How Hinata Died Novels & Stories

My brother-in-law had a sudden heart attack. The doctor said only my wife could perform the specific surgery he needed. It was a critical situation. By the time I finally managed to get through to her, her childhood sweetheart answered the phone. "We're just about to head out camping," he said casually. "We won't be coming back tonight." My heart sank. "Ryan had a heart attack. He needs surgery immediately. Tell her to come back to the hospital—now." Instead, my wife's irritated voice cut through. "Are you done? How dare you make up a lie like that and curse my brother!" Before I could explain, she hung up. When I tried calling back, her phone was already off. In the end, my brother-in-law died because the window for surgery closed. And my wife lost her mind.

Elise Caro was the perfect trophy wife: loyal, obedient, and blindly in love with her mafia husband, Cassian D’Amaro. Until the night she uncovered his betrayal and was silenced-killed in cold blood, and buried like a secret. But fate isn’t done with her. Elise wakes up five years earlier, in her younger body, right before her marriage. With her memories intact and bitterness sharpened, she vows not to fall again. This time, she won’t be his wife. She’ll be his reckoning. As she re-enters Cassian’s orbit under a new identity, he starts falling for her again. But Elise isn’t here for love. She’s here to ruin him.

I fell for my next-door neighbor, James Grayson. I even tried to seduce him in a sexy nightdress. But he humiliated me by throwing me out in front of everyone. I was utterly embarrassed. The next day, he told me straight up that he was getting engaged, and I should just give up. So, I did. I let him go and said yes to someone else’s proposal. But on my wedding day, James showed up looking like a mess and tried to stop the wedding. “Summer, I regret everything.” But by then, my heart already belonged to my husband.

My sister Iris almost died from anemia. The day she was hospitalized, my whole family started blaming me. I'd been frail since birth, so Mom and Dad had always poured all their attention into me. The new school supplies were mine, the new clothes were mine, and even on the birthdays we shared, the cream and chocolate part of the cake always went to me first. I used to hear Iris crying at night. But whenever I tried to comfort her, she just shoved me away. On my twelfth birthday, I came home from school with a perfect score on my test, beaming as I pushed the door open. Mom and Dad's eyes were red, and they looked at me as if I'd done something terrible. “Why can't you ever be nicer to Iris? We give you everything, and you should be thinking about her too.” “The doctor said her health problems are all because of how she feels.” “You're so spoiled, so selfish.” I lowered my head. They didn't know that I was frail because I'd made a deal to take Iris's death for her. Tomorrow, I was going to be erased.

Before I turn eight, I am the most spoiled little princess in our family. I love beautiful shoes, so my parents buy me the crystal heels that are the highlight of an auction. When I want to learn the piano, they hire the most talented virtuoso to be my teacher. Mom and Dad love me, and my older brother, Asher Sullivan, dotes on me, too. However, everything changes the year I turn eight, when Asher is killed by human traffickers while trying to save me. From that moment on, I'm branded as the sinner of the family. Mom and Dad forbid me from sleeping in my own room. Every single night, they make me kneel in Asher's room to repent for my sins. Every year on the anniversary of Asher's death, Mom and Dad whip my mouth with the soles of their shoes to make me remember the grave mistake I committed. Later on, Mom and Dad adopt a boy named Archer Sullivan, who's a carbon copy of Asher, and have him punish me in Asher's place. After nearly five years of torment, when I'm at death's door, a voice suddenly breaks the silence. "I didn't give my life to save you just so you could let them treat you like a punching bag, you idiot!"

When my husband accompanies his childhood sweetheart to the vet to treat her pet fish, my son accidentally spills his drink on her. My husband watches as his childhood sweetheart's eyes redden. Then, he slaps my son hard and throws a stack of cash at him. "This is your chance to make up for your mistakes. Buy Wendy a dress—make sure it's white!" My son dries his tears while holding onto the money. He roams the streets, searching for a white dress in the middle of the night. When he finally finds one, he ends up getting beaten to death by some drunk hooligans. Even in death, he clutches the bloodied skirt tightly. I burst into tears of despair as I hold onto his body and call my husband over a dozen times. However, he's too busy with his childhood sweetheart's fish. He blocks my number. When he finally calls me back, he sounds icy and angry. "Wendy is still waiting for that dress! Where has the little brat gone to? Can't he even handle such a simple task?"

Three years ago, my husband, my parents, and my adopted sister faked their deaths to test whether I had married into the DeLuca family for love or for power. They cut off my money, took my home, and left me and my son with nothing. Three years later, they came back. My husband stepped out of a black Rolls-Royce, looked down at me, and said, “Evelyn, you passed the test.” What he didn’t know was that my son was already dead. And I was dying too.

My boyfriend Julian is a chess grandmaster, a genius. At sixteen, he became the youngest grandmaster in North American history. I gave him ten years of my life, but a ring was never on the table. But when he reached the pinnacle of his career and won the Grand Slam, he still refused to break the pact he'd made with his family about his career. "According to my plan, I'm not considering marriage or any other form of long-term commitment until all my goals are achieved." I didn't argue with him. I quietly packed his luggage for the World Championship and wished him the best. He had no idea that at the very moment he was lifting the championship trophy with the world watching, I was dragging my failing body to sign my own name on a euthanasia consent form.

The wolves of our pack are different from most. At five years old, every pup must undergo their first shift. But my son Ash was born with a broken wolf. He couldn't complete the shift on his own. The healer said the only way to stabilize him was for my Alpha mate, Kael, to transfer fifteen percent of his power to Ash. Otherwise, Ash would die during the first shift. The Five Packs Alliance summit was approaching. Any loss of strength could put Silver Fang at a disadvantage in negotiations. Kael weighed his options and decided to postpone. He said Ash could hold on through this moon cycle — they'd do it after the summit. I begged him to perform the ritual as soon as possible. Kael gave me his word. But the summit kept getting pushed back. First, Kael's childhood sweetheart Nora said her daughter Lily had a fever and she couldn't manage alone. Kael dropped everything and stayed with them for two days. Then Nora asked to take Lily to the Northern Frost Pack's Bonfire Festival. She said Lily had never had a father, had never attended a single pack celebration, and wanted Kael to go as family. When Ash was losing his breath in my arms, I called Kael. He said: "Lily's first shift ceremony is in three days. I have to stay and guide her. Don't worry — I'll be back as soon as it's over. Ash isn't urgent. Didn't the Elder say there's still a month? Stop overreacting." Three days later, Kael rushed home. All he found was Ash's cold body.

In my fifth year of marriage to Dominic, I'd become the woman all of Chicago knew as the crazy one — the mental case. Jealousy gnawed at me constantly, and my temper frayed easily, my emotions sharp and unsteady, unravelling more with each passing day. So it only made sense when he slid a divorce agreement across the table. "Vivian's pregnant. A Harrington heir can't be born illegitimate, and Mrs. Harrington can't be a lunatic." "Once she's had the baby, I’ll marry you again, and you'll still be Mrs. Harrington." I was forced to sign my name, then locked away in a private sanatorium a hundred miles from the city. The first year, I waited with desperate hope for him to come take me home. Instead, he handed me an ultrasound report. "Twins — a boy and a girl. Vivian's pregnant again. Just wait a little longer." The second year, he had electric fencing installed around the sanatorium grounds. "Harrington Corp is going public. We can't afford any slip-ups right now." By the fifth year, he simply called to tell me to wait one more year. He must have expected me to scream and lose control the way I always did. But this time, I just nodded calmly. "Alright. However long it takes." After all. I didn't have much time left anyway.