Story Name Ideas Novels & Stories

When I send the family car to the body shop for maintenance, an employee discovers a cat pregnancy guidebook wedged in the slot between the front passenger seat and the door. The cat's name is Rose. The signature shown on the furparent's slot belongs to my husband. "Christian Johannson, furdad of Rose." I'm stunned, to say the least. We don't keep cats at home. Coincidentally, Christian calls me on the phone. I ask him, "There's a guidebook in the car. When did you keep a cat?" He chuckles lightly in response. "There was a pregnant stray lingering around the company. I found it pitiful, so I brought it to the vet. It had already given birth last month. Now, it and its babies are the apple of the whole company's eye." With a smile, I praise Christian for being a kind-hearted soul. After ending the phone call, however, I begin reading the guidebook meticulously. Rose is apparently a short-haired cat. She's now two years old. As for the cats living in Christian's company, I've seen them in his colleague's social media posts before. All of them are tabby cats. After closing the guidebook, I take down the vet clinic's name. Then, I drive over to that location.

On our tenth anniversary, Evan Rodger and I decided to tattoo each other's names on our chests. After the tattoo session, I woke up with my head still feeling groggy. To my dismay, I found the words "Old Crone" tattooed in a bold font across my chest. Upon noticing the way my expression dropped, Isabel Hawthorn, who was the tattooist, snickered, "You’ve been dating Evan for a decade, but he still hasn’t registered your marriage together. What does that make you if not an old crone?" I smashed the mirror on the spot, which spewed broken shards in her direction. Evan practically threw himself in her direction and pulled her into his arms to protect her. He snapped at me with a ferocious scowl, "She’s just a young, naive girl who was trying to make a joke. Why are you picking on her?" I stared intently at the parted collar of his shirt. What was supposed to be my name tattooed on his chest had been replaced with "Isabel Hawthorn, My Only Love". Isabel wrapped her arms around Evan. She expertly played the victim and appealed dearly to him, "Evan said he liked my name last time, so I was only trying to make a joke. You wouldn’t be upset at me, would you, Claire?"

I'm the primary surgeon of the nation's biggest medical malpractice case. Apparently, I've screwed up intentionally in a joint surgery that leads to the instant deaths of five patients. My wife, Wanda Johnson's mother is one of them. The medical world purges my name immediately. The Internet demands that I pay the price with my own life. The patients' families kneel before the court with a petition. With tears running down my cheeks, they plead to the court to sentence me to death. In order to ease the public outrage, the court decides to euthanize me. The head of the investigative team of the health department wants to activate Project Nightingale. With the power of AI, the truth of what happened in the surgery will be re-enacted. But Wanda, who also works as a police officer, shoots that idea down. "There's no need for that. Do you actually want the patients' families to witness how their loved ones die again? The youngest patient is just an eight-year-old, you know! Let's just euthanize him!"

Mary Redferne is a fiery young woman. Trouble literally follows her, mainly because of her mouth. She didn’t know how to put any breaks on them. She was everything a man was scared of: ambitious, had a mind of her own and didn’t refrain from telling people that their ideas are garbage. In the 1960s, this ‘attitude’ did not play well with the society but nobody dared to say anything as she was the only child of the mayor, Clement Redferne. Joseph Lachlan was a soft spoken gentleman who unlike other men in the country has remained very humble after getting remarkable fame and fortune at a very young age. He was known for his kindness, compassion and candor. But more importantly his striking resemblance to a Greek god. He was the one person who did not judge Mary or even think that she was ever out of line even though her name was always in the newspaper with the headline ‘The Wild Girl’. Mary, who is habituated with fighting and arguing with everyone who judges her, how will she react to a man who absolutely has no opinion about her ‘wild and erratic’ side? A man who just accepts her for the way she is?

I'm Alex. I'm twenty-one years old, and soon to take over my father's position in the pack, the Alpha of Silver Crescent Moon. And, I'm a girl! Yes, that's my secret. In fact, it's my whole Alpha family's secret. People at first glance take me as a girl. Short hairs, sharp jawline, muscular body, rough nails and my name that's enough to verify me as man in their eyes. When my mom was pregnant, my father was under Elder's pressure. Only having a male offspring as his heir could save his Alpha's position in the pack. He did everything in his possession, prayers to the Moon Goddess, offering sacrifices, doing witchcrafts. All that to have a son. However, the Goddess didn't seem to be impressed by his practices and delivered him me instead, a girl, the last thing he ever wanted. Though devastated by the news, he did not give up. He lied the world that his wife had birthed a boy, forced the witch to make me appear masculine, ruined my female scent and did everything he could to make the world believe his lie. But, his audacity... He asked me to attend the Kingdoms' Mating Festival to choose my mate! I thought navigating a ballroom full of eligible she-wolves was my biggest threat. But, I was wrong. Something worse was waiting for me. Rosemary Thorne, the daughter of high ranking Alpha, was found disheveled and screaming in the forest. She pointed a trembling finger at me and suddenly I became the physical assaulter. If I remain silent on this, I'll get excuted for the crime I could never commit.

As the only daughter of a casino magnate, I have grown up surrounded by danger and betrayal. To keep me safe, my father has raised nine bodyguards from a young age. After I come of age, he asks me to choose one of them as my fiance. Everyone expects me to pick Harry Hunt, the man I have secretly loved for years. But I do not—not after what happened in my previous life. On the day of our engagement, I was kidnapped, and my hands were pierced with poison-tipped spikes. Tortured and desperate, I called Harry for help. His response still haunts me today. "Victoria, stop with these games. Your location shows you're still in the hotel suite. Trying to pull these pity stunts just to keep me to yourself? Pathetic." With another woman laughing in the background, I closed my eyes and gave up. As the iron cage sank beneath the waves and the sea filled my lungs, my life ended. Then, I open my eyes and find myself back on the day my father asked me to make a choice. This time, Harry's name is the first I cross off the list. But why is he crying and begging me to marry him at my engagement banquet with Jeffrey Reed?

Amelia's leg tapped against the table as she asked, "What are your thoughts on love?" Her hands were clasped together on her lap, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. Lucas met her gaze, a smirk playing on his lips. "Love is a waste of time," he replied. "It's a tool designed to weigh people down. Without it, we could achieve so much more." Amelia's eyes lit up with interest; he had just ticked almost all her boxes green. "I agree," she said, her smirk matching his. "Love is nothing but bullshit. We could save a lot of time by keeping our relationship minimal." With a proactive glint in her eye, she added, "What do you say? We should get married to fulfill our filial duties." _____________ Their marriage was a facade, a contract between two individuals who didn't believe in love but were forced to get married to fulfill their obligations. Everything was going as planned, until suddenly... "Have you eaten, dear?" "How is my baby?" "Is he doing well?" Lucas's words, once empty and mechanical, now held a tender tone. Amelia found him falling for her, and she seemed to be falling too. Why were they succumbing to the very thing they once scorned? Love, once a distant possibility, was now becoming an option. But would they choose it?

Years after graduation, someone suddenly tags me in the class group chat. "Mr. Warren is gravely ill, Mira. Aren't you going to do anything? You really are heartless!" I only realize what's going on when I click on the fundraising link in the chat. Our high school homeroom teacher, Joseph Warren, has late-stage cancer. Thus, Lyra Fairfield, the class belle, is leading a fundraiser and patient-donor matching process. "I'll donate ten thousand dollars. My husband is the director of Waverly General Hospital, and I've already asked him to arrange a VIP ward for Mr. Warren." Right after I send that message, the group pounces on me. "Mira, you contracted an STD back then and tried to pin it on Lyra. She didn't even hold it against you, and now you're trying to steal her thunder? You're unbelievable!" "I can't believe you're still lying through your teeth during such a serious situation. You never change, do you?" Lyra immediately defuses the tension. "Mira, I don't blame you for what happened in the past, but you really shouldn't impersonate the director's wife. I've already arranged the ward and surgery, and I'm donating another 100 thousand dollars to Mr. Warren!" I'm this close to laughing out of sheer anger. She's the one who scratched her name off the diagnosis report and framed me for having an STD all those years ago. I never even confronted her about it, and now she's playing the victim? Lyra soon posts a photo in the group chat, showing off her husband's car. Yet, when I see the man in the passenger seat, I guffaw. Isn't that my husband's driver? When did he start running a hospital?

I made a name for myself in my previous life, thanks to the National Robotics Competition. But after that event, someone accused me of stealing my sister's true love's work. My own sister defended her true love and showed the world the complete code for the program. The Internet went into a frenzy. They came after me, out for my blood. My own parents told me to kill myself. I came down with depression eventually, and my family sent me to a mental asylum. I died there, after suffering severe abuse. When my eyes snapped open again, I was taken back to the day before I joined the competition. I made a different decision this time. I told everyone I wasn't taking part in this competition, and it made everyone panic.

I've infiltrated into a private group chat called "The Domestication Project". The group owner is in the middle of spamming her experience of her destroying her husband's mental willpower. "I've secretly swapped out my husband's anti-depressants for something else. Every day, I keep telling him that he's a useless, pathetic loser. Once he's hopelessly dependent on me, I'll have him thrown into a mental hospital and take over his company naturally." All the group members keep praising the group owner for being a total professional in gaslighting her husband. Soon, they start asking for her methods and experience. I tap on the photo of an experimental journal that the group owner has just sent. To my shock, the name listed on the mental health report with a diagnosis of severe depression is actually my own! As for the haughty group owner, she's Sophie Hayes, my wife of ten years! Yesterday, that woman told me with red-rimmed eyes that she'd rather go bankrupt just to cure me of my depression! It turns out that her devotion and love toward me for the past ten years is nothing but a grand yet cruel plot to murder me slowly! Since Sophie wants me to get reduced into a lunatic who has lost all of his marbles, then I shall put on an insane show for her. After that, I lock the doors in the mansion and dump the gasoline that I've just bought all over the living room.