There Is No Tomorrow Tattoo Novels & Stories

Despite a decade of marriage, Simon never once shared my bed, claiming that he had pledged himself to ascetic practices and that it was beneath him. I thought that he suffered from some shameful ailment and guarded his secret like a devoted fool, until my birthday, when I came home to find him entangled with a brothel worker before the floor-length mirror. When I lunged forward in rage, he drove a shard of that broken mirror straight through my heart. When I awoke, I was gripping my phone, its screen illuminating a message Simon had just sent: [I’ll still give you a lavish wedding, but the marriage certificate? That belongs to her.]

On the eve of my wedding, my fiance's first love, Sasha Green, ruined my custom-made wedding dress worth a fortune. The gown split open down the back. I had to crouch down and clutched my chest with both hands to keep myself from being exposed. She stood there holding a pair of scissors, looking at me with an innocent expression. "Anthea, I'm really sorry. I used a little bit too much force, and I accidentally ruined your dress. Please don't blame me." My fiance, Gary Dome, immediately went up to her and took the scissors from her hand. His voice was full of concern for her. "Why would she blame you? You were just trying to help trim some loose threads. If anything, it's her fault for being too fat, stretching the dress until it tore." Still crouching on the floor, I watched the two of them behave intimately. My gaze turned cold. The dress was ruined, and so was my dream. It was time to wake up.

I was reborn back to 1975, when the child in my womb was three months old. I did not tell anyone and quietly had an abortion. However, I still wrapped cotton around my belly every day, pretending the baby was still there. In my past life, my husband Declan Huxley's childhood sweetheart Jane Patton and I gave birth on the same day. She had a healthy, ordinary baby boy. But my child looked nothing like us—he was mixed-race, with features of the Valorian people. Declan and I were both locals, so there was no way our son could look like this. Enraged, Declan scolded me in front of everyone, accusing me of cheating on him and having a disgraceful affair with a Valorian. No matter how many times I explained, no one believed me, and I became the shameful woman everyone pointed at. Worse still, Declan reported me and handed in some foreign letters he found at home, which led to me being taken by federal agents and sentenced as a spy. I spent ten years in prison, and when I finally walked out, I was nothing but skin and bones. Meanwhile, Declan had climbed the ranks for his so-called loyalty to the country. He held Jane's hand and brought along my real son, Seth Huxley, then threw 500 dollars at me like it was charity. He said, "Back then, Jane was accidentally deceived by someone else and gave birth to that brat. Unlike you, she has a gentle nature and couldn't endure hardship, so I had no choice but to switch your children. "This money is payment for your ten years and your reputation. You have a criminal record, and I already filed for divorce long ago to be with Jane. Seth also thinks you're not worthy of me, so you better take care of yourself." Seth also looked at me with disgust. "Mommy Jane treats me very well, and she's not like you; she's never been to prison. I don't want a mother like you!" When I learned the truth, the fury was so overwhelming that I had a stroke and died in despair. In this new life, I want to see how they plan to scheme against me when the child is already gone.

I traveled over a thousand eight hundred miles to find my wife. She was a professor at Harbor University. As soon as I arrived, I received a call. “Hi, Mr. Jaques. We’re just following up on the stroller your wife custom-ordered from us. Have you been happy with it? If so, would you mind leaving us a quick positive review?” I was stunned. We had lived apart for years and did not have a child together. Still, I remained calm and double-checked. “Are you sure I’m the one who ordered that stroller?” “Yes, sir, I can confirm that. Our system requires ID verification from both parents for all custom stroller orders. The mother on file is Shiloh Zoeller. Mr. Jaques, you are listed as the child’s father.” The customer service agent sent me a screenshot of the child’s information as proof. It indeed showed that I had a child around one month old. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. I went to the address listed on the order. Downstairs, a young man was chatting with a group of people. “As of today, I’m no longer your classmate. I’m now the professor’s husband!” A male classmate laughed and teased him. “What a show off. But come on, the kid’s already a month old. When are you and Ms. Zoeller finally tying the knot? We’re still waiting to toast you!” Just then, a very familiar female voice spoke. “What’s taking you so long? Get up here. Our little boy is getting impatient.” I followed the sound of the voice and saw Shiloh holding a swaddled baby. She leaned against that man’s chest as if she had done it countless times.

Two years after we marry, my husband moves his sister and her family into our marital home. The four of them settle down and refuse to leave. So, I quit both my jobs. I laze around at home all day and splurge on various things. I have so many parcels delivered that they pile up by the door. Occasionally, I ask my husband and his sister for allowance. When the management office sends someone to chase for our maintenance fee, my husband breaks down so loudly that everyone in the building can hear him. He asks me whether I've lost my mind—who will support the family if I don't work? How will we survive without money? Am I going to allow our family to starve? So, it turns out he does know that we'll starve without anyone generating income. Why does he and his sister stay at home and plot to take away all my money, then?

I chase my six-year-old daughter out of the house on a cold winter day. I cut her new clothes to pieces and dirty her dainty little face with mud. Then, I give her all my savings. She looks at me tearfully and reaches out for me, wanting me to hold her. However, I harden my heart and push her away, saying, "Leave! Go to Bowen Group and look for their CEO, Logan Bowen. Show him my death certificate and your DNA test—he'll take you in." She sobs while looking at me. "Don't you want me anymore, Mommy? Let's go look for Daddy together." After a brief silence, I say, "I can't go with you. I lied to him back then to have you." Yes, I'm a liar. I orchestrated everything from meeting Logan, dating him, to ultimately leaving him with his child in my womb. Even the death certificate I've given my daughter is fake. From beginning to end, I've lied to him about everything except our daughter.

Fedora Smith was done with love. Finished. Buried. Betrayal had ripped out her heart and torched it—her boyfriend of four years and her best friend of twenty-five caught pants down on the very anniversary sheets she gifted him. And their excuses? “You’re not attractive anymore.” “You took too long to marry him.” Fine. If love was a game, she was rewriting the rules. Now, she runs The Bridal Fix, an elite agency providing fake marriages for a steep price—rent-a-bride services for men needing to fool their families, secure an inheritance, or stage the perfect breakup. Fifteen weddings, fifteen divorces—no strings, no mess. Just business. Until Judah Carlstone. He hires her like the rest—one contract, one wedding, one payday. But Judah asks too many questions. Looks at her too long. And when he smirks and says— "Tell me, Fedora… how does it feel to say ‘I do’ and not mean it?" For the first time in years, she has no answer. Because this was never supposed to feel real.

"Emory, let me introduce you. He is the one who would be your mate in the future. He would be your true mate." Lately, Emory Abernathy had been feeling a sense of strangeness. She often heard strange whispers and recalled strange memories. Worse, her perception of her surroundings had begun to change. Emory knew that Myles Abernathy—her mate—was on good terms with everyone. Myles was very kind and affectionate. As a result, it had become common for her to see Myles hugging and kissing women around the palace, including sleeping with them. Strangely, Emory now found Myles' habits repulsive. Her chest tightened. There was a feeling she could not put into words. She felt suffocated, her heart was beating incredibly fast, and it all escalated because of one night. Jaxon Rolf Forsythe had always been Emory's natural enemy. Their families, or rather their packs, had been feuding for decades, resulting in a rivalry that kept escalating. Strangely, the tension had sublimated into a suffocating thrill that felt profoundly calming. Emory's body and soul were drawn to Jaxon in a way she could not explain, as if they were bound together by an invisible force. Her heart felt called, but her mind continued to rebel. Inner conflict followed. Emory should have loved Myles and hated Jaxon, but what happened now was the opposite. She was confused and then another voice echoed in her mind. "Don't trust anyone."

Aurora’s perfect three-year relationship ends the moment she catches her boyfriend with another girl. Heartbroken and humiliated, she goes to a bar to drown the pain… and wakes up after a reckless one-night stand with a stranger. The problem? He’s her new professor. Now every lecture feels like a dangerous secret, every glance heavier than it should be, and forgetting that night becomes impossible. But in a world where lines shouldn’t be crossed, how long can they pretend nothing happened… when everything already did?

Emma Blanton twists her ankle, and my fiance, Matthew Harrison, insists on becoming her personal chauffeur. When I voice my disapproval, he makes an even more outrageous decision. He moves Emma into my apartment at Bellemont District—the apartment I bought with my own money. He argues like he's the victim, "You're being selfish. She's injured, and living alone is too dangerous for her right now. I'm just being a decent human being. "And that place is sitting empty anyway. Having someone there helps with security." On the morning we were supposed to get our marriage certificate, he doesn't show up. I call, expecting apologies. Instead, I hear, "Emma had a fever this morning—101 Fahrenheit. I had to take her to urgent care. We can postpone getting the marriage certificate. Her health can't wait." To hell with postponing! I grab my phone and call David Rockefeller. "Do you want to marry me? Then get to City Hall. I'm serious—right now."