Scorned Woman Novels & Stories

he added, adding societal etiquette pressure. Gritting her teeth concealed behind her tightly closed lips, she couldn’t help but to bent over his words. After pointing out the futility of declining, she couldn’t possibly do so or else it would appear as personal whims and grudge toward him. She knew better to keep her irritation on her own or else she will be returning to her infamous title of being a scandalous woman, with no particular reason. She couldn’t afford to be reckless when with her little mistake, her viscous stepmother will take her chance and push her more into trouble.

I clenched my fists as my adrenaline skyrocketed. I dashed into the room only to find her masturbating with a sex toy and moaning loudly. I was furious and felt disrespected. "What is the meaning of this nonsense, Eleanor?" I slapped her and pulled the toy, flinging it away. "This is the woman I got married to? Look at how you're behaving like a slut! How dare you insult me in such a manner? How can a married woman live like a street whore?" Eleanor turned to me, still holding the cheek I slapped her on.

I've almost been raped but the scorned woman said she didn't want any of her men to touch me so I could be tight enough for all the men I would get to sleep with at the brothel I will be taken to eventually. The funny thing is, with every taunting word, every action, and every little thing I go through, I grow more hardened, more determined to live. If this is how people are reborn into criminals, then I'm going to be a living example and I'm not backing down. The scorned woman comes to see me every day expecting me to grovel and beg for freedom as well as for my life, but when she sees the blazing fire in my eyes and the determ

"Damn ugly freak, scaring the piss out of me! You've ruined my fun!" A group of men snickered behind him, reveling in the spectacle. The woman was curvaceous, clad in red—it was unmistakably Scarlett. But her usual radiance had been extinguished. Her eyes were dull, her spirit broken. A stark handprint stained her cheek, a grotesque mark on her once flawless face. Ignoring the man's relentless stream of insults, Scarlett continued mopping the grimy floor as if she hadn't heard a word. Frustrated by her silence, he lashed out and slapped her hard across the face.

The floor was wet in patches; I couldn’t even tell if it was water. “Fresh meat,” a voice sneered from the corner. A short, muscular woman with a scar across her cheek. Her voice was deep, heavy with something that sounded like… satisfaction. I froze. There were five women in the cell. Their eyes glinted like predators spotting a wounded deer. My legs shook, but I forced myself to stand straight. I couldn’t show fear. “She looks fancy,” another one hissed, stepping closer. “Look at her smooth skin. Pretty face too. Not for long.”

If he left like this, he would give up on revitalizing the ancient medical techniques. If he didn't leave, he might die here tonight. Helpless, he could only grit his teeth to leave with Black Scorpion and his men. But before they could take a few steps, they suddenly stopped. Their leader Black Scorpion immediately became serious, his sharp eyes looking at something not far ahead. Over there, a woman had appeared from nowhere. The woman was wearing a noble Fishtail gown. Although she was not that young, she looked pretty, charming, and graceful with nice makeup. Leaning against a tree with a women's cigarette between her fingers, she was smoking casually.

I frowned after him, not sure why he hadn’t even acknowledged her, when a voice from a few tables over floated our way. “Oh my God, did you see that woman’s face?” Blinking, I turned in that direction to find a table of two women, leaning toward each other eagerly as they gossiped. “I know!” the second one gushed. “Those scars are disgusting. It looks like someone took a meat tenderizer to her.” Stunned by their uncouth behavior, I turned back to Isobel, who sat stiff and straight, her chin tipped up and blue eyes filled with blank acceptance.

"Something strange about her scent." "Off how?" the scarred woman demanded, her hand shooting to the knife on her belt. "Can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps the cold's getting to my nose." The man's amber gaze examined my face with lazy interest. "Either way, she's on the verge of death." "Right," the older man replied. "She's not going to last. Save us the trouble." "Do it quick, then," the scarred woman counselled. "Put her out of her misery."

It was the kind of card most people only heard about, but never fortunate enough to see. A collective shift rippled through the crowd. “Oh my God. Is that—? “No fucking way!” “How did she get that? Who really is this woman?!” “As if not being thrown away from Enoch's house isn't enough, now you've resorted to stealing other people's cards?” Melody sneered. I looked up to see her eyes fixated on the card and not me. There was something unsettling in them. Something that refused to accept what was right in front of her.

Her soft and kind demeanor belied a scheming and shameless bitch, and she was about to teach her a valuable lesson the hard way. Elena gave a deep sigh before approaching her. She walked slowly while looking at Mariella's back. She had an urge to grab her hair and push her to the table, but she wouldn't do that. She couldn't afford to have her reputation ruined because of that bitch. She would play her cards well and make sure she'd win this battle. "Good evening," she said coldly before taking a seat across from her. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." "No worries, ma'am. I just arrived. "