Fake Death Novels & Stories

She goes where she has always gone. "I found a ledger," I say, and my voice comes out in the low careful dialect I have learned from listening to her, the register of a woman asking another woman to carry what she cannot carry herself. "In the chapel vault. It has an authorization code for a death that happened two years ago, a death that was ordered from inside this family, and the code matches the payroll sheets I transcribed in my first week. The same block letters. The same purple ink. A single initial." Nonna Carmela taps her forefinger twice on the stone lip of the well.

“I do not understand.” “Listen honey we're going to create death. I thought you were already smart enough to understand there's a difference by creating and causing.” “In my defence, they're quite similar. Perhaps you should have been more specific,” Alyssa said. Lydia bit into her cookie. “By creating death I'm saying, why don't we create an accident. Perhaps I will get someone to knock you down with a car. You won't actually get hit to end up in a critical condition. Perhaps just a little blood but you'll be fine. Then we'll fake your death. We'll tell the pack you're dead. I can handle that with cash. I'll pay some people to make it realistic.”

“Hm. So what are you doing here?” What was he supposed to say? “Are you dream walking?” She sounded intrigued. The nearly dead had a way of knowing things the living couldn’t even begin to understand. “In a manner of speaking. It’s more like … dream observing.” “Well,” she said, turning away to look at the group of mourners standing around her grave, “not much to observe here, is there?” He smiled. “You’re here.” “I’m boring.” “No, you’re not.” “I’m dying. Dying people are boring – we don’t have much to say.”

Only… calculation. “The truth,” she repeated, almost laughing under her breath. “Funny word, truth. Everyone wants it, but when they get it, they regret it.” “Stop playing,” Damian snapped. “Did you fake your death?” Michelle tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Yes.” The word was delivered so casually, so cruelly, I actually froze. She said it as if she were admitting to skipping lunch. “Yes?” I echoed, my throat dry. “Yes,” she said again, her tone light, mocking even. “I died. And yet, here I am. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Some stumbled backward, while others threw up on the floor. The venue descended into chaos. Amidst the pandemonium, Wyatt grabbed Celia's arm, his face riddled with anxiety. "How did this happen? How is Elliot actually dead?" he questioned. But before Celia could even respond, her knees buckled, and she collapsed heavily onto the floor. "How could he be dead? He took a drug to fake his own death. I left food and water in that casket… Right! It's just the drug. The drug hasn't worn off yet. He's not dead!"

Theo's eyes lit up when he saw Jax. He paid no mind to his bleeding wounds and stumbled over to try to hug Jax. However, Jax deftly avoided him, leaving him to tumble onto the floor. "Are you the one disturbing my mother?" Jax questioned. Theo looked stupefied. "What are you talking about, little pup? I'm your father!" Jax's expression remained neutral as he said, "Please watch what you say. My father is dead. He died when he allowed someone else to set a fire and hurt my mother."

“Twenty-three minutes.” ‎ ‎ ‎You’re a ghost,” he rasped. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“No, Marcus. Ghosts don’t breathe. I do.” I took a step closer. ‎ ‎"You can't do this," Marcus said. But his voice was shaking. "You're legally dead. You have no rights." ‎ ‎"Actually," I said, "I'm very much alive. I faked my death to escape an abusive marriage. That's not illegal. And I've been documenting your crimes for eighteen months. I have witnesses and evidence. And I have absolutely nothing to lose."

All from her supposed to be dead husband. Being dumbfounded would underestimate Farrah's reaction. She didn’t know what to feel. Should she feel freaked out? Scared? Maybe angry? And who? Who’s making these calls? Dior was dead. That, his teammates, could confirm. They swear that they indeed saw Dior’s neck being bitten by a powerful zombie and flopping down on the ground lifelessly. Who’s making these haunting calls? Someone who took a dead person’s phone? Dior’s ghost? Is ghost even real?

I was the lowest-ranked Omega in the Moen pack. However, my fiancé Silas Moen was the Alpha who stood above us all. I thought the bond the Moon Goddess had made between us could never be shaken. That certainty lasted until his long-lost childhood sweetheart returned. Brynn, the flawless, highborn werewolf with an ancient bloodline. In front of my parents and brothers, before more than a thousand members of our pack, he made his announcement. "I, Silas Moen, as Alpha, reject you. "Brynn and I were promised to each other long ago. She's back now, and you should step aside for her." The instant he finished, something inside my chest ripped apart. I collapsed onto my knees on the altar's frozen

“This family thrives because we don’t tolerate failure. Do not let me down.” “We won’t,” Alexis said confidently. *** Meanwhile, in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, Sophia sat across from Mr. Vale. The room was cluttered with documents and photos, the tension palpable as they brainstormed. “We need a body,” Sophia said, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. “If I’m going to fake my death, it has to be convincing.” Vale leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Finding a body that matches your description isn’t exactly easy.”