Honeyworks Ai No Scenario Novels & Stories

Ten years ago, I ditched a high-paying job for my family. A decade later, they asked for my kidney—supposedly for my daughter, Talia. Turns out, the real patient was Hudson's first love's son. They didn't even fake remorse. Hudson sneered, convinced I couldn't survive without him. Talia called me old and fat, acting like I should be grateful to help Bianca's kid. A whole decade of sacrifice, and what did I get? No love. No thanks. Just entitlement. To them, I was nothing but a free, disposable maid. So I walked. No regrets. I rebuilt my life, found a job, and never looked back. Then reality smacked them. Hudson and Talia finally realized everything I'd done. They begged me to come back—but my heart was already stone-cold. In the end, I left the country, threw myself into work, and finally learned what it meant to live.

After two years of marriage, I believed I was living the dream—until the day I gave birth to our long-awaited heir. The house was filled with joy as my husband's family arrived, bearing gifts and ready to bestow a name upon our child, as tradition dictated. But the happiness of the day shattered in an instant when my husband walked in, hand in hand with his childhood sweetheart. In front of everyone, he announced not only our divorce but also his engagement to her, as if I had never mattered. *** "I’m divorcing Stacy," Jason announces, his voice unwavering, "to marry Nicole Cruz, my childhood sweetheart." He points to the woman standing before him who smiles and waves at everyone in the room. My world tilts on its axis. The words echo in my mind, louder and louder until they drown out everything else. What is going on?? "But why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible, even to myself. I'm unable to believe his betrayal. Jason doesn’t even glance at the child in my arms. "Because this has been a long time coming, Stacy. I’ve only stayed this long out of obligation and not love." Important Author’s Note: This is a rewritten version of my book The Alpha’s Betrayal: Reclaiming His Rejected Luna. From Chapter 12 onward, the story takes a new turn with fresh twists and drama. Thank you for reading—I hope you enjoy this new version!

My father hates my mother for ruining his chance with his first love, and his hatred spills onto me, the unwanted child who carries her blood. I'm 18 when I'm kidnapped. The abductor calls Dad, who is a police officer, and threatens him. Dad thinks I staged the whole thing myself and tells the man to slice me apart if he wants to. The abductor tortures me to death. He even cuts my body into pieces and feeds it to the fish. Only then does Dad lose his mind. He tracks down the abductor and hacks him to death.

As Shawn’s stay-at-home Luna, I spent twelve winters scrubbing his floors and washing his clothes until my knuckles bled, and he called me Low-rent. I bore his children. I forged his son’s armor with my own hands. I waited for him to take me back to my birth pack—but he chose his adopted sister, Marga, over me, even for a simple journey to my father’s coastal lands. At dawn, I dried my tears and swallowed every ounce of bitterness. Then I returned to the territory I had abandoned and became the heir to the Pearlcoast Pack. The wife Alpha Shawn discarded now rules everything he cannot touch. And the word he feared most—alone—is the word I finally taste as power.

For a year, I’d lived a double life. During the day, I am Lila Montgomery, the heiress of Montgomery Industries. At night, I am just Lila, the woman Ethan was falling for. Or so I thought.“Grace,” he’d murmured in his sleep one night, his arms tightening around me. “Don’t leave again.” That was the first crack in my fantasy. The final crack that ended our so-called relationship was when he accused me of wanting to trap him with a baby. Now just days later, my mother wants me to meet Nicholas Baldwin, Ethan’s uncle. “Might be exactly what you need to forget his nephew.” I ignored my brother’s teasing, walking past him. “I don’t need another Baldwin man in my life.” But seeing Ethan now in person and with Grace by his side… “Nick,” I whispered urgently, “I need a huge favor.” He must have heard the desperation in my voice, “Name it.” “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”

My father bought twin brothers from the black market to serve as bodyguards for me and my sister. My sister chose the tall, strong older brother, leaving me with the frail, mute younger one. Feeling sorry for him, I kept him close, seeking doctors for his silence and maintaining distance to respect his apparent OCD. I thought trauma had shaped him that way. But when our father's enemies kidnapped us, he abandoned me without hesitation, choosing to die shielding my sister. In his final moments, he spoke for the first time. "You finally see me." To me, he said, "In the next life, please don't choose me." I realized then that he was neither mute nor afflicted with OCD. His silence and aversion were directed solely at me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we chose the bodyguards. This time, I'd grant his wish.

Amy is a 21-year-old daughter and heir of the Diamond groups owner CEO Zack Armstrong was forced to find a job to prove to her parents that she was capable of managing their business empire but ended up falling in love with the arrogant Zion of the Zion group a rival company to her father's. What do you think would become of their newfound affection for each other?

My husband and I spend 50 loving years together. On the day of our golden wedding anniversary, someone pushes me down a flight of stairs. As I drift in and out of consciousness, I miraculously regain my hearing. I lost it in the process of saving my husband when we were younger. I hear my husband say to my son, "You shouldn't have dirtied your hands." "How long more are you going to put up with her, Dad? Calista doesn't have much longer to wait." My husband sighs heavily. After a moment, I feel someone remove my oxygen tube. I descend into boundless darkness. When I open my eyes again, I've been taken back to the 80s—before I married my husband. The only difference is that I can hear this time.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

I run into a group of rogues on my way home for my daughter's birthday. I call my wife for help, but she blocks my number. I'm dragged out of the car, stabbed a dozen times, and thrown into the bushes to die. My neck is broken, and my organs are spilling out of my body. The rogues think I'm going to die—they even mention each other's names before me. Then, they drive off in my car while whistling happily. I hold onto my head and organs as I crawl to the roadside, hoping against hope that someone will save me. Before I'm taken to the hospital, I see my wife's social media update—she and her secretary have taken a sweet photo together while celebrating our daughter's birthday. The first thing I do after being discharged is demand a divorce.