Left Ear Ringing Superstition Meaning Novels & Stories

The SAT results have been released, and my younger brother, Alvin Bellamy, got a score of 1400. To celebrate his achievement, I set aside my usual frugal habits and throw him a party. Amid the lively cheer, he suddenly says, "Sandy, I'm legally an adult now. It's time for you to give me Mom's life insurance payout, yeah?" I shake my head in response, but just as I'm about to explain why, he flies off the handle. "I've had enough of the pressure of studying in this country! I didn't even bother applying to any colleges, and the application deadlines have closed, so I'll be stuck attending a community college. If you don't want to ruin my future, you have to give me the money so I can study abroad instead!" Feeling disappointed and disheartened, I transfer Alvin 5,000 dollars on the spot. However, he assumes I'm keeping the lion's share of the money to myself. Not only does he threaten me in front of everyone, but he even teams up with our biological father, who cheated on our mother many years ago, to spread lies about me. "You've been hoarding all of our dead mom's life insurance payout, living it up this whole time while refusing to give any of the money to me, your own brother! What did I do to deserve a sister as vicious as you?" Looking right into the eyes of the nasty ingrate I've doted on for over a decade now, I scoff and throw out a pile of invoices. "Where do you think the money that's been spent on you all these years came from? In fact, if we're going to settle the score properly, you owe me 580 grand."

Before I was wheeled into surgery, the nurse kept urging me to call a family member. At last, a delivery runner rushed into my ward, out of breath. "Hello, Ms. Wexler. Mr. Adrian Prescott placed an order for me to accompany you through surgery in Ward 907." My phone buzzed twice with a new notification. I lowered my head and saw Sophie Lane's latest post. "Caught a cold and sounded a little stuffy, and Mr. Prescott noticed right away. He insisted on taking me to the doctor and even made ginger tea for me. So spicy, but so sweet." The picture showed a tall, lean man with his shirt sleeves rolled up, pouring ginger tea from a saucepan into a thermos. His eyes were focused and gentle. I stared at the photo in a daze. I had been hospitalized for five days. My husband of five years, Adrian Prescott, had never visited once. He said he was busy with work. But once again, I saw him in Sophie Lane's social media post. That careful, gentle Adrian Prescott, the man who knew exactly how to love someone. Before I was pushed into the operating room, I submitted my resignation and made one phone call. "Mr. Powell, please print the divorce agreement."

On my wedding day, the first love of my boyfriend appeared and declared she wanted my place at the altar. Sobbing theatrically, she pleaded, "Claire, I’m seriously ill. You have your whole life to be with Evan. Just let me have this wedding." And my boyfriend backed her up without hesitation. "Claire, you’re already pregnant with my child, and we’ve signed the marriage papers. You’ve got everything you need. This wedding? It doesn’t matter." The guests gawked, while I stood there as the punchline of their jokes. But instead of causing a scene, I kept my composure. That same day, I booked an abortion and looked his first love straight in the eye with a smile. "Sure, take the wedding, and take him too. He’s all yours."

Three years after my family committed me to a psychiatric hospital, I finally managed to escape. But my freedom didn't mean much, not when the cancer had already metastasized. Knowing my days were numbered, I just wanted one decent meal. I used the pocket change I'd scraped together from collecting recycling to buy an ice cream cone—something I had never been allowed to try before. I stood on the street, happily enjoying it, when a metal chain suddenly whipped across my face. "Chantal is seriously ill, and you have the nerve to stand here enjoying yourself? I knew you always wanted her dead." It was my mother, whom I hadn't seen in years. She screamed hysterically, swinging the heavy metal strap of her designer purse and leaving bloody welts across my cheeks. Losing her mind completely, she grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the wall. My brother arrived just in time to watch coldly. With a sneer, he ordered his bodyguards to pin me down to the pavement. "Looks like we've been letting you live way too comfortably," he mocked. "Splurging on ice cream while Chantal suffers? Must be nice! But your timing is perfect. She needs a marrow transplant. "You ruined her life, and this is your only shot at redemption. If you're a match, I'll allow you back into this family. Isn't that what you used to beg us for?" Tears silently slipped down my face. It was all too late; the cancer cells were already everywhere in my body. I was going to die very soon.

Four months before my mating ceremony with Alpha Marcus, his mother pulled me aside with that familiar look of disdain. "You're just a common Omega who don't understand proper pack etiquette. How can you possibly stand beside my son as Luna?" Her solution? Ship me off to some specialized Luna training academy to learn "proper manners." Marcus wrapped his arms around me that night, his breath warm against my ear. "It's all for our future, Sylvia. Trust me." My heart melted. Of course I trusted him. I would have done anything for him. I never imagined that the so-called Luna Etiquette Academy was nothing but a torture chamber designed to break female wolves. Four months of hell. Four months of having twisted ideologies beaten into me: "Lunas must submit to Alphas." Question anything, and silver whips would tear your skin apart. I lost my ability to shift completely. When I finally escaped that nightmare, I discovered the horrifying truth. Marcus hadn't sent me there to better myself. He'd sent me there to get me out of the way—so I couldn't interfere with his childhood sweetheart Victoria's mating ceremony. But when I exposed the academy's brutal reality at that very ceremony, when Marcus finally learned what he'd put me through, the powerful Alpha completely lost his mind.

Wade Cox's fiancée, Cecilia Hart, who should have been dead for seven years, suddenly comes back to life. When I go to find him, I discover that they are discussing marriage. Nestled in Wade's arms, Cecilia points at me as I stand at the back of the crowd. She asks, "Who is she, Wade?" Without hesitation, he answers, "She's just the host for the wedding." I clutch my chest, feeling the warning signs of a heart attack. But before I can question him, the bodyguards escort me out of the living room. Laughter and cheerful conversation continue inside. I stand outside, my hands and feet icy cold, consumed by pain. Two hours later, Wade finally comes out, looking confident and full of energy. The moment he sees the state I'm in, he hurriedly wraps me in his coat. He explains, "Cecilia has forgotten everything except that I'm her fiance. The doctors say any emotional shock could drive her to take her own life. The wedding isn't real. It's just to make her happy. The one I love has always been you." I can no longer hold on at that point—I pass out. Wade panics as he carries me to the car. Even his voice is trembling as he assures me. "Don't be afraid, Stella. We've already found a compatible heart donor. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm taking you to the best hospital right now." He has just put me into the passenger seat when he sees Cecilia standing nearby with tears in her eyes. "Wade, are you abandoning me?" she asks sadly. It takes him only a second to make his choice. One finger at a time, he pries my hand from his. Then, he closes the car door. After that, Wade never appears before me again. Instead, he sends me a message, saying, "Great news, Stella. The surgery was a success! Cecilia can't handle any emotional stress right now. Can you go away and lie low for three months? After that, we'll spend the rest of our lives together." The promises are beautiful, but he doesn't know the truth. The surgery isn't successful at all, and three months is far too long. I don't have that much time left.

She gave him seven years of love, sacrifice, and a body broken by hope, yet never a child. Ava, Luna of the Nightfall Pack, spent her marriage desperately trying to conceive for Alpha Lucas Dan, enduring treatments, rituals, and silent humiliation as her body failed him over and over again. But what shattered her more than infertility was the truth she was never meant to hear, Lucas had never wanted a child with her at all. When a devastating fire takes everything, Ava dies… only to open her eyes back in the past. Seven years earlier. On the very night everything began to fall apart. This time, she watches Lucas choose another woman without hesitation, saving his long-lost love while leaving Ava behind in the flames. And in that moment, she understands that he has also been reborn, and this time he chose differently. So she lets go. But fate is not done with her yet. When a cold, mysterious firefighter pulls her from the fire, something inside her awakens, something stronger than heartbreak, stronger than betrayal. Because in this life, Ava will no longer be the woman who begs to be chosen. She will be the one who chooses herself. And maybe… the one who finally discovers what true fate feels like.

I have been in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend, Eugene Walsh, for three years. I finally have enough leave time to visit him after working overtime for an entire month. But when I arrive, I can't reach him. I wait alone in an unfamiliar city for ten full hours before he finally replies. When the call connects, my best friend, Haley Woodward, greets me with a cheerful laugh. "Surprise! I explored Oakhaven for you in advance. It's so much fun! Eugene is an amazing tour guide!" She chatters nonstop about all the fun they've had, as if she never notices the 30 missed calls displayed on Eugene's phone. I listen quietly. Only when she says she's cold does Eugene finally take the phone from her and say to me, "I'll take her back to the hotel first. Wait for me a little while more." The moment he is done speaking, I ask, "Do you know how long I've been waiting?" Eugene pauses for a second before saying icily, "She's your best friend. Do you really have to compete with her over this?" The unmistakable accusation drains away any desire I have to keep talking. I hung up. Just then, the cab that will take me back to Centuria arrives. The driver takes one look at me and can't help but comment, "Miss, it's already past midnight. This area isn't very safe. How can your family leave you here all alone?" I look down at my shoes that are soaked through by snow and slush. In a soft voice, I say, "Yeah." Then, I smile and add, "They won't. Not anymore."

After I was reborn, when Blake's childhood sweetheart Catherine cut a lock of my hair during a party dare — again — I didn't do what I did in my past life. I didn't shear off all her hair in front of everyone and turn her into a bald wolf. I didn't lose control and storm into the Council of Elders when Blake defended her, threatening to sever our mate bond. Instead, I calmly removed the Luna's crown from my head and placed it on Catherine's. "The crown's hers now. Have fun with her." I put on my coat and walked out of the estate without looking back. It wasn't that I wanted to bow to Catherine. But in my past life, after I severed the bond with Blake, things went horribly wrong. He threw me into a cell made of pure silver, like I was some irredeemable criminal, and left me there while the metal scorched my skin day and night. When I finally escaped, I was poisoned by a witch from a rival pack. Dying from the pain, I abandoned every shred of my dignity and crawled to the doors of the Temple of the Moon Goddess, begging him to let the witch give me the antidote. He was kissing Catherine. He didn't even tell his guards to let me in. I died from the poison — one day before my father, the Alpha King, came to find me. I refused to meet that fate again. So I was done with Blake.

I was bleeding out in a corner after a hit from a rival family. My husband, Dante—the Torrino family’s underboss—was in his car, holding his best friend's little sister. He gave me one cold look and said, "Leave her. She's a nobody." Later, after someone else saved me, I walked home, soaked in my own blood. I found Dante cradling Seraphina, fussing over her. All she had was a scraped knee. The blood covering my clothes? He didn't even see it. I just watched. Said nothing. Then I pulled out my phone and called my mother. "Mom, I need to come home."