Post Colonial Novels & Stories

I always thought my husband, Ryder, was forced to marry me. For six months, he wouldn't touch me. I tried everything. I wore my sexiest lingerie. I guided his hands over my burning skin. I could feel how hard he was, completely out of control. But at the last second, he'd always push me away, gasping. He'd finish me with his fingers instead. My hope died. I decided to leave him. I was ready to accept a top dog trainer position in Europe. The night before I planned to hand him the divorce papers, I heard voices from his study. Ryder, talking to his best friends. "Ryder, you're dying for her, man. So why won't you touch her? Another man's going to snatch her up!" "But she's so fragile..." Ryder's deep voice was filled with pain. "You know... I'm a monster. If she sees what I really am... it will terrify her." His voice dropped to a raw whisper. "If she really needs... comfort... from another man... I can take it. As long as she comes home to me in the end." His friend growled. "Stop! Then maybe stop posting on that encrypted dark web forum, asking for help!" Monster? What did that mean? Late that night, I used his computer. I found a hidden forum called "The Den." A pinned post at the top. Thousands of replies. User ID: Midnight_Howler. One sentence. Dripping with desperation and frantic obsession: "I finally married the girl I've loved for years, but I'm terrified to touch her. How can I survive my rut without hurting her, without her discovering my secret?"

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

The new Consigliere wanted to restructure the Mafia family’s affairs by sinking her claws into me. My boyfriend, who was a Mafia Don and wildly in love with me, wanted to get revenge on her for me. He planned to raise her status to the skies and make her suffer a horrific downfall when the right time came. He kicked me out of the family and gave all my responsibilities to the new Consigliere. She received luxury cars and jewelry from him as gifts, but he told me to tolerate it as part of the plot. When my younger brother's kidneys started to fail, I begged my Don boyfriend for the surgery fees, which he agreed to give me. On the day of the surgery, I waited from daylight to daybreak for the money, but nothing came. That was when I saw an Instagram post from the new Consigliere, taunting me. "My family's Don is such a wonderful man. Someone who was kicked out of the family was brazen enough to ask him for money. What if she can't repay us? I had to stop the money transfer. I hope this woman will find a better excuse the next time she tries to scam him." The mess ended with my brother dying. My Don boyfriend called me later in an attempt to cajole me. "Don't be mad. Joey can have his surgery later. I'm just tolerating Rosetta to encourage her to become full of herself. The higher she climbs, the harder she'll fall. Don't worry! Her birthday will be in a few days. I'll humiliate her, then make her lose everything. We'll have our wedding after that. That will cheer Joey up!" However, I knew that his so-called plot was the start of him falling in love with another woman. That was when I no longer wanted him.

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.

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

On my wedding day, I jumped from the 38th floor of the hotel. It all started when I got together with my first love, Colin Frey. My best friend, Alice Manning, came to me and said she had bound herself to some kind of love system. She claimed that every guy I dated would fall for her and dump me. I thought she was just messing around and did not believe her. However, just a few days later, Colin came to me and confessed that he wanted to break up because he had fallen in love with Alice. After that, I got smart about it. I stopped telling anyone about my relationships and did not even post anything on social media. Yet, somehow Alice always knew. It was as if she had installed some kind of tracking device on me. No matter who I dated, she would find out. Then, within days, they would all fall head over heels for her and leave me behind. I was completely heartbroken, so I moved back to my hometown to get as far away from Alice as possible. Through my parents' arrangement, I was set to marry a guy through a blind date setup. Yet, on the actual wedding day, he stood up in front of everyone and confessed his love to Alice, saying he wanted to marry her instead. My parents, who were sitting in the audience, were so furious and devastated that they collapsed on the spot. They were rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. They were gone. Meanwhile, Alice was wearing the ring that was supposed to be mine, looking absolutely smug as she boasted, "A man this amazing? As if you deserve him. Now he's mine, so why don't you just step aside like a good girl?" I could not take the blow, so I climbed to the hotel rooftop and leapt off without hesitation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the very moment before Alice had ever mentioned that so-called system.

My parents had always played favorites. On my birthday, the house was completely empty. Meanwhile, my older brother, Howard Moore, posted a nine-photo grid on social media, showing off a huge birthday cake. In every picture, Mom and Dad were gathered around him, smiling like they couldn’t be prouder. I called them. Laughter poured through the phone from the other end. Still, I gathered every bit of courage I had and asked softly, “Why didn’t I even get a happy birthday?” The line went silent for a second. Then Mom’s bright, smiling voice came through. “Because Howard is handsome. Taking him out makes us look good. But you? Those hooded eyes and that bulbous nose. Honestly, if we didn’t feel sorry for you, we would’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago.” Howard took the phone from her and said gently, “You know you’re adopted, right? Did you really think you were one of us?” I stood there for a long time, too stunned to move. After that, I stopped talking. But deep down, I still craved the love of my biological parents. So I secretly made a post online, looking for my biological family. I didn’t expect Howard to find it. He took a screenshot and sent it to the school’s anonymous gossip account. “The fake Moore kid is looking for his parents. Anyone lose an ugly little kid?” I cried for a long time. Then late that night, I walked past their bedroom door, which had been left slightly open. Howard’s laughter floated out, clear and bright. “He actually believed it! This is hilarious! Let’s hire someone to pretend to be his parents. I can’t wait to see him on his knees, begging us.” Dad took a sip of his tea. “Do whatever you want.” Mom added, “Just don’t go too far.” Outside the door, my fingers slowly loosened around the doorknob.

Richard Montague, a rich heir in Durmask, has just posted a new tweet on Twitter. The accompanying photo features a luxurious winery. The caption reads, "My wife loves this place a lot, so I bought it immediately." I tap on the photo, soon realizing that this is Amie Winery, the same place that I had briefly mentioned to Richard last week. Then, I recall the fact that he has told me that he's prepared a surprise anniversary gift for me in a mysterious tone. So, this winery must be the gift! With a wide smile on my face, I respond to his tweet in the comment section. But three minutes later, Kiara York, a popular celebrity from the same company that I'm in, quickly proclaims her love for Richard on the Internet. "Wow, my husband is so generous! I'm very satisfied with this gift!" All the onlookers and fans begin shipping Kiara and Richard like mad overnight. "What a sweet relationship! As expected of the rich heir in Durmask! Even the way he announces his relationship is very domineering!" The whole turn of events leaves me feeling stunned. Once I realize that Kiara is just trying to ride on the coattails of Richard's popularity, I quickly post a picture of my marriage certificate online. It comes with a caption. "If she's the legitimate wife, then who am I?" But Kiara soon posts a marriage certificate of her own. To my surprise, there's a photo attached to the certificate. Richard's face is shown in the photo. Kiara mocks me, "There's a limit to being a lunatic fangirl, you know! Rick and I are husband and wife by law! You can't just slap a Photoshopped picture here and pretend that he's your husband!" As I stare at both copies of the marriage certificates, which show the courthouse's stamp, I fall in deep contemplation. Then, I look at the place Kiara tagged on her Twitter comment. Finally, I can't resist calling Richard, who's currently overseas. "How dare you engage in bigamy behind my back!"