Deep Learning Ai Novels & Stories

The dying heir to Silverbay's showbiz empire suddenly announces he'll select a bride at random from the city's prominent families, hoping the marriage can bring some luck and save his life. On the night before my own wedding, his men arrive and inform us that the Simmons family has been chosen. My parents have just three days to deliver a daughter to him. As soon as my sister, Roxanne Simmons, hears the news, she breaks down in tears and rushes to my fiance for help. When he sees her crying, Clinton Whitfield drops to his knees in front of me, under everyone's gaze. "Mr. Sterling enjoys tormenting virgins. If Roxanne marries him, who knows what he'll do to her? "But you're already past the marrying age, so he won't be interested in you. Please, help Roxy this once!" He looks away, his voice heavy with guilt as he continues, "Besides, he doesn't have much time left. When you return, I'll marry you." Tears well up in my eyes. I ask, stunned, "And what if I don't want to?" Clinton's gaze turns cold, his earlier guilt replaced by ruthless intent. "Then I'll make sure you go to him myself." I laugh bitterly as a chill runs through me. "Fine. I'll go instead."

Three years ago, my fiancé's childhood friends murdered and framed me. They ground my leg bones and turned them into beads to make a bracelet. Then, they gave it to my fiancé after he woke up from an accident. He hated me to the core and wore the bracelet symbolizing his rebirth as he utilized all his resources to find me. He even placed my weak and crazed mother under house arrest to force me to appear. Three years later, during his and his childhood sweetheart's engagement party, a renowned jewel appraiser points out that the bracelet he's had this whole time isn't made of regular bone—it's made of human bone.

I’m Oliver Lance. Yes, the Oliver Lance. The one that all men want to be and all women want to be with. Every Sunday a million fans watch me throw a ball down a field, win games, and sign huge endorsement deals. Everything was going perfectly, until a car accident tore it all away from me. I want it back, and only she can help me. At first, I think about ‘Doc’ Elsie the same way I think of every other woman. Just another possible conquest, another notch on my bedpost. Only Elsie is different. She’s not starstruck by me. She’s not interested in my money. She’s the most real woman I’ve ever met, and those tempting curves are making it hard to stay focused on my recovery. Now, I’ll do anything to keep her by my side. I’ll defy my manager, my coach, even lay down my career as quarterback to stay with her. It’s third and long, and I’m gonna make my play Hard and Deep. From New York Times bestselling author Krista Lakes comes this sexy story of sports romance!

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My parents think I'm not ladylike enough, so they buy themselves a docile and sweet AI daughter called Serafina Moretti. On the day Serafina is brought home, I get bullied by the entire family. Papa hates the fact that I'm really bad at studying, unlike Serafina, who's quick to pick up on the knowledge after being taught for the first time. Mamma wrinkles her nose at my bright and active personality. Apparently, I'm not quiet enough, which annoys her and gives her a pounding headache all the time. My older brother, Dario Moretti, even berates me all the time. "You're a disgrace to the Moretti family! What else are you capable of doing other than eating and sleeping?" Even Serafina has the gall to make fun of me, so I shove her to the floor out of anger. Mamma's expression darkens immediately. Then, she delivers a heavy slap across my cheek. "Serafina is your sister! If you're as docile as she is, you won't annoy me to the point I keep having headaches! "It's time for you to learn how to be a docile and understanding daughter in a behavioral correction academy!" So, I'm forced to study there. Two years later, my family picks me up from the academy. They keep calling my name, and yet I never respond to them. Professor Luca Caruso corrects them smilingly, "Mrs. Moretti, you must say the words, 'Activate.' Only then will NS-5 boot up on her own."

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Neglected and abused since childhood for not having elemental karamat (the ability to control air, fire, water or earth) and waiting for intrinsic karamat (special ability unique to every person), Sikandar's life turns upside down when he realizes that he is in a revenge fantasy AI slop story. It happens on his birthday when he gets the ability to control void and nullify other karamats. Not willing to be a part of the revenge plot, Sikandar leaves home for peace of mind. Soon, the AI writing the story becomes sentient and decides to add more drama to Sikandar's life.

My husband is a haute couture designer. When his true love goes blind in her right eye, he goes to his mother's ward and asks her for help in getting me to sign an organ donation agreement. What he doesn't know is that I'm already dead.

Three years of marriage, and I'd become known in our social circle as the ultimate doormat. My husband staying out all night, his silent treatment, bringing his first love home to flaunt in my face—through it all, I'd smile and make him hangover soup, keeping the house spotless. Everyone thought I loved him to the point of madness. Even he believed it. Until the day of the divorce, when he begged me with tears in his eyes not to leave—and then watched "me" collapse rigid to the floor after a power outage, revealing a charging port on the back of my neck. He lost his mind. Meanwhile, the real me was lying on a beach in the Maldives, running my fingers through the hair of a gorgeous twenty-something with a six-pack, cheerfully pressing the "factory reset" button.

When Adriano Morelli realized I hadn’t submitted a single household request in three days, he called me himself for the first time in months. “Serafina,” he said, his voice smooth and patient, “the clinic has been cleared. Your file is back on priority. See? When you stop making things difficult and learn how this family works, I make sure you’re taken care of.” He always sounded the gentlest when he was reminding me who held the power. What he didn’t know was that by the time his name lit up my screen, the divorce papers were already drafted. From the outside, I had everything a woman could want: a guarded penthouse, a driver on call, designer clothes, and the last name of one of the most feared men in the city. But almost none of it was mine. The cards were monitored. Cash had to be approved. Staff took Viviana Costa’s orders before they ever listened to me. Even the wardrobe budget, my schedule, and access to the family office all ran through her hands. Adriano called it convenience. Three days ago, I was rushed into a private clinic, blood soaking through my dress, while a doctor told me there was still a chance to save the baby if the emergency deposit was paid immediately. I called Adriano until my hands shook. Viviana stalled the transfer. First there was no direct authorization. Then the amount was too large. Then Adriano was in a meeting and could not be disturbed over something that might not be serious. By the time the money came through, it was too late. The baby was gone. I had stayed with Adriano for two reasons: I loved him, and I believed that when it truly mattered, he would choose me. I was wrong about both. Our child died first. My marriage died with it.