Zombie Kitty Novels & Stories

I had just been discharged from surgery for a collapsed lung when my boyfriend took me to a childhood friend’s birthday party. At the party, he yanked off my ventilator and used it to inflate party balloons. My chest seized violently, as if my lung had been torn open. Justin Miller turned to Sophie Shaw proudly and said, “See? This is so much easier than blowing them up with your mouth.” I gripped the doorframe. I was gasping as my vision blurred. “Justin, I need that to survive! I can’t breathe!” His expression darkened. “Sophie was kind enough to invite you to her birthday party. Know your place! Besides, she put in a lot of effort for this day and spent hours preparing for it. Are you really going to ruin the celebration?” I struggled to speak through the pain. “Is her surprise more important than my life?” I extended a trembling hand toward the ventilator, but Justin waved it aside. He said impatiently, “I already checked. You won’t die from holding your breath for just a moment. Don’t be so selfish!” At that moment, pain stabbed me in the chest, and I used every ounce of my strength to press the emergency call button my brother had given me.

After I voluntarily gave up my position as the team's starting carry to my boyfriend's first love, he was pleased by how obedient I had been. As a reward, he moved our wedding date forward. But on the day of the ceremony, his precious first love, consumed by jealousy, pressed a dagger against herself and begged through tears, "Ethan, please don't marry her. Please." Ethan, who had always been cold and composed, instantly panicked. He pleaded with me over and over, begging me to save her life. Every guest at the wedding was waiting to see me make a fool of myself. Instead, I stayed calm and quietly handed over my place as the bride. Seeing how understanding I was, just as I had always been, Ethan's eyes reddened. "I promise this is the last time I'll let you suffer. As soon as the wedding is over, we'll get our marriage license and make it official." But he had forgotten something. This was the ninety-sixth time he had hurt me. And I had no intention of spending the rest of my life with him. I was only waiting for three more promises. Once I had repaid the debt I owed him for saving my grandmother's life all those years ago, I would walk away for good. From that day on, our paths would never cross again.

When I married mafia don Paul Garcia, I was twenty-two, and he was thirty-two. By day, he was the cold, dangerous king of the underworld. By night, he was my daddy. Everyone in New Haven knew how much he loved me. I casually mentioned I disliked the ballerina competing with me for the principal role. The next day, she “accidentally” broke her leg and never returned to the stage. One night, I craved pasta from a specific restaurant. Without a word, he led his men into the kitchen, pressed a gun to the chef’s head, and forced him to recreate the dish overnight. I once joked about wanting to sleep among the clouds. He turned around, had the building of a rival family blown up, then bought the tallest one in the city and engraved my name on the top floor. However, in bed, he would exhaust me completely and refuse to let me go. Even when the doctor warned that I was in early pregnancy and needed restraint, he ignored my cries, tied my wrists with his tie, and went on until dawn. The next day, I started bleeding. I called him ninety-nine times, yet he rejected every single call. In my panic, I suddenly received a video from my best friend. “Emily, your don is pinning a woman down and kissing her at the bar of the Four Seasons in Moscovia.” When I opened the video, my heart stopped. The man was Paul, and the woman was my aunt. In that case, I’ll give him two gifts when he comes back: an abortion report and a divorce agreement.

Six years after my younger brother and my fiancée passed away, I picked out a grave for myself. Before my final visit to their graves, my mother suddenly said, “Miles, you don’t have to go this year. The truth is that they never died.” I was startled for a moment before the two of them walked right out of my brother’s room. My brother, Sean, put on a teasing smile as he draped an arm around the woman beside him. “I won the bet! I told you my brother would never figure it out. “Who’s going to be on top tonight, huh, Vera?” My so-called late fiancée, who used to cry whenever she saw me suffer even the slightest grievance, looked at me with open disdain. “He’s just too stupid. We’ve been living next door this entire time, yet he never noticed.” It was only then that I realized my mother forbad me from entering Sean's room, not because it would make her grieve her son again, but because it was directly connected to the house next door. I was truly too foolish. Right up until a month before my death, I was still thinking about visiting their graves.

I'm a stripper who works in the red light district of Las Poverla. By sheer accident, I bring the mafia heir, Alessandro Pushkin, home with me while he's completely drenched in blood. In order to cover Alessandro's astronomical hospital bills, I choose to sell my blood and my body. Before we part ways, Alessandro gives the ring that symbolizes his family's authority to me. He promises me that once he purges his family of all traitors, he'll marry me and make me the future Donna. But I don't receive any news from him since then. I'm worried that Alessandro's met with danger again, so I keep asking around for news related to him. But that's when I see the scandal of him making out with his new lover, Cristina Romano, on the news. In order to demand an explanation from him, I find my way to Alessandro's villa, only to be treated as a homeless person. As such, I get kicked out by his bodyguards. On top of that, I also get humiliated by his Cristina. When Alessandro's enemy kidnaps both me and Cristina, he forces Alessandro to choose one of us. He immediately abandons me, even though I'm pregnant with his baby. A gunshot rings out, causing me to collapse to the ground. Soon, Alessandro and Cristina leave. That's when I get up from the ground and wipe the fake blood off my body. The man who shot me earlier looks at me, his heart aching for me. "Principessa, how are we going to get revenge on them?" That's right. I'm no ordinary stripper—I'm actually the only daughter of the Columbo family's Don, making me the Principessa of the most powerful family ever.

Kitty Neilson is a wolf less werewolf so she is considered the lowest of the low. Her parents have always treated her with contempt. The only people to ever show her love were her brothers when they were younger before their wolves came out and her grandmother. After a devastating event Kitty left the only home she's ever known to start a new life. However her past won't stop haunting her.

On the engagement night of Kitty with the boyfriend she loved for years, she ran into him a girl, and later she realized that losing her love was far from the worst of that night...

I've raised my son, Caleb Bennett, for nine years, but today I found out he was never mine. Claire Bennett, my wife, shamelessly tells me to leave with nothing. She says Caleb's real father is Lincoln Lancaster, heir to the most powerful family in Berglaton. The Lancaster family has few direct heirs left, so if Lincoln acknowledges Caleb as his son, Lincoln can easily surpass his frail uncle and become the rightful successor. Caleb says, "You think you deserve to be my dad? My real father could crush your whole family with a snap of his fingers!" Margaret Quigley, Claire's mother, adds, "If Claire hadn't gotten pregnant with Lincoln's child back then, do you really think we'd have let someone like you marry into our family?" I don't fight back. I just sign the divorce papers in silence. After that, I take out my phone and call my father, James Lancaster, who has been waiting for me in Berglaton all these years. "Come pick me up on Christmas Eve," I say. "I'm ready to go home and take over the family."

My executive boyfriend, Marcus Winters, had always wanted the regional president seat. Then his favorite protégée, Sophie Moresby, complained that I always got the spotlight, and he deliberately sabotaged my car. The crash broke both my hands, leaving me unable to compete in the design contest that could decide the board vote. He handed my entry slot to Sophie and expected me to accept it quietly. When I confronted him, he said it was only one competition and that, as design director, I should give younger employees a chance. To prove his "fairness," he stripped me of my director title and docked six months of my pay to compensate the team. Everyone waited for me to fight back. Instead, I nodded, calm and silent. Marcus was pleased. He promised that once his promotion came through, he would restore my position and publicly announce our relationship. I smiled coldly and told him we were done. I had already submitted my resignation. What Marcus did not know was that the board and I had made a private agreement: if I won the championship and secured the decisive vote, the person I named would become regional president. I had been preparing to name him. Now he had not only replaced me with Sophie, but also encouraged her to submit a fraudulent design. Once the contest ended, the only thing waiting for him was termination, a ruined career, and a bill he could never afford.

On the day I successfully conceived through IVF, my CEO boyfriend—the sole heir to a nine-generation business empire—finally agreed to marry me. Yet, after a flight of more than ten hours, I landed only to be greeted by a public announcement of his marriage to his secretary, with journalists watching from every angle. The secretary eagerly showed off the marriage certificate, fresh off the press. "Don't worry, everyone. From now on, I'll personally supervise Mr. Lane for the rest of our lives." When the journalists spotted me, they all focused on me, hoping I'd cause a scene. However, I merely smiled and congratulated the couple. "You and Mr. Lane are perfect for each other, Ms. Quinn. I wish you both a long and happy marriage." Everyone was shocked. No one had expected such generosity from me—Harold's girlfriend of nine years. As I turned to leave, Harold darted over to defend himself with a scowl. "Leila worked day and night with me on this international project. She refused every bonus and only asked to experience the fairy-tale romance of marrying a CEO. We already agreed to divorce once the project is over. I'll make it up to you with an even bigger, better wedding." Then, his voice softened. "For the sake of our baby, don't cause trouble, okay?" With a bright smile, I slapped his hand away. "Who told you the baby's yours?"