Siobal D Novels & Stories

"Jump Isabelle" The voice commanded in her head "Jump" Tears trickle down Isabelle cheek as she stood on top of the parapet of the building "Jump" one move, one step and she was flying... falling to her death. Isabelle never took a glance at the sunsets because she always believe there's a storm after twilight,her parents were gone... taken,waiting to catch a glimpse of her parents she'd stayed still listening to everything and everyone. "Go get them,get them" the children danced ,free in their own world. "Go get them,get them" The children all waiting for their loved ones sang joyfully as the airplane descend. "Go get the,get them" They screamed,the airplane blowed up,and her nightmares started then, the hope dashing away without a ray of light to save it. "The death certificate was with you all along,why did you lie?" Isabelle mutter,staring straight into the eyes of the only man she'd ever trusted,the only man she'd ruined with her one single decision "why?" "I'll never let you go" "I'm in love with Ian not you" Isabelle move to the door "not you Xander" She'd dragged everyone into her own web of lies,the sister she'd vowed to died in front of her while the one she was link with By blood is slowly becoming an addict in front of her,a serial killer bent on destroying on her was slowly getting a way into her family,how will she conquer all the tribulations right in front of her?when will she open her curtains to look at the sunset. "Jump" Isabelle head hit the ground and everything vanished underneath her.

My daughter, who'd always hated the cold, suddenly started begging to vacation in the freezing Northern Territories. I dismissed it as a passing whim and told her no. I never thought she'd actually soak herself in a tub of ice for two days straight, just to prove she wasn't afraid of the cold. I gave in. I took her north. My mate, Cassian, stayed behind to handle pack affairs. The North was bitter. After only a few days, my daughter started showing signs of cold-sickness, coughing constantly. I wasn't going to gamble with her health. I decided to bring her home immediately. But my daughter threw a fit. At the time, I thought she just loved the North too much to leave. Until I happened to overhear her conversation with my husband, Cassian: "Daddy! These last few days in the North, I put scent-blocker in Mommy's water every single day! Aren't I clever? Now she'd never find out about you and Auntie Kayla!" "Mommy is so annoying, always nagging! I wish Auntie Kayla were my mommy instead!" I stood there cold, watching the cozy little scene inside the room, gripping the vial of scent-blocker I'd just dug out of my daughter's backpack — the drug meant to numb the link between Cassian and me. Fine. If they loved Kayla so much, then let them have her. I'd give them my blessing. So why, after I gave you everything you wanted, did the three of you end up on your knees begging for my forgiveness?

Elena had left her past behind her to start a law firm of her own. Uknown to her, a business rival had dug up her past dirt and was blackmailing her. That night she met up with Luis Mathew, she'd done something really dreadful. Something she thought no one else saw. As she made her way outside the old deserted house, she was sure she had done what she did to protect herself, little did she know that she'd encounter a more dreadful fate from, "the eyes that watched". Gregory knew he was sick in his dark mind, and as he watched the fragile girl take a life, he knew he'd have her at all cost. They were dark together in hearts. Warning: This book contains sexual encounters, graphic languages and dark happenings that some readers may find inappropriate and so is not suitable for anyone under tha age of 18.

The first thing I did when I came back to life was to pawn off my engagement to the Don of the Schroder family, Edmund, on my stepsister. In my last life, he used the "family rules" to make me give up the one thing I loved—racing. He threw out all my colorful dresses and turned me into his canary in a gilded cage. I died, suffocated and hopeless. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the marriage contract was to be signed. I quietly switched my name with my stepsister Laura's and let Edmund sign the papers. He didn't forget to warn me, "Stay out of trouble. Our wedding is in three days. Be a good girl and wait for me to come get you." But he had no idea I'd already bought a fake ID and passport. In three days, I'd be gone. I'd be free.

My parents forced me to drop out of school and work eight jobs just to support my cousin Lola. I was only allowed to keep twenty bucks a month. One day, while working on a construction site, I got buried in a collapse. Dying, I called them—but they were busy throwing a lavish birthday party for Lola. Turns out they'd faked bankruptcy. Every penny went to her. After I died, they spread rumors that I'd run off with some guy. When the truth came out, my parents lost their minds. Their company went under. Later, I found out Lola was actually my twin sister—she'd been sent away as a baby to avoid some legal trouble. In the end, my mother poisoned Lola, then killed herself. Only then could my soul rest. My aunt came to my grave and whispered, "Next life, come to me."

My dad never got over his first love, so he traded me for her daughter, Irene. I spent twenty years like that before they finally took me back and named me the real heiress. So when it was time to pick a husband, I didn't care about anything else. I just wanted someone with a clean past. Like Shane Terrell. Detective captain. Cold, intimidating, and known for ignoring women—yet when he confessed, his ears went red. "Lana Laurent, you're my first. You have to take responsibility for me." I believed him. Thought I'd found the one. Then Irene came back. I stood in our house and watched Shane hold her, crying. "Why'd you make me lie to her? Why'd you make me marry her? You're the one I loved first!"

Five years into my marriage to Ethan Morgan, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. He'd bought a private island in my name. He'd asked me to quit my career to rest. He called me his queen. What he didn't know was that I never stopped designing — under a different name, a secret identity no one knew about. Not even him. Then his secretary left a review on my designer account, raving about the dress her "billionaire boyfriend" had gifted her. The island in the photo was mine. The man beside her was my husband. [He says his wife doesn't satisfy his real needs.] [Only if he didn't need an heir from her, she'd already be gone.] I was pregnant with that heir. And he would never know. I made one call: "I need a new identity. And a divorce agreement."

By year's end, I'd closed a huge deal and snagged a $2.5 million bonus. The company even sent me on early maternity leave—nice perk for being eight months pregnant. Pauline found me lounging on the couch. "Why aren't you at work?" I cracked a joke. "Got fired. Guess I'll be stuck here playing housewife." Her response? A slap across my back. "Then get off and do the laundry! You're having a girl, not a son, and you think you can sit around like some princess?" My husband, Logan, walked in right then. He just pulled her into the nursery. Feeling hurt, I switched on the hidden cameras I'd secretly installed. I thought maybe he'd defend me. Yeah, no. What I uncovered? It was so much worse. Twisted secret after twisted secret.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

My husband's cold, distant secretary, Ruby Kuntz, was so busy chasing a multimillion-dollar deal she hadn't even touched her food. Eric Tyler casually peeled three shrimp for her. Right in front of him, I called my lawyer. "Caleb, draft the divorce papers. I'm done." Eric looked at me like I'd lost it. He'd barely slept for days because of the contract. "You're divorcing me because I peeled three shrimp for Ruby?" "Yeah."