Lil Xan Instagram Novels & Stories

After our eighty-eighth canceled wedding, I called my business partner. "I'm taking the Haviana market project." There was a beat of stunned silence. "Seriously? That's ten years overseas. You just got married—well, weren't you? Does your husband even know? What about your parents? You always said staying close to them was everything." I glanced around the empty church and let out a sharp laugh. "There was no wedding. No husband. And my parents? They've got Cindy. That's all they need." Another pause. "Alright. Pack your bags. You leave tomorrow." After the call, I ran a hand down my wedding dress. One last tear slipped out, quiet and pointless. Cindy had another "episode" today. Claimed she'd off herself. Andrew canceled—again. I'd looked at him, drained. "It's the eighty-eighth time." He dropped his head, guilt all over him. "Just a little more time, Viv. She's been off since the accident. I'm scared she'll actually do it. I swear, I'll talk to her. For real this time. Then we'll get married. Promise." My parents didn't hesitate. "Vivian, let Andrew go. If Cindy hadn't gotten kidnapped trying to save you, she wouldn't have these breakdowns. Are you really putting a wedding over your sister's life?" "How could you be so selfish?" I'd heard it all before. Used to fight it. Not this time. If neither my fiancé nor my parents wanted me around, then fine. I'd leave.

In the tenth year of my marriage to a genius pianist, I came down with a strange illness. A month ago, my husband missed my birthday party to care for his ailing sister-in-law. Night after night, I had waited for him to return home. But that night I forgot to wait at all and went to bed early. Half a month ago, he attended an important performance with his sister-in-law. I had always been petty and prone to jealousy, yet this time I didn't get angry. I simply went home in silence. Three days ago, I fell seriously ill with a burning fever. My husband rushed back from out of town in a panic—but only to tend to his sister-in-law, whose hand had been scalded. When we ran into each other at the hospital, I was strangely calm. I, who used to be fiercely jealous, felt nothing at all. I forgot the promise we had made to grow old together. I even forgot how he once fretted over me for days when I'd scraped a bit of skin. It wasn't until he said he wanted to bring his sister-in-law home and take care of her for the rest of his life that I—my memories riddled with holes—summoned the system at last. "I want to go home."

"Mr. Owl you're like a sun that shine brightly to everyone, people can see and feel it but they can not touch it no matter what unless they're not afraid getting themselves burn. With such a distinguished family, status and power that you own it's easier to kill me with a lil touch as if to crush an ant. I have no reason not to be afraid of you."

Max Siegel loved me deeply and promised me the grandest wedding anyone had ever seen. However, just three days before the big day, everything changed. The custom-made wedding dress he'd ordered for me was given to his stepsister, Fawn Lewis, and instead, he handed me a pill—one that could erase memories. “Kate,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, but Fawn has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She doesn’t have long. Her last wish is to marry me. I can’t have her leave this world with regrets. “This pill will make you forget everything about us for a few days. But don’t worry. After the wedding is over, I’ll give you the antidote, and you’ll remember everything again. Then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Without hesitation, I took the pill and swallowed it. However, what he didn’t know was that I developed that drug myself, and there was no antidote. Three days from now, I would forget the man I loved most—him. And once that happens, there’s no turning back and no chance to start over.

My mate, Xander Smith, falls into the Red Moon pack's fire trap when he's out. I'm burned, heavily injured, and rendered unconscious while saving him. When I blearily come to in the clinic, I hear him tell the healer to kill my wolf. "Are you sure? Ophelia bore your heir. How can you hurt her wolf?" The healer's hand trembles as he clutches a silver needle. He's unwilling to be so cruel to me. However, Xander says firmly, "Dahlia is back, and I want her to attend the appointment ceremony as the mother of my heir. The only way to stop Ophelia from fighting Dahlia for this is by making her as weak as an Omega. "Dahlia has already been banished from the Red Moon pack after losing her mate. I can't let the werewolves in the New Moon pack scorn her. As for Ophelia… she'll forever be my Luna." I clench my fists and squeeze my eyes shut. My love for him dies as my wolf does. Since Xander insists on giving another woman a place in his life, it's time for me to take my leave.

Braving a downpour, I delivered a lavish food order, anticipating the hefty commission and a $100 tip. Laughter suddenly echoed from the villa. Someone started, "He really believes your car crash left you paralyzed? He's hustling deliveries to support you and even pawned his dad's heirloom?" Another said, "What if he discovers you're actually a billionaire heiress, just playing poor? He'd probably break down in tears." Jessica Stark toyed with her wine glass. "Guys like him are wired to serve, especially since he always outshone Mark in our school days. This is his comeuppance." I stood in the relentless rain, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. Turned out, her two-year charade of paralysis was merely to avenge her childhood sweetheart. Her broken legs, deceased parents, and helpless tears were all meticulously crafted lies. Disillusioned, I dialed my estranged tycoon mother. "You win. I'll go through with the arranged marriage."

The underprivileged student I've been sponsoring suddenly shows up at my birthday party, swaggering in and waving around a pregnancy report. "Look—Pheebs is pregnant with my baby! You'd better be smart and divorce her already!" I point at the report, stunned and confused. "Are you sure it's Phoebe who's pregnant with your child?" Victor Thompson, my beneficiary, smirks proudly as he fiddles with the pregnancy report. "Duh! We conceived the baby last month on our cruise trip!" The entire room falls into a stunned silence. My ex-wife, Phoebe Jackman, has been dead for three years.

Before my grandmother passed away, she set up a will for the kids to inherit her pasta shop. My younger brother, Richard Lane, immediately pushed the responsibility to me so that he could take up a job offer that paid $4,000 a month. No one could have expected a fire to break out at the hotel during one of his trips, causing his entire face to be burned off. Meanwhile, things went great for me after I took over the shop. I fell in love with a billionaire's daughter and found my happily ever after with her. My younger brother poisoned me in a fit of jealousy. After we were sent back in time, my brother immediately chomped at the bit to take over the shop before I could do anything. I scoffed as I rolled my eyes. He was digging his own grave.

On the day my sight returned, our family doctor, Anna Leone, stood right in front of me and mouthed to my husband, Don Marco Vitale, "Double the lubricant tonight. I promise it'll send you straight to heaven, my Don." Marco pressed a gentle kiss to my eyes. Then he turned away and replied with the same silent lip movements, "You little tease. That mouth of yours—and the one below—I'm crazy about them both." The two of them exchanged a knowing smile, convinced their secret was flawless. What they didn't know was that not only had my vision fully recovered—I was also fluent in lip-reading. My gaze drifted to the bottle of lubricant sitting brazenly in the wall cabinet. I said nothing. Instead, I quietly sent a single text message: [Papa, I've decided to come home.] In three days, I would vanish completely. All I would leave behind for them would be the hollowed-out fortune of billions—and that bottle of "lubricant" I had replaced with high-strength industrial superglue.

Five years after we broke up, my ex bought the company I worked for and suddenly became my direct boss. The project plan I'd stayed up nights working on—nearly killing myself to finish—was handed to someone else without a word. My teammates were split apart, and I became his go-to example when he wanted to tear someone down. I was the laughingstock of the office. Shawn Lubbard said it was the price I had to pay for betraying him. Finally, I asked him what it would take for him to leave me alone. His reply? "Only if you die." Feeling crushed, I drove a knife into my chest right in front of him. Maybe this terrible life should have ended long ago.