Clockwork Orange Novels & Stories

I am Evelyn Windsor, the princess of the Northern Wolf Kingdom. After I become a premium member of Black Thorn Breeding Center, they gift me a companion wolf. They say companion wolves are loyal, gentle, physically strong, and will never refuse any of their owner's requests. But the one I receive not only refuses to let me get close, but he also locks himself in the guest room and won't even let me see him. Late at night, I come across an anonymous post on a wolf care forum. "I am a companion wolf. I hate the she-wolf who bought me. I only want to be with her younger sister. I'm about to get into heat. What should I do?" I click into it absentmindedly before I realize it. "I only have one suppressant left. I'd rather die than let her touch me. I only want her sister. No matter how many high-quality energy potions she buys me, they can't compare to a single piece of jerky from her sister. I feel disgusted just looking at her." I close the post and call the breeding center's customer service. I ask, "If I return my companion wolf, will the returned wolf be resold?" The customer service representative sends a smiling emoji and replies, "No. Disobedient, defective wolves will be euthanized. We're very sorry we accidentally sent you a flawed one. Please don't leave a bad review. We'll compensate you with a top-tier new companion wolf." With a tap of my finger, I agree to the return. A disobedient wolf deserves to be put down.

I was lying in bed, scrolling on my phone with my pregnant belly heavy in front of me, when a local news alert popped up. 'Wife killed in suburban murder case. Husband stabbed her to death after she refused intimacy during pregnancy.' I clicked it open, only to realize the article was dated for tomorrow. And the killer's name? My husband's. At first, I thought it was some sick prank or a glitch on the site. But then I saw the photo attached to the piece: our wedding picture. My face had been completely blurred out. The moment my heart seized, the bedroom door creaked open. My husband stood there, licking his lips, his smile so chilling it made my blood run cold. "Honey, I want you tonight."

My boyfriend, Blake Finch, has passed out drunk on the bed. All I hear is his loud snores. But his roommate, Dylan Olson, begins to scoot closer to me. I can feel scorching heat rolling off his body. "Giselle, what should we do now that Blake is asleep?" A mix of embarrassment and a quiet thrill shoots through my veins, making my throat go dry. "No… Ah… Don't do this… He's going to wake up…" As soon as my voice falls, I feel a hand rest on my butt. Soon, it starts groping me.

A video of my boyfriend proposing to his secretary makes it to the trending topics. Everyone squeals over how romantic and touching it is. His secretary even posts on social media, "I've waited so long for you to appear, and I'm glad I didn't give up. I'll leave my life in your hands, Mr. Emerson." One of the comments goes, "God, this is so sweet. A CEO and his secretary—I ship them!" I don't weep or cause a fuss. Instead, I close the webpage and ask my boyfriend for an explanation. That's when I hear him talking to his friends. "I didn't have a choice. She would've been forced to marry someone she doesn't love if I didn't help her." "What about Vicky? She's your actual girlfriend. Aren't you afraid of her getting mad?" "So what if she is? She's been with me for seven years—she can't live without me." Later, I have my wedding on the same day as his. Our cars drive past each other, and I exchange bouquets with his secretary. When he sees me, he breaks down.

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé, Henry Siebert, decided it was the perfect time to drop a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster. The caption? Oh, just this gem: [Legally welcoming our little one into the world.] Betty added a shy emoji. And my mom? She liked the post and wrote: [Once the baby is born, I'll help take care of it so you two can enjoy your time together as a couple.] I couldn't help myself. I replied with a single question mark. And then Henry's DMs came in hot: [She's just borrowing me for a year to get married. Once the baby's born, I'll come back to you.]

At my 25th birthday party, my childhood sweetheart got down on one knee, holding a diamond ring. "Diane, will you marry me?" I nodded, my eyes misty with tears, but just as I reached out, he slipped the ring onto my best friend's finger instead. The room went silent for a beat before erupting in laughter. "Just kidding!" Livio Becker laughed. "You didn't take it seriously, did you?" I forced a smile and looked over his shoulder at someone. "I bet he would propose tonight, and I was right. You lost the bet, so tomorrow we're getting married for real."

"Gabriella, are you really going to fly abroad and leave Owen behind?" In the quiet cafe, Gabriella Candola puts down the spoon in her hand. She then looks at Anne Lockwood, her best friend, sitting across from her at the table, who wears a flabbergasted expression. In a casual tone, she replies, "We're already divorced." "Divorced?" Anne never expects to hear such shocking news coming from Gabriella's lips. As soon as the shock passes, she begins lamenting about the injustice on Gabriella's behalf. "And Owen actually agreed to the divorce? You treated him so well over the past three years! Even if his heart were made of ice, it'd have melted by now, right? Does he really not have any feelings for you?" Gabriella just smiles in return, a glint appearing in her eyes.

During a gathering with friends, my husband, Kevin Graham, was asked a question by his buddy in Froise. "What are you going to do with your lover, who's two months pregnant with your baby?" Kevin smiled while helping me cut up my steak, and he replied in Froise, "Evie doesn't like children. I'll get Kandi Chutnam to give birth to the baby and send them overseas after that. At least I'll have a child of my own." Tears streamed down my cheek as I ate my steak, and Kevin asked nervously, "What's wrong, Evie?" I wiped away my tears and replied with a smile, "I must've used too much hot sauce." However, there was no hot sauce on the table. I was crying because I understood Froise.

The impoverished student I had sponsored, Jacob Murphy, had accumulated a massive gambling debt. When the debt collectors had kicked the door open, my childhood sweetheart, Renee Austin, had shoved me forward instead. Her voice was cold and distant. “He’s Jacob Murphy. Take him away.” In the darkness of an underground casino, they tore out my fingernails, then smashed my ribs one by one with an iron rod. When the searing pain arrived, I groveled on the floor like a dog. I was weeping and screaming, without a shred of dignity. Then, they “mercifully” gave me one chance to call for help. Clinging to the last sliver of hope, I called Renee. Her voice on the other end sounded very cruel. “If you hadn’t set him up, how would Jacob have ended up buried in gambling debt? Even if you die at their hands, you deserve it.” The dial tone after she hung up became the last sound in my world. Later, I really did die, just as she had said. However, there was not the slightest trace of a smile on Renee’s face. It was as if she had gone mad. Her eyes were bloodshot as she searched every underground gambling den in the city. ‘Renee, why were you crying for me?’ I wondered.

I have a secret about my body. When I'm intimate with someone, my private part emits a fragrance. Despite being married to me for a decade, my live-in husband has never smelled it. One day, my family goes bankrupt, and I'm forced to become an escort. He looks at me imperiously as I kneel on the floor. He says coldly, "I'll pay you a hundred thousand dollars to let me smell you once."