Death Stare

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

The witch told us my older sister would die at sixteen, and her prophecies had never been wrong. From that moment on, my sister became the most important one in the family. The best venison was saved for her. The rare white fox fur was given to her. Every night, our parents told her bedtime stories. I knew she was pitiful, but I still felt hurt and resentful. Then, on the day she turned sixteen, a sharp pain spread through my chest. Afraid I would cause trouble, my parents locked me in the basement. “Mom, please…” I cried, pounding on the door. “I can feel my wolf spirit getting weaker. Let me out…” However, Mom said without hesitation, “No! Today is an important day for your sister. “She only has one day left. Just bear with it…” When I finally closed my eyes and my soul drifted out of my body, I saw the living room filled with warm candlelight. My parents were holding my sister who was alive and well as they cried. Only then did I realize that the witch’s prophecy had never been wrong. The one meant to die was never my sister.

I had been dead for days and my alpha mate Karl didn't know it, cause he never went back to our den. Until his gamma was astonished to read a front-page news article about the mysterious rogue wolf attacks. "Karl, there's been a rogue wolf in our pack." Karl didn't lift his head. Stuff like this happened all the time in the pack. His gamma put the newspaper in front of Karl. "The deceased... is Luna Julie." Karl was reviewing documents and his pen suddenly fell to the ground.

He was tricked into the Lone Wolf’s den and fell into a silver trap. The trap was filled with countless silver nails that burned into his wounds. He had a chance to survive—even if he would lose his Inner Wolf, at least his life could be saved, as long as he could be treated by the healer. But my Alpha husband, Anthony, the noble leader of the wolf pack, took the only healer away, giving him to his white moonlight son, Lucas, to treat his wounds. Meanwhile, our son, in the treatment room next door, could not heal from the silver-inflicted wounds. His blood flowed continuously until his golden wolf eyes lost all their light. I mentally reached out to Anthony, begging him to let me see our son one last time, but in the eyes of that high-and-mighty Alpha, there was nothing but disgust for our child. "Your son is truly ‘exceptional’—weak like a pup, yet he dared to enter the Lone Wolf’s den!" "Lucas nearly got pierced by a silver blade trying to save him! And what did your son do? He ran away without a second thought!" "I will not acknowledge such a cowardly bloodline! From this day on, his right to inherit is revoked!" After he spoke, he severed the mental link. My blood froze in my veins. In that moment, my dying cub shared his memories with me— I saw Lucas drive the silver nails into his own palm. I saw him turn and flee when the Lone Wolf attacked, while my child, despite trembling in pain, chose to fight the Lone Wolf to protect the pack. Until the very end, he fulfilled the duty of an Alpha’s son. And Anthony dares to say he is unworthy of the “Alpha bloodline”? That night, the moonlight over the wolf territory turned crimson. Anthony, you will soon realize— It wasn’t just my son’s flesh that was pierced by silver, but your prejudice as well! Your prejudice killed your own child.

I break up with Ansel Wright when his enemies chase him for debt payment, and I start dating a rich man. Ansel says he loves me and begs me not to break up. He weeps and continues that he cannot live without me; I am in another man's arms as I pour whiskey on him and say scornfully, "Ansel, stop pestering me! I never want to hide with you and live without money again!" He leaves with a despondent look on his face. Six years later, he returns to Wall Street as a finance giant that everyone in New York takes notice of. The moment he gets back to the country, he brings his fiancée to show off to me, but he cannot find me, no matter how hard he tries, because I die the day he returns to the country.

In the second year of our marriage, which Brett Mason had secured through relentless means, he brought home his latest conquest—a stunning blonde. As the door swung shut, he ran his fingers through her silky hair, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin. "Wanna join us? You might learn a thing or two about not being such a dead fish." I could still recall how he once adored my hair, claiming that just stroking it would melt away his deepest worries. It turned out any woman could serve that purpose. In that instant, a profound sense of release washed over me. I retrieved the divorce agreement I'd stashed away in a drawer and handed it to him. "Sign it, and I'll make room for her." My days were numbered, and I had no intention of wasting what little time remained entangled in his resentment.

For seven years, I love Cody Rummish, clinging to his promise—once his sister-in-law, Luna Briche, conceives, our ordeal ends, and we finally begin our married life. But reality betrays me. Just months after moving into his home, Cody slips into Luna's bedroom 88 times—starting with once a month, now nearly one or two visits daily. Every night, I sit in the downstairs living room, counting the minutes, clutching a flicker of unrealistic hope. As the sole heir after his twin brother's fatal plane crash, Cody inherits not just power and wealth but also, seamlessly, his brother's widow, Luna. After the 88th visit, Luna announces her pregnancy. But instead of Cody honoring his promise, a public declaration shatters me—he will formally marry Luna. I unravel, demanding answers. Silent, Cody locks me in the bedroom's walk-in closet. "Luna was trapped in an elevator for 30 minutes! She nearly died because of you! Stay here for five days. Feel her fear!" Only on the sixth morning does Cody casually open the door with a chuckle. "Alright, lesson learned. Time to apologize, right?" He finds only the stench of blood and my cold, lifeless body. He's killed the fiancée who's loved him for seven years.

Silver burned. Holy light seared. I screamed my brother’s name, Theron, into the communication crystal. My consciousness was fading. His cold voice finally crackled through. "What now?" I fought through the pain, my voice weak. "Theron, please… help me…" He cut me off, his voice a razor's edge. "Enough! Lilith is hosting the Blood Moon Festival. Stop causing trouble. If you’re tormenting her out of jealousy again, I’ll throw you in the sun cells myself." The line went dead. Lilith. Our manipulative little adoptive sister. Was she really more important to him than his own blood? The silver poison and searing light consumed me. I shattered. My tears turned to ash, my body right behind them. Congratulations, Theron. You're free of your annoying sister. You don't have to lock me up anymore. Because I'm already dead.

Alice Long and I were caught in the crossfire. When my boyfriend—a combat medic responsible for saving the wounded—came to our rescue, he pushed me aside. Gently cradling Alice, the girl I had shielded, he shot me a cold glance and said, "Crystal, I'm deeply disappointed in you. She needs immediate care to avoid infection!" What about me? Was I meant to die instead? When my flag-draped coffin arrived home, he had the nerve to weep openly at my memorial. This once-renowned combat medic, celebrated around the globe, never set foot outside his room again.

I am diagnosed with severe systemic lupus erythematosus, and I only have three days left to live. When my husband rejects my 188th plea for help, I take my test results and enter the hospice care center. "Hello, I'd like to schedule my own cremation process and apply for government aid." Ten minutes later, they arrive. Before I can speak, my lawyer husband, Jasper Horton, coldly slaps me across the face. "You're faking a terminal illness just to steal attention from Janice?" My doctor brother, Casey Carter, snatches the medical report from my hand and scoffs at it. "Lupus? If you're going to fake being sick, at least make it believable. Only one in a million people gets this." I endure the pain in my body, return to the counter, and hand in the application form and my medical records once more. The staff member sees the butterfly-shaped rash on my wrist and sympathizes with me. "I have no family left," I say. "I'm requesting cremation in three days, location doesn't matter. I just don't want my death to burden anyone."