Through My Window: Across The Sea

AHEM *CLEARS THROAT* THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENTS THAT ARE VERY VIVID, IT'S NOT ALLOWED FOR ANYONE UNDER EIGHTEEN, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. There were secrets I kept from everyone else because I would be sent for counselling or even therapy if I ever told anybody about it but there was no way that I could control the burning desire I felt when I saw my step uncle. "Forbidden!" the voice in my head would warn but it doesn't stop the throbbing between my legs. I see the way he looks at me and I'm certain that he wouldn't be able to hold himself much longer, soon, we both would have to keep dirty secrets from everyone else because there is no way I would tell after he has had me tied to his bed.

What were the odds that I'd just fucked my boss and been too buzzed, too horny to clock it? Impossible. Catastrophic. My life was like a ticking bomb of fuckups already; this would only make it explode. "Get a grip, Shayle," I whispered, shaking my head hard. It can't be. -------------- What would you do if you found out you only had four months left to live? In the case of Shayle Vale, she was the definition of a plain Jane; quiet, overlooked, and freshly dumped by a boyfriend who called her ‘boring’. But when the doctor drops her death sentence, she decides ‘boring’ dies today. She made a list; Quit her job, Lose her virginity to her hot next-door neighbor, get a tattoo and Do what the fuck she wants. But life doesn’t play fair. Her shitty boss refused to accept her resignation, her neighbor was allegedly still a virgin, and nothing on her list was going according to plan. Now Shayle’s plain, safe little life is spiraling into messy office wars, late-night temptations, secrets she never saw coming and a toxic love triangle. Will she tick off her last wishes, or will fate throw her off the list completely and into the arms of two sinfully attractive men instead?

After Celine Anderson let her newly-promoted assistant take credit for my billion-dollar project for the ninth time, I handed in my resignation letter. I also refused to show up in the same place as her. Whenever she was interviewed by talk shows as a public figure, I would switch off all the screens in the building. I also got the security guard to stop her from entering even if she brought me a cup of coffee in the middle of a tornado. To see me, she purposely rescheduled three virtual meetings with foreign companies. So, I immediately bought air tickets to leave the country. I blocked her everywhere and formatted the hard disk that contained all of our memories from the past decade. When I was twenty, I studied with her in the university library. When I was twenty-five, I ate the cheapest bread with her when she first started her company. When I was thirty, I finally knew how to let go of things that no longer serve me. On the ninth time I was accused of sleeping my way up, I came across a photo of her and her assistant kissing. Meanwhile, I was sitting at our dining table with food that had turned cold. It turned out that our decade-long relationship had been a joke. However, it was fine. It was not too late to come to my senses.

Seven years ago, my husband, the King of the Humans, banished me to the Everfrost Plains, where my life came to a tragic end. Seven years later, a grave illness befalls the Queen of the Humans, and blood spills endlessly from her lips. The clerics claim that I have cursed her. Only the blood taken from my heart can cure her fully. Gareth Lancaster, my former husband, comforts his new wife, the queen, and says, "You have nothing to fear. To think she's still trying to harm you, her older sister, even when she has been exiled! "I'll march to the Everfrost Plains right away and carve her heart out to use as your cure. Then, I'll have her soul sent to hell to suffer in torment for all eternity." Sword in hand, Gareth heads to the Everfrost Plains. He finds a Serpentkin, one who should've died in the Great War of the Beasts and Men seven years ago. The Serpentkin has frozen solid, standing before my grave with his hands clasped together as if in prayer. In front of my grave sits a young girl. She says, "You won't be able to take my mother's heart. She died many years ago. I stayed here to let the truth be known to all…"

“Fuck! You’re so thick… give me every inch of that beautiful cock.” The other person's voice echoed right then, and I froze as the moonlight spilled over their profile. Blonde hair, damp and messy… my brother, Hunter. No! My body stilled as if my heart had stopped beating, my lips numb as I whispered their names. “Nikolai? Hunter?” ---- With her job covering the cost of a luxurious week-long year-end retreat, Reva was looking forward to a well-deserved vacation that she hoped would provide a reset and opportunity to relax. But after a wild night of partying, she awoke to discover her husband missing from their bed. Disoriented and hungover, she stumbled through the villa, drawn in by strange sounds. And her world collapsed at the sight of her husband and brother tangled in the dark.

Difficult to get along with the in-laws, constant arguments with the only brother-in-law, worsened by the man labeled as her husband... it's like having your head detached while your toes are being tickled, making Samanta Kiehl constantly cultivate patience. Until her sincere love is rewarded with a divorce letter. Her question always spins in her head. Is this luck or misfortune for her? But Samanta remains Samanta. She lets it all resonate in her life. She believes that payback will come. Someday, there will be a life and a new man whom she will tread with tranquility. But when? Isn't human patience supposed to have its limits?

My best friend, Maya, flew in from Miami for my bachelorette week. My last days of freedom. She insisted on a girls' night in to celebrate, ordering all my favorite takeout. She asked me to hold her mobile phone and wait.Then her phone lit up. A message from some guy. A shirtless pic. Text: I need you tonight. Another photo buzzed through. Sex toys. Bondage gear straight out of a movie. My face burned. My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d just stumbled into her secret life. But the next image made my blood run cold. A close-up of the man's chest. A jagged scar I knew better than my own reflection. It belonged to my fiancé, Luciano Carbone.

My sister, Laura Ward, died the year we were ten, the year we snuck out of school to play. From that day forward, my mother’s grief turned into a burning hatred for me, convinced that I was the reason my sister was gone. She treated me like a servant, like an unwanted burden, and filled the void by adopting a perfect, obedient daughter to replace my sister. She took everything from me without a second thought — my rights, my freedom, my very existence — and even demanded that I give up a kidney for her precious adopted girl. Alright, Mother, if you want a life, I’ll give you mine! But it was only when my body lay cold, my breath long gone, that she finally turned and looked at me.

On the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, my father’s brother-in-arms pushed photos of his daughters in front of me and told me to choose a fiancee. Without hesitation, I picked the photo of the eldest daughter, Yvonne Shaw. Everyone around me stared in shock. They all knew that I was deeply in love with the second daughter, Natalie Shaw. In my previous life, I had chased after Natalie for ten years before finally marrying her. Through our marriage, she became the heiress of the Shaw family. But three years after we got married, she became pregnant with my brother’s child. Our parents were furious. They forced her to get an abortion and sent my brother away. From then on, Natalie hated me to the core. Every night, she would bring home men who looked like my brother and spend the night with them. The constant torment wore me down, and I eventually fell gravely ill and died a miserable death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to that night when I had to choose a fiancee. This time, I chose to let them be together. But what I did not expect was that Natalie had been reborn too.

Seven years after my death, an engagement invitation from my ex-girlfriend arrives at my house. Back then, I had broken up with her in my lowest, most desperate days and married someone else. Now, she has reinvented herself as a rising powerhouse worth hundreds of billions, driven by revenge and eager to see me regret everything and beg for mercy. Unfortunately for her, I am not the one who shows up. She looks around in open contempt, convinced my absence means guilt, shame, and fear. When I finally appear, all she sees is an urn.