Photo Negative Mickey Novels & Stories

The moment I find out about my pregnancy, a notification from Twitter is displayed on my phone. Apparently, it's a tweet posted by my husband, Don Romano Caliendo's childhood friend, Teresa Fiorino. "Thanks to your sperm, I get to have a child of my own during the last stage of my life." The accompanying photo is a pregnancy test that clearly states that the sperm donor is Romano. I leave a question mark in the comment section. In just half a minute, my phone begins ringing loudly. Romano's angry voice bursts from the loudspeakers immediately. I've only heard him adapt such a tone whenever he gets mad at others during family meetings. "What did you mean by that comment, Selene Gardo? Teresa is dying from cancer! All she wants is to have a baby to keep her company before she breathes her last! Don't you have any sympathy for her at all?" Before I can put down my phone, my Twitter homepage gets refreshed. This time, Teresa has uploaded another photo. It features a luxurious deluxe-style apartment, where the floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the breathtaking cityscape of Brindleport at night. The caption reads, "Thank you for giving me a home so that I don't feel lonely in my final days." In a corner of the photo, Romano can be seen crouching on the floor while piecing a baby cot together. His side profile shows how focused he is on the task. As I wipe my tears from the corners of my eyes, I silently caress my flat belly, which has yet to show any changes. I'll take you far, far away from here, my dear baby.

To save the three most important men in my life, I made a deal with the Moon Goddess. Trade my life for theirs. If I could make any one of them truly love me within five years, I'd get to live. But on the final day of the countdown, all three still had negative feelings toward me. According to the rules, I'd failed. My life was about to be erased. "Moon Goddess, could I send one last message? One final try?" Maybe out of pity, she granted me this last attempt. This message was my final shot. I hit the voice button in our group chat, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Could you guys love me just a little? I'm really going to die." After a moment of silence came their merciless laughter. "You'll do anything to compete with Lidia for attention, won't you?" "Cut the lies. This just makes us hate you more." "If you're so desperate to die, then just do it already." Mission failed. I gave them exactly what they wanted. But when I was about to die, they all freaked out.

I was a streamer famous for doing random, unhinged stuff online. And now the richest woman in Bayford wanted me to seduce her son. "Make my son fall for you. I'll give you ten properties. Houses, apartments, condos." For a second, even I thought, 'Okay, this is insane.' Marianne Jensen looked at me like I was her last hope. "Please. I'm out of options. Ever since he was little, I kept pretty girls around him. When he got older, I introduced him to every type of girl possible. But he's thirty now and has never dated anyone." Then she lowered her voice. "I think something's wrong with him. Like those billionaire guys in drama shorts. Maybe he only likes weird girls from the bad side of town." I just stared at her. Wow. Appreciate that. 'Did I just meet a crazy person?' I was about to say no when she shoved ten property deeds and a photo across the table. "Go seduce my son. If you pull it off, the ten properties are yours." I looked at the deeds, then the photo, and instantly decided to help this desperate but incredible mother. Forget something being wrong with him. Even if he liked men, I'd still make him fall for me. Thanks to Marianne pulling strings behind the scenes, I became the personal assistant to Jace Jensen, Bayford's golden boy. And the first thing he said when he saw me was, "How much did my mom pay you? I'll double it. Now get out." Two months later, the job was over, but Jace stood there with red eyes, crying. "How could you use me and throw me away? I don't care. You're taking responsibility for this."

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé, Henry Siebert, decided it was the perfect time to drop a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster. The caption? Oh, just this gem: [Legally welcoming our little one into the world.] Betty added a shy emoji. And my mom? She liked the post and wrote: [Once the baby is born, I'll help take care of it so you two can enjoy your time together as a couple.] I couldn't help myself. I replied with a single question mark. And then Henry's DMs came in hot: [She's just borrowing me for a year to get married. Once the baby's born, I'll come back to you.]

My boyfriend, Leon Kramer, goes on a ten-day trip. When he comes back, he suddenly makes a casual remark as we lay in bed after an intimate session in bed. He says, "I've never noticed how fair you are." After he falls asleep, I take a look at the photo gallery on his phone. There are hundreds of photos featuring him and the woman he's been with over the last ten days. She has tanned skin and isn't as fair as I am. I put his phone back without a word. Actually, my new target isn't as fair as Leon is. I keep quiet about it, afraid of exposing myself.

Everyone knows that Tania Giordano is the principessa of the Giordano family, whom they mustn't piss off at all costs. Ever since she lost her mother at the tender age of six, she has grown into an independent, radiant, and bold woman on her own abroad. She initially thought that she wouldn't rely on anyone else anymore. But when she was 20 years old, a certain man rescued her from the pistol aimed at her by her father's enemy. Since then, Simone Lanzi has stayed by her side and protects her at all times. That's how Tania finds herself falling for him. But one night, she witnesses him panting slightly while staring at a photo featuring Noemi Giordano, her half-sister…

Three months pregnant, I doubled over in agony, blood pooling beneath me. I called Milo Prince in a last-ditch effort for help. The moment he picked up, his voice dripped with irritation. "What is it now?" My vision was blurring. Before I could cry for help, I heard his childhood sweetheart's teasing laugh. "No interruptions today, okay?" The line went dead in the next second. When I opened my eyes again, my belly was flat. I checked Jessica Clay's social media. A photo showed their hands intertwined, her wrist adorned with the Prince family's heirloom bracelet. Her caption read, [He said this bracelet was made for me, so I'm keeping it.]

Clara posted a photo of her ultrasound on Instagram. "Thanks to your bloodline, I finally have my own little pup." I stared at the ultrasound. Ryan's name was written clearly in the field for the father. I typed a single question mark in the comments. Ryan called me immediately, screaming his head off. "Celine, what the hell is wrong with you? Clara is dying from silver poisoning. This was her final wish! Can't you show some damn compassion?" "Kaleb was my brother. He's gone, and it's my duty to look after his mate! She just wanted a pup to keep her company in her final days. Do you really have to be this petty?" I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. Clara was Ryan's childhood sweetheart. They grew up together in the Dark Moon Pack before she married Ryan's best friend, Kaleb. Six months ago, Kaleb was killed by rogues during a border patrol, leaving Clara a widow. Shortly after, she was diagnosed with late-stage silver poisoning. She has at most a year left to live. But I never imagined Ryan's "care" would go this far. A little while later, Clara posted a new set of photos. She was in a luxury high-rise apartment downtown. The city skyline stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the kitchen was bathed in a warm glow. "So glad you're here to make me feel the warmth of a home again." In the photo, I saw a man's back as he busied himself in the kitchen wearing an apron. It was Ryan. The sight was so familiar it made my eyes sting. I rubbed my stomach, thinking about the pregnancy I'd confirmed just two weeks ago. I suddenly let out a sharp laugh. This mate bond? It's time to end it.

The day my husband, Lucas Maxwell, helps his childhood sweetheart—Cecilia Brown, who has cancer—lose her virginity, I leave behind a divorce agreement and walk away. Before I leave, I drop a comment beneath a photo of them on his social media. Their fingers are tightly interlocked in the photo. "Let's get divorced. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness." A minute later, he calls me. "How did I end up marrying someone as selfish as you, Fiona Sinclair? Do you really have the heart to let her die without leaving anything behind?" I sneer, "You're no longer my husband. How is that my problem?" That's when he panics.

On my birthday—the same day Troy hyped some "surprise" for me online—I saw a photo that afternoon. He was on my horse. With his assistant. His shirt hung open, red finger marks dragged across his chest. Caption? [First time in my life. Thanks to him.] The comments went wild: [Jealous of whoever touched those abs.] [That position... damn.] Troy liked that one. My chest went cold. I thought that side of him was just for me. Turns out—it could be anyone. I washed the horse myself. Scrubbed off every trace. Then I signed the ranch over to him. "You can give the rest away. Pick whoever you want." He lit up. I said yes to the arranged marriage.