War Freak Novels & Stories

On our wedding night, my fiancé's best friend barged into our room for the third time, claiming a wedding prank. Having had enough, I warned Sam Whitman that if we didn't consummate our marriage that night, it was as good as over. He glanced at my half-unbuttoned dress and dismissed my words as a tantrum. Then Candace Lombard stormed in for the ninth time, ripped off the covers, and livestreamed our intimate moments. Sam merely pushed me aside and told me to be understanding. She climbed into our bed, smirking as she claimed the spot between us. "Wedding night prank? I get it," I grinned, leaning into her livestream camera. "Alright, everyone, fire up those donations! I'm about to let my husband take a mistress live. Let's make it a show!"

I send my sister, Lola Graham, to my couture boutique to pick out a wedding dress. As she is leaving, a trainee clerk, Kayla Larson, demands three million for the gown. Helpless, Lola says my name. "I'm the owner's sister. I don't have to pay." Kayla rolls her eyes. "You're pranking the wrong store. Our boss doesn't have a sister. You're just broke and trying to scam us!" she snapped, blocking my sister's way. "This is your last warning—either pay up, or I'll rip that dress off you and throw you out!" Stunned, Lola calls me. When I rush over, I hear my long-time store manager standing deferentially behind Kayla, warning Lola, "You'd better behave. The woman in front of you is our boss' wife. Cross her, and you'll regret it." "Trying to fake your way in here? You've got some nerve," Kayla sneers, adding to my sister's humiliation. My hand freezes on the door. Without hesitation, I cut off my husband's secondary credit card and call him. "Have I been too generous with you? Or did giving you too much money make you think you could afford another woman behind my back?"

I am in such a rush to pick up my daughter, Ava Pennington, from school that I don't have time to change out of my work attire. At the kindergarten gates, I run into the mother of one of her classmates, Candice Austin. She sizes me up from head to toe and says, "You must be Ava Pennington's mom." I politely nod. Just as I am about to say hello, her expression suddenly sours. "It's no wonder your daughter dresses so skimpily at school. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" I am so mad that I nearly forgot to respond. "What nonsense are you talking about?" Candice clicks her tongue and grows even more aggressive. "Nonsense? Your daughter wears skirts to school every day. She's distracting my son so much that his grades have slipped." Her words leave me utterly speechless. How is her son's failing grades somehow Ava's fault? When I don't respond, she gets bolder. "Look at you dressed from head to toe in cheap junk; how can you afford to send your daughter to this elite kindergarten? You must have pulled some shady strings to sneak her in through the back door, didn't you?" Has she lost her mind? Since when does Ava need strings to attend the school I built?

I had been married for five years, but my belly remained flat—no sign of a child. Then, on my 35th birthday, I suddenly found out I was pregnant. When I shared the good news with my husband, he flew into a rage. Instead of being happy, he accused me of carrying someone else's baby. Only then did I learn he had a mistress. He even claimed he wanted a "real" child—one that truly belonged to him—with her. I thought he was just being irrational and would eventually come to his senses. After getting an amniocentesis, I immediately brought him the paternity test results to prove the baby was his. He came home acting like a changed man—hugging me, kissing me, claiming that he didn't cheat on me. The very next day, he booked a hotel and threw a banquet, announcing to all our friends and family that he was going to be a father. However, when his mistress saw the news, she completely lost it. She showed up with a group of people, blocked me in the street, and—despite my pregnancy—started punching and kicking me. "You shameless woman! How dare you carry my man's child? Are you that desperate to die?"

I suffered from a skin condition. I scratched myself in the library, and millions of netizens spammed my private inbox. Only then did I find out that a girl accused me of harassing her. I took out my diagnostic report to defend my innocence, but the girl cried pitifully. “You really know how to make an excuse for yourself! How could someone innocent like me frame you?” Even my elder brother spoke up for her! “Why would she frame you of all people? Can’t you take a look at yourself?” I could not bear the cyberbullying, and I died from a sudden heart attack the day before the court hearing. My grandfather could not accept my death, and he collapsed into a coma. My parents cut off ties with my brother before they committed suicide at home. Meanwhile, the girl did not just successfully make her way into graduate school, but she also dug open my grave and used my ashes to make fireworks. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day when she had asked me to reserve a seat in the library.

My in-laws go on a jungle trip and are stung by venomous bees. An exorbitant sum is needed for their surgeries, so I hurriedly call my husband for help. However, as soon as the call connects, he berates me. "They can die if you don't have money to treat them! Why waste the money? Your family isn't mine—what does it have to do with me if they die? Also, Chloe has no money for food. I'm transferring what we have to buy her a meal." He hangs up abruptly and transfers whatever money I have. Meanwhile, his parents die because we didn't pay to save them.

When my colleagues find out that I'm pretty good at cooking, they start organizing dinners at my place. Lucy Holt, one of the junior accountants, suggests that we split the groceries evenly between us. As a result, I don't think I can reject their request without being rude. On my last day of work, the group gathers at my place for one last meal. "You're such a good cook, Jess! We'll all be transferring you 500 dollars later. It's just a token of our appreciation," Lucy declares with a bright smile. But the very next day, she sends me a message. "Hey, Jess. You know it's illegal to operate an unlicensed catering business from your home, right? Your house will get sealed off for further investigation. More importantly, the value of goods has passed the threshold of 10,000 dollars, which means the fine you'll have to pay is probably going to be about 20 times that amount. "Since we worked together, we decided not to report you to the authorities. We'll just settle this matter privately. All you have to do is give us the fine you would've had to pay instead." This is how I realized that, combined with yesterday's meal, the total amount they've given me for groceries thus far is exactly 10,001 dollars.

On my boyfriend, Draco Leroyce's birthday, I take him to a newly-opened fancy restaurant of my own for his birthday meal. Thinking that we'll be having a birthday cake for dessert later, Draco and I decide to order a set meal that includes a pizza and a plate of pasta. With a smile, I hand the menu over to the waitress. She plasters a fake smile on her face as she grabs the menu. But she secretly calls us "broke ass bastards" in Virellian. I draw my brows into a deep frown instantly. "What did you just say?" The waitress is momentarily stunned. Then, she shoots me another fake smile. "I said I'll prepare your food right away." I just sneer back at the waitress before responding to her in fluent Virellian, "You were calling us broke ass bastards."

Before heading out on her undercover mission, my daughter Anna Stone left me a farewell letter. My husband, Wayne Stone, who adores her, reads it and immediately posts her photo on Instagram. His caption reads, "I heard Anna's on a mission. Let's see how many drug dens she'll take down this time." Anna's devoted husband, Gabriel Morrison, barely glances at the letter before dropping her exact location online. Anna's twin brother, Casper Stone, has always been inseparable from her. However, after reading the letter, he goes straight to the drug dealers and brings them to her. Anna's cover is blown, the mission fails, and all 37 officers are wiped out without a trace. I collapse in despair, lashing out at them with desperate questions, only to be bound and sent to Mirewick, a notorious criminal den. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day Anna sets out on her mission.

In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times. This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party. Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg. But today? I blocked him first. The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever: [Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!] [Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!] Then Shayne called. Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up. The Chat Feed freaked out. [AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]