Insane Craft の小説・ストーリー

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

I fall in love with my father's friend, an Alpha 20 years my senior. I'm only eight when I first meet him. It happens at a banquet for the upper echelons of the werewolf pack. My father brings me with him. Layson Romanov instantly catches my eye. He stands tall at six feet and two inches, and his toned figure shows through his black suit. He exudes a natural dominance. My father introduces me to him, and he caresses my hair with a smile. Then, he gives me a pink dress adorned with pearls and pink diamonds. "You'll look beautiful when you're old enough to wear this." Back then, I didn't understand what he meant. … Ten years later, I put on that dress and enter his room. He's drugged after falling into someone's trap, and his wolf is out of control. His usually calm eyes are filled with mania. I know that he'll go insane—even lose his life—if he doesn't have an antidote. So, I give him my pure, untainted body. I become his antidote. We later marry, and he loves me as my father would've done. However, when I'm four months pregnant, I discover that his personal secretary, Grace Parker, is also pregnant. "I'm sorry to have put you through this, Grace. Everyone knows I only married Charlotte out of duty. I'll make sure our child is my only heir," he says. It all makes sense now—no wonder Layson refused to mark me despite us being married. Grace is the one he loves. I'm heartbroken. I ingest a large amount of wolfsbane, leading to a miscarriage. I ultimately die of blood loss. Intense regret washes over me as I breathe my last breath. When I open my eyes again, I find that I've been reborn. I'm taken back to the day Layson is drugged…