Horror Story Title Ideas

I’d been married to my husband James for three years. On Valentine’s Day, he gave his stepsister, Mia, one hundred and eighty thousand dollars, along with millions in jewelry. I, on the other hand, received a free bouquet of roses. When I didn’t look thrilled, he accused me of being a gold digger. “Mia never had anyone to care for her growing up. Why are you competing with her? Isn’t being Mrs. Smith enough to feed your vanity?” Furious, I stormed out of the house. When a car lost control and came barreling toward me, he instinctively rushed to protect Mia, who was standing a full ten feet from the road. I was the one who ended up in the hospital. Lying in that bed, I finally gave up. I signed the divorce papers without hesitation. “Giving up the title of Mrs. Smith is the dumbest decision you’ll ever make,” he told me, looking down at me from above before walking away. Seven years later, we met again. He took one glance at my simple dress and laughed out loud. I didn’t bother to respond. I just held my daughter close and waited for her father—the richest man in the city—to arrive.

The moment my roommate walked in, she used my locker. She claimed to have too many things and nowhere else to put them. I rolled my eyes. Why should I let her get her way? I was not her parent. She was no princess, but she acted like one. I was ready to argue, but she tossed 200,000 dollars at me. “At your service, Your Highness!”

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

My three-year-old daughter was playing in the room, and she suddenly fell from the window of the room and died. In my past life, I held her lifeless body after learning the news, crying so hard I thought I would never stop. But when my husband rushed back, he slapped me across the face without a second thought. "How could you be so cruel? You actually threw her out of the window—she was only three!" I was too stunned to react. Later, my husband and my best friend teamed up and testified that I had thrown my daughter from the window because I had an argument with my husband. I was cyberbullied and labeled the "evil mom". Amid the public hatred and the pain of losing my daughter, I jumped to prove my innocence. Even in death, I still didn't understand. My daughter had been fine playing in the room—how did she fall out of the window? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she fell.

My daughter gets into an accident and needs to leave town for an operation. My husband is the pilot of the flight that takes her there. However, instead of calling him, I head straight to the airport and ask the ground staff for help. In my past life, I begged and pleaded with my husband for help. He arranged a seat for our daughter and flew the plane there. Because of that, he missed the chance to send his childhood sweetheart to the hospital, and she died in labor. My husband disappeared for two months after that. He later returned, acting like nothing had happened. However, one day, he poisoned the whole family. "If not for you forcing me to get on that flight, I could've taken her to the hospital. She would've given birth, and she wouldn't have died. You guys are the ones who deserve to die!" He pushed me off the 20th floor. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day my daughter gets into an accident. This time, my husband successfully takes his childhood sweetheart to the hospital. But why does he later regret it?

On the fifth year of their marriage, finding the vitamin C her husband bought tasted too bitter, Jeanne Dotson went to the hospital with the bottle. The doctor took one look and frowned. "This isn't vitamin C." "I-I'm sorry, Doctor?" "I could say it a dozen times and it'd still be the same," the doctor replied, pointing at the bottle. "This is Mifepristone. Taking too much of it doesn't just cause infertility—it can do serious harm to your body." Jeanne felt a lump stuck in her throat, and her fingers turned pale from clenching the bottle. "That's impossible. My husband got this for me. His name is Darren Walsh—he's a doctor here too." The doctor looked up at her, his expression turning strange, tinged with something she couldn't quite read. After a pause, he gave a small smile. "Miss, you might want to visit the psych ward instead. We all know Dr. Walsh's wife—she gave birth just two months ago. Don't let your imagination run wild, all right? There's no point."

My son was caught in a car accident. My husband said that without a cornea donor, he would be trapped in darkness forever. Heartbroken, I let him sweet-talk me into signing away my corneas. Blind, I overheard my son gloating, "Dad, the plan worked. Mom fell for it, and Rachel's got her sight back. She won't be miserable anymore." "Yeah, now we're a real family with her," replied my husband. The truth gutted me. They'd played me like a fool to save my husband's old flame. When I confronted them, Rachel Huffman shoved me down a staircase, and I died in agony. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my son's car accident.

In my previous life, everything I do to care for myself somehow ends up benefiting my new housekeeper instead. I apply expensive skincare, yet dark spots and fine lines spread across my face, whereas the 45-year-old housekeeper's face becomes silkier. I jog every morning, yet my body only grows heavier and bulkier, while hers becomes slender and toned. When my husband notices the stretch marks on my abdomen, his face twists with disgust, and he never touches me again. "I genuinely can't bring myself to touch you. How can you look worse than Mirabelle when you take such good care of yourself?" My housekeeper looks at me with a sinister smile. A chill crawls up my spine, and the strange feeling makes me fire her on the spot. Yet, as soon as she leaves, I start aging at lightning speed, entering menopause 20 years early and developing diabetes and high blood pressure. I see every doctor I can, but after hanging on for a week, I die from a stroke. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day she first reports to work. This time, I push away the royal jelly she sets in front of me with a pleasant smile. "I've been avoiding certain foods lately. You can have it instead."

"You're no daughter of this pack," my mother hissed, her golden eyes flashing in the firelight. "If you can't support your Alpha sister, then get out." I should have seen it coming. In the Ashveil Pack, family means everything—unless you're me. Vera Darkthorne, the disappointment. While my perfect sister Eris got the love, the title, even my mate Cain, I got a mating ceremony where nobody showed up. Not even the man who swore he'd always be mine. That night, I ran. Now I've built a new life in Berlin's underground werewolf syndicate, where strength is the only law that matters. I've learned to fight, to lead, to make wolves twice my size back down with just a look. But when a message comes that Eris's dying, the pack demands my return. "Come home, Vera," my father's voice crackles through the phone. "Your sister needs you." I almost laugh. After everything? But this time, I'm not the weak wolf they left behind. This time, I have fangs of my own. And when wolves hunt you down, you don't run—you rip their throats out first.

“ไคล์อยู่มั้ย?” “นายอยู่ด้านในครับ แต่ว่า….” “ขอบใจนะ” หรรษาเดินตัวปลิวเข้าไปด้านในคลับหรู ก่อนเปิดประตูห้องVVIPเข้าไป เจอปาร์ตี้ของชายหญิงหลายคู่ ก่อนขาเรียวจะเดินตรงคว้าแก้วเหล้าเต็มแก้วแล้วหยุดที่หน้าชายหนุ่มนัยตาเย็นชา ซ่า!!!! แก้วเหล้าทั้งแก้วราดลงบนศรีษะของหญิงสาวที่กำลังนั่งคลอเคลียร์ชายหนุ่มตรงหน้าจนหญิงสาวคนนั้นกรีดร้องออกมา “กรี๊ดดดดดด” “สาระแน!! ไสหัวออกไปห่างๆ!” หรรษาเอ่ย “หรรษา!! เธอทำอะไร” ไคล์เอ่ย “มือมันลั่น” หรรษาเอ่ย “มานี่!” ชายหนุ่มลุกขึ้นก่อนลากแขนหญิงสาวออกจากห้องทันทีด้วยใบหน้าแสนน่ากลัว “ไคล์ หรรษาเจ็บนะ ปล่อยได้แล้ว” “เธอจะก่อเรื่องอีกนายมั้ย!” ไคล์เอ่ย “ใครใช้ให้นังนั่นมากอดนายก่อนละ” “เดี๋ยว! เราไม่ได้เป็นอะไรกัน เธอเลิกรังควานผู้หญิงทุกคนรอบตัวฉันได้แล้ว!” ไคล์เอ่ย “งั้นก็เป็นอะไรกันซะซิ แค่นั้นก็จบ”หรรษาเอ่ย หรรษา แฝดน้องของกะตัญ จากเรื่อง กลรักร้าย เจ้านายมาเฟีย