Jack Skellington Before He Died Novels & Stories

In my previous life, my husband's female coworker had asked him to drive her to and from work. I wasn't happy about that, but my husband dismissed my concerns, saying, "We live in the same neighborhood, so it's not like I'm going out of my way. Don't be so selfish." Six months later, she became pregnant and tragically miscarried in our car. The doctor was baffled, saying, "How could she have intercourse in the early stages of pregnancy?" Intercourse? I was confused, as her husband was overseas on a business trip. Before I could fully process the situation, both my husband and his female coworker pointed their fingers at me and claimed that I was the driver during the incident. Because of that, when her husband rushed back from abroad, he stabbed me over twenty times in a fit of rage. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day before he first gave her a ride.

After my ex-husband, Lucaro Ricci, has died, he turns into a ghost. Since then, he has stayed by my side as a shadow. Three years later, I walk into the church, hand-in-hand with Carlo Altieri, the oldest son of Lucaro's arch-nemesis. Everyone in the city chews me out for betraying Lucaro. Even Lucaro curses me out for being a scumbag. But I'm the only one who knows the actual reason. I've already made a wish to God in the church that I'll sacrifice my life in exchange for Lucaro's second chance in life.

I gave him my loyalty, my body… even a kidney to save his life. And how did he thank me? He set me on fire.” Sheila thought she understood love. She believed in marriage, in sacrifice, in standing by the man you build a life with. But the man she trusted faked his death, stole her organ, and left her drowning in debt. Then, when she was of no use to him, he burned her alive to erase her from his perfect world. Only, Sheila didn’t die. She woke up in the bruised, broken body of another woman; a coma patient who had been struck by a powerful doctor now living with guilt. He tends to her. He doesn’t know who she truly is. And she’s not here to be saved. She’s here to settle the score. Disguised as a maid in her ex-husband’s house, Sheila keeps her head down and her eyes open. His new mistress is carrying his child—his secretary, the one he always said she was "crazy" for suspecting. The deeper she digs, the darker it gets. Money laundering. Organ trafficking. Even her kidney? Sold. But the past can’t stay buried forever. One night, he sees the birthmark on her thigh, the same one his wife had. The same one that died in the fire. He starts to unravel. She starts to rise. And when she returns to him fully reborn, fearless, and armed with evidence, he’ll finally understand: She’s not the weak wife he silenced. She’s the reckoning he never saw coming.

On New Year's Eve, my own brother slapped me three times. He stood there, full of himself, and spat at me in disgust. "This is my house. Who do you think you are, coming in here and telling me what to do? Get out. You're nothing but bad luck. If you dare stay, I'll hit you again." He seemed to have forgotten something. The house he was living in was the one I had bought for Mom. The jewelry his wife wore was all paid for by me. The money in his children's hands was the generous allowance I had just given them. My face still burning, I looked around at the others. My sister-in-law curled her lips into a mocking smile and let out an icy snort. The two children stared at me with open hostility. Mom, who had called me there tonight for my birthday, stood silently in the corner. Just like always, her eyes were red, yet she said nothing. At that moment, something in me snapped.

(ONGOING) 2022 Working in the underground archive of Hills Inc. a company that took over her father's, Caroline Ann Wright, a beautiful black woman experiences much more than she ever thought she would in her lifetime. ***** Caroline Ann Wright lost her parents in a plane crash when she was just seven years old. Her Aunt took her in because of the fortune her parents had left behind. At eighteen, she was abandoned to live on the streets. Twenty four years old, she works at Hills Inc. a building where her father once ran his company, now taken over by a new one. It didn't matter to her, not as long as she gets paid. Later on, she realizes her job in the underground archive is much more than bookkeeping. Instead, she is to ensure the secret door containing the company's secrets is not breached by outsiders. Fate aligns her meeting with the cocky playboy CEO, Dawn Hills who had lost his mother to cancer, and has quite a strained relationship with his father. At first, he lied about his true position in the company just to know her. In his words, Caroline seems rigid and makes his curiosity swell. Their story breaks into a full blown romance. However, like the saying goes...it is not always sunshine and rainbows.

“For someone who’s soon to be married, you sure look miserable, Mr?” “Creed,” the man replies, his words slurred, almost like he’s absent minded. “Alexander Creed.” He completes. . . . Two days to the wedding. Two days to Alexander’s wedding, his path crosses with a girl who makes him feel like himself. Evangeline. They share a dance at a club, and that dance led to a steamy night together. A steamy night that somehow left lingering emotions. When Alexander decides not to push through with the wedding, his bride-to-be reveals a heartbreaking information. Evangeline’s and Alexander’s meeting was never a coincidence. For Evangeline, it was just a job, but for Alexander, her name has refused to evade his memory. What will happen when she returns three months later with the resulting factor of their affair? Read to find out.

My stepbrother, Terence Norman, had one goal in life: finding a way around the SAT and getting guaranteed admission. To pull it off, he deliberately staged an accident on the first day of the SAT, sending the daughter of the richest family in the country over the side of a bridge. The girl nearly drowned. Terence jumped into the river pretending to be the hero, even missing the SAT because of it. Not only did I not stop him, but I even contacted the media myself and made sure the story spread everywhere. Because in my previous life, after overhearing Terence's plan, I tried to talk him out of it. I told him the Lawsons might be the richest family around, but there was no way they could change SAT policy. That, and the Lawsons hated being manipulated more than anything. Terence listened to me. When the scores came out, he ended up dead last in the school. On the surface, he acted like he had accepted his fate. During the celebration for college admissions, he stabbed me to death. His face twisted with rage as he screamed at me. "If you hadn't stopped me, I would've saved the Lawson heiress and become her hero! They would've paid to get me admitted somewhere for sure. And maybe Mr. Lawson would've seen what a good person I was and made me his son-in-law! You ruined my life!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the SAT. This time, I wanted to see what would happen after Terence nearly killed Kendall Lawson, the girl most likely to become the top SAT scorer.

Trapped in a sweltering 40-degree sauna room, I overheard my older brothers talking outside. My second-oldest brother, Sean Lambert, remarked, "This kid is too stubborn. We need to teach her a lesson." My third-oldest brother, Jacob Lambert, replied, "The temperature has been adjusted. She won't die." I was locked up alone for 72 hours. It was their way of punishing me because of my stepsister. Yet, they were the ones who used to love me the most. My father was a business tycoon, my eldest brother, Axel Lambert, was skilled in finance, Sean was a legal expert, and Jacob was a medical prodigy. My mother passed away after fulfilling her mission, leaving these four men to look after me. They once showered me with love like I was their precious gem, until I turned five. That's when my stepmother and her daughter came into the picture, and I was banished to the housekeeper's room. Their attention shifted entirely to my stepsister. Whenever she cried, my father would bring out the punishment box for me to draw lots. 72 hours passed, but no one came to open the door. Before I blacked out, a few lines of small text popped up before my eyes: [The minor character is about to die. Once she dies, she can be reunited with her mother.]

My billionaire dad chooses a husband for me. People claim that Sebastian Lambert is a fine gentleman who's absolutely in awe of me. He seems easy enough to deal with, so I agree to the marriage. The wedding is held at the biggest hotel my family owns. On the big day, as I push open the doors in my wedding dress, a bucket of foul-smelling blood comes crashing down on me. The scene inside is even more horrifying. What was supposed to be a pure and romantic ceremony is now decorated with giant spiders and cockroaches. Grotesque clown faces grin at me from the walls. At the altar, there's a black coffin. Sebastian's adoptive sister, Ruth Lambert, strolls over with a group of people. She covers her mouth in fake surprise as she remarks, "Oh my, Claudia, you look like a pathetic mutt right now!" Laughter erupts around me. Holding my anger back, I coldly reply, "All of you, get out." She crosses her arms, arrogantly looking down at me as if she's on some pedestal. "Come on, Claudia. Seb personally asked me to surprise you. I put in a lot of effort to decorate your little wedding. You're telling me to get out? I don't even get a 'thank you'? Do you need me to teach you some manners?" She signals to the people next to her, and two of them step forward, trying to force me to my knees. Stunned for a few seconds, I pull out my phone and call Sebastian. "Is this the so-called surprise you had your sister prepare for me? Forcing me to kneel before her?"

My name is Elena, and I died at twenty-two. My parents forced me to take my foster sister’s place and traded me for a territorial alliance. My mate was the most volatile heir of the wolf packs. Beaten bloody and fading fast, I made my eighth call for help. At my adopted sister Seraphina’s birthday party, she played the recording of my final, groveling plea—and laughed. My parents listened to those desperate calls with nothing but irritation, dismissing each one as theatrics, an inconvenience unworthy of their time. My brother snarled over the phone, “Then just die already!” So I did. In the end, it was my three-year-old daughter who made the final call—using her smartwatch to video my mother, live-streaming the freezer where my severed head lay. Now, my spirit watches from above as they all, one by one, begin to unravel.