Local Woman Missing Spoilers Novels & Stories

Upon returning home from completing a vital national project, I find out that my grandfather has been reduced to a cripple after being beaten up by a famous Internet star, Nathan Larsson. All because Grandpa accidentally got in Nathan's way when he was picking up trash. Enraged, I choose to call the cops on Nathan. But my CEO wife, Whitney Backman, becomes Nathan's witness. She sits at the witness stand with a righteous look plastered on her face. "Grandpa is sickly, to begin with. Yet he insists on picking up trash on his own. After he tripped and fell, he accused Nathan of pushing him! I can't just sit by and watch an innocent man get slandered! That's why I chose to defend him!" Everyone present at the court supports Whitney's statement. Even the judge declares that Grandpa is guilty, and that we are to pay a huge compensation to Nathan. Hatred brims in my eyes as I turn on the livestream and dig out Grandpa's medals of valor as well as my dad's first class medals.

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

On the fourth day after my son's death, I decided to secretly dissolve my military marriage with my husband. Before that, I had three days to settle everything for my son. On the first day, I tricked my husband into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to the school and collected the textbooks my son would never get to use. On the third day, I cooked a table full of dishes and begged my husband to celebrate our son's last birthday. He agreed, but soon after claimed he had a mission. Instead, he spent the entire night setting off fireworks with his childhood sweetheart. That night, I cooked. Then, I sat alone before my son's photo and ate all my son's favorite foods. The next day, my husband returned, guilt flickering in his eyes as he handed me a brand-new backpack. He said it was a gift for our child's first day of school. But he didn't know—our child would never have a first day of school.

Rivergate's most elite social circle had always shared an unspoken rule. Men were free to play the field as they pleased, drifting from one woman to the next. Women, on the other hand, were only allowed a single, discreet indulgence on the day they came of age—a privately hired "life assistant" meant to take care of their physical needs. … On my coming-of-age day, I picked Elliot at first glance from a hundred applicants who came in for interviews. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, looked composed and restrained, and carried himself with a calm maturity that set him apart. He was steady, meticulous, and obsessively clean. The only condition he agreed to was that there would be no bodily contact—hands only. And after every encounter, he would scrub his hands with disinfectant alcohol a hundred times. Over five years, the empty bottles alone were enough to circle the villa seven times. I used to think that one day, I'd help him overcome his barriers and truly make him mine. That illusion shattered the night I got drunk and accidentally wandered into Elliot's room. Hidden beneath his pillow was a DV camera, and inside were several videos of him pleasuring himself. On the screen, the same man who had always been calm and rational with me was staring at the lingerie of the adopted sister who had caused my mother's death, his Adam's apple bobbing as he moaned her name, "Chloe… I love you…" Only then did I realize that every step he had taken toward me had never been about me at all. It had always been a carefully concealed, long-nurtured love for her. So, it was very odd that he cried when I took my adopted sister's place in marrying someone else.

By the time Nolan is five, I finally see the truth clearly. My husband, Justin Ford, does not love our son or me. Determined to end this disastrous marriage, I decide to leave with Nolan. But fate has other plans. A car accident leaves me with a lost kidney and Nolan missing an eye. In our darkest hour, the cold, indifferent Justin kneels in public, begging for forgiveness, promising to be a lifelong support for both our son and me. Nolan and I decide to give him a trial period of 100 days. If he passes, we will stay. On the 99th day, we stumble upon him speaking with the attending doctor. "Mr. Ford, you caused the accident on purpose to save Ms. Lloyd's child while taking organs from Mrs. Ford and Nolan. Was it really worth all that?" "It's worth it. I'll do whatever makes Suzanne happy." "What if Mrs. Ford and Mr. Nolan find out?" Justin falls silent for a moment, then instinctively touches his wedding ring. "They must never find out. All they want is a family, and I'll do everything I can to make it right," he says coldly. It turns out his entire act of repentance was nothing more than a carefully orchestrated lie. The happiness Nolan and I believed in was merely an illusion, designed to protect the one he truly cared for. Every gift came with a secret cost, and now, we are paying the price.

Buxton Corp's CEO got his ex back. The cost? His pregnant wife vanished without a word. Month One: Calvin didn't flinch. Too busy worshiping his so-called true love. Month Two: His buddies placed bets on when Angela would come crawling home. Month Three: Panic hit. He sent scouts everywhere to find me. Nothing. Not a whisper. After that, "Angela Astor" turned into a curse word in Auremburg. But what no one saw? He missed her so bad at night, it nearly broke him.

On New Year’s Eve, an old friend called to congratulate me on the birth of my son. “Emrys, you’ve been keeping this a secret pretty well! If I hadn’t seen you and your wife taking care of the baby together, I wouldn’t have known you had a child!” I froze in my tracks. How could I not know I had a child? And that I was taking care of him with her? I immediately called my wife, who was still working late, to confront her about it. She just laughed and said our friend must have been mistaken, which was why this whole mix-up happened. But the very next second, our friend sent a photo. In the photo, she was facing sideways, holding a child in her arms, with a man standing beside her. Only his back was visible, but the silhouette was exactly like mine. Her smile was gentle and radiant. At first glance, she looked utterly blissful. I stared at the meticulously prepared New Year’s Eve dinner spread before me and suddenly flung it to the floor. I immediately dialed my brother. He was a lawyer. “Celene Zeller cheated on me. She even had a child. “I want a divorce. I want to kick her out of my company and make her leave with nothing.”

Five years after our son was born, I finally faced the truth: my wife didn't love me—or our boy. Determined to end this miserable marriage, I made plans to leave and take our son with me. But fate had other ideas. A car accident cost me a kidney and took our son's eye. At my lowest point, my usually distant wife fell to her knees right in the hospital corridor, begging for forgiveness. She swore she would spend the rest of her life taking care of us. We decided to give her one last chance—a 100-day trial. If she made it, we'd stay together. But on the ninety-ninth day, my son and I overheard her talking to the attending physician. "Emma," the doctor said, "did you really arrange that accident to secure organs for Daniel Carter's son? You did that to take a kidney from your husband and an eye from your son—was it worth it?" Emma Evans's voice was eerily calm. "It was worth it. As long as Daniel is happy, I'd do anything." "And what if your husband and son find out?" She fell silent for a moment, then instinctively touched the wedding ring on her hand. "Then they'll never know. They just want a family; I'll do everything I can to make up for it." So the "changed woman" we thought we knew was just an act—a carefully built lie. The happiness my son and I had begun to believe in was nothing more than a story she'd crafted to protect the person she really loved. Every kindness, every effort—it had all been quietly weighed and paid for in advance.

On the fourth day after our son died, I decided to end my military marriage. Before that, I spent three days taking care of what remained of him. On the first day, I tricked my wife into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to my son's school and collected the textbooks he never had the chance to use. On the third day, I prepared a table full of his favorite dishes and begged my wife to come home so we could celebrate his birthday one last time. She agreed. Then she turned around, claimed she had a mission, and spent the entire night setting off fireworks with her childhood sweetheart. That night, I sat beside my son's memorial photo and ate alone. The next day, she came home looking guilty and handed me a brand new backpack. She said it was a gift for our son to use at school. She did not know that our child would never live to see his first day of school.

I was holding my wife as we slept when her phone suddenly gave a special alert tone. “Rachel, my whole body hurts. Please help me…” The message was from Daniel. He sounded entitled, and he even attached a photo of his abs. My wife pushed me away at once. “Wait for me. I will head over right away.” I could not hold back my anger. “Where are you going? It’s the middle of the night, and you are going to see him? He’s your brother-in-law. Can’t you keep a bit of distance? “Your sister has been dead for half a year. Do you have to take care of him like this forever?” Rachel suddenly raised her hand and slapped me. “Sam, he has post-traumatic stress disorder. You already know that. I am his psychologist, so what is wrong with helping him? Why are your thoughts so filthy? “Forget it. I can’t talk sense into someone like you. Stay home and reflect on yourself.” After saying that, she did not look at me again. We had been married for five years. Every time we argued, she would walk away and give me the cold shoulder. She knew how much I loved her, so she hurt me without restraint. She was certain that I would ultimately give in and try to make peace. However, this time, I did not try to salvage the situation anymore. My heart was dead. I did not want her anymore.