Karma Seal Novels & Stories

In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt. All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables. The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me. I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer. He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter. Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone. A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster. The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs. The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie. Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled." Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere. But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar. His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead. "This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom. "The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!" When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Right in the middle of the fire and the blood. This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room. And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.

My husband worked overtime in the studio and suffered from an explosion. His body was blown to pieces. When my bestie frantically told me the news, I just nodded calmly. She called and texted me nonstop. She urged me to go to the site to recognize my husband's body. I blacklisted her and bought a ticket to go abroad. In my previous life, when I heard the news, I stopped at nothing and rushed to my husband's studio. However, I only saw my husband's cold ashes. My bestie said that my husband had poured out his troubles to her once. My husband said that I had run up a mountainous debt for gambling. He wanted a divorce, but I threatened him that he would have a sky-high debt if he divorced me. Even my mother cried and accused me of often going to the casino and taking men home at midnight. But none of this was true. I treated my husband very well; just a few days ago, I gave him a million-dollar watch as a gift. And I had never done anything related to gambling. Facing their accusation, I chose to call the police to prove my innocence. However, the police discovered my diamond necklace at the explosion site, where forensic experts also found my fingerprints. I failed to prove my innocence and became the heinous murderer who killed my husband. My mother took me to court for justice and took over my business empire. In jail, I was retaliated and died. When I opened my eyes again, I regained my life on the day when my husband suffered from the explosion.

I came back to life. The first thing I did was sever the Mate Bond with Alpha Asher. At his coronation. In front of thousands. Last lifetime, he publicly accused me of impersonating his mate in front of everyone, saying I didn't carry a Mate's sweetness but reeked of Wolfsbane that made him sick. For Elena, his first love, he sent me to the black market where they stripped away my wolf. Without my wolf, I died in a rogue attack shortly after. This lifetime, when he furrows his brow and tells me to get out of his sight, I don't shed a single tear. I just turn and leave. He says my existence makes Elena unhappy, so I move to the border cottage. He says he doesn't want to live in the same Pack with me, so I submit my transfer application. I thrive in the neighboring Pack and meet a powerful wolf with a hidden identity. When we appear hand-in-hand at the Northern Alliance Summit, Alpha Asher loses control. He catches my scent,another male's mark on my skin,and his sanity shatters. He blocks my path, a low growl rumbling from his chest. "Wash that male's scent off you, Rhea." "Weren't you disgusted by me?" I smile and step back. "Now I belong to someone else, and suddenly I smell good to you?"

After the War of the Gods, Olympus forged a new pact with the last of the Titans. From then on, the mortal realm was ruled by demigods. Those who carried the blood of the gods within them. Once a century, Olympus held the Sacred Marriage. The twelve ruling gods would choose mortal noblewomen as brides. Their goal: to sire heirs with divine cores. The rule was simple: whoever birthed a demigod first would see her husband crowned the next High Councilor of the Gods. In my past life, I married Deimos, the son of Ares, a man renowned for his fierce devotion. Soon after, I gave him a son—a demigod brimming with raw power. A prophecy declared our boy would one day rule Olympus, and Deimos rode that promise to absolute power. Meanwhile, my sister Evadne, blinded by the beauty of the Sun clan, insisted on marrying Lucian, Apollo's playboy heir. But Lucian's philandering left her with more than a broken heart. He gave her a divine blight, a curse that left her barren. She blamed me for it. She hated me with every fiber of her being. On the very night I was crowned Queen of the Gods, she set the holy temple ablaze, burning me and my son alive. Then I opened my eyes. I was back on the day of the Sacred Marriage. Evadne had already broken into the temple and climbed into Deimos's bed. I knew it right then. She had been reborn, too. But she didn't know the truth. The blood of the War God is violent. Deimos wasn't a prize to be won. He was a monster in disguise.

The financially disadvantaged student I was sponsoring secretly went behind my back and sold my small island, which was worth two billion dollars. I was furious and confronted her, but she publicly slandered me in front of the entire school. She exclaimed, "I saw you doing unspeakable things with eighteen men on that island! You're still young and you can't keep making mistakes like this. I sold the island for your own good!" I was so enraged that I kicked her to the ground and prepared to call the police, but my brother stopped me. He and my fiancé stood in front of the student, protecting her. They accused me of being violent and in need of medical treatment. Before I could resist, they joined forces and threw me into a psychiatric hospital, where I died that night from food poisoning. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I discovered the island had been sold.

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

My mother despised me because I was the unintended consequence of a one-night stand. She poured all her love and attention into her students, treating them as if they were her own flesh and blood. One day, when her favourite pupil confessed his feelings for me, she flew into a rage. She slapped me hard across the face and called me a whore. Years later, as Alzheimer's clouded her mind, she forgot I even existed, yet still remembered every single one of her precious students. The irony was that not one of them ever came to visit her in the nursing home. They all loathed her just as much as I did.

My husband’s first love and I were kidnapped at the same time. As a professional negotiator, my husband rushed to the scene as soon as possible to save us. When the kidnappers agreed to release one hostage, he chose to let them keep me to protect her. I knelt on the ground, desperately begging him to save me first, but his face was expressionless. “Tammy is still a virgin. If she’s raped, she won’t be able to handle it.” “You’re different. You’re already married to me. Even if something happens to you, I won’t hold it against you.” He shoved me toward the kidnappers. He probably didn’t know I was three months pregnant, and he was about to become a father.

I died beneath the Ferris wheel. The killer took a photo of the Ferris wheel and sent it to my mother. 'Mom, I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you too,' wrote the killer. In my mother's voice message, her tone was filled with hatred as she replied, "How dare you ask to ride the Ferris wheel with me when you killed your own sister? Why won't you just die?!" As she wished, I was dead. However, what she didn't know was that the one who killed me was my so-called dead sister.

While visiting a property development with my fiancé to buy our first home, I ran into a two-faced real estate agent.   She showered my fiancé with compliments, praising him for being young and successful enough to afford a Rolls-Royce.   Then, she suggested I was a fake socialite with a knockoff designer bag, implying that I was just using my charms to snag a free house.   When she found out the property was meant to be a marital home, her voice grew loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.   “I just think the sugar daddy who bought you those two properties last time treated you pretty well!” “Oh, wait. Miss Gwen, don’t you have several sugar daddies? Do they all know about each other?”   I chuckled. What she didn’t know was that my “sugar daddies” were my godfathers and I really was a socialite.   The kicker, though, was that my so-called wealthy fiancé wasn’t rich at all. In fact, he was just a scholarship student I had been financially supporting!