Cracked Phone Screen Prank Novels & Stories

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

My sister-in-law sent me a photo of her kissing my husband on the beach. Just a few minutes later, she deleted the photo and sent me a text saying, “Oops, sent to the wrong person. Lol.” I knew it was deliberate. It was never a mistake. She wanted me to see how happy my husband was with her. Clara was never my sister-in-law. Three years ago, my husband had lied about her, claiming she was his younger sister, and I believed him. But after five years of marriage, I discovered—far too late—that Clara was never his sister. She was his mistress, his childhood lover, the woman he had been sleeping with under the same roof as me while making me serve her as if she were truly my sister-in-law. And now what? He had lied again… said he was going on a business trip. Yet Clara had just sent me a picture—a cute, sickening picture—of my husband happily kissing the very woman he had once claimed was his younger sister. The photo carried a timestamp showing the exact time and location. It was real. There was no denying it. They were in Hawaii, on a beach, laughing, kissing, and having the time of their lives… while he had made me believe he was away on business. Without saying a word, I saved the picture and posted it straight to Instagram, captioning it: "Congratulations to my sister-in-law… on finally becoming the official wife.” Then I turned off my phone and went to bed. The next morning, after having breakfast with my cat, Lulu, and taking the warmest bath ever, I turned my phone back on—and froze. Over 200 missed calls were waiting for me. Notifications exploded across my phone. And it didn’t stop there—the number of unattended messages kept climbing past 250.

At a certain class reunion, the former class president brought out the time capsules everyone had written years ago and read them aloud one by one. When it was Harper Langley’s turn, he opened her note and read, [Marry Jayden as soon as possible.] The room immediately broke into teasing laughter. “You two must already be married. Why didn’t you invite us to the wedding?” Before Harper could respond, the man sitting beside her spoke up with a smile. “She’s my boss now. She’s been busy building her company, so she hasn’t had time to get married. If any of you keep pressuring her to settle down and mess with my paycheck, you’re going to have a problem with me.” The speaker was Eugene Rowe. Back in school, he had been Harper’s obsessive pursuer, and she had deeply disliked him for it. He had since become her assistant. Harper did not deny anything. She simply took my hand and smiled, as gently as she always had. I pulled my hand away and smiled at everyone. “I’m getting married at the beginning of next month. You’re all invited.” Eugene’s face turned deathly pale. He stared at Harper in disbelief. She frowned and pulled out her phone. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a message. She texted: You didn’t have to lie to our classmates just to avoid embarrassment. My company is at a critical stage right now, so marriage can wait. I locked my phone without replying. I had not lied. I really was getting married at the beginning of next month. Harper was just not the bride.

“Help me fake my death and arrange a completely new identity.” “Donna,” the man was clearly shocked. “Why? The Don dotes on you. The whole of Sicily knows—” “That’s none of your business,” I interrupted him. “I’m leaving in five days.” Walking out of the black market, the LED screen in the square was still showing footage of my lavish wedding with Don Alexander three years ago, a ceremony that cost over $500 million. Everyone thought Don Alexander loved me deeply, and I thought so too. Until this afternoon, on our third wedding anniversary, I returned to Sicily early, hiding in the lounge of my husband—Don Alexander’s—office, wanting to surprise him. Instead, I saw his secretary hiding under his desk. While the underboss Marco was reporting the losses from the dock smuggling operation, Isabella was kneeling between Alexander’s legs, skillfully unbuttoning his trousers. Her head bobbed up and down. After Marco left, Isabella smiled seductively. “Could your Donna serve you like this during a meeting?” Alexander’s voice was filled with desire. His hands kneaded her breasts. “Sophia is too conventional, too boring. You’re much more exciting in bed, you little slut.” I covered my mouth, completely devastated. But when I actually left, the Don, who had found me boring, was the one who completely broke down.

​Sa edad na twenty-seven, namulat si Nica sa hirap ng buhay. Dahil sa pangangailangan para sa kanyang ina na nakaratay sa ospital, pinasok niya ang mundo ng online entertainment, ang pagpapa-sexy sa harap ng camera kapalit ng mga gifts. Ang hindi niya alam, ang masugid niyang viewer ay hindi lang nasa likod ng screen, kundi nasa likod din ng pader ng kanyang kwarto. ​Kilala ang kanyang Ninong Alaric sa barangay nila bilang isang konsehal na lihim ding bilyonaryo. Lapitin ito ng babae pero mapili, kaya sa edad na thirty-five ay wala pa itong nagiging seryosong kasintahan dahil mas inuuna ang trabaho. ​Nang mahuli ni Nica ang paninilip ng ninong, imbes na matakot ay naging mitsa ito ng isang mapusok na kasunduan. Habang abala si Nica sa pag-akit sa kanyang live viewers, lihim namang kinakain ng ninong niya ang namamasa at namumula niyang pvke habang siya ay umuungol sa harap ng camera. Pagkatapos ng trabaho sa online, doon naman siya tuluyang kinakantót ng kanyang ninong. ​Naging parausan siya ni Alaric hanggang sa isang araw, nabuntis siya nito. Panagutan kaya siya ng kanyang ninong?

Fresh out of the National Research Institute, I loaded up on my wife's favorite snacks and ordered a vibrant bouquet of roses, eager to surprise her. I stashed the treats in her office, then stepped out to grab the flowers. But in those fleeting minutes, a stranger had ripped open every package and devoured everything. I glared at him. "Who gave you permission to touch those?" He shot me a look of pure disdain. "Buzz off, flower boy. Drop your crap and scram!" The secretary at the door snickered. "You heard the man. He's Ms. Bowman's husband. Better run before he leaves a bad review." I pulled out my phone and called my wife. "Who is this guy in your office?"

The phone had fallen and disassembled and the call, disconnected. "Who, who, who are you?" She became a heavy stutterer in an instant. The man who stood at the door to the kitchen walked forward and the light illuminated his features. He was lean and tall, very tall. Dressed in a white long sleeved shirt and dark suit pants, the few exposed parts of his body were ashen, lifeless and cold, like a bleak winter day. "Marry me." These were the two words that came from the deathly pale lips of his emotionless face... ********** Moving away from her overprotective parents, Geneva thought that she could finally lead a stress-free life. This was ruined when a ghost demands intimacy with her, his soulmate, to recover his lost memories and body.

I was the top engineer at the National Deep-Sea Research Center, and the only person in the world with experience in deep-sea rescue. When my sister’s submarine malfunctioned and was stranded ten thousand meters below the surface, I hung up on her distress call. Then I calmly walked into a police station and turned myself in for leaking classified research. A few minutes later, my father called. His voice was frantic and furious. “Your sister is missing. Where the hell are you? I’m ordering you to get to the site immediately and save her, or you won’t see a cent of the family inheritance!” I calmly pulled the blanket over my head and said into the phone, “I don’t have time, and you’re interrupting my sleep.”

On the suit jacket her husband had just taken off, Hannah noticed a lipstick stain,one that definitely wasn’t hers. Yet at that very moment, her husband was clasping around her neck a one-of-a-kind gemstone necklace in celebration of their 7th wedding anniversary. Later, when she found a single strand of golden hair that didn't belong to her too, a seed of doubt quietly took root in her heart. Still, her husband's tenderness, his unwavering attention and love, made her question her own suspicions. Could she really be imagining things? Until she saw the photo on the phone— Her husband, in bed with another woman. He really had betrayed her! And that woman… was the friend she had trusted most.

They’ve hated each other forever. Top grades? They fight for it. School captain? They both ran—then sabotaged each other. Even the last drink at the vending machine turns into war. They argue like it’s a sport. Compete like it’s life or death. Fists have flown. So have insults. Everyone knows: they can’t stand each other. But then—one night, her phone buzzes. A message. From him. Weird. They don’t text. Not unless it’s to throw shade. She opens it… and nearly drops her phone. It’s him. Shirtless. Smirking. Sweaty. The lighting is low, his eyes unreadable. Not a word, just a photo. Not a joke. Not a dare. And for the first time in years… She doesn’t know if this is war or something much, much worse.