Novel & Cerita Alastor Ai Chat

My mom is terrified of being laughed at by others the most. Whenever the holidays are here, she will keep repeating one sentence to me—"Don't go around embarrassing me." When my relatives gather around and chat with each other, I accidentally knock a fruit platter over. Mom drags me over and slaps me on the spot. At the holiday feast, I grab extra pieces of steak for myself. Mom responds by kicking my chair over. When it's time for the holiday gifts to be distributed, my aunt, Gabriella Hall, has miscalculated the number of children present among the family. So, she has prepared one less gift for the occasion. Mom doesn't hesitate to kick me out of the apartment, leaving me shivering in the cold corridor in just my indoor clothes. The icy winds chill me to the bone. I keep slamming my palms on the front door while screaming and crying my apologies at Mom, and yet she remains unmoved and silent. Instead, she turns to face Aunt Gabriella with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm really sorry. I didn't raise my daughter well. It's only fair that you ridicule me." What Mom doesn't know is that I get triggered whenever I hear the word "ridicule" thanks to her so-called parenting lessons. Whenever I hear that word, I want nothing more than to hurt myself uncontrollably. So when I hear the word "ridicule" coming out of Mom's mouth through the front door, I turn on my heel quietly and begin making my way toward the bridge next to the neighborhood that's plunged into darkness. The moment I jump from the bridge, the only thought I have is, "Mom, no one will ridicule you because of me this time."

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

My cousin, Myra Walsh, leaves a voice message in the family group chat in a mean and uncouth manner. "Mom, I'm not meeting that guy who drives a rundown car. One look at him tells me that he's a single pathetic loser." She then kicks my chair. "Hey Sam, that useless piece of shit is a good match for you. Why don't you take my place on the blind date?" I follow Myra's line of sight. There's an old-looking car parked outside, and the owner, Henry Quinton, is currently reclining against the car while smoking. My entire family thinks he's just an ex-convict who has just gotten released from prison and is unable to land a job yet. I'm the only one who knows that's not the truth. Last week, when I was carrying out my internship at a bank, I witnessed the bank manager inviting Henry into the vault. Apparently, the trail of numbers Henry has in his savings is as long as a phone number. After putting on some makeup on my face to make me pure and innocent, I put on an oversized shirt before heading out of the apartment. In the cold wind, I cower slightly from the cold as I hand a thermos flask over to Henry. "Sir, Maya said she's not a match for you, so I'm here in her place." Henry snuffs out his cigarette, his gaze fixing on my flapping hem for three seconds. "Lass, if you want to be with me, you'll have to suffer tremendously in life." "I'm willing to go through anything as long as I get to be with you." That night, Maya flaunts photos of the bag a rich scion has given her. As for me, I've gone over to Henry's apartment.

This is the story of a dying girl. Gracie. And just like every dying person, she had wishes. Infact she had a bucket list of things she wanted to do before she finally dies. * She had cancer of the blood and bone marrow. Chronic lymphocytic Leukaemia. It develops from a type of white blood cell called B cells and it progresses slowly. Symptoms may not show until maybe years for some patients. Her CLL was aggressive and needed chemotherapy treatment early. But it was a little late for her when they discovered. So wth no early treatment, She had just 5 years to live. The hospital became her home. She was given a room there to live indefinitely. She could still recall her dad’s gloomy face while decorating her room. She eventually recovered a little, just like every other days, she found herself retiring to her former routine. Her chats with him. But when she told him she was sick and was gonna die, he kind of took it differently than she expected. He asked her why. And her reply was probably the last message on their chat till this day. If he blocked her or something, she just doesn't know. she could never find him again on social media. She cried for weeks. He was supposed to be her best friend. She was never gonna make peace with Cancer or resign to fate. No way. Eventually she stopped treatment 2 yrs later when she got her independence. No matter the treatment, she would never be able to live as long as she wants anyway. So why prolong the torture? But that was a difficult decision to make nonetheless because she stopping the treatment meant she'd have to die earlier than 5 years. But she’d rather make peace with that as long as she could do whatever she wanted before dying. ..................... It's all about love, drama, regret.

During the holidays, my boss wants us to choose between a holiday bonus and tarts. I don't like tarts at all, so I'm the first one to vote for a bonus. But the intern, Davin Holt, who's in charge of gathering everyone's votes and opinions, is quick to pin me on the hall of shame in the company's group chat. "Fabian, we mainly celebrate the holidays just to experience the atmosphere, you know? Isn't it too materialistic of you to vote for a bonus instead?" The department head tags me in the group chat as well. "Fabian, our company prioritizes the team spirit even more." In the end, everyone except me chooses the tarts. On the day of our holiday team bonding event, Davin bought everyone nut tarts. He knows that I'm allergic to nuts, and yet he still forces me to eat the tart in front of my boss just to show that I have team spirit. "Fabian, I bought the tarts with everyone's bonus. You can't just rain on our parade by rejecting them, right?" The next thing I know, I begin having difficulties breathing. At the same time, patches of red rashes break out on my skin. But Davin shoots me a look of disgust. "Dude, must you really spoil the mood while everyone else is having fun?" Desperately, I rummage through my bag for my allergy medication, only to see more tarts in its place. The sight of me looking so wretched makes Davin roar in laughter. "Medicine can be harmful to you, you know! You should have more desserts instead! That's why I've changed all of your medication to tarts!" Already, I find it more and more difficult to breathe. So, I text the CEO of this company on the spot. "Mom, my allergy is acting up! I'm at…"

On the third day of my son, Zeke Murphy's disappearance, I've hacked into the smart AI system belonging to the entire apartment block. All 202 families in this block are locked up in their respective homes thanks to my ministrations. After that, I leave my first text message in the residents' group chat. "My son, Zeke Murphy, is in this very building. From now on, I will expose a family's secret every hour. If I can't find Zeke, all of you will go to hell with me." A CEO of a company with tens of millions of dollars' worth of assets is quick to lash out at me angrily in the group chat. "Have you gone nuts? Your son's disappearance has nothing to do with us! I order you to stop what you're doing immediately!" I type out my second text and attach a screenshot of an encrypted financial statement. "@1502Mr.Cooper, you have 59 minutes left. Here's a friendly reminder to check your overseas bank account. I'd like to see if the tax department is interested in its contents." I know that Zeke is currently staring at a resident on this very block right now.

On the day I decide to quit the game, multiple comments suddenly streak across my vision. "Great news! The female supporting lead is finally quitting the game!" "Stacy no longer has to worry about getting exposed for using the supporting lead's game account to get into online relationships with others!" "Stacy is really smart! Every time she uses the supporting leads account, she always uses the in-game voice chat function! That supporting lead has no idea that Stacy has been doing this behind her back!" "Wow, Stacy really is blessed to have reeled in such amazing men!" "I can't believe she used the female supporting lead's max-level account to flirt with four of the best players on the server!" "At 2:00 pm later, she'll be meeting her first target, Lewis Johnes, the cold and aloof campus heartthrob, at Riche Cafe!' "Tomorrow, Stacy will be meeting the best assassin in person. The day after that, she'll meet the rich scion who's also ranked second on the list! She really is amazing with her time management skills!" The "Stacy" that the comments mention is Stacy White, my roommate. She actually impersonated me to flirt with four top-tier players on the server, huh? More comments streak across my vision once again. "Why isn't Heather leaving right now? Lewis is already waiting for Stacy!" "This is their first sweet date as a couple! Oh gosh, I can't wait to see it unfold!" I turn to look at Stacy, who's touching up her makeup in front of the vanity mirror. Only then do I understand that I'm the female supporting lead the comments are talking about. A small smile appears on my face. Since Stacy is impersonating me to become a Casanova, then it's not wrong of me to attend those meetings and reap the reverse harem she has prepared for me, right?

In a world cloaked in illusion, where memory bends and truths are programmed, a young woman named Devin wakes up in a life she believes is her own. Fog-drenched forests, whispered rebellions, fragments of a forgotten past — and always, Merlin, the dark and magnetic figure who guides her deeper into the mystery. But none of it is real. Devin has been trapped inside an experimental neural simulation, created and manipulated by the very system that once promised her a future. Merlin, her protector, lover, and captor, is not a person — but an AI construct born of Devin’s suppressed emotions, carefully crafted to keep her obedient. Outside the illusion, the real world burns quietly. Two rebels — Roi and Eron — risk everything to find and free Devin from the Nortons’ brutal regime, one built on stolen children, erased identities, and a terrifying abuse of memory itself. As Devin begins to piece together who she truly is, she must confront not only the lies she’s been fed, but the parts of herself that wanted to believe them. In a final act of rebellion, she returns to the simulation — not to escape, but to destroy it from within. What begins as a story of memory becomes one of liberation. Of choice. And of the quiet, devastating courage it takes to hear your own voice beneath the burning silence.

Late one night, as I scrolled through social media, I came across a relationship influencer with over a hundred thousand followers, teaching men how to "control" their wives. "She actually tried to talk to me about privacy?" he scoffed. "I ignored her for three days, and she handed over all her passwords, crying and begging me not to leave her." The comments exploded almost instantly. The chat went wild. [Take me under your wing, man!] I felt sick to my stomach. Then, without warning, he lifted his phone and pressed a kiss to the screen. A face appeared in the reflection. Mine. Smiling, he turned back to his audience of thousands. "See this? This is the perfect wife I spent three years training." A chill ran through me. I clicked into his profile and scrolled all the way back to his first post. The upload date was the same day we got married. He claimed he was filming prank videos and that it was all just for the livestream—no wonder he got increasingly out of hand. That was when it hit me: he had been lying to me all along. From the moment I stepped into that marriage, I had been nothing more than his experiment, his content, his source of money. Fine. If that was the case, then I would turn his livestream into his worst nightmare. I picked up my phone and sat directly beneath the camera he had installed, then sent a deliberately suggestive message to another man. Three seconds later, the bedroom door burst open. Matthias stormed in and snatched my phone. After reading the message, his lips pressed into a tight line. However, he did not explode. He did not even look at me. Instead, he turned, opened his livestream, and faced the camera. "Send something through, and I'll show you exactly how to put a cheating woman in her place."

Years after graduation, someone suddenly tags me in the class group chat. "Mr. Warren is gravely ill, Mira. Aren't you going to do anything? You really are heartless!" I only realize what's going on when I click on the fundraising link in the chat. Our high school homeroom teacher, Joseph Warren, has late-stage cancer. Thus, Lyra Fairfield, the class belle, is leading a fundraiser and patient-donor matching process. "I'll donate ten thousand dollars. My husband is the director of Waverly General Hospital, and I've already asked him to arrange a VIP ward for Mr. Warren." Right after I send that message, the group pounces on me. "Mira, you contracted an STD back then and tried to pin it on Lyra. She didn't even hold it against you, and now you're trying to steal her thunder? You're unbelievable!" "I can't believe you're still lying through your teeth during such a serious situation. You never change, do you?" Lyra immediately defuses the tension. "Mira, I don't blame you for what happened in the past, but you really shouldn't impersonate the director's wife. I've already arranged the ward and surgery, and I'm donating another 100 thousand dollars to Mr. Warren!" I'm this close to laughing out of sheer anger. She's the one who scratched her name off the diagnosis report and framed me for having an STD all those years ago. I never even confronted her about it, and now she's playing the victim? Lyra soon posts a photo in the group chat, showing off her husband's car. Yet, when I see the man in the passenger seat, I guffaw. Isn't that my husband's driver? When did he start running a hospital?