The Dead Romantics Novels & Stories

ᯓ★ BREAKING NEWS: 30-year-old Ginger Cadette, the owner of the Bar & Life passed away yesterday due to brain cancer. Her family kept her burial private. With hard work and persistence, she successfully started and ran Bar & Life. But when she discovered that she had brain cancer, the business was passed on to her twin brother, Carter Cadette.

“I have bad news. First, our financial department just confirmed that we’d be forced to file for bankruptcy if nothing is done within forty-eight hours.” I sigh in defeat. I had left my father’s house in anger ten years ago and worked tirelessly to build a new life. I started a winery which had grown into a billion-dollar company until a few months ago when my company was accused of a food poisoning scandal. “The investors all want to pull out so we have no choice.” “But?” I ask. The broken glass in my hands pricks my finger and a drop of blood falls to the ground. “Your father is dead,” Theodore mumbles.

Instantly, the dead enemies scattered in the battlefield sprang into action. Most of them were heavily wounded, probably drained blood, but they got to their feet faster than anyone could achieve. Some were still sporting the wounds that caused their passing, but they only plucked them out and kept going. A band of charred Demons did the same, standing up like they hadn't been burned to death. Their faces were now bearing burns, their skins falling off, and yet they moved like nothing was wrong. A power to reanimate dead people. Aldonra really had the gift of life.

Connor dodged, rubbing his eyes and saying hoarsely, "What are you doing here instead of staying at home?" Rosalie had never seen him so indifferent. She pouted. "Why are you so fierce? I'm just worried about you." Connor retorted, "I'm fine. What's there to be worried about? Hurry home." Something dark flickered in Rosalie's eyes before she answered, "Connor, I heard the identity of the deceased has been confirmed. Who is it?" The tension within Connor suddenly snapped, and he roared at Rosalie, "Shut up! Get out of here now! Say another word, and I'll have you thrown out! Get lost!"

It laughed so hard that even some of the crying stopped — people freezing mid-sob, stunned by the sheer insanity of the sound. I could feel it vibrating through my chest, every note cutting through my ribs. When it finally stopped, it wiped an invisible tear from the corner of its eye and said, still chuckling, “Have you forgotten?” Its grin twisted. “You’re also dead.” The man’s mouth fell open. “W-what?” he whispered, barely audible. The Game Master leaned down until their foreheads almost touched. “Dead,” it repeated, dragging the word out like a lover’s whisper. “Every single one of you. Including you. You died. You’re not alive.”

Or maybe that was just his voice squeezing the last of my patience. I took another drink. Another burn. God, this shit tastes freaking terrible. “Where’s Romarco?” I asked flatly, though deep down, I already knew. There was a pause. “Dead,” he finally spat. “Like you’ll be soon if you don’t tell me who these fucking ghosts are and why they’ve been wrecking our operations.” A ghost, I wanted to correct… but instead I— I leaned back in my chair, letting the burn of the scotch crawl down my throat.

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

Stacy toppled forwards onto the floor, her mind plunged into the darkness of a stormcloud, coursing with errant flashes of lightning. Her eyes stared forward at nothing. Her ears echoed with the vague sound of screams all around. "Help! Someone's been murdered!" "Mr. Dorne, it's your girlfriend!" In a fleeting moment of lucidity, Stacy caught sight of Joseph disappearing into the crowd, unheeding as he walked away, Charlotte safe within his arms. He never looked back, even once.

Axel’s trembling finger tapped the audio file from Marco. Aria’s voice, calm and full of despair, filled the silence. “My name is Aria Sterling. If you’re hearing this, it means I’m already dead.” Every word was a hot brand on his soul. “Six years ago, Axel Thorne did not die. The yacht explosion was a hoax, a plan he designed to make a secret deal with a rival family…” There was no anger in her voice. Just the dead calm of a still lake.

No surprise the whole department knew our names. Hearing the chief now, though? Yeah, they'd been warned about Keyla. Just ignored it. They probably thought those warnings were planted by us—like we sent people to spy. Made them resent us even more. Their buddies had all kinds of tips on winning back a girl. Edmond and Philip didn't need advice. They just never bothered trying with us. Then, right through the noise, Edmond's voice hit like a slap. "They're dead." The room froze. "They're both dead." Total silence.