Those Years Novels & Stories

Everyone in Ieplad knows Leopoldo Vece, the Don of the Vece family, loves guns but not women—until me. Ten years into our marriage, my adoptive father, Raffaello Conti, lies dying of kidney failure. Leopoldo launches a global hunt for a donor, sparing no expense to save him. He finds her—a young, fragile woman—and spends millions solving her every problem to ensure she is ready for the transplant. On the day of the surgery, she vanishes. I rush to her home in a panic, only to find my husband holding her gently in his arms, soothing her in a soft voice. "If you're afraid of the pain, don't donate then. I'll find another donor." "Is there time?" she asks quietly. "I heard Lucia's adoptive father is at death's door." Leopoldo brushes his hand over her hair, his voice indulgent. "I'll search the world again if I have to. You're still young; this burden isn't yours to carry." As my heart shatters, my phone rings. I answer numbly. The person on the other end of the line says, "Signora Conti, we regret to inform you that Raffaello Conti just passed away. We waited as long as we could for the donor, but his body gave out five minutes ago." I return to the hospital and handle the funeral arrangements alone. After that, I call Marianna D'Andrea, the Don's mother, and say, "I agree to divorce Leopoldo. Please help me disappear."

My body drifted in the river for five years before a fishing enthusiast reeled it in. Even though the forensic pathologist managed to reconstruct my face from when I was alive through craniofacial reconstruction technology, the hatred my brother had for me remained as strong as ever. "That better be her body! She has been on the run for five years! Even in death, she doesn't deserve pity! In fact, it simply is a disgrace to have a murderer like her as the daughter of the Clarke family!" he hissed. Everyone thought he despised me with every fiber of his being. Yet, as he spoke, his entire body trembled. Who would have guessed that the distress call I made to him five years ago would end up becoming the main factor that hastened my death?

When I first caught Miles cheating on me, I pinned him down at the entrance whenever he came home every day. I would pull down his pants and spray high-concentration alcohol all over his nether regions. He always went along with it with teary eyes because he knew he had been in the wrong. He would only look at me with a pitiful gaze and coax me to stop. One day, he came home two hours late. I became mad when I smelled the perfume on him. I started taking off his belt forcefully and yelled, “Last time, when you had your fun with one woman, you came home half an hour late. “Now you’re two hours late. Talk! Did you sleep with four?” Even though he apologized to me for the twenty-ninth time, I pushed him away repeatedly. He finally raised his hand to show me the IV mark on the back of it. He snapped and screamed at me, “Enough! I was dying with a high fever, yet you haven’t even asked how I’m doing. You just fly off the handle every single day. When are you going to stop? “Fine, I got drunk and slept with someone once. Big deal. You’re not so innocent yourself. “It’s no wonder you got dragged into an alley at sixteen, stripped, and assaulted. Jenna, you’re a paranoid wreck. You may have even deserved it.” The spray bottle shattered at my feet, and the smell of alcohol caught in my throat. I was speechless. I felt exhausted when I saw his disgusted expression. I did not want this broken relationship any longer.

On New Year's Eve, I returned home. At the welcome party, my boyfriend, Grayson Caldwell, suddenly appeared, holding a bouquet of red roses and a diamond ring, dropping to one knee. "Although this proposal comes a full three years late, our love will never be late," he said. "Alexa, marry me!" Friends cheered from the sidelines, all expecting me to nod through tears and say yes. But they had forgotten that three years ago, on New Year's Eve, he had promised to propose. That night, I dressed to the nines and waited until dawn—but he never showed up. Instead, there was only a cold phone call. "Tanya is sick. I'm busy taking care of her. You'll have to wait a little longer for the proposal." And so, on New Year's Day, I left the country alone, bound by a family-arranged marriage. I had already married someone else three years ago.

For the eighteenth time, Samson brought home his new lover and enjoyed their intimacy right in front of me. Knowing he was doing this to get back at me, I just quietly picked up their scattered clothes. Five years ago, Samson was nearly killed in a kidnapping. Ignoring all his desperate pleas, I broke up with him and left the country. Five years later, he became the CEO of a major corporation and used his wealth to keep me at his side as his personal assistant. Every so often, he would bring home a different woman and flaunt their affection in front of me just to humiliate me. Samson never knew that I had saved him from those kidnappers five years ago—and that I was the one who couldn't let go of him. Things went on this way until he brought Judy back. My cousin, someone I had financially supported for years. When Judy proudly stroked her belly and told me she was pregnant with Samson’s baby, I just congratulated her calmly. Then, I turned and made a phone call. “Hello, about that Medical Support Project we discussed? I’ve decided—I’m ready to join.”

Seven years ago, I ignored my girlfriend's heart-wrenching pleas and ruthlessly severed our relationship. Now, after seven long years, she had risen to the top—and she was back, ready for her wedding. She didn't come home for mere celebration, though. She came for revenge. She obliterated the company my father had spent his entire life building and did not stop until she shattered his leg, forcing him to endure unimaginable pain. It was all so I'd be forced to go to her wedding and beg for forgiveness. But that wasn't enough. She wanted more. She hissed, brandishing a blade, "If Matthew's not here in ten minutes, I'll slice off a finger for every minute he's late." My autistic brother's fingers, the only way he could create art, became a bargaining chip in her sadistic game. Dad's anguished cries filled the air as he pleaded for mercy, but she was not done. She wanted to tear my family apart piece by piece. My mom, fragile and trapped in the haze of Alzheimer's, was next. Her mind, already slipping, crumbled under the relentless torment. She cracked, completely lost to the madness. With tears streaming down his face, Dad said, "My son died the day you left for abroad."

I spent ten years raising my stepson. Even though he never once called me 'Dad,' I never let him go without. Food, clothes, tuition, living expenses, I paid for everything. But on New Year's Eve, during the family reunion dinner, he suddenly spoke up in front of everyone. "Old man, I've got my eye on that apartment in the old district that's about to be demolished. Transfer it to me. I'll use it as my wedding house." I frowned. "That apartment is meant for your mother's retirement and your sister's education. Pick another development instead. I'll help cover the down payment." He slammed the table. "A down payment? That's nothing. "You want me to carry a mortgage at my age?" Then he looked me dead in the eye. "If you refuse to transfer the property, believe me, I'll make my mom divorce you." Instinctively, I turned to look at my wife beside me. But she only lowered her head in silence.

Pregnant with the employer's son and forced to abort the fetus in his content, Amelie Anderson, a girl working on a rich family decided to escape to the village where she was grandfather's grandimacy, on the father's advice. In her escape, amelie successfully conceives and gives birth to a very handsome, healthy baby boy, inheriting his father, Jonathan Hayes. The consequences of raising a baby alone are not easy. Would Amelie be able to raise a baby boy by herself?

After my eight-year-old twin sister was kidnapped, my dad became the person who wished for my death more than anyone else in the world. He would always say, "Zachary is an ungrateful brat! A good-for-nothing!" So, when the news of my disappearance reached the school, my dad leads everyone in cheers. He even spreads word of my misdeeds everywhere. "Zachary stole a poor student's tuition fees and even made a false police report accusing the teacher of hitting him!" "That's right! He even helped traffickers kidnap children—his own sister was almost sold by him! I hope he dies soon!" Five years later, my memories are extracted and projected onto a large display screen. And yet my dad, who hates me to the core and wishes for my death, falls to his knees and begs for my forgiveness the moment he learns of my death.

Lyssa was adopted into Zeta’s family when she was a child. Zeta always protected her as an older brother, and over time, Lyssa fell deeply in love with him but never said it to anyone. Later, the grandfather arranged a marriage between them because he believes she’s fit to be Zeta’s wife. Lyssa agreed because she loved Zeta, but she pretended she didn’t so he wouldn’t feel pressured. They have been married for three years, and Lyssa thinks they are building a real life together. On her 25th birthday, she plans to finally tell Zeta she loves him. But when he comes home, he gives her divorce papers, saying his college girlfriend has returned after 5 years of studying abroad and he wants to be with her again. Lyssa realizes she was only a temporary replacement until Isabella came back. Zeta thinks Lyssa never loved him and he feels he was doing her a favour by ending the marriage so she can be free to be with any man of her dreams. This hurts her even more. To find out more, read Fifteen Years of Craving The Wrong Love