Adventure Core Aesthetic Novels & Stories

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?

On their anniversary, Melinda’s world crumbled. Her husband the man she built a life with was caught cheating with her sister, the very woman who had always envied her and wanted everything she had but the betrayal didn’t stop there. Together, they framed her using fabricated photos, shattering her reputation and dignity in one cruel move. Heartbroken and humiliated, Melinda fled. One reckless night in Vegas led her into the arms of a stranger a man she’d never see again… or so she thought. Six years later, she returns. Not alone. But with twins whose father remains a mystery to everyone but her.

After years together, we finally hit our wedding day. At the altar, Damien Huxley had the ring halfway on my finger when his old college crush from Francia called. The guy everyone swore loved me more than his own life? His eyes went red. Then he bolted for the airport. My hand froze midair. Then a stream of comments popped up in front of me— [Oh my god, guys! I just saw his old crush's profile pic—she looks exactly like the new cadaver donor at our school!] [No way. Don't freak me out. Keep that creepy comment away from me!] [Either they're twins, or you need glasses. Chill.] I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I knew about Damien's old crush—our college classmate. But I remembered one thing clearly. She was an only child...

My mom is a famous perfumer who's well-known in town. But her perfumes are charged per session. One session costs 200 thousand dollars. She only takes in ten customers per month, too. Those who have used the perfumes my mom has concocted will be enveloped by the perfumes' unique fragrance that leaves an unforgettable impression on those who have smelled it. In fact, the fragrance is capable of covering up the customers' body odor, no matter how strong it is. One session will leave the customers with enough fragrance that lasts for a month. Countless celebrities and rich women specifically travel to this town just to frequent my mom's business. Everyone sings praises about my mom, claiming that she's the mistress of all fragrances who's here to bless humanity with her gift. But I know that my mom isn't as amazing as everyone thinks she is. The only reason why her business is booming like this is all thanks to the "thing" that she keeps locked up in that room…

There's a saying that circulates among anglers: "If a dead fish still takes the bait… reel in and leave." The day I went fishing with my dad, we ran into exactly that. What unsettled me was not the fish. It was the look on my dad's face: an excitement that felt completely wrong. Then a message flashed across my livestream, and a chill ran down my spine. [Get out. Now. Your dad is about to trade your life for the one who died in this river a year ago.]

My daughter, Elise Dolton, got sick, so I rushed over to take care of her. The moment I stepped inside, a rotten stench hit me right in the face, so I offered to help clean the place up. Her roommates' faces dropped right away. "What smell, Mrs. Dolton? The place is fine." "If you think it's such a dump, then have Elise move out. Don't come in here acting like you're better than all of us. We're not putting up with that!" Even Elise shoved me impatiently. "If you’re here to visit, then just act like it. Stop making a scene and embarrassing me, okay?” They were all college roommates, splitting rent on a run-down unit in an old complex. When I went in, I noticed them gathered around a pot of spicy stew. The room was thick with steam and smoke, but it still couldn't cover that awful stench. Strangely, none of them seemed to notice it. Had something gone wrong with my sense of smell? That night, the smell was so overwhelming that I couldn't fall asleep. In the end, I realized the odor was coming from Elise herself. I hurried her into the bathroom and scrubbed her down over and over, but the smell didn't fade at all. It stayed just as strong. With no other option, I called a cleaner, planning to disinfect the entire place inside and out. But Elise's roommates felt offended and started arguing with me. In the chaos, someone shoved me. My temple slammed into the sharp corner of the coffee table, and I died on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I first walked through the door. The stench rushed at me all over again...

While we were eating, Tristan Shaw suddenly set down his fork and looked at me. “Who is Fatcat Cook?” The fork in my hand froze midair. My heart skipped a beat. Fatcat Cook. That name was someone Lena Moore and I made up on a drunken night. We had agreed that if anything ever went wrong and we couldn’t reach each other, we would use “Fatcat Cook” as a code. No one else knew that name existed. Only the two of us. And Lena had been missing for a full month. She said she was going to Valoria for a trip. Then she never came back. I looked at Tristan’s calm, almost indifferent face, and felt my heart sink. How did he know that name?

I sell handmade fortune cookies in the park. Each one costs $10,000, yet every day, people fight to buy them. That’s because what I sell are fertility fortune cookies. Eat one, and you can get pregnant instantly. You can even choose what kind of child you want. Slip in a double-yolk charm, and you’ll have twins. Seal in a perfect test paper, and your child will be a genius. A spayed female dog ate one and ended up pregnant with six puppies. Someone buried a fortune cookie beneath a withered tree, and by the next day, it had burst into full bloom. I sell fortune cookies to both women and men—anyone who wants to get pregnant. I turn no one away. Even animals, if they so much as make a sound, I’ll feed them. Until one day, a young woman, Mara Kessler, who had been standing in line from dawn until dusk, finally stepped forward and timidly said she wanted to buy a fortune cookie. I only took one look at her, then staggered back in terror. "I can’t sell to you. Leave. Now."

The year I hit rock bottom, I got sucked into a game. The rule was to survive a week on 50 dollars, and the winner would walk away with one million dollars. Everyone else was desperate to win, but I was the only one trying to escape. What they did not know was that I was the previous round's winner, and killing me meant they could steal my 500 million dollars.

On the day of the SATs, all the students in the exam hall were asleep. The teachers did not just let them be, but they also told everyone not to write any answers. For the past ten years, every valedictorian in the city had mysteriously died on the very day their scores were released. The police conducted thorough investigations but found that all of them had died by suicide. Students across the city were gripped by fear. Some transferred to other schools, others dropped out. Some even deliberately underperformed on the exam. They were all equally terrified of becoming the top scorer and valedictorian. I was the only one who did not care. I was already at the bottom of my class. I would barely even qualify for a community college, let alone the SATs, which I had left completely blank. But to my surprise, when the results came out, I turned out to be the top scorer!