Bates Motel Deputy Shelby Novels & Stories

My little sister Willa? Always played the noble princess—even during the freaking apocalypse. She was pregnant and still trying to look like some graceful queen. I told her to end it. Safer that way. She slapped me. "Shut up. How can you be so heartless?" Meanwhile, I skipped meals so she and her rescue-pet gang could eat. When I collapsed from hunger, she snorted. "Drama queen. Think of it as a free weight-loss plan." I dragged her to the base, the safe zone, and nearly died doing it. She snatched the last of my rations. "The baby and I are good. Give the rest away." I died from my injuries—frozen, starving, forgotten. Willa? She got crowned a saint. Even landed the baby daddy—the Deputy Governor—and kicked off her perfect little fairytale. Then I woke up. Back to the moment she asked me to swear I'd protect her and the baby. This time, I laughed in her face. "Die for all I care."

"… Are you planning on making me someone else?" I asked, my bottom lip trembling slightly as I began to realize what I had gotten myself into. "Too many questions." He stared straight at me, and then his lips spread in a sly smirk, "You are right, anyways. You are no longer who you used to be. What is your name?" "Persephone Walters." I told him with a hidden plea in my voice. Please don't make me disappear… "From now on, that person is dead. You will now be my girlfriend, and wife-to-be, the elegant Kassandra Aaron." ______________________ She’s a mechanic. He’s one of the richest CEOs in the state. She is also his girlfriend's doppelgänger, and he only needs her as his substitute mistress until his real girlfriend returns, to save his father's business. Falling for each other seems impossible, mostly because Aiden sees another woman through her. However, when his real girlfriend returns, the contract meets its end and they find out that things are not on the original track. How does CEO—Isaac Bates remind himself that the mechanic—Persephone Walters is way out of his league? How do they defeat the numerous obstacles that stand against their love?

My mother fell critically ill and was rushed to the hospital. Desperate, I knelt before my fiancé—the department's chief surgeon—and begged him to take charge of her operation. But outside the ICU, he was carefully tending to a scraped knee. Lucy Wendell's scraped knee, to be exact. Just as I was drowning in hopelessness, Cameron Mitchell—the hospital director and my childhood friend—pushed open the operating room doors and handed me a marriage proposal. "Marry me, and I'll personally perform your mother's surgery." With trembling hands, I signed my name, clinging to the last shred of hope that she could be saved. But she never made it through that stormy night. Cameron handled all the funeral arrangements himself, and our wedding proceeded as scheduled. Seven years later, in the hushed silence of the hospital archives, I overheard Cameron speaking with the deputy director. "Cameron, why did you transfer your mother-in-law's organ to Lucy's mother during that surgery? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?" "I owed Lucy," he replied. "If I hadn't hesitated back then, Lucy never would've chosen medical aid work in Africa… and her mother wouldn't have fallen ill from the grief."

My boyfriend Orion was the leading hunter of the Bright Moon Pack, who was sent on an S-class mission three years ago. Before he left, he told me to wait for his return, after which he would mark me. Holding him to his promise, I waited for over a thousand days, and he eventually did come back. I was delighted, but just ten days after I blissfully prepared for the marking ceremony, I overheard him speaking with his fellow hunters. "Are you sure you're going to mark Elara? What about Dahlia and Emery? Especially Emery—the pup's two years old and looks just like you. There's no hiding it at all." "Hell, the whole thing about a secret mission was a farce, to cover up for you hanging around for Emery's birth. If Elara knew the truth…" Orion shot his deputy a sharp glare right then. "Just tell Dahlia to keep her mouth shut and hide the pup. Elara's the only one for me." Dahlia? The pup? As it turned out, in those three years I was worried sick for him, he had a pup with another woman. My knuckles clenched, I returned to my room and called my father. "Dad, I want to go home."

It has been 99 times that Henry and I have filed the application for divorce and then withdrawn it. Each time before finalizing the divorce, Henry always waits for me to humbly beg him to stay married. I turned down the offer to be the chief composer at a famous studio in Vienna because Henry didn't want a long-distance relationship. I deleted all my male friends because Henry didn't want me to be too friendly to them. I stopped wearing red lipstick, composing, and traveling alone, because he said married women should stay at home instead of being impulsive. Only after I finally manage to appease him will he allow me to withdraw the divorce application. After my 100th divorce application, as I was leaving, the deputy clerk asked me curiously: "So, when are you going to withdraw your application this time?" I looked at Henry's cold back in front of me, forced to smile with tears, and told myself in my heart— This time, there will be no withdrawal of the application. After the 30-day cooling-off period, we'll be officially divorced. But why did his love only find its voice when I had already walked away?

On the tenth day of my postpartum recovery, my husband, Deputy Commander Harvey Wyatt, uploads a photo of me breastfeeding my newborn in a disheveled state to the department's group chat. Obviously, that photo was taken without my knowledge. "See? After having a kid, she's as loose as a sack. It makes me sick just looking at her. I much prefer my side piece, who's nice and tight." A few female colleagues send sweating emojis to the group. The majority of the chat, however, consists of the male colleagues' perverse silence. While I continue to burp my baby with one hand, my tears land on the screen. In order to give birth to this baby, my pelvic bone was sawn in half, which causes me so much pain that I can't even walk properly. But all I get in return is my own husband body-shaming me in front of hundreds of people. I don't bother arguing with Harvey at all. Half an hour later, I drag my broken body all the way to the commander's office with a divorce agreement as well as the chat history over the past ten days, which has been printed out, in my hands.

Allison, daughter of Fox City's most powerful gang family, a medical doctor, a passion and dream contrast to her family's life back at home. Her past, a ghost she thought she'd buried, was about to return with a vengeance –colliding with the present life she had built. On her birthday, a letter arrives from her father, Gerald Wenston —a man who has ignored her for years. His words, cloaked in a sweet tone, are not a request, but a command: return home and marry the heir of a rival gang —Michael Shelby, to secure an ancestral peace and rule treaty. But peace is the last thing Allison finds on her return, a single, forbidden night with a stranger —Luke Reynolds, her father’s right-hand man, ignites a dangerous passion that threatens to shatter the fragile truce. Caught between the duty to her family and a love that could ignite a gang war, Allison must navigate a web of family secrets and deadly betrayals. For in the shadows, a rival —her half sister Hayley also vying for Michael's affection, is waiting to claim everything she holds dear, even if it means destroying her and the city she's meant to save. Allison's choices could either save her family or condemn them all to a bloody war.

At the year-end party, everyone receives their year-end bonuses on the spot. While my colleagues receive cars and gold bars, I, on the other hand, get ten packs of instant noodles as my bonus. The veteran colleagues have me surrounded immediately. "Hey Dana, this prize suits you a lot! You keep meeting the clients outside the company, after all. Instant noodles really are a useful gift! I, on the other hand, have to pay for my new car's maintenance! Seriously, I'm really envious of you!" "I know, right? I just received a gold bangle as my bonus, and I'm really scared that I might get robbed if I were to wear it. Dana, your instant noodles is a reassuring sight. Once you get hungry, you can eat it right away. Mr. Vance cares a lot about you!" "Mr. Vance really is a kind-hearted man! To think that he shows this much concern toward Dana, who works the hardest among us! From now on, we must work even harder for him!" My boss, Harvey Vance, just waves a hand in humble pretense amid the crowd, though he can't stop himself from smirking smugly at me. That's when I flash everyone a smile abruptly. Then, I walk to a corner and dial the number of my company's rival. "I shall accept your proposed offer as the deputy CEO in your company."

The champagne was flat, much like the expression on Julian’s face. "It’s not that I don’t love you, Elara," he said, adjusting his $5,000 suit jacket. "It’s just that you’ve become... predictable. I need a woman who challenges the world, not someone who waits for me to come home and tell her what color the sky is." Elara felt the sting of the words more than the cold wind on the balcony. For six years, she had been Julian’s shadow. She had curated his life, managed his moods, and dimmed her own light so he could shine brighter. And now, on the night of his company’s gala, he was discarding her like an outdated software update. "Predictable?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Go home, Elara. I’ve already had your things moved to the guest house. We can talk about a settlement in the morning." She didn't wait for the morning. She didn't wait for the "settlement." She walked out into the rain, her silk dress clinging to her skin like a second, cold layer of grief. It wasn't until three days later, sitting in a dingy motel with nothing but a suitcase and a bruised soul, that the notification popped up on her phone. ARE YOU READY TO LIVE FOR YOURSELF? ENTER THE SURVIVAL GAME. WIN YOUR FREEDOM. Elara stared at the golden icon on the screen. It felt like a trap. Or maybe, it was the only way out.

On the day the male influencer patient was discharged, he posted a tearful video accusing my chaste, principled doctor wife of sexually assaulting him. In the clip, he cowered in a corner of the hospital, trembling, his clothes disheveled. With a terrified cry of "Dr. Shelby," he abruptly cut the footage. Overnight, my wife became a monster in a white coat—public enemy number one across the internet. We begged him, again and again, to come forward and clarify the truth. Instead, he posted an injury assessment report and wept about being bullied by his doctor. My wife had no way to defend herself. She was suspended pending investigation—and in the end, she leapt from the thirtieth floor. I endured humiliation and waited for the truth to surface. When it finally did, I obtained a reexamination report that proved her innocence. But by then, no one cared about the truth anymore. And I, consumed by despair, died of cancer. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day that patient was first admitted. This time, I begged my wife to take leave—I wanted to take her away from this doomed fate. But my gentle wife wrapped her arms around me, her eyes red, and said, "Don't be afraid, honey. This time… I won't run away."