Chat Novel Novels & Stories

Talia works in a company, it’s a secret matching companies, they are known for BDSM matching, you can find your future submissive from any kind, training courses, clothing, toys, and anything you want or imagine. She saw many things, she saw all kind of BDSM relations, in one impulsive moment she decided to tries what she works in, and who else is better than her own friends to try with. That left her with a traumatic experience, she hate everything related to BDSM and being submissive, she’s neither, and if she could afford leaving this whole place she would. Marco, he’s a daddy dominant, a trainer, and recruiter, he had his eyes on a special girl in his workplace, he knew she’s a little even if she didn’t yet. He wants her, but is he too hurt and traumatized to accept what he have planned for her. This is my way to deal with my depression, read it if you want, I’ll be grateful for you. This is a DDLG/ABDL/CGL story, you’ve been warned. Apologies for any misspelling and grammar mistakes.

Steal the CEO's Black Card... or His Frozen Heart? "Please... please, sir. I'm begging you. I didn't steal the card." Belle's trembling voice cracked as tears streamed down her face. "Believe me..." "You belong in prison, fraud!" the store manager spat, his eyes filled with contempt. Humiliated and surrounded by accusing stares, Belle could only clutch her worn bag and pray someone would listen. But no one did. After all, who would believe a poor medical student over the owner of a limitless Black Card? Belle had been fighting for survival ever since she lost her parents. An orphan with nothing but a dream. A dream of becoming a doctor. A dream she once shared with the parents she loved more than life itself. For years, she lived in a cramped room inside a rundown building. She endured hunger, sleepless nights, and the mockery of classmates who looked down on her faded clothes and worn-out shoes. Life had never been kind to her. Yet despite her hardships, she never stole. Never cheated. Never took what wasn't hers. So how did she end up accused of stealing the Black Card belonging to Ethan DelValle—the cold, powerful, and untouchable CEO everyone feared? The man who could buy anything he wanted. The man whose single word could ruin lives. And the man who, for reasons she couldn't understand, suddenly became interested in hers. What begins as a humiliating misunderstanding soon entangles Belle in Ethan DelValle's world—a world of wealth, power, secrets, and dangerous attraction. She never wanted his money. She never wanted his Black Card. But what happens when she accidentally steals something far more valuable? His heart.

It has been a year since our mate bond formed, but my fated mate Damon Borden has never lost control around me. Even in the height of desire, he will only use toys to help me find release, but he always refuses to let me help him. Despite how much my heart aches, I plan to let him go. Even though he is my fated mate, he doesn't love me. I get a potion from Helena Craw, the witch. This potion will dissolve our mate bond. However, the night before I'm about to take it, I stumble upon Damon in the study, using my photo while venting his desire. He does it again and again while murmuring my name and saying that he loves me. I'm shocked. I want to record the scene with my phone, but I accidentally take Damon's old phone. I tap on his chat records with Helena. "I'm the fated mate of the woman I love, and I love her very much. However, I'm far too strong. What if I hurt her while making love to her?" "How can I restrain my desire and control my strength to please a female wolf?" "If my mate runs off with someone else, how can I overcome my possessiveness and continue to love her?"

On the Memorial Day weekend, Mason Hayes, the student my wife, Abigail Sullivan, had been sponsoring, insisted on riding with me back to his hometown. My car was small, the drive was long, and the trunk was already packed. There was no way to fit another adult, so I turned him down as politely as I could. That night, Abigail came home and stayed quiet for a long time before finally saying, "He ended up walking along the highway. His feet were torn up." I frowned, trying to make sense of it. "It's a holiday weekend. There are Ubers everywhere. He could've booked one in minutes." She nodded softly, the same gentle expression she always wore, and poured me a glass of water. I drank it. The next thing I knew, everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing under a brutal midday sun on an empty stretch of highway. Abigail leaned into Mason's shoulder, holding her phone up as she livestreamed. There was a faint smile on her lips, but there was nothing warm about it. "You said getting around was easy, right? Why don't you try walking home yourself?" The livestream was packed. The chat flooded with messages, people placing bets on how far I would make it. I looked straight into the camera, ran my tongue over my cracked lips, and said, "Done enjoying the show? Now come and pick me up."

I've had a crush on Don Luciano Damiani for ten years. Heck, I even agree to his request to sleep with him a thousand times before we finally get to announce our relationship to the world. The locations vary, be it Luciano's private shooting range or the VIP lounge. He uses every trick up his sleeve just to groom me into his personal plaything. Every time we do it, Luciano will kiss me while coaxing the answer out of me. "Do you want our relationship to go public, babe?" I've answered him "yes" 999 times. Of course, he disappoints me 999 times as well. But on the thousandth time, Luciano says, "Cecilia, let's announce our relationship on my birthday, which will be held in two days." Excitement washes over me at that moment. But that's when my best friend, Valentina Fiore, starts a video chat with me. "I lost to Luciano in a racing competition. Yesterday, I had to go to the City Hall to get our marriage registered there. "But he still intends to keep you as his mistress. That's why we shall fight for his affection to the best of our ability on fair grounds. "The next two days shall be our contending period. We'll bet on who matters to Luciano more. The loser will travel to the Republic of Azamir as a war correspondent, whereas the winner gets to attend his birthday party and announce their relationship to the world."

I've infiltrated into a private group chat called "The Domestication Project". The group owner is in the middle of spamming her experience of her destroying her husband's mental willpower. "I've secretly swapped out my husband's anti-depressants for something else. Every day, I keep telling him that he's a useless, pathetic loser. Once he's hopelessly dependent on me, I'll have him thrown into a mental hospital and take over his company naturally." All the group members keep praising the group owner for being a total professional in gaslighting her husband. Soon, they start asking for her methods and experience. I tap on the photo of an experimental journal that the group owner has just sent. To my shock, the name listed on the mental health report with a diagnosis of severe depression is actually my own! As for the haughty group owner, she's Sophie Hayes, my wife of ten years! Yesterday, that woman told me with red-rimmed eyes that she'd rather go bankrupt just to cure me of my depression! It turns out that her devotion and love toward me for the past ten years is nothing but a grand yet cruel plot to murder me slowly! Since Sophie wants me to get reduced into a lunatic who has lost all of his marbles, then I shall put on an insane show for her. After that, I lock the doors in the mansion and dump the gasoline that I've just bought all over the living room.

Late one night after getting off work, I was scrolling through my company group chat when a colleague shared a piece of news. The headline was horrifying. "Night-Shift Courier Murdered During Delivery, Police Suspect Robbery." I zoomed in on the crime scene photo that had been partially pixelated, and a chill ran straight down my spine. Lying in a pool of blood, the courier who had been hacked to death was unmistakably me. I had scrolled into news of my own death. Almost at the same time, my delivery app began vibrating violently. "Urgent pickup! Destination: Unit 704 Hawthorne Ridge Apartments, Building 7. Time limit: 15 minutes. Penalty for timeout: Death." As I stared at the notification that read "Pickup failed three times", the searing pain of my brutal death surged through my body. So that was it. I had already died three times. When I forced open the half-closed security door of 704 for the fourth time, a thin delivery envelope lay quietly inside. I tore it open. A photograph slipped out. It was a picture of my dismembered body. The timestamp showed tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. On the back was a single line written in fresh blood: "Next time, remember to pick it up on time." At that moment, the red indicator light on the hallway surveillance camera suddenly went dark. I looked up. From the ventilation opening in the exact same spot, a single eye was staring straight at me. The mole at the corner of that eye was identical to mine.

I worked as a caregiver at a psychiatric hospital. One day, during a quiet shift, I came across a post from my husband's widowed sister-in-law. [Just launched my first AI-generated short drama! Hope you'll check it out and support me!] I tapped on the video attached to the post. The villain's face was identical to mine. I immediately messaged her and demanded that she take the video down. Instead, she posted our chat in the family group. Then she added: "If it really bothers you, I'll delete it. It's just a shame my first attempt at starting a business has already failed..." My husband replied almost instantly: "Don't delete it!" Then he tagged me. "So, what if you played a vicious villain? That's called making sacrifices for art." "This is the first business your sister-in-law has ever started. Stop being so dramatic." My mother-in-law chimed in as well: "Your sister-in-law is trying to build something of her own. What's wrong with supporting her?" "What do you mean she used your face without permission? We're family. Why make such a fuss over something so trivial?" "She used all of our faces, and none of us complained. What, do you think your face is worth more than everyone else's?" What they didn't know was that I was an undercover investigative journalist. So yes, my face really was worth more than theirs.

I had always been a little dizzy by nature. My head was often muddled. Three years ago, in that same haze, I picked up a drunk woman and brought her home. She woke up and stared at me for a while before suddenly saying, “Let’s get married.” I did not think much about it. I just nodded and thus became the rich husband of a powerful family. They gave me a credit card that I could use however I liked, and I could live in a luxury house without any limits. We had a son, but alas, he was kidnapped. It took me two years, but I managed to find him again. I was about to tell my wife when she handed me a divorce agreement. “I’m bankrupt. This is my last sum of money. Take it and leave.” At that moment, a few chat messages suddenly appeared in front of me. [Wow! The female lead’s crush, the male lead, has returned to the country!] [She is probably pretending to be bankrupt. She wants to get rid of the male supporting character to go back to the male lead!] [She got drunk back then because the male lead left. The male supporting character was just a stand-in!] What? So I was a replacement? I nodded slowly. “Oh. Then let’s get a divorce.” The light in her eyes went out at once. I looked at her and felt that I had forgotten to say something. Whatever. I would say it when I remembered.

All he wanted was to make her life a living hell after an ugly encounter, but he did not just end up falling for her, he made her the mother of his son. Follow the love story of Billionaire CEO, Alex Steele, who hires Rachel, a hotheaded young lady as assistant in his bid to make her regret her actions. Their story change from that of hate to love, and they flourish in the face of conflicts and criticism.