle of wine I reserved for our engagement. How do you intend to handle this?”

To take care of my paralyzed mother-in-law, I quit my job and spent three years as a full-time househusband. That day, after cleaning up her waste, I hid in the bathroom with a cigarette between my fingers and came across a post on my wife’s boss’ Instagram. [You’re meant to be with me in the end. Since that freeloader can’t give you happiness, let me take you to the paradise of Maldev.] Above the caption were two plane tickets. Someone commented below. [That homemaker husband of hers is definitely clinging onto her. After all, she’s his meal ticket.] The boss replied. [Don’t worry. Tonight she’ll go home and come clean. She’ll say the company was caught falsifying accounts and is facing massive fines, and that she might need to serve jail time. [To keep that guy from getting dragged into it, the only option is divorce. He’s as timid as a mouse and will take any chance to flee.] I stared at the screen, stunned, until the cigarette burned my fingers. Ten minutes later, my wife rushed home, panic written all over her face. She dropped her bag on the floor. “Honey, something’s gone wrong with the company’s finances. They’re accusing us of falsifying accounts. I was solely responsible for the accounts. I might need to serve 10 years in prison, plus fines of more than ten thousand dollars. “We need to sign the papers before they seize our house. I don’t want to drag you and mom into this.”

There's an unspoken rule in the high-end society—married couples who are bound by marriage alliances are allowed to branch out romantically. But if they ever buy anything for their side piece, they must buy the same gift for their legal spouse. Raymond Johnson is a very particular person. That's why he continues sticking to the rule and gives Melanie Strickland the respect she deserves by showering her with gifts that are 100 times more than his mistress', even after the Stricklands have gone into bankruptcy. If his mistress gets 100 thousand dollars' worth of allowances every month, Melanie's bank account must receive ten million dollars in return. When Raymond gifts his mistress jewelry that's worth a million dollars, he'll go for the main highlight of the auction. After that, Melanie will receive an antique emerald ring worth 100 million dollars. The rich wives, who are too used to seeing wealthy men immersing themselves in booze and beautiful women, can only sigh wistfully whenever they witness Raymond and Melanie's lovey-dovey relationship. But at the same time, they can't resist dropping Melanie words of advice—mainly to tell her to appreciate what she has now. Appreciate, huh? Of course Melanie appreciates everything she has right now. That's why on the day Raymond gives a house of very little value that's located in the suburbs to his mistress, Melanie decides to ask him a question while receiving the land deed of Villa No. 1 that's located in Northshore. "I've grown tired of this marriage. Can we get a divorce?"

At the wedding, I immediately recognized that the woman under the veil wasn't Selene, but an impostor. But I still went through with the ceremony as if nothing was wrong. In my previous life, Selene had been forced to return and complete the wedding with me after I exposed the fake bride in front of everyone. That very night, however, her childhood sweetheart was rushed to the ICU with acute alcohol poisoning. When Selene heard the news, she didn't shed a tear. Instead, she cursed him, saying he got what he deserved. … After we married, Selene and I appeared to be a loving couple on the surface. I kept funneling money from my family to save her family business from collapse. But on our first anniversary, my wife—with not even a sliver of warmth in her eyes—tied me to a helicopter with her own hands. "If you hadn't forced me to come back and marry you that day, Chase wouldn't have ended up like that," she snarled. "What right do you have to live so happily? I'll make sure you feel the pain he went through before he died." She threw me from ten thousand yards up, and I hit the ground as nothing more than a broken heap of flesh. So, this time, I pretended to know nothing and went through with the wedding alongside the fake bride. I wanted to see just how Selene would manage to save the crumbling Liraine Co. without the Schreiber family's support.

During the school holidays, I took my daughter to a park. I had barely entered the park entrance with my daughter when a supercar crossed the solid line and rear-ended us. The man who jumped out came storming toward me, furious. "Do you even know how to drive? Do you know how much this car costs? You can't afford it even if you went bankrupt!" I was about to argue back since he was clearly the one breaking traffic rules. But I froze. That car looked painfully familiar. Wasn't that the supercar my mother gave me the first year I took over the Milton Group? Even the license plate was identical. My wife, Hazel Bishop, had told me the engine was broken and that she'd sent it to the dealership for repairs. I met the man's arrogant stare. "Is this car really yours?" He paused, then grinned smugly. "My wife bought it for me. It's limited-edition. Someone like you wouldn't understand. Go call your family and sell your house. You owe me 200 thousand dollars." Sneering, he added, "Don't try anything clever. My wife's the GM of Milton Group. She has serious connections. She'll be here any minute." I let out a cold laugh. So Hazel canceled on our daughter today, not because of a business meeting, but because she was out spending the holiday with her lover and his kid instead.

Si Prince Cassius ang nakatakdang magmana ng trono ng mga bampira and he spent thousand of years preparing for the duty. However, his grandfather king Lukasz urged him to find a suitable wife and get married which he always rejected. Sa pagpupumilit nito ay napapayag siyang makipag-date at sa pagmamakaawa ng Prinsesa ng mga werewolves na kababata niya ay napilitan din siyang i-broadcast ang blind-date niya. Dito niya nakilala si Arriana Faye na sa simula pa lang ay alam niyang may kakaiba dito. Kalaunan ay nalaman niya ang itinatago nitong lihim. Si Arriana Faye Monroe ay isang mortal na aksidenteng napagkamalang isang bampira. Ang presensiya ng dalaga sa kingdom ng Astral ay makapagdadala ng panganib hindi lang sa mundo ng mga werewolves at bampira kundi sa mga mortal sa Pilipinas. Sa kabila ng kaalamang ito ay hindi pa rin magawang pakawalan ni Cassius ang dalaga. Mauulit bang muli ang blood war oras na magising ang lycan na si Darrius? Magagawa bang ipagtanggol ni Cassius ang dalagang mortal o dadating siya sa puntong kailangan niyang burahin ang alaala nito at pakawalan ang dalaga,? alang-alang sa kapakanan nito at ng mga nabubuhay sa Pilipinas o maging sa buong mundo.

He dropped his hands to the side, stepping away, and he voiced. “I’m not sure about having you fucking countless men, Marianne, unless you have chosen to become a whore who is more than willing to please another man’s dick instead of just pleasing one.” He smiled, pushing his hair from his face. I made the conscious decision not to let his words bother me, as it wasn't worth the stress. I said, which got him annoyed further. “I rather please a thousand dicks than yours. So do what you want to me, but I will never marry you.” He suddenly brought out a gun, playfully staring at it and he hint “Not even in a death and life situation.” He aimed the gun directly at me and I took a bold step by moving to him and I pressed my head against the gun. “Then kill me. It has always been my dream to escape from this nightmare.” I was playing with fire, but I won’t back off until we both get burnt. “Pull the trigger.” I breathe. He breath. Both our eyes locked. ****** Kidnapped and sold to a psychopath, a man who finds solace in seeing her in pain while she grips on her remaining hopes of escaping. Marianne finds herself trapped in this endless nightmare with a man who claims to love her by bringing her pain. ***** Trigger warning; This story is not for light-hearted people. Involves very disturbing sex content.

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

Six years ago, my sister and I fell for the same man, Edmund. But he only had eyes for Rosalie, the sweet, innocent type. With them, I was always the third wheel. They got married, of course. And on their wedding day, I overheard my parents whispering. "The company's strapped for cash," my father said. "What if we marry Corinne off to our business partner? That'd solve our problem..." This "partner" was over fifty and twice divorced. So I ran. I fled to Sicily with the only five thousand dollars to my name. I ran on pure bitterness. In four years, I brought dozens of small-time Sicilian crews to heel and forged my own family: Vexille. In another two, I came back to New York and quietly became the most powerful woman in the North American underworld. By then, Edmund's power was crumbling, hit hard by a rival family. That's when my mother called, her voice full of that same old entitlement. "Your brother-in-law's in some trouble. Figure out a way to help him." Then a text from my sister, Rosalie, dripping with contempt: "Sister, I remember you have a little casino in Sicily, right? So you must know something about that Vexille family." "Edmund needs their help. See what you can dig up." They still don't know. I'm the Don of the Vexille family. I glanced at the schedule my advisor had prepared. Tomorrow, 9:00 AM. A sit-down with some minor family looking for a handout. The name on the file: Edmund.