How To Get A Story Published Novels & Stories

The night I spent with him was a mistake I paid for with everything I had. My family. My name. My son. He gave me money and a contract and told me to disappear. So I did. I built a quiet life from the wreckage he left behind and I never looked back. Until the job offer came. Until I walked into that office and saw his face staring back at me. He doesn’t remember me. Not my name, not my face, not what he took from me. But I remember everything. And I am not the same woman he paid off four years ago.

My best friend, Cecilia Vick, "loved" me so much she hooked up with my husband, Luther Boyd, in the pajamas I bought her. Then sent me the video. [Did you enjoy it?] I left her on read. After watching that trash-fire masterpiece, I posted it online for twenty bucks. Sharing is caring, right? Then I put my phone on airplane mode and headed into the mountains with my team for fieldwork. A week later, I turned my signal back on. Boom. 999+ messages. Then Cecilia called. She was full-on spiraling. "I'm begging you! Delete the video. Now!"

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my wife left me for the man she could never forget. "Winston's raising a child on his own. You know that being a single father isn't easy. Besides, you're both men, can't you cut him some slack?" Not only was I willing to "cut him some slack," but I was also willing to step aside completely. I was willing to be the bigger man so the two of them could raise that child together. I packed my things and left, taking the initiative to apply for an overseas program in architecture. To my confusion, she came running to me, crying and begging me not to go. Still, it was too little, too late.

The autumn break has just ended when a call arrives from school. "Ms. Watson, your daughter failed to secure a scholarship and bullied her classmate in retaliation. Can you please come to school?" When I rush over, I find Lila Keats bound to a trash can, her hair drenched in sewage, and her mouth sealed with duct tape. Meanwhile, the so-called victim merely has had two strands of hair pulled out. After some querying, I discover that Melody Caldwell is jealous of Lila's achievements and has been waiting for an opportunity to strike. When I demand an apology, Vanessa Morrison flies into a rage. "You're lowly trash without a proper family! My daughter teaching her a lesson is the greatest honor you can obtain in this life! "Expel her immediately! My husband works in the Education Bureau! Beg for mercy, or she can forget about taking the college entrance exam!" That arrogant woman is convinced that Lila and I will beg for forgiveness after being expelled. Unfortunately, she has chosen to mess with the wrong person. Lila's grandfather is a nuclear weapons expert. Her true origins have been concealed for her safety since her whole family works for classified operations. I immediately call the Intelligence Agency. "Mr. Keats' granddaughter was bullied severely at school. Send someone here to deal with this now!"

The lack of love and the family's ruin seems to be the best combination to love again. In the end, Mia doesn't know who to trust, but she alone is enough to care for the ones she loves.

I, Darlene Cooley, have an ability. Whenever I touch an object, I can see the scenes it has experienced over the past day. I've been married for five years. Every time I help my husband, Bernard Hoffman, tidy up his suits or organize his briefcase, what I see are conference rooms, whiteboards, and workstations. Once in a while, I appear in those scenes. He'll be secretly reading my messages under his desk, the corners of his mouth lifting unconsciously. Bernard is so gentle that it feels almost unreal. In winter, he places my slippers by the heater to warm them up. No matter how busy his business trips are, he video calls me right on time. When I casually mention I feel like eating caramel popcorn, he drives halfway across the city to stand in line for it. My friends all say I'm blessed, and I feel the same way. That is, until yesterday, when he comes back from a trip. I go to help him unpack, and the moment I touch that gray cashmere sweater, a flood of images rushes in. Bernard is sitting across from a short-haired woman. Her eyes are bright, and a shallow dimple appears when she smiles. He listens to her speak, earnest and focused, with his head tilted slightly to one side. A faint smile lingers at the corner of his mouth. It's been a long time since he has listened to me speak like that. The vision ends. I crouch in front of the suitcase, my hand still resting on the cashmere sweater, unable to snap out of it for a long while. Then, I stand up and walk over to the cabinet, where I pull out my own suitcase.

"He told me to run. I didn’t listen. Now I can’t escape him… or the curse." On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Elena Blackthorne should be celebrating the moment every werewolf dreams of — finding her fated mate. But when the bond snaps and she's cruelly rejected in front of her entire pack, her world shatters. Wounded, ashamed, and desperate to feel anything but pain, Elena flees into the forest... and collides with something older than myth. Silas Blackmoor is a rogue with silver eyes, a violent past, and a soul marked by the same bloodline curse Elena unknowingly carries. When her mate rejects her, the Moon Goddess grants her a second chance — and that chance is Silas, the one wolf every pack fears. Now bound to a stranger with a dangerous legacy, Elena is thrust into a world of secrets, ancient rivalries, and a prophecy soaked in blood. The deeper she falls for Silas, the more she begins to question everything she was raised to believe — about her pack, her past, and herself. But love may not be enough to save them. Because some fates were written to burn.

After failing to win the hearts of the first three targets, I decide to get engaged to Natalia Stone, the paralyzed heiress of the Stone family. Soon, I use all of my points just to swap for Natalia's ability to stand up once again. But the first thing Natalie does after recovering from her paralysis is to cancel the engagement with me. After that, she gives Irving Schmidt the grandest and most eye-catching wedding that will take place on the cruise. At the wedding venue, all four of my targets stare at Irving with love and adoration in their eyes. Suddenly, I feel like going home, so I jump into the sea without hesitation. But when my body plunges into the sea, four silhouettes can be seen rushing toward me. Regret and fear are written on their faces.

Skylar a young teen who has grown up without her father receives a package from him and finds herself being dragged into his world of assassins in order to get revenge on the people who took him away from her. Her journey of revenge brings her to the doorstep of the Takhon twins, who both fall head over heels for her, not knowing who she is. The twins set out to uncover who their new love interest really is and find out that even their world as Yakuza son's is mild compared to the twisted life of Skylars. Skylars fathers best friend finds out about her and is tasked with her assassination. She turns to the only people she knows she can trust and they are the Takhon twins. In doing so, will she fall just as madly in love with them as they are with her? Will they manage to save her from the inticate web of deceit that she has found herself in? And if they do, will they be able to keep her safe, after all she is daddy's girl and stubbornness runs in her genes.

***The cover is taken from Google*** I wince when my bangles dig into my skin,forcing a smile,hoping my boredom didn't show in my movements. I inwardly roll my eyes when my father makes introductions. What lame crap. They obviously know each other. Why make intros? I hiss when my sister steps on my foot,making me looking up. I glance at a middle aged couple, freezing when I made eye contact with an all too familiar grinning face, my vision landing next to her, hoping it was just a bad dream, my heart stopping and finally turning into an icicle when I stared into eyes of the most unexpected person, the person looking back at me, but not quite acknowledging me.