Story Aesthetic

After half a month of nonstop overtime, I secured a contract worth over ten million, pulling the company back from the brink of collapse. My boss, Richard Gray, was overjoyed. At the celebration party, he called me the pillar of the company and announced that he would reward me with a bonus. However, when the end of the month came, and I opened my payslip, I froze. Negative 250 dollars. A negative commission? I actually owed the company 250 dollars? I immediately called the finance department, asking if there was a mistake on my payslip. They replied, "No mistake. This is the cost calculation formula that Mr. Gray personally instructed us to use. He said you'd understand once you saw it." I went straight to Richard for an explanation. He laughed. "The contract that you signed, after factoring in the concessions, upfront resources, and hidden expenses, left the company with a net loss of 150 thousand. Since the loss was due to your personal decisions, you're responsible for five percent. That totals to 7500. "Considering how hard you worked, we deducted it from your base salary first. But your salary wasn't enough, so you still owe the company 250. Don't worry. The company treats its employees well. We'll write that off." Soon after, he awarded 100 thousand dollars to the newly arrived intern. I watched the newcomer, probably connected to Richard, cheerfully treat the entire company to dinner with her bonus, and something inside me just snapped. From that day onward, I did the bare minimum. I clocked in. I clocked out. Nothing more. Later, when a critical project went catastrophically wrong and the company faced a colossal compensation demand, Richard came begging me to fix it. I just smiled and said, "Sorry, Mr. Gray. I've already resigned. If there are any problems, you can ask the intern who got the 100 thousand dollar bonus to handle it."

The hotel called, politely reminding me that the condoms used last night were unpaid and had been charged to my membership card. I was stunned. I'd been working late until midnight and hadn't set foot in any hotel. I confronted my husband, the only person who knew my card code. Nathan Phelps looked at me, bewildered. "Honey, that hotel costs over $10,000 a night. I'd never go there. It's probably a system error. Someone must have mistyped the card number. I'll file a complaint tomorrow." Unconvinced, I called my best friend, who managed the hotel. "Tracy, check who Nathan was with at the hotel last night. I'm catching him red-handed."

My fiancee gets drunk the day before our wedding. While I'm taking her home, she mistakes me for my best friend. "Jackson, don't bring our child to the wedding tomorrow. I don't want Samuel to know about us." I slam on the brakes, causing Madelyn Wilkinson to hit the seatback and come to her senses. When she realizes it's me, she freezes for a moment before slowly explaining, "Since you heard that, let's call off the wedding for now. You don't have to worry. Jackson doesn't plan on getting married again. But I'm still that child's mother no matter what, so I need to help out. "Jackson's your best friend. You feel sorry for him if he has to raise a child alone, don't you? I'll marry you after my son starts school." I can't help smiling bitterly. "Alright then… I don't have a problem with that." When we get home, she packs up a suitcase and leaves without another word. Feeling a sting in my eyes, I suppress my emotions as I sit on the couch, falling into a daze. That's when my phone rings at the worst possible moment. My childhood friend, Hazel Parsons, says in a hoarse voice, "Sam, don't marry her. Please." I fall silent for a beat. "Alright."

A wealthy heiress from Belvoria’s elite circle asked me to be her dead boyfriend’s substitute. My compensation included a 50,000-dollar base salary, plus 8,000 dollars per shared meal and 10,000 dollars per accompanying shopping trip. My hypocritical older sister quickly stopped me from agreeing to this deal. “We come from a respectable family. How can you sell your dignity for such little money?” Yet she later became a rich man's mistress and successfully married into wealth. Meanwhile, I struggled to balance work and studies to pay for my tuition. This hurt my academic performance. After graduation, I could only find a job with a monthly salary of 3,000 dollars. I even developed a tumor from overworking. I eventually died in a cold and impersonal hospital, unable to afford treatment. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the young heiress asked me to be her dead boyfriend’s substitute. This time, I agreed without hesitation. I was determined to take this role.

My little sister Willa? Always played the noble princess—even during the freaking apocalypse. She was pregnant and still trying to look like some graceful queen. I told her to end it. Safer that way. She slapped me. "Shut up. How can you be so heartless?" Meanwhile, I skipped meals so she and her rescue-pet gang could eat. When I collapsed from hunger, she snorted. "Drama queen. Think of it as a free weight-loss plan." I dragged her to the base, the safe zone, and nearly died doing it. She snatched the last of my rations. "The baby and I are good. Give the rest away." I died from my injuries—frozen, starving, forgotten. Willa? She got crowned a saint. Even landed the baby daddy—the Deputy Governor—and kicked off her perfect little fairytale. Then I woke up. Back to the moment she asked me to swear I'd protect her and the baby. This time, I laughed in her face. "Die for all I care."

On the day I go to the car dealership to pick up my car, I'm told that the previous salesperson has resigned, so a different salesperson will attend to me. Yet the first thing the salesperson does is say that I paid too little for the car and demand that I pay more to make up the difference. "The other salesperson is truly an idiot. How could he sell a car for 300 thousand dollars in cash? It's no wonder he got chewed out and quit. If you want to take the car, you'll have to switch to a five-year loan with an interest rate of 12%." I'm rendered speechless as he blatantly tries to extort me. "I've already paid and signed the sales contract. You're breaching the contract!" The salesperson scoffs. "So what? The car is with us anyway. If you're not going to pay the difference, don't even think of taking the car with you!" I can't help but chuckle. I calmly pull my phone out of my suit pocket. "Walter, place Mr. Paul Roland's loan application on hold for now. He's earning big bucks for his business. It seems like he doesn't need it anymore."

"My Alpha, if your Luna knew that the embryo transplanted into her womb was actually our fertilized egg, she was just our surrogate, she'd probably be so furious to kill herself, right?" Elora gasped. My mate, Damon, the Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, was kneading Elora's breasts. "I don't like her either. But if she dies, who's going to manage my pack? You little minx," Damon chuckled, pulling her from the front and ruthlessly pounded into her from behind. "So, we have to keep this a secret. When our child is born and inherits my Alpha position, we'll deliver the final blow to her." I pretended not to know. I gave birth to the child and raised him with great care. Twenty-two years later, after my son Torin completed his studies, we handed over the Alpha position and all my wealth to him. At the succession ceremony, in front of the elders, nobles, and alliance leaders, Elora walked in arm-in-arm with my mate, holding a DNA paternity test report up to me. "Torin is the biological son of Damon and me. Now, it's time to return him to me." My son pulled out a small vial, said to me mercilessly, "This is a potion I got from a witch. Drink it now, break the mate bond with my father, and get as far away as possible." I smiled slightly, "Alright."

Sera Redveil is marked by destiny—the Blood-Moon Girl, bound by an ancient oath that condemns her to be a sacrifice to the Moon King’s curse. But when the ritual fails and a fallen king, Caelum Nightbane, is unleashed from centuries of imprisonment, Sera’s fate shifts. Together, they discover the truth that the Council has long kept hidden: the Silver Oath was never meant to protect—it was a prison. As Sera’s power grows, she learns that her mark is not just a symbol, but a key to something far darker. But the price of freedom is steep, and the Council will stop at nothing to reclaim her as their weapon. Now, with a ragtag rebellion at her side and the fate of the world in the balance, Sera must decide whether she is the key to a new dawn—or the harbinger of destruction. Surrounded by enemies and allies alike, she faces a battle where every choice could tip the scales between salvation and chaos. The Blood-Moon Girl’s journey is only just beginning, and with Caelum by her side, Sera must rewrite her destiny, no matter the cost.

When Yelton Group tanked, their CEO and his wife showed up at our door, begging for a marriage alliance. My dad, thinking I was still head-over-heels for Rosie after ten freaking years, threw a million into their sinking ship and signed me up to marry Rosie. Wedding night? She blindfolded me and kept whispering how bad she wanted it. A month later, I tested positive for an STD. Then I caught her bragging to her friends. "Quinn got wrecked by, like, a dozen girls," she laughed. "Wanna guess who gave him the infection?" Her friends were cracking up. "I scouted all the grossest red-light spots," one said. "Each one's got a different flavor." "Just wait," another giggled. "When the symptoms hit hard, we'll know who wins." Rosie added, "Prize money's ready. Soon as we figure it out, she gets paid." That's when it hit me. It wasn't Rosie in bed that night—it was a lineup of strangers she set up. I lost it. Went straight to her, demanded answers. She didn't even flinch. "Mad? Please. If you hadn't dangled that million to force me into this marriage—or scared Caleb off—do you think I'd waste my time on you? "Once Caleb forgives me, you're done." I asked for a divorce. She locked me in the basement. "Chill," she said. "We're still placing bets on who gave you the STD." Six months later, I died down there. Just rotted away. Then I woke up—right back on the day her parents came begging for that deal. Only this time, on the wedding day? She was the one crying.

My live-in husband used my family’s influence to climb all the way to the position of Deputy Fire Chief. Throughout our five years of marriage, he has stood me up on every anniversary by using work as his excuse. This year, he finally agreed to celebrate our anniversary with me. But he only did so out of guilt. He had manipulated me into staying abroad to handle matters for him, which made me miss saying goodbye to my sister while she was dying in childbirth. The dinner was just his way of pretending to be sorry. As our dishes were served, my husband saw a news report about a fire at a top-tier postpartum care center downtown. He immediately ditched me and rushed to the scene. The fire station headquarters was just one block over! And he had specifically taken leave that week. I accidentally answered a call on his personal phone, and that was when I realized why he had been away from me most of the time. This man would not even buy me a cheap birthday gift, yet he had spent a packet to book a stay at a postpartum center for his mistress! I had to see for myself what kind of woman would have him so spellbound. I was determined to make him pay back every single item he had gotten from the Grant family, with interest.