Villainous Threads Novels & Stories

What he saw only deepened his fury. Then, he stumbled upon the most recent video—one where he was wearing the exact outfit he had on today. It was a screen recording of Bellie's I*******m story. A melancholic song played in the background while he stood working in the distance. The comments on this particular clip were far more unhinged and delusional than any he had seen before. Tham's jaw clenched tight with mounting rage. The narratives these people were weaving in the comments were entirely fabricated.

"Let's see what we're doing for today." I clicked a folder on my computer. Employment process and staff checks. The main goal is to fish out Thor's pawns and eliminate them. But how will I know when he always makes sure to avoid suspicion? I twirled on my chair as if it'll make my thought process faster, it did. I stopped and opened a new page on the computer, typed in childhood. Thor doesn't recruit loyal people, he recruits people he has something against. People with something to lose, people like me.

He stood in the crater, whole again, watching me with eyes that did not belong to any version of the boy I had once known. “You are slower now,” I said, floating just above the ground, power buzzing under my skin. “You still cannot kill me, Visionary.” “I can now.” The threads surged. Red. Blue. Green. Gold. They resisted each other, pushing and tangling like living things, and I forced them together through sheer will. Pain bloomed behind my eyes. My head pounded. Warm blood slipped from my nose and down my lip, but the threads merged anyway, twisting into something denser, heavier.

“It’s reacting to us. It’s alive.” She froze. Alive. The thought clawed at her sanity. Threads weren’t supposed to have awareness. But these did. They pulsed in rhythm with her own heartbeat, then skipped, adjusted, coiling tighter, mirroring Kael’s motions, then something… else. Something alien, calculating, patient. Then it struck. The threads surged violently, wrapping around both of them. Not binding. Not restraining. But fusing.

Everything leading up to it—his lies, deception, and broken promises—had been cut out. All that remained was a version of me that looked completely unhinged. Then a second trending topic shot up the rankings. #VivianReedBrokeUpTheCarterMarriage# The online trolls Nathan hired flooded the comments. They painted Vivian as a scheming homewrecker willing to do anything to climb the social ladder. According to them, my revenge was nothing more than the reaction of a jealous wife who discovered their affair. Nathan even managed to cast himself as the victim.

The TV screen loaded for some seconds before it played some shameful moments of Aubrey. On the first part, The TV screen was dark and nobody could actually see it clearly, but it would could squint his or her eyes properly one could clearly see a woman on top of a man, she was holding a bottle of Vodka as she threatened the man. "Hey, if you don't do what I say, I will make sure to end your family life, you know I can do that, oh and I will make it look like you raped me in front of the camera" She drank the bottle as she spat on the face.

He carefully collected a loose strand into a small glass vial. This killer had a thing for red thread. And for fashion. Both victims were connected to the fashion world, both were talented newcomers who stood out. Why? It wasn’t jealousy. This was something else. Something colder. It was past 1 a.m. when Zhedya slipped into his office through the back door, avoiding any night staff. He needed to analyze the thread. Minutes turned into an hour under the bright lab lights. Then, he had it. The thread was exclusive. Used by only one elite clothing brand.

He went through every page twice, searching for leverage, and found nothing. That bothered him far more than it should have. He picked up his phone and dialed. "Sir," Michael answered on the first ring. "Update." Raiyan stood up and walked to the window. "We traced new funding going into the victim coalition." Michael's tone was clipped. "Shell accounts. No name yet." "And?" "The victims are real. Whoever's funding this didn't create the case. They're using it." "Keep digging," Raiyan said, his voice dropping into that dark, uncompromising register. "I want every connection Zoya Al Fayez has. Beyond the case file. Family, funding, anyone backing her."

He landed heavily, and the new thread between us flared up the moment he saw me. Selina. I’m here. The Guardian, the woman, the red runes, the Core, the fragile thread, and everything we had ever chosen—it all collided in that single moment. I reached for Raymond’s hand. The Core pulled at both of us. The Guardian yanked at the thread. The woman closed the red circle around the entire room. The thread held. Only just. Then it began to burn. Raymond’s fingers clamped around mine. His voice was once again that of the man and the wolf combined.

Something beneath his ribs moved. He tore open his shirt. And saw what the threads had done. Not gold, Not white But black, Threaded with thorns. It pierced through the middle of the knot, binding gold and white in violent, unnatural harmony. He reached for it. His fingers brushed the black thread and pain shot through his skull like a branding iron, The child flinched. Then spoke. Not aloud, But in his mind. “You let it in.” “When you tried to have both.” “It doesn’t belong to me.”