Bl Photo Novels & Stories

Chuck's beloved ex, Ella, got divorced and showed up with her two-year-old daughter. Without asking me, he let Ella and her kid move into our home. Then Ella posted a photo of Chuck holding the child, captioned: [My husband cheated, so I filed for divorce, gave my baby a new dad, and found myself a new husband.] The comments were full of praise: [Real-life boss woman drama!] I had to laugh—so being a homewrecker is what counts as a strong woman now? Chuck didn't see a problem. He even told the child to call me "Momma." "Ella's husband cheated on her. She's raising a kid alone. As a woman, can't you have a little empathy? I'm just helping her out." Well, I had no empathy to give—not for the mistress, and definitely not for the scumbag.

I have claustrophobia, yet Luther Jansen abandons me in a stopped elevator so he can bring some flu medicine to his assistant. I ask for a divorce after that. He signs the papers without hesitation and laughs about it with his friends. "She's just throwing a tantrum—her parents are dead, so there's no way she'll leave me. "Besides, there's a 30-day cooling-off period for divorces, right? I'll generously let this matter slide once she regrets this, and she'll be back." The following day, he shares an intimate photo of himself with his assistant. "I want to record every moment of your shyness." I count the days until I'm free. Then, I calmly pack my stuff and make a call. "Can you buy me a flight ticket to Nanderton, Uncle David?"

I stumbled across an encrypted folder on my husband's phone, filled with photos of a little girl I'd never seen before. From newborn to first steps, sorted by month—two full years' worth. But the child in those photos wasn't our daughter. When I confronted him, he said she was a girl named Rosie from the children's home I sponsored. The director sent growth updates, and he'd been saving them for me. I never imagined that my warm, thoughtful husband would use my charity to spin a lie. Because every single photo was geotagged to the apartment complex next to his office. And the children's home was on the other side of the city. I didn't call him out right then. Because I wanted to know whose child she really was.

To help my "destitute" husband pay off his debts, I scavenged for scraps for five years. My son and I survived on expired canned food. That changed on my son's birthday. I saw him in a bespoke suit, spending millions to celebrate the birthday of the woman he truly loved. That was the moment I realized he was actually the most powerful billionaire on Wall Street. To please the love of his life, he let our child be injected with unknown drugs, leaving him on the brink of death. He even forced me to drain my own blood to save her son. Later, I became someone he could no longer reach. I linked arms with a man far more powerful than him and walked away. That once arrogant man ended up kneeling in the Arctic snow, clutching a photo I had burned, weeping like a stray dog.

All I did was post a photo of the exquisite pink diamond necklace my dad gave me for my birthday. An intern, however, confronted me in front of everyone. “Miss Anderson, why is my necklace with you? Do you think being a manager gives you the right to steal from others?” I calmly explained that it was a birthday gift from my dad, personally purchased at an auction. She didn’t believe me. Instead, she pulled out surveillance footage showing me entering and leaving her office and flat-out accused me of being a thief. “Some people can’t get what they want, so they resort to stealing. Do you honestly think taking a necklace means you can take over someone’s entire life? And you’re actually trying to pass yourself off as the heiress of Anderson Corporation? Isn’t that completely ridiculous?”

Two years after breaking up with Evan Grey, my lung cancer finally reached its final stage. At the end of my life, I dragged my aching body to Lake Manco, where we promised we'd come together on the 999th day of our love. In the end, I was the only one who went. As the doctor's calls came in endlessly, no doubt urging me to return to chemotherapy, I silenced my phone and buried the pendant Evan gave me by the lake. "Evan, maybe this is the last time I'll think of you…" As soon as the words left my mouth, a drop of blood from my nose fell into the sand. Then, from behind me, I heard the voice I'd missed every day for the past three years, "Miss, could you please take a photo of me and my girlfriend?"

Five years had gone by since my death. The cops called my mom and told her they got news about me. My mother and brother marched to my grandmother's home and kicked her door down. "Where's Charlie? That shameless woman has been hiding from us far too long. Her brother needs her cornea, and she's giving it to him!" "Charlie's dead," said my grandmother, sobbing. My mother sneered. "As if. The cops called us. They said they had her news. Hand her over or get out of the house, you hag." My grandmother looked at her daughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she took my photo out. "I wonder if you've ever regretted saving your brother, Charlie."

I am a real estate agent. My mom, Irma Bond, comes to me privately and asks me to sell her apartment. She explains, "Your dad is having trouble with his business. I want to give him a little assistance." This apartment was left to her by my grandmother, Anita Crosby. It was meant to be a safe haven just for her. For my dad, she is selling her own refuge at a low price. Soon, a buyer contacts me. The woman says to me, "Hi. Could you reserve the apartment for me first? I'll have my partner give it to me as a birthday gift next week." The moment I catch a glimpse of her profile photo featuring her and her partner, I freeze. It's my dad! I nod with a smile as I reply, "Of course. I look forward to seeing him soon."

Ten days before the wedding, my fiancée spent over a hundred million to buy Marcus Collins a luxury yacht. So, I silently threw away the matching rings I had once planned to give her. Seven days before the wedding, she spent 50 million dollars to celebrate Marcus' birthday. Thus, I set fire to the photo album that held every memory of our past. Three days before the wedding, she wore the ring I had used to propose, and she kissed him deeply by the sea. Today, I finally chose to step aside. I notified our families and friends that the wedding was canceled, and I personally returned the engagement tokens to the Yardley family. Lowering my head, I said softly, "Mr. and Mrs. Yardley…I've always known I'm not worthy of Claire. I hope you can understand."

I sat in the driver's seat as the GPS chimed, "You've arrived at Northpoint Corp. Check-in successful." I looked up. Graves. Nothing but graves. My phone buzzed. My boss tagged me in the group chat: [Zane Zander, system says you checked in ten minutes ago. Where the hell are you? The whole company's waiting. Learned how to spoof your GPS to slack off?] Cold sweat slid down my back. I stared at the fresh headstone outside my window. My photo was on it. My hands shook. I tried to send my boss a video—no signal. Just dead bars. No service. So how did I check in? Worse— In the rearview mirror, someone in my exact outfit rose slowly from behind a dirt mound. Could it be... Was I already "dead"?