Already Dead Novel Novels & Stories

"Sarah was found in an abandoned building. Manner of death—overdose." Jasmine breathed very slowly. Jayla's fists were balled. Jade swallowed hard. No one said anything. None of them were able to speak. For though— Despite the lies, the betrayal, the hate this was not the way they'd imagined the story ending. But it had. Sarah was dead. And the war that had started all those years ago? It was finally over.

My lawyer husband, Chester Stratton, and our five-year-old son were kidnapped. By the time I arrived, the bomb had already detonated, and they were reduced to ashes before my eyes. My older sister, a prosecutor, had tried to help me track down the culprit, yet even she was captured and tortured to death. Everyone said my ruthless methods had earned me too many enemies, that they had suffered because of me. They said I should have been the one to die. Even the Criminal Investigation Division stripped me of my position. For three years, I secretly hunted for the mastermind. Until one day, my investigation led me to a restaurant. There, I saw my husband, my son, and my sister—the three peop

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

Except this one was dry. Untouched. A folded note rested on top. Noah unfolded it. The handwriting matched the damaged notebook perfectly. You found the wrong journal. Ava felt the room grow colder. Noah opened the new journal. The first page contained only a single sentence. My name is Adrian Voss, and if Noah Volkov is reading this, then I have already been dead for ten years. The room fell silent. Daniel looked at Noah. “So…” He swallowed hard. “The fifth man finally has a name.”

I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. He jumped off the building. The doctors and nurses rushed to save him the moment they found him. However, Noah had lost the will to live. His consciousness faded, and he was soon pronounced dead. I waited quietly outside the operating room. Suddenly, Noah's voice echoed behind me. I turned to see him standing there. "Vic, I'm here. In this world, we can't be together. But we will be together in the afterlife. I'll love you. I'll treat you right. I'll love you more than anything."

Life couldn’t have been better. Despite that, I couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the Duttons were up to. I knew that as long as they didn’t find a body, they wouldn’t declare a death. This led to endless speculation in society about whether the two of us were truly dead. Rumors and gossip spread everywhere, but I remained unmoved. Every day, I soaked up the sun, watched handsome men by the sea, and lived a life of pure indulgence. After half a year, though, I started to get a little bored.

Zomb reached out a hand to her, and when Nova gave it, she gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Zomb...I'm sorry for dragging you into this. I didn't mean for you...I didn't..." none of the words I'm saying are what I want to say, and Zomb gives out a small laugh. "Jonathan, I died the minute I escaped from Sunville. Now I'm just doing it physically." she replied, her movements slowing. I could feel my stomach tighten with dread, and I held her a little closer. She was starting to feel cold, and I panicked a bit.

Bad news came eventually. The news came in the dark of night on Insahel, the busiest night in the conisoir. Fat Novil lumbered his way up the ladder and into the attic with it, and Sethlzaar knew it before the boy announced it to them. Fat Novil's voice filled the room with the nasal authority it always had before he hunched over to catch his breath. "Fen's dead." The room consequently erupted in a sea of questions. The most recurring being: "How do you know?"

The kindness of this stranger nearly broke her. “I . . . I’m not worth it,” she said, and her face crumbled, and her skin crawled, and her hair was matted and she had just endured some of the worst hours of her life, listening to this mad man grunt and groan and howl as he ripped at her skin and bit at her breast. She was glad Aleta was dead. She was glad of it. Because if she had lived with these memories in her head . . . The hunter’s shine from earlier melted and turned into tears, which ran down her cheeks and dropped onto the freshly polished floor.

I didn’t imagine the voice. It was as clear as day, as loud as if she were standing right next to me. And even though my mind is doubting it, my heart knows for a fact that it was her. Except she’s dead. …Right? Or is she “dead” in the same way Headmaster Stroud suspects my father is dead? Meaning, alive somewhere. “Come on,” Alec whispers. He leads the way out of the bush, and we peek around the pool house’s corner. The coast is clear.