Philadelphia Experiment Photo

[KONTEN DEWASA 21+] “Saya ingin mengajukan permintaan kepada Anda. ” Raveena berlutut di atas permukaan lantai yang dingin. Kedua tangannya bertumpu pada lantai, sedangkan kepalanya di angkat tinggi sehingga kedua matanya mampu memandang iblis di hadapannya dengan jelas. Iblis itu lantas tertawa, “Permintaan seperti apa yang kau inginkan?” “Selamatkan saya dari neraka ini dan lenyapkanlah tempat ini hingga tak bersisa.” “Aku tidak melakukannya dengan gratis,” Iblis itu berkata, “Hadiah apa yang akan kau berikan kepadaku?” “Segalanya.” “Segalanya?” “Ya, jiwa dan raga saya akan seutuhnya menjadi milik Anda.” Iblis itu lantas melangkahkan kakinya mendekati Raveena, dia mengangkat dagu wanita itu begitu tinggi sampai mata mereka bertemu. “Maka selamanya kau akan menjadi milikku, Raveena Hesper.” • • • • • Cerano Acheron merupakan seorang Underboss dari organisasi mafia Acheron Familia yang berbasis di Italia dan menyebar hingga ke seluruh wilayah Eropa. Dia dikenal sebagai seseorang yang bertangan dingin, tidak mengenal ampun terhadap musuh yang berani mengusik organisasinya. Suatu ketika, Cerano terlibat pertikaian dengan seorang ketua Kartel Meksiko yang telah mengusik bawahannya. Dia sampai harus pergi ke Philadelphia untuk menuntaskan masalahnya. Tak disangka, kepergiannya ke Philadelphia menghantarkan Cerano kepada Raveena Hesper yang menganggapnya sebagai seorang iblis dan meminta bantuan Cerano untuk membebaskannya dari kekangan rumah bordil yang selama bertahun – tahun menahannya. Di mata Cerano, Raveena merupakan seorang wanita yang tak mengenal takut. Ia bahkan tak pernah menurunkan pandangannya meski Cerano telah menatapnya dengan tajam. Raveena bahkan tak gentar walau tahu Cerano memiliki ribuan anak buah yang selalu diselimuti oleh aroma darah. Cerano selalu membawa kematian, tetapi Raveena tidak takut akan kematian. Takdir macam apa yang akan mengikat mereka nantinya?

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.

At sixty-five, I got served divorce papers. The same day, my husband Sebastian — decked out in his wedding suit, of all things — popped a handful of sleeping pills in a suicide attempt. For years, we were the perfect couple. The kind of pair neighbors whispered about with envy. I couldn't wrap my head around it. The divorce. The pills. None of it made sense. Not until I found the photo and letter in his pocket.

In New York’s Upper East Side, there were two heirs. One was a speed-obsessed daredevil dominating the racetracks, the other was a brilliant actuary who controlled the flow of capital. Born into powerful families and polar opposites in temperament, yet they grew up side by side as each other’s only best friend. They had fought over girls and bickered endlessly over racing bets. However, at fifteen, there was one thing they did in perfect unison. They each put on the same roughly carved bronze badge. They were trinkets Mia had idly made during a craft class, marked only by a faint “M” scratched on the back. Back then, Mia was seated in the last row of the classroom. Her background was a complete mystery to everyone. Yet they wore that badge for ten whole years. Whether standing on the F1 podium or locking in billion-dollar trades at the exchange, the cheap little badge on their chests never changed. Until Ella showed up. She was the cherished daughter of a rising conglomerate family. She hand-stitched two gold-thread fabric patches and gifted them to them. The patches looked so ordinary they looked like the kind of trinket you would find three for a dollar at a flea market. And yet, they both replaced their bronze badges with her plain patches. Mia did not say anything. She simply folded away an old newspaper clipping with a photo of the three of them smiling together. That night, she called her father in Sicily. Her voice was emotionless. “Papa, I accept the marriage arrangement.”

The day Eve Jones came back to town, Zac Gibson did not come home all night. The next day, I saw a post on her social media, showing a photo of two hands tightly intertwined, along with Zac’s peaceful, childlike sleeping face. When he finally came home, he threw divorce papers at me and said, "You’ve been standing in Eve’s place this whole time. Now that she’s back, it’s time for you to move on." It did not matter anymore. I was not going to live much longer anyway. Whoever wanted the title of "Mrs. Gibson" could have it. Later, I died. But Zac cried at my grave, kneeling, promising he would never hold anyone else’s hand again.

I was on a business trip out of town when I got a text from my neighbor. [Can you and your husband keep it down? Also, one of your undies fell onto my balcony.] Shocked, I opened the photo she had sent. The underwear wasn't even my style, but it matched the one I'd seen in my husband's online shopping cart. He'd told me it was a gift for me, but I remember noticing the size—it was one size larger than mine. When confronted with the neighbor's message, my husband swore that the house must've been broken into and claimed the intruder left the item behind. But something about his story didn't sit right, so I decided to dig further. That was when I stumbled upon his social media. His latest post was just three words. [I bought this.] It was paired with a photo of a lingerie gift set. Beneath it, there was a comment. [I'm wearing it.] Attached was a picture of a woman's legs—and the unmistakable background of my living room. The evidence was undeniable. I packed up the underwear and brought it straight to the police. "My husband says our house was broken into. This was left behind by the intruder, and it might have DNA on it."

“Jauhi suamiku! Aku tahu kamu lebih faham bagaimana seharusnya bertindak karena kamu mendapatkan pendidikan di pondok pesantren selama 8 tahun lamanya. Jauhi suamiku!” pinta Rika pada Nisa dengan tatapan tajam. “Aku mengakui bahwa aku salah, akan tetapi suami Mbak Rika terlebih dulu yang mendekatiku dengan intens, sekuat apa pun aku menolak, akan tetapi Mas Dani selalu merayu sehingga akhirnya pertahanan hatiku runruh,” jawab Nisa tak ingin kalah dan tak mau disalahkan. “Tapi Mas Dani tetaplah suamiku, dan kamu bukanlah siapa-siapanya!” Rika menegaskan lagi pada Nisa dengan tatapan sinis penuh kebencian. (Cover by Canva. photo on pexel by Feyza-altun free for commercial use)

All I did was post a photo of the exquisite pink diamond necklace my dad gave me for my birthday. An intern, however, confronted me in front of everyone. “Miss Anderson, why is my necklace with you? Do you think being a manager gives you the right to steal from others?” I calmly explained that it was a birthday gift from my dad, personally purchased at an auction. She didn’t believe me. Instead, she pulled out surveillance footage showing me entering and leaving her office and flat-out accused me of being a thief. “Some people can’t get what they want, so they resort to stealing. Do you honestly think taking a necklace means you can take over someone’s entire life? And you’re actually trying to pass yourself off as the heiress of Anderson Corporation? Isn’t that completely ridiculous?”

On my husband's birthday, I poured my heart into preparing a feast and selecting the perfect gift. Yet, he didn't come home. Instead, I received a picture message—a snapshot of him at the hospital, standing outside the OB-GYN ward, his hand resting tenderly on his childhood crush's belly. Beneath the photo, a message read: [The best birthday gift and a symbol of our decade-long bond.] Furious, I called her. "Don't you know he's married?" Before I could say more, my husband snatched the phone and lashed out at me. "Yvonne just wanted to share the joy of becoming a mother. Why are you overreacting? "Yvonne and I have been best friends for over a decade. Your petty jealousy is disgusting!" I once believed his busyness was for our future, but now I knew—he had been busy supporting the girl of his dreams through her pregnancy. Clutching my own stomach, I bit my lip to stop the tears from falling. Ten years of love had drained away. It was time to let go.

Beta Max and I were at the Civil Affairs Bureau, ready to register our marriage. We were just waiting to take the final photo when he got a phone call and left. He abandoned me right there at the marriage registration office, leaving me stuck in an impossible situation. I called him—no answer. I messaged him—no reply. In the end, I had no choice but to call his childhood sweetheart’s number. Beta Max answered. “Louis, can you stop being so annoying? Grace twisted her ankle—I need to take care of her today. Stop calling and waking her up. We’ll reschedule the registration.” I bit my lip and murmured into the phone, “This makes it the seventh time we’ve rescheduled.” “So what? The Civil Affairs Bureau isn’t going anywhere—it’s not like it’s going to disappear!” My face was blank, but it felt like my heart was being carved open. A staff member looked at me with pity and asked, “Alpha Louis, are we still doing this?” I gave a small nod. “Yes. Let’s go through with it.”