Flash Fiction Short Story

After working abroad for several years, I returned home, only to have my parents arrange a blind date for me. He was tall and strikingly handsome, honest in character, steady in demeanor, and came from an excellent family background. In short, the perfect candidate for a husband. I told myself that sooner or later, marriage was inevitable, so I settled on him. The day before the wedding, I went to the church—only to be stunned by the sight before me. The entire place had been transformed into something sinister and grotesque. The walls were plastered with terrifying photos of corpses, the floor littered with wax figures of severed arms and legs, and even the flowers had been dyed black, dripping with blood-red stains. But the most infuriating part was the image hanging right at the center of the church—an AI-generated picture of me, pinned beneath my fiancé, as he whipped me. My whole body trembled with fury. I stormed at the staff still working on the decorations, ordering them to stop immediately. Just then, his best friend, Nina Cullen, walked in. "Don't stop. Yves prefers this wedding style." I froze, staring at her in disbelief. "How is that possible? Who in their right mind would decorate something as joyous as a wedding with gore? This is insane!" Nina only gave a cold, arrogant laugh. "That's the theme. If you want to marry him, you'll have to accept it." Speechless, I immediately called Yves. "Yves, I'm not interested in getting married in a haunted house. You'd better restore the church to normal; otherwise, this wedding is off."

Sheer fate was what turned our bittersweet love into a happy ever after. Fate? I myself erased and rewrote our love story to give it the happy ending we deserved. I was promised to Matteo Giuseppe, the youngest son of the most powerful family in the Chicago Outfit but I was given away to Salvatore Berlusconi, the Capo dei Capi of the New York Famiglia. I was sold to him as an object marking the end of the Great War, or rather, it was me atoning for the sins of my father. A wedding solely about duty, honour and atonement. ••••••••••••••• “ If you told me about the darkness inside of you, I'd still look at you like you are the sun.” Book one of A Mafia's Love Chronicles.

Rhian Monteclara, a fun-loving and fiercely ambitious 25-year-old, is the face behind Glam Perfume—the brand that brought “One scent, one story” to life. Rhian only wanted to forget a heartbreak—but one drunken night leads to a pinky promise with a dangerously charming stranger in a crimson suit. She wakes up in his bed, wearing a nightdress she doesn’t recognize… and a promise she might’ve made to marry him. The catch? He’s not just any man—he’s Damon Damien Alejandro, a powerful mafia boss with secrets as lethal as his smile. And now, she might be his… whether she remembers it or not. But what if their meeting wasn’t random? What if he’s been watching her all along? And what happens when a bubbly dreamer finds herself in the deadly world of crime, secrets... and a husband who may be her greatest danger—or her only salvation?

Pagkatapos ideklara ng doktor na brain dead ang anak kong si Mia Powell, kinumbinsi ako ng asawa kong si Liam Powelle na pirmahan ang organ donation consent form. Kasalukuyan ako noong nalulunod sa pagdadalamhati at malapit na ring mawala ang katinuan sa aking isipan. Dito ko aksidenteng nadiskubre na ang doktor ng aking anak na si Blair Lincoln ay ang dating kasintahan ng aking asawa. Nagsinungaling sila sa pagiging brain dead ni Mia para pirmahan ko ang form at makuha ang puso nito na kanilang gagamitin para mailigtas ang anak ni Blair na si Sophia. Pinanood ko ang pagsundo ni Liam kay Sophia sa ospital. Nakangiting umalis ang mga ito para bang isa silang perpekto at masayang pamilya. Nang kumprontahin ko ang mga ito, agad nila akong itinulak para mahulog mula sa isang building na siyang ikinamatay ko. Nang mabigyan ako ng ikalawang pagkakataon, bumalik ako sa araw kung kailan ko dapat pirmahan ang organ donation form. Tahimik akong nangako habang tinititigan ko ang nakahigang si Mia kaniyang hospital bed. Buhay ang sisingilin ko sa lalaking iyon at sa ex nito nang dahil sa ginawa nila kay Mia.

I lapse into unconsciousness for a few days after a high fever. When I wake up, I see my boyfriend and his best friend standing by my bed. I want to enliven the atmosphere, so I joke, "Who are you?" Eric Cobb, my boyfriend, is taken aback. I almost laugh at the look on his face. Then, he points at his friend, Jonah Mullen. "Don't you remember? Your boyfriend's been panicking over you. As his best friend, I have to be here with him." This time, I'm the one who's taken aback. Unexpectedly, Jonah steps forward and says, "That's right. I'm your boyfriend, Jonah Mullen."

The princess of Oberlin City scorns the poor, and I'm the biggest thorn in her side—I live in squalor but am specially admitted by a prestigious college meant for the rich. "What right does a peasant like you have to study at the same college as me?" Nails appear on my seat, and the shampoo in my bathroom is switched to glue. Chantelle Gorman even daringly tries to ram me over at the campus entrance—all because I'm a poor young woman from the countryside. To survive, I set my sights on her father, a perfect gentleman. He's a domineering CEO who's never had a shortage of women in his life. It's too bad he has no other children besides Chantelle. Chantelle thinks I'm a piece of trash who'll get kicked to the curb after a night of pleasure, but she doesn't know how easily the women in my family conceive. I give birth to seven sons and a daughter for the domineering CEO. How can Chantelle possibly go up against me and my eight children?

Three years after our breakup, I ran into my ex-girlfriend, and she had her new boyfriend by her side. "Hey, isn't that Henry the expert?" Diego Stanley taunted with a smirk. "Three years post-breakup, and you're slumming it here playing with clay?" I furrowed my brow, ignored them, and carefully moved the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine onto its preset base in the display case. When I wasn't biting, he reached out to grab the figurine from my arms. "What's this junk you're treating like gold? Let me take a look." Cynthia Wyatt frowned, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "Henry, I've given you three years to shape up, and you're still the same loser? Come on, hand over that clay doll to Diego. Don't kill the vibe. If you play nice, I might even reconsider our old engagement." As Diego's hand neared the figurine, I dodged quickly and barked, "Hands off! It's a historical artifact!" Diego got pissed off and shoved me hard. "Some flea market find, and you're acting all high and mighty?" In the ensuing scuffle, I lost my balance, and the figurine slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor. That sealed their fate. This entitled pair was about to go bankrupt trying to fix it.

I knew perfectly well that open flames were forbidden at a gas-leak scene, yet as a firefighter, I still backed my girlfriend's childhood friend when he insisted on lighting a cigarette "to calm his nerves." In my previous life, a sudden gas leak erupted during a gathering. Her childhood friend insisted on smoking to steady himself. I slapped the lighter out of his hand and yelled at him for trying to get us all killed. Humiliated, he ignored everyone's attempts to stop him and stormed outside—only to be crushed by an advertising board blown loose by the explosion's shockwave. Later, when I saved a child who had fallen from a building and was left hanging in midair myself, my girlfriend—my second-in-command—maliciously cut my safety rope. She stared at my corpse and said, "If you hadn't humiliated George in front of everyone, he wouldn't have died." When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that room thick with the stench of leaking gas.

The day Yancy Shepherd died, Benedict Page poisoned our dinner. His eyes were wild, and bloodshot, as he watched me writhe in agony. There was a madness in his gaze, but worse was the hatred, a disgust so deep it twisted his face into something unrecognizable. "If it weren't for you forcing your way into our lives, Yancy wouldn’t have died from heartbreak. You ruined us! It’s all your fault!" A photo slipped from his trembling hand and landed at my feet—Yancy at twenty, looking radiant, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. I collapsed to the ground, my strength fading fast like a rose withering in the final grasp of winter. Helpless, I waited for the darkness to claim me, consumed by despair and bitter regret. Why hadn’t I listened to the system and killed him when I had the chance? But when I opened my eyes again, everything was different. I stood watching Benedict flee our engagement ceremony. My brother moved to chase after him, but I quietly raised a hand, stopping him. This time, things would be different.

When Roxy showed up at my engagement party to Ian, wearing a dress from the same collection as mine, I knew the marriage wasn’t going anywhere.  The daughter of a homewrecker, Roxy would steal Ian from me just like how her mother took my dad from my mother. However, I'm not letting her get away with it.  Before anybody knew, I trashed my own engagement party and skipped town. I was done playing games.