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I had just gotten hospitalization prior to my operation when my wife told me she was going on an urgent business trip, leaving me and our one-year-old daughter behind. Two days later, her childhood sweetheart proudly posted a family photo on social media with a caption that said: “Took a picture of our happy family of three on our trip!” I looked at my wife who was smiling tenderly in the picture and commented, “?” My wife immediately called and berated me, “He's a single father who doesn’t have a wife to help take care of his child! All I did was take a picture with them, what are you being so defensive about?” That same evening, her childhood sweetheart posted a picture of a million-dollar dowry given to him with the caption: “After we took the picture, she insisted on giving me this as a dowry.” I knew my wife gave it to him to appease him. But this time, I was going to leave her for good.

When issabella is recruited by the American government for and undercover mission to stop a string of high profile kidnappings. She thought it would be a regular mission, but nothing about this mission is ordinary and add an old flame into the mix and her life just got ten times harder.

Just before the new school term started, my daughter's parent group chat, which had been quiet for ages, suddenly announced that the first parent-teacher meeting of the semester would be held that night. The rule was: both parents had to attend. A long string of "Got it" followed. I was about to reply when I noticed someone had beaten me to it. A guy with a family photo as his profile picture sent a voice message. "I'm Emma Sullivan's dad. We'll be there!" I froze. I clicked into the member list and checked repeatedly. My daughter's name was Emma Sullivan. He said he was Emma's dad. Then who the hell was I? I immediately called my wife. Before I could say a word, I heard her cheerful voice. "Honey, my best friend just asked me to dinner tonight. I'm bringing our daughter. Just make something at home yourself, and get some sleep early." My heart skipped a beat. Her best friend's husband was my good friend. He had just posted a family vacation photo from the Maldives on his social media. There was no way she was meeting her for dinner that night. I paused for a second, then smiled and said, "Sounds good." I hung up, called a car, and headed straight to my daughter's school. Let's find out exactly who my daughter's other father was.

At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, I noticed something strange. My best friend, Darren Blackburn, who had always been single, had suddenly changed his profile picture to a couple’s photo. "So you’ve been hiding a girlfriend from me?" I joked with a grin. "When are you bringing her around? I should at least meet her and make sure she’s good enough for you." He just smiled and shook his head, brushing it off. "Not yet," he said. "It’s not the right time." Then Deanna Cunningham, my wife’s voice called out from the kitchen, "Babe, come help me tie my apron." I hadn’t even pushed my chair back yet when Darren was already on his feet, jogging over. He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and tied the apron strings for her. I froze where I stood. Seeing the look on my face, he quickly tried to explain, "I’m just used to helping out at home. My mom’s always bossing me around. It’s basically muscle memory. Don’t read into it." I didn’t argue or make a scene. I kept my expression neutral and carried on with the dinner as if nothing had happened. Only after all the guests had left did I turn to Deanna, who was clearing the table, and say calmly, "Let’s get a divorce." She slammed the dishes down with a loud crash and glared at me. "Seriously? Over something like that? Just because he tied my apron once?"

Today is the sixth time my girlfriend, Shirley Lake, is supposed to meet my parents. My parents and I wait at the restaurant for four whole hours. I call her over and over again, but she never picks up. Just as I'm about to try one last time, I see Shirley's childhood sweetheart, Joshua Solomon, post a picture on his Instagram, with the location tagged at a suburban hotel. The picture shows a woman's pale back, one shoulder bare, with a striking red spider lily tattoo visible on her skin. Underneath the picture was the caption, "We'll make it from 18 to 80." A mutual friend comments, "First-love couples are the sweetest!" I silently hit the like button, then comment, "Make sure to get buried together when you die. And don't come back to haunt anyone else."

In the eighth year of helping Keith Hunter pay off his debts, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. I tested the waters and asked him, half joking, "If I got cancer, would you save me?" He laughed, saying I was overthinking it. Then he added firmly, "If it ever came to that, I would sell my blood to pay for your treatment." I lay awake all night, tossing and turning, still feeling like I couldn't drag him down with me. Before taking a sleeping pill, a notification popped up on my phone about a social media post. [How do I dump an older woman who paid off my debts for eight years without too much drama?] The profile picture looked eerily like Keith's silhouette from behind. He wrote, [Eight years ago, my family went bankrupt. She stuck with me, living off dry toast and squeezing into a rented apartment. She helped me pay back over 600 thousand dollars in debt. [Back then, I thought she was innocent and cute. Now, I feel like she's just a materialistic woman putting on an act. [Last month, she even asked whether I would save her if she got cancer. How does someone even ask that? [Obviously, she was trying to get money out of me. Good thing I didn't tell her that my family recovered three years ago. [Now, my family has arranged a fiancée for me. She's the daughter of a publicly listed company. [I want to cut things off with my girlfriend, but I'm afraid she'll cling to me. After all, she wasted a lot of her youth on me.] By the time I finished reading, I had crushed the stomach cancer diagnosis in my hand into a wrinkled mess.

I find out about my husband's affair by looking at his social media profile picture. The other woman is rich and powerful—she hits me in public and makes me lose my job. She even makes it so that I can never get a job in the same field again! I pretend to give in. In truth, I'm biding my time and slowly exacting my revenge!

"Good evening, Mom. How was your day?" "My day was good, my love. How is yours going?" Her voice was a soothing balm against the stress of the day. "It’s... busy. My boss gave me a mountain of work to finish before tomorrow morning, so I won't be coming home tonight. I’m going to stay late and then head straight back in." "Oh, my dear," she sighed. "Just be careful. Don't get into any trouble." "I won't, Mom. Did you take your medication?" I asked, knowing how she tended to forget when I wasn't there to nag her. "Ah... I’ll take it now." "Mom, please. You need to stay strong for me." "I will, I will. I love you, Annabelle." "Love you too." After I hung up, the silence of the office felt even heavier. The lights were dimmed, except for the glow from my monitor and the soft yellow light spilling from Elias’s office. He was still in there, a silhouette of intense focus as he reviewed the project details. Suddenly, a sharp ping echoed through the quiet room. I jumped slightly, my eyes snapping to my computer screen. Unknown Email. No encrypted address. No profile picture No signature. Whoever sent this, don't want to be traced. "What is this?" I muttered, my skin crawling with a sudden, inexplicable chill. The subject line was written in bold, stark capital letters: BEFORE THE INVESTMENT. My pulse shifted into a frantic rhythm. I hesitated, my mouse hovering over the notification. When I finally clicked, my breath hitched. It wasn't just a message; it was a cache of attached documents, internal financial transfers, offshore account statements, and adjusted revenue projections. I realized instantly that these were different from the official files Elias had given me.

Isabella Brown, an eighteen years old girl who had the weight of the world on her head with parents who doesn't care for her and her little brother, decided to go on a low profile in her new school. Unfortunately for her the popular boy returned to the school, everything became a nightmare for her when she was caught up in a dare contest and has to be with the bad boy all day for three weeks. Will she find her peace and happiness with the bad boy or will their relationship go on a Roller Coaster Ride?

“I don’t like you,” I tell him. Fredrick smiles like I just said something funny. “That’s not true.” “Yes, it is,” I deny. “No,” he says softly, stepping closer, “you just don’t want to understand me and admit it.” I laugh. “I understand you perfectly. You’re annoying. You’re always right. And you make everyone look bad.” He looks right into my eyes. “And yet… you keep looking at me.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I thought my biggest enemy was Fredrick Larsen. My perfect, annoying coworker who always wins every fight. We fight in every meeting. We argue over every project. I just can’t stand him. But at night, I become “A”. A secret writer who writes stories under a secret name. And I talk to a stranger who is one of my followers online called “K”. His words feel like magic. He sees deep into my heart, understands my fears, and makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. We share secrets, dreams, and even our hidden desires. Slowly, I start falling for this stranger I’ve never met. But I received the greatest shock of my life one night at the company party where I accidentally saw Fredrick reading something on his phone with keen interest. I moved closer and saw my story open on his screen with my apple profile picture right there. My stomach drops. Now I know the truth. “K” is Fredrick. The man I fight every single day… is the same man who made my heart race every night. Fredrick raises his head and steps closer, his eyes burning into mine. He smiles like he already knows everything. He tilts his head, calm as ever, but his voice is softer now. “Should I call you A… or Dylan?”