Post Apocalyptic Seattle Novels & Stories

Believe it or not, we assume every love tale as cliche until and unless we dive into it. Both above figures had a kind of part to play here which is cannot even say as cliche. This is a story of my most favourite couple. Yeah, it's a love story, obviously! And their love chapters start on a very very boring note. Him flying back to India and her liking post on Instagram of her friends. Most important, based on their real life love series. ***Wiping tears behind the door hold a memory of precious loss in her childhood and a mysterious misunderstanding leads her to hate Avinash like anything. They haven't seen each other for years... But he wanted to meet her, talk to her. Finally, a day came and they meet which doesn't let them cross paths but instead get them together to ride on a bike of love trip. Meanwhile, both of them already had someone to fix with. If anyone thinks that after falling in love is no trouble then it's no way! Will she keep ignoring her feelings? Will he keep dragging the things? And never confess to her. Can they resist the spark they had in between them? The argue to kiss! ***This is a very twisted romantic love story that stirs hearts, that at times leaves you breathless and that manages to make us believe that, and love can do all things. Peek into Ashiyaan and Avinash's beautiful journey of finding love, hope, and magic in their own universe, which holds a passionate spark in between them.*** And Hey!! It was my first work obviously and I'm very much happy and excited to announce that this story is complete and edited. Shower your love on my book. Sure you are gonna love it.

Since it's already the end of the year, the music app I use produces a report on the songs I've listened to in 2025. The keyword of my report is "resonance". Over the year, I don't spend much time listening to the songs on this app. My girlfriend, Sienna Fletcher, is the one who's been using my account this whole time. There's a row beneath the keyword that's written in a tiny font. "You had listened to this song with someone at 4:00 am on December 1st. It turns out that love can go beyond a night's sleep." My breath gets hitched in my throat. December 1st is my birthday. But that night, I had gone to bed at an early hour. Meanwhile, Sienna had left hurriedly after cutting my birthday cake with me with the excuse that she needed to pull an overnight shift at the company. For some reason, I tap onto the unfamiliar-looking profile that has been interacting frequently with my account with a trembling finger. Their keyword of the year is "favor". My heart skips a beat at the sight. Then, I tap on the details. "Over the year, you've listened to songs with this user 688 times in the middle of the night. Every time you do, it's a secretive conversation meant for your souls." The next thing I know, I receive a message from Sienna. "Babe, I need to work overtime tonight again. You don't have to wait up for me. Just go to bed early." At the same time, a new post is uploaded on the unfamiliar profile. It features a photo of two hands that are intertwined together. "I love working overtime with her the most. I want to listen to songs with her forever."

She was ready to differentiate into Alpha the next second in the hotel, but her intentions were thwarted by the unexpected arrival of A+ Alpha... Under a strong influx of cedar-scented pheromones, Letitia ultimately differentiated into Omega. "Ahhhhh...... no!" Letitia was alarmed, kicking and punching wildly with both hands and feet, but in front of the A+ class alpha, it was like an unreasonable child. Samuel, the CEO of the Ruiz family, grimaced helplessly. His long legs pressed her flailing legs, then he pulled the belt off his robe and tied her hands firmly to the post at the head of the bed. The aphrodisiac had taken over his will and there was only one thought left in his mind: to possess her......Letitia's voice rose abruptly and she struggled with unprecedented panic . Her tender omega cavity was only just awakening when an unexpected visitor knocked on the door. "No! Not there, Samuel!" She looked at Samuel with pleading red eyes as tears fell from her eyes. Samuel smiled and released his pheromones to gently soothe the frightened rabbit beneath him. It's okay, you'll be mine forever. They were knotted... After one-night stand, Letitia thinks he doesn't remember anything and runs away. But when she found out she was pregnant with his child, he told her that they were a couple forced to be matched well under the state matching mechanism and were destined to marry. She reluctantly agreed to his proposal of marriage. But she never tells him whose child she is carrying... On their wedding night, Samuel thoughtfully tucked the corners of her covers in for her, then leaned down to listen and heard her dreaming. "I don't ...... want to ...... marry him." Samuel's smile froze at the corners of his mouth. He never just wanted to mark her...

After getting married, I followed my wife to the desert to help build up a remote research base. After months of severe drought, I applied for 17 ounces of water just to wash my hair. But as station chief, June Sheffield rejected me without hesitation. "The water supply has to go toward cultivating the samples first. You need to learn how to tough it out." Then the next moment, I came across a new post the intern had uploaded on social media. 'Wanted to try an outdoor bath, and Ms. Sheffield approved a whole ton of water without even blinking! She even set up the bath tent herself. I'm so happy.' Furious, I went straight to confront June Sheffield. Usually cold and distant, she softened her tone for once. "Conditions here are harsh. If Morgan can't handle it and decides to leave, the base will end up even more short-staffed. You're one of the core staff members. Once the project pays out, your share alone will be at least four million. An intern like him doesn't get that kind of treatment." In the end, I swallowed my anger. That was, until the first-quarter project wrapped up. When there was still no movement in my account, I nervously contacted headquarters. The moment I gave my identity, the person on the other end sounded stunned. "You're just an intern. What project bonus are you talking about? And the head of the research department has always been Morgan Wilder." I stared at June's signature on the personnel registration list and suddenly understood everything. Without another word, I packed my bags and booked a flight home. Life in the desert was bitterly cold and unforgiving. This time, I was not staying.

I was three months pregnant when the car crash happened. In those final moments of fading consciousness, I frantically dialed Damian’s private, encrypted line—the one meant only for emergencies. He never picked up. By the time I was rushed into surgery, I received a crushing blow: Damian had forcibly reassigned my lead private physician to the South District. He needed the best doctor to treat his childhood sweetheart, Evelyn, who had just been widowed. When I finally drifted awake through a haze of agony, my trembling fingers swiped open Instagram. I saw Evelyn’s latest post: “I knew that no matter the distance or the time, Damian would move heaven and earth to reach me. He even brought his Chief Physician just to help me heal from my grief.” In the accompanying photo, Damian—a man known for his cold, lethal eyes—was gazing at the woman beside him with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years. While I was clawing my way back from the brink of death, fighting to save our child, my husband was playing protector to another pregnant woman. A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Without a second thought, I slid the wedding band off my ring finger. I opened my inbox and hit "Confirm" on the invitation from the world’s most elite International Finance Institute. If Evelyn is all he cares about, I’ll give them my blessing. In seven days, I will vanish from his world forever—and I’m taking my baby with me.

In the third year of my eating disorder, my husband, Nikolai Hollowell, is the only person who still insists on making me eat. Even when I vomit until I'm a trembling mess, he will make another dish for me again half an hour later. He coaxes gently yet stubbornly, "Have one more bite of the apple slice, Emi." But the moment I smell the food, I throw up again until I can barely breathe. That night, I make another post on X to ask for help. "How is someone with an eating disorder supposed to keep living?" The top comment says, "Get a boyfriend who's a chef! My darling cooks different dishes for me every single day, all 365 days without repeating once. Even the apple slices he cuts are shaped like cute little bunnies, so I absolutely love eating now." Someone replies enviously, "Wow! Where do you find a man like that?" She answers, "Find one? Good men like that no longer circulate on the market. He is actually married. His wife has had anorexia for three years. She has become only skin and bones. "He says just looking at her kills his appetite, and he does not even want to touch her. Well, I'm nothing like her. I always finish every dish he makes." My breathing catches in my throat. This morning, Nikolai personally made bunny-shaped apple slices for me. My fingertips turn cold as I tap into the woman's profile. Her caption reads, "Wow! If your wife won't eat bunny-shaped apple slices, then I will!" Attached is a photo of a man's long, elegant fingers holding an apple slice up to the woman's mouth. And the one reflected in her starry eyes after zooming in—is a face identical to Nikolai's.

My billionaire parents, Gerald Voight and Diane Westwood, were afraid my sister, Claire Voight, and I would grow spoiled if we stayed in luxury, so they pulled us out of the city's best prep school and sent us to study in a remote mountain town. On the way there, locals knocked us unconscious and sold us into a brutal trafficking ring. I found a way to contact my parents and begged them to save us, but they said I was lying. "Being sent to the mountains means you were trafficked? You really were raised too soft. You can't handle even a little hardship." "Kids there get into college by fighting their way out. Learn to do the same. Stop depending on us for everything." They blocked my sister's number and mine before I could explain. To survive, my sister and I escaped after three days without food, but when we tried to buy tickets out of the county, the ticket clerk refused us. "Sorry, miss. We've received instructions from the Voight family. You're not allowed to leave the county by any method, unless it's for college." We couldn't get away. The traffickers dragged us back. Later, my sister died from the tortures in a filthy basement. I was luckier. At my last breath, undercover anti-trafficking officers found me. I held my sister's ashes and fled to the farthest city from home. Then our cousin, Jenna Reed, posted a photo from her overseas school. [Uncle Gerald and Aunt Diane are just like my real parents. They give me the best love.] She tagged me on purpose, the way she always did, hoping I'd be provoked into questioning her. This time, I only liked the post and replied: [If you're willing, they can be your real parents. You can be their only daughter.]

Throughout our seven-year marriage, my CEO wife, Ruby Irving, goes on yet another business trip on Memorial Day once again, so she can't travel back to my hometown with me. But soon, I saw the photos uploaded by her assistant, Wilbur Stork, on his social media feed that featured her sweeping the grave in his hometown instead. The caption writes, "Mom and Dad must be very satisfied with their daughter-in-law because the gloomy weather has cleared up in an instant." I chortle in amusement for a brief moment before liking the post calmly. Then, I comment, "I respect your relationship and wish you nothing but happiness." But my colleagues all go nuts over the latest bombshell. They are quick to form their chat groups and speculate as to how I'm going to cause my next ruckus in the company this time. Ruby soon calls me while sounding very stern. "I know Wilbur does things very brashly due to his young age, but you shouldn't have caused him trouble in the comment section! What will everyone else in the company think of him? How is Wilbur supposed to continue working in this company? "Moreover, Wilbur doesn't have anyone left in his family. What's wrong with me keeping him company just this once? People with happy families like you don't have empathy for others at all! "I want you to delete your comment and remove your like right now. Once the holidays are over, I'll free up some time in my schedule to go back to your hometown with you." As I listen to Ruby making yet another empty promise to me in such a casual way, I let out a soft chuckle. "It's fine." Once the holidays are over, we'll be able to obtain our divorce certificates.

While on vacation, I return to my hometown to help my parents harvest pears. After seeing my Instagram post, my son's homeroom teacher, Ernest Dugan, sends me a private message. "So you sell pears, Mr. Miller? The kindergarten hasn't finalized next month's fruit supplier yet, so we'll order from you. You won't suffer any loss from this deal. I'll pay five dollars per pound. You just need to arrange transportation and deliver them to the kindergarten." I almost laugh out loud. My family's pears are the famous Green Jewel variety; they are known as the "Hermes of pears". They sell for over 100 dollars per pound on average. Five dollars wouldn't even cover the cost of a single pear. Even though Ernest is being ridiculous, I still reply politely, "Sorry, all of our pears are reserved. You'll need to find another supplier." To my surprise, Ernest immediately posts photos of my family's pears in the parent group chat. He writes, "Next month's fruit selection for the kindergarten will be upgraded to Green Jewel pears. If anyone wishes to buy some for personal consumption, feel free to place orders below. The price is five dollars per pound." The chat group buzzes with activity as parents rush to place orders one after another. Three days later, they block the truck carrying my shipment to Windford. Determined to force the sale, they surround the vehicle and refuse to let it leave. Before they can ransack the truck, several military-plated vehicles arrive and seal off the road. A group of officials steps out with stern, angry expressions. One of them coldly demands, "These are pears specially ordered for this weekend's state banquet. Who said you could lay a finger on them?"

My fiance, Victor Blackwood, is a mafia boss who rules the country's underworld with an iron fist. To the rest of the world, he is the epitome of power. Yet to me, he is the embodiment of love. But I do not realize the cost of loving a man like him. On Valentine's Day, I cook his favorite dishes and wait for him to come home. However, time passes, and his chair stays empty. Uneasy, I go to Queenie Stone's social media page. She is Victor's foster sister. She posts, "All I said was that I felt lonely, and he came right away. "Even when I accidentally spilled wine on him, he didn't mind. Victor is still someone who puts family first, even if it means neglecting his lover. "He never lets me down. I hope things stay that way." In the photo, Victor's shirt is soaked at the waist. Queenie's handkerchief lingers near his most private parts, but he doesn't pull away. He merely looks at her affectionately. I do not make a fuss and give Queenie's post a like. Then, I send Victor a message that reads, "Let's break up." Victor ignores it as always. Later, I discover that when my breakup message popped up, he had said offhandedly, "Vivienne can't live without me. She's just acting out. "If I ignore her for a few days, she'll come crawling back by herself. She's easy to please." What he doesn't know is that I was easy to handle only because I once loved him. But now that I have decided to leave, he cannot make me turn back, no matter how he tries to win me over.