Se-mi Death Squid Game

That night, Liam served me my usual evening tea. I trusted him completely—he was my mate, after all, and a respected healer of Thornpack. I shouldn't have. When I woke up the next morning, my head was spinning. The special safe where I kept the morphing inhibitor—the one I'd spent my entire savings to import from Europe for our daughter Isla—was empty. Racing to the healing center, I found Liam celebrating. He was handing out moon-blessed wine, beaming with pride as Natalie's daughter Anna showed off her perfect transformation. My inhibitor had been used on his first love's pup instead of our own daughter. The shock triggered something in my brain. When I collapsed, they diagnosed me with the rare tumor that plagued our kind. Without inhibitors, I couldn't stop Isla's transformation that came early, her six year old body couldn't handle the massive wolf form and the force ripped through her young body. And I, for one, don't even have enough money to keep her in a treatment center. She died in my arms three days later, her little claws drawing blood as the pain overwhelmed her. Until her last breath, she kept asking why Papa hadn't come. Now, in my cold, empty home, with the white porcelain urn containing her ashes on the table, I touch her and decide to sever our partnership.

"You can't be pregnant,..no..Tasha..you must be joking," he scoffed, jiggling his head as he took a step back away from her. "I can't be pregnant? Was I barren when you met me? Or does it mean your middle leg is infertile?" She snapped. "You better think of a way to tell this to my brother," she added. "Now, that's the problem. How do I break this to your ruthless brother and father?!" He slammed. "None of my business, I wasn't there when you were busy chasing after his wife. Are you planning to reject this pregnancy? You can't reject a billionaire's grandbaby and you know it," she said with a smirk. He heaved a sigh and scratched the back of his head. "If I take responsibility for this, I'll die. If I don't, I'll still die anyway. So why take responsibility for something I'll end up dying for anyway?" He blurted and her eyes bulged. ** A lothario found himself in the chains of a beautiful strange lady whom he rescued from a deadly accident. But  what was supposed to be a rescue turned into a one night stand. A one night stand became a fling and then a fling turned into a game which would see him chained to her for the rest of his life. But her personality as a ruthless billionaire's daughter, and sister to the cold hearted billionaire whom he once had a feud with proved to be an obstacle that felt hard to overcome. What would his decisions be? Run away or stay to fight for his baby?. Follow the book for a rollercoaster ride.

Mi mejor amiga y yo nos casamos el mismo día con los hermanos Alcázar. Por coincidencia, incluso quedamos embarazadas al mismo tiempo. Yo me casé con el hermano mayor, un reconocido psicólogo; ella, con su hermano menor, un prodigio de la medicina. Debido a las molestias del embarazo, Sebastián decidió manejar y llevarme para realizarme un chequeo prenatal. Pero a mitad del camino, una sola llamada de su ex, la mujer que nunca superó, bastó para que cambiara de rumbo y me dejara atrás. Llorando, me aferré a su brazo. —Sebastián, te lo suplico… afuera está lloviendo a cántaros. ¿Puedes llevarme primero al hospital? Él apartó mi mano con impaciencia. —Ella se cortó la muñeca. ¡Podría morir! ¿Puedes dejar de ser tan inmadura? Tengo que ir a vendarla. Tú puedes ir sola al hospital. La lluvia caía como si el cielo se estuviera rompiendo. Y Sebastián me dejó sola en plena carretera. No tuve más opción que llamar a mi mejor amiga para que viniera por mí. Nunca imaginamos que, en el camino, un enorme camión de carga se lanzaría directo contra nosotras. Mientras perdía el conocimiento, la escuché llorando, llamando a su esposo… Pero lo único que recibió fueron reproches. —No inventes tonterías, Elena. Solo porque estoy acompañando a Daniela, ¿ahora vas a mentir sobre un accidente? Al final, fueron unos desconocidos que iban pasando quienes llamaron a la ambulancia. Gracias a ellos, sobrevivimos, pero las dos perdimos a nuestros bebés. Cuando despertamos en el hospital, nos miramos y sonreímos amargamente. —¿Te vas a divorciar? —Sí.

En la entrega de premios del Concurso Mundial de Diseño de Joyería, mi hermanastra, Sandra, se llevó el gran premio. Usó los diseños que me robó. Lo que no sabía era que el mayor patrocinador del evento era Jude Moretti. El Padrino de la familia Moretti. Un monstruo sediento de sangre, marcado por una explosión, un hombre del que dicen que nunca podrá tener hijos. ¿Y el gran premio? Convertirse en la esposa del Padrino. Esa noche, los hombres de Moretti, todos de negro, entregaron un contrato de matrimonio con ribetes de oro. Habían venido por la "diseñadora genio". Mi prometido, Marco, entró en pánico y llevó a Sandra a Las Vegas para salvarla. Se casaron esa noche. Con el matrimonio hecho, Sandra regresó pavoneándose, vestida con mi bata de seda. Mostró el anillo en su dedo y los chupetones por todo su cuello. —Marco es mío ahora —ronroneó—. ¿Qué vas a hacer, Odessa? El Padrino solo te da un día. Si no te casas con él, la Familia tendrá que apaciguarlo. Eso significa enviarte al barrio rojo. Venderte a la clase de psicópata que se excita con cosas rotas. Ella estaba equivocada. Yo tenía otra opción. Encontré a mi padre y a mi madrastra, ambos luchando por lidiar con el contrato. —Lo haré —dije—. Me casaré con el Padrino.

Mi suegra tuvo un accidente de tránsito y fue llevada al hospital. Llamé más de veinte veces a mi esposo, Samuel López, que era abogado, pero solo conseguí que me respondiera en la última. —¿Qué cuento te estás inventando ahora? Sandra está en problemas y tengo que ayudarla. Deja de hacer berrinches. Apenada por sus palabras, le informé de la situación de su mamá y le pedí que me transfiriera diez mil dólares para pagar los gastos médicos. No obstante, engañado por su primer amor, Sandra López, simplemente se redujo a botarme palabras impacientes: —El accidente de tráfico que sufrió tu mamá no tiene nada que ver conmigo. No trates de usar mi dinero para ayudar a tu familia y déjame en paz. Estoy muy ocupado ahora. Dicho esto, colgó la llamada sin esperar a mi respuesta. Entre tanto, habían anunciado el fallecimiento de su madre, tras un intento fallido de reanimación. Tres días después, volví a verlo en la audiencia: estaba defendiendo con entusiasmo a su primer amor, quien se encontraba en el banquillo por conducir ebria. Gracias a sus excelentes habilidades como abogado, Sandra fue declarada inocente, basándose en la falta de pruebas. Muy decepcionada, le propuse el divorcio al terminar la audiencia. Pero él se puso nervioso: —Mi mamá es tan buena contigo. Si te divorcias, ¡se va a poner muy triste! Le sonreí con indiferencia y luego le aventé contra la cara las facturas de los gastos médicos y el certificado de defunción. Qué estúpido era este tipo. Aún no sabía que su madre había fallecido.

Warning: This story contains a lot of explicit violence, foul language, and gore scenes, which are strictly not for readers under 18. She swore to kill him. He vowed to make her beg for him. Sylvara Swiftfang only had one mission: avenge her parents’ murder by destroying Darius Ashfang, the ruthless Alpha mafia lord who tore her family apart. But when she runs from a forced marriage, fate delivers her straight into his hands. He doesn’t kill her. He doesn’t cage her. Instead, he offers a game: Seven months. She swears she’ll end his life. He swears she’ll never live without him. As passion tangles with vengeance, Sylvara must choose, betray her heart or surrender to the one man she was born to hate. But in a world of blood oaths, pack wars, and deadly secrets, love could be the most dangerous gamble of all.

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. He's holding a fake confession letter with my forged signature, storming into my old apartment in the rust district, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he grabs the corner store owner downstairs, demanding to know where I am. The owner pauses, wiping his hands on his apron, calmly tells him: "Serafine? She died five years ago." "Heard it was retaliation from a rival family during the gang war. They ambushed her in an alley... shot her over a dozen times. She died immediately." My husband, Lucien, refuses to believe it. Convinced the owner is on my payroll, hiding me to help me escape his reach. He scoffs, his eyes filled with scorn: "Oh, so what? Because I called her out for messing up that last job, now she's throwing a tantrum?" "You tell her, if she doesn't come back and take the fall in three days, I'll revoke her grandmother's 'special family protection'! Let the old woman rot!" With that, he storms out, his rage still simmering. The owner watches him leave and sighs, shaking his head. "There's no grandmother left to protect... That woman passed away not long after Serafine did... couldn't survive the winter without our family's medical supplies and protection..."

THIS IS A DARK ROMANCE FEATURING DARK CONTENT AND MORALLY AMBIGUOUS CHARACTERS. Peyton has been in her marriage, enduring the pain of watching Odin, her husband, flirt and cheat in the guise of an open marriage—a decision he made without her agreement. She hit a dead end when Odin broke the number one rule: bringing one of his flings to their home, their bed. That's when she made an impulsive decision—cheat and not feel guilty. He wants her to get a boyfriend? No, she'd do him one better. One night, that's all it took, and the next day she finds herself tangled with her husband's brother. Axel—He's a live wire, pure mischief and untamed. He doesn't just give Peyton what she's been starved of; he ignites a fire she didn't know she had, making her crave the wild freedom only he offers. With Axel, it's not just a fling; it's an explosion of everything forbidden. Raphael—A little unhinged? More like a master of controlled chaos. He's the kind of man who sears himself into your soul, leaving an unforgettable mark deep in your memories. Raphael doesn't just flip a switch in your brain; he rewires it entirely, making you question every sane choice you've ever made. Ready to dive deeper into Peyton's dangerous game?

My son is dead. He dies in a cramped toilet cubicle after having his skull smashed in. My husband, the school principal, arrives on the scene. The first thing he does is carry his true love's son, the one who killed my son, into an ambulance. They hurriedly leave. Before his death, my son tells me, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm not sad that Dad doesn't believe me. It's enough that you do…" I call Joshua Tucker during my son's funeral. He roars angrily, "Kenny had to get two stitches on his arm because of your son! If you keep pestering me like this, I'll beat him up when I get home!" My son? I look at the gaping hole in my son's head, the one that won't ever bleed anymore. I shut my eyes. Yes, he's my son. My son is dead, Joshua. From now on, there's nothing between us.

On my birthday, Connor Simpson's first love jumped off a building due to depression. She died on the spot. Connor blamed everything on me. I never celebrated my birthday again after she died. After the murderer electrocuted me for more than ten hours, they forced me to call Connor. "Connor, it's my 25th birthday today. Can you come over and spend time with me?" However, Connor did not notice anything unusual. His voice was laced with venomous iciness. "Clarisse Winter, Audrey wouldn't have died if it weren't for you. How dare you ask me to celebrate your birthday? If only you were the one who died." I heard him coaxing a woman on the other end just before he hung up on me. That low and gentle tone was what I loved to hear the most in the past. That night, the murderer cut my body into countless pieces, packed them in bags, and threw them in front of the police station. Connor was summoned back overnight. He spent two days and two nights piecing together the body parts, but he did not realize that the dead person was the wife that he hated the most.