Honey Ouran Novels & Stories

After my fiance’s childhood friend found out I was born with a heart condition, she secretly poured a high-dose energy drink into my champagne. The moment I drank it, my heart started racing, and stabbing pain spread through my chest. In a panic, I tore open my only emergency medication, but the water I used to take it had been swapped with strong lemon water. As soon as I drank it, my face went pale. I lost all strength and collapsed to the ground. “Lemon water’s full of vitamin C. It helps with hangovers and keeps you healthy.” Charlotte Whitmore laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. With her arms crossed, she looked at my fiance, Ethan Cross, the boss of the Rolling Stones. “Ethan, your fiancee’s acting is incredible! “I’ve been a doctor for years, and I’ve never seen anyone react like this to a little champagne and lemon water.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The pain made my eyes sting, and I clutched Ethan’s leg. “Honey, please, call an ambulance! I can’t take it anymore…” For a moment, his expression wavered, but the guests quickly cut in. “Come on, stop pretending! Nobody dies from a bit of champagne and lemon water.” “Yeah, you’re just jealous Charlotte got promoted and didn’t want to toast to her.” Ethan’s face turned cold again. He yanked my hand off and stepped away. “Charlotte’s a doctor. You’ll be fine with her here.” I stopped begging and texted my father asking for help.

For five years of marriage, Felix Ward had spoiled Cordelia Harper like a princess, until a plane crash took him from her. Cordelia was so devastated that she wanted to follow him into death, but she was carrying their daughter. She spent five years as a widow, raising their daughter alone, and thought the rest of her life would pass that way, until the fifth year after his death, when the hidden cameras in their home captured the truth. It turned out Felix had never died. For the past five years, he was pretending to be his older brother, all because he wanted to take care of his widowed sister-in-law. He left her trapped in an impossible position, and even their five-year-old daughter took their side, complaining that Cordelia was like a nanny and hoping someone else would become her mother. Ten years of devotion shattered into nothing. Cordelia finally let go and dialed the number she thought she’d never call.“I’ll go through with the arranged marriage.” Then Cordelia returned to the research institute and stunned everyone with her brilliance. And just as the most untouchable man in Kingsford slipped a ring onto her finger, the husband who had supposedly been dead for five years suddenly came back to life and stuck to her like gum on a shoe. "Delia, I was wrong. Please forgive me, just this once." Her daughter also clung to her leg, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. "Mommy, don’t go!" This time, Cordelia could not even be bothered to look at them. Behind her, the man slid an arm around her waist, his voice low, lazy, and unmistakably possessive. "Honey, it’s time to feed our baby."

Out of sheer boredom, I randomly clicked into a livestream titled "Taming an Innocent Housewife." In the stream, a woman in a silk chemise was lazily puttering around the kitchen. When the camera finally showed her face, I was completely stunned—it was me. Not only that, but on the public chat, the top donor was spamming gifts like crazy. [Make her drink that spiked milk.] Soon after, a man groveled in response: [Thanks for the gift, bro. She'll drink it right now. I promise you a hell of a show tonight.] I'd recognize that voice anywhere—it was my husband, Jake, who was supposedly on a business trip overseas. My own husband had turned our home into a hidden-camera setup, treating me like his personal reality show star. And now, he was trying to feed me illegal drugs just to rake in donations. Most people would've broken down or called the cops. But I'm what you'd call the ultimate pro at playing nice—everyone in our circle knows I'm the queen of manipulation. I picked up that glass of milk, looked straight into the camera, and gave a fragile, tantalizing smile. "Since my husband's not home, drinking this milk all alone feels so lonely... I wish some strong, capable guy would come take care of me." The chat exploded. Donations went through the roof. Later that night, Jake burst through the front door, ready to "discipline" me—but froze in his tracks. There I was, sitting in lingerie on the lap of the top donor, grinning at my husband. "Honey, you're back! I helped you hit your goals tonight!"

My husband, Aston Powell, is late to show up at the sixth birthday celebration of our daughter, Hailey Powell. When he arrives, he clasps a necklace with a red emerald pendant hanging from it around her neck. "Wow, Aston! Isn't that from the pair of red emerald pendants you bought at City Auction today? They're worth seven figures, aren't they?" Aston's friends all laugh and tease him. Hailey holds up the pendant with a bright smile on her face. "Thanks, Daddy!" "Where's the other one? Are you planning to give it to Belinda?" his friend asks teasingly. As the others start cheering him on, he takes out a diamond necklace instead. Aston says, "Dear, I've got to be fair. Tamara is pregnant with my child. I promised I'd give the child she's carrying in her belly the other pendant." Tamara Davies is his widowed sister-in-law. My whole body jolts involuntarily, and I subconsciously grip that necklace tightly. "Honey, please don't joke about this." Aston smiles and speaks in an unexpectedly calm voice. "Don't worry, Belinda. My heart belongs to you and only you. You have to be sensible. My brother passed away so young. Tamara begged me to give her a child with our surname. I couldn't reject her." He puts the necklace around my neck and lightly clasps it, placing a soft kiss on my neck while he is at it. "Be good, okay? That was just an accident. Once the child is born, we'll have her sent back to Powell Manor," Aston says.

Finally it was time to give her the ring, and Sue didnt hide her disappointment when she saw it. "Told you," Justin whispered. Jake simply smiled and slipped it on her finger. "I now pronounce you man and wife," the preacher said. "You may kiss the bride." He lifted the veil and was struck that she would wear so little make up and still look stunning. She really does have simple but elegant taste. She"s going to throw a fit when she sees her new wardrobe. He already knew he would be assigning Mrs. Parker and her team of seamstresses with a new wardrobe. This time he would have to let Sue talk to her about what she wanted. He didn"t know whether to be relieved or annoyed. As he bent to kiss her on the lips, she gave a slight turn of her head so he kissed the side of her mouth instead. "Well honey, aren"t you full of surprises today," he teased. Having managed to catch her off guard, he wrapped her in his arms and gave her a long kiss on the mouth. She was too stunned to react in time to stop him. Several men chuckled and the single women sighed as if imagining he was kissing them. When Jake let go of her, he shot her a triumphant look. She looked flustered and then furious. They turned to the people as the preacher announced, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Jake Mitchell." She was reluctant to walk down the aisle with him so he gently led her by the arm. "We don"t want to disappoint the people. Remember, it"s only for six months." She sighed and started walking with him.

My crippled sister, Monica Porter, jumped from the roof of the classroom building. The day before she died, she had just been fitted with the custom prosthetic legs I had paid for with ten years of savings. She was glowing, excited to finally stand up on her own. But my wife's best friend, a guy she said was just like a brother to her, locked Monica inside an empty art room. He smashed her new legs, forced her to crawl on the floor and lick paint clean to retrieve the broken parts, and recorded everything on video. And my wife, a judge, ultimately ruled that the case could not stand. "The video cannot confirm the time it was recorded and may represent consensual performance art between both parties," she said. Sandra Pauley's final judgment was simple. "The deceased had a history of depression. The school and the defendant bear no responsibility." I smiled and cooked her a full table of food. The next day, I hung the bully, Eric Hoyles, from the school's flagpole and livestreamed it to the entire internet. "Honey, remember how you said Monica had such pretty legs?" I raised a claw hammer and brought it down on his ankle. "If you don't hand over the video evidence right now, I'll hook out his Achilles tendon one strand at a time and let him learn what it feels like to crawl!" The wind passed through. His screaming broke apart in the air, mixing with the strained creaking of the flagpole until it sounded almost like music. The live chat went insane. Meanwhile, I laughed until my eyes filled with tears.

My son just had surgery. I'm sitting by his bedside in the hospital when I come across a post online. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" One anonymous comment stands out. "I used the upperclassman who funded me as a stepping stone. My sponsor was rich but clueless. After she paid for my entire college, I slept with her husband and got pregnant. "The craziest part? My son and her son were born on the same day, but my husband swapped the babies. Now, she treats my son like he's her whole world, working day and night to give him a better life. "But her own son lives with me, wearing hand-me-downs and eating leftovers. Today, my son had surgery. I was worried sick, so I slapped her son hard a few times. "Oh, and her family just got a three-million-dollar payout for relocation. My husband is going to the hospital later. He's going to use the excuse of buying a house near the schools to get the money. "Once we have the money, I'm buying a villa. Then I'll get my son back and kick her out!" The post includes a blurry photo of a boy begging on his knees. My breath catches because the charm on his wrist is the same lucky charm I gave my son the day he was born. Just then, my husband pushes open the door to the ward and walks in. "Honey, Sean's starting elementary school soon. Let's use that relocation money your mom received to buy a house near the schools."

Lily Peterson's childhood sweetheart, Sean Clements, ran over my 70-year-old mother in his car while he was drunk-driving. Because of that, Mom died on the spot. But Lily insisted on signing the letter of forgiveness for Sean. "My mother-in-law had planned on scamming Sean for more money, so she lay beneath the wheels on purpose. She should be the one taking on the entire responsibility." Not only did Sean get released as an innocent man, but he also received the ten-million-dollar payment given by the insurance company as compensation for his emotional distress. "Honey, I grew up with Sean since we were kids. I can't just sit by and watch his life get ruined by imprisonment! Can't you be more gracious and stop bringing this issue up?" After leaving the police station, Sean uploads a post on his social media feed in a high-profile manner. "Lily looks so gorgeous when she defends me in front of others! Childhood sweethearts will always be the closest people in life!" Lily leaves a like on Sean's post right in front of me. I remain eerily calm. "Let's get a divorce, Lily." She huffs coldly in return. "You just want me to console you, right? Tristin Foley, you're already 30 years old. Can you stop being childish?" I've already brought up divorce multiple times in the past. That's why Lily refuses to believe that I will leave her for real. But what she doesn't know is that I've snuck in a divorce agreement into the documents meant for the case closure registration, and she has personally left her signature there.

After being married to Caden Lancaster for seven years, I find a diamond ear stud that doesn't belong to me in his suit pocket for the first time. What's more, I haven't worn jewelry in a long time. I calmly place the stud on the dining table in the living room and wait for Caden to come back with our son, Felix Lancaster. As soon as Felix walks in, he spots the sparkling stud and says with disdain, "Mom, you're wasting money again." I hold back the urge to hit him. I ignore him and shift my gaze to Caden, who is standing behind him. "Explain yourself. Whose earring is this?" I say coolly. Caden doesn't speak. He stands there as if he is frozen in place. His handsome features stiffen. Seeing the scene, Felix suddenly bursts into laughter. "Dad, did you find me a new mom? That's great!" My six-year-old son imitates the mocking tone he heard from short videos and shouts at me, "Having a plain Jane mom like you is so embarrassing! Get out of my house! This looks like Ms. Sulvan's earring. That's great! I want her to be my mom. She's pretty, gentle, and she really likes Dad." Every word cuts deeply into my heart. Upon hearing this, Caden loosens his clenched fist. He takes two shoehorns from the cabinet behind him and smacks Felix on the head. He hands both of them to me and asks in a low, grim voice, "Which one do you want, honey? The wider one or the thinner one?"

I have been married to Andrew Connolly for four years, but whenever his gaze meets mine, there is no recognition at all. Even my voice doesn't register. He remembers everyone around him, yet the one person he never remembers is that I am his wife. If I put on a hat, he asks who I am. When I tie my hair up, he assumes I am a new hire at his company. To help him remember, I repeat the same outfit, the same makeup, the same hairstyle. Still, despite my daily presence, he treats me like a stranger. I tell myself Andrew is simply buried in work, that the neglect is accidental, right up until a concert night. I watch him cut through the crowd and embrace his first love, whom he has not seen in years. When the stage suddenly collapses, I seize his arm and beg, "Honey, please save me." Andrew shoves me away, his voice flat and cold. "You're not my wife. My wife is at home." I am crushed beneath the falling debris. Choking on blood, I can only watch as Andrew rescues his first love and walks away. That is when I realize it's not that he can't remember me, he just doesn't love me. The bodyguards drag me out of the wreckage. Later, I spend a month confined to bed with serious injuries. While I am in the hospital, I get a photo of Andrew kissing his first love. The blows land one after another and mercilessly jerk me awake. I am done with love, and I am done with him!