Cool Superhero Names Novelas e Histórias

My mother, Eleanor Leigh, is pregnant with fraternal twins, but we aren't developing well. The doctor recommends terminating my younger sister, Juliette Vance, whose chances of survival are slim. Since Dad, Thomas Vance, suffers from azoospermia and can never have children again, I, Julian Vance, become the pampered, only child of the family. For my first birthday celebration, Mom and Dad gift me a house and a vehicle. Every day, they dress me up like a porcelain doll and specifically enroll me in ballet classes to elevate my poise. They even carry me everywhere I go, terrified that I might fall and end up with a scar. I only learn I'm a boy in elementary school when I get laughed at for entering the girls' restroom, and later learn it in a science lesson. Because of my classmates' constant bullying, I break down in tears, begging Mom not to make me wear dresses anymore. However, she, who is usually so gentle with me, suddenly flies into a rage and slaps me hard across the face right in the middle of the street. "What's going to happen to your sister if you don't wear dresses? It's your fault for being born a jinx! You killed your sister! "If you hadn't stolen her nutrients, she would be alive and well right now! Our family business would be booming as well. You'll either be our daughter for the rest of your life, or you can go to hell right this instant!" It turns out Juliette and I are the children Mom and Dad begged the heavens for, and while Juliette's a lucky charm, I'm a jinx. I wear long hair and dresses because I'm Juliette's body double. I sprint away in tears, only to be sent flying by a car running a red light. As my consciousness slips away, I wish with all my heart to go back to when Mom first found out she was pregnant. This time, I'll be the one to be reduced.

On the day I'm diagnosed with dependent personality disorder, my family treats me like I'm the most fragile porcelain. My parents put me first in everything. Mom even quits her executive job to stay by my side during treatment. The day my condition finally stabilizes, they smile with genuine relief for the first time. Even my adopted older sister, Winifred Linberry, smiles. She says, "I told you Sadie wasn't that sick. She just wanted to hog your attention." That day, my parents scold her for the first time and insist she apologize to me. On the night she goes to a class reunion, I quietly mention that my heart feels a little uneasy. Dad suddenly slams the medicine box in his hand onto the floor. He roars, "Can't you be a little more considerate? Your sister just lost her competition and she's already upset! We've spent every day revolving around you. Can't we spend just a few hours with her? "If you don't feel well, take your medicine yourself. We've had enough!" The pills scatter across the floor. He grabs his jacket and storms out, slamming the door behind him. Mom looks at me, as if she wants to say something. In the end, she says nothing and follows him out. I don't say a word. I simply dig my fingernails into my arm as my breathing becomes more and more difficult.

My son’s horrified scream echoed from downstairs at eight o’clock at night. Meanwhile, a message popped up in a group chat for the apartment building’s residents. “Silas, does your son even have a heart? He won’t even play with my girl.” I froze, recalling that the neighbor didn’t have a child. The next second, the neighbor sent a video. The footage showed a vicious Doberman lunging toward me to attack Ethan. It was bad enough that the neighbor didn’t stop the attack, but he even stood there, applauding. “Good girl. You’re amazing. You’ve got a big boy crying already. As Ethan was tackled to the floor, I shook in rage. Since the neighbor loved playing games, I’d show him a thing or two. I raced to the kitchen and grabbed the knife before charging to the scene.

When my wife, Rebecca Walsh, misses my chemotherapy session for the 99th time, I come across a post on social media. "I won my lover's heart with a kidney. She will surely love me to death, right?" The attached photo shows a couple kissing on a street in Targon. The woman has a small heart-shaped scar on her neck. What a coincidence—it is exactly the same as Rebecca's. The woman who nearly dies for me falls in love with someone else so easily. The comments below are full of encouragement from strangers. "Man, you're so brave. Wishing you everlasting love." "If I were the woman, I would love you to death." I leave a comment too. "I hope you are together until you are in the depths of hell, you cheating pair. As for me, the husband, I will step aside to make way for you." One minute later, the post disappears. It doesn't matter. I post on my own account. I write, "After I spent three years battling cancer, my wife fell in love with the man who's supposed to be the kidney donor." The attached images are our marriage certificate and the same photo of them kissing from earlier.

When I was selecting a marriage partner, I saw the chat. [Girl, don’t pick Max Lawrence. He’s a mama’s boy. If you marry him, his mother would make your life miserable.] [Choose Daniel Quinn. He may be an illegitimate son who isn’t valued now, but he’ll rise to power and become the head of the Quinn family.] In my past life, I had trusted those comments and chose Daniel. After we got married, he abused me. I had three miscarriages in a row. By the last miscarriage, I could not take it anymore and ran back home. There, I saw my father’s illegitimate daughter, Pearl Sullivan. She had married Max in my place. With my father’s arm in her hand, she had pointed at me while saying, “Mindy, why do you always make Daniel angry? You’re so immature.” My father looked unhappy. “You’re already married, yet you keep coming back home. Send her back.” They sent me back to the Quinn family. Daniel beat me to death. After I returned to the past, I saw those misleading comments again. I was not going to sit back and accept my fate again.

Eight years ago, my first love, Zyla Garcia, dumped me. Right in front of me, she threw herself into the arms of a rich scion named Brett Salway. She said condescendingly, "Kieran, you asked me to wait for you for three years. But how many three years does a woman have?" I begged her desperately, but she remained unmoved. Brett even ordered someone to pin me to the ground and force me to finish a bottle of red wine before letting me leave. "You should thank me, Kieran. Otherwise, you would never have the chance to drink such expensive wine in your life!" Brett sneers. I watched as they got into a luxury car and drove off. Eight years later, I am one of the most powerful figures in this city—and I run into them again.

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.

Jaxon Slater and I had lived as a married couple for five years, but we had never made it official. Every time we went to City Hall to sign the papers, Lisa Clark, Jaxon's coworker, found a way to derail it. The first time, she did not know how to format a document, so he stayed behind at the office to help her. The second time, she came down with a fever. He hung up on me mid-call and left without a backward glance. The third time, she had a performance review. He got so caught up in it that he left me at City Hall for an entire day. It happened fifteen times. Every attempt to make our marriage legal was interrupted by something involving her. I saw the pattern for what it was. A man like that was not worth keeping. Thus, I left for good. And the moment I did, he came after me as if nothing else in his life mattered.

My mother-in-law needed blood when she fell down the stairs and suffered major blood loss. The doctors were worried that the blood bank did not have enough of her blood type, so I called Rebecca Chilton on the phone to get her to hurry to the hospital to help her mother. Fortunately, she arrived on time, and my mother-in-law was saved and was no longer in danger. Before I could relax, I found out another piece of bad news. When Rebecca was not by his side, her severely depressed crush jumped off the building. It happened not long after she left for the hospital. Rebecca was filled with regret and blamed me for everything, so she pushed me off the building as well. When I opened my eyes again, I found out I had been reborn. This time, I decided to respect her choice, but she ended up regretting it instead.

My wife was gone for 6 months on a business trip. The day she returned, however, she was not alone. Hand in hand, my wife showed up with her lover—my client. This was not even the worst part—she was also 3 months' pregnant. My client, in all his beer-bellied arrogance, hurled the contract at my feet, smirking. "Mr. Carter, your wife has gone to so much trouble for this partnership. Truth be told, I would never, not even in a million years, have agreed to partner with you if it wasn't for her!" My wife caressed her pregnant belly and said smugly, "I was the one who successfully got Mr. Lewis' business! I'll let you have it, though, as long as you agree to get a divorce!" I tore the contract into shreds and roared, "You want a divorce? Fine! I'll give it to you, but I'll never sign this!"