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On the third day of my son, Zeke Murphy's disappearance, I've hacked into the smart AI system belonging to the entire apartment block. All 202 families in this block are locked up in their respective homes thanks to my ministrations. After that, I leave my first text message in the residents' group chat. "My son, Zeke Murphy, is in this very building. From now on, I will expose a family's secret every hour. If I can't find Zeke, all of you will go to hell with me." A CEO of a company with tens of millions of dollars' worth of assets is quick to lash out at me angrily in the group chat. "Have you gone nuts? Your son's disappearance has nothing to do with us! I order you to stop what you're doing immediately!" I type out my second text and attach a screenshot of an encrypted financial statement. "@1502Mr.Cooper, you have 59 minutes left. Here's a friendly reminder to check your overseas bank account. I'd like to see if the tax department is interested in its contents." I know that Zeke is currently staring at a resident on this very block right now.

Eliot Hale had it all: grades, charm, and an enviable future. The whole campus admired his girlfriend. His life was picturesque...Until an anonymous message snatched it all away. One party. One betrayal. One moment that saw the shattering of his glass-laden golden world. Eliot, now the joke of the university, has been stripped of any last semblance of support, in whispers mocking him, asking his name, and wondering in his moment of awe, "Who do I trust when those I loved the most were the first to destroy me?" And just as Eliot spirals into isolated boredom, a stranger people would wish they had in their lives, begins texting him. What starts off as cautious curiosity soon evolves into an intimate, heartfelt bond- the anonymous presence sees into him, all the pain he hides beneath the surface; making him feel something for the very first time in his life. But upon finding out who actually was behind the screen… everything was changed forever. The boy who ruined him might be the only one who really understands him. The one he was raised to hate might be the one to really love him. And that forbidden love? That just might be the one thing that could save them both.

My mom died giving birth to me. They couldn't save her. My dad? He dumped me outside a prison and ran. Didn't even look back. It was five degrees. I was basically frozen. Barely breathing. Later, a guard said the whole max block lost it that night. One hundred eight inmates—death row, life sentences—went crazy. Slamming doors. Smashing windows. Yelling they wanted to keep me. In the end, they filed a letter. Not a breakout plan. A custody request. Somehow... it got approved. From that day on, I had 108 dads. But growing up, I found out the truth. They weren't criminals. On paper, they were dead—killed in the line of duty. In reality, they were still out there, serving. Eighteen years later, I got into one of the top high schools—with the highest score in the State of Ashford. On the fifth day, I beat the rich girl, Vivian Cobbley, by one point on a mock exam. Next thing I knew, my name was all over the bulletin board: [Riley Ray, daughter of murderers!] Vivian cornered me in the bathroom and shoved my head into a toilet. "Your dads are killers. That filth's in you too." She beat me so hard I dragged her down when we went over the second-floor railing. When I woke up, the Dean of Students was right in my face, finger in my face. "No surprise you're violent. It's in your blood. Call your criminal dads. Now." I shook. "Mr. Todd... you sure you want me to call them?"

After working overtime at the company for an entire week, I finally finish the last project on my plate and rush home. Not wanting to wake my sleeping wife, Mia Lawson, I carefully push the door open as quietly as I can. But the house is nothing like the silence I expected. A man's unrestrained laughter cuts sharply through the air. "You're already pregnant and still this bold. Aren't you afraid your husband will catch you?" "Why would I be? He hasn't been home for almost a week. Besides, once I tell him I'm pregnant, he'll be over the moon. There's no way he'll notice anything." In an instant, my hands and feet turn ice-cold, and blood rushes to my head. I'm about to charge in and catch them in the act when my phone suddenly vibrates with a follow-up message from the hospital. "Mr. Brooks, thank you for choosing our hospital for your vasectomy. We wish you and your wife a lifetime of happiness." A lifetime of happiness? I stare at those words, let out a cold laugh, and regain my composure. Then I turn around and call my divorce lawyer.

On our engagement day, my fiancee, Lucille Perry, had her childhood best friend, Derek Miller, show up with a box of handmade cookies as a gift. Out of basic courtesy, I picked one up and took a bite. Derek and a few of his buddies burst out laughing. "This mama's boy can't even recognize his own mother's ashes!" My stomach churned violently. Shocked and furious, I lunged at him to throw a punch, but Lucille desperately held me back. Derek looked at me smugly and grinned. "Since you already ate it, why don't you tell everyone how your mom tastes?" I was so angry that I kicked him right in the face. However, Lucille turned around and slapped me hard across the cheek. "Spencer Bourdain, is this really necessary? Can't you take a joke? Eating a little bit of ashes won't kill you. Look at how petty you're being!" My heart went completely numb. I quietly pulled out my phone and sent a message to a certain number. [The wedding reception is ready. All we need now is you, the bride-to-be.]

Today happens to be Yvonne Ziegler's birthday. Yvonne is Shawn Jacobson's, my husband's, newly hired personal assistant. Shawn spares no expense in buying her a villa as a birthday present, and Yvonne haughtily takes to social media to show off on the day she moves in. "I'd like everyone to know that I'm married to a wealthy man now." Shawn comments on the post, saying, "Happy birthday, my beloved Yvonne!" In the picture, Shawn's hand rests intimately on Yvonne's slender waist, leaving no doubt about their intimate relationship. In that instant, the company's group chat erupts into a frenzy of notifications, as colleagues declare their envy of Yvonne and heap praise upon her for being young and accomplished. Oscar Jagger, my childhood friend, notices the picture and immediately tags me in the group chat. He then sends me a pointed, teasing message, saying, "Shawn's display of love is so glaring! Congrats on being cheated on, Leslie!" I manage a bitter, wry smile, taking my time to type out the response. "Do you need a villa as well, Oscar? I'm happy to give you a place—a much nicer one than Shawn's, of course."

Late one night, my wife called me, her voice carrying a hint of apology. "Drew, I'm sorry. I cheated." Everyone in our lives knew she loved me more than anything. So how could she possibly cheat? After realizing it was April Fool's Day, I replied with a smile, "I cheated too." She didn't sound surprised at all. Instead, she seemed relieved. "That's good. At least I don't feel as guilty now. "The divorce papers are in the second drawer of the study. Just sign them." I was about to tell her she was putting on a pretty convincing act when the call suddenly ended. Smiling, I opened the drawer and froze. The divorce agreement was real, with her unmistakable signature at the bottom of the final page. My eyes stung as I reached for my phone, about to ask whether this was really some kind of joke, when a message arrived from one of my wife's graduate students. [Mr. Jensen, so it turns out you cheated too. In that case, just step aside already. Then Ms. Jones and I can finally celebrate our first anniversary out in the open!]

My mom calls me on Friday. "Don't forget about tomorrow's family dinner. Cody loves shrimps, so you should buy more of those at the seafood market in the southern district. "Lexi loves lamb chops. Go take a look in the eastern district for them. Also, don't forget to buy the imported strawberries. Noah loves them a lot." I say yes to each and every request Mom makes. But as soon as I end the call, I receive a text on the family group chat. "I've already given Eileen a list of our favorite foods. It's tough for you to earn money these days, so you shouldn't buy anything." One second later, that message is deleted. Still, I'm flabbergasted by what I just read. I've been married for two years. Every Saturday throughout those years, I'm the one paying and organizing the family dinner of the week. I thought there's no need to be so petty when it comes to family. But it seems that they've already viewed me as the outsider a long time ago. In that case, I won't be attending the family dinner anymore.

Becca is the most conspicuous and considered interrogator in all of LA. She has the brutality, harsh and cold attitude that brings suspects to their knees but she lacks love, a family and real friends. Nineteen years ago, she was a victim of a tragic accident that took away her childhood memories. She doesn't remember at all her parents, sibling and relatives. Due to a jealous uncle, Dan, Becca lost her brother, was separated from her parents and lost her memory. She was taken in by an old Irish couple who found her unconscious at a tunnel, close to the train terminal. The couple raised her until she was nineteen then kicked her out for her misbehaviour. She became a bully to survive, only that she was never destined to be a bully. Dan used to bully her and her new unfound conscious took after his uncle in order to adapt. Xander, a doctor, claims he can restore her memory back in form of a video. Once she finds out the truth behind the accident, she opts to seek revenge and find her parents. Jeremy, a potential love interest, advices her against taking revenge on Dan but Marlon, another love interest, who is also in the case, advices to take the Mafia down. Black Mail as title is used to refer to dark news or message Becca receives and how she would respond to it.

At the end of the year, I went to the spa and discovered a stranger had been using my VIP card. When I logged into my personal profile, the last three treatment records were not under my name. The preference section listed specific details about someone else. She was allergic to rose essential oil, preferred lavender, and her heating pad temperature could not exceed 108 degrees Fahrenheit. Her menstrual cycle fell around the 15th of each month, so no waist or abdomen treatments during that time. I stared at the screen, my palms turning cold. Only my husband, Zachary White, knew this password. At the time, he said he needed it to check the balance and renew my membership. I scrolled down and found a system note at the bottom: [Birthday treatment reserved for December 30, prepared according to Ms. Anderson's preferences.] Today was December 30. My phone vibrated. Zachary had sent a message: [Working late tonight. Won't be home.] Familiar laughter drifted from the hallway. Through the glass door, I watched Zachary walk into the adjacent room with his arm around a woman, the beautician hurrying forward to greet them. "Mr. White, we have Ms. Anderson's birthday treatment ready, just as you requested."