Romans & histoires Countdown To Nothingness

When the heatwave apocalypse hits the Earth, the ozone layer has completely dissipated, forcing mankind to move into the underground city. My husband, Rhett Calloway, and I get to stay on Level Two, seeing as we've funded the construction of the underground city. On day in the third year of the heatwave apocalypse, Rhett brings back a sickly young woman from the slums located on Level Three out of the blue. "Nora, the living conditions on Level Three are very difficult. Anna is in poor health. I can't just sit by and watch her suffer." After that, Rhett carries Anna Archer into our home. I keep my gaze lowered as I remind him, "Don't forget that there's a strict population count on Level Two. The available slots in every family are fixed." "I know that. That's why you need to head down to the slums on Level Three to replace Anna for the time being. Once she recovers from her illness, I'll bring you home." The moment I hear Rhett's response, I remain rooted to the spot for a long time. After walking out the front door, I do my best to suppress the quiver in my tone as I call a number that belongs to Level One. "I've already thought it through. I've decided to join the project to end the apocalypse on Level One."

“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.” My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean. He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.” However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship. Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm. He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?” But I had understood him for five whole years. My phone suddenly rang. Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.” I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying. After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

Clara posted a photo of her ultrasound on Instagram. "Thanks to your bloodline, I finally have my own little pup." I stared at the ultrasound. Ryan's name was written clearly in the field for the father. I typed a single question mark in the comments. Ryan called me immediately, screaming his head off. "Celine, what the hell is wrong with you? Clara is dying from silver poisoning. This was her final wish! Can't you show some damn compassion?" "Kaleb was my brother. He's gone, and it's my duty to look after his mate! She just wanted a pup to keep her company in her final days. Do you really have to be this petty?" I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. Clara was Ryan's childhood sweetheart. They grew up together in the Dark Moon Pack before she married Ryan's best friend, Kaleb. Six months ago, Kaleb was killed by rogues during a border patrol, leaving Clara a widow. Shortly after, she was diagnosed with late-stage silver poisoning. She has at most a year left to live. But I never imagined Ryan's "care" would go this far. A little while later, Clara posted a new set of photos. She was in a luxury high-rise apartment downtown. The city skyline stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the kitchen was bathed in a warm glow. "So glad you're here to make me feel the warmth of a home again." In the photo, I saw a man's back as he busied himself in the kitchen wearing an apron. It was Ryan. The sight was so familiar it made my eyes sting. I rubbed my stomach, thinking about the pregnancy I'd confirmed just two weeks ago. I suddenly let out a sharp laugh. This mate bond? It's time to end it.

A week before Easter, Adrian gave me seven days off and had a ticket to Stockholm slipped into my bag. I thought he was finally learning how to care. Then I heard him talking to our son on the staircase. “Dad, are you really going to marry Aunt Bianca? What about Mom?” Noah was holding his model car, trying to sound brave. Adrian was quiet for a moment. “It’s only a legal marriage. Matteo is gone. Bianca and Sophia are exposed, and I can’t leave them that way. They need the DeLuca name for protection.” “Does Mom know?” “She can’t know.” His voice softened. “Keep this from her, Noah. On your birthday, I’ll buy you that Aston Martin model you want.” So the ticket was never a gift. It was a way to move me out of the picture. If he could put his family name on another woman, even for show, then I could take back the pride and ambition I had buried in this marriage. This time, when I left for the north, I would not come back.

The war between vampires and werewolves has raged for centuries. But Dorian, the most revered vampire prince, shattered every rule and bound himself to me—a werewolf. The Elders punished him for it. For this, he was chained in sacred silver for days on end. Forced to drink the blood of beasts. He nearly died in a baptism of holy water. The pain was absolute. But when he saw me again, his eyes were bloodshot as he kissed my tears away. "The moment we bonded, I made a vow," he whispered. "You are my eternal mate. I will never forsake you." Finally, his family—the Valkyries—agreed. But they had one condition. He could leave the vampire world with me. But first, he had to sleep with Liliana, the pureblood noblewoman. He had to give his family a new, powerful heir. Dorian held me, his voice tight with desperation. "Please, Freya. Just wait a little longer. A few more years, and we can go to the human world. We can have our eternity." I waited. Night after night, he went to her bed. A hundred nights of betrayal passed before she finally conceived. But their daughter, Aria, was born without the proper bloodline mark. She couldn't be the heir. They had to have another. I endured another two hundred nights of their betrayal. Liliana was pregnant again. But on Aria's first birthday, sunlight somehow flooded her room. She was dying. Everyone thought I did it. I was locked in a cellar lined with silver. Dorian's face was a mask of pain and exhaustion as he confronted me. "I told you we could leave after the next child was born. You're the only one here immune to the sun. Why would you hurt my daughter?!" Tears streamed down my swollen face as I tried to deny it, but the silver poison burning in my bones had already stolen my voice. By the time the cellar door opened again, the wolf inside me was fading. I forced myself to my feet and walked toward the Valkyrie Elders. This eternal bond he promised? I was done.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. You just walked out of Boston City Hall looking absolutely radiant. Any special occasion to celebrate?" "I'm getting divorced." "I'm sorry to hear that. Would you mind telling me what happened?" "He's been bedding his late right-hand man's sister. In my art studio, on my yacht, across my private study desk, and even on the grand piano in our living room. He thought I didn't know." "I can't imagine how much this hurts. I'm so sorry for what you're going through. Where are you heading now?" "The hospital. Prenatal checkup." ... The interview went viral within hours for her calm, unflinching recounting of the betrayal and the shocking contrast between her glamorous mafia wife identity and her devastating situation. It didn't take long for netizens to dig out my identity, and the entire world now knows the woman in that video is me. Elena, Donna of the Moretti family. Three years ago, Vincenzo Moretti, the undisputed Don who ruled Boston's underworld with an iron fist, threw me a wedding that made headlines across the nation. Back then, everyone envied me, calling me the luckiest woman alive. But now? That interview had been online for nearly two days, and Vincenzo was still lost in his little love nest. By the time Vincenzo finally bothered to watch the video his men had forwarded to him, I was already in New Zealand. The whole world knew I was leaving Vincenzo Moretti. He was the last person on earth to find out.

For five years, I was Carlos’s dirty little secret. In the light of day, I was his executive assistant, handling his legitimate businesses while he treated me with cold, professional detachment. In the shadows, I was the woman he claimed to love more than life itself, the one who warmed his bed while he whispered promises against my skin. That was until I found out I was pregnant. I was ready to tell him, to finally ask for a life in the light. But then, I discovered Carlos had purchased a secluded estate in the suburbs—a fortress meant for a wife. I followed him there, heart in my throat, only to watch through the window as his hand slid beneath a woman’s silk lingerie, his eyes burning with a raw desire I thought belonged only to me. "Sophie," he groaned, his voice rough with emotion. "I stayed unmarried all these years for one reason. I was waiting for you to come back to the States. Marry me." The sounds of their pleasure echoed from the room. The shock was a physical blow; my body revolted, and the stress induced a miscarriage right there in the cold. When I woke up in the hospital, empty and broken, I made a call I had been avoiding for years. I accepted the arranged marriage my family had set up for me—a political alliance with a rival syndicate. The next morning,I would vanish from Carlos’s life forever.

Before I turned eighteen, I was the adored principessa of the Moretti family. That all changed on my eighteenth birthday, when my father brought home an orphan girl named Carina. "She needs a home," my father said. "You will look after her, like a sister." From that moment on, nothing was the same. My brother, who once doted on me, became cold and distant. And my fiancé... his love for me seemed to halve overnight. The family praised Carina for being gentle and obedient, calling her a far better daughter than me, their own flesh and blood. After being cast aside for Carina one too many times, I finally broke and grabbed my father's sleeve. "Does blood mean nothing at all?" My father's fury ignited. He sheltered a tear-stricken Carina behind him, and in front of every member of the family, he struck me across the face. "You selfish waste. I wish I'd never had you." "You bring shame to this family," my brother Marco's voice was as cold as a blade. "Get out." And my fiancé, Vincent, looked at me with disappointment,"If only it had been Carina I was engaged to from the start." They thought I would grovel at their feet, like I always did. But I said nothing, just walked to the family safe, removed the official documents, and drew a single line through my name. I took the engagement ring from my finger and placed it on the table. I gave Carina everything they felt I didn't deserve. After all, I only had a few days left to live. But they had no idea then that amid the ruins of the Moretti family, they would one day kneel in the rain and plead for my return.

My fiance, Victor Blackwood, is a mafia boss who rules the country's underworld with an iron fist. To the rest of the world, he is the epitome of power. Yet to me, he is the embodiment of love. But I do not realize the cost of loving a man like him. On Valentine's Day, I cook his favorite dishes and wait for him to come home. However, time passes, and his chair stays empty. Uneasy, I go to Queenie Stone's social media page. She is Victor's foster sister. She posts, "All I said was that I felt lonely, and he came right away. "Even when I accidentally spilled wine on him, he didn't mind. Victor is still someone who puts family first, even if it means neglecting his lover. "He never lets me down. I hope things stay that way." In the photo, Victor's shirt is soaked at the waist. Queenie's handkerchief lingers near his most private parts, but he doesn't pull away. He merely looks at her affectionately. I do not make a fuss and give Queenie's post a like. Then, I send Victor a message that reads, "Let's break up." Victor ignores it as always. Later, I discover that when my breakup message popped up, he had said offhandedly, "Vivienne can't live without me. She's just acting out. "If I ignore her for a few days, she'll come crawling back by herself. She's easy to please." What he doesn't know is that I was easy to handle only because I once loved him. But now that I have decided to leave, he cannot make me turn back, no matter how he tries to win me over.

I was with Marco, the New York Mafia heir, for seven years. He never told his family about me. But when I walked in on a wedding rehearsal and saw the groom embracing the bride-to-be. It was Marco! "Her fiancé's held up in Italy. I'm just a stand-in," he told me, but his eyes never left her. "You're the best wedding planner in New York. This wedding has to be flawless." But I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before. A possessiveness that bordered on resentment. Isabella, the bride, hated every idea I had for her. In the end, Marco told me to give her the wedding I'd spent five years designing for myself. "Our wedding can wait. I'll give you something bigger, I promise. It's just a plan, Sophia. It's what you do. Giving it to a client should be easy, right?" He didn't know. It wasn't just a plan. It was my dying wish. In the end, I gave him what he wanted, quietly preparing to die. Later, he went mad, kidnapping the world’s best doctors—risking a global manhunt—all to save me.