Thousand Autumns Summary Novels & Stories

My husband's first love was scalded by boiling water. To punish me, he forced me into a customized steamer half my height, turned the heat to its highest setting, and sealed me inside. "I'll make you feel the pain Jessica suffered a thousand times over!" Trapped in the suffocating space, my breath came in ragged gasps. Heat seared my skin, and my body felt as though it would melt. I sobbed, begging him for mercy. "Please! I'm going to die!" But he didn't look back. Holding his beloved in his arms, he walked away. He even locked the door after he left the room. "Don't worry, you won't die. This is the only way you'll understand Jessica's pain." Despair swallowed me whole. I screamed, my voice raw, but the boiling water beneath me splashed up, scalding my skin, stealing even the strength to cry. He left the country with Jessica that same night. A week passed before he finally remembered my existence. "That wretched woman must have learned her lesson by now. Let her out." What he didn't know was that the water had long since boiled away, the heat had faded, and inside the steamer, my corpse lay rotting—swarmed with maggots.

“Genesis. Your eyes, they just glowed right now,” Killian spoke, his hands cupping my cheeks, his hands felt gentle almost as if he was holding a flower, I wouldn’t mind being a flower. Flowers are beautiful. My mind wandered off again, and I heard the voice in my mind let out a small snicker. “What about my eyes?” “They changed…” He let go of my face, and I felt like I had been deprived of the sweetest feeling. I wanted it back. But I had to soldier on. “Don’t yours when you communicate with your wolf,” I asked tucking the small strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes following my movements intently, tensioned filled the air. ******************************************************************************************************************************************** Genesis was a loner living as a slave in a pack that killed her family; some people didn't even know she existed. She believed that her future was bleak and is doomed to forever be a slave for a pack she hates with all of her might. what happens when she meets meets her fated mate who turns out to the the Alpha King Kilian a thousand year old Lycan who has a fierce and cruel reputation and who has publicly announced to the supernatural world countless of times that he did not wish for a mate. Will he reject her? And what will happen when Genesis finds out just how powerful she really is, and who her parents really were.

My family has gone into bankruptcy ever since my parents have passed away. As such, my older sister, Priscilla Lennox, and I have to shoulder a million-dollar debt. In order to pay off the debt, Priscilla works as a paranormal house tester, whereas I've taken on a part-time gig to act as a corpse in dramas and films. Just like that, I keep working for five years straight. As long as the debt remains saddled on my shoulders, I dare not take a day off. At the end of the year, I realize that I still need to collect 130 thousand dollars in order to clear the debt, so I decide to apply for a job as a drug tester. Once the experiments are over, I head over to seek Priscilla out happily with my 130-thousand-dollar payment in tow. Unexpectedly, I come across her when she's on a phone call. "Mom, Dad, Perry has been doing really well. You two have fun overseas. He doesn't like spending money now, so we can end his punishment next year." It turns out that my parents aren't dead, and my family isn't bankrupt at all. All the pain and suffering that I've gone through in the past five years is just a punishment for my excessive spending habits. My smile freezes on my face. That's when I feel my stomach churning violently before I spit out a mouthful of blood.

Silverclaw and Blackstone had been bound by a sacred blood alliance for three generations. I was the rightful heir to the Silverclaw pack, and Elara was my cousin, of lesser blood and no rank. On my bonding ceremony, Elara spiked my wine. While I was unconscious, she donned a counterfeit of my Moon-Blessed Robes and slept with Elias that night. I found them together at dawn. Though he offered me anything to appease my fury, I forced a sterility potion down Elara’s throat, paid her off with a hundred thousand dollars, and banished her from Silverclaw territory. For ten years, I waded through blood to secure Elias’s rise to the Alpha throne. Yet at his coronation, he claimed the Luna’s Crown and Sacred Robes meant for me. He led pack warriors to a southern cabin where, upon confirming Elara’s death, he seized my throat. His claws tore into my flesh as he raged over her corpse. He threw me and my unborn child off the cliff. He held the marker stone at her cairn and whispered of revenge for his true love. I woke up on my bonding ceremony. Elias had been reborn too, expecting me to grovel at his paws. He was wrong. This time, I would never be his Luna. The throne, the pack, and the bond. Every last scrap of it would return to its rightful owner.

To take care of my paralyzed mother-in-law, I quit my job and spent three years as a full-time househusband. That day, after cleaning up her waste, I hid in the bathroom with a cigarette between my fingers and came across a post on my wife’s boss’ Instagram. [You’re meant to be with me in the end. Since that freeloader can’t give you happiness, let me take you to the paradise of Maldev.] Above the caption were two plane tickets. Someone commented below. [That homemaker husband of hers is definitely clinging onto her. After all, she’s his meal ticket.] The boss replied. [Don’t worry. Tonight she’ll go home and come clean. She’ll say the company was caught falsifying accounts and is facing massive fines, and that she might need to serve jail time. [To keep that guy from getting dragged into it, the only option is divorce. He’s as timid as a mouse and will take any chance to flee.] I stared at the screen, stunned, until the cigarette burned my fingers. Ten minutes later, my wife rushed home, panic written all over her face. She dropped her bag on the floor. “Honey, something’s gone wrong with the company’s finances. They’re accusing us of falsifying accounts. I was solely responsible for the accounts. I might need to serve 10 years in prison, plus fines of more than ten thousand dollars. “We need to sign the papers before they seize our house. I don’t want to drag you and mom into this.”

During the school holidays, I took my daughter to a park. I had barely entered the park entrance with my daughter when a supercar crossed the solid line and rear-ended us. The man who jumped out came storming toward me, furious. "Do you even know how to drive? Do you know how much this car costs? You can't afford it even if you went bankrupt!" I was about to argue back since he was clearly the one breaking traffic rules. But I froze. That car looked painfully familiar. Wasn't that the supercar my mother gave me the first year I took over the Milton Group? Even the license plate was identical. My wife, Hazel Bishop, had told me the engine was broken and that she'd sent it to the dealership for repairs. I met the man's arrogant stare. "Is this car really yours?" He paused, then grinned smugly. "My wife bought it for me. It's limited-edition. Someone like you wouldn't understand. Go call your family and sell your house. You owe me 200 thousand dollars." Sneering, he added, "Don't try anything clever. My wife's the GM of Milton Group. She has serious connections. She'll be here any minute." I let out a cold laugh. So Hazel canceled on our daughter today, not because of a business meeting, but because she was out spending the holiday with her lover and his kid instead.

There's an unspoken rule in the high-end society—married couples who are bound by marriage alliances are allowed to branch out romantically. But if they ever buy anything for their side piece, they must buy the same gift for their legal spouse. Raymond Johnson is a very particular person. That's why he continues sticking to the rule and gives Melanie Strickland the respect she deserves by showering her with gifts that are 100 times more than his mistress', even after the Stricklands have gone into bankruptcy. If his mistress gets 100 thousand dollars' worth of allowances every month, Melanie's bank account must receive ten million dollars in return. When Raymond gifts his mistress jewelry that's worth a million dollars, he'll go for the main highlight of the auction. After that, Melanie will receive an antique emerald ring worth 100 million dollars. The rich wives, who are too used to seeing wealthy men immersing themselves in booze and beautiful women, can only sigh wistfully whenever they witness Raymond and Melanie's lovey-dovey relationship. But at the same time, they can't resist dropping Melanie words of advice—mainly to tell her to appreciate what she has now. Appreciate, huh? Of course Melanie appreciates everything she has right now. That's why on the day Raymond gives a house of very little value that's located in the suburbs to his mistress, Melanie decides to ask him a question while receiving the land deed of Villa No. 1 that's located in Northshore. "I've grown tired of this marriage. Can we get a divorce?"

At the wedding, I immediately recognized that the woman under the veil wasn't Selene, but an impostor. But I still went through with the ceremony as if nothing was wrong. In my previous life, Selene had been forced to return and complete the wedding with me after I exposed the fake bride in front of everyone. That very night, however, her childhood sweetheart was rushed to the ICU with acute alcohol poisoning. When Selene heard the news, she didn't shed a tear. Instead, she cursed him, saying he got what he deserved. … After we married, Selene and I appeared to be a loving couple on the surface. I kept funneling money from my family to save her family business from collapse. But on our first anniversary, my wife—with not even a sliver of warmth in her eyes—tied me to a helicopter with her own hands. "If you hadn't forced me to come back and marry you that day, Chase wouldn't have ended up like that," she snarled. "What right do you have to live so happily? I'll make sure you feel the pain he went through before he died." She threw me from ten thousand yards up, and I hit the ground as nothing more than a broken heap of flesh. So, this time, I pretended to know nothing and went through with the wedding alongside the fake bride. I wanted to see just how Selene would manage to save the crumbling Liraine Co. without the Schreiber family's support.

He dropped his hands to the side, stepping away, and he voiced. “I’m not sure about having you fucking countless men, Marianne, unless you have chosen to become a whore who is more than willing to please another man’s dick instead of just pleasing one.” He smiled, pushing his hair from his face. I made the conscious decision not to let his words bother me, as it wasn't worth the stress. I said, which got him annoyed further. “I rather please a thousand dicks than yours. So do what you want to me, but I will never marry you.” He suddenly brought out a gun, playfully staring at it and he hint “Not even in a death and life situation.” He aimed the gun directly at me and I took a bold step by moving to him and I pressed my head against the gun. “Then kill me. It has always been my dream to escape from this nightmare.” I was playing with fire, but I won’t back off until we both get burnt. “Pull the trigger.” I breathe. He breath. Both our eyes locked. ****** Kidnapped and sold to a psychopath, a man who finds solace in seeing her in pain while she grips on her remaining hopes of escaping. Marianne finds herself trapped in this endless nightmare with a man who claims to love her by bringing her pain. ***** Trigger warning; This story is not for light-hearted people. Involves very disturbing sex content.

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.