Mystic Messenger Guests Novels & Stories

Rumor had spread through the Vittori family that the daughter they had lost years ago had finally been found. The moment I heard, I left the family branch and rushed back to the main estate. My car had barely stopped when a young woman hurried over and grabbed my hand. “So you’re the Vittori family’s adopted daughter,” she said with a smile that looked painfully sincere. “Your dress is so beautiful. It must cost tens of thousands of dollars. You can tell you’ve never really had to worry about anything before. Unlike me. I grew up in places where even finding my next meal was a problem.” For a second, I didn’t understand what she meant. Then her eyes lowered to the only necklace around her neck. “This is the only thing I have from Mother,” she whispered. “Please don’t hate me for wearing it.” The next second, she suddenly grabbed my hand, dragged it up toward her throat, and yanked hard. The necklace snapped. Pearls scattered across the marble floor. “Why would you do that?” she cried, staring at me in shock. “If you hate seeing Mother’s gift on me, I’ll take it off right now. I won’t stay and make things difficult for you. Just please don’t tell Father and Mother. I don’t want them caught in the middle, and I don’t want this family fighting because of me.” She curled into herself on the marble floor, shaking as she cried, while the guests around us immediately turned to stare. I stood there completely stunned. I had imagined a thousand ways I might meet my daughter again. I never imagined she would look me in the eye, mistake me for someone else, and frame me before I had even spoken. Because I was not Valentina. I was her mother.

I'm a mafia princess with crippling social anxiety. My fiancé, Rocco Falcone, is our family's consigliere. He’s the exact opposite of me—extroverted, effortlessly charming, a master at reading and bending people. He's supposed to be my protector. My only link to the outside world. Tonight was the charity gala for my late mother. I was hiding in the darkest corner, a mask covering my face. Rocco was supposed to give the speech. My speech. He never showed. [Emergency. Sorry. Skip the speech, I know you hate the attention. Driver will take you home after the auction. Don't wait up.] Then I saw Livia’s new post. It was a picture of Rocco, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. He was looking down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he never showed me. The caption was a gut punch: [No prom date, so my big bro saved the day! Couldn't have done it without him! ] The cold hit me. Bone deep. He ditched a memorial for my dead mother... to take his stepsister to a university dance? The guests began whispering and sneering that I, the famously awkward, socially crippled princess, couldn’t even force a word out. I stared at the whiskey I’d ordered for him. The ice in my glass was melting. Just like the hope in my heart. When I got back to our empty penthouse, my screen was lit up with missed calls and texts from Rocco. The last one came in thirty minutes ago: [Aurelia, trouble at Livia's prom. You know how she gets. Couldn't leave her. Your mother's gala means everything. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Next time will be perfect. Trust me.] I didn't reply. An engagement held together by "next time." Was a promise like that even worth keeping?

My roommate, Keith Kavanaugh, calls himself the "Holy Son of Frost". On the very first day we meet, he insists that the air conditioner in our dorm room must stay on until October, and the temperature can never go above 50°F. He claims, "A mystic says I'm the Holy Son of Frost, so I have a rare physique. I can only live in cool environments of 50°F at most." He even starts live-streaming, and his "special condition" instantly attracts a huge following. Meanwhile, I'm sitting right in front of the AC vent, so I'm shivering all over from the cold. I quickly turn the temperature up, but he immediately turns it back down and even locks the remote in his cabinet. "We're all educated college students here. Why are you so selfish?" he questions. Faced with his unreasonable accusation, I hold back my anger and try to reason with him. "We're in the north region. The weather here is cool enough in September. There's no need to set the AC this low. But if you insist, I can switch spots with you…" Keith cuts me off impatiently, "Are you crazy? Who sleeps right in front of the AC vent? What if I get sick from it? No one else has a problem. Why are you the only one making a fuss? Let me warn you—I'll melt from the heat. If you make me uncomfortable during my stay, I'll have you kicked out!" I realize there's no reasoning with him, so I plan to contact the dorm counselor to switch rooms. But Keith beats me to it! He goes to her first, records a video, and even posts it online. He accuses me, a local student, of being selfish and bullying him, someone who is from out of town. Just then, a new post suddenly appears on the campus forum. The poster writes, "My roommates are too wasteful. One guy washes his hair every day, and he even uses running water. He even takes a shower after every training session! Meanwhile, I can wash my whole body with just one damp towel. "And the worst part of this is that they want to kick me out after I made an itemized bill to split expenses. These cheapskates are always taking advantage of me. I'm looking for a high-quality dorm to take me in." My eyes light up instantly. He's the one!

It's my daughter, Clementine Hartman's first time smashing cake and we hold a big birthday party for her. Somehow, she digs out a thong belonging to Nancy Ortega, my husband's female best friend, from the giftbox he has prepared. Everyone is stunned, to say the least. Nancy lets out a soft gasp before blinking at me innocently. "Sorry, this is my fault! Shawn and I traded underwear just for fun some time ago, and I forgot to take it away. Please don't take this matter to heart, Karina." I do my best to suppress my rage and pretend that nothing has happened for Clementine's sake. But suddenly Clementine picks up a document. Thinking that it's a present prepared by the elderly members in the family for Clementine, I glance at it before putting it away. Unexpectedly, Nancy bursts out laughing. "Karina, is money all you care about? Did you seriously accept that document without going through it? Don't tell me you seriously think a property deed is wrapped up in that document!" Then, Nancy picks out a few pieces of paper from the pile before tossing them to me. Only then do I make out the details. It turns out that Clementine has actually grabbed a copy of the divorce agreement meant for me and Shawn Hartman. I stare at Shawn in disbelief. "Is this what you really want? A divorce?" Shawn looks perplexed at first, but he still shields Nancy behind him out of instinct. "Nancy's just pulling a prank. Don't take it to heart. She's just joking around." But Nancy sticks her head out from behind Shawn and adds, "Joking around? Shawn, don't tell me you've lost your courage to divorce Karina!" All the guests fall silent at her words. They all turn to look at me. After a while, I don't react by crying or kicking up a fuss. Instead, I drop my signature on the divorce agreement while everyone else stares at me in shock. "Fine. Let's get divorced." After all, it is my daughter's gift.

My older sister, Candice Channing, was a doctor who was an expert at treating infertility patients. She was always telling me how worried she was about me marrying a man who was not great in bed, which would be equivalent to me marrying into a life of being a widow. That was why she would always seduce every boyfriend I had. After sleeping with them, she would approach me by showing off the love marks on her body. "I've tried him out for you. He's not a considerate lover and refused to let me go even after I told him 'No'. This isn't a man you would want." I broke down every time she did this. After that, I cut ties with her and left for another place. That was when I met Russell Loft, the youngest Captain in the army who was stationed there locally. He was a mature and good-looking man. On the day of our wedding, we arranged a banquet for our guests, and that was when I spotted Candice among the crowd. Candice was now Russell's personal doctor, and she was at the wedding as a guest. "My dear sister, I can't help but worry about the man you're about to marry. Let me try him out for you." She drugged me unconscious and climbed into bed with Russell in the dark. When I woke up and barged into the room with others, my actions caused a commotion among our colleagues. Candice was treated as a third party who destroyed my marriage and was taken away on the spot. When my son turned one, Russell told me he wanted to surprise me, but he took me to an abandoned minefield instead. The moment I stepped on an active mine, I knelt on the ground, begging him to take our son to safety, but Russell looked at me coldly and said, "All Candice wanted before the wedding was to leave me with a memory of her first time in bed with me, but you got her arrested, and she ended up being raped to death by the people in the detention center. She was pregnant with my baby when she died. You and that b*stard child of yours should pay for their lives." That was when I found out that he had fallen for Candice. My son and I died in the explosion, and our bodies were blown to smithereens without leaving behind a intact corpse. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of my wedding, where Candice appeared as our guest.

On the morning of my wedding, I found a saved voice message on Elliot Mercer's phone. It was only four seconds long, barely long enough to matter, yet the girl's voice filled the bridal suite as if she had stepped into the room herself. "I miss you, Elliot. I know I shouldn't." The makeup artist had just finished pinning the last pearl into my hair. My dress was zipped, my veil was hanging over the back of a chair, and downstairs, two hundred guests were waiting for me to marry the man I had loved for seven years. Elliot stood behind me in the mirror, already dressed in his black tuxedo. "She was drunk," he said. "It happened after the firm retreat. Someone dared her to send it." I checked their messages with shaking hands. Case notes. Coffee orders. Court schedules. Her apologies whenever she needed him again. His replies, patient and calm, as if being needed by her had become part of his day. There was nothing explicit. That almost made it worse. I couldn't point to one sentence and call it betrayal. I could only feel the space she had taken from me, quietly and steadily, while I was busy trusting him. My tears fell onto the lace of my dress. "Block her," I said. "Block Tessa now, and I'll still walk down that aisle." Elliot looked at me for a long moment. Then he took the phone from my hand. "After the ceremony, I'll have her moved off my cases," he said. "You have my word." Seven years together, and I still wanted his word to mean something. Then his phone rang. He looked down, and I saw Tessa's name before he turned the screen away. A second later, her text appeared. I'm outside. I can't breathe. Please don't make me do this alone. Elliot's face changed. I caught his wrist before he could reach the door. "If you leave this room," I said, my voice trembling, "don't come back expecting me to marry you." For one second, he looked like the choice hurt him. Then he peeled my fingers from his sleeve, one by one, and walked out of the bridal suite.