Gideon The Ninth の小説・ストーリー

"Imagine, a witch who could level a city with a thought. Who could manipulate the very fabric of reality. Who could bring empires to their knees with a whispered incantation." In a world where witches and vampires are instinctive enemies, an unlikely romance blossoms between Lilith "Lily" Winters and Caspian Ravencroft. Their forbidden attraction sparks one fateful night when Lily encounters the mysterious Caspian while out clubbing with her witch friends Fern and Elena. Though natural adversaries, they find themselves inexplicably drawn to one another, unable to heed their innate urges to destroy the other. Elena senses the danger, trying in vain to dissuade Lily from pursuing the undead stranger. As Lily and Caspian's clandestine relationship intensifies, their passion burning hotter than the fires of a thousand suns, they must conceal their affair from their rival covens. For the cruel Gideon Thorne, a witch hunter turned vampire, has been relentlessly hunting Lily and her powerful bloodline for decades, obsessed with stealing her extraordinary abilities for himself.

After my younger sister went abroad, I married the mafia Don in her place. Five years after we married, we became each other’s greatest enemies. He hated me for driving my sister away and scheming my way into becoming his wife. I hated him for always treating me as a stand-in, never once acknowledging me in front of the world. My lack of status brought humiliation to my vain parents, and from that moment on, their love for me turned into hatred. In the end, he and my parents left me behind on a snowy mountain while celebrating Christmas with my sister. In the bitter cold, I died together with the child I never got to meet. Meanwhile, my sister basked in everyone’s love and had the happiest Christmas of her life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister returned from abroad. This time, I would not beg Gideon or my parents to love me ever again.

After losing a bet to her adopted younger brother, Peter Conroy, my wife, Ruth Davis, divorced me for the ninth time. I had told her then that if we remarried for a tenth time and divorced again, I would marry someone else. She only laughed and said, “Will, you even donated part of your liver to me. How could you possibly marry anyone else? Besides, apart from me, who would want to marry a broke loser like you?” On the day of our tenth remarriage press conference, Peter left her a key to a beach house and made a bet with her. If she could find him in three hours, he would stay and wish us a lifetime of happiness. The moment Ruth saw the key, her expression turned hesitant. She tore up the remarriage statement and ran off without hesitation. Three hours later, Peter posted a photo on social media. They were lying on a bed in the beach house and admiring the ocean view. I read the caption. [If someone really cares about you, they will cross mountains and seas just to find you.] Without telling Ruth, I withdrew the remarriage application and made a call I had not made in a very long time. “Julienne, is your proposal from back then still valid?” Her voice trembled with barely restrained excitement. “For you, it’ll always be valid.”

After marrying and divorcing my husband, Casper Sloan, eight times in a row, I'm still the same woman who refuses to endure any flaws and mistakes Casper has made. As always, I'll demand a divorce over the smallest inconvenience ever. That is, until Lucille Bates, Casper's newly-widowed sister-in-law, moves into our home with her five-year-old son, Baxter Sloan. In fact, she's sitting in my usual spot while drinking the bone broth I've custom-ordered for myself. Rage overwhelms my senses instantly. I rush over and plan to knock Lucille's bowl over, only to see the live comments popping above Lucille's head out of the blue. "Lucille really is smart! She just has to pull a little trick, and the drama queen will start digging her own grave again!" "Ooh, Sabrina will demand a divorce for the ninth time! This time, Casper won't endure her shenanigans anymore. Once the divorce is done, he will never remarry her. Later on, Lucille will heal his wounded heart, and they will get together in the end." "Keep being unreasonable, Sabrina! Once you're divorced, you'll die tragically in a car crash! No one will even bother claiming your body in the morgue!" I shudder at the thought. When I notice Lucille smirking haughtily while reading the comments, I quickly retract my hand.

Avery watched her boyfriend Ryan cheating with her half sister Zara right in front of her eyes on the Mating Day, the day she was meant to be claimed by Ryan as his chosen mate. The worse thing is that Ryan and Zara had the right to do so, because they just found out they were fated mates. Heartbroken, Avery fleed into the forest, only to fell into the arms of a dangerous stranger whose scent triggered her mating heat. Avery believed he was a rogue, so she just wanted one night of forbidden passion in the dark and ran away the next morning without even knowing what he looked like exactly. However, after she got home, she panicked as she found out she was marked by that stranger... Avery's father threatened to kill her if she couldn't secure a husband who could accept her. Just when Avery thought no one would want a marked girl, Alpha Gideon choose her as his bride, and something about him just seemed familiar....

Autumn Dawson had only ever loved one man, Ivan Ashton, her husband. For twelve years, she devoted her life to him, only to have her heart shattered when he married her sister on their 11th anniversary. Shortly after, she met a mysterious death and was reincarnated three years before her demise. This time, she vowed things would be different. On their ninth anniversary, when Ivan brazenly introduced his mistress for the first time, Autumn refused to remain silent. No longer the mute dog wagging her tail at her husband's call, she stood up, her eyes blazing with fury. "I want a divorce," she declared, her voice resonating with newfound strength. The room fell silent, the shock evident on both Ivan's and her sister's faces. For the first time, Autumn wasn't backing down. She had had enough, and she was determined to seek revenge on every single person who had wronged her in her past life. But as she prepared to walk away, Ivan grabbed her arm, his eyes filled with desperation. "I want a second chance," he pleaded. Autumn's eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. "Over my dead body," she spat, yanking her arm free. This time, Autumn Dawson wasn't just fighting for herself. She was ready to take down anyone who dared to stand in her way.

On the day of my wedding, my fiance, Don James Colombo, left me at the altar again. "Angelina is in the ICU," he said. "The ceremony will have to wait." It was the ninth time he had abandoned me for his terminally ill childhood sweetheart. The first time, she had run away from home, and he could not rest easy. "Angelina is missing, yet you want me to stand here toasting at the wedding? Don't be so selfish, Leticia." The third time, he said Angelina was in a terrible state and threatening to take her own life — he had to go comfort her. By the eighth time, James had stopped explaining and simply had the butler notify me the wedding was off. For him, postponing a wedding was nothing. For me, the Buono Principessa left standing in a chapel, it meant ridicule and one hundred lashes from my furious father. The lashes split open my skin and left me running a fever that would not break. James would hold me afterward, apologize helplessly, and promise he would make it up to me after we married. He promised nine times. He kept none of them. So when he left me again for Angelina, I did not cry or make a scene. I packed my bags alone and in silence. It would be the last time he ever postponed our wedding. One month later, he would never be able to find me again.

In my ninth year of being with Tyler Freeman, he flaunts his relationships with other women while I'm only allowed to come and go from his bedroom. He doesn't acknowledge me as his girlfriend, yet he allows his friends to address me as such. I have a name but not an identity. His friends are bored during a private party and want me to perform a strip dance on stage to liven things up. I expect Tyler to at least turn them down on my behalf, but all he does is sip his wine and say, "Go on. You're the owner of this place, aren't you? Aren't clubs supposed to satisfy their patrons' needs? Don't let my friends down!" I look at him emotionlessly. I don't cry or throw a fuss. Instead, I splash a glass of liquor in his face. The following day, I trash the club. Three months later, Tyler finally thinks of calling me. "Where are you? Aren't you gonna get the hell back here? Do you really expect me to beg you to come back? Do you think you're worthy of that?" I pull my newlywed husband to the camera. "Sorry, Mr. Freeman. I'm getting married. You don't need to come, but do get me a wedding gift." Unexpectedly, he threatens to show my husband intimate videos of me when he sees me in a wedding gown.

My marriage certificate with Shane Galingston was lost again. By the time we went to replace it for the ninth time, his childhood sweetheart deliberately raised her voice as she said, "Lily has been divorced eight times and has had nine abortions. She also has AIDS and syphilis… practically every vice in the book. Did you know all that?" With a loud crash, a newlywed couple sitting nearby was so startled that they fell to the floor, groaning in pain. In an instant, contemptuous and disgusted gazes poured in from all directions, pinning me in place. The icy slime of rotting refuse dripped down my face, chilling not just my skin but my heart as well. This time, I didn't hold back. I turned and walked straight toward the complaint counter. But Shane, who had stayed silent all along, suddenly grabbed my arm. He wiped the filth from my face and coaxed me in a low, gentle voice. "Don't be angry. She's just childish—she likes to fool around. She didn't mean to smear your name. "Besides, she's not targeting you. She's just throwing a tantrum at me. How could I not know what kind of person you are?" As he spoke, he shot his childhood sweetheart a helpless yet indulgent glance. "Go ahead and help us reissue—" I pushed his hand away without expression and cut him off. "No need. Let's get a divorce."

On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband—Damian Grant, the man who ruled the mafia by day and once ruled my heart by night—did not bring me roses. He gave the bouquet that should have been mine to Serena Lane, his personal assistant. Beneath the chandelier where we once danced on our wedding night, he turned to me with that same cold charm he once used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. “She's pregnant.” Finally, everything fell into place. “She's a picky eater. From today onward, you’ll cook three meals a day for her. And no repeats. “She’s sensitive and hates sleeping alone, so you’ll need to move your things into the guest room.” The room fell silent. I did not raise my voice, nor did I shed a single tear. I simply picked up my packed suitcase and walked to the door. The butler tried to stop me, but Damian did not even blink. “She’ll come back.” He lazily swirled the wine in his glass. “She’ll come back crying and begging within three days.” Our guests burst out laughing. They placed a million-dollar bet right in front of me. They were betting on whether I would be back before the night was over, begging Damian to let me back in like a pathetic stray dog with my tail between my legs. However, they did not know I had already received the family heirloom from my real father. I booked my flight to get far, far away from everyone I used to know. This time, I really left.