Cryptic Posts 소설 & 이야기

Behind the walls of the mind, where words fall silent, the stories no one dares to whisper begin. 'Whisper of Thoughts' is a journey into the corridors of mystery, where passion blends with psychological turmoil in an endless conflict. When thoughts become the enemy, can the soul find its sanctuary? Unravel the tangled threads of secrets in a story that defies the logic of reality. As the narrative unfolds, the protagonist finds themselves caught in a web of cryptic events, forcing them to confront buried secrets from the past while navigating an unexpected and complicated romantic connection.

There are two options for you to choose from: One quit your surviving job and end up in the street Or Two be in a contractual relationship with your boss for a year. This is your choice to make. The gate of hell or the gate of your struggles paths. What are your choices? Ah Lam bit on her lower lips, she shouldn't have a bash in unexpectedly, she meant no harm or even have the time to discuss what she saw with others except her bestie. But now, it seems like the gates of hell opened up to her. She has always heard of her boss's cold attitude towards his employees of course to those in high posts, not a lower post she's in. never has she met him before, this has turned into one of her nightmares, she shouldn't have bought in the documents files. He gaped at her with those devilish cold eyes and chuckle like the devil himself. "So, what's your choice?" His deep cold voice asked.

A few weeks before our wedding, Rodney Luther's stepmother, Jessica Flaine, posts a photo on her social media. In the photo, she's wearing the wedding dress I picked out, holding a bouquet of red roses, and shyly leaning toward Rodney, asking for a kiss. The caption reads—"Dreams fulfilled." I don't call Rodney in tears or throw a fit like I used to. I simply like the post and leave a comment. "Screenshot sent to Rodney's father." Not long after, Jessica deletes the post, and Rodney's phone call follows immediately. "Ivana, you're being so petty! The rest of my days belong to you. It's only today that I'm fulfilling a small dream of Jessica's. Hurry up and explain things to my dad! "Come on, be good. I've got a gift for you." A scoff escapes me. "Rodney, do you hear me clearly? Go explain it to your father yourself!"

I conscientiously perform my duties as the Luna of the Blackwood pack throughout our three years of bond. During every cycle of the full moon, my Alpha, Damon Slater, insists on personally preparing Wolf Essence Elixir for me. He claims it enables me to manage my duties as Luna with greater ease. I trust him implicitly, never doubting his words. It is only later that the shaman reveals that "the elixir" is actually Shadowmoon Drug—a forbidden drug that induces infertility. I haven't even had the chance to question him when Isabelle Turner, his lover, brazenly posts a sonogram confirming the Alpha's pup in the group chat. Damon, my Alpha, does nothing, letting Isabelle accept everyone's pledge of loyalty to her. Damon coldly reminds me that our bond serves a purely political purpose for the alliance and then aggressively questions me about what grievances I still hold. He thinks of me as merely a means to serve the alliance, a tool that can be replaced at any time. He is completely wrong about that, though.

On Christmas Eve, my six-year-old, Yule, was dying from cancer, and all he wanted was a gift from his dad dressed as Santa. I called Peter, my husband, begging him to come. His reply? "Can you stop blowing up my phone? I don't have time for this! I'm helping Tracey find Puffy. Do you know how upset she is?" Oh, Tracey. His first love. And Puffy? Her dog. I told him Yule might not make it through the night. His response? A straight-up dagger: "Don't act like this isn't your fault, Freya. If Yule hadn't kicked Puffy, none of this would've happened. Tomorrow, make sure he apologizes to Tracey." Then he hung up. That night, I sat with Yule, crying as I helped him celebrate his last Christmas. By morning, Peter's social medias were still full of posts about that freaking dog. Mine? Yule's obituary. Ten years of marriage, gone.

In my tenth year of marriage, my old childhood friend, Joshua Sears, posts a photo on social media. Both Joshua and my wife, Sabrina Lawson, are hugging his son, Andy Sears, and my daughter, Tiana Jenkins, in it. The four of them look very close to each other. The caption accompanying the post says, "Blessed to have the perfect son and daughter." I leave a comment below the post, saying, "Looking good together." A few seconds later, the post is deleted. The next morning, Sabrina rushes home and yells at me. "Ashton Jenkins! Joshua was finally feeling better for once. Why did you have to trigger him again?" Tiana shoves me hard and snaps in an accusatory tone, "It's all your fault that Andy's crying now!" I take out a copy of the divorce agreement and slam it down before them. "Yes, it's all my fault. That's why I'm stepping out of the picture now. Then, the four of you can form the wholesome family you've always wanted."

My roommate, Quinn York, is a nice person who knows how to pay one's act of benevolence back. At the orientation party, a classmate gives Quinn a cheap lipstick. She insists on repaying that classmate by giving her my expensive custom-ordered dress. When the supervisor of the girls' dorm gives Quinn a bottle of water, Quinn tells me to treat the entire class to a meal at a five-star hotel. When the campus bully, Kendrick Olsen, helps Quinn out of a sticky situation, she has the audacity to deliver me to his bed just to thank him. Because of that, I'm infected with STDs. That's when Quinn posts the report on the Internet purposefully. Since then, everyone views me as a loose woman who has zero love for herself. Not wanting to suffer from such humiliation, I decide to take my own life by jumping off a building. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the orientation party. Since Quinn likes repaying others that much, she should be the one doing the actual repaying!

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.

My best friend was obsessed with playing the part of a socialite, always chasing after rich heirs. When she saw posts online about guys making money over the summer by 'renting themselves out,' she decided to copy them. Two thousand for a hike. Five thousand for a dinner date. Twenty thousand for a trip. The prices kept climbing. I was worried she would run into the wrong kind of people, so I tried everything to talk her out of it, to keep her from walking straight into trouble. Later, the wealthy guy she had her eye on went public with another influencer who had built the same 'socialite' persona. She took it out on me. Sold me to a nightclub. I was abused in every way imaginable until I died. There was not even enough left of me to bury. Then, I opened my eyes again. She was already scheming: "Guys like that can make 500 just tagging along on a hike. I'm way prettier. Charging 2,000 isn't too much, right?"

In order to stop me from spending money recklessly, my mom has exchanged my college living expenses into coupons. If I need to buy anything, I must buy it online. Also, I need to send a copy of my expenses sheet and the details behind said expenses to my mom so that she can check everything thoroughly. Only when she's given me her permission can I buy that item. When I tell my mom I want to buy a shirt, she tells me, "I remember you could still wear that shirt back in your high school days. You should just stick with it. Why waste your money on new clothes?" During winter, I can only wear the old sweater I've been wearing since my high school times while huddling in a corner of my dorm and nibbling on a sandwich. Meanwhile, my mom smugly posts a picture of the six-thousand-dollar dress she has just bought on her social media feed. "What a beautiful dress!"