Folding Warhammer Table Novels & Stories

On the day I'm found to be a compatible donor for my mom, who's suffering from late-stage leukemia, I run away from home. Dad keeps looking everywhere for me. But in the end, he has to watch Mom die in despair. Later on, Dad focuses on his research in leukemia, which brings him huge success. On top of that, he even adopts an understanding and capable young man as his own son. When we eventually meet again, it's at a research meeting about leukemia that's hosted by Dad. As he stares at my body on the table, he can't help but chuckle icily. "Julian Rivers, this isn't a place where you can screw around. Get up and get lost right now!" The host just stares at Dad, completely stunned. "You know the identity of this corpse, Dr. Rivers?" Dad flashes him a mocking smile. "How much did Julian pay you just to go along with the act, huh?" The poor host doesn't know what to do. "But Dr. Rivers, Mr. Julian Rivers already died three days ago…"

Bianca White's new assistant, Jesse Collin, is very temperamental. All Bianca does is put some food on my plate at the dining table, and Jesse is already so pissed that he's smashed all the cutlery at home. Then, he threatens to fake his death and terminate his citizen status so that he can vanish from Bianca's world forever. Upon hearing the threat, Bianca flies into a state of panic. She instantly abandons me, the patient who's about to undergo a surgery that can treat my lung cancer, and speeds down the highway just to pursue Jesse. When the clock shows 3:00 pm, it's time for my surgery to be carried out. That's when Bianca calls me on the phone apologetically. "As the boss, I'm obligated to ensure the safety of my employees. Once I've tracked down Jesse and brought him back safely, I'll definitely head over to the hospital and accompany you throughout the surgery. Then, I'll organize a wedding trip to make it up to you." But I don't want to wait for Bianca anymore. "Let's get a divorce, Bianca."

“If I can make you scream, Daddy… you’ll apologize for killing my men.” I smirked. I take three men at once and still walk away starving. Then he slammed me over the pool table, tore my panties, and buried every bare inch of his cock. One thrust. “Daddy!” He fucked me until I squirted down his balls and forgot my own name. That man? My father-in-law. Alpha Knox. I'm married to the son, but wet for the father. Now I'm his daughter-in-law by day. By night I'm on my knees for this enemy Alpha, begging for the brutal pleasure no other wolf can give me. He's the ruthless Alpha I'm supposed to kill. I'm the warrior bride sent to destroy him. Instead I'm on my knees every night, mouth full with his cum, pussy dripping, addicted to the forbidden cock that owns me. How much longer can I lie with my husband in the next room... while I'm busy getting ruined by his father?

During the five years I was in a vegetative state, all ten family soldiers assigned to guard me were murdered. One of them merely smoked a cigarette outside my hospital room. The next day, he was found upside down, drowned in a toilet. Another simply adjusted my pillow. The next day, he took a dive from a skyscraper rooftop. The Corleone family was in chaos, but they couldn't find a single trace of the killer. With no other choice, the ten executions, all textbook Mafia hits, became cold cases. Strangely, the very second the tenth guard's heart stopped, I opened my eyes. The first thing I did upon waking was call the FBI and turn myself in. The agents were stunned. "Miss Corleone, are you saying that while in a coma for five years, you planned and executed the murders of ten fully armed Mafia soldiers?" My fingers tapped lightly on the table, a faint smile playing on my lips. "That's right." "Being in a vegetative state only means I couldn't move." "Who ever told you that killing, something so crude, required me to get my hands dirty?"

I was pregnant and due any day. Austin Revelstone, my husband, had a sugar baby named Tawny Sully. Each time they renewed their arrangement, money came into my mother’s special care account. One day, he stayed a little longer to talk to me. Because of it, he was one minute late for his date with Tawny. Tawny was upset. She threw a tantrum and threatened to terminate their agreement. She would only stay if I aborted my baby. So, Austin slid the abortion form and a check for three million dollars across the table to me. “Please, just sign it. We can always have another kid. If Tawny cries anymore, she’ll get wrinkles.” He looked calm and unbothered. It was as if he were just talking about the weather. I raised my head and looked at him in disbelief. I trembled for a long time. Then, I finally signed my name on the abortion form. I wiped my tears and gave the check back to him. I made one additional request. “Let’s make that fake divorce certificate real this time.” I no longer needed his financial support for my mother’s surgery.

Julian got exactly what he wanted, and it destroyed him. He spent weeks convincing himself that Elian’s pregnancy was a betrayal, a lie to cover up the shame of his kidnapping. He used Valentina to twist the knife, choosing her "purity" over the man who had actually bled for him twice: once in the dirt at sixteen, and again on a freezing floor at eight months pregnant. When Julian finally opened that door, the sight of the frozen blood broke the delusion. Seeing Elian’s limp body wasn’t the victory he imagined; it was a mirror reflecting a monster. Now, the DNA results sit on the bedside table a stack of papers proving the "impossible" truth. The baby in the plastic bassinet has Julian’s eyes, but he has Elian’s fragile spirit. Julian sits in the dark, listening to the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator keeping his husband alive. He holds the child he spent months disowning, feeling the weight of a life he almost extinguished. He’s the King of the underworld, yet he’s powerless to wake the only person who ever truly loved him. He has his heir, but his husband is trapped in a coma, and the silence in the room is the loudest scream Julian has ever heard.

On the night of our eighth anniversary, I cooked everything Ethan loved. He didn't come home. I sat alone at the table until the food went cold. Then I did what I always did. I opened Selene's profile on the pack network. New post. One hour ago. A photo of Ethan, shirtless, building a fire in her den. Her hand on his shoulder. Her face turned toward the camera with a smile that showed too many teeth. The caption read: Grateful for old friends who drop everything when you need them. Even their marking anniversaries. I stared at it until my eyes burned. Then I liked it. Filed the bond-dissolution request. And started packing the trunk I'd kept ready for months. Ethan didn't believe it when he found out. "She's throwing a fit," I heard he told his packmates. "Give her three days." "I'll crook my finger and she'll come running back." "She always does." What he didn't understand was why I always came back. It was because I loved him. That was gone now.

At the dinner table, my mother-in-law slid a contract across to me, right in front of more than 20 relatives. "Just sign it," she said lightly. "Consider it a favor to me." I looked down. A home mortgage agreement for 150,000 dollars. Across from me, my husband's younger brother, Jim Canfield, watched with a grin. Beside him, my husband's eldest sister, Cindy Canfield, urged impatiently, saying, "Shirley, what are you waiting for? Just sign it." I said I needed to go home and talk it over with Howard Canfield first. My mother-in-law's expression darkened. "What? You can't even make this decision for your own marriage?" That night, I did not sign anything. Later, she sent a three-minute voice message in the family group chat, accusing me of being childish, ungrateful, and heartless. More than 70 replies followed—not a single one in my defense. A month later, I came home from work to find three men waiting at my door, there to seize the house. I pulled out my phone and checked the property registry. The record was clear. [Mortgaged. 150,000 dollars.]

My daughter was violated and killed, yet her death was ruled a suicide. After seven failed appeals, I kidnapped the chief prosecutor’s daughter. I tied the chief prosecutor’s daughter to an autopsy table and publicly addressed the prosecutor’s office in a live stream. “I performed the autopsy myself. My daughter didn’t kill herself. She was murdered. “I’ll give you seven chances. Release the actual evidence and name the murderer publicly. Each time a chance runs out, I’ll remove one of her body parts.” The chief prosecutor and his wife knelt on the floor. They begged me desperately to spare their daughter. “The evidence proves your daughter took her own life. Stop this madness now and let my daughter go. She’s innocent.” Viewers in the live stream called me insane. They said I had lost my mind with grief and was taking it out on an innocent person. I ignored their contempt. With a sneer, I picked up a scalpel and pressed it against the judge’s daughter’s abdomen. “The clock is ticking. Hurry up and reveal the true murderer now.” I knew perfectly well the real murderer was watching the stream at that very moment.

My husband, Garrett Kachmar, vanished overseas with his ex, Linda Sharpe. They left me with one thing—an illegitimate, screaming baby. Twenty years later, I posted that my "son" had passed his exams. He was joining the police force. That's when Garrett came back. With Linda. And a lawsuit. At the plaintiff's table, Linda looked polished—soft makeup, perfect posture. Her voice? Pure control. "After Garrett divorced, we got married and had a big, healthy boy. Jemma couldn't stand seeing us happy, so she stole our son. We searched for twenty years. She refuses to give him back. We're his biological parents. We have the right to take him." Garrett shot me a glare. "Jemma, just because you can't have kids doesn't mean you get to steal mine." The trial was livestreamed. The comments exploded. [Can't have your own kid so you steal one?] [You destroyed a family. Sick.] [Give him back to his real parents!] Then my "son" was called into the courtroom. And the whole room went dead quiet.