Stared Novels & Stories

My love story with my Don husband was once the model relationship for couples all across Edale. But after his sudden death, the notary informed me that I was not the first in line to inherit his estate. I froze. Christian Fuzio was an only child. His parents had long passed away. We had no children. If I wasn't the first in line, then who was? That was when the boy walked in. His face was a perfect copy of Zoe Sgotti, Christian's assistant. The boy crossed his arms and sneered. "Mrs. Fuzio, the person my father loved most in his life was my mother. Of course, most of the inheritance belongs to us." Rae… Ray… Only then did I realize that the name he had whispered on his deathbed was never mine. I lunged forward to question Ray, but he shoved me into the traffic. The moment my head slammed against the ground, darkness swallowed everything. When I opened my eyes once more… I stared at my young, strong hands. Feeling the life that I had once lost growing inside me, I finally understood that I had been given another chance. Christian, this time, I no longer wanted your fake love. I would grant the three of you all the happiness that you wanted.

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

For over thirty years, my wife Janet faked being broke—for her flimsy ex. When our son Asher landed in the hospital, I begged and borrowed from everyone I knew. Still came up fifty bucks short. Janet? Said she was tapped out. So my mom sold off her own meds to cover the bill—never told me. She died without treatment. I handled my mom's funeral alone. When I went to pick up Asher from the hospital, I found a stash of Janet's old shopping receipts. Custom suits. Million-dollar watches. A damn private jet. I grabbed them and stormed off to confront her. Asher cut me off. "Dad, Mr. Sackett's sick. Mom's just helping him out. Why are you freaking out?" I stared at the kid who only lived because my mom died. It felt like something cracked inside me. Janet barely looked up. "Connor's educated. He deserves the finer things. Unlike you—crying over fifty bucks like some househusband. See? I didn't give you the money, and Asher's fine." Fine. If that's how they see it, I'm done with this family.

I had been married for eight years when I inherited a fortune worth hundreds of millions that my grandfather left to me and my mafia boss husband. However, just as the lawyer was finalizing the transfer, we discovered my marriage certificate was fake. That meant the entire inheritance could only go to me. “Ms. Rivers, according to the system, you were divorced a year ago. Your husband, Zayn Levine, is legally married to… Whitney Sanders. According to the papers, you're single. In other words, Mr. Levine has no right to claim the inheritance.” Whitney, the woman Zayn had once loved before she went abroad, the one he never forgot. I stared at the lawyer’s message, unable to accept it. All of Zayn’s affection and tenderness over the years had been nothing but a lie. I had planned to tell him on our anniversary that after eight long years of marriage, I was pregnant. It was the miracle we had both been waiting for. Yet it seemed like he had never really been looking forward to it at all. As I gently rested my hand on my belly, I told myself that even if my twins grew up without a father, they would be just fine. In this place built on nothing but lies, the only thing left for me to do was run away.

The beach was crowded as it was summer and many families tend to camp and have fun during this period. A young tanned skinned girl of about eight years, sat on the sand a little bit far from her family. She had a darkblue hoodie on and a headphone over her head. Her beautiful grey eyes seem to shimmer as she stared with keen interest at the water, while humming a song softly and enjoying the quiet. However, her little peace and privacy was shortlived as a lad of about ten years old, endowed with curly jet-black hair, ran along. He stopped however, on seeing her. She turned to see the one invading her quiet only to see the boy staring at her. She looked at him without saying a word, holding his gaze. Time seemed to fly by as they both continued their staring match which was eventually interrupted, when another lad of same age as the boy came by. "Jordan! There you are. Come, Mom calls for you." The blonde haired lad said, looking at the girl briefly before dragging the other along who continued to stare at the girl from his shoulders until she was out of eyesight. "Hey Elle!" A little girl of same age as the grey eyed, called as she ran towards her. "Come see the sand castle that Rosalie and I built." "Jordan," the grey-eyed girl whispered.

On New Year’s Eve, an old friend called to congratulate me on the birth of my son. “Emrys, you’ve been keeping this a secret pretty well! If I hadn’t seen you and your wife taking care of the baby together, I wouldn’t have known you had a child!” I froze in my tracks. How could I not know I had a child? And that I was taking care of him with her? I immediately called my wife, who was still working late, to confront her about it. She just laughed and said our friend must have been mistaken, which was why this whole mix-up happened. But the very next second, our friend sent a photo. In the photo, she was facing sideways, holding a child in her arms, with a man standing beside her. Only his back was visible, but the silhouette was exactly like mine. Her smile was gentle and radiant. At first glance, she looked utterly blissful. I stared at the meticulously prepared New Year’s Eve dinner spread before me and suddenly flung it to the floor. I immediately dialed my brother. He was a lawyer. “Celene Zeller cheated on me. She even had a child. “I want a divorce. I want to kick her out of my company and make her leave with nothing.”

The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart back to the villa, my father—who had already quit smoking—stood on the balcony and smoked through the entire night. Back then, his colleagues at the research institute all envied him for having a wife who was a CEO. They said he should have stayed home and enjoyed life—why work so hard outside when all he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the household finances? But my father never agreed. "Those things are all external," he would say. "As long as the feelings are still there, we'll be fine whether we're rich or poor. And if one day she no longer loves me, I'll leave with nothing and walk away alone." He never expected his words to become prophecy. My mother truly did stop loving him. Later, when she appeared before the media, arm in arm with that man, my father didn't look back. He boarded a flight overseas and disappeared from our lives. And as I stared at the photo in my social feed—my fiancée's hand entwined with someone else's—I knew it was time for me to leave too, just like my father had.

When I was eight months pregnant, my Beta mate Derek's mistress offended the Alpha and was sentenced to three months in silver prison. Derek wanted me to serve her time. I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm carrying our child. How can I go to prison? What if something happens to the baby—" He roughly cut me off. "It's just three months, isn't it? Your wolf is so strong, but Sophia is just an Omega. Could you really bear to watch her die?" He forcibly threw me into prison to take punishment for his precious Sophia, where I was whipped with silver chains. Through this ordeal, my wolf nearly died. That day, I had a lot of bleeding during childbirth and almost went into shock. Meanwhile, the photos of him in bed with his mistress spread all over the pack. When Derek’s brother Ethan, who had a crush on me for many years, rushed to the hospital, my voice was eerily calm. "You are right. Derek is not worthy of being my mate. You promised me that once I gave birth to the child, you would help me leave. I want to break my mate bond with Derek."

I was prepping the ceremonial cloak for our seventh mating anniversary. The front door suddenly banged open. My son rushed inside, tears streaming down his face. "The teacher yelled at me," he sobbed. He shoved the wrinkled drawing into my hands before burying his face in my shirt. I smoothed out the paper to see what the drama was about. It was a sketch of a faceless woman titled: The Substitute Mom. My heart stopped as I read the scribbles underneath. "Daddy said she is the backup." "She does the chores but gets no wages." "The Real Mom is responsible for being beautiful and guarding the treasury." My fingertips turned ice-cold against the paper. My mate, Ethan, had just returned from a patrol. He kissed my forehead. "What did our pup draw?" The next second, his smile froze when he saw the content. His voice tightened, and he reached out to snatch the book. "He watches too many cartoons! He's writing nonsense!" I stared at the man I had shared a den with for seven years. He looked like a stranger now. If I was the substitute. Who was this beautiful real mother? And where had my true son been all these years?

My boyfriend's childhood sweetheart bound herself to a transfer system: everything she ate would be redirected straight into my stomach. She opened a streaming account and broadcast herself eating for twelve hours straight. She earned a fortune. Meanwhile, I collapsed with acute pancreatitis and was rushed to the hospital. When I explained the situation to my boyfriend, he only stared at me like I was insane. "How could something that absurd exist? If food could really be transferred, no one in the world would ever starve. You're just jealous that she's making money from streaming." After that, every time his childhood sweetheart went live, I ended up hospitalized again. I kept hovering between life and death. I sought medical help, but the doctors couldn't explain my condition. Some even wanted to commit me to a psychiatric ward. Then, one day, in order to outdo her rivals in a PK match, she devoured ten pounds of rice in a single sitting. At that very moment, my spleen and stomach ruptured, and I bled to death on the spot. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of her very first livestream. This time, I was prepared. I rushed out and bought twenty takeout meals. "This time," I said, "I'll eat first."