Countdown To Nothingness Novels & Stories

Every time my husband cheated, he gave me a bracelet. I collected 99 bracelets in four years of marriage—I forgave him 99 times. He was away on a business trip for three days lately. When he came back, he brought home a rare bracelet worth Ten Million Dollars. That was when I knew it was time to ask for a divorce.

On the anniversary of our Mating, my legs were wrapped around my Alpha, Adrian, as we shared a deep kiss. My fingertips brushed against the hidden pocket of my silk dress, my hand tightening around the pregnancy test I had concealed there. I felt the faint flutter of a new life inside me, planning to give him this surprise as the perfect end to our evening. Just then, Adrian's Beta, Ethan, spoke in a low, teasing tone, using the Old Tongue. "Alpha, that little sister-in-law of yours… the newly matured she-wolf, Zoe. How did she taste?" Adrian's low, suggestive chuckle reached my ears, quiet yet piercingly clear. He replied in the same ancient language. "You know a freshly ripened pepper? Hot, with a real kick." His palm was still caressing my waist, yet his gaze had drifted elsewhere. "Just keep it quiet. If my Luna finds out, it's all over." The other Betas let out knowing chuckles, raising their glasses in a silent promise to keep his secret. But a chill washed over me, and my inner wolf went still, as if it had died. He didn't know I had studied the Old Tongue for my research on werewolf trauma. I understood every word. I held back my tears, forcing myself to appear unfazed, maintaining the composure expected of a Luna. Instead of confronting him, I sent a magically shielded message to Elder Slone of the Werewolf Healers' Association, accepting the invitation she had extended to me. In three days, I would join a secure werewolf rehabilitation program as their new Lead Therapist and disappear from Adrian's world forever.

The moment I find out about my pregnancy, a notification from Twitter is displayed on my phone. Apparently, it's a tweet posted by my husband, Don Romano Caliendo's childhood friend, Teresa Fiorino. "Thanks to your sperm, I get to have a child of my own during the last stage of my life." The accompanying photo is a pregnancy test that clearly states that the sperm donor is Romano. I leave a question mark in the comment section. In just half a minute, my phone begins ringing loudly. Romano's angry voice bursts from the loudspeakers immediately. I've only heard him adapt such a tone whenever he gets mad at others during family meetings. "What did you mean by that comment, Selene Gardo? Teresa is dying from cancer! All she wants is to have a baby to keep her company before she breathes her last! Don't you have any sympathy for her at all?" Before I can put down my phone, my Twitter homepage gets refreshed. This time, Teresa has uploaded another photo. It features a luxurious deluxe-style apartment, where the floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the breathtaking cityscape of Brindleport at night. The caption reads, "Thank you for giving me a home so that I don't feel lonely in my final days." In a corner of the photo, Romano can be seen crouching on the floor while piecing a baby cot together. His side profile shows how focused he is on the task. As I wipe my tears from the corners of my eyes, I silently caress my flat belly, which has yet to show any changes. I'll take you far, far away from here, my dear baby.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife, Blair, the daughter of the city's richest man, straddled my lap, her kiss deep and intoxicating as she toyed with my lower lip. The same night, we just announced our pregnancy to the world. Just then, Blair's best friend, Chloe, asked in French, her tone suggestive: "Blair, you're absolutely glowing. But tell me honestly, how does it feel to get railed by another man while carrying a baby?" Blair let out a soft laugh, a familiar sound that sent a chill down my spine. She replied, also in French: "It feels absolutely incredible, Chloe. He's like a wild wolf. Just yesterday, he had his head buried between my thighs, using his mouth to bring me to tears before taking me so deep I forgot my own name." Her fingers were still toying with my collar, but her gaze was already distant. "But remember, keep this from Kevin. If he finds out what I've been doing behind his back while pregnant, it will be a disaster." The socialite sisters gathered around them shared knowing chuckles, raising their glasses and promising to keep the secret. The warmth in my veins turned to ice. My fervent passion to welcome a new life was instantly reduced to a pathetic joke. They had all forgotten that I spent my childhood in southern France. I understood every single syllable. I forced myself to remain calm, my face fixed in the perfect smile expected of a blissful husband about to welcome his first child, but the hand holding my champagne glass was trembling. I didn't fly into a rage. I didn't smash everything in sight. Instead, I took out my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days prior for the Aegis Agency, a highly classified organization on the other side of the world, and clicked "Accept." In three days, I would vanish from Blair's world.

My Mating Ceremony with my fated mate, Alpha Ronan, was supposed to be the biggest event of the year. Broadcast live. Worldwide. Every wolf would witness the union of the Black Moon Pack's Alpha and Luna. But right before my ceremony, I was staring at a video on my phone. Tears streamed down my face. "Harder, Ronan. It'll be so hard to see you after your ceremony." A she-wolf, pinned beneath Ronan as he slammed into her. He growled, going harder and sinking his teeth into her neck. "Don't you worry, you little minx. I've already got a potion to dull the bond. I can sneak away to fuck you, even on our mating night." I saved the video. Shut my phone. I contacted an agency that specialized in faked werewolf deaths. "Seven days from now. At my Mating Ceremony. I need you to stage an attack. I want to fall from a cliff into the sea, in front of everyone."

Alpha Kael Blackthorn’s childhood sweetheart was pregnant. On the night of our ninth anniversary, he brought her home and spoke as if assigning ordinary household matters. “She’s carrying a pureblood heir. Her appetite is delicate, so her meals can’t repeat.” “She startles easily at night. Clear out your things and move into the guest room.” I said nothing. I picked up the suitcase I had packed long ago and walked toward the door. The house steward looked ready to stop me, but Kael only laughed. “Let her go.” “She won’t last three days before she comes crawling back.” That made everyone laugh. Right in front of me, they placed a ten-million wager that I would be back before morning, begging him to let me in. After all, for nine years, no matter how much he hurt me, I always came back. But this time, the black sedan outside had already been arranged. This time, I was really leaving.

After my partner, Kael Arden, and I decided to hold our mating ceremony, his childhood sweetheart, Mira Frost, suddenly left on her own, heading to the dangerous border overrun with rogue wolves. On the very day our mating ceremony was to take place, news came that she had died in an accident. Kael showed no reaction. He still followed the steps of the ceremony and completed the mutual marking with me. However, on the day I was heavily pregnant and about to give birth, he forced an entire bottle of silver water down my throat and locked me in the basement. As I died in agony, I still heard his cold voice beside my ear. "Mira’s death was all because of you! You couldn’t stand her, so you deliberately forced her to the border! You have to pay the price!" When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to seven days before the mating ceremony... Since he loved Mira that much, I would choose to make them whole in this life.

On the night of our eighth anniversary, I cooked everything Ethan loved. He didn't come home. I sat alone at the table until the food went cold. Then I did what I always did. I opened Selene's profile on the pack network. New post. One hour ago. A photo of Ethan, shirtless, building a fire in her den. Her hand on his shoulder. Her face turned toward the camera with a smile that showed too many teeth. The caption read: Grateful for old friends who drop everything when you need them. Even their marking anniversaries. I stared at it until my eyes burned. Then I liked it. Filed the bond-dissolution request. And started packing the trunk I'd kept ready for months. Ethan didn't believe it when he found out. "She's throwing a fit," I heard he told his packmates. "Give her three days." "I'll crook my finger and she'll come running back." "She always does." What he didn't understand was why I always came back. It was because I loved him. That was gone now.

I had waited for him for eight years. I thought I was the love of his life. I thought waiting so long for him to takeover his pack would prove to him my love. But her pictures filled his laptop when he had none of me. I was just a joke to him and his pack. But not anymore. Instead of getting bound to him, it is best to set him free. So l left and he lost his mind trying to find me.

In the final year of my bond with vampire lord Saul, the curse of our pact struck, and I was overwhelmed by agony, but my lord was nowhere to be found. He had gone out. He left me to suffer. Alone. When the door finally creaked open the next morning, I looked up through bloodshot eyes—hope flickering like a dying candle. But he wasn't alone. He carried an unconscious woman in his arms, her head resting against his chest like she belonged there. Ignoring me as I curled up on the floor in pain, he first carried the woman to his room and called the old butler anxiously. "Jacinda's passed out. Hurry! Check if she's all right!" The old butler cautiously pleaded on my behalf, hoping our lord could save me first, but Saul frowned and interrupted: "Jacinda is in danger, and I have no mind to drink her blood now. She just needs to pull through herself. Believe me, she won't die. Right now, the priority is to save Jacinda." A frown and a glance in my direction was his only response to the old butler's desperate plea. With my only hope shattered, I clenched my teeth and slashed several long wounds on my arms and hands to drain blood for self-rescue. After a long period of weak convulsions, the curse of the pact finally ended. I lay in a pool of blood, sending a message with my last faint consciousness. "I promise I will leave him."