Solo Leveling(only I Level Up) Novels & Stories

Imagine finding out your current lover is your deceased fiancee's murderer, what would you do? Continue the relationship? Or bring him to justice?

BLURB Laurie-Ann Kane thought she had it all,. a loving husband, a quiet home, and the kind of marriage people envied. But one night shattered the illusion. Walking in on her husband Ethan wrapped in the arms of his ex, Laurie’s world fell apart. Humiliated and heartbroken, she walked away,. from him, from their life, and from the woman she used to be. With the help of her godmother, Hollywood icon Vivian Kane, Laurie rebuilds herself. One year later, she’s no longer the wife who lived in someone else’s shadow,. she’s the rising star of the film industry. Independent. Fierce. Untouchable. But fate has a cruel sense of humor. When Laurie lands her biggest role yet, she discovers her co-star is none other than Ethan, her ex-husband the man who betrayed her, and shatters her trust. Now, under the blinding lights of Hollywood, the cameras capture more than just a performance. Old wounds reopen, sparks reignite, and secrets buried in their past threaten to destroy the peace she’s fought so hard to find. Love made her weak. Betrayal made her famous. But working together might just break them both. Will passion ignite or will revenge and hate prevail?

My wife, Rosalie Lockwood, locks me up in a villa located in the suburbs for three days because I've forgotten to feed her first love's dog once. Unfortunately, the villa somehow gets set on fire. I call Rosalie for help and beg her to tell me where she's hidden the key. But she merely replies lightly, "Today is Caleb's birthday. Don't think about ruining this big day for us! Once Caleb's mood lightens up after we're done celebrating his birthday, I'll let you out." I try to save myself, but the water supply in the villa is already cut off. Soon, the signal goes out, too. I can only watch as I get surrounded by the ruthless inferno. Eventually, everything in the villa is reduced to ashes. Even when I'm burned to nothing but bones, help still never comes for me…

For the past three months, I've slept only three hours every day just so my team and I can create an app. Thanks to our hard work, the app goes absolutely viral to the point we've garnered over 100 million registered users on the first week of its launch. At the afterparty, my wife, Stacie Woodward, announces that her godbrother, Tory Frost, who's the PR manager, will be the one receiving the million-dollar bonus. She then tosses me a few 50% discount coupons that can be used in shopping malls as my bonus. "You're just a code monkey—why do you need that much money anyway? You can have these discount coupons. Use them on anything you want. At least buy some nice clothes for yourself. Don't go around wearing these rags. You'll just end up humiliating me more." I plead to her in a low tone, "Have you gone crazy, Stacie? My dad needs the money for the best medication in order to save his life! Can you please stop joking around?" But Stacie clings to Toby's arm, looking high and mighty. "Your dad's dying, isn't he? He might as well stop wasting the public resources! I can always choose him a better grave and hold a nice funeral for him when his time comes!" As I look at Stacie's smug face, I just smile at her instead of getting mad at her. She must have forgotten that the app's core algorithm and the user growth model are built using my private, undisclosed technology stack. That means the copyright is mine and has nothing to do with the company. I just smile while nodding at Stacie. That night, I activate the technology stack's self-destruct and migration protocols.

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.

I stumbled across an encrypted folder on my husband's phone, filled with photos of a little girl I'd never seen before. From newborn to first steps, sorted by month—two full years' worth. But the child in those photos wasn't our daughter. When I confronted him, he said she was a girl named Rosie from the children's home I sponsored. The director sent growth updates, and he'd been saving them for me. I never imagined that my warm, thoughtful husband would use my charity to spin a lie. Because every single photo was geotagged to the apartment complex next to his office. And the children's home was on the other side of the city. I didn't call him out right then. Because I wanted to know whose child she really was.

“You’re useless to me, Carmen. A barren Luna is no Luna at all.” Those were the last words Alpha Silas Knowles spat at his wife before he orchestrated the car accident that took her life. He wanted her dead so he could marry her sister, Chloe, and finally claim the heir he believed Carmen could never give him. What Silas didn’t know was that Carmen was already six months pregnant with a miracle child. What he didn’t know was that he was the sterile one, and the child Chloe carried was not his. When the Moon Goddess grants Carmen a second chance, she wakes up three months before her murder. But the woman who returns isn't the submissive, fat wife Silas used to mock. She is cold, calculating, and ready for war. While Silas is busy with his mistress, Carmen is busy siphoning his millions, dismantling his pack’s assets, and planning her disappearance. To survive, she must strike a deal with the Alpja of Nightshade, Cayden Viner. Cayden is a lethal Alpha and Silas’s most feared rival who has never let a woman close—until he meets the transformed Carmen. He’s suspicious of her motives, but he’s captivated by the fire in her eyes and the secrets she’s hiding. As Silas’s empire begins to crumble, he realizes too late that he threw away a Queen for a parasite. He wants Carmen back. He wants his heir. But Carmen is no longer a broken woman. She has a new King, a new empire, and a revenge that is only just beginning.

She was once a woman—a lesbian to be exact—in her past life, fantasizing about having a date with beautiful girls and dreaming to act like a real man does someday. But she was afraid to show her true colors because she was living in a judgemental society. Not until, she was trapped in a burning hospital building, trying to save an old woman before herself but only to find out that old woman was only an apparition of a deceased person. She died there, sacrificing her life for nothing. Many things happened in her mind before she runs out of breath. The next thing happened, she emerged from a bamboo tree and woke up into another realm. And to her surprise, she was reincarnated as a teenage guy possessing magical skills. She is Princess Maria Isabelle De Lata who later known as Reign Thunderstorm in the magical world of Artesia. And this is her… wait a minute… and this is the story of how she or… he became a legend.

I spent five years chasing Tyler Watson, only to get kidnapped right in front of him. He just stood there and watched. As a result, I suffered. After I escaped, he acted all high and mighty and proposed to make up for his tiny bit of guilt. The second we got our marriage certificate, the Simp System’s voice rang in my head. “Congrats, host! You’ve completed your mission.” Just like that, my sanity finally returned. While Tyler waited in a hotel for me to bring him contraceptives, I went live to expose his cheating. For good measure, I even called the anti-vice office to report my dear husband for soliciting prostitutes.

I had been married to Derek for six years, and we had a three-year-old son. He was poor, earning only $2,000 a month, but I had no complaints; I took care of everything at home for him. After getting dinner on the table for the whole family, I finally had a minute to check my phone. A video popped up on my feed: a twenty-two-year-old girl from a rural area whose hands, roughened by years of hard labor, looked like they belonged to a sixty-two-year-old woman. I looked down at my own hands, just as worn and scarred, and stared at them blankly before tapping into the comments. I expected people to feel bad for her. However, to my surprise, the comments section was flooded with a single sentiment: "Why would anyone marry a penniless loser?" One of the top-liked comments came from a couple; in their photo, they were pictured holding hands—fingers tightly intertwined—with the girl sporting a massive diamond ring. The accompanying caption read: "A man who truly loves you would never bear to let you suffer." I felt a pang of envy. Given the choice, who wouldn't want a glamorous life? As I was about to close the app, I accidentally tapped on the couple's photo, enlarging it. In the background, previously too blurry to make out, was a face I recognized. It looked exactly like my husband, Derek Sterling. I froze, and almost against my will, I tapped into the account's profile. Post after post of lavish photos of them together flooded my screen. And then I saw him clearly. The scar above his brow, the one he got when a shelf fell on him while protecting me, was still plainly visible. It was my husband. It was Derek.