Ork 40k Novels & Stories

I sat in the driver's seat as the GPS chimed, "You've arrived at Northpoint Corp. Check-in successful." I looked up. Graves. Nothing but graves. My phone buzzed. My boss tagged me in the group chat: [Zane Zander, system says you checked in ten minutes ago. Where the hell are you? The whole company's waiting. Learned how to spoof your GPS to slack off?] Cold sweat slid down my back. I stared at the fresh headstone outside my window. My photo was on it. My hands shook. I tried to send my boss a video—no signal. Just dead bars. No service. So how did I check in? Worse— In the rearview mirror, someone in my exact outfit rose slowly from behind a dirt mound. Could it be... Was I already "dead"?

My husband, Kylan Beck, brings his colleague, Daniel Willis, home with him. He claims that Daniel and his wife aren't compatible with each other in bed, which has completely wrecked Daniel's confidence and pride as a man. As a result, he gets kicked out of his house by his wife. One day, Kylan has gone on a business trip to another city. That's when Daniel secretly climbs into my bed with gleaming eyes. "Ashley, can you help me prove to my wife that my capabilities in bed aren't the problem here?"

While I was bleeding heavily from my miscarriage, the hospital needed a family member to sign some documents urgently. The nurse frantically called my husband on my phone. After more than ten rejected calls, he finally answered, his voice a frustrated yell, "I'm busy! Don't bother me with these little things!" When we tried calling again, I realized he had blocked my number. Despite the pain, I forced myself to sit up and sign the papers. Tragically, our baby couldn't be saved. Later, I saw a viral video of my husband kissing his childhood sweetheart under fireworks. "It was just a silly joke," she said, "but he surprised me by lighting up the whole city with fireworks as a present!" Seeing their matching wedding rings, I wordlessly slipped off the simple ring I'd worn for five years and threw it in the bin. After coming so close to death, he was now insignificant to me.

"Alexia, don't take any of the company's holiday bonus boxes. You're not one of us—there's nothing for you." My manager, Kevin Davis, delivered the notice coldly, as if he were commenting on the weather—routine, impersonal. My hand stilled on the mouse. "The rest of you, come with me. We're heading to the company gala to collect your million-dollar bonuses!" My colleagues filed out in high spirits. I watched their retreating backs and answered with a bitter, "Okay." I was a contract worker. For seven years, I had always been the odd one out in the department. Our ID badges said it all—blue for full-time employees, gray for me. Time off was no different. Full-time employees had weekends; I got one day off a month. As for pay and benefits, they enjoyed meal allowances, housing subsidies, team outings, afternoon snacks, holiday gifts, year-end bonuses… I received a fixed salary of three thousand dollars a month. I sat down, opened my computer, and returned to the candlestick charts of my stocks. They didn't know that I was the company's largest anonymous individual shareholder. And they certainly didn't know that tonight, at the company gala, I would step onto the stage as the new Chairman—and my very first proposal would be to lay off their entire department.

A mature CEO of a successful clothing company develops a crush on his new secretary, a girl more than twenty years younger than him. After carefully navigating his feelings and the professional boundaries between him and his secretary, he discovers that the crush is not as one way as he initially thought. Can a secret crush that turns into a passionate affair develop more? Could these two people, despite the difference in their age and social position, create a lasting, loving relationship?

"Suzanna, tell me the truth. Am I built better than Luis?" I had gotten up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and accidentally caught a glimpse of my husband's coworker, Hank, with his girlfriend. They were tangled up together, without a care in the world about who might see them. I should have walked away. However, my legs did not seem to work anymore. Hank saw me. The next day, he blocked my path outside the bathroom. "Suzanna," he said, his voice low and amused, "you didn't believe me. Maybe I should prove it." Before I could react, he was already pulling down his pants.

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I booked a consultation with a renowned traditional medicine practitioner six months in advance to treat my surgeon wife's arousal disorder over the holidays. However, on the appointment date, Wendy did not show up. Just as I was about to call to question her, I noticed a photo her male friend had posted on social media. In the photo, my usually aloof wife was hugging the guy with a radiant smile. The caption read: [Only I can cure your problem.] But what caught my attention was my wife's flushed face in the photo, clearly displaying signs of arousal. With a cold smirk, I immediately liked and commented: [You must have magic fingers that work wonders!] The comment section exploded, with everyone speculating whether I would tear my wife's lover apart. What awaited my wife was our official divorce after the cooling-off period ended.

Due to the change in my work location, I'd already informed Paul Miller, my part-time helper, to look for a job elsewhere three months ago. Back then, Paul had agreed to do so immediately. But when I'm about to move out of my old home, he made an absurd request to me. "I've spent so many years working for you to the bone. According to this industry's rules, you have to take care of me for the rest of my life. But if you refuse to do that, you can pay me a pension of ten thousand dollars every month." I'm stunned, to say the least. Did I hire a part-time helper, or did I find myself a financial burden instead? I turn Paul down immediately, so he decides to take a step back. "If you don't want to pay me, then give me this house of yours. I can't just leave without anything, right? It'll just show how petty of an employer you are. If not, I'll humiliate you in the group chat!" Fury floods my senses immediately. Fine. Let's see who will get humiliated here!

To encourage overall development, the kindergarten had asked each student to create a hand-drawn poster. My daughter Holly refused my help and insisted on doing it all on her own. Little did I know, most of the other children had their parents do the artwork for them. In comparison, Holly's delicate strokes were quickly dismissed. Not only was her work discarded into the trash, but her teacher also called her out in the parent group, criticizing her for being careless with the assignment. As I racked my brain trying to figure out how to help Holly regain her confidence in drawing, I was surprised to see Holly's artwork among the winning entries in the state-level children's art competition. But the signature wasn't hers—it belonged to another student from her class.