Gartic Phone Prompt

Erica Anderson,21, is an assistant secretary in Sinclair enterprises. Her routine life takes a turn with a phone call from her sister who hasn't met her in 6 years. The events spiraling takes to worse when her sisters’ body is found with a murderer on the loose. Her search for the murderer lands her on the Sinclair family's doorstep. What is the connection between her sister and Sinclair's family? Who killed her and why? What happens when her heart gets involved with one of them? Join Erica's journey of love, guilt, betrayal, and revenge.

My husband planned to sell my body to a stranger so that he could have a perfect reason to divorce me. When I heard his phone conversation, I didn’t wait for him to catch me, I hit the loudest club in town at once. Then something I didn’t expect happened. I slept with his forbidden best friend, a man who hated my guts like crazy yet he claimed me like I was his soulmate. His jaws tightened as he whispered “He didn’t deserve you. You were supposed to be mine.”

Warren Cole was living his life as an average student at the University of Flemond. He just finished his programming class when he received a call from back home. Taking out his phone, he was confused to see that it was Uncle Geoffrey. "Please come home, Warren. There is something important you have to know. Make sure to be here in the next three days." A click was heard and then it was quiet. Warren arrived at the dorm room and packed his bags. When he arrived at the airport, it was still unbeknownst to him that when he would return to Flemond, his whole life would be turned upside down...

Heating starts on the 15th, so I give my mom the money to pay the heating bill two days in advance and ask her to pay it for me. But a week passes, and it still feels like an icehouse in my apartment. I am on the phone complaining to my younger brother's wife, Selena Lyons, who lives upstairs. "You are right not to pay the heating fee. I paid, and it made no difference. We're freezing to death here." From the other end of the call, I faintly hear my nephew shouting, "Mom, it's so hot! I want a popsicle!"

On our tenth wedding anniversary, I was trapped in a cabin with my daughter, Sofia Costello, as floodwaters raged outside. With shaking hands, I used the emergency satellite phone to call my mafia husband, Henson Costello, and begged for help. I dialed more than 90 times before the call finally went through, yet all I heard was the breathy moans of his first love, Angelina Rossi, on the other end. "Henson...slower..." Before I could even process the shock of his betrayal, I heard a conversation that sent me straight into hell. "That kid was dead weight anyway. Trading him for control of Pier 9 was the best deal the family ever made." It seemed that Leo Costello, my son, who had supposedly drowned at the beach five years ago, had not died in an accident after all. Henson had used him as part of a business deal. All this time, I had been drowning in guilt for taking him to that beach, blaming myself for the tragedy. I never knew the truth was this cruel. Tears streamed down my face as my body shook uncontrollably. After ten years of marriage, I finally realized I had never truly known the man I loved and sacrificed everything for. I picked up my phone again and dialed Vincenzo Moretti's number. "Vince, I'll marry you. But you have to help me destroy the Costello family from power." After a brief silence, his voice came through the line. "Aurelia Astor, I've been waiting ten years to hear you say that."

As the top phone service sales representative, I unexpectedly received a malicious complaint. I expect to be given a fair resolution, but nothing of the sort happens. The director calls off my imminent promotion and has an intern take my place. I'm indignant and want to resign, but I accidentally overhear the intern acting coquettishly toward the director. "Daddy…" The director is the general manager's husband, though. Everyone in the company knows they're DINKs. Where would he have gotten a daughter from? I chuckle and shred my resignation letter. Behold my wrath and revenge!

“Ms. Summers, Mr. Quinn has already approved your resignation. He didn’t realize you were the one leaving. Should I let him know?” Hearing the news over the phone, Yara Summers lowered her gaze. “No. It’s fine. Just leave it as it is.” “You’ve been his secretary for four years. He values you the most and depends on you more than anyone. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” HR kept trying to persuade her, but Yara just smiled.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood sweetheart called, claiming a burst pipe at her home. Without a second thought, he ditched our celebration to play handyman. Moments later, Vivian Duffy's social media lit up with a smug post. [No matter when or where, my Superman arrives at one call. How should I reward him?] Accompanying the post was a photo of scattered condoms and torn clothing on the floor. I forced a smile, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. "My pipe is broken. Care to fix it?"

A week after my engagement, I was delivered an unusual engagement gift. My phone chimed. I glanced down and saw a push notification from a social app. [Fell in love with a female livestreamer right before my engagement. I feel guilty toward my older girlfriend who's about to become my fiancée—how should I deal with this?] The user ID was "SimonLovesClaire." The profile picture showed a melancholy side view of a man wrapped in a gray scarf. I recognized him instantly. It was my fiancé, Simon Aldrich. That limited-edition scarf was the birthday gift I had given him last year.

My husband's sister was pregnant when she leapt from the building. Her final phone call wasn't to him. It was to me. When the police asked for clues, I said nothing. When my in-laws knelt and begged, I watched them coldly. Yet my husband never divorced me. If anything, he treated me even better than before. Then, after I became pregnant, my nightmare truly began. He tied me to the bed and summoned a group of vagrants, ordering them to take turns violating me. He said he wanted me to taste despair.