Be More Chill Chloe Novels & Stories

All along, I've been following a social media account that's dedicated to a couple sharing about their romance. It doesn't have a lot of followers, but the posts are all very heartwarming. The owner of the account records all the little details about his relationship with his girlfriend. They get into arguments over a plate of pasta before breaking into laughter and calling each other an overgrown child. They climb up the hill to hold each other under the sky full of stars, wishing they could make time pause at that very moment. Even though the owner of the account never reveals his face, I am always moved by the words he writes. The day before my wedding, the owner uploads a new post. "This marks the end of our ten-year relationship. From now on, she'll be his wife, and I'll only be his friend. There won't be any more updates to this account. I wish nothing but the best for my best friend and the woman he loves the most." The picture uploaded with this caption is one of my fiancee and me, taken from behind.

For five years, my fated mate, Alpha Killian, has used my body to survive his ruts. He’s never marked me. For five years, I’ve choked down suppressants to hide our bond from the world. Until tonight. Tonight, when he was finished, he told me to be at the full moon ceremony. I thought he was finally ready to claim me. To make me his Luna. But he just smirked and told me he was mating Vivian. The daughter of an Alpha. A pureblood. And me? I was nothing more than his dirty little secret. The cure for his rut. He walked away. I wiped my tears, went back to my apartment, and threw out all my suppressants. My best friend thought I’d lost my mind. She asked if I was declaring war on the Alpha. I shook my head. No. I'm erasing him. Then, I accepted Alpha Adrian’s invitation. Alpha Adrian. A rival from Europe. In seven days, I would leave forever.

I was always sick as a kid. My parents were desperate. They’d try anything. So they got me a bunch of "guardian angels." Next thing I know, I'm set up and tossed into a horror game. Turns out, Medusa is my godmother. The ghost girl? My childhood playmate. And the final boss, a vampire? He's my fiancé. The first time we met, I was in a blind panic. I tripped and fell right onto his chiseled chest. "Oh—I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking—" I gasped, looking up at him. The words tumbled out in a rush. "And you're really handsome—but I didn't mean to fall on you! I have a heart condition!" The boss let out a laugh. He wiped the blood from his hands and swept me up into his arms. "Don't you worry," he purred, his voice dangerously smooth. "As your fiancé, I promise... I'll fix you right up."

“Ella is only a housekeeper, that is not my mother!” I heard the contemptuous words coming from the mouth of the child I had loved and cared for like my own for ten whole years. My husband did not love me, and his two children only regarded me as someone who served them. Until the moment I opened my eyes once again and was reborn at the age of twenty-two. And once again, the Oliver family forced me into a political marriage with Leo Dominic. “I agree, but only if I receive five million dollars.” I realized one thing: in this world, the most reliable thing is only money. When I met Leo Dominic, I received the marriage contract exactly as I wished. As long as I remained his wife for three years, I would receive freedom and one billion dollars! But suddenly, when I divorced and lived a carefree life, enjoying luxury, those people began trailing behind me and asking for love. “I’m sorry, Mom, I want you to come back home!” The children cried until they developed fevers and fainted, and the ruthless billionaire who had never once looked at his contract wife stood outside the million-dollar villa I had just moved into with my best friend all night. What should I do now, when I am clearly living a new life after divorce and happily spending money?

My mom decides to implement an income-based rationing system. Everything at home is delegated to everyone based on their income. At a holiday dinner, I decide to grab myself an extra helping of pasta. As soon as I fill up my plate, my mom snatches it from my hands. "Hold on. Just look at the spread on the table. The sea bass is already worth 180 dollars. The scallops are worth 200, whereas the lobster goes for 300 dollars. "You only earn 3,000 dollars per month. If you want a second serving, you must pay up first. I'll charge you based on the family rate. It'll be three dollars, thank you very much." My mom sticks out three fingers while smiling at me.

She spent three years blind, pouring every ounce of love into her billionaire husband while doctors fought to restore her sight. On the day light finally returned, Clover Voss walked into Damian's office expecting joy and found his hand caressing his pregnant best friend's belly, whispering promises to their unborn child. Betrayed and heart shattered, she signs the divorce papers in fury and drowns the pain in tequila and one reckless night in the arms of a dangerous stranger–a ruthless mafia billionaire CEO who takes what he wants and never lets go. Now the world will watch as the woman he left in the dark rises, paints her pain into a masterpiece of revenge, and forces the mighty Damian Hale to his knees.

As New Year's Day approaches, a new hire who has only been with the company for six months, who is a mama's girl, calls the police and tries to have me arrested. She suspects our company is some kind of a scam. But the truth is, the company exceeded its performance targets this year. That is why I prepared a million-dollar year-end bonus, a ten-day premium trip to Graceland, and equity grants for my employees. Yet, she waves around a video her mother sends her, claiming that high-paying jobs like the one I offered are all traps. Not only that, she slanders my company all over the internet. Netizens become outraged and call me a scammer disguised as an entrepreneur. Having become the target of public criticism, I simply issue a notice, saying, "The company will immediately begin transfer procedures, and all perks are canceled." As soon as the announcement comes out, my employees, who have just taken out loans to buy homes and just gotten their visas for the trip, are completely stunned.

My son is dead. He dies in a cramped toilet cubicle after having his skull smashed in. My husband, the school principal, arrives on the scene. The first thing he does is carry his true love's son, the one who killed my son, into an ambulance. They hurriedly leave. Before his death, my son tells me, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm not sad that Dad doesn't believe me. It's enough that you do…" I call Joshua Tucker during my son's funeral. He roars angrily, "Kenny had to get two stitches on his arm because of your son! If you keep pestering me like this, I'll beat him up when I get home!" My son? I look at the gaping hole in my son's head, the one that won't ever bleed anymore. I shut my eyes. Yes, he's my son. My son is dead, Joshua. From now on, there's nothing between us.

Every day, my son and husband finish all the house chores before I even get home. But only because they're bringing my husband's first love, Sally Sullivan, back for Thanksgiving, I pour boiling water on my son's face. I also kick both my son and husband out when it's 104°F outside. Desperate to save our son, my husband sprawls across the front porch, begging me to open the door. "Wanda, open the door! We need to save our son! I only invited Sally over because she saved you once back then. I didn't mean anything else by it!" "Mom, it hurts!" my son cries. "Mom, can't you kiss me? Mom…" Meanwhile, I'm slouching on the couch, snacking away as I watch TV. In the end, my husband can't take it anymore and brings me to the Bad Mom Court for trial. The moment my memories are extracted, the entire court bursts into tears.

The appointment of Susan Moore as the Broadcasting Channel's executive director has forced out the station's more valued news anchor, sparking heated discussions throughout Hayworth. Susan herself is standing before me right now. She wants to sell her jewelry. As the manager of a luxury boutique store, I'm here to inspect the goods. "These are pieces my partner commissioned for me. I have so many that I'm tired of them." One of them is a diamond-encrusted necklace, featuring a pigeon-blood ruby in the center, worth a few million. There are also several similar gifts on the table, with the crocodile skin bag the least eye-catching one. I smiled. "Your husband must really love you." I set about verifying the purchaser's ID and signature as part of a routine procedure. However, I freeze in place at the sight of the name. "I'm not his wife," she replied, bringing the coffee cup to her lips. "We're just each other's first loves. He said he missed out on 15 years of my life, so he gave me 15 gifts. Isn't that romantic?" It is romantic, indeed. However, it's my father's signature. For 30-plus years, I assumed that my father was a dull man who had never once surprised my mother.