Partner In Crime

On a flight, my boyfriend Cassio tried to steal a seat for his pregnant childhood sweetheart. Last time, I stopped him. I forced him to return the seat to its rightful owner. Out of spite, his sweetheart Ella refused to take the seat. She stood through the entire flight. By the time we landed, she miscarried. She bled out and died. Cassio never blamed me. He arranged her funeral quietly… Then married me. He gave me the best prenatal care, the finest doctors, and a seemingly perfect life. Until the day I went into labor. He put me on a long-haul flight with multiple layovers. And when I collapsed in a filthy airport restroom, bleeding and barely conscious— He looked down at me with pure hatred. “Serena, this is what you owe her.” “If you hadn’t interfered back then, Ella would still be alive.” “Today, you and your bastard child will pay for her and her baby.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that flight. Watching him berate the plainly dressed woman, I quietly put on my noise-canceling headphones. He didn’t know that woman was the beloved wife of the most dangerous mafia Don in the city. And the kick he was about to deliver— Would be their death sentence. This time, I just watched.

I opened my eyes to a dark, windowless room. Overhead, a voice crackled from the speakers. “Welcome to The Judgment Room. Each player will state the crime they committed. Do not lie. After all six of you speak, you will vote. The one with the most votes will be eliminated. “The game starts now.” In this deadly game, whose sins weighed the least?

Rae Silverstein is a private investigator who works on many cases in the past even until now. She's the Sherlock Holmes of the 22nd Century. After two years of absence, the serial killer made its move and kills the nightless city of Theister City. The famous serial killer with the codename "Cannibal". It is the same killer who killed her mother and left her alone with his father who works as a lawyer. It's up to Detective Rae and her partner in crime Jae Min to solve the perfect murder of the 'Cannibal' as she accidentally delves herself in an unexpected romance she won't even anticipate.Update: 2 chapters per week

It was the night before my best mate’s wedding—his bachelor party, we made a deal to get blind drunk, but I arrived late. When I opened the door, I was not met with cheers, but with three corpses stalled in motion. My body went limp as my mind went blank. The only thought left in my head was that I had to call the police. “I’m calling from Block 3, Unit 301 of Silkwood Gardens. My three friends are all dead!” On the other end of the line, a female police officer responded calmly, “Please stay calm and don’t touch anything. Keep the crime scene untouched. A team will arrive shortly.” This should have been a night of wild debauchery, but I was the only one left alive. I slowly ducked my head and smiled.

Special Agent Shirley, along with her partner Ackermann had been following this psychotic serial killer who called himself “ANGEL OF DEATH” for the crimes that he had continually committed over a period of about eight years. The two were the best in the entire police force, yet the so called angel of death outsmarted them like it was nothing. And they didn’t know how he did it, because he left no clues and he never made mistakes. After years of clueless investigations, they finally got their hands a video footage that showed him fleeing a crime scene. The video that was supposed to be the answer to all their unanswered questions, was rather a door that let in a million more.

There are no grown men in our village. When girls turn 18, they participate in a coming-of-age ceremony in the ancestral hall. Dressed in ceremonial clothes, they line up to enter, and when they come out, their faces show a mix of pain and joy. When my eldest sister turned 18, Grandma forbade her from attending. However, one night, she snuck into the hall. When she came out, she was limping, and blood was dripping between her legs.

I broke my leg in a car accident last week and had been stuck at home recovering, unable to go anywhere. Just as I was starting to go stir-crazy, a couple moved into the house next door—the one that had been empty for ages. I pressed my ear to the wall, catching every sound of them making love, and even recorded quite a bit. Still, I never expected something so sinister to happen. The man next door sounded exactly like my dead husband! I moved my phone closer to the wall and listened carefully. Suddenly, a scream exploded through the wall. “Lindy, you’ll die for this!” My scalp went numb. My husband was mute. The only time he ever spoke in his life… was the night I forced his head into a bucket of water. How did the man next door know my husband’s last words before he died?

Walang mga lalaki sa aming nayon. Kapag umabot ng 18 taong gulang ang isang babae, sumasailalim sila sa isang seremonya ng pagdating ng edad sa ancestral hall. Suot ang mga damit pang-seremonya, pumila sila para pumasok, at paglabas nila, ang mga mukha nila ay may halong sakit at saya. Noong ang panganay na kapatid na babae ko ay naging 18, pinagbawalan siya ni Lola na dumalo. Gayunpaman, isang gabi, lumusot siya papunta sa bulwagan. Paglabas niya, hirap siyang maglakad, at may dugo sa pagitan ng mga binti niya.

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.

My roommates booked a New Year's Eve light show table—five hundred per person—and started urging me in the group chat to transfer the money. I quietly sent a screenshot of my account balance. "You guys go ahead," I wrote. "I haven't even scraped together my tuition yet." They replied with a string of mocking "haha"s. Our dorm leader, Giselle Murdoch, even posted on her social media with the caption: [The first step to crossing class boundaries is distancing yourself from people who kill the mood.] Just after midnight, they sent me a photo from the light show and said, "Too bad you're not here." I frowned, confused, when my counselor's call cut in—her voice tight with urgency. "Did you invite your roommates to the light show? The organizers said they never even checked in! They're missing!"