Torture Twists Novels & Stories

I had been married to Alexander for three years. Everyone feared his ruthlessness, but he had always been incredibly gentle with me. But ever since Elena took a bullet for him during a shootout six months ago, everything changed. He always said she got hurt saving him, so I had to be accommodating. At the family’s most prestigious gala, my husband—the Don, Alexander—arrived with his secretary, Elena, on his arm. Pinned to her chest was the ruby brooch that symbolized the position of the Donna of the family. "Elena took a bullet for me. She liked the brooch, so I let her borrow it for a while. Regardless, you are the only donna here. Try to show some class." I didn't argue with him. I just removed my wedding ring and pulled out the divorce papers: "Since she likes it so much, she can have it. Including this seat next to you. I'm giving that up, too." Alexander signed without hesitation, a cold smile on his face. "What kind of manipulative trick are you playing now? You're an orphan, separated from your family, you won't survive three days in Sicily. I'll wait for you to come back begging me." I took out an encrypted satellite phone I hadn't used in three years. Alexander didn't know that I was actually the youngest daughter of the oldest Mafia family in Europe. But my family and Alexander’s had always been enemies. To marry him, I had changed my name and even severed ties with my father and brothers. The call connected. I took a deep breath and whispered, "Papa, I regret it. Send someone to pick me up in two weeks."

During Christmas dinner, my mother-in-law hinted for the umpteenth time that she wanted a grandchild. However, my husband, Zachary Cole, who had insisted on staying child-free in the past decade, only smiled and filled her plate. After dinner, he slipped onto the balcony. "There, there. Daddy will come see you on New Year's Day," he whispered. I stood in the corner of the living room with a glass of water in my hand, feeling cold as the words sank in. I stepped forward and forced a playful tone. "I just heard you say 'Daddy.' Got a secret kid stashed somewhere?" He rubbed his nose, his voice stiff. "You must've misheard. That's… just a friend's kid." My heart sank. I'd been married to him for a decade, so I knew exactly what he looked like when he was lying.

My younger son, who is seven, is bitten by a snake. I take him to my elder son's hospital to be treated. To my surprise, my elder son's girlfriend thinks I'm his mistress. Not only does she stop the medical personnel from treating my younger son, but she even slaps me. "My boyfriend and I are a perfect match. How dare you bring your illegitimate son here to challenge me!" She pins me to the floor as she pummels and harms me. She even screeches, "A slut like you will only stop going around seducing others once you're incapable of it!" I'm bruised, battered, and bleeding as I'm wheeled into the emergency room. My elder son handles the operation. His hand trembles as he clutches his scalpel, and he looks ashen. "Who did this to you, Mom?"

After seven years of marriage, my wife had rarely asked me to accompany her back to her parents' home. She always said she didn't want me stepping into that cramped, crowded little house and feeling wronged. This year, during the New Year, I happened to be in the city where my in-laws lived for a business trip. By chance, I came across a local video online. It was posted by a resident of an upscale neighborhood. "Mom, Dad, my beloved wife and son—thank you for giving an orphan like me a complete and happy life." The elderly couple in the video were dressed in the same high-end outfits I had bought for my in-laws. I thought of how frugal they had always been, how they lived simply and spared every penny. A decision formed in my mind: tomorrow, I would buy them a place in that very neighborhood, in their name, so they could enjoy a comfortable retirement. It would be my small act of filial piety. But the next day, the moment I stepped into the residential complex, I saw my in-laws coming downstairs—with my wife and a child. Could it be that my wife had secretly bought them an apartment? I pressed my lips together, about to step forward, when a man rushed over and caught my father-in-law just as he nearly stumbled. "Dad, careful now." My footsteps froze. My wife was an only child. I had never heard of any foster relatives. He called my father-in-law "Dad." Then… who was I?

After my father’s death, I decided to divorce my husband, Captain Marcus Hale, and stay in Pine Ridge Village forever. On the first day, I tricked Marcus into signing the divorce papers. On the fifth day, I handed in my resignation to my old unit at Fort Haven. On the seventh day, I cooked a full table of food and said farewell to all my friends. Frowning, Marcus accused me of making the very meal his childhood sweetheart, Julia Summers, hated. I stood up and raised my glass to toast her. From this day on, Marcus and I would have nothing more to do with each other. Half a month later, I saw Marcus returning from a mission in Pine Ridge Village. Only this time, the country evening breeze brought tears to his eyes.

Someone posted a love confession to me on the college's confession wall. But then my roommate's boyfriend left a comment claiming I had slept with every guy on campus. I was furious and ready to call the police. My roommate begged me to forgive her boyfriend, promising she'd make him apologize publicly on the confession wall. But before that apology ever came, an adult video started circulating in the student group chats. Everyone was saying I was the girl in the video. The college summoned me for a meeting and suggested I take a leave of absence. When I went home, my parents refused to acknowledge me as their daughter. I lost everything. Depression consumed me, and with the endless rumors, I finally gave in to despair and ended my life. When I opened my eyes again, it was the day my name first appeared on the confession wall.

My daughter has leukemia and desperately needs a bone marrow donor. After a blood test, it turns out my blood type doesn't match hers. However, my husband's blood type does. This confuses me. I gave birth to her, so how could my blood type not be a match for hers? I'm puzzled by this when my long-lost best friend suddenly appears with her son, who's about my daughter's age. She wants him to do a blood test to see whether it matches my daughter's.

In our village, once the girls turn 16, they must begin fasting and take a secret formula to produce bloodstones. My mother says this is the necessary path for a girl to become a rabbit-woman. It is also the most important thing in her life. On the day my sister turns 16, a rabbit tail grows from her tailbone. She no longer has to work in the fields. She only needs to lie in her room each day and take the formula. From that very night on, I see one man after another—sometimes several at once—enter her room. Before long, the sounds of heavy breathing begin to come from inside...

My sister and I were both enslaved after the Great War and the defeat of humankind. But before long, my sister's striptease performance earned the Alpha lycan's favor, and they soon left, holding hands. On the other hand, I was taken away by a masked man unceremoniously after he left some money on the counter. However, no one expected the Alpha lycan to chew through my sister's throat during the full moon, while the masked man treasured me, pampering me with endless wealth and prestige. My sister turned into a vengeful spirit then and cursed me to death. When I opened my eyes again, we had both reincarnated to that fateful day. This time, my sister threw herself straight into the masked man's arms, sniffling as she begged, "Please love me?" Standing nearby, I laughed. After all, it was wonderful that I didn't have to be a vampire's walking blood pack in this life.

After the evening study session, I was just about to return to the dorm when my first boyfriend, the school's valedictorian and undisputed top student, suddenly tore across the courtyard toward me. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and, in full view of a crowd of stunned students, dragged me into a frantic run toward the front gates. I exclaimed, "Julian, have you lost your mind? Graduation's six months away. Are you really trying to run off with me now?" I struggled the whole way, twisting and pulling against him, but his grip never loosened. "Autumn, don't ask any questions. Just come with me. Hurry!" he said, his voice trembling with panic. We fled the school, jumped into a taxi in the middle of the night, and rushed to another city, where we checked into a rundown budget motel. Arms folded and brow furrowed, I glared at him. "So you hauled me out of school like a lunatic just to hole up in a cheap motel?" His cheeks turned bright red. He flailed his hands in frantic denial, then thrust a phone into my hands. I barely had time to unlock the phone and start dialing my parents before a breaking news alert flashed across the screen. My eyes locked on the screen, and I went rigid with shock. The headline reported, 'Mass Death at Blackwood High: All 5,000 students and faculty found dead last night after experiencing catastrophic bleeding. Only two students who skipped the study session survived.' I looked up at Julian in horror. He was staring at the screen too, his face white as paper, cold sweat running down his forehead. "You knew, didn't you?" I asked. "What the hell is going on?"