Crime Suspense Stories 22

“An obsession is a way for the damaged people to damage themselves more.” Martha Ann, a qualified and beautiful nurse who was recently transferred to her new job at the rehab center didn’t know that she would fall in love with a guard named “Jacob” on the very first day of her stay. She started fantasizing herself and him together and always tried to stay close to him and keep an eye on his every moment, Jacob was unaware of her love that soon turned into her obsession. Things turned bad when she found out that Jacob had fallen in love with the another nurse in the Rehab named “Emma” but what makes her felt more angry that the person who had taken her love away was also the biggest rival of her in the center. Her hatred for her and obsession for Jacob made her do the things that no one could imagine she would be capable of.. Will Jacob be able to protect Emma and himself from her obsession or would it be too late for him to realize Martha’s real intentions?

Willow refused to attend a Halloween show her sister invited her to, because of her grandma she had to take care of. But she never knew that would be the last time she would see her sister, leaving her in a difficult dilemma. Three years later with no positive report about her lost sister, she received an invitation to the same Halloween show that marked the no return of her sister. Attending it, she discovered somethings. Volunteers for the magic show were put inside a coffin, after which they vanish and drinks were given out which made people forget about the show. In a quest to find her sister and others who were lost in the Halloween show, Willow took a journey alongside a friend to a secret tomb that might lead them to the missing people. And there, tbet wished they never visted the underground tunnel based on their discovery. Will these two be successful in this mission?

While solving one of the cases, detective Esther Moore comes across a legend that grandmother told her long ago. Soon the line between what is real and what is not gradually blurs. Are the legendary 'Scarlet Angels' real or is Esther losing her mind?

---> if you are interested in my work, please check out my novel The Starving Vulture. Available on Amazon, $3.99 for the Ebook and $14.95 for the Paperback https://www.amazon.com/Starving-Vulture-Miguel-Monta%C3%B1a/dp/1951150899<---------The Pacific Capital. A product of an altered world, the legacy of the dead Philippine nation. A congested megacity holding 50 million people all huddled in what was once Metro Manila. It is the center for Pacific Maritime Trade, the world's largest Tax Haven and one of the few places in the world free from the Draconian but necessary environmental laws that saved the world since Cometfall. Ruled by Megacorporations, Corrupt Politicians, Invested Nobility and Criminals. It is one of the world's most important agricultural and pharmaceutical centers. H-6 is an Arbiter of the Court. As Judge Jury and Executioner, they maintain the essential Power Plant Canals and Massive weather controlled Dome Districts. Two elements that even the all powerful Megacorps need maximize their profits. Making Arbiter's Court the true rulers of the city. But even an all powerful Arbiter of the Court like H-6 knows, that Ambition and Greed will always find ways to ignore the rule of Law. Solus Valentine is a Security Consultant, plying her trade to anyone in need. She is a gun for hire who has the street smarts for the city's underworld. Whether in the gilded halls or the most flooded streets, she's ready for your contract. But while completing a contract, she stumbles into a vast conspiracy that just might threaten the city's fragile power balance, if not the world. She just might need an Arbiter's help for this one. One who might be someone from her past.

It was all a mystery. Can love really conquer everything despite having a mental condition? Or is it gonna tore you apart?

Nora Jensen hat für alles einen Plan. Abschlussjahr? Durchgeplant. Bewerbungen fürs College? Erledigt. Gefühle für Cole Whitaker, den unerträglich charmanten Hockeystar der Millbrook High? Ganz sicher kein Teil dieses Plans. Doch als Cole an ihrem Spind auftaucht, mit diesem Blick, den er niemals zugeben würde, diesem verzweifelten, und sagt: Du schuldest mir was, hört Nora sich selbst zustimmen. Zu dem lächerlichsten Gefallen ihres Lebens. Ein Familienessen. Eine falsche Freundin. Einfach. Klar. Ohne Gefühle. Nur ist an Cole Whitaker rein gar nichts einfach. Nicht die Art, wie er sich ihre Kaffeebestellung merkt, ohne zu fragen. Nicht die Art, wie er seine Lieblingsfarbe als das Eis vor dem Spiel beschreibt, kurz bevor das große Licht angeht. Und nicht die Art, wie er sie nach dem Abendessen auf der Veranda ansieht, als wäre sie etwas, das es wert ist, behalten zu werden, während sie so tun soll, als würde er sie gar nicht ansehen. Nora hat einen Deal gemacht. Sie hat nur das Kleingedruckte nicht gelesen. Den Teil, in dem aus gespielten Abendessen echte Gespräche werden. In dem sich ausgehandelte Bedingungen plötzlich wie Gefühle anfühlen. In dem der Junge, den man nur vorgeben sollte zu lieben, zu der einen Person wird, bei der man sich nicht mehr verstellen kann. Die Regeln waren einfach. Halte nicht seine Hand. Sieh ihn nicht so an, als würdest du ihn mögen. Verlieb dich nicht. Zwei von drei sind gar nicht schlecht.

My wife has suffered from hereditary migraines for years. After three years of marriage, I finally developed a specialized medication just for her. Carrying a lunchbox, I headed to her company, intending to deliver the medicine to her in person. But her secretary mistook me for a kept man. He dumped the contents of the lunchbox over my head, stripped off my clothes in front of everyone, and even made me swallow the only dose of that specialized medicine. "A mere food delivery guy, and you dare dress so indecently? Today, I'll show you exactly what happens to a homewrecker." Then, with a smug grin, he turned to claim credit with my wife. "Ms. Milstein, I took care of that food delivery guy who was trying to seduce you. How are you going to reward me?"

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.

My roommates booked a New Year's Eve light show table—five hundred per person—and started urging me in the group chat to transfer the money. I quietly sent a screenshot of my account balance. "You guys go ahead," I wrote. "I haven't even scraped together my tuition yet." They replied with a string of mocking "haha"s. Our dorm leader, Giselle Murdoch, even posted on her social media with the caption: [The first step to crossing class boundaries is distancing yourself from people who kill the mood.] Just after midnight, they sent me a photo from the light show and said, "Too bad you're not here." I frowned, confused, when my counselor's call cut in—her voice tight with urgency. "Did you invite your roommates to the light show? The organizers said they never even checked in! They're missing!"

During the annual awards gala, I stepped out to use the restroom. When I came back, my year-end bonus was gone, canceled for allegedly assaulting a new coworker, Elan Crowe. In my first life, I desperately tried to prove my innocence by showing my fitness tracker’s movement data, proving I had been in the bathroom. Calder Roane, the department head, flew into a rage. "Everyone in the department saw you hit him. And you still want to deny it?" I struggled and explained frantically, but in the chaos, I accidentally fell down the stairs and died on the spot. In my second life, I took medical leave and skipped the gala entirely. I never expected that just past noon, the police would surround my home. "Lyra Vale, you’re suspected of intentional homicide. You need to come with us." Elan’s enraged family had then rushed forward and stabbed me repeatedly. I died again. In my third life, I ran to the city plaza, started a livestream, and rapped on camera, turning every viewer into my alibi. That night, the police still came. "The evidence is conclusive. Please come with us." At the station, they pulled up surveillance footage. It clearly showed me sneaking into the gala hall, arguing with Elan, then picking up a knife and stabbing him straight in the back. I was completely stunned. Three days later, I took a bullet. After endless rebirths, I finally laughed in anger. This time, I stormed straight into the gala hall, pressed a knife across Elan's throat, and said, "This is a kidnapping."