Avatar Beyblade Burst Novels & Stories

The night before the wedding, the effects of the drug wore off. I woke up in the master bedroom of the estate to the sound of laughter. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw my custom-made suit being cut into strips by Jessica Solomon's male best friend, Chris Johnson. As he twirled a pair of scissors in his hand, he joked with the viewers on his livestream. "Man of the house? Please. He's lying there completely helpless. Anybody could do whatever they want to him." Jessica's friends burst into laughter and chimed in. "Jessica put sleeping pills in his milk herself. Anybody would've been knocked out cold." The livestream chat flooded with comments ridiculing me as the pathetic man marrying into a wealthy family, but Jessica simply watched with amusement and reached over to ruffle Chris' hair. "Feeling better now? Be good and end the livestream. If he wakes up and causes a scene, tomorrow's wedding will be a mess." Only after everyone left did Jessica sit down beside the bed and pull the blanket over me. "Chris is depressed. He can't handle being upset. We'll deal with this later. "I've already arranged for a replacement suit to be flown in overnight on a private jet. Honestly, that one suits you better anyway." My fingers tightened around the bedsheet. Silently, I sent a message to Katie Everton. [I'm not getting married. Does what you said before still stand?]

Aaron, an FBI agent, pretended to be a driver to obtain evidence against Hilaire Clinton, accused of money laundering. He had planned everything except one thing: to fall under the spell of his daughter who would become an obsession for him. “Fuck me.” “No.” “Why?” “You are my boss's daughter.” Each has his little hidden secrets, his regrets, his moments of panic, his desires, his wounded hearts and his broken souls. Many people come in and out of our lives, some leave us scars, regrets and others leave us good memories. We live in a world where sex reigns, love almost disappears, a world where it is better to imagine or invent a life, a world where lies have taken over but whatever we do the truth will always be there and will burst at an unexpected moment. Hilary Clinton had just blown out her eighteen candles when the idea of discovering the effects of sex crossed her mind, she fantasized about the new driver, the latter, being a secret agent, had integrated into the Clintons' house in order to obtain evidence against the daughter's father who will become an obsession for him. Lost between work and envy, Aaron could no longer back down unfortunately. “Fuck me.”She told him in a breath. “No.” “Why?” “You are my boss's daughter.” Will he resist for a long time?

The 99th time my fiancé, Draven, hung up on me, I dragged myself to the family's church, my diagnosis of end-stage renal disease clutched in my hand. "Father, I wish to renounce the Rocci family and break off my engagement to Draven Frost." The words had barely left my lips when my parents burst in with my adopted sister, Bianca. My father, the family's Consigliere, didn't hesitate. He slapped me across the face, right there in front of the priest. "Your fiancé is a respected Capo in our world, and you choose to insult him like this!" "You're dragging our family's name through the mud in front of the whole organization!" My mother snatched the diagnosis from my hand, sneering after a brief glance. "Playing sick for attention again, are you? What is it you want this time?" My adopted sister, Bianca, clung to our parents' arms, her voice choked with tears. "I'm so sorry, sister. You can have my place at the gala. Please, just stop making trouble for Mom and Dad!" I wiped the blood trickling from my nose and calmly repeated my words to the priest. "I am no longer a daughter of the Rocci family. I am not worthy of an alliance with the Frosts." "I will be dead in three days. I want this engagement broken before then."

I go to the city where my online boyfriend, Logan Wright, lives to surprise him without telling him first. Instead, I overhear him talking with his friends. "So what if her voice is nice? She's probably ugly as hell if she's reluctant to even send a picture. If the hottest girl on campus hadn't turned me down, I wouldn't even bother messing around with someone like her. "Not only is she ugly, but she's also horny as hell. She keeps saying she has to see what I'm packing down there before we even meet." One of his friends snickers. "So did you show her?" Logan let out a low grunt in agreement. "But it wasn't mine. It was Troy's." His friend blurts, "What the hell? Troy Levine? Your roommate? You said he was at least eight inches. Were you serious?" "Of course. Why would I lie to you? Troy is a real bro. Seeing that I didn't want to send that kind of picture, he offered to do it for me." They freeze for a second, then all burst out laughing. I laugh too. I've heard of body doubles in Showbiz. This is the first time I've seen a body double in online romance. I want every detail on Troy, and I want them in the next three minutes!

I spent three years on a medical aid mission in Afrikad. During that time, my husband and I could only video call twice a year. In our third year, I missed him so much that I secretly flew home, hoping to surprise him. The moment I opened the front door, I froze. A wedding portrait I had never seen before hung in the living room. In the photo were my husband and another woman. Then, I heard a burst of chatter. As I looked closer, I realized the plants in the house had started talking again. The pothos stretched its vines toward the living room. “She’s back! She’s back! That woman is wearing the doctor’s pajamas again!” The spider plant snickered, “She claimed they were a gift from her best friend last week. That old hag comes up with a new story every few days.” The cactus grumbled, “Quit arguing. She’s bringing that other man over for dinner today. How do you think she’ll explain this to her husband this time?” The pothos replied, “She’ll probably call him her cousin. That’s what she said last time.” Just then, a woman walked out carrying a child. She was startled for a moment when she saw me. “Who are you?” I gave her a faint smile. “I'm Justin's mother.”

On the eve of my wedding, my parents returned from abroad, and my fiancée, Seraphina Vale, went into the kitchen to host them, preparing her specialty—passion fruit tea—for everyone. My parents, Edward and Eleanor Blackwood, and I had barely taken our first sip when the bodyguard, Alaric Sterling, standing beside her, burst into laughter. “You really are a family,” he said. “All of you drinking toad eggs as if they were passion fruit, savoring every mouthful.” Nausea rose instantly, and my parents and I retched uncontrollably, after which I swung my fist and went straight for him. But Seraphina shoved me away. “You were the one who called Alaric a toad before,” she said. “I was just helping him get even.” Alaric looked at me smugly. “Aren’t your parents biologists?” he said. “You should be thanking me for the hands-on experiment.” I lifted the scalding soup and splashed it at Alaric. Seraphina screamed as she ordered the other bodyguards to break my hand. “You insulted Alaric first,” she said. “That’s why he retaliated. What right do you have to lay a hand on him? “If anything happens to Alaric, you won’t get away with it.” I watched Seraphina hurriedly escort Alaric away, her face tight with concern. I turned to my parents. “Can you ask her if she’s still willing to marry me?”

I was the sole heir to the Thirteen Needles of Revival, a legendary healing art. My consultation fee was twenty thousand dollars per visit, yet every year countless tycoons, politicians, and powerful elites lined up outside my door. As long as a patient still drew breath, the Thirteen Needles of Revival could pull them back from Death's doorstep. Over the past five years, I had awakened a wealthy businessman who had been declared brain-dead after a car accident. I had also prolonged the life of a centenarian suffering from multiple organ failure. Even terminally ill patients whose families had already been told to prepare for the worst were able to walk out of the hospital on their own after receiving my treatment. There was only one ironclad rule. I treated no more than ten patients a year. Once those ten slots were filled, no amount of money, power, or influence could change my mind. Whoever came next would have to wait until the following year. This year, only one slot remained. Suddenly, a group of bodyguards dressed in black burst through the door. They carried in a man covered in blood and dropped to their knees before me. “Please save our boss! We'll pay whatever it takes!” I looked at the man they carried inside and spoke coldly. “Take him out. I wouldn't save this man even if it killed me.”

My sister always prided herself on her self-control. Even after six years of dating, she still insisted she was untouched. One day, I noticed something strange–her tongue was covered in metal piercings. That was when I realized… she had been using a different way all along. When I confronted her, she only smirked. "This way, men enjoy it more–and they become obsessed precisely because they can't have me. You wouldn't understand." However, looking at the damage already spreading through her mouth, I could not stay silent. I told her the risks–disease, even cancer–and that men obsessed with that kind of "purity" weren't good people to begin with. She did not listen. That very night, she gave herself to a powerful heir. Later, when the woman he truly loved returned, he discarded her without hesitation. She laughed it off, calling him a scumbag. However, on my birthday, she hid a knife inside a cake–and slammed it into my face. As the blade pierced through me, she burst into laughter. "If you hadn't pushed me to give it away, why would he stop valuing me? Why would he leave me? "This is all your fault. You deserve to die." When I opened my eyes again– I was back to the day I first saw the piercings on her tongue.

Mom was a world-class micro-expression expert. She always said no lie got past her. To replay every emotional moment of Maya and me, she packed our house with HD security cameras. When Maya scraped her knee and burst into tears, Mom called it real pain. But when stomach cramps twisted my face, she pointed at the monitor and picked me apart. "The mouth twitch. The darting eyes. Classic attention-seeking." That day, I'd accidentally eaten something I was deadly allergic to. My throat swelled shut. I could barely breathe. Panicking, I clawed at my neck and crawled to her feet, begging for help. Mom adjusted her glasses, flipped open her notebook, and calmly wrote everything down. "Rapid breathing. Bluish skin. Sophie Schneider, your acting's gotten better again. Too bad your micro-expressions gave you away." To punish me for lying to her, she shut off the house's panic button, locked the front door, and took Maya to a concert. "If you love putting on a show so much, keep performing for the cameras. We'll see how long it takes before you admit you were wrong." I curled up on the cold tile, shaking in pain, and looked at the camera's blinking red light. My vision faded. Mom, you spent your whole life reading people. But you never understood your own daughter.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.