Yume Nikki Plot Novels & Stories

For three long years, I was trapped in a toxic relationship with Edwin Kent.During those three years, he started by verbally insulting and controlling me, but eventually escalated to physical violence. Not only did he drain my finances to support his family and lavish my money on his "goddess", but he also impregnated me three times, leaving me to face the emotional and physical toll of abortions alone.Despite the repeated disappointments, I remained blind to the truth. It wasn't until one day when I overheard him asking his goddess, "When will you become my girlfriend?"His goddess laughed and asked, "Aren't you already in a relationship with her, scum?"Edwin nonchalantly responded, "She's the one who won't let go of me. I've always loved you."That was when reality finally slapped me in the face. I left behind my scarred heart and returned to the embrace of my wealthy family.But Edwin refused to let me go. He persistently challenged the boundaries of me and my family.Finally, I couldn't tolerate it anymore. Trash should be thrown into the garbage dump, not wandering around and bothering people.

"Help me tighten this?" Her voice trembles as she turns her bare back to the doorway. Calloused fingers brush her spine – but it’s not her stepmother. It’s Asher Voss, SU’s star quarterback and her new stepbrother, smirking in the mirror， "Next time you mistake me for Mom..." His breath scorches her ear. "...I’ll leave a real mark." To survive the sweltering New York summer before college, Wendy Wu makes a deal with Asher: Act like strangers once school starts. He’ll remain the untouchable quarterback; she’ll be just another exchange student. No eye contact. No acknowledgement. Ever. But when her father’s long hauls and her stepmother’s busy schedule force Asher into babysitting duty, the lines blur: In the kitchen, he catches her weeping over a shelter documentary and lifts her against his sweat-drenched chest. Garage doors rattle open – his grip tightens: "Hold on. Unless you want them to see you like this." At a party, her friend spots a cherry hair tie on his wrist before he drags her into a dark hallway: "You didn’t want to see me?" His whiskey-laced kiss brands her lips. "Yet your eyes undressed me all night." In a restaurant, a rival girl glares through the window. He traps Wendy’s thigh under the table， "Call me ‘brother’ and I’ll save you."  Their secret collapses. Wendy ends it, and he freezes her out in public， "Do I know you?" Until a rain-lashed night when Ahser, drenched and desperate, pins her to the wall， "Don’t tell me you do not regret the breakup" His teeth find her collarbone. "I have to admit it-- I miss you." Can a love forged in stolen touches survive the spotlight? Or will their step-sibling bond shatter them both?

I've been married to Austin Salazar for five years. Every time I accidentally touch him, he'll force me to kneel in a pool of disinfectants while reciting verses from the Bible. But there was once when I noticed a bright red hickey on Austin's collarbone. Instincts propelled me to touch it for a fleeting moment. While Austin did lose his temper at me before storming out of our home, for once, he didn't tell me to get down on my knees. Naively, I thought that he's starting to get used to my touch. But the next day, my virginity is set to be auctioned off at the auction house where the rich and the powerful of Bannerton regularly visit. The auction will officially start in two days. While Austin's buddies calculate the price they can afford to bid with lewd expressions, he remains unmoved as he keeps cleansing his collarbone with disinfectants repeatedly. "How dare she touch the spot Carol has kissed before! Who does she think she is? Just the sight of her taints my vision!"

The day I died was the same day as my twin sister’s birthday party. She was in tears and was wrapped up in my boyfriend’s arms. My mom was seething with anger and kept calling me over and over again. My brother was clearly upset and sent me a text saying, "You’re so selfish. You just can’t stand to see anyone else happy." Even my usually quiet dad was furious and said, "She’s nothing but an ungrateful brat." I touched my chest. Thankfully, it did not hurt anymore.

The night my parents died, I was found amongst the ashes of our home. My eyes glowed red, and my hair had been altered to a flaming hue to match. My pack ostracised me, deeming me responsible for the death of my beloved parents. For years, I have been treated like a slave and was underfed, bullied, and abused. The son of the Alpha, Jordan, and my cousin Ruth were the worst offenders. Yet, I endured as I planned my escape. When I turn nineteen, I am out of here. Or so I thought. One night, out of the blue, Jordan kisses me, everything changes, and I find myself falling in love with the one who was my tormentor. So naive, so foolish, just when I think I will have a happy ending, reality slaps me in the face. The same night I find myself in the arms of my mate, Jordan, I find myself rejected for a nightmare of a betrayal I had no hope in preventing. As punishment, I was shunned in the worst possible way and turned rouge. As the cold seeps in, I dream of a white wolf—my white wolf. He has always appeared in my mind when I most needed him, his presence always comforting me. Is this the end of my story? I have lost hope and the will to live.

During the annual awards gala, I stepped out to use the restroom. When I came back, my year-end bonus was gone, canceled for allegedly assaulting a new coworker, Elan Crowe. In my first life, I desperately tried to prove my innocence by showing my fitness tracker’s movement data, proving I had been in the bathroom. Calder Roane, the department head, flew into a rage. "Everyone in the department saw you hit him. And you still want to deny it?" I struggled and explained frantically, but in the chaos, I accidentally fell down the stairs and died on the spot. In my second life, I took medical leave and skipped the gala entirely. I never expected that just past noon, the police would surround my home. "Lyra Vale, you’re suspected of intentional homicide. You need to come with us." Elan’s enraged family had then rushed forward and stabbed me repeatedly. I died again. In my third life, I ran to the city plaza, started a livestream, and rapped on camera, turning every viewer into my alibi. That night, the police still came. "The evidence is conclusive. Please come with us." At the station, they pulled up surveillance footage. It clearly showed me sneaking into the gala hall, arguing with Elan, then picking up a knife and stabbing him straight in the back. I was completely stunned. Three days later, I took a bullet. After endless rebirths, I finally laughed in anger. This time, I stormed straight into the gala hall, pressed a knife across Elan's throat, and said, "This is a kidnapping."

No one knew that three days ago, the aloof CEO in the boardroom, Sophia Monroe, had been tangled up with me in her executive office, going at it for eight intense rounds. I thought Sophia had finally agreed to what I had been asking for. But then she pulled her dress back on, turned around, and disappeared without a trace. She was gone for an entire month. I stayed by Mom's grave for what felt like forever. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with the latest trending news. It was about Sophia's wedding of the century, but I was not the groom. At that moment, I was grateful Mom had not lived long enough to see Sophia's true colors. Before shutting off my phone, I sent her a message. [Monday. Courthouse. Divorce.]

Ten years ago, the Harrington family went through a home invasion. My mother, a maid, shielded Liam with her life. Holding my hands tight, Liam promised, "Andrea, don't worry. I'll protect you forever." I believed him. Our bond grew naturally, and we had a beautiful daughter together. Then, she was diagnosed with leukemia. In her last days, all she wanted was to spend one birthday with her dad. I called him, desperate to make it happen. "Millie doesn't have much time left. All she wants is one birthday with you. Can you come?" His voice on the other end went icy. "Really? This your latest stunt? Using your dead mom wasn't enough, now it's our daughter for pity? Disgusting." I tried to deny it, but he cut me off. "Don't mess with her head. Learn from Vivian—she's got a real heart." That night, our daughter passed away. Later, Vivian posted on social media: [Finally taking that couples' trip someone promised me!] I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just texted Liam: [We're done.]

Priest is one of the Confradia's top assassins until he suffers a grievous accident that leaves him blind. Seeing his value, the Confradia grants him an experimental surgery that gives him new hope. After years of being blind, Priest can see again. But true vision only comes when he sees her. To his consternation, he finds a woman he can’t forget but must live without. When his past comes to haunt him can he let the woman he desires to suffer for his mistakes? Sage is a strong-willed, independent woman who loves life. Unfortunately, a stalker sets his sights on her and will chip away at her life until he leaves her vulnerable. There is only one man who can help save her life. A man whom she has fantasized about since the moment she first laid eyes on him. Will her life be spared at the cost of her heart?

The life trial system "If You Think You Can Do Better, Prove It" burst onto the scene like a traveling circus promising wonders. The idea was plain enough: "If you reckon someone's life is a mess, and you think you can do better, go ahead and prove it. There's a reward waiting if you do." Before I knew it, my whole family had me pegged for the fool in the middle of the show. There was my mother, dreaming of turning me into some grand goose; my husband, who'd spent years dodging his rightful share of the family load; and my son, mortified by the very sight of me. They shoved me onto the "judgment seat" like I was the villain of the tale. Every last one of them swore up and down that, given my place, they'd manage my life better than I ever could. The stakes? Well, if they pulled it off, my consciousness would be erased—gone, wiped out like a mistake on a chalkboard—and turned into their personal servant. On top of that, they'd waltz off with a cool million dollars. But if they couldn't? Then I'd be the one raking in three million dollars. Now that's a gamble for the ages, isn't it?