Futa X Male

Five years after I died, Delia—my wife, a doctor—tried to dump her first love's new mess on me again. She stormed into my old place, waving some fake agreement with my name on it, but all she found was dust. Panicking, she ran downstairs and cornered the shop owner. "William?" he said. "He's been dead five years. Heard the family of that malpractice case found him. Stabbed him up bad." Delia laughed it off, like the guy was making it up. "So what if he got suspended? He's still sulking over that?" She rolled her eyes. "Tell him this—he's got three days. If he doesn't show, I'm cutting off his sister's cancer treatment." She muttered something ugly, slammed the door, and left. The shop owner just watched her go, shaking his head. "There's no sister left," he said quietly. "She died years ago... couldn't pay for treatment."

It was my girlfriend's birthday. I took her to my family's newly opened restaurant for dinner. Since we were planning to have cake later, the two of us ordered a single set meal that included a pizza and a plate of pasta. Smiling, I handed the menu to the waiter. He took it with a fake smile. I heard him calling us paupers under his breath. I frowned. "What did you just say?" The waiter froze for a second. He then put on another fake smile. "I said I'll have your order ready shortly." I snorted and replied fluently in the same language he'd used. "You just called us paupers."

In the third year after my death, the one who remained faithfully by my wife's side was still the bionic robot I had painstakingly designed. It looked exactly like me and carried within it every detail of my mannerisms, speech, and habits. The only difference was that it never lost its temper with her. Because of that, my wife never sensed anything amiss. Yet each night, she brought home a different man, deliberately testing "me," desperate to see the wild jealousy and rage I once wore so vividly. Then, one day, her childhood sweetheart and first love, shoved "me" off the balcony. It was only then, in her horror, that my wife realized… "I" didn't bleed.

My wife was a surgeon. She saved plenty of lives in her career. However, the only person she failed to save was me. When I was involved in an accident with her long-time crush, she immediately saved him instead. I had been dead for three months, and that was when she realized the person who had been messaging her during this time was not me and started to panic.

My wife is the daughter of a top jewelry tycoon. She accused me of pushing her mother down the stairs to steal the family fortune and had me thrown in prison. While I was locked up, her people disfigured my face and crushed my hands—the same hands that once played the piano. After my release, I run from her like a madman. Just like she said I would, I give up and start mooching off a wealthy woman. But then, she clings to me and begs me not to leave.

Since it's already the end of the year, the music app I use produces a report on the songs I've listened to in 2025. The keyword of my report is "resonance". Over the year, I don't spend much time listening to the songs on this app. My girlfriend, Sienna Fletcher, is the one who's been using my account this whole time. There's a row beneath the keyword that's written in a tiny font. "You had listened to this song with someone at 4:00 am on December 1st. It turns out that love can go beyond a night's sleep." My breath gets hitched in my throat. December 1st is my birthday. But that night, I had gone to bed at an early hour. Meanwhile, Sienna had left hurriedly after cutting my birthday cake with me with the excuse that she needed to pull an overnight shift at the company. For some reason, I tap onto the unfamiliar-looking profile that has been interacting frequently with my account with a trembling finger. Their keyword of the year is "favor". My heart skips a beat at the sight. Then, I tap on the details. "Over the year, you've listened to songs with this user 688 times in the middle of the night. Every time you do, it's a secretive conversation meant for your souls." The next thing I know, I receive a message from Sienna. "Babe, I need to work overtime tonight again. You don't have to wait up for me. Just go to bed early." At the same time, a new post is uploaded on the unfamiliar profile. It features a photo of two hands that are intertwined together. "I love working overtime with her the most. I want to listen to songs with her forever."

In my previous life, my parents made me choose a bride from the three most powerful families in the capital. I did not hesitate. I chose the one I loved most: Holly Smith. However, on our wedding day, she died in a car accident on her way to the hotel. The Smith family was devastated. Though they did not dare blame my family, I was consumed with guilt. I transferred all my assets and shares to them without hesitation. Twenty years later, while on a business trip overseas, I saw Holly, alive, locked in a passionate kiss with my former best man on the street. The other two heiresses stood nearby, watching with envy. "Faking your death for twenty years just to end up with your true love? Worth it," one of them said. "And Hayden, that pathetic lapdog, stayed faithful to you all this time. What a joke." I lost control and rushed over to confront them, but Holly had people waiting. They dragged me into a pickup truck and beat me half to death. With a twisted smile, she sneered, "You've got some nerve showing up here. "You wanted me so badly back then that you had Jack beaten, he almost lost his memory and forgot about me! "Since you came all this way, I'll make sure you experience what it feels like to wish you were dead." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my parents asked me to choose my bride. I pointed to the maid's daughter standing in the corner. "I'll take her."

My girlfriend, Elsa Smith, always avoided meeting my parents. Yet, she had no trouble turning around and playing the role of her ex-boyfriend Leo Quinn’s fiancée, happily meeting his relatives instead. And the meeting took place in the apartment I had prepared for us to live in after the wedding. What she did not realize was that I happened to be Leo’s distant cousin. She pretended not to know me and clung sweetly to Leo, saying, "This apartment was bought by my hubby, fully paid for." All the relatives were praising them as a loving couple. To keep me from exposing her, Elsa came over to warn me, "I’m just helping a friend deal with marriage pressure. If you mess this up, we’re done." So, I sincerely offered my congratulations. "Since Leo and I seem to have the same taste in houses and women, I’ve got some wedding supplies that I’m sure he’ll like. I’ll gift them to you both." That was when Elsa finally started to panic.

After three years of marriage, I believed I had the perfect family. My wife, Sarah, was gentle and caring, and our son was bright and adorable. On a rare day when I finished work early, I arrived home to find Sarah asleep, slumped tiredly by the crib. My heart went out to her, and I decided to carry her to our bedroom. As I approached, Sarah's phone screen suddenly lit up. A message appeared: “Sarah, is our son asleep?"

I was holding my wife as we slept when her phone suddenly gave a special alert tone. “Rachel, my whole body hurts. Please help me…” The message was from Daniel. He sounded entitled, and he even attached a photo of his abs. My wife pushed me away at once. “Wait for me. I will head over right away.” I could not hold back my anger. “Where are you going? It’s the middle of the night, and you are going to see him? He’s your brother-in-law. Can’t you keep a bit of distance? “Your sister has been dead for half a year. Do you have to take care of him like this forever?” Rachel suddenly raised her hand and slapped me. “Sam, he has post-traumatic stress disorder. You already know that. I am his psychologist, so what is wrong with helping him? Why are your thoughts so filthy? “Forget it. I can’t talk sense into someone like you. Stay home and reflect on yourself.” After saying that, she did not look at me again. We had been married for five years. Every time we argued, she would walk away and give me the cold shoulder. She knew how much I loved her, so she hurt me without restraint. She was certain that I would ultimately give in and try to make peace. However, this time, I did not try to salvage the situation anymore. My heart was dead. I did not want her anymore.