Dysfunctional Family Therapy Bl の小説・ストーリー

The enemies of my adopted sister's parents mistook me for her and kidnapped me. Before the rogues killed me, they gave me three phone calls for help. If anyone was willing to give me three hundred dollars, I could live. For the first call, I dialed my father. Father didn't listen to a word I said. He immediately unleashed a torrent of curses. "Where the hell are you? Get your ass back home right now for your sister's birthday!" For the second call, I dialed my brother. My brother listened silently to my plea for help, then hung up with a cold snort. "You're never around when the pack needs you. Who's going to fall for this act now?" For the third call, I dialed my fiancé. He didn't even answer. When I called again, I'd been blocked. The rogue wolf laughed at me. "Looks like being the eldest daughter of the Ashwood family doesn't mean much, does it?" After he tortured me to death, he stuffed my body into a suitcase and threw it in the river.

Mom, Dad, and Jesse—my younger sister—went out to sea on a trip, but they were caught in a tsunami, and all three perished in the accident. I was left all alone—just as I was about to start university—burdened with nothing but a mountain of debt. In the end, everything I had saved for my university tuition, along with the house Mom and Dad had left me, was taken by debt collectors. I was then forced to work in a shady factory, laboring 16 hours a day, sleeping in a shabby ten-person dorm, and surviving on nothing but thin, flavorless broth. I finally cleared the last of the debt when I accidentally discovered that Jesse—who was supposed to be dead—had appeared on television and become a famous dancer. Mom and Dad even gave an interview about her success. It turned out they had taken out a massive loan and faked their deaths to flee to Pravia for Jesse's dance studies, leaving the entire debt for me to deal with just as I was supposed to start university. I went to confront them, demanding the truth, but they threw me out like trash. I was then hit and killed by a speeding truck at the side of the road. "How could Lorraine be such a nuisance, not even having the decency to die far away from our doorstep?" I have been given another chance, reborn on the day they faked their deaths.

My son and daughter-in-law suddenly returned home after living abroad for more than a decade. They spoke with my granddaughter in Datrenan the entire time during dinner. My granddaughter said, "Dad, Grandma's ugly and dumb. She's embarrassing!" My son just laughed. "What can we do? Country people are like that." I didn't understand what they were talking about, so I simply smiled and placed a chicken wing into my granddaughter's bowl, trying to please her. However, she threw it in my face instead. "Gross! It's all your fault that Grandpa and Kasey can't be here!" I was stunned. My husband died decades ago, and… who was Kasey?

I was in my mate Zane’s study, dropping off an invitation for the Alliance gala, when his tablet lit up. A private group chat. “Party tonight at the Alliance’s best restaurant to celebrate Vivienne passing the trials.” Confused, I tapped open the group. There were only four people in it. My own parents, the pack’s Alpha Hector and Luna Freda. My fated mate Zane, the future Alpha. And Vivienne, my adopted sister. The Omega orphan I’d naively rescued years ago. My mother typed: “Good thing Hector used his council connections to get Vivienne the spot in the Alliance’s strategy department. Harper’s already strong enough. This is more important for Vivienne.” Zane replied instantly: “I wish Vivienne were my mate. She’s the one who needs an Alpha’s protection, not Harper. The Moon Goddess must have made a mistake.” I stared at the screen. The blood drained from my body. To my own parents and my mate, I was already an outsider. My strength and independence had become their excuse to shamelessly favor someone else.

I’d been dead a month before my family even noticed. It wasn’t concern that brought them to that realization. It was my silence after the so-called “dinner” with Adam Rossi, the infamous mafia boss. My father scoffed like always,“She probably shacked up with that bastard. Too busy spreading her legs to pick up the damn phone.” My sister texted me a photo of them smiling under the Christmas tree, ornaments twinkling like nothing was wrong. Bitch, she wrote. You better talk Mr. Rossi into working with Dad, or you might as well be dead already. And my mother—once the softer one—was now colder than the frost on their windows. “I told you, we should’ve sent Gia to charm Mr. Rossi. Serena always screws things up.” They didn’t think I would die. Not until they found my body—broken, rotten, and forgotten—in Adam Rossi’s basement.

My name is Elena, and I died at twenty-two. My parents forced me to take my foster sister’s place and traded me for a territorial alliance. My mate was the most volatile heir of the wolf packs. Beaten bloody and fading fast, I made my eighth call for help. At my adopted sister Seraphina’s birthday party, she played the recording of my final, groveling plea—and laughed. My parents listened to those desperate calls with nothing but irritation, dismissing each one as theatrics, an inconvenience unworthy of their time. My brother snarled over the phone, “Then just die already!” So I did. In the end, it was my three-year-old daughter who made the final call—using her smartwatch to video my mother, live-streaming the freezer where my severed head lay. Now, my spirit watches from above as they all, one by one, begin to unravel.

I was the princess of the Moretti family, but in my past life, I ended up with my hands and feet bound, tossed to the bottom of a river. All because my parents, my brothers, and even my fiancé were obsessed with Fiona—the sweet-faced, manipulative bitch they’d adopted. My oldest brother, Lorenzo, would say, “Stay away from Fiona. She’s not like you—savage and vicious.” My second brother, Marco, would say, “This couture gown is for Fiona. It would be a waste on you.” And my fiancé, Albert Falcone, told me, “I love Fiona’s soul. This engagement with you? It’s just business.” But I was reborn. On the night of my engagement party with Albert. And this time, I got a “Slap-Back System.” 【The moment the host effectively strikes back against her bullies, achieving a true slap-down, she will be rewarded with billions in wealth and supreme power.】 I laughed. And with one shove, I sent the towering champagne pyramid crashing to the floor. “This whole ‘mafia princess’ gig? I’m done with it.”

On our wedding day, my wife, Jessica Burke, a CEO as well, got into the wrong wedding limousine and ended up spending the night with her male assistant, Callum Ross. The next day, she came back covered in red marks. Kneeling before me, she begged for my forgiveness and swore she would fire Callum and never see him again. But one year later, I saw her in the OB/GYN department when she was supposed to be overseas on a business trip. She was holding a crying, hungry baby in her arms. And beside her stood Callum, who had supposedly disappeared for an entire year. In a fit of rage, I kicked them out of the hospital. Unexpectedly, the baby disappeared that very night. Jessica blamed everything on me. To force me to return the child, she strapped a time bomb to my parents. I denied it again and again, but Jessica only roared, "Eric Miller! I've treated you well enough! Why would you still hurt my baby? Hand over my child right now, or I'll set off the bomb!" With that, she activated the time bomb, and the clock began its countdown. Seeing that I failed to tell her the baby's whereabouts, Jessica angrily pushed my parents into the sea of flames. Just then, someone informed her that her baby had been found. Jessica resolutely turned around and left, leaving my parents to be blown to pieces by the explosion. While she and Callum were throwing a party to celebrate their baby's first month, I was on the ground, gathering what little remained of my parents. At this moment, I regretted ever loving her.

I loved Dante Moretti for seven years. At eighteen, one night at a family gala changed everything. Soon after, I became his fiancee, and not long after that, he was sent to run the Chicago branch for four years. I gave birth alone, raised our son alone, and waited for him in the house that was supposed to be ours. What came back to New York was not a family. He brought Claire and her son with him, and before long, that boy was sitting in Dante's car, taking my son's place in the training program, and showing up in every space that should have belonged to family. Then, on my son's birthday, I saw a video from Chicago. Someone asked, "Dante, when did you feel most at home?" He lifted his glass and said, "One winter night during a blackout. Claire was in the kitchen by candlelight, and Leo grabbed my sleeve and asked me not to leave." I didn't cry. I ended the engagement, erased my son and myself from every Moretti family record, and left New York without looking back.

The impostor took his own life the day I married Cathy Jones. By the second year of our marriage, we had turned against each other completely because of him. She despised me because my return had driven Zac Lowe to his death. And I despised her for longing after the man who had stolen my name for twenty years. For a decade, we hurled the cruelest words and wished death upon each other until the earthquake came. She shielded me under her body and used her back to bear the weight of the collapsing beam to keep me alive. The ceiling fell. Blood and debris blurred together. As her life slipped away, she whispered in my ear, “If I had known he would die, I would have never brought you home. “If there’s another life, your only family should be me.” In the end, I still died in the aftershock. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day she first took me to meet my biological parents. But she suddenly changed her mind. “Harry, I was wrong! You’re not the son the Lowe family lost twenty years ago.”