Freak Gojo Novels & Stories

The day Alpha Marcus and I marked each other, his first love, Cecilia, threw herself off a cliff into a ravine overgrown with wolfsbane. The pack searched for three full days and nights before they found her, barely clinging to life. She was once the most spirited she-wolf in our pack, but the fall cost her a leg and the ability to bear pups. I grieved for the beautiful life that had been ruined, and I blamed myself for not seeing how fragile she'd become. Marcus comforted me gently. "Elena, this wasn't your fault. Cecilia made her own choice. You did everything you could. Don't beat yourself up." Later, not long after our pup, Rylan, turned five, a sudden illness tore through him, and he died in my arms. Night after night, Marcus held me, wiping away my tears. "Don't be sad, Elena," he would murmur. "We'll have other children." I had always believed my mate was the most considerate, most protective Alpha in the entire world. Until the day I overheard him speaking with his Beta, Adrin. "Alpha, the dosage of wolfsbane we gave Rylan was perfect—just as you ordered. It looked like a genetic defect. No one will ever suspect." "It's been so long. Don't you think it's time to forgive the Luna?" "What's one pup compared to what Cecilia lost? She lost a leg, her future as a mother. Everything."

Because my father's childhood sweetheart's daughter was accidentally burned, my father was angry and locked me in the fire house where werewolf criminals were punished. The Beta of the pack, my father, looked at me with disgust written all over his face: "I don't have such a cruel daughter. You'll stay here and reflect on what you've done." I begged loudly for mercy, admitted my mistake, pleading for him to let me out. All I got in return was his merciless command. "Unless she's dead, no one is to release her." The fire house stood isolated at the edge of the territory. No matter how much I screamed for help, no one could hear me. He assigned the housekeeper to set the room to spray fire every 2 hours. The burns were excruciating, my werewolf healing barely keeping me alive between sessions. Ten days later, he finally remembered he had a daughter and decided to let me out. But what he didn't know was that I had already died in that fire house, never to wake again.

Someone suddenly tags me in a parents' group chat. "Hey Madison, I notice that the lunch boxes you've prepared for your daughter have a nice variety and rich in nutrients. Why don't you prepare the same thing for my son starting from tomorrow onward? "I'm not going to leech off you. In fact, I'll pay you ten dollars per day. When it stacks up, you'll earn quite a lot per month." As I stare at the messages on the screen, I find the situation rather ridiculous. My daughter, Sophie Reed, is extremely picky, not to mention she has food allergies. All of the ingredients of her meals are flown in from their places of origin. That means one meal's net price is more than 500 dollars. Yet now, someone intends to use ten dollars just for me to replicate the same meal for them? I reply right away in the group chat, "No way." Unexpectedly, the next day, Sophie is in tears when she returns from the kindergarten. She tells me that her lunch box has gotten snatched by a fellow classmate. On top of that, the teacher scolds her for being selfish as well. Fine. Since those shameless people intend to take advantage of me, don't blame me for being ruthless at all.

Harry Pate fails in his plan to secure a fortune from my family. He tries to drug me, hand me over to his friends, and even film it to control me. Luckily, a kind netizen overhears him plotting with his mistress at a restaurant. The netizen posts a missing person alert online. "Please share widely. Looking for Freya White. Her boyfriend is trying to drug and assault her." I see the post and quietly pour the drug into the pot they are about to drink from.

The first thing I do after being reborn is dump my devoted boyfriend and immediately say yes to the obsessive man's pursuit. In my past life, my so-called best friend, Sarah Cole, bound herself to an app that could transfer all of my boyfriend's love for me to her. My boyfriend was Luke Spencer. The golden roses he prepared for me ended up with her. The hotel he bought for me suddenly had her name on the deed. The way he looked at me shifted from fierce desire to cold disdain, but when he turned to her, his eyes overflowed with the tenderness I once knew so well. When I cried and demanded to know why Luke had changed, he just looked at me with disgust as he spat, "We broke up a long time ago. Leave my girlfriend alone!" On my birthday, Sarah went live online, flaunting how Luke had rented out the entire amusement park for her. Fireworks lit up the sky behind her in a blaze of color. And me? They worked together to have me thrown into a mental hospital. They called me a crazy woman obsessed with someone who never loved me back, and in endless rounds of electroshock therapy and forced medication, I died in despair. When I open my eyes again, I'm reborn. This time, I no longer feel anything real for my ex-boyfriend. Instead, I play along with Ethan Grant. I find it funny when Sarah opens the app again, siphoning away every drop of Ethan's overwhelming love. I really want to know if she can handle it.

Just after stepping out of the shower, I received a private message from my so-called uncle, Hank Shephard—a distant relative I barely ever spoke to. "Francis, that new car you posted looks impressive. Perfect for William's wedding!" I hadn't even figured out how to reply to that out-of-nowhere comment when another message popped up. "Your cousin William is getting married next month. Just treat your car as his wedding gift." The entitlement in his tone made my head hurt. I didn't bother arguing and closed the chat window. Apparently, he did not think there was anything wrong with what he had said. Messages kept coming. "Don't worry, your uncle won't let you suffer a loss. "When it's your turn to get married, I'll have William drive that car as your lead wedding car. It'll make you look good." I stared at the screen in silence. That was the moment I realized—Some people don't just feel entitled to your belongings. They believe your life exists to serve theirs.

I've traveled to Southgate to attend a water-splashing festival. A cheeky kid, who's about eight years old, keeps spraying the back of my head and my ears with water ejected from her high-pressure water gun. Half of my body is soon drenched in water. That's when I berate the kid and tell her not to aim her gun at my face. She doesn't bother stopping. On the contrary, she even has the gall to spray more water right in my face. I feel the cold water spritzing into my left eye. The pain is so intense that I can't even open my eyes. To make things worse, that kid is even howling with laughter while raising her gun proudly. "Look, Dad! He's all soggy and wet, like a limp noodle! This is fun!" The kid's father merely watches from the side. Not only does he not offer an apology to me, but he also records the whole thing on his phone. "Hey, my daughter is washing your eyes for you for free! This is an honor that no one else can ever receive, you know! Why are you acting like a complete wuss?" I swipe the liquid off my face before drawing to my feet and yelling at the crowd around me. "There's strong acid contained inside that kid's water gun! Just now, she burned my eye with it!"

I’d just wrapped up a short trip with my daughter, Elara. On the way back, I figured I’d swing by the Hale, our family’s casino, to check in on my son, Cassian. Maybe grab dinner together. I didn’t expect to be mistaken for his latest fling. Correction: not mistaken—accused. Violently. “You think you can just waltz in here like some queen?” she hissed. “I’m the woman Cassian loves! What kind of whore are you? And is this your bastard daughter with him?” She locked us in the basement. No phone. No light. Just concrete walls and the stench of mildew and madness. Then came the fists. She slapped me across the face—again and again—until my skin stung and my ears rang. When that didn’t satisfy her, she pulled a gun and aimed low. The bullet tore through my knee. I bit back a scream, shielding Elara with my body. “You need to die, whore,” she spat. One of her men hesitated, “We should at least tell Mr. Hale first. If we are going to kill these two in his casino.” Lila of course said no. But that man brought Cassian anyway. My son stepped into this dark little room like it was any other Tuesday—until he saw me. His whole body went still. The blood drained from his face. And then, in the smallest, most broken voice I’d ever heard from him, he whispered, “Mom? What are you doing in my basement?”

When the new intern, Felix Madden, hears that I'm going back to my hometown for the Thanksgiving weekend and won't be home in my fully paid-off luxury lakeview apartment, he goes out of his way to cozy up to me. "Come on, Carl. Your place is going to be empty anyway. Why not let my parents stay there for a few days during the holiday? It'll save them the cost of paying for a hotel," Felix says. Worried that my belongings might be tampered with, I politely turn him down. His expression darkens slightly, and he mutters under his breath, "Fine. If you won't lend it to me, I'll find my own way." I don't think much of it at the time. Then, on the first day of the holiday, the property management company sends me a message. They inform me that a group of strangers has entered my building using my access code and appear to be heading to my unit. My heart sinks to my stomach. Something is very wrong. I've only ever shared my access code with my closest family members. There is no way an outsider could know it. The next thing I see is Felix's social media post. The photo shows him and his entire family relaxing in my apartment. The caption reads, "Spending Thanksgiving in a luxury lakeview apartment. Life is good. If you work hard enough, you can enjoy this kind of lifestyle too." Not once does he mention that the apartment belongs to me. Instead, he deliberately makes it look like he owns the property himself. Quietly, I save every piece of evidence. I save the security camera footage and make screenshots of his social media posts. I don't throw them out, nor do I expose them—I simply wait. By the final day of the holiday, they've thoroughly enjoyed themselves and start packing up without a care in the world. As they prepare to leave, they are dumbfounded.

Right before the SAT, our scatterbrained airheaded group favourite, the school belle, Priscilla Ashford, volunteers herself to safeguard everyone's admission tickets. My firm refusal of her offer earns me the displeasure of my childhood sweetheart, Justin Kylemark. "You're picking on her again," he says. I ignore his rebuke. On the exam day itself, I personally double-checked every single admission ticket to make sure nothing could go wrong. However, the moment Priscilla gets hers from me, she burst into tears, claiming that I lost her ticket. Justin snatched my admission ticket and tore it to shreds. I run until my legs give out, barely managing to get it reissued before the bus leaves. However, my classmates all kicked me off the bus together. "You lost Priscilla's admission ticket. Do you think you deserve to sit for the exam?" They carry with them the exam prediction I had prepared for them. Thanks to that, they each achieve excellent scores. I have no choice but to repeat the year and become the top scorer. By then, Justin and my other classmates, who are already in prestigious universities and colleges, all return together. They produce fake evidence, accusing me of cheating in the exam. Unable to defend myself, a candidate who flunked the exam poured gasoline on me and set me on fire. When I open my eyes once more, I see myself handing the admission tickets over to Priscilla… except for my own.