Open Up The Heaven Novels & Stories

After picking up an unconscious man on the street, I took him home and took care of him in the hope of earning some money as thanks from his family. However, this man lost his memory and did not know what his name was and where he came from. Seeing that he was quite handsome and healthy, I lied that I was his wife and forced him to work with me to make money. The happy life did not last long when I suddenly read an article about him and discovered that he was a famous cold and cruel billionaire. So, that night, I gathered all my clothes and money and ran away because I was afraid he would punish me for deceiving him.

According to the Winslow family's rules that are passed down for generations, anyone who wants to marry into the family must draw a tarot card. But I have drawn 99 times, and every single card is a bad one. Before the 100th draw, I see Clara Winslow replace all the Lovers cards in the deck. She says, "No matter how many times he tries, he will only draw the worst cards." I finally realize that she does not love me at all. That is fine because I no longer want to marry her either. I toss the cards aside and call my parents. "I accept the arranged marriage with the Shaws."

I burned my painting right in front of the students and university staff. Thunderous applause filled the hall. Everyone thought it was some kind of performance. But my senior in the graduate program panicked. He rushed forward and grabbed my wrist, his voice tight. “Connor, have you gone mad? This is your only shot to prove yourself!” I shook him off, cold. A chance? That was his chance, right? During my past life, he stole the painting I poured my heart and soul into and entered it in the competition ahead of me. The composition, the colors, even my original technique… He copied all of it. He won the Gold Award for the National Youth Art Competition, signed with a top gallery, and basked in glory. Meanwhile, I was branded a shameless plagiarist. The insults and curses overwhelmed me completely. "Get out of the art scene already!" “A plagiarist like you should just die!” His fans stormed my studio, smashed my tools, and broke my right hand. With my world in ruins, I jumped off the studio roof. Opening my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the day my senior accused me of plagiarism.

I got into a car crash with my adoptive sister. The first person to rush to the scene was my childhood sweetheart, Jay Porter—the guy I'd been secretly seeing for two years. But Jay went to her first. He didn't even look my way as I sat there, bleeding heavily on the side of the road. I grabbed his hand, desperate to tell him I was pregnant. He just shook me off. "Sorry, Emma. Julia's delicate. I have to get her to the hospital now. Just wait here for the paramedics." By the time the rescue team got me to the hospital, I was out of immediate danger. But my baby... was gone. I wanted to confront Jay, to demand an explanation. Instead, I overheard him talking to a friend. "You played Emma this whole time, just for Julia's sake. Don't you think that's going too far?" Jay's reply was cold. "So what? Julia's just the Bourne family's adopted daughter—she's never been as protected and cherished as Emma, the precious heiress. That's exactly why it has to be me. I'll protect Julia. For her, I'd do anything." So it was all a lie. Every bit of love he'd ever shown me was just an act. After I was discharged, I went straight home and called my father. "Dad, can you make it so I never existed here? Erase all my records from this country."

Rohit gets shocked when a beautiful girl slaps him all of a sudden. She is trying to protect her friend. He finds her very interesting...Sia is a beautiful girl who is very protective towards her friend. She even slaps a stranger while trying to protect her friend.Rohit is falling for her but Sia has trust issues due to some incident that happened in her past.Let's enjoy this journey to see what happens next.

A car accident leaves me unconscious for a full three years. When I wake up, my family bursts into tears of joy. They care for me with the utmost attention. But from their behavior, I sense something is wrong. There are women's clothes in the house that don't fit me. My mother's shopping cart is filled with mysterious baby items. My father's friends send congratulatory messages about a new child, and my husband is always working overtime. When my husband once again leaves me alone under the pretext that there is something urgent at the company, I secretly follow him. Inside a warmly decorated house, my parents and husband sit around a table. A woman who looks almost exactly like me is holding a baby just a few months old, gently coaxing the child to call my husband "Daddy".

With mixed feelings, Jillian Moore goes to the casting of the new season of "The Super Model" to investigate the case of a missing girl behind the scenes. Before she knows it, she stumbles into a turbulent whirlpool of glamour, ambition and shady dealings. When, to make matters worse, she falls in love and has to shimmy from one lie to the next, her life seems to come completely apart at the seams ...

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.

I let Gideon mark me again. Then, I put my Alpha mate up for rent. The fragile widow of his dead Beta, Civian, always found excuses to drag him out of our bed. I stopped crying over the possessive pull of our Mate bond. Instead, I just charged her by the hour. 100,000 an hour during the day. 200,000 at night. Triple on full moons. In just three months, my offshore account grew by nearly twenty million. He had promised to take me to the werewolf auction to buy some rare herbs. But that woman called, crying that her wolf was out of control and desperately needed soothing. I didn't even blink. I just pulled out my phone and started the timer. Midnight. Burning up with fever from the pills I took to suppress my heat, he was driving me to the Pack hospital. That woman called again, shaking because she had a nightmare about Civian’s bloody death. I calmly signaled him to pull over and drop me at the next intersection. Seeing the flicker of struggle in his eyes, I just smiled lazily. "Just don't forget to pay." Then came the day of our daughter Mia’s checkup at The Pack's Gene-Therapy Center. The woman called again. "Toby's first shift is coming up. He really needs a strong Alpha to guide him through this dangerous time..." Gideon hung up the phone. He turned, guilt flashing in his eyes, and started to kneel before our daughter to explain. But Mia just held out her little hand, copying me exactly. "It's okay, Daddy. Just pay up. It's a full moon today, so that’s triple."

When the murderer tortures me to death, my criminal investigator dad and chief forensic pathologist mom are cheering at my brother's match. The criminal saws off my tongue. He answers my Dad's call with my finger. Just before the call ends, Dad's cold voice cuts through. "Playing dead, huh? We should never have brought him back." The murderer chuckles mockingly. "Looks like I grabbed the wrong kid. I thought they'd care more about their real son." When Mom and Dad arrive at the crime scene later, they stare at the mutilated body in shock and rage at the murderer's cruelty. But they never realize that the broken, bloodied body is their biological son.