Taboo Family Letters

A flicker of hope, a spark amidst the neon grime of New Shanghai. Anya, a slave to the Volkov Mafia, had long buried her emotions under layers of calloused defiance. Years of servitude had carved a burning desire for vengeance into her soul. Then, a whisper of rebellion arrived – a message smuggled in a package, hinting at a Volkov family secret. Anya's heart, long numbed, stuttered awake. This wasn't just a chance to escape; it was a weapon. A weapon to dismantle the empire that had stolen her life, her family, everything. But the path to freedom was a razor's edge. Fear gnawed at her, a constant companion in the Volkov's watchful gaze, their merciless enforcers lurking in every shadow. Yet, a flicker of something else bloomed – a strange, almost forgotten warmth, a sliver of the person she used to be. Could she trust it? As Anya navigated the labyrinth of lies and high-tech security, a deeper truth unfolded. This Volkov secret wasn't just about her escape; it was a key to exposing a far-reaching conspiracy, one that could reshape the city's criminal web. Suddenly, Anya's burning desire for revenge transformed. It wasn't just about herself anymore. It was about a sliver of justice, a chance to dismantle a system that preyed on the weak. But with this newfound purpose came a terrifying weight of responsibility. Was she strong enough to risk everything, to ignite a war she might not survive? The weight of human emotions – fear, anger, and a desperate yearning for freedom – threatened to suffocate her. The price of vengeance was steep, and Anya had to decide if she had the strength to pay it.

Di sebuah desa Jawa yang masih memegang erat adat dan kepercayaan leluhur, sebuah rumah tua menjadi pusat teror yang tak pernah selesai. Rumah itu dulunya milik seorang sinden yang dikenal memiliki suara indah, namun mati dengan cara tragis saat sedang membawakan tembang "Lingsir Wengi". Arwahnya dipercaya gentayangan, menjerat siapa pun yang berani melantunkan lagu itu di malam hari. Satu per satu orang yang menyepelekannya, ditemukan mati dengan wajah pucat, telinga berdarah, dan tubuh membeku seperti sedang mendengar sesuatu yang tak kasat mata. Dan ketika seorang gadis bernama Ratna pindah ke desa itu, suara tembang "Lingsir Wengi" kembali terdengar dari rumah kosong tersebut setiap malam menjelang jam dua belas. Ratna harus mencari tahu apa yang sebenarnya terjadi—atau ia akan menjadi korban berikutnya.

Tyche Claire Tuaze (16) was forced to act as Clarisse De Marquez in front of Achilles family while the real Clarisse is not around, in order to set her mother free in jail. She met Evander Achilles na may pagkamasungit sakaniya sa una, pero biglang bumait sa huli kaya napa-isip siya na kung tama pa bang ituloy ang kaniyang pangloloko sa Achilles. Because of her mistakes, she regret it for years until she's being bond with Achilles again. She knows how hard it is to be with someone she fool from her past. Makakamit kaya niya ang totoong katotohanan hinggil sa pagkakamali niyang iyon? Or it will be her Sweet Mistake because she get to know him more? Like a wave come from within, it turns calm and beautiful because a storm vanished, a happy ending will arise.

After years of living abroad without children, I decided to return home to handle my inheritance matters. However, before I could step into my house, I was stopped by a group of people at the entrance. The woman leading the group pointed at me and started screaming. "I can't believe someone as young as you is seducing a man old enough to be your father! How disgusting can you be?" I watched her, noticing how much she resembled my older brother, and I was shaking with rage. They pulled out my fingernails, broke my ribs, and slashed my face, dragging me around the neighborhood as I begged for mercy. Yet, they remained indifferent to my pleas. Just as I was on the verge of losing hope, my brother, Edward Grange rushed over.  Through a mouthful of blood, I managed to choke out, "Ed, I’d rather die than let her inherit my inheritance…”

On the day we decided to get a divorce, I saw Miranda’s account book while I was packing up my stuff. Aside from our daily expenses, Miranda had also set up a scoring sheet for me. Miranda had taken notes of all the things I had done ever since we started dating. Some of them were such miniscule things that even I had forgotten. She took note of them all with a red pen, and she scored them by either awarding me points or deducting them. However, the further down the sheet, the more points were deducted. In the end, I saw Miranda add one line in black ink. [He’s no longer the Henry Jones who used to love me: -100]

When I died with a smile on my face, right before my brother's eyes, he looked as if the anguish might tear him apart. Yet, for twenty-one years, he hadn't stopped wishing I would meet this exact end. It all traced back to my fifth birthday—the day I had innocently hoped our parents would come home from their business trip to celebrate with me. They rushed back that night but never made it. A car accident took both their lives. From that moment on, my brother resented me, despised me. He didn't just stand idly by as our cousin snatched up my work as her own; he encouraged it. And when my landlord threw me out, it wasn't a random cruelty—it was my brother pulling the strings. All he had ever wanted, from the very beginning, was to see me die a miserable death. But when he finally got his wish… why did he cry, pleading for me to come back, begging me to call him 'brother' one last time?

On Father's Day, I received a heartwarming gift. My one-year-old son called me Dad for the first time. But moments later, he convulsed, foamed at the mouth, and died before we could reach the hospital. My wife was shattered, and I was devastated. The doctors couldn't identify the cause of his death. Three years later, my wife emerged from her grief, and we welcomed our second child. But the moment this child called me Dad, they, too, died instantly. To spare her further pain, I suggested adoption. Yet, even our adopted children met the same fate. Unable to bear the losses, my wife divorced me. Everyone said I was cursed, never meant to be a father. Defiant, I remarried and had another child, vowing never to let them call me Dad. For years, we adhered to this rule. But when our daughter turned four, she came home from preschool, eager to celebrate Father's Day. Holding a card, she read aloud, "Dad."

Ang aking asawa ay isang air traffic controller. Sa aming mga nakaraang buhay, ang aking anak na babae ay inatake sa puso nang ang flight na aming sinasakyan ay humarap sa isang bagyo. Nakipag-ugnayan ako sa aking asawa sa control tower para maghanda ng priority landing. Kasabay nito, bumagsak ang kabilang flight na sinasakyan ng soul mate ng asawa ko matapos tamaan ng kidlat. Ang aking asawa ay kumilos nang normal pagkatapos ng insidenteng iyon. Gayunpaman, nang maglaon sa kaarawan ng aking anak na babae, ikinulong niya ang aking anak na babae at ako sa bahay, at kami ay sinunog hanggang sa mamatay. "Kung hindi ka nagrequest ng priority landing, hindi sana bumagsak ang flight ni Kelly! Sa tingin ko ay wala namang problema sa anak mong babae. Ginawwa mo lang yun dahil sa selos mo para kay Kelly, ikaw ang rason ng pagkamatay ng ilang daang mga inosenteng buhay.” Ang aking anak na babae at ako ay hindi nakatakas, kami ay namatay nang kakila-kilabot. Sa susunod na pagmulat ko ng aking mga mata, bumalik ako sa araw na ang aking anak na babae ay inaatake muli sa puso. Sa pagkakataong ito, tuluyan nang nadiskonekta ng asawa ko ang tawag ko sa control tower. Gayunpaman, nang malaman niyang namatay ang aming anak na babae dahil sa atake sa puso, nabaliw siya.

When my son was born, I noticed a small, round birthmark on his arm. But the weird thing? By the time I opened my eyes again after giving birth, it was gone. I figured maybe I'd imagined it. That is, until the baby shower. My brother-in-law's son, born the same day as mine, had the exact same birthmark. Clear as day. That's when it hit me. I didn't say a word, though. Not then. I waited. Eighteen years later, at my son's college acceptance party, my brother-in-law stood up and dropped the truth bomb: the "amazing" kid I'd raised was theirs. I just smiled and invited him and his wife to take their "rightful" seats at the table.

When I was six, I spilled hot water, slipped, and burned my face. My face was ruined. My parents learned their lesson and never let my younger sister do housework. To everyone they met, they praised her beauty, her charm. They turned to me with nothing but disdain. When I was ten, I had a high fever. They didn't think much of it and let it drag on until my brain was damaged, leaving me slow and dull. They learned their lesson again. From then on, if my sister so much as coughed, they would rush her to the hospital in the dead of night, showering her with care. I was like a failed experiment. Every mistake they made with me, they corrected for her. I was ugly, silent, dim-witted, unwanted. She was beautiful, sweet-talking, clever, adored by all. When I was diagnosed with depression, I gathered what little courage I had and told them. Mom lashed out, called me sick in the head, and accused me of being petty. If I was so capable, she said, I might as well die. It wasn't until my sister pushed me off a high-rise that they found out, by sheer accident, that she wasn't their child at all. I was their one and only biological child.