Literary Realism

Enamored with her professor, freshman college student Alex, couldn't deny the shift in the air when she finally saw the renowned professor Zane Orion in the flesh. This illicit attraction had a history, as she was already familiar with his literary works, him being the object of her fantasies and before being accepted into NYU. Secretly, she had chosen NYU over her hometown of Boston, leaving behind her family and all that was familiar, just to attend his class in New York. Fifteen years, her senior, Zane, was a divorced father and also her professor and mentor. Despite the college's strict rules against student-teacher relationships, their forbidden connection could not be ignored, not in his class and when they were alone in a room. His dark, piercing gaze would make her heart race and her legs tremble, drenched and desperate for his touch, his mouth on her, to teach her more than just in class. Oh. There's something about Alex that snap something within professor Zane, the way his body reacts furiously at the sight of her, his possessive and feral nature about to be exposed, the moment Alex had walked into his class, Professor Zane knew she's going to be more than just his student, he would break down her already well crafted wall the moment he finds himself buried deeply in between her legs.

My brother-in-law started making a fuss about wanting to spend Christmas vacation at the beach, so I decided we'd make it a family trip. When my husband's adoptive sister got wind of it, she insisted on tagging along with her kid. Without a second thought, my husband went ahead and booked plane tickets for everyone—except me. He expected me to drive there with all the luggage. I thought at least someone in the family would speak up for me, but no, they all sided with him. Fine. If that's how they want it, then we'll go our separate ways—what's theirs is theirs, and what's mine is mine. But the moment I took that stance, the whole family suddenly started panicking…

Ever since I got pregnant, my husband hadn’t touched me. However, to my embarrassment, my body had only grown more sensitive. Every night, I would find myself craving for touch, unable to stop my mind from wandering to all kinds of fantasies, that was until the night a masked man broke into my home.

Everyone loved my older sister. When the novel I wrote shot to popularity, she got jealous and suddenly proclaimed that she wanted to be a popular author too. My older brother, who was the editor-in-chief, immediately announced that I plagiarized my sister's story at my book signing and she ended up becoming the genius author while I got cyberbullied so much that I was too scared to leave the house. After I got married to a young heir from high society and lived a happy life, my sister told me that she had a crush on him for years and wanted to be his bride at least once in her lifetime. He did not even think twice about divorcing me and holding the wedding of the century with my sister. My family was afraid that I would sabotage their relationship, so they made me leave the country. However, my sister did not think that I was miserable enough. She came for me outside the country and pushed me down the stairs. I was lying in a pool of blood when my mother rebuked me, "Did you say something that made your sister unhappy again?" That was how I died in despair. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my brother accused me of plagiarism.

My husband spiked our child's formula with sleeping pills to sneak away for a Christmas date with his assistant. As I frantically rushed my feverish child to the hospital, I unexpectedly spotted my husband carrying his assistant upstairs. "Peyton twisted her ankle, so I'm here to help her get it checked!" Even though our child was in the operating room fighting for her life, he did not so much as glance in her direction. I tightened my grip on the ten-million-dollar winning lottery ticket in my pocket. It was time to end this seven-year marriage.

Some time ago, I was a delivery boy. One day, I received an order to deliver adult toys. When I went to the hotel room, I found a beautiful woman kneeling on a bed with her back turned to me. She only wore a thong. At that moment, I received a message on the delivery app. "Use the toys to bring her pleasure. If you do well, I will reward you with one hundred thousand dollars."

My son was no longer with us. His heart, while he still breathed, was cruelly harvested and given to someone of influence—Michele Finnen, the wife of Scott Langley. Just because she had heart disease and was powerful, she sent people to snatch my son away. As an orphan and now a single mother, my son was all the family I had. He would curl up in my arms and whisper, "Mommy, don't be scared. I'll protect you when I grow up!" He was the center of my universe. Consumed by a seething hatred for Michele, I craved vengeance. I was determined to reclaim my son's heart myself, ensuring he would leave this world whole. To do that, I set my sights on Michele's husband, Scott. He was still enamored with his first love. But fate played a cruel joke: suddenly, out of nowhere, that very woman experienced a car accident. And the strangest part? I looked almost just like her.

My twin sister died on her 18th birthday. She died of respiratory failure in a dark corner of a hotel after being raped. Her dearest friend, Joanne Lowe, whom she always cared for and supported, turned around and anonymously spread photos of my sister being raped. I then slowly ruined the face which had so badly wanted to replace my sister with a knife. With blood everywhere, I cradled Joanne's face as if it were a piece of art and said, "My beloved sister is gone, and you people who harmed her won't be let off so easily."

My nanny, Lucci Eyre, liked to call herself an independent, modern woman. She used to tell me every day to be self-reliant, do my own laundry and cooking, take care of the kids by myself, and even suggested that I divorce my husband. Later on, I found out that she was actually a social media influencer. Without asking for my permission, she made a series of videos trying to make me look pathetic as a Stepford wife. She also stole my jewelry and clothes. After I fired her, she accused me in the live stream of being a rival female competitor and pandering to men. Then one of her crazy fans tricked her way into my home and poisoned me. When I woke up again, I was reborn to the day I discovered that her social media account had millions of followers. ‘Since you're so into live streaming and making short videos, why not show everyone who you really are and let them see the independent woman that you are?’

The moment I was born, I took her life. They called me a murderer. Marcus used to burn me with cigarette butts, and Dad would say it was my fate. “You’re a curse. If you had any conscience, you’d have gone to join Mom a long time ago to repay what you owe.” When Marcus was diagnosed with kidney failure, that same cold, distant father knelt in front of me. “Please… save him…” I put my hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Dad, I’ll do the surgery. But can you promise me one thing?” Dad performed the surgery himself. It was a success. He saved the son he loved most and took the life of the daughter he hated. But after I died, Dad turned himself in to the police, and Marcus lost his mind.