Hyperspermia Pills Novels & Stories

My husband, Leon Hobbs, calls me to tell me that his grandma, Phoebe Reid, has forgotten to bring her blood pressure medication, so he wants me to deliver it to her. "Hurry up, Elsie! Grandma's blood pressure is spiking again! You're the one who's closest to her right now!" With the medication in hand, I've just reached the corridor when comments pop up on my phone out of nowhere. "Don't go! The old lady will die in the living room ten minutes after you enter the apartment!" "The blood pressure medication has been swapped out for poison, and your prints are on the bottle! Everyone will think that you're the one who poisoned the old lady!" "Your husband and your mother-in-law have left the apartment purposefully so that you'll be the only one facing the old lady's corpse! Then, they'll use the assets that you and the old lady have left behind just to buy a new home for your husband's pregnant mistress!" I remain rooted to the spot as I stare at the bottle of medication. Leon had passed it to me last night, claiming that it was a bottle of newly prescribed medication. He wanted me to keep it for Phoebe for the time being. My fingerprints are all over the bottle at this time. Three seconds later, I turn on my heel and head toward the nearest pharmacy. Then, I place the bottle of pills on the counter. "Please help me check whether or not this bottle of medication fits the label."

By the third year of my marriage to Daniel Hawthorne, the war had already taken more than it ever returned, and this time it took his younger brother, Thomas Hawthorne. My sister-in-law, Eleanor, collapsed, and in the weeks that followed she tried to follow her husband into death— once with sleeping pills, once by the river beyond the officers’ quarters— only to be dragged back both times, each time clinging to me afterward as though I were the last thing keeping her grounded. I stayed with her, wiped her tears, and whispered that Thomas would want her to live, until the day she received the test results confirming she was three months pregnant, and the grief of losing her husband was slowly softened by the arrival of new life. I smiled too, believing grief had finally loosened its grip. That night, holding my own pregnancy test in my hand and thinking it was finally time to tell Daniel, I passed the study and heard his friend say quietly, “She’s carrying your child. You convinced the doctors to adjust the timeline so everyone would believe the baby belonged to your brother. Aren’t you afraid Margaret will find out?” Daniel didn’t hesitate. “She won’t,” he said calmly. “She loves me. She wouldn’t leave. I won’t let her know.” I didn’t step inside. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I opened the letter I had received weeks earlier— an official deployment order from the international medical corps, assigning me to a frontline war zone— and tapped Accept.

On the day Daisy Hawthorn got married to Dario Verdant, everyone in Palermo waited for her to make a fool of herself. The Verdant family was one of the most feared mafia families in Sicily, and Dario was the only son of the old Don. Daisy, meanwhile, was just an orphan with nothing to her name. The only reason she was even associated with the Verdant family was that her late father had once saved the old Don's life during a conflict years ago. At the wedding, Dario slipped an antique diamond ring onto her finger in front of everyone. Tears filled his eyes as he swore, "Daisy, I love you. You're the only woman I'll ever love." Daisy believed him. After they got married, Dario became the new Don of the Verdant family, yet he still treated Daisy like she was the center of his world. If she coughed in the middle of the night, he would get up instantly and bring her water himself. If she casually mentioned craving seafood paella, it would appear on the dining table the very next day. Everyone said Dario loved Daisy. Daisy believed that too. It wasn't until one afternoon in May, when she overheard something outside the office of their private doctor, Martin Lawrence. "Don Verdant, birth control pills can't be taken long-term. They're damaging her body. The latest test results are back. Donna Verdant already has a hormonal imbalance. If this continues, she could become permanently infertile!" Martin exclaimed. Daisy froze in place. After a brief silence, she heard Dario's voice. "So what if she becomes infertile? I never planned on letting her have children anyway," he said nonchalantly.

In my past life, I was trafficked and gave birth to a son. When Noah Barrett turns six, I plan to take him and escape from the mountains. On my first attempt, I map out the route in advance and prepare to flee with him. But in the morning, my mother-in-law, Ruth Whitaker, blocks me at the door. She ties me up and locks me inside the shed. Then, she starves me for three days. On my second try, I secretly buy sleeping pills from an unlicensed village doctor and slip them into dinner. At the table, Ruth flips the table without hesitation and beats me until I am half dead. The third time, I take advantage of a village meeting and escape with Noah again. We hide in a concealed mountain cave. Neither of us makes a sound, yet Ruth finds us with ease. I am dragged back and locked away in the pigpen. Ruth takes a shovel and strikes me with it again and again. "You filthy bitch. You dare run off with my precious grandson!" Her eyes are bloodshot. With the final blow, she uses all her strength and smashes the shovel into my head. I collapse to the ground. My consciousness fades. My blood drains away, and I die. When I open my eyes again, I am back on the day I plan to escape the mountains with Noah. Suddenly, I can hear Noah's thoughts, his voice clear and dripping with viciousness. "Mom can't be allowed to run. Grandma says Mom is our family's slave. She's supposed to serve us for her whole life."

On the day of my birthday, I'm burning with a fever that almost hits 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Because of that, I've called Tristan Graham more than a dozen times. He never picks up any of them. In the end, my dad has to take me to the hospital. When we walk past a corridor, he suddenly stops in his tracks. "Mr. Graham? What are you doing here?" I raise my head to see Tristan and Madison Franklin walking from the OBGYN department. Their fingers are tightly laced together. Tristan is even carrying a bag of medication. Birth control pills as well as ointment meant to be used on private parts can be seen in that bag. My mind goes blank at that moment. All I can do is stare at Tristan. As soon as our eyes meet, Tristan frowns slightly at me, though his gaze only lingers on me for a second before he turns to look at my dad. "I'll be hosting a banquet in the garden tomorrow night. Remember to decorate the garden nicely." Dad quickly accepts the order. "Don't worry, Mr. Graham. When Luna's fever breaks out, I'll deal with this task right away." Tristan is momentarily stunned by Dad's words. When he notices my unnaturally flushed cheeks, he instinctively takes a step toward me. But that's when Madison tugs his sleeve. "Stop wasting precious time on a gardener's daughter, Tristan. Let's go. I'm still in pain, you know." Tristan stops in his tracks instantly. Then, he leaves with Madison. Later on, he pays for my hospital bills. Our seven-year underground relationship that's considered a taboo is also paid off as well.

I let Gideon mark me again. Then, I put my Alpha mate up for rent. The fragile widow of his dead Beta, Civian, always found excuses to drag him out of our bed. I stopped crying over the possessive pull of our Mate bond. Instead, I just charged her by the hour. 100,000 an hour during the day. 200,000 at night. Triple on full moons. In just three months, my offshore account grew by nearly twenty million. He had promised to take me to the werewolf auction to buy some rare herbs. But that woman called, crying that her wolf was out of control and desperately needed soothing. I didn't even blink. I just pulled out my phone and started the timer. Midnight. Burning up with fever from the pills I took to suppress my heat, he was driving me to the Pack hospital. That woman called again, shaking because she had a nightmare about Civian’s bloody death. I calmly signaled him to pull over and drop me at the next intersection. Seeing the flicker of struggle in his eyes, I just smiled lazily. "Just don't forget to pay." Then came the day of our daughter Mia’s checkup at The Pack's Gene-Therapy Center. The woman called again. "Toby's first shift is coming up. He really needs a strong Alpha to guide him through this dangerous time..." Gideon hung up the phone. He turned, guilt flashing in his eyes, and started to kneel before our daughter to explain. But Mia just held out her little hand, copying me exactly. "It's okay, Daddy. Just pay up. It's a full moon today, so that’s triple."

My husband, an Army regimental commander, was killed in action. Before his body was even cold, I didn't hesitate. I filed for his death certificate and notified the Army, the Social Security Administration, and our bank. Then, three days later—on the very day his twin brother married his childhood sweetheart—I moved out, changed the locks, and remarried quietly at the courthouse, taking my son and the full line-of-duty death benefits with me. To everyone else, I was heartless. Cold. I let them curse me. I just looked into my “brother-in-law's” bloodshot eyes and felt a quiet, cruel satisfaction. Only I knew the truth. In my last life, I discovered the body sent home wasn't my husband's at all—it was his identical twin brother's. I ran to confront him, but by chance I overheard him and my mother-in-law whispering. "Mom, Sarah is strong. And we have our son. She'll be okay. The benefits will take care of her. But Amy has waited for my brother all these years. If she finds out he's dead, she might do something drastic." Their words struck me like lightning. I tried to expose them, but my husband knocked me out. He told everyone grief had driven me insane. He locked me in the garage apartment and, with cold detachment, married his sweetheart. And when that woman complained my son was too loud, my husband slipped sleeping pills into our boy's juice—right as my crying child was coming to look for me. My son never woke up. The day they buried him hastily, I ended my life in the garage, utterly broken. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day they delivered my brother-in-law's body to our home.

There's an unspoken rule in my household—everyone has to engage in a drinking competition during the holidays. Whoever gets wasted first will have to pay off one year's worth of house and car mortgages for the other two siblings. In the first year, I collapsed after my first glass of alcohol. I had to pay the house mortgage for my oldest sister, Dahlia Zeller. In the second year, as soon as I picked up my glass, I fainted right away. Since then, I had to pay off Jasmine Zeller, my second sister's car loan. For the next 20 years, I've always been the loser. In the end, my wife, Jean McCarthy, is forced to jump off a building because of the huge debt I've racked up. The debtors keep dumping paint onto my residence, forcing me to deter away from it. Ransacked by guilt, I end up damaging my stomach from overdrinking when I attempt to train my alcohol tolerance. As a result, half of my liver has gotten removed. When I'm on the verge of death, I hear my parents snickering outside my ward. "Don't you think we've laced too many sleeping pills in his drink? He almost didn't wake up back then!" "It's fine. He's an idiot who merely thinks he has a low alcohol tolerance. Our family still relies on him for financial survival, you see. We can keep drugging him so that he'll keep getting wasted." When I open my eyes again, I've already gotten reborn in the timeframe when I'm sitting at the dining table in the 20th year.

The doctor told me I had 72 hours left, unless I got access to the newest experimental treatment. However, there was only one slot available, and my husband Bowen Liddell gave it to my sister Yvonne Lawson instead. "Her kidney failure is more critical," he said. I nodded and swallowed the white pills that would only speed up my death. In the time I had left, I got a lot done. The lawyer's hand trembled as he passed me the documents. "Are you sure you want to transfer the two billion dollars in shares?" I replied, "Yes. Give them to Yvonne." My daughter, Candice Liddell, was giggling in Yvonne's arms. "Mommy Yvonne bought me a new dress!" I said, "It looks beautiful. Make sure you always listen to Mommy Yvonne, okay?" The art gallery I built from the ground up now had Yvonne's name on the sign. "You're too kind, Kathy," she said, crying. I told her, "You'll run it even better than I ever did." I even signed all my parents' trust fund away. That was when Bowen finally gave me his first genuine smile in years. "Kathleen, you've changed. You're not so aggressive anymore... You're beautiful like this." Indeed. This dying version of me finally became the 'perfect Kathleen Sullivan' in their eyes—obedient, generous, and no longer argumentative. The 72-hour countdown had already begun, and I couldn't help but wonder what they would remember when my heart stopped for good. The good wife who 'finally learned to let go', or the woman who completed her revenge by dying?

She died fat, broken, and unloved, but she came back ready to burn it all down. Catherine Vale has one memory seared into her soul from her past life: the feeling of her mother-in-law's hands draining the life from her body while her new husband pretended not to hear her screams. Reborn on her wedding day, Catherine knows that marrying Anderson Vale means death. So she does the unthinkable, she runs from the altar in her wedding dress and boards the honeymoon jet alone. Her destination is Las Vegas and her plan is to get drunk and forget everything. What she gets instead is waking up married to Davis McFanger, the most powerful hybrid alive and her runaway groom's father. Davis doesn't believe in coincidences, and he's convinced Catherine is another trap sent by his manipulative ex-wife to destroy him. But the mating bond doesn't lie, and neither does the heat that forces them together night after night, even when he can barely look at her come morning. Catherine is hiding secrets even she doesn't understand. The pills she's been taking for seven years to keep her stable might be poison designed to suppress her powers. Her so-called mental illness might be a lie fed to her by the same people who killed her and the power trying to claw its way out of her skin, burning her from the inside out might be exactly what they murdered her to steal. As her phoenix abilities violently awaken, Catherine faces an impossible choice: trust the cold, ruthless man who claims her desperately in the dark but refuses to acknowledge her in the light, or face her killers alone and risk dying a third time.