Glanced

The past Day 159 after the first New Species were freed Joy tried to relax in the chair but worry over her client made her fidget. She glanced at the clock, noting he was late again. Minutes ticked by while her anger grew. It was the fourth session in a row that 466 had blown off. He did it on purpose. She knew he was going to be irate over what she’d done in retaliation but he’d left her with no choice. The loud sound of a menacing growl startled her. Her gaze flew to the door a second before it was thrown open. 466 hovered in the hallway, his rich brown hair messed up as if he’d dried it upside down with a blow dryer to give it that fullness. Rage showed in his narrowed, dark gaze. She guessed he’d been the source of the noise. He was pushed forward as one of the guards entered the office behind her client. “Here he is. He wasn’t happy but we got him.” The man shot a dirty look at 466. “Four of his men convinced him to come along or we would have had to drag his inside in shackles. He wanted to fight me.” She winced. “Please sit, 466.” “It seems I don’t have a choice.” He sauntered over to the chair in front of her desk and dropped his big body down hard enough to make the piece of furniture groan. “So much for saying we are free.”

When Selovia's soldiers seized me, I sent Leon ninety-nine letters, each one begging for rescue. He tore them apart. "I sent Aya back to her duchy after she struck Mira—but I gave her my finest escort. Selovia could not have touched her." A sharp breath. "I allowed Mira the ceremonial gown, nothing more. And now Aya makes a spectacle to win back my favor. It shames her." He paced once, restless. "Mira's brother died protecting me. He was my Captain of the Royal Guard. I swore to guard her in his place. Tell Aya this—no matter how she rages, I will not cast Mira aside. If she keeps making a spectacle, I will delay the wedding." Three days later, he rode into Valecrest with the marriage contract in hand, ready to wed me. That same hour, Selovia's envoys delivered an ornate gift box. Leon glanced at it and exhaled. "So the dowry is prepared. All this noise was Aya stirring unrest." The lid opened. Inside— My head. From the tower, mourning bells began to toll. Slow. Heavy. Final. The chapel doors parted. The officiant stepped out, robes dark, face set in solemn lines. "Her Grace, Aya Valecrest, Duchess of Valecrest, has been returned to us. The burial rites begin at once."

When His Majesty King Dominic Thornfield was attacked, my husband, Roland Wentworth, Commander of the Royal Guard, was busy placating his first love, Vivian Sinclair, who had stormed off in a fit of anger. I did not light the signal flare in my hand. Instead, I used my heavily pregnant body as a human shield to protect the King and help him escape. In my past life, I had lit that flare. Roland abandoned Vivian to rush back and save the King. He was rewarded for his loyal service by being made a Duke Protector. However, Vivian fell into a trap and died on the spot. On the surface, Roland said nothing. Yet, on the very day I went into labor, he threw me into the Beast Dungeon. My face twisted in agony as I demanded to know why. Roland merely glanced at me coldly and said, "His Majesty had plenty of guards around him, so why did it have to be me who came back? You must have done it on purpose, only caring about power and wealth. If you hadn't lit that flare, Vivian wouldn't have died. Whatever suffering Vivian endured, I'll make you pay it back tenfold!" In the end, I was torn apart and devoured by the beasts. Even the child in my womb was consumed completely. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the King was attacked.

My sister had struggled with depression since childhood. The doctor warned that she could not tolerate any kind of stimulation. As a result, my entire life fell silent. To avoid upsetting her, I never dared to laugh at home. I never dared to cry. When I got hurt, I did not even have the right to say it hurt. My parents would hug me with apologetic expressions and say, "You're the good one. Your sister's illness requires the whole family to work together. You're healthy. You're strong. Let her have more, okay?" One day, I accidentally knocked over a cup. The crash sounded enormous in the quiet room, and my sister's emotions shattered at once. My father struck me for the first time. He roared, "Can't you be careful? Do you have to push her until she dies before you're satisfied?" He shoved me to the floor. The back of my head slammed against the corner of the table, and blood poured out. But my whole family rushed to my screaming sister. No one even glanced at me. I lay on the cold floor as my vision blurred and my consciousness began to fade. To them, my sister's feelings were the only emergency. My small injury could wait. They did not know that bleeding inside the skull does not wait.

After I came back to life, the first thing I did was hand that five-carat diamond ring—yes, the one my husband gave me—to his mother. The very woman who spent years picking me apart like it was her favorite pastime. In my last life, that ring was a custom New Year's gift. He paid a ridiculous amount for it. I actually thought it meant something. One afternoon, I was out shopping when I walked right into a bridal party taking pictures. The bride glanced at my hand, saw the ring, and her entire expression changed. She stormed over and slapped me, accusing me of being a shameless mistress trying to steal her man. I stood there, completely stunned. She was wearing the exact same ring. Before I could explain, her friends grabbed me. They dragged me aside, tore my clothes, hit me, and stomped on my hand until I couldn't move my fingers. They carved the word "mistress" into my face and paraded me through the street like some kind of public disgrace. I died there on the pavement. When my husband finally appeared, he didn't fight for me. He just signed off on a settlement, as if my life were nothing more than a piece of paperwork. Widowed that morning, married to the bride by nightfall. His mother instantly welcomed the new woman, all because she was pregnant. And then I opened my eyes again… back on the very day he first placed that diamond ring in my hand.

I paid the ultimate price in my last life for being too polite to refuse others. During a summer vacation, four children ended my life. "Talia, we’re already on the way to your place. We should be there in about two hours. No need to prepare anything special. Just keep things the way you normally do. Don’t fuss." I stared blankly as the voice came through my phone. The agony of my skin being scalded raw by boiling-hot stew was still vivid in my mind. When I had struggled and begged for help, those children had dragged me back together. In the chaos, I had fallen from the seventh floor and died with my eyes wide open. I glanced at the calendar on the wall. I had been reborn. In my previous life, my sister-in-law, Vanessa Mercer, had dumped her four kids at my home for the summer and left. I was forced to care for six children alone and was pushed to the brink of collapse. Simply because I wouldn’t let my nephew, Jaxon Mercer, play on his tablet for hours on end, and because I told him not to wander around the house in nothing but his underwear, the conflict escalated until it led to that horrifying death. My whole body trembled at the memory. I rushed into the bedroom, grabbed my identification documents, and fled toward the high-speed rail station with my two daughters, Kaia and Nova Mercer. "Mom, where are we going?" "I'm taking you on a trip. We’re going to have as much fun as we want!"

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

He is my art coach. And he sucked my dick after our first lesson, obviously, I didn't know he was gay! Now, I have to accept that I am impossibly attracted to a man who is eleven years older than me and a relationship between us could never be possible….or? ~~~    “Do you regularly do this with men you meet for the first time?” Min-a asked, his eyes still appearing a little dilated.    “If you mean giving them a ride in my Mustang? No, I don’t do that.” Seung-ho replied, sounding serious. He glanced at Min-a to see a frown knitting his eyebrows close, and he chuckled. “If it would make you less grumpy, sucking your dick bruised my jaw. So, I don’t think I would be giving free blow jobs to any other man I meet in the near future…”  ~~~~ 22-year-old Model influencer, Korea's number one bad boy, Seo Min-a, has everything a boy could want: great looks, amazing talent, the only son of a billionaire family, millions of followers, and fangirls at his feet. Min-a’s quest to help his sister sign a contract with the defiant artist Kwan Seung-ho, who was a much older man leads him to a brilliant art coach who challenges his understanding of love and identity. Could they really be a couple in a society where being gay is seen as condemnable? What Epic Love Story will they write?

While I was driving my bus, I spotted my boyfriend's car ahead. He was kissing the woman he had always been hung up on. I could not help tapping the horn. That was all it took. He and his dream girl stepped out and blocked my bus in the middle of the road. I glanced at the passengers behind me. I could not afford to delay everyone, so I swallowed my pride and asked him to move his car. She lifted her chin, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Not happening. Unless you get off that bus and apologize to me right here, you're not going anywhere.” Traffic was completely jammed. There was no way forward and no way back. My face went pale, but I had no choice except to lower my head and prepare to apologize. My boyfriend grew impatient. "Why are you still standing there? Get down and apologize to Sally. Right now." Humiliated, I inched my way towards the door. However, the doors unexpectedly swung open and the passengers rushed out of the bus. “Do you think we have time for this? I'm already late for school. Are you going to take responsibility?” “My perfect attendance this month is ruined because of you. You two are unbelievable!” “If you shameless idiots want to act like this, don't blame us for getting physical!”

"This is a notice regarding proper use of the air conditioning. Please sign to acknowledge receipt." My six-year-old son stood there with a stern little frown, slapping a sheet of paper down in front of me. I glanced at the page. Written in colorful marker were several neatly listed "charges." The whole thing felt absurd. When I did not respond, he pointed at the paper like a tiny adult. "Mom, you didn't turn the air down in time yesterday. That could've affected my health. It was very irresponsible." I looked toward my husband, who had just gotten home from work, hoping he would say something, anything, in my defense. Instead, he snatched up the paper and slapped it down on the table, his voice sharp. "Can't you be more attentive? Our son's health comes first. If you can't even handle something this simple, what kind of mother are you?" With someone backing him up, our son's eyes immediately reddened. He burst into tears. "Mom doesn't love me!" The two of them, playing judge and jury, left me suddenly breathless. "Fine," I said at last. "If I'm such an unfit mother, I'll leave. Let your father find you a new one, someone who knows how to set the air conditioning properly."